Disclaimer: I don't own a thing but the plot. (But I do wish I owned Draco, cheeky little bugger.)
Part Two: A Game of Chess
She sat upon her gilded throne, a quintessential ice queen staring down upon her inferiors. Surrounding her were her possessions, of which she had acquired many over the years. Around her neck dripped jewels given to her, in place of affection, by her parents, and they glistened in the light of the seven-branched candelabras placed on the walls. Her rooms stank of the rich perfumes she drowned herself in; the odors smoked and danced around her like luminous fairy dust. The fire burned orange and red, and lit up her face so that she seemed distinctly more full of life than she actually felt. She rose, and walked over to the large window, adorned with gaudy baby Cupid figures, a shrine to bad taste.
"Oh, Blaise, where do you suppose he is?" Pansy Parkinson asked anxiously while staring out the window longingly. Blaise Zabini snickered to himself without really meaning to. It was a rather ridiculous situation; a high society Pureblood pining away at the window for her lover when she could very well have any wizard in the world. She was by no means beautiful, but she came from a family that was very, very well off.
Pansy, in all her blonde-curled glory, fell onto a chintz armchair in a huff. "Blaise, I just don't understand it! He was always so eager before, and now he's left me to go mope alone. I didn't even think he liked his mother."
Blaise looked at her for a long moment before replying, "If you didn't know that he loved his mother very much, then perhaps you have no business demanding his presence here."
"Oh, who asked you?" Pansy shot back, glaring at him.
"Pansy, you've known me for ages. I want to help you with this, but that was something anyone with half a brain could tell about Draco. She was very dear to him. Perhaps you should give him his space... for a while."
"You're not being very supportive, Blaise. I thought I was dear to him, but clearly not since he's neglected to come to me when I've asked him to so nicely."
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Pansy, his mother's just died!" Blaise stood, and walked to the door. He didn't really want to look at her at the moment. She could just be so stupid sometimes.
"I know that, Blaise," Pansy stood a walked over to where Blaise was standing. She didn't even come up to his shoulder, so she put her hand on the small of his back as a friendly peace offering. Blaise turned to face her, which gave her the opportunity to continue whining. "But, oh I don't know, I thought maybe I could comfort him. Tell him it wasn't his fault. You know, that's sort of thing people do, isn't it?"
"It's not some conventional thing. If you love him, you should be able to do something, think of something that could possibly make him feel better."
"Draco doesn't feel for anything. He did for me, but nothing else. I'm sure it's not even his mother... Maybe he's been detained somewhere, or... or maybe he's buying me a gift!"
Blaise looked at her incredulously. "Pansy, I know that's not it." Pansy looked at him, her eyebrows knitted. "I saw him earlier today. He was... in quite a state. But it wasn't over you, well, not really. His mother just died, and he's grieving. But he also... well, Pansy, to be frank, I just don't think he likes you anymore. Simple as that."
"You lack tact, Blaise." Pansy retorted. Now it was Blaise's turn to knit his eyebrows. What was she on about? "I've known it all along," Pansy continued, "You don't have to be shy. I know you've always liked me. You were always jealous, and now you're just trying to sabotage what Draco and I have. You know, I bet his mother's not even dead. I think you've just made that up. You've probably sent him to Siberia or something. Oh, poor Draco!" Pansy marched up to Blaise, and stood up to her full height, which really wasn't all that impressive. "Don't think I'm not on to you, Blaise Zabini." She poked his chest. "I don't know how you could have done this to Draco. Isn't he meant to be your friend or something?"
"What are you laughing about?" Pansy finally asked, after watching Blaise collapse into a fit of giggles. He quickly composed himself, which proved to be very convincing and very imposing. Pansy shrunk back, but only a little.
"No, Pansy. I do not, nor have I ever liked you. Draco really is planning on leaving you." Pansy stared at him; her eyes grew wide. Blaise stepped closer, "What are you going to do?"
Pansy looked her feet awkwardly. When she raised to her head to look at the man in front of her, her eyes were rimmed with tears. "Do you really think he wants to leave me, Blaise?"
"I do."
She nodded and walked over slowly to her armchair, her feet behaving as though standing upon needles points. She sat down at the edge of her seat and stared into space. "I don't understand. We were meant to get married. It's been planned since we were children."
