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Chapter 3

Harry woke in the hospital wing of Hogwarts feeling rather confused. There was a lingering ache in his head, and as he slid his glasses back onto his nose, he mulled over the strange occurrence. He recognized Voldemort's screams of rage. He heard and felt them every time he destroyed a Horcrux. But he had not destroyed a Horcrux since the pouch of crushed bone. Why would Voldemort be raging about the loss of another Horcrux if he, Harry, had not destroyed one?

Naturally it did not occur to our hero that perhaps someone else had disposed of a part of the Dark Lord's soul. Harry had gotten rather accustomed to doing the dirty work alone. Bitterness welled up in his chest for a moment before he pushed back. It would do no good to blame the Order for their lack of usefulness.

The door to the hospital wing swung open revealing Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. The peace of the hospital was disturbed as Harry's 3 friends rushed to his side.

"Are you alright Harry?" Ginny asked, her brown eyes alight with concern. She took hold of one of his hands and squeezed it gently. He returned the gesture and gave his friends a rather sheepish smile.

"Ya. Old Voldy got me again."

Hermione whipped out a blue spiral notebook and flipped to an empty page. Harry rolled his eyes as she uncapped a ball point pen and prepared to write.

"What did you see Harry?" she probed, pen at the ready.

Harry was struck by how much like Rita Skeeter his friend looked in that moment. Thankfully he was able to hold back his snort of amusement. He was sure Hermione would be offended by the reference.

Trying to dodge the question, Harry looked down at the gray coverlet.

"No comment?" he tried.

"Harry..." Hermione chided. "The Order needs to know."

Harry scowled. He hated this. He hated how the Order pretty much ignored him unless he'd had a vision. Then they were all over him, wanting his help when only days before it was,

"Harry you're too young to be involved. Enjoy the rest of your youth. Go back to Hogwarts."

His scowl deepened. He was not a child anymore. This war against darkness had made him a man before his time.

"Harry, please?" Ginny tried, brushing her fingers across the back of Harry's hand.

Harry sighed in resignation. He detested the fact that even his non official girlfriend felt it her obligation to pry all of the details out of him.

"I didn't see anything."

He watched in morbid amusement as three faces fell from their expressions of anticipation.

"Harry, you can tell us mate." Ron said, giving Harry a gentle punch in the shoulder, his eyes betraying his worry.

"I didn't see anything." Harry repeated, feeling his irritation grow at the looks of disbelief on their faces. "Really, he was just angry about something."

"What?" Hermione probed, her pen scratching busily. Once again Harry thought of Rita Skeeter, only this time it wasn't amusing in the slightest.

In a surge of pique, Harry decided not to tell them his suspicions. It wasn't like they'd believe him anyway.

"I don't know." he hoped that his tone was firm enough to discourage more questions.

Unfortunately for Harry, Hermione didn't give up that easily.

"You must have some sort of idea." she pressed giving Harry a penetrating stare.

"No." he said shortly. "I don't."

"Harry..." Ginny again.

This time Harry ignored her gentle plea.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep." With that said, he rolled over and closed his eyes tightly. He waited until their footsteps had faded away and the sound of the hospital door closing was gone. Then he reached over to his nightstand for the parseltongue book that Hermione had given him. Maybe it would hold some clues.

It took a whole half an hour for Harry to decipher the sinuous script on the cover. The way the letters were twisted and twined together, made it very very difficult for his eyes to pick out the English words that his brain was substituting. Harry hoped that the longer he read, the easier it would get. He really didn't want to spend a half hour per sentence. In a flash of insight, Harry summoned a quill, ink, and a roll of parchment from his rooms. In iridescent green, Harry carefully wrote the title

Insights and Ideas as recorded by Salazar Slytherin and son Regan

A grin crossed his face. If there was anything about Horcruxes, he would find it here. With reverent caution, Harry opened the ancient book to the first page. The parseltongue lettering seemed to unwind as Harry concentrated. If he did not look at the line of script directly, he could make out the English translation hovering on the edge of his peripheral vision. Picking up his quill, he began the tedious process of copying the book.

Table of Contents

The breeding of snakes (results of experiments, failed and successful) pg1

The effects of muggleborns on the wizarding bloodlines pg 150

Wandless Magic: Is it only a myth? pg 237

Blood Magic pg 348

Misunderstood Potions pg 475

Immortality pg 500

With a whoop, Harry eagerly began turning to the last section in the book. Immortality was exactly what Voldemort was trying to accomplish. Perhaps what he needed to finally destroy the Dark Lord was in this book. What an irony. The heir of Slytherin destroyed by his own forefathers' research. As he flipped through the crumbling pages, a heading caught his attention.

