AN I'd just like to thank my wonderful beta, who has helped make this story (as well as FH, which is most likely the reason most of you are reading this little thing) what it is. Also, the yahoo group for the entire saga is /group/ForlornSaga/ (with no spaces). I have a lot of goodies on there for all of you. On to the reviews (by the way, in order not to make this thing long as hell, I'm only going to address the reviews that have a question/ something for me to comment on besides house comp/ pts. awarded).
Raine can't help you yet dear… the different conspiracy theories I hope will start flying around are what will make this story so interesting.
Simsa Is he? evil grin
Leonette Yeah, I can see how that is confusing. Basically, Forlorn Hope was supposed to end exactly where it did, how it did, and so on. As I've said before, the entire reason for writing it was to counter all the stories that end happily and so on and so forth (thus, a happy ending would ruin it). On the flip side, not only did I find myself tied to the characters by the time I was supposed to write the ending (and thus disinclined to toss them into a file, never to be used again), and I found the story far more popular than I had ever imagined (with a LOT of people begging for a sequel/continuation/whatnot, or for me to nicely tie off all the lose ends I left dangling all over the place). I didn't want to disappoint everyone, nor did I truly want the story to end myself… so I figured writing a sequel would be my best option. BUT, I have seen far too many stories where the sequels ruin the original, or change the meaning. Thus, I figured I'd be sure to underline the fact that the sequel is NOT the same thing as a second set of chapters for a story (as many sequels I've found are…), but something more akin to my Ammodytus story; an addition for those not quite ready to let the Forlorn Hope story end. And that is what Fan fiction is, more or less (people want to have more happen in the HP universe, so they write/read fanfiction).
Also, the Forlorn Saga will not be a trilogy… but I understand your point. As you will see, the other stories in the saga will be sequels of the ones that came before, I simply wanted to underline the fact that FH had a point it alone addresses, and that the others may be a bit lacking in that regard (and that I don't want their possible shortcomings to take away from FH the way several sequels I've read take away from the original).
As for your question about FD; that is exactly what you should be asking yourself… and if I do my job right (and don't blow this fic big time… as even my beta believes what I'm attempting will prove quite the risky venture), your best guess as to which is which should be swinging back and forth quite a bit.
Gorman I know, these things do tend to drag out… but I'd hate to leave questions unanswered, and just between you and me, the Q's at the bottom get people involved, so I actually know who's reading . I am thinking of going back to FH and deleting all the quizzes and review responses though, now that the story is done n' all… not much point to keeping them there.
darkdreamer Nonono… sorry if I confused you, but he's not twelve. I was simply referring to how small Harry is compared to Horris (and he was exaggerating). The body he is in now is actually a year older than Horris' at the end of FH (he is in his sixth year). It's just that Horris, like his father, is quite tall, and a year of training had made him quite filled out, while Harry is short and scrawny (you know why from the books), so in a hyperbole comparison, Harry looks 12. In reality, he probably looks 14 ( you know how the books are, Harry always seems physically too young).
R Don't worry dear, this story will go by so fast, you won't have time to miss your dear Hufflepuff. Next time, if people liked the 4 house quiz better, I'll revert to that.
Amscary wow, two in a row! And yes, I liked that little line myself (I was frankly getting sick of all the 'by Merlin's ' that the books usually use). I don't think that's quite what happened… and as for Hermione, I was trying to show that she can't know everything (perhaps I overdid it a bit), and that she is in the same boat as everyone else. If I had made her figure out the Harry/Horris thing like a lot of other fics, it would have given him (and me) a crutch I wasn't prepared to make use of. This way, he didn't have a friend to help with it all, so he had to rely on himself and his Dad (which also pulled them closer together… if he had Hermione, he'd have always gone to her, not Sev). Also, a lot of her lack of info was because it involved stuff you cannot learn in books. It highlighted the differences between Slytherin and Gryfindor (and a lion's expectations of Slytherins vs. what they are really like), and how book smarts weren't everything.
