Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations belonging to the esteemed JKR. I own nada.
Chapter 21: Rumors of the Dark
"What on earth am I supposed to write to them?" exclaimed a frustrated Hermione as she crumpled up her most recent failed attempt at a letter and threw it into a nearby trash bin.
She took on a sarcastic tone as she continued, "Hi Mum and Dad, I can hardly remember you at all at the moment, and so don't particularly miss you. My memory may be improving, since I've been having on easier time remembering things from earlier this year, but it isn't good enough to remember you. Happy Christmas."
"I dunno, that might do the trick," commented Ron Weasley from a nearby chair. A book connected with his head a moment later.
"And finish your homework, Ronald. That essay's due first thing tomorrow, incase you'd forgotten. And quit grumbling about it. Vacation starts the day after that, as you know perfectly well, and you'll have plenty of time to laze about then."
Ron an annoyed look at her back after she'd turned away.
"Keep it brief, simple, and honest. Just omit a few details here and there," suggested Harry lazily from his position by the fire.
"Thanks Harry. I'll try," she sighed, taking out yet another piece of parchment.
Hermione did finally get a letter written and sent to her parents in time for Christmas, though Harry wasn't sure whether Ronald had ever finished his essay. Harry followed them up to the Hogsmeade station, invisible, as they went to say goodbye to the other first years, who were heading home for Christmas.
The platform was a bustle of noise, mostly cheerful.
"Goodbye Neville, Dean, merry Christmas!" Hermione yelled above the clatter.
Then everyone who was leaving had boarded, and the train began to move. A long note blew from the train's whistle as it flew down the tracks, and out of sight, leaving those who'd come to say goodbye to their friends to trudge back up to the castle amidst the first light falling flakes of snow.
Christmas dinner turned out to be a much more bittersweet affair than Harry had expected. The Great Hall was decorated gloriously for the holidays, complete with twelve huge Christmas trees. The students were merrily helping themselves to the feast, chattering laughing, and pulling party crackers.
And Harry watched. He couldn't help but feel a longing to be part of it all.
Despite that the blocked out tunnel in which he currently made residence was spelled to be warm, and furnished more comfortably than anywhere he could remember staying, and he could finally get plenty of food without any worries, he found himself almost wishing he'd never left his place in Little Hamilton. He'd never really been truthful to the people there, and so they'd never really known him, or he them, but there had been the comfort of a basic familiarity, and of being part of something.
He had just started to float off after the feast was over when he heard George shout his name.
"Come on Harry, we can't have our favorite ghost wandering off on Christmas!"
Harry turned and followed them up towards Gryffindor tower, listening absentmindedly as they chattered about their latest prank idea. Apparently they were thinking of making enchanted sweets, and were trying to brainstorm possible effects.
"So," called out their younger brother, Ronald, as they reached Gryffindor tower, "Anyone up for a game of chess?"
"Some of us," replied Percy contemptuously, "have more important things to do."
"Do you want to play, Harry?" asked Fred, who had been watching Harry closely.
"What?" asked Ron. "But he's-"
"If you set it up, there'll be no problem. He can talk, obviously, so he can tell the pieces where to move, same as anyone else," George interrupted.
"Do you want to play, then?" Ron asked, turning to Harry.
"I don't really know how . . . . "
Ron replied rapidly, gaining enthusiasm.
"Come on, I'll show you. There are two rooks, two knights, two bishops, a king, a queen, and eight pawns on each side. The knights move two over and one up in any direction, the bishops can only move diagonally. . ."
Between playing chess with Ronald, who now regarded him in a rather careless, friendly manner, studying with Hermione, practicing spells with the twins, and just hanging out with the mentioned latter three, Harry had a good deal of entertainment for the holidays, which he generally enjoyed. Quirrel still hadn't made his move, and probably wouldn't for a while, but nevertheless Harry had taken to checking his location on the Marauder's Map daily, usually sometime after classes had ended, to make sure he hadn't ventured toward the forbidden corridor.
It was on an evening not long after break ended that the map showed him that Quirrel had ventured into suspicious territory; the forbidden forest. Perhaps he was supposed to be there, but Harry doubted it. He continued to attend classes with the first years and to divide his free time up as usual despite this, but made sure to observe Quirrel closely when Hogwarts's known living residents ate their meals, and during the first years' DADA class.
