A/N: Thank you everyone who reviewed!  Here's the next installment of 'Faith'.  Enjoy!  And a huge thank you to moonfairyhime for beta'ing =) Thank you so much!

Disclaimer: I own none of them…but I sure wish I did.

Chapter 34: The Turning Tide

            "Quit pulling my hair!"

            "Let go of me!"

            "Accio - ow! That hurt!"

            Harry and Draco exchanged startled glances as they approached their normal meeting place in the Library.  They quickened their pace, emerging seconds later into chaos.

            Sasha was struggling with Hermione, her dark hair flying everywhere, the blue ribbon she'd had in her hair gone.  Hermione had a furious expression on her face, and one hand latched firmly onto Sasha's locks, not about to let go.  Blaise was calmly sitting back at the table, giving the sixth year pointers, while Seamus said nothing at all, his eyes wide and riveted to the cat fight going on in front of him.  Neville was the only one who was even attempting to stop the two girls - and not very well by the looks of it.

            "Sasha…please.  Hermione, let go.  This isn't getting us anywhere…" The sandy haired boy hovered at the two girls side, looking back and forth between the two of them.  He shifted from foot to foot, eyeing them warily, about to steel himself against the raking nails he knew he was going to have to endure if he was going to attempt to pull them bodily apart.  This is gonna hurt…

            "Stop your fighting this instant!" Draco pulled himself up to his full height and cast a withering glare on the two girls.  Draco stalked up to them, using his larger presence to cow the girls into momentary contrition.  Hermione let go of Sasha's hair reluctantly, while Sasha lowered her wand.  The two girls took several steps away from each other, Sasha attempting to smooth out the wrinkles in her robes while Hermione openly glared at Draco.  The blond growled softly under his breath, his hands balling into fist at his side.  "Sasha you know better than this - and Granger," the blond sneered at her, "you would choose to fight in such a demeaning, low class manner."

            "If I recall correctly, my low class punch sent you running third year." The Gryffindor snapped back, pleased with the embarrassed flush that spread across Draco's cheeks.

            "Enough." Harry stepped forward, placing one hand on Draco's chest, looking up at the blond. "There's too much to do - we have no time for fighting." Draco looked as though he wanted to argue the point, but finally snapped his mouth shut and nodded stiffly.

            Harry turned back to the group and eyed Hermione. "Why are you still here?" He folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands away. The last thing Herm needs to see is my shaky hands.

            The Gryffindor smoothed out her robes, taking a few moments to gather herself. "What I said before I still think is true.  I want to help, and I think it's only fair that I get to.  Besides," she balled her hands into fists nervously, "I'm good at researching.  I can give a fresh perspective on what information you already have and approach the information you're trying to find with a different set of views."

            Harry looked at her for a long moment. Hermione…he closed his eyes briefly, "Fine.  But come one step near any of us outside of this room and you'll find yourself to be highly unwelcome." His stomach rolled and he swallowed heavily.  He frowned and looked around the alcove, "Have Pansy and Millicent come back yet?"

            Neville shook his head. "No, they haven't returned."

            Harry sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "They went to the Hospital Wing, right? Well - they'll find Gin soon enough I guess."

            "Is she alright?" Blaise asked, reaching out to Neville and pulling him over to his side.

            "She's fine, but Andrew isn't.  He's been hit over the head with something, Merlin knows what.  It looks pretty bad." Draco eyed Hermione warily, "Now do you see why we distrust your House so much, Granger?"

            "Like Slytherin hasn't done its share of nasty things to us," Hermione sniffed and turned her nose up at him, folding her arms across her chest angrily.

              Harry closed his eyes tightly, clamping his jaw shut so tight he could feel his teeth grinding together.  He turned around to look at Draco, clutching the book Remus had given to him even tighter to his chest. "We're going down a few tables - make sure you all spread out as well.  If Pansy and Millicent get back, tell them where we are please." He brushed past Draco and escaped into the dark, making his way for one of the other tables, his heart pounding in his throat.

            "Harry?" Draco placed his hands on the dark haired boy's shoulders.

            His body was tense and stiff. "I - I want to hate her.  I want to hex her into next week - but I can't.  All I see when I look at her is what she and the others said to me, did to me.  Oh bloody hell." Harry snarled, throwing his bag down with a resounding thud.  He pulled out a chair and collapsed into it, putting his elbows on the table and hiding his face with his hands.

            "Harry," Draco's hands returned, bending down next to Harry's ear. "They will pay - they will all pay.  They hurt you - they pulled all that you ever knew and loved out from under your feet.  Don't be ashamed for being hurt over that.  But we're here now," Draco gently slid his arms around the smaller boy. "We'll never leave you.  I promise."

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            Hermione watched the two boys disappear yet again, her mouth hanging open.

            "Might want to close your mouth - you never know what could fly into it." Sasha sniffed and turned her nose up at the Gryffindor, pulling out her seat and sitting in it daintily.  She raked a hand through her hair, getting it to fall more or less back into place.

            Hermione snapped her mouth closed and looked at the other girl, her eyes narrowing. "Now see here -,"

            "Hermione," Neville appeared at her elbow, a forced smile on his face. "Lets you, me, and Blaise go study somewhere else, shall we?" He placed a hand on the Gryffindor's back and pushed - not very gently.

            "But Neville!" Hermione shook off the former Gryffindor's touch. "I'm not leaving Seamus here with this insane girl!"

            There was a snort from Blaise, but Neville ignored it. "Hermione, Seamus will be fine. Trust me. Now, come on. Blaise and I will fill you in." He now latched onto Hermione's robes and began to pull.

            "But - but -,"

            "Oh, Seamus will be just fine, won't you, dear?" Sasha simpered at the Gryffindor boy, nearly causing him to choke. Hermione turned a fine shade of red, her eyes bulging slightly.

            "Seamus?"

            The boy merely looked from one girl to the other, shrugged and let a large grin cover his face.  Neville had to enlist Blaise's help to drag the girl from the nook.