"I know. It will be an embarrassment to the family, won't it, Pansy?" Blaise asked, sitting opposite her, although in a much more relaxed manner. She nodded in a robotic manner. "Do you think you'll be able to stand the shame?" Blaise inwardly smirked. He was worried he was enjoying this too much. Pansy snapped out of her trance, and said straight out, "No, I don't think I could."
"I would rather be dead than be in your position, Pansy."
Pansy nodded and stood shakily, "I know. I feel like dying." She walked over to a bookshelf, which was not covered in dust only because the house elves repeatedly crept into the room in the middle of the night. With her manicured fingers, she delicately ran her hands over the books she had never bothered to read.
"Maybe I will."
"Maybe you should." Baize walked up behind her, and breathed into her ear. He grabbed her hands and led them to her sides. "How will you do it? I don't think I could bear to point my own wand at myself... Maybe poison?"
"Yes," Pansy whispered, feeling Blaise's heart thumping against her back, "I think Father keeps some in his desk... you know, just in case." She freed herself from Blaise's grasp and ran from the room.
Blaise stood, a wolfish smile on his face, and waited for her to return. When she did, she held a small bottle in her fist. She looked at Blaise, who nodded encouragingly. Pansy shakily took the cork stopper out of the top of the bottle, and downed all it's contents in one gulp. Blaise watched as her skin slowly turned different kinds of blue, before settling on a pale, pale shade that made Pansy look as though she were bathed in moonlight.
Before apparating out of the large house, Blaise stooped down to turn down Pansy's eyelids.
---
"Harry, are you all right, mate?" Ron asked, holding back the red velvet drapes surrounding Harry's four poster bed. Harry sat up, and pushed back the messy black hair, now a mass of sweaty tendrils, showing Ron his scar, which seemed to shine eerily in the flickering candlelight. He grabbed his glasses, and shoved them on roughly. Harry looked wildly at Ron, who, trying to bring a little humor into the situation, said, "Bad dream?"
Pushing back the covers, Harry leapt out of bed. "We have a serious problem. We need to get into Dumbledore's office. Now." He plunged into his trunk to find a clean pair of trousers. Ron came around, and pulled Harry up so he was at his full height. He had grown slightly, but looked extremely gaunt, his cheekbones very visible in the wavering light. "I'll explain later. You need to get dressed and find Hermione... And I suppose Ginny'll have to come to. I'll wake Neville."
"Neville?" Ron whispered quizzically.
"Yes, Neville. This is important, Ron. Move." Harry pulled a T-shirt over his head, and ran his hand through his hair nervously. He grabbed his wand and made his way over, through the piles of dirty laundry, to Neville's sleeping form.
"Neville!" Harry shook the larger boy's body. "Neville! Come on, this is important!"
"Wha...?" Neville opened his eyes sleepily. Harry could not understand how he had slept through the scream. He realized then how empty Hogwarts was. Many parents, to the extreme dismay of Professor McGonagall and the Order of Phoenix, had removed their children from the school. Only Harry, Ron and Neville remained in the Seventh Year boy's dormitory. Harry watched as Neville sleepily got out of bed, and put on his slippers.
"Neville, we need to get into Dumbledore's office. I need you to wake up. This is very, very important. Don't ask me to explain right now. I will later. I promise. Grab your wand and come with me." Neville nodded and followed Harry down the spiral steps, and into the empty Gryffindor Common Room. Harry could just make out the figures of Ron, Ginny and Hermione in the dying fire. He motioned for them to follow him through the portrait hole. They moved slowly through the corridors, wands out, with Harry in the lead.
With no Headmaster, Hogwarts had become a refuge of the worst kind. There were students lurking around every corner, ready to attack. They were suspicious of everyone and anyone. No one seemed to trust the people they had come to know so well over the years. McGonagall had left Professors Flitwick and Sprout in charge of school affairs, and several of the members of the Order were there to survey the school. It was no longer the safest place in the world, but there, the students could be kept track of, and protected as well as they could be in any other part of the world.
They soon arrived at the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. McGonagall had left Dumbledore's final password with Harry, so that he'd be able to do any research he wished, or so that he'd be able to be alone.