A bit under a week later, the breakfast table was filled with excited chattering. Two of the older students had, apparently, come across a vampire eating a unicorn during their detention in the Forbidden Forest. The only description they gave of the "vampire" was that it was hooded and cloaked in black. Harry might have disregarded the story except for one thing: according to the rumors, when asked how they survived, they said it was because they ran. Harry doubted anyone making up a story would give that sort of answer. He was going to have to research unicorns, and keep a closer eye on Quirrel.
Harry snuck into the library, invisible, just before closing that evening. After several minutes of scanning the shelves, he pulled out the library's copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
After a moment of flipping through its pages, he found what he was looking for.
Unicorn Blood would keep a person alive, even on the brink of death. It would bind them to a cursed life, a half-life. So Quirrel, and therefore Voldemort, was that desperate, and that weak. It meant, nonetheless, that they were preparing to make their move.
He shut the book, replaced it on the shelf, and left the library to retire for the night.
Harry floated down a corridor after Quirrel, once again grateful for the silence it provided. He barely managed to follow Quirrel (Voldemort) into an empty classroom before he (they) shut the door.
Harry was, of course, invisible at the moment. The eavesdropper. The spy.
Voldemort was speaking. "We'll have to get Dumbledore out of the castle. A fake ministry letter should do, if we wait a while until this vampire story blows over. Another such mistake, Quirrel, and you won't live to see another day."
"Yes, master, of course . . . I won't fail you again . . ."
"See that you do not."
With that, Quirrel (Voldemort) swept out of the room.
Harry waited until they were a ways away before leaving the room himself. So there was time, though perhaps not all that much.
Harry was in potions with the first years, as usual. Snape had generally been leaving them alone for a while now. Though he'd obviously been uncomfortable with Harry's presence in his class at first, Harry's daily "Hello"s and "have a nice day, Professor" s had calmed any animosity that might have built over it. Not that being ignored was being favored, but for the Gryffindors he sat with (Hermione and Neville), it was an improvement. Snape had also been watching Quirrel closely of late. Harry studied the professor closely for a moment, then came to a decision.
"I'll catch up with you for the next class, 'Mione, I want to stay after and talk to the Professor briefly."
"About what? There isn't much point in a ghost asking questions about class. . . . "
She meant that asking questions about class could cause suspicions, or give him away, and Harry interpreted her somewhat vague statement correctly. It wasn't class he wanted to bring up however, but he wasn't about to correct her on that assumption.
"I'll be careful, Hermione. See you later."
She nodded reluctantly, and left with the others.
Harry floated toward the front of the classroom and waited as the last few students filed out before speaking.
"You know what he's up to."
Snape looked up, obviously startled.
"What are you talking about, Potter?"
"Quirrel. It's almost time, and you know it. I'd give it two weeks at most before-"
"Quit the senseless blathering, Potter."
"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. You watch him the same way I do."
"Why would I discuss any information with you? Your mouth obviously still has influence, as we all can tell from the troll incident. I don't know what you're playing at Potter, but-
"Watching, for the most part. Giving a bit of help to those I think deserve it. And messing with Quirrel. He's a fool, and I have nothing better to do than foil his plans at the moment, unless you have any other ideas."
"Cut to the chase, Potter. What exactly do you know?"
"Quirrel is trying to steal the philosopher's stone that is hidden somewhere beneath a trapdoor in the forbidden corridor that is guarded by a three-headed dog. He let in the troll on Halloween as a diversion, but you headed him off and got bitten. He'll try again sometime in the near future. He has been getting progressively more nervous, which makes it rather obvious. But you knew all that."
Harry had, in fact, left out some of what he knew, since he had no logical way of explaining how he knew of Lord Voldemort's involvement, and no qualms about with holding information.
"Obviously, Potter. I'm not a complete dunderhead, unlike most of the castle's inhabitants."
Harry rolled his eyes. "So, what are you planning on doing?"
"Curiosity killed the cat."
"And satisfaction brought it back. Despite that I highly doubt having my curiosity satisfied is going to magically bring me back to life, I rather think it'd help me more fully enjoy the show."
Meeting Harry's eyes again, Snape began to speak once more. It was overwhelmingly apparent to Harry that it was easier for Snape to do so because of his perception of what Harry was. A shadow, a memory, a symbol, a phantom, something harmless that couldn't really reach him, a way of organizing his own thoughts, it didn't fully occur to him that Harry was, in fact, a person. He was beginning to react much the way Hermione had at the start of the year.
What Harry didn't entirely realize, however, was that the way people opened up to him was not entirely because they thought him harmless. Having had years of practice at lying smoothly and getting along with strangers he had, like Tom Riddle before him, the persuasion skills to charm the birds from the trees should he try.