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            Voldemort leaned back in his chair, absently scanning one of the many sheets of lists piled in front of him.  He ran a finger down one column, a faint line appearing between his brows. "Ezekiel, bring me Garret."

            The torturer turned to his lord, his eyes startled, before bowing low and laying his instruments to the side. "As you wish, My Lord." The man scuttled from the room, leaving his newest toy on the rack to wait for him.

            Voldemort spared a glance for the body in front of him, eyeing it disdainfully once before returning to his lists.  The door to his chamber opened a few minutes later, revealing Ezekiel and a tall, fair haired man.

            "My Lord," the Death Eater crossed the room swiftly to kneel by the Dark Lord's side. "You sent for me?"

            Voldemort lowered the papers he was holding, setting them down on the desk in front of him gently.  He turned to the kneeling man, sighing softly. "Garret, Garret, Garret.  I am disappointed with you!"

            The kneeling wizard blanched and a fine film of sweat broke out on his skin. "Sir? What have I done wrong?" Fine tremors started to run through his body, while one lone drop of sweat slowly worked its way down the side of one cheek.

            Voldemort smiled, letting the action seep across his face, pulling his papery skin tight. "Garret…surely you remember?" The Dark Lord picked up the top sheet and handed it to the man, enjoying the acrid scent of fear that was beginning to radiate off of him.

            Garret scanned the parchment, a confused frown spreading across his face. "I - I don't know what this is." He swallowed with difficulty, flinching slightly as Ezekiel chuckled and the victim on the rack screamed.

            "Ezekiel - a moment, dear." The torturer turned and pouted at the Dark Lord - Garret nearly had to stuff a hand into his mouth to keep from laughing hysterically.  The larger part of his mind was gibbering in fear, and he was deathly afraid he was going to wet himself.

            "Now," Voldemort turned back to his Death Eater.  "This is a list of the casualties of the last raid.  This particular village had three hundred and fifty two people as total occupants.  Now, imagine my surprise, when I look to the total list of fatalities and see only three hundred and fifty one.  We're missing a body, Garret dear, and, seeing as you were in charge of this last raid, I'd like to hear from your own lips just what went wrong." A skeletal hand reached out and patted the sweating man's face, letting his fingers linger on the fine skin for a moment, relishing the shudders he provoked from the man.

            "I -," Garret licked his lips and violently pushed down the urge to vomit. "There must be a mistake.  We killed every single person and animal in the village.  No one was left alive.  Perhaps - perhaps someone was out of town?" He cringed, tensing as the fingers now began to bite into his flesh.

            "Mistaken? Mistaken? Oh no, my little lovey, there's no mistake here." The Dark Lord surged out of his seat, one hand now clamped around the Death Eater's throat tightly.  He pulled the struggling man over to the rack, pushing his face close to the victim's. "Recognize this precious little brat?  Heath, why don't you tell my little lovey here what you told me." Garret scrabbled at the hand clamped around his windpipe, his world graying out at the edges. "Look at him, traitor," Voldemort hissed, spittle flying everywhere.  Garret's eyes rolled to look at the man on the rack.  If he could have paled, he would have.

            "Garret - oh please don't hurt me, please - Garret had them all out on the street, lined up.  We were killing them one at a time when I looked over.  Garret was looking at this little girl and touching her hair.  Then I went back to my duties and I killed more muggles.  When we went over the count we were missing one body and I noticed I didn't see the little girl anymore. Please, my Lord! Please don't kill me!" The man on the rack sobbed, sagging as much as he could, given his restraints. 

            Garret growled futilely, and kicked out at the Dark Lord. It connected solidly - and Garret didn't know who was more surprised when Voldemort ended up dropping him - he or the Dark Lord.  The two stared at each other for a moment before Garret drew his wand.

            "Avada -,"

            "Crucio." Voldemort didn't even blink as the man leveled his wand at him.  He sighed as the body writhed and shook on the ground.  He wiped off his hands on a towel supplied by Ezekiel, a frown etching deep lines into his face. "Finite Incantatum." He kicked the other man's wand away, watching briefly as Ezekiel sprang after it like a happy puppy. "You see, Garret my lovey," Voldemort knelt down next to the panting man, "I needed three hundred and fifty two deaths for a certain little spell I was going to cast last night.  But because of your disgusting little weakness, that opportunity has passed.  Such a shame, really; I had thought you would be able to do your job with absolutely no qualms."

            "She - she was the same age as my daughter." The words were soft - almost a plea.

            "She was a muggle - a filthy, stinking muggle who you should have killed and put out of her misery." Voldemort stood with a sigh. "But enough of this.  Ezekiel, take them both to the cages.  My pretties are hungry - and must be fed."

            Garret's eyes bulged and he grasped the Dark Lord's robe, "No! Please my Lord, no! I'll do better! I'll find her and bring her back for you! Please, my Lord, please!" Garret frantically kissed the hem of the robe he was holding, tears and snot making a mess of the fine material.

            Voldemort eyed the man, kicking him away viciously. "Get them out of my sight, Ezekiel." He turned his back on the pleading men, tuning out their cries easily.  He sat back down in his seat gracefully, flicking his fingers at the papers in front of him, banishing them back to the folders where they belonged.  He sighed, irritated as the men proved difficult to move.  He rolled his eyes, useless worms; he leaned back in his chair and picked up the Book of Living Dead, holding it reverently.  He caressed the cover, letting his fingers linger on the skin - the hounds are almost ready, but my numbers are still a bit low. 

            He frowned and stared at the far wall, one finger beginning to tap out a rhythm on the book.  He blinked several times and looked down at the offending appendage - it kept on tapping.  Odd…he stared at the finger, his attention turning inward. 

            Erin.  He could sense her presence, it was weak, but steady.  Where are you, little girl? She stayed to the shadows of his mind, however, using his own memories against him.  He sucked in a breath as the memory of the first time he'd ever seen Hogwarts slammed into the forefront of his mind.