"Acid pops." Harry whispered. A staircase was revealed and up they went, all five of them, to discover what it was that made Harry act so differently all of a sudden.
When they reached the landing and opened the large oak door, Hermione conjured up five chairs for them to sit in. This reminded Harry painfully of Dumbledore, as he was always courteous and made the same gesture. They sat in a silence finally broken by Ron, who claimed he couldn't stand it anymore. "What's going on? You woke up all sweaty and screaming. Did you have another dream with You-Know-Who or something?" They all looked at Harry earnestly; Hermione, however, looked suspicious, her eyes squinted. She was scrutinizing Harry's every move.
Ginny stood, and walked over to where Harry sat trembling, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. She bent down, and whispered into his ear, "Come on, Harry. It's all right. We want to help you. We'll do whatever it takes." She stayed behind him, both hands on his shoulders to support him, while he retold his dream to his friends. They all looked puzzled, albeit Hermione, whose face bore a look of horror.
Ron gaped at both Hermione and Harry, as they were eyeing each other, faces white as chalk. Hermione finally spoke, "Ron, I think what Harry means to say is... Well, the reason he's so worried... I think, after all the clues and hints he gave us, that this girl, Hyacinth... well, that she's Voldemort."
"Impossible!" Ron exclaimed. He stood, and looked at Hermione with a sort of fierce fondness. "Hermione, I know you're supposed to be the smart one, but Harry's just spouted out all these weird things... he could have made it all up in his head. I mean... Trelawney's not in danger, she's here."
"She's not," Ginny interjected.
"What do you mean, she's not?" Ron asked. He walked over to where Harry and Ginny were situated and looked curiously at his sister. Harry just stared continually at Hermione, as though he were silently pleading for help to rid him of this predominant guilt that filled up his body.
"I mean... I saw her leave the grounds. She hardly had anything with her, but I saw her holding a letter. I don't know if that means anything at all... But she's not in the castle."
"Right," Neville spoke for the first time, "You people aren't taking any initiative. Let's do something!" They all stared at him, for this outburst was highly uncharacteristic of him. Harry stood, nodded at Neville, and his eyes began to dart energetically around the room.
"All right, everyone. We need to look for clues... anything you can find that might show you where Voldemort's horcruxes are." Harry walked over to Dumbledore's desk.
"Horcruxes?" Neville asked.
"Pieces of Voldemort's soul, his life support essentially." Neville and Ginny all looked at him in a bewildered manner. "Well, I suppose you'll all just have to look for anything, anything at all that you think will be of help."
They all nodded uneasily, and set off in different directions around the room. Ginny went straight for the Pensieve, and she began plunging in every once and a while, and coming back with worried looks on her face. Ron and Neville had taken to rummaging through Dumbledore's cupboards. Hermione, as per usual, tackled the books. This left Harry alone at the prominent, wooden desk. Harry didn't know why he thought Dumbledore would have just left something behind, but maybe this was all in the cards, maybe he left something specifically for Harry to find, to aid him in his quest to kill his mortal enemy.
They searched for hours, but nothing of any real interest could be found. Ginny had seen how Dumbledore had acquired his first horcrux, but other than that, nothing on the subject had been unearthed. Harry continued to search through Dumbledore's desk, which proved a difficult feat. His old professor had put many secret compartments within his desk, and Harry had to essentially tear the grand desk apart to find all of them. Hermione walked over, and began helping him open some of the compartments that would not open with Alohamora.
Hermione gave a little gasp, which was then followed by everyone's quick scamper to get a good look at what she was so amazed by. She was holding a letter her hand, and her eyes scanned the paper maniacally. When she had clearly finished, she handed the letter over to Harry, who read it with the same vicious ardor Hermione had moments earlier.
"Well?" Ron nearly yelled.
"Well," Hermione said slowly, "It's a letter dated back about a week before... Dumbledore's death. And, it was addressed to his brother, Aberforth." They all crowded around as Harry read the letter's contents aloud. It seemed as though the two brothers had discussed the matter in previous letters, as it took a great deal of deciphering to fully comprehend what was being said.
"Harry," Ginny said slowly, "It seems as though Dumbledore was thinking of... this letter seems to me to be some form of a suicide note." Hermione nodded in agreement.