As for her trusting Horris so easily, Hermione has always had a bit more of an open mind than Ron or some of the other Gryffindors (not having grown up with the houses and the stereotypical expectations of people from each), and she always was one to help. Plus, Ron had hurt Horris, and if anything, Hermione had always tried to do the damage control when needed. (there's a lot more reasons she helped, but going into each would take way too long). Oh, and don't worry, that was a critique, not a flame (and if this sounds like I'm mad, I apologize… I'm trying to hurry a bit, so perhaps it comes out that way, but I just wanted to address your comments and do so in the quickest way possible; already a bit overdue for this chappy )
Daae Um… 16, actually… this is taking place AFTER the 5th book. No, he's my character. I put him in as the DADA teacher in FH (just an off comment by Draco, really), and added him into this one as the Potions Master (he hated Horris and Draco, and basically all other Slytherins; same relationship as Snape Sr. had with the lions )… this is all taking place 6th year. As for the potions, he doesn't know about this one since it's something Sev invented after studying Horris' venoms… in the present reality, it doesn't exist (plus, when you're a boss, you have so much to do, you tend to start designating tasks to diff people, so naturally, he believes a Potions teacher would know more about them than he). Plus, DD (love your shorthand, BTW) was a Transfiguration teacher before becoming Headmaster; the man can't know EVERYTHING about every subject dear.
Brick/ Enkyndled what house?
Cole those questions are precisely what this story is going to keep you guessing on
Cataclysmic oh, you can bet he will… though you worked that out REALLY fast dear, I'm impressed!
Serenity Think post-5th book world…
Japjew Now now dear, have I ever followed the 'spiel's? I'm almost positive there will be no mention of the Potter Manor in FD… almost. And have I ever resorted to cliché twists in order to keep you lot satisfied/entertained?
Molly Yeah, this is supposed to be the cannon dimension; 6th year.
HOUSE COMPETITION Gryffindor 115Slytherin 205
3: Down the Rabbit Hole
He walked, fuming, out of the dungeons. How dare they? How dare they! McWhirr as potions master… as if! The concept was bloody laughable! The man could barely teach defense, let alone potions! And all this about his dad not working at the school anymore? Honestly! Even if their little story certainly explained why the Potions lab was so bloody dirty, there was no way in hell that his dad would ever truly serve Voldemort again. No. Way. In. Hell. Clear and simple.
He was extremely glad that he had pocketed more than enough of the potion before confronting them, as the remainder of his concoction was presently allowing him his chance to ditch the old fools. It was McWhirr's own fault, really, keeping the lab so filthy. It was only the boy's luck that there was enough essence of anteater and powdered goat hoof on the floor to cause the Whomping Willow seeds (now dissolved, making them more reactive) in the potion to activate. The result? Thick, blue-gray smoke that was known to cause confusion (or so every third year ought know… not his fault the supposed 'Potions Master' didn't), but was otherwise completely harmless.
Okay, so his chosen course of action might not have been the most prudent, but hell, the old geezer was going on about mind alteration and Voldemort possessing him for crying out loud! Dumbledore must have gone bonkers! And the boy just knew that if he had allowed it, he'd be spending the next… Merlin knows how long… in the hospital wing. No way was he going to allow anyone to toss him back there. Not him, nope, not unless the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse dragged him there themselves. So he had had to have 'accidentally' knocked over his potion… a small price to pay. It was better than stunning them or something, at any rate, even if he had wanted to curse them… a lot.
Concentrate, he told himself, trying to get his anger under control. He couldn't fume about the damn Headmaster, not now, even if said idiot was trying to get him to believe in some warped tale of his. He had to figure everything out, first and foremost, and for that he needed a place where they wouldn't find him.
His room? Too obvious, and he had already walked away from the dungeons. He didn't know what the Slytherins' reaction to one Harry Potter stepping into their inner sanctum would be, either, which just made the location that much less accessible. The same rang true for his father's office, especially if the old goon truly had tossed his dad out.
The Gryffindor dorms then? He did look like a Gryffindor, after all.