            He remembered being awed at the might of the castle, how it rose to tower over his head into the night.  The sight of the Great Hall with its magical ceiling and floating candles - the voices of the boys who'd ignored him when he told them he was raised as a muggle in an orphanage, all of them comparing the castle to their own, magical homes.  It made him burn with want - with a need; he wanted this - this world of magic and wonder.  He'd show them all - one day, it'd all be his.  My home.  My only home.

            Voldemort came back to his senses, the Book now lying on the floor, his hands clutching tightly at the arms of his chair.  He shook his head, fury beginning to rush through him. How dare that little bitch…He surged to his feet, roaring for Ezekiel.  He would move the timetable up - no matter if he didn't have all of his Death Eaters in attendance.  I want that castle and that brat gone from my mind!  And there's only one way to do it.  His crimson eyes glinted in the torchlight while objects spontaneously combusted around the room.  It's time I sent that bloody Potter brat to his grave.

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            "Get out!  I want every single one of you out from this office immediately, do you understand!" Lucius Malfoy was in a state few had ever seen him in before.  He stood at the entrance to the Daily Prophet, that day's edition clutched in his fist. "Get out!" His eyes blazed and several windows shattered - the staff looked at each other once before scrambling to get their things.  Soon it was a stampede to see who could be the first to get out of the door.

            "Tremble, get your fat arse out here this second!" Fine tremors were running through the blond - he was going to have a word with the editor come hell or high water.

            The door to the Editor's office cracked open, revealing a sweaty, red face. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

            "Get out here now!"

            The door opened wider and Tremble eased himself out, inching down the hallway towards the irate man.  "Sir?" His hands were shaking badly and he had a handkerchief clutched tightly in one fist.

            Lucius advanced on him, enjoying how the man tripped over his own feet and scuttled backwards like a crab. "You pathetic piece of offal," he towered over the whimpering mass at his feet. "You disgusting worm! I told you that I would have absolutely no lies printed in my paper and that I would have a final say on all final prints before they were mass-produced.  So what the hell is this?!" He thrust the paper at Tremble, spittle flying from his lips.

            The headlines of the Daily Prophet were in large, block letters, just ready to jump out from the page and catch the eye of any passing viewer.  The Boy-Who-Lived Gone Dark!  Underneath was a picture of Ron Weasley and several other Gryffindor boys, all of them professing to have seen 'Potter' do this or that evil deed; it was merely yet another rehash of the rumors circulating the wizarding world with nothing new to add.  Lucius was livid.

            "How dare you go against my word.  Get up you pathetic piece of trash." Lucius kicked the man in the side, a cruel smile twisting his face as he watched Tremble gasp for breath. "Get up."

            Tremble stumbled to his feet, his face crimson, his shirt dripping with sweat. "Lord Malfoy," he tried, only to be cut off when Lucius grabbed him by the throat and began to drag him down the hall. "L-lord..!" He wheezed, his vision graying slightly.

            Lucius held on tight to the disgusting pig of a man, fury painting his vision red. No one dares to contradict a Malfoy! He advanced on the glass doors of the Daily Prophet, eyeing with satisfaction the crowd that had begun to form there.  A flick of his wand had the doors springing open and with a mighty shove, he sent Tremble flying face first down the steps.

            "You are all fired! No one, no one, crosses a Malfoy, do you understand!  There will be no severance pay!  Nothing! You disgust me." Lucius clutched at his cane, his knuckles white.  He could hear the crowd mumble and shift - he narrowed his eyes at them, picking out several reporters from different papers trying to hide from him in the crowd. "Now hear this!" A simple charm had his voice ringing out over the crowd. "If there is anyone out there who hasn't lost their sanity to the madness sweeping over the wizarding world, then please apply within for a job.  But," he moved forward slowly, stalking down a few steps to stare at the former staff of the Daily Prophet, "those out there who believe in the madness and lies that the Weasley family and their supporter are spouting off…then you would best be served to stay well away from my paper and it's office."

            He spat at the feet of the crowd, sniffing disdainfully; he spun on the heel of his boot and stalked back up the stairs, one final parting shot for the crowd. "Applications will be accepted from this moment on." He disappeared into the building, slamming the doors behind him, causing the crowd to flinch.

            Lucius spent the next few hours happily destroying the office, remodeling it to his satisfaction.  He cleared out the entire staff floor and blasted the desks to smithereens, the action finally letting him work off the terrible anger that was still chorusing through him.  How dare those blasted, bloody, half blood, worthless…

            "Sir? Should we come back another time?" The voice startled him - Lucius whipped around, his wand held out at the ready, eyeing the two people standing hesitantly at the threshold of the office.

            "Who are you?" He shook back his hair and looked the pair over, early twenties, middle class, nicely dressed.  He folded his arms across his chest and stared at them. "Well?"

            The girl moved forward first, glancing briefly at her companion before coming to a stop a few feet in front of Lucius.  She gave a small, awkward curtsy and flushed briefly. "I'm Nicole Rousse and this is my brother Karl.  We -," she bit her lip and fidgeted. "We were out on the street when you…" she shrugged and glanced down at the ground. "We - we would like to apply for a position here."

            Lucius felt his eyebrows arching.  Hm, this is by far sooner than I expected. "Where did you go to school?" He conjured a chair for himself to sit in, flicking his robes straight as he studied the pair in front of him a little closer.  The boy and girl exchanged a glance, but didn't conjure chairs for themselves.

            "We went to Durmstrang, sir." The boy - Karl - answered.  Lucius began to scowl.  "But…we're German, sir.  Not - not English.  We - our family has always gone to Durmstang, but we're not part of You-Know-Who's side." The boy was young - twenty two at most, his brown hair was cut short in what Lucius knew was the traditional German wizard style.  His eyes were hazel, as were his sister's.  She was a lighter brunette - almost a blond, but not quite.  She was several inches shorter than him - but Lucius placed her at twenty-four.  Interesting…I thought the Germans held to the idea of killing their first-born offspring if it was a girl. 

            "Show me your forearms," Lucius' chin jutted out imperiously.  The pair exchanged another glance, but did as he told.  Lucius leaned forward and eyed the skin, casting several revealing charms over them appendages in front of him before he finally sat back, appeased.