"Nah, Dumbledore's not the type." Ron said of his sister's observation.
"No," Hermione replied, "But he's the type to do whatever he can to support his cause. Harry." Everyone looked at her. "Look here, he says something about a transformation, and going to see 'some old friends'."
"So?" Ron interjected.
"So, Ron,"Hermione stated calmly, "I think that Dumbledore meant to take some sort of potion. I doubt the Polyjuice Potion is really strong enough. But I know of a few potions that work quite like the Polyjuice Potion... I just know they take even longer to make."
"Would this be it, by any chance?" Neville was in the very back of Dumbledore's office, where twelve test tubes were lined up, all marked with the letters M.P. "M.P? What do you think that-"
"The Mutatius Potion." Hermione replied briskly. "He's made everything very easy for us. Almost too easy, even."
"What exactly are we supposed to do with that stuff?" Ron demanded. Hermione reread the letter, mumbled a few things to herself and finally settled for very pained expression on her pale face.
"Well?"
"Well," Hermione started, "When Dumbledore mentioned 'some old friends'... I don't think he literally meant to see old friends, because, really, what would be the point in having the most powerful transformation potion there is? No... By old friends, I think he means the Death Eaters."
"The Death Eaters?" Ginny gasped. "What on earth would Dumbledore want to see them about?"
"I'm not sure exactly. To get close to them... it doesn't all make sense. But I think he meant to take the potion to transform into... someone, and then to meet up with the Death Eaters."
"Would it be possible that he wanted to transform into me?" Harry asked, after be silent for a long while.
"I don't really see where that would get us. If he wanted to transform into you, then how does that explain the Death Eaters?" Ginny said.
"No, you know what, I think Harry's right." Hermione whispered. "I think, and hopefully I'm not mistaken, that Dumbledore meant to transform into Harry and somehow get captured by a Death Eater. Then, he'd get brought to Voldemort, and... well, I suppose either manage to kill him, or be killed himself. Which would then mean," Hermione had begun pacing, "That perhaps, if Harry kept to himself and out of sight, that Voldemort could think for a time that Harry was dead. That of course would send the world into a bit of chaos, but it would give Harry a bit of time, if he was careful, to find the remaining Horcruxes."
"This plan of his sounds a bit rash to me," said Ron.
"I agree." Hermione finished. "But I honestly think Dumbledore was going a bit soft." She looked at Harry, who gave her a very fierce look, but said nothing.
"I'll do it." Everyone turned to the origin of the voice. Neville was still standing by the potion, but now he had a vial in his hand. "I'll do what Dumbledore meant to do. I'll pose as Harry. You don't need me, I'd only hold you down. This way, I could contribute." Neville was shaking slightly. "I'm no good at spells. What good is Herbology going to do me in all this? This is something I could do. Let me help."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Neville." Harry said. "I would never allow you to do that." Ginny agreed vehemently.
"Yeah, Neville. You're not completely useless." Ron said, smirking softly. Everyone turned towards Hermione, expecting her to protest as well. She was looking down once more at the letter, which was rattling slightly in her uneasy grasp. "Hermione?" Ron said quietly.
"Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry this has to be done, but I think you're right." Hermione was crying softly. She went to Harry, who wore a look of mixed fury and confusion. "Harry, you must understand, Neville's doing this for the greater good. He'd be regarded as a hero. You know I'm right. You may not like the whole heroic idea, but to some people, it's the best way to be remembered. I may have said Dumbledore went a bit soft, but he must've had some reason to back up this insanity he concocted. I really think this needs to be done, and that you need to let him help you." Hermione pleaded with her eyes.
"I... I just would feel wrong about asking you to do this for me, Neville." Harry looked as though he'd had the wind knocked out of him.
"I'm not doing it for you. Like Hermione said, I'd be doing it for the greater good," Neville smiled wistfully. "And besides, I'd like to be able to fire a few spells at the old bastard who put my parents in St. Mungo's."
---
A/N: Okay, I don't believe in holding my fics hostage anymore, you know, to get a ransom of fifty or so reviews. Whatever, but if you read this, and like it, or not, please tell me. Give me feedback, constructive criticism, praise, flames. Anything you like. So, I hope you liked this second part. Third one should be on its way soon enough.