Marks of Loyalty

Harry raised an eyebrow, and wrote it down. Skimming through the handwritten paragraphs, Harry was interested to learn that the Dark Mark was a type of blood magic. It bound the servant's blood to that of the master. This allowed the servant to be quickly summoned in times of need. But what stunned Harry was that this marking of servants had been a popular device during feudal times. Slaves were branded with their master's mark, through which they could be summoned and/or punished. No wonder Voldemort had chosen to Mark his followers in that way. It was a statement of complete ownership.

There was a picture sketched at the bottom of the section of a serpent, it's breast pierced with a long sword twined around an ash tree. According to the side note, this was the Mark of the House of Slytherin.

Although it was fascinating, it was not particularly relevant to his needs, so Harry opened the book to the last section and began reading and transcribing once again.

The sun was beginning to go down, casting uneven shadows across the bed where Harry Potter struggled to decipher the last pages of Salazar's notebook. A persistent grinding ache behind his eyes, and the slowly diminishing light, convinced Harry that he really ought to let the rest of the chapter wait until the next day. He'd take his sheaf of notes and the book back to his flat first thing tomorrow morning, and there finish the translation. He gently closed the book, making a note of where he had left off. In a rare fit of neatness, Harry stacked his sheets of parchment neatly on the bedside nightstand and carefully capped his bottle of ink. Head buzzing with all of the new information he's learned, Harry lay back and closed his tired eyes. As he relaxed his muscles, the ache in his head subsided. He was floating on a haze of almost sleep when a sharp pain jolted through his earlobe.

"What the bloody hell?" he exclaimed sitting upright and putting his hand to his ear. It came away spotted with blood.
An indignant hoot grabbed his attention. A large bedraggled owl stood, glaring at him, one leg extended. With a sigh, Harry relieved the bird of it's letter. Without waiting, the owl took off, swiping Harry with one wing on his way by. With a grumbled oath, Harry slit the grungy parchment open with a well bitten nail, and began reading.

Potter:

Believe me when I say that this not something I enjoy having to do. Under normal circumstances, I would never even consider corresponding with you. But, these are not normal circumstances.

I know what you must think of me, and I'd have to agree with your assessment of my character, however, I am not the Death Eater you believe me to be. Draco Malfoy and I have been traveling in Wales and have destroyed a Horcrux.

It is therefore my duty to tell you that I know the location and identity of the final Horcrux.
Please meet Draco and I this Friday at midnight in the Shrieking Shack. It is vital that you receive this information.

Severus Snape

Potions Master

By the time that he finished the letter, Harry's teeth were grinding together in hate and anger. Snape, that bastard! Did he really think that Harry would so stupid as to fall right into their trap? Harry was no fool. He knew what Snape and Malfoy were. They were faithful followers of the Dark Lord. Harry pushed the nagging little thought that said that Malfoy hadn't been able to kill the Headmaster away. It was a known fact that Draco Malfoy was a coward.

However, Harry forced himself to look at the situation objectively. A Horcrux HAD been destroyed last night. It was possible, however unlikely that Snape had been the one to do it. More likely was the idea that Voldemort had faked the whole thing, knowing Harry's reaction, and it was an elaborate set up. With an exasperated sigh, Harry stood and gathered all of his papers and book. He strode to the fireplace and flooed back to his flat. After picking himself and his scattered papers up off the floor of his home, Harry made himself a smoothie and sat down to think. Harry really did need to know where the next Horcrux was. With the direction the war was going, he needed to hurry and destroy Voldemort. People were dying left and right and Harry had actually canceled his subscription to the Daily Prophet because there was always a death on the front page. But, was killing the Dark Lord worth walking right into a trap?

"But" a little voice in his head pointed out, "Is it a trap?"

Harry glared at the smooth surface of his kitchen table. Of course it was a trap. He wasn't going to trust Snape after 7 years of mistrusting the bastard.

"Dumbledore trusted him..." the voice said

"And Dumbledore is dead." Harry snarled back, tears trying to surface.

The mere thought of Dumbledore made Harry's guilt rise the surface again. He rolled his sleeve up absently and traced a finger over the still raw words on his arm. The desire to reinforce the reminder wormed it's way into his mind and Harry found himself summoning a small paring knife from the drawer next to the stove. He pressed the blade to the still red skin of his forearm. Before he had a chance to draw blood, a sudden thought occurred to him, and he let the knife slip through his fingers and clatter on the tabletop.

He needed to know where the Horcrux was there was no way around that fact. And Snape claimed to know. Harry slid his finger over the sharp edge of the knife and let the blood bead along the cut. He had no real reason to live anymore. The only thing he was good for was destroying Voldemort. He would go to the meeting, and if it was a trap, then he would die doing his best to fulfill his duty. Guilt assuaged, Harry sucked the blood from his finger and wrote Snape a reply.

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