            "Do you have any training in journalism?" The pair slowly shook their heads. "And yet you come here looking for a job?" Lucius sneered at them, tossing his hair back over his shoulder.

            "Sir," the girl, Nicole, began, "we - we have degrees in English from Oxford - and I have a minor in communication.  Karl has a double major in Art History." The girl clasped her hands in front of herself, twisting them nervously. "We - we -,"

            "Enough." Lucius sighed and shook his head, glancing towards the door. "What are your views on Harry Potter and the Dark Lord?" He casually flicked his wand at the pair, conjuring up hard, wooden chairs for the both of them.

            The siblings sat hesitantly, perching on the edges of their seats. "We - don't believe what most people are saying about Mr. Potter.  Our village -," Nicole broke off, looking away.

            "You-Know-Who killed half of our village in a raid during the first war.  The grandparents managed to get most of the children out, but nearly all of our parents, aunts and uncles were killed.  It was - an ugly death, for all of them." Karl cleared his throat and glanced at his sister.  "We heard of the Aurors that did come to our rescue.  One of them was named Potter, and he had a wife named Lily.  Our Aunt Amelia survived because of them." The boy looked down at his hands and frowned.  "We do not get the same news that the English do, sir.  We - believe in Mr. Potter."

            Lucius nodded slowly, his face set. "Very well.  You're hired. You'll be joint Editors - I'll leave the rest of the hiring to you." Malfoy clapped his hands together and stood, smiling grimly at the flabbergasted pair. "I also expect you to send me a copy of the Prophet before it goes to print every evening, understood? I get final executive decision in this company, not you." The pair hastily nodded their heads, their eyes wide.  Lucius smiled at them, pleased with himself. "Good.  I'll look forward to your first print tonight." He flicked a fold straight and settled his shoulders, nodding to them both before strolling for the exit.

            "But!" He stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow. "But - there's no one here! Who - how do we - what should we -," Nicole was pale.

            Lucius shrugged and sniffed daintily. "That's not my problem.  Do try and get it to me before midnight?  I hate to be kept waiting." And with that he left the building, leaving two breathless young adults gaping in his wake.

            Perfect.

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            A woman sat on a blanket, her copper hair dull in the pale witchlight she had conjured.  She sifted through the dirt with her fingers, the fine earth silky under her skin.  Her hair stirred in a sudden breeze - causing her to freeze.  A wind…there hasn't been a wind like that in the Otherworld for centuries…earth forgotten, the goddess got to her feet, her eyes scanning the mists around her with a frown marring her ageless face.  She smelt death on the air - death and change.

            A winging figure swooped out of the darkness, the mists swirling around the falling feathers, covering Rosmerta's barren garden.  The fertility goddess' frown deepened, "Morrigan.  It has been a long time."

            The goddess of battle looked up at Rosmerta through her lashes. "Longer than you think.  It is good to see you, sister of mine."

            The copper haired goddess tilted her head, a small smile flitting across her face. "It has been long since you have called me sister.  Last I remember you were calling me a traitor, from across the battle field." The smile turned brittle as she gestured for Morrigan to sit. "Does it amuse you to see how far I've fallen?" She sank back down onto her blanket, carefully ignoring the ruin of what once was her home rising out of the darkness around her, the broken roof and dirty walls only pale memories of what they used to be. 

            Morrigan blinked slowly before crouching down next to the bitter goddess. "None of it is like it was.  It has been over a millennia since our names were breathed on the air - power fades, sister." The battle goddess abruptly cocked her head, her golden eyes gleaming in the light.

            "Power." Rosmerta spat the word, her fingers digging into the dirt at her side. "If you and yours hadn't interfered, all that power would have been ours."

            "And have you wipe out the Unseelie ranks, turning the world over to the illusion of the Light Court? I think not." Morrigan sighed and waved the argument aside. "But that's not why I'm here."

            "Oh really."

            "It's time we woke up, Rosmerta.  The time for sleep and dreaming is over - the people need us." The battle goddess crept closer to the other woman, her movements hypnotic and slow. "Our names fade daily as the power of the One God drives all to war and chaos.  There is no balance, sister.  There is no creation rising from the ashes, no scales to be weighed.  It is time they remembered - it is time we woke up."

            There was a brief war of hope and despair on the copper haired goddess' face.  Her expression finally fell, despair winning, "Dagda is gone, and Danu has left us.  She has turned her face from us; the springs have run dry, the ground is barren.  No," she shook her head, turning her eyes back down to the ground beneath her hands. "Our time is over.  Better that we sleep again, and never wake."

            "Never." The Morrigan stood, her eyes blazing. "I will not surrender to this madness anymore.  It is time, Rosmerta!  Or have you forgotten the people that once gave you the power to create the gardens you took such delight in?"

            "You would have us go to war with the One God, which would only strengthen the Dark Court's hold on the world, creating more chaos, not order.  How can you ask me to be a part of that?" Rosmerta stared up at the other goddess, her eyes hard. "Tell me then - where is Dagda?  Where is Danu?  Where are they Morrigan?  Why have they not come?"

            "Perhaps they have - perhaps they were there the entire time.  But we chose not to see them - we chose to be headstrong children who would rather fight over their toys than take care of what their parents gave them as their charges.  How can you fault them for turning away when we tried so hard to push them out of our lives?" The Morrigan shook her head and looked away from the other goddess, sighing softly. 

            "Sleep has made you better at arguing.  I remember a time when you would have gone straight for the sword, and left Lugh or Brigid to do the speaking." Rosmerta stared off into the mist, a line appearing between her brows. "It is a wonderful idea, Morrigan.  But it is only words.  Nothing more."

            The goddess of battle regarded Rosmerta silently for a long moment before nodding once and turning away, walking unhurriedly back into the Dark.  The fertility goddess watched her go quietly, her hand still carding the dirt gently.  Something lodged between her index and middle finger, jerking her attention down to the earth.  She tilted her head and wiggled her fingers, feeling the tiny hairs catch and wrap around her skin.  Her eyes widened as she gently untangled her hand, parting the dirt carefully, holding her breath.