"I'll continue to keep a close eye on Quirrel. It wouldn't do to let down Dumbledore's expectations."
"I doubt that's the only reason you're interested in what he's up to."
"Given that I spend my time attempting to teach potions to a bunch of hopeless nitwits, I'd think that hardly surprising. It's hardly something I care to do, and don't have nearly as much control as I'd like. As you put it earlier, I don't have anything better to do, and only a fool would sit by with such an obvious plot going on involving a powerful magical artifact."
"Yes, that makes sense. If you don't mind me asking, why don't you look for a different occupation if you are displeased with this one? I'd think a professor such as yourself would have an easy time finding other work."
Snape was staring at him with an expression containing a mixture of pain, guilt, fear, regret, pride, bitterness, and spite. In a single motion, he pulled up his left sleeve, revealing a faint sort of tattoo depicting a skull with a snake slithering from the mouth.
"Do you know what that is, Potter?"
Harry contemplated saying that it was a tattoo, but decided Snape probably wouldn't appreciate the observation, and settled for a simple "no."
"It's the darkmark, the sign of the Dark Lord. It was shone in the sky above each place where his forces struck, and marked on the left forearm of each of his deatheaters."
There are some simple actions that show a lot about a person. Severus Snape, for example, was the sort of man who might on some level despise a person for measuring him as drastically better or worse than he was; for ignorance.
"And Dumbledore knows, and protects you."
"Yes. I became a spy towards the end of the war, and so he trusts me."
"Dumbledore is rather unique. You can't say that his logic makes no sense.
"I was a deatheater, and nothing changes that. I killed and tortured for the Dark Lord, and believed in his cause. I studied the Dark Arts, and loved them. You have no idea how fascinating the Dark Arts are to study, to fight, and to practice. Many, varied, ever changing, eternal, unfixed, mutating, and indestructible . . . . I'd say it showed some sense on the Headmaster's part that he has refused to give me the Defense position, but the incompetent, untrustworthy louts he hires cause me to think otherwise."
There was a bitter sneer on his face now, and he continued. "I was never loyal to the old fool, and only briefly to the fork-tongued half-blood. Always the double agent, if not triple."
He paused, and his hard gaze fixed firmly on the hazy figure before him, waiting.
"Well?" Harry asked, "Aren't you going to continue?"
Snape glared back at him.
"Perhaps, Potter, I expected you to say something after my last . . . revelation."
Harry shrugged.
"You're a Slytherin. Did you really expect me to be surprised, Snape?"
When Snape didn't answer, he continued.
"What are you looking for, reassurance, or judgment? What did you hope to gain by telling me this?"
"Very well, Potter. Give me your esteemed judgment, since you seem so keen to do so."
The ghost-boy was, at first, unsure of what to say. Too light a judgment would be an obvious lie, and the flattery would only be taken in contempt. To judge too in a harsh, straightforward, detailed manner, however, would be something he had no right to do given that he barely knew the man. He settled on the first answer that came to mind.
"Well," Harry replied, a slight smirk playing across his lips, "if you ever feel a desire to get into Hufflepuff, I'm afraid you'll be in for a disappointment."
The Potions Master snorted slightly, his lips curving subtly.
"Oh, get on with you Potter. I've a class in a few minutes, bother me some other time."
"Bye then, Snape. We'll chat later."
Harry floated off toward the wall, then disappeared. He waited, invisible, until the first students for the next class entered the room to slip out the door, leaving the double agent to ponder the strange boy that had come to haunt the halls of Hogwarts.
A/N: Many thanks to everyone that reviewed: PsychicLunarFrodoBeutlinlogi, harriet, jbfritzivan the terrable, Aqua Mage, xiann, E.A.V, NamelessHeretic, EsperJones, Jenniyah, ang, Thestrals, ruinedkuria, pegoheart144, GoddessMoonLady, FroBoy, chtit-draco, animegurl088, Zevrillion, and Jaypallas
To answer a few questions people asked: Yes, Harry will grow. 'Mione does have memory problems. The trouble Harry expected is with Quirrel's plot (can't really expect an overly peaceful year with that going on). And yes, I am planning on continuing beyond book one. As for magic, Harry's about on level with the first years, slightly ahead. I apologize for all the things that weren't quite clear.
What did everyone think of this chapter? Parts of it were rather challenging to write, so I look forward to your opinions.
-twighlightshadow