No, the choice was crossed off immediately. Unlike the Slytherins, the Gryffindors didn't know how to keep out of a person's business… and the common room was nearly never empty. No individual rooms, either, and getting the people out of the dorm would prove fruitless. Unlike a prominent Slytherin's order, that of a Gryffindor was quite readily ignored. Damn Gryffindors!
Where then? The Marauders' room? He'd hate to have to go back there. After all, that's where the man he presently looked the 'spitting image' of conspired with his buds to humiliate his father! But, as annoying as it was to accept, the room was probably the safest place for him right now. Lea, Weasley, Sirius and Remus knew of it… maybe Dumbledore, but he knew that the place could be locked from all of them. He had used it to think before, and it certainly had the luxuries one needed for a somewhat prolonged stay (as he imagined this might turn into), not to mention the way it wouldn't betray his actions or locations to anyone… even on the map.
.∞ . ∞ . ∞.
The state of the room was more shocking than that of the Potions lab, and the boy found himself wondering how many more such shocks it would take for him to go completely insane. There was dust everywhere, thick and dry, the kind that instantly took to the air at the lightest shift or movement. It hit his face dead on, too, when he pulled the door open with quite some force. Merlin above it was thick! He coughed and wheezed as it invaded his lungs, his struggle to regain his breath only spurring more dust into the air. No one must have been here in decades… a thought as comforting as disturbing. It should have been clean, after all the charms Lea and himself (and Weasley…) had dast after finding it. Either it never happen, or someone was trying to make it seem that it hadn't; and the boy had far too great a headache to figure out which he'd prefer to assume at this point. Taking things at face value was dangerous, and being overly paranoid was proving taxing both mentally and physically.
He was half considering going to the damn Chamber, as he was at least sure any dust there would have only gathered naturally, and not out of some old Headmaster's wand. The entrance was blocked though, and at present he needed somewhere not so filled with bad memories. It reeked of Voldemort, after all, and that was one man the boy did not want to think about right now. He was still standing in the entryway of the Marauders' room, dreading walking in any further. But was there anywhere else? No, he supposed not. Not unless he went to the Forbidden Forest, but that would be dangerous on even more levels unless he remained in his animal form… and he couldn't do what he wanted in that state. It would have to be here, then… dust and all.
He closed the door behind him ever-so-lightly, as not to entice the dust into a second assault on his lungs, and sat gingerly on one of the seats there.
"First thing's first…" he mumbled, "let's see what I'm dealing with." He had to find out what abilities he could count on and which had been wiped away… by the loss of his venoms, by his sudden Potter-ish appearance, by the meddling of a certain Headmaster or some other inhibiting factor.
He shifted to the floor, careful not to stir the dust too much, and concentrated. He focused on the wisps of passive protective magic which he had always used to erect the wards. The strands were there, he was sure, but it was as if his attempts passed right through them instead of molding them into the wards he needed. Hell, he could barely sense the damn things. Shit. He tried banishing the dust, hoping that if he was to rely on his internal magic, it would work… that it was a problem with the room, not him.
Nothing.
And he hadn't seen his wand since Merlin knew when. Perfect.
The boy panicked, pushing his reserves into the spell; any spell. Hell, even a burst of childish, uncontrolled magic would be welcomed. Still nothing. It had to be the room… but all the colors were the same. The walls still had the motley blue patches on them, the different hues merging and fading from one to the next. The paintings stood out as bright yellow squares, contrasting sharply with the pale blue walls. And the dust, seemingly devoid of all magic, glistened an unearthly white. Not made by Dumbledore then.
But… if he could see that it was natural dust… he still had his aura sight!
"The skills of your mind are eternal; while the skills of the body can wither right before your eyes." he seemed to hear the words echo in the room around him, far more haunting than when his father had truly spoken them. And with each tested ability, they rang all the truer. The spells he remembered; even those he wish he could suppress and never think of again. But the power to focus those spells, he lacked. He could explain any combat move in perfect detail, but his body would reject his command. Potter's muscles lacked precision and power. His reflexes seemed surprisingly slow for one who was acclaimed a great Seeker, and his hand-eye coordination was pitiful. No wonder Potter had been so much of a klutz at potions! Merlin, with this body, the boy was amazed that his potions turned out as well as they did.