            Under a fine layer of soil, right were her fingers had been carding, was a tiny, green shoot.

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            Professor Sprout nodded approvingly as Neville coaxed his seedling to life. "Good, very good Neville.  Five points to Gryf - er, Slytherin.  That's a rather unusual spell, Mr. Longbottom, very good.  Has someone been doing some extra studying?" The rosy-cheeked professor smiled at Neville, causing him to puff up his chest slightly.

            "Bloody Slytherins." Ron's ugly mutter caused Neville's chest to deflate and the sandy haired Slytherin glared over at the scowling Gryffindor.

            Professor Sprout frowned and turned to Ron. "Now, Mr. Weasley I won't have such language used in my classroom.  Ten points from Gryffindor.  You would do well to take note of young Mr. Longbottom's study habits.  Class!" The combined Slytherin and Gryffindor Herbology class quieted down to listen.  Professor Sprout turned to Neville, "Mr. Longbottom, please repeat your spell and explain the properties of it."

            Neville flushed, fidgeting under the stares of his classmates.  He glanced at Blaise, who smiled warmly at him, nodding his encouragement.  "Rosmertas is a spell that was widely used around nine hundred years ago, but fell out of favor when…" Neville trailed off slightly, "when the influence of Christian wizards started to take over the wizarding population.  Rosmertas comes from the name of the goddess Rosmerta, a fertility goddess from Ireland.  Her followers were mostly farmers and then later on gardeners who specialized in the growing of certain flowers and exotic plants.  The spell fell out of popular use when the Ministry…" Neville swallowed nervously, "when the Ministry outlawed the use of it five centuries ago.  The law was later repealed several centuries later, but by then no one was using the older spells, but rather the Latin ones promoted by the new wizarding standards."

            "Figures a Slytherin would find and use a spell that was outlawed by the Ministry to get ahead in class." Neville couldn't identify the speaker, but he could feel his face warming up intensely.

            "Enough!" Professor Sprout was now frowning sternly at the Gryffindor side of the room. "Mr. Longbottom has brought to light a very useful spell that is only normally taught during apprenticeship for Herbology majors - and sometimes not even then.  He should be an example for you all - in fact," the professor's eyes suddenly lit up and there were several audible groans from people.  "I want you all to write me a two foot scroll comparing and contrasting Rosmertas with the spells I have taught you so far this year.  The report will be due the Friday before spring break.  Class is dismissed!"

            Neville winced as several nasty glares were thrown his way as the Gryffindors filed out of the hot house where that day's lesson had been held.  Blaise chuckled as he watched his boyfriend's face heat up further.

            "Ignore them, Neville.  They're just put out because they'll actually have to do work for once in this class." The taller boy slipped his arm around Neville, guiding him out of the hot house before Professor Sprout could descend on them again.

            "Good work, Neville," Harry's voice made them hold up for a moment.  The dark haired boy appeared around the curtain of plants, Draco right behind him.  He hitched up his book bag absently and ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. "Where'd you find it?"

            Neville grinned at Harry, ignoring the pale face and the dark smudges underneath the other boy's eyes. "The Restricted Section, of course!" They all laughed and headed back towards the castle, letting the Gryffindors get well ahead of them.

            It had been a futile few weeks since Hermione had barged in on the Slytherin's gathering and demanded to be let in on the information hunting.  A long, frustrating few weeks, but the Headmaster had finally relented and declared a Hogsmead weekend for the students - carefully supervised and under the watchful eyes of Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and Sprout, however.  While less than ideal, no one could deny that getting out of the castle would be good for everyone - especially since the pranks that had started after the new year had gotten a tad vicious for the professors.

            It had started with the prank played on the Gryffindors - which had been met with a flooding of the Slytherin dormitories; Professor Snape's angry shouting had the Weasley twins gloating through all of their detentions.

            The Slytherins had rebutted with hexing all of the Gryffindor's paintings to cheer for Slytherin constantly, making it very difficult for everyone to sleep for two days straight.  Pansy had been the genius behind that prank - but unfortunately for her, someone found out about her involvement, and during a rough and tumble hallway scramble, someone had taken a pair of scissors and cut off her ponytail right at the band.  The Slytherin had had to be sedated.  She didn't leave the Slytherin dorms until her hair had grown back to its proper length.

            The attack on Pansy had pissed Draco off something awful - but since the hallway where Pansy and Millicent had been walking through was mostly Ravenclaws, they had no one to really pin the assault on.  Harry had taken the problem out of their hands, however, when he calmly - and quietly - cast a charm that made every sheet of parchment that left the Ravenclaw dorm turn blank once it left the dormitory walls.  Madam Pomfrey had never seen so many hysterical children in her entire life.

            Harry had been very, very pleased with himself.

            The pranks had taken a darker turn, however, when the Ravenclaws had decided to get even.  The academic House had taken it upon themselves to make up posters about the 'dark' spells that they claimed Slytherin was using.  For a week straight, every Ravenclaw was armed with a clipboard and a quill, all of them eyeing the Slytherin students and the spells they cast - when put to the test, the Ravenclaw House had far and away exceeded in coming up with a resounding history lesson on the dark history of many of the spells the Slytherin students had grown up using.  To make matters worse, they copied and mailed the sum total of their reports to every paper in wizarding Briton.  Professor Snape had been livid, but ultimately unable to stop the publication of the reports.

            Harry had not been pleased at all. 

            Millicent was the one to come up with the next prank - with the help of Sirius and Remus, the Slytherins had decided to teach the Ravenclaw students a lesson.  Sirius had transformed into his animagus form and gained entrance to the House's Common Room - how he did so, he refused to share.  Remus had been heard to mutter something about stray dogs needing to be neutered, but Sirius soon drug him off and the two had not been seen for the rest of the night.  Harry had tried very hard not to think about what was going on between the two of them.

            The final result had been beautiful.  Ravenclaw House's disregard of Divination played perfectly into the Slytherins' plan; Sirius had waited until three in the morning before beginning to howl madly, rousing the all of the students.  The Ravenclaw prefects had been the first down into their Common Room - and what a sight they had seen. 

            Sirius had positioned himself of a now raging fire, while Remus had charmed his eyes to glow an eerie, sickly green color.  Sirius had wanted red eyes - but Harry had vetoed his choice.  The scene that the Ravenclaw prefects walked in on was one straight out of Nightmare on Elmstreet - something which Harry had had to explain in detail to his Slytherin housemates several times before they understood the context. 

            Harry and Draco had transfigured the walls of the Common Room to reflect a hot and stuffy boiler room.  Ginny had charmed the lights to flicker and stay the appropriate colors.  Neville and Blaise worked on the charms for the sounds.  Pansy and Millicent had contented themselves to merely watching the others work, taking the occasional moment to poke and prod through the nooks and crannies of the Ravenclaw Common Room.

            The result had been total and complete chaos.  Several muggleborn Ravenclaw students recognized the scene and had fled the dorm, screaming their heads off, waking up the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs with their clamor.  When the other prefects had arrived, Sirius was already gone, having scared the Ravenclaw prefects into full on faints, leaving behind only strangely glowing paw prints that had been his final touch - a detail Harry would later learn about and smack his godfather for.

            Classes had been cancelled as that the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff dorms were overflowing with Ravenclaw students - all of which had refused to return to their rooms until a pair of Auror's were called in from the Ministry to check over the House wards. 

            All of Slytherin House had been walking on eggshells since the incident. 

            Harry sighed and blew his bangs out of his eyes, trying for the hundredth time to focus on his textbook.  OWLs were coming up and he needed to study, but be damned if I can get my mind to stop spinning long enough to actually study something.  He closed the book with a snap and leaned back into the cushions, staring moodily at the fire.

            It was late - well after midnight, but his mind refused to shut down and let him sleep.  He was alone in the Slytherin Common Room, everyone else had gone off to bed long before him, even Draco.  He shivered slightly, chewing on his inner lip thoughtfully, I guess it's also because a part of me doesn't want to go to sleep - if I sleep then I risk the chance of ending up on the Dream Road.  And I don't want to risk that. 

            He sighed again and closed his eyes, rotating his neck irritably.  Professor Snape had been feeding him increasingly stronger doses of Dreamless Sleep Potion over the last few weeks until he simply couldn't take the potion anymore.  It had been the best rest Harry could ever remember having, and although he understood why Severus couldn't risk giving him more of the potion, a part of him was bitter about it as well.  After all, I'm already going mad with this bloody Vision Potion - what's a few more days of Dreamless Sleep going to hurt?

            He pushed the snarky inner voice aside, hating the awful, whiny tone.  Enough.  I made the decision, now I live with it.  He thumped his head on the pillows, mentally slapping himself, and here I go talking to myself again.  It just gets better and better.

            "Harry?" The dark haired boy's eyes flew open; Draco stood at the end of the couch, his head cocked to one side as he looked Harry over critically. "Why aren't you in bed?"

            "I - couldn't sleep." Harry shifted guiltily in his seat, not quite meeting the other boy's gaze.

            Draco's mouth firmed down into a line. "So you're just going to stay up all night?" The blond sighed and shook his head, planting his hands on his hips. "Harry Potter, get up." Harry smiled wryly, but heaved himself out of the comfortable embrace of the couch.

            Draco watched him carefully, then grabbed him once the smaller boy was in reach.  "Honestly, sometimes I don't know what goes through your head." The Slytherin drug Harry down the hall - but instead of going to Harry's room like he thought, the blond led him into his rooms instead.

            "Um…Draco? Why am I in your room?" Harry was fighting to keep his face from flushing, but he knew he was loosing.

            "Harry - shut up.  Put these on." The blond threw a pair of pajamas at Harry, who caught them automatically.  The dark haired boy juggled his book, the pajamas and his embarrassment for a long moment before Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, I'll turn around.  Just get in the damn things."

            His face flaming, Harry complied.  He smiled wryly when he looked down at the cuffs that extended well past his hands. "I think they're a bit…big, Draco."

            "Well, you could always sleep naked," Harry sputtered at the blond, his jaw dropping open in shock.  Draco turned around and winked at Harry, a delighted grin spreading across his face. "But I don't think Severus would appreciate that."

            "I - you - we - ah - er -," Harry blinked rapidly at the Slytherin, his mind totally blank. "You - me -,"

            "Harry," the blonde's expression turned serious. "I was only joking."

            "I - know.  Really." Harry dropped his eyes to the ground, embarrassment flooding through him.  He nearly jumped a mile when Draco appeared in front of him, a gentle hand tipping his chin up.

            "Harry," gray eyes studied his face carefully. "I like you.  You know how much I like you," the dark haired boy flushed again, this time recalling the few times they had gone past kissing and into groping.  Harry hadn't had the slightest idea of what he was doing - he had been straddling the blonde's lap, his hands buried in the fine, silky hair as Draco's hands had slipped under his clothes and stroked his flesh.

            "I - like you too." Harry smiled at Draco, catching a corner of his lip to chew on nervously.  The gray eyes darkened slightly.

            "We'll take this at whatever pace you want to go at - but if you keep doing that for much longer, you're going to find yourself thoroughly snogged." Harry flushed as Draco eyed him hungrily, and stopped chewing on his lip.  The gray eyes narrowed.  "Good.  Now, come to bed."

            Harry gulped and nodded, edging past Draco to climb into the bed, never contemplating just how inviting his ass must have looked bending over like that.  Draco steeled himself as he watched Harry slide under the covers, thankful for the shadows in the room.  He looked down at himself and frowned, Weasley in a bathing suit, the tent in his trousers diminished remarkably.  Ew.  That was - ew.  He shuddered as he made his way to bed, confident that he'd be staying uninterested for at least ten minutes.  Please, at least let Harry fall asleep first.  He crawled in next to the already drowsy eyed boy, gathering him close to his chest, a warm feeling slipping through him as Harry curled one hesitant arm over his chest.  Let me have your nightmares tonight, Harry.  He closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his cheek on the silky hair.  Please let him not have any dreams tonight.