Potter's magic levels, too, seemed substantially weakened. Where once he could see bright violet wisps of energy, of power, now swam thin orangeish-red ones. Wandless magic was out of the question here. Permanently. Unless he could somehow overload Potter's body with enough raw magic to flare his aura into green at least.
It was like being stuck in the body of a ten-year-old again. The body of a child; defenseless. He could barely see through the cloud of dust his movements had stirred up, though the piece of old tablecloth he had ripped off and tied around his face helped him breath. His eyes still stung, a lot, as the bulky frames offered almost no protection.
But at least he had checked most of his powers, he appeased, and that was what he had set out to do. That most didn't work anymore could not be helped, at least not at present. And as he checked one last thing, hoping beyond hope that at least it would work, he was rewarded with the feel of his tail flicking cautiously before changing back. He had this, at least.
The potions, taken on his way to the room, should have already run their course. The pain had slowly faded, falling from his attention while he checked what level he was on. Now, as he realized that the pain had stopped, he also realized he gained no new memories… so he hadn't suppressed them. He knew it! But that meant…
What did it mean? Was Dumbledore lying? It would certainly explain why the old coot had insisted that there was no potion to restore him… but if the Headmaster had altered so much in order to keep the illusion real, why had he not simply altered his memories too?
But if Dumbledore was telling the truth, an option the boy placed next to no faith in, how could his Animagus form still be intact?
The answers would not come to him in this room, however, that much was certain. Answers were annoying like that… they always made you look for them. But outside this room, apparently, Horatius Snape had never existed… and answers are weary of non-existent inquirers. No, outside this room he would have to be what everyone took him for; the idiotic Gryffindor brat known as Harry Potter. He had his Animagus form and his aura sight, however, perfect tools for finding fickle truths…
.∞ . ∞ . ∞.
He walked the halls, as silent and unnoticeable as possible without the aid of his venoms or his old cloak. He tried to find out what the hell he had gotten himself into, trying to get any information he could without having to outright ask anyone for it. He found an odd date on a bulletin near the room he had left behind, one which announced him to have missed almost a year of his life. According to it, something called the 'DA' was now an 'officially recognized club', and was accepting new members. The acronym gave him an eerie flashback to SPEW, and he passively wondered if the sorry excuse for Lea he had earlier encountered was perhaps behind this DA thing, but he didn't think much of it. Later, he heard several younger years talking about it rather excitedly, which made him wonder what it was, though he gathered it was some sort of student-run dueling club… terrible idea, in his opinion, he could just see one of the little third years (who, from his experience, knew just enough to let them think they knew everything, and thus were quite dangerous) landing in the hospital wind after a show-off session or two. Good luck to whomever ran the damn thing…
The next moment however, his thoughts wandered to his own sessions with his Asps. Those sessions, however, weren't games, and every last one of his subordinates knew just what failure meant. They would have, also, never have been approved by the school… had Dumbledore had any inkling as to what truly went on. Oh yes, he could just see the old coot's face if he had found their syllabus. This though, sent a pang of longing to his heart. Merlin, if he would pretend to be insufferable Potter of all people, getting in touch with his Asps would be far out of the question.
"Oh for Merlin's sake!" he heard from beyond a near-by door, the voice almost too familiar, "Dumbledore said so!"
"But Herm…" another painfully familiar voice protested, and he had to count to a hundred before he could control himself enough not to barge in there and kill the offender who had caused him so much pain.
Proof, a little voice inside him seemed to note, proof for which is real.
He nodded, though quite aware of the voice's internal nature, and took several calming breaths before twisting the knob and pulling the door open. There, two figures stood before him, and it took a continuous chant to keep him from cursing one of the said figures.
'Not gonna rush in like a bloody Gryffindor, not gonna rush in like a bloody Gryffindor, Not gonna rush in…' played over and over in his head, a crack of his fist the only outward sign of the inner struggle. Seeing Weasley within reach of Lea was truly a hard sight to see. Hell, seeing the bugger within cursing distance was a hard temptation to overcome… it was pure torture to stand by and not do something. He was perfectly aware that he would eventually have to announce his presence, have to do something beyond the tense and seemingly frozen stance he now displayed, but any chance to execute the next move on his terms was wiped away when Lea caught sight of him.