            Neither of the boys noticed the slight stir of shadows by the hearth, nor would they see the lone feather lying on the bedspread the next morning.

qpqpqpqp

            "What is your report?"

            Michael Corner shivered at the animagus' cold tone.  He glanced up at the dark wizard, his stomach turning in circles. "Potter is weakening daily.  He and the other Slytherins have been seen most commonly in the Library.  They go there everyday after classes and stay there until supper.  Often they will return there until curfew.  Potter most especially.  He has been spotted there alone a few times, but each time we try to get closer to him, someone appears."

            The fox's eyes gleamed. "Good, what else?"

            Michael squirmed uncomfortably. "The Wards are too powerful for us to break on our own.  They have been set up and are maintained by the Headmaster himself.  We can see no way of getting Potter out of the castle after dark without alerting Dumbledore."

            "Fool." Michael cringed away from the snarling face. "Get him before the sun goes down and then deposit him in the Forest."

            "But sir…he's always with a group of Slytherins and Malfoy is at his side constantly!"

            The crack the animagus' hand created when it hit Michael's face was loud.  The Ravenclaw gasped for breath, tears springing to his eyes. "Eliminate him then, Corner.  Prove your worth to the Dark Lord." The fox straightened up, sneering at the boy in front of him. "The Lord will attack the night of the new moon before Beltane.  Be ready." He then turned and loped away from the castle, leaving Michael to his tears.

            The Ravenclaw stood after a few long moments, cradling his cheek with one of his hands.  Eliminate Malfoy? Kill someone? Surely he doesn't mean…that…Michael's eyes were large as he stared out over the lawn towards the Forbidden Forest.  But if I don't…the Dark Lord will be angry.  He bit his lip, his heart racing in his chest.  Finally his eyes cleared and his mouth drew down into a tight line.  I'll do it - whatever it takes, I will not fail my Lord.

            Michael slipped back inside the castle, his mind worrying at the task like a dog with a bone.  He would get his reward - and nothing was going to stop him from earning it.

qpqpqpqp

            Healer Fabing was at a dead end.  He propped up his chin on the palm of his hand, staring at the notes surrounding him.  He pushed at one file absently, his eyes gritty and tired.  There's nothing here, he sighed and closed his eyes briefly.  I can hypothesize a dozen different things, but…

            "A dead end, Aaron?" The Healer's chin slipped off of his palm in surprise.  He spun around to see a tall, snarky Potions Master in the doorway to his office.

            "Very funny, Severus.  Now come in and sit down." Aaron glared at the other man, eyeing him as Severus calmly closed the door and took a seat opposite of him.

            The Potions Master eyed the stacks of paper surrounding the Healer with a sigh. "Is there nothing you could find out?"

            Healer Fabing snorted.  "I found out a number of things I wish I could forget, Severus - but nothing pertaining to scars caused by killing curses."

            Severus frowned and leaned forward. "Killing…curses?"

            Aaron nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Yes, curses.  There used to be more than one, over a millennia ago.  Of course, they were most commonly used in religious ceremonies to put to death the sacrificial offering and not used in battle.  That's where the Latin Killing Curse arose from."

            Severus nodded slowly, fascinated. "Interesting.  How did you find this out?"

            Aaron lifted one shoulder slightly. "I have friends in old places." He winked at the Potions Master, his eyes tired and shadowed. "There are people on this island - and the one to the west, that still refuse to use the Roman Latin in their spell casting.  They are few and far in between, but they still exist in pockets here and there."

            "They don't use Latin?  How absurd." Severus accepted the cup of tea Aaron poured for him, cradling the cup thoughtfully. "The Latin spells were introduced to make magic easier and more accessible for everyone.  From what I remember from History of Magic, it was the tricky, unreliable nature of the traditional forms that made everyone switch to the Latin instead."

            Healer Fabing nodded slowly, rocking back and forth in his seat absently. "Yes, that was the accepted view of why the schools switched over to Latin spells - honestly I think there were more than a few reasons behind it - but that is an argument for another day.  What concerns me, Severus, is the nature of Mr. Potter's scar.  You said it connects him to Voldemort, it enables him to see into the man's mind?"

            Severus nodded silently.

            Healer Fabing sighed and shook his head slightly. "The Dark Mark was a connection forged from magic and sustained by magic - thus easy to block by using magic to weaken it.  Mr. Potter's scar is a physical injury, as well as a metaphysical one.  The Killing Curse had enough malice and hate in it to push through the protections of his mother's love, but…" Aaron frowned slightly, "But it was not strong enough to sever his life force from his body."

            "So this means…?" Severus raised an eyebrow at the Healer.

            "It means, Severus, that I have absolutely no idea where to start with the young man.  Nothing like this has happened before, so I have no precedent to follow.  What I can hypothesize is that the Killing Curse broke through the protection Lily Potter placed on her son before her death, but managed to weaken it enough so that when it did hit Mr. Potter, his magic was able to combat it."

            "But -,"

            Aaron raised a hand to forestall the Potions Master. "Wait - it gets better.  Now, the Killing Curse is a dark spell, one that is highly susceptible to blood and death magic.  Now, if Voldemort had killed James and Lily Potter right before trying to kill little Harry - then…"

            Comprehension dawned in Severus' eyes. "Then he would have had that much more energy behind the spell."

            "Exactly, Severus.  It's the reason why the Death Eaters can go for hours at a time, executing entire villages.  The spell fed off of its own destructive force.  It's a very nasty spell, once you take it apart and look at it." The Healer ignored the sudden paling of his guest and forged on.  "Now the question is - how did Mr. Potter survive such a powerful spell?"

            Severus spread his hands in silence, carefully balancing his cup on his knee.

            Aaron smiled wryly at the Potions Master, shrugging as well. "I don't know either, Severus.  But," he leaned forward now, pushing his teacup to the side. "If the Killing Curse did push through the protections placed on Harry, then the Curse would have tried to strike at his life force, intending to steal it and feed it back to Voldemort.  Now," Severus leaned forward as well, his eyes intent. "That type of curse would have attached itself to Harry's life force, wrapping around it and intending to pull back into the caster.  I think what happened was that Voldemort's curse lost all of its power, thus making it unable to successfully pull Harry's life force from his body."

            "But - with the power of two deaths already behind the curse…" Severus began.

            "Severus - the boy has taken how many doses of the Vision Potion?  He's met and survived Voldemort how many times since he was eleven? I think it's safe enough to say that the boy has one hell of a life force in him - one this world hasn't seen in a long, long time." Aaron sighed and tapped his lips with his index finger.

            "So, you're saying that Voldemort's spell was altered by pushing through Lily's protections on her son, and then Harry managed to slip the curses' grasp?" Severus shook his head and leaned back in his seat.

            "No - not quite.  I think if he'd been older he would have been able to shrug off the spell no problem with his mother's help.  But," Aaron nodded slowly, "he was an infant.  I think the spell did hit him, and it almost managed to pull Harry's life force from him - which oh dear." Aaron blinked rapidly, sitting up straighter in his seat.

            "Oh dear what?" Severus glared at Aaron.  "Oh dear what?"
            "No wonder Harry has little problem slipping over to the Otherworld." Aaron's eyes were focused on the wall over Severus' shoulder.

            "What?"

            "Think about it, Severus.  If this hypothesis is right, and Voldemort's curse pulled some part of Harry out of him - or switched some part of Voldemort's magic with Harry's - then Potter's familiarity with the Otherworld would have started then and not when he took the Vision Potion.  What the Vision Potion did do was merely reawaken that connection, and boost it to a higher level."  The Healer's eyes glittered in the light.  "Fascinating."

            "What?" Severus folded his arms over his chest and glared at the other man harshly. "What is fascinating?"

            Aaron spared him an irritated glance. "Think about it, Severus.  The curse would have grabbed onto Harry's life force, intending to pull it out of his body - but Harry's life force was too strong, so the curse's grip slipped.  It managed to only grab onto a part of Harry's life force instead.  Then it rebounded back onto Voldemort, searching for the death magic that would close the curse down.  The Dark Lord wasn't expecting it, and had no barriers up to protect himself from it - so it snapped back to him and wiped out his body.  But, because he also had a part of Harry's magic in him, it sustained his soul past the killing of his body.  It created a - a feedback loop between the two of them.  Do you see?"

            Severus' eyes were slightly glazed, but he nodded slowly. "I think - yes.  I think I do.  But as fascinating as this is, it does nothing to tell us how to stop Potter from slipping into the Otherworld every night when he closes his eyes." The Potions Master sighed and shrugged. "That is our priority."

            Healer Fabing looked over at his guest, his eyes shadowed. "Think about it, Severus." The other wizard frowned at him, his confusion evident. "The curse is grounded in flesh and spirit, not magic."

            "But there has to be a way…" Severus' hands tightened on the fine porcelain of his teacup.

            "I'll keep looking, but honestly Severus - I don't think there's a way to sever Harry's connection to the Otherworld.  I don't know if he would survive if we did." Aaron rubbed at his temple absently, glancing down at the papers in front of him.  "There are a number of…sedatives that we could try, but I don't know.  They are mostly used on highly psychotic patients, not boys with extraordinary talents.  Your best bet would be to find a teacher for him, to help him understand the Paths and the Otherworld."

            "And who would we go to, Aaron?  Sibyll?  Madam Lyre in Knockturn Alley?" Severus spat acidly, standing abruptly and setting down his tea cup with a thunk. "Tell me who to go to, and I will go.  Until then, you are his only hope."

             Aaron looked up at Severus, his eyes sad. "I'm sorry, my friend, I truly am." He let his eyes drop back down to his desk and sighed, pushing to his feet slowly.  He crossed the room to a locked cabinet, pulling out several vials. "Here," he held them out to Severus, who crossed the room and took them gingerly.  "These are the most potent sedatives I keep here in my office.  Try those out on Mr. Potter first - but make sure he has food in his stomach before taking them.  It would also be best if he took the potions one half hour before going to sleep; they will hit his system hard and fast once it gets into his blood stream."

             Aaron shook his head and crossed back over to his desk, rummaging around under the piles of paper until he came up with a moderately thick folder. "These are the known symptoms of all adverse reactions to each of the sedatives.  He is absolutely not to take more than one dose a night, and under no circumstances is he to mix any of them together.  I would feel better if you administered them to him yourself, Severus.  He will need to be monitored closely; the blue vial there," he gestured to one of the potions Severus was holding, "that one is only to be used when everything else fails.  The side effects of that one can be quite dangerous, and only appear several hours after ingesting the potion."

            Severus' hands tightened on the vials briefly before he carefully shrunk each of them and stored them away in a small pouch.  He took the file from Healer Fabing, meeting the other man's eyes. "Thank you Aaron."

            "Don't thank me, Severus.  Don't thank me." Aaron sank back down in his seat, staring up at the other man helplessly. "I will work on the problem, but I can't guarantee anything.  Try and get him a teacher, please.  Potions are not the answer to everything, perhaps especially here."

            Severus looked away from the Healer, uncomfortable. "I will try," he couldn't help the stiffness of his words, but he could see Aaron appreciated them nonetheless.

            "That's all I ask, Severus."

            The Potions Master fled after that, letting his long legs take him from the Hospital and back to Hogwarts.  I'm not running, he squared his shoulders and tried to push the other man's voice from his head.  Potter just needs a little medicinal help to get over his…problem.  He'll be fine, dammit, and back to irritating me out of my wits in no time.  He ignored the tiny, mocking whispers that rose from the back of his mind.  He'll be fine.

End Chapter 34

A/N: Again, no more review responses because I don't want to incur the wrath of the ffnet gods.  But thank you all for your kind words and praise.  It really means a lot to me.