"Harry?" she asked attentively, making him twitch slightly. He was not Potter, regardless of how he presently looked.
"Um, yeah?" he asked nevertheless, trying to sound as 'Potterish' as possible. Judging by the way she relaxed slightly, it worked.
"Don't mind her Harry," Weasley suddenly interrupted whatever Lea was about to say, "she's been strung tighter than McGonnagall's bun ever since 'the broom incident'."
"…right. Um, W- Ron… do you happen to know the time?" he asked, forcing himself not to spit the name out. The question was stupid and not very Snape-worthy, he knew, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment that would still serve his purpose.
"Uh, sure. It's-" the idiot redhead never got a chance to tell him, not that the hour was important. As soon as Weasley had brought his arm up so that he could see the time (his left), the raven-haired boy had grabbed the offered hand just above where the leather band sat, not paying any heed to the surprised (and slightly pained)'Hey!' from the shocked owner of the limb.
"Damnit Harry, that hurts!" Weasley growled, trying to yank his arm free from the other boy's grip.
"No, it doesn't." he insisted however, and that was the problem.
Death Eaters were protectively discreet about their mark for a reason. All Death Eaters. And the reason, as he knew first hand and on the word of his father, was that the mirror spell was bloody painful and extremely sensitive. Even under light pressure, it could make even men like his father cringe. For Weasley, his vice-like pinch ought have been unbearable.
Few knew of the Death Eater weakness, of course, which is precisely why Voldemort never made any attempt to hide it. Even undercover Death Eaters, who's mark was deactivated and rendered invisible, retained the mirror spell. In this way (Voldemort had once practically bragged) , they looked unmarked, but since the brand was never actually lifted, could be called back (or 'discovered') at the Dark Lord's whim. His father's mark had not been hidden so, since his presence was always required at the meetings, and he was (first and foremost) a Snape.
"Harry, let him go!" Lea insisted, slapping his shoulder. "I swear Harry, your damn mood swings and Quidditch stunts are going to be the end of me!" she sighed when he forced himself to let Weasley scoot away. The idiot seemed scared enough… in any case, and Merlin knew he needed concrete information.
"Sorry, Ron." he apologized, hoping it sounded sincere as he reminded himself to act like bloody Potter.
"Just… just don't do it again, mate." Weasley smiled, "You must of really hit your head…"
"Dumbledore told us… you… don't remember things…" Lea prompted, always to the point.
"And apparently, remember too much." he mumbled, though Lea seemed to take that as a clear-cut 'yes'.
"You don't think He possessed you again, do you?" she whispered, sounding far more worried than the moment before. Perhaps she had heard his mumble? But what the hell was she on about… Possesed? Again?
"I, ermm, don't think so L-Hermione."
"You don't remember, do ya Harry?" Weasley asked, having apparently forgotten his earlier fear as quickly as he had forsaken his alliances.
"No." he answered nevertheless, finding it an opportune moment to milk the two for facts. "Something tells me you'll need to remind me of quite a lot of things…"
"Not here." Lea nodded, clearly debating something with herself. "Do you remember the DA?"
DA? What the…
"I'll take that as a 'no'." she sighed, turning to Weasley. " Better cancel it, we'll need the R.O.R."
"R.O.R.?" he asked them skeptically. Why the sudden secrecy?
"You'll see." she insisted, giving him no further explanation. "We'll go there right after dinner… seeing as Ron's stomach is already screaming for sustenance."
.∞ . ∞ . ∞.
Next Chapter:
The Room in Mind
House Competition Questions
1) What does the ROR turn into
2) What does Hermione figure out
3) What in the ROR gets our hero into a ton of trouble
4) What happens to the ROR when there is no longer anyone in it
DON'T FORGET TO ADD WHICH HOUSE YOU'RE IN EACH TIME YOU ANSWER