And this is the start of a new plot direction, as I just revised the story outline again last night.

Chapter Eighteen: Never Underestimate a House Elf

Harry stamped his feet and shivered. He had never realized it was so immensely cold in the dungeons at night. Then again, he was usually either under his blankets or in the Slytherin common room in front of a roaring fire.

He wasn't lingering near Snape's offices, under cover of a Disillusionment Charm, just waiting for the answer that he hoped would come tonight. He had sent the letter as soon as he thought of the plan. Was Lucius offended, perhaps? Was he not going to reply to the request after all? Was he—

Harry nearly jumped in surprise when he heard the crack of Apparition next to him. He looked around hastily, and saw Dobby standing calmly next to him. The house elf gave him a nod, apparently easily able to see through the Disillusionment Charm.

"Dobby is here to help Harry Potter," he said, and then handed over two letters, both of which bore his name. Harry recognized the handwriting on one as Narcissa's, and opened that one first, since he already knew what Lucius's would say.

Dear Harry:

I am indeed concerned about Regulus, and saddened that my stubborn cousin did not lower the wards before he vanished or died (we must face the possibility that he is now dead). I would be happy to meet you at No. 12 Grimmauld Place, though I cannot promise you that we will be able to get inside. The wards I encountered when I last tried to visit were immensely strong, as they are when protecting the true heir of the family. But if you wish to meet me there and try to enter, I would welcome the chance. Perhaps in a few weekends? I am dancing until then.

Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry relaxed with a small sigh. At least he would be doing something that might possibly help Regulus, though he wasn't sure, based on Narcissa's description of the wards, that it would manage to actually help.

He opened Lucius's letter then, while Dobby waited patiently, looking around as though he found the dungeon corridor fascinating.

Dear Mr. Potter:

I will not even pretend to understand why you wish to borrow my house elf for the evening. But your favor is granted, as your autumnal equinox gift from me. Keep in mind that there is one step in the dance left, and one only. I already know which gift I most hope to receive at Midwinter.

Lucius Malfoy.

Harry rolled his eyes and folded the letter. Arrogant as always, Lucius. I think that's his natural state of being. He looked at Dobby. "Dobby, do you want to be here and help me?" he asked. Never mind that the truce-dance had compelled him to approach Lucius formally to ask for the house elf's help; he would do nothing that went against Dobby's natural will and inclinations.

"Dobby wants to be here and helping," said Dobby calmly. "Dobby read the letter that Mr. Harry sent to Master Malfoy." He leaned forward and regarded Harry with that stern force that Harry was always surprised could hide in the eyes of a house elf. "This service that he wishes for Dobby's help on sounds dangerous. Dobby will protect Harry Potter."

Harry coughed, embarrassed. "I hope it's not going to be dangerous, Dobby," he said. "We shouldn't meet anyone in there."

"In where, Harry Potter?" Dobby let his eyes widen for the first time, making him look more like a typical house elf. "Is Dobby going into a dragon's lair in the Forbidden Forest?"

"No—"

"Is Dobby hunting unicorns for their blood?"

"No—"

"Is Dobby—" Dobby took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "Is Dobby going into the Slytherin rooms to find Master Draco's trousers?"

Harry gave Dobby an odd look. Sometimes he felt as if everyone else understood something immense and shifting around him that he did not. There were remarks he was sure would make sense, if just seen in a context that he didn't know how to view. "No, Dobby," he said. "We're sneaking into Professor Snape's office to retrieve some notes on a potion. I don't think he should be in there, since he went to bed early tonight." Harry told himself that he did not feel guilty about the very mild sleeping draught he'd put in Snape's goblet during their last few training sessions. It had to be mild, or Snape would have sensed it, and would probably be immune to it. All it really did was make Snape yawn and bed sound delicious to him. He had stayed up late at least once, brewing in his lab and making Harry ache in agony in case Dobby came that night. "Just a quick trip in and out, but I need you with me in case I encounter any magic I can't deal with." And he thought he might. He knew something about the Dark spells that Snape used to defend his lab, but not all of them.

"Why is Harry Potter sneaking into Professor Snape's lab?" Dobby whispered. "Dobby thought that Professor Snape was Harry Potter's friend."

Harry hesitated. What Dobby said had been true, and still was true—up to a point. In a certain mindset. When Harry was near Snape and draped himself with Occlumency shields to hide his inappropriate emotions towards his guardian, then he could believe that what Snape was doing was good and right. When he was away, and let the emotions break through, he knew that he had to do something to help James, and if that meant stealing the potion notes from Snape's lab, then that was what he would do.

Besides, the only other option would have been using Legilimency on Snape and finding his memory of brewing the potion. Harry did not want to force his will on his guardian, and he suspected he couldn't do it without being caught, anyway. And Snape's wrath would be terrible to behold if he caught Harry trying to read his mind. Despite the risks of the spells Snape might have on his lab, this was still safer.

"He is my friend," said Harry, deciding on the truth. "But he did something I think is bad. Um, sometimes I think it's bad. Maybe." He didn't know if he could accurately describe the state of his mind to anyone anymore, even to himself. He'd become so good at ducking in and out of his shields, making himself into a different person around different people—calm or agitated or active or passive as needed—in just a few days that he sometimes felt as if he were made of masks. He just needed to open a box and pick out the appropriate one, and he would be ready to face whoever required his help at the moment.

"Dobby understands," said Dobby, with a small bow. "Master Malfoy often does things that Dobby thinks is bad, but Dobby still obeys."

Harry blinked, then decided that he should be honored to be compared to a house elf, not angered, and headed towards the door to Snape's office. "Come on," he whispered, and extended one hand. "Acclaro."

The lines of spells and wards sprang into being around the office door. Harry grimaced. Given Snape's skill in potions, he couldn't even be sure that this was all of the protections. He cocked his head and studied the ones that he recognized, including the leafy green of a Repelling Spell under the thick blue lines of a spell that would preserve an image of anyone who walked through the door when Snape wasn't there.

He could dispel most of the magic, but for all he knew, that might trip alarms in Snape's mind that would break through the fragile barrier of the sleeping potion.

Then he paused, remembering a description of a spell he'd read about in a history of the First War. For a long time, the Aurors hadn't been able to figure out how the Death Eaters were escaping their traps. Then they realized that the Death Eaters were able to exile the effects of all their spells from a certain, small area, and Apparate or touch a Portkey just inside that area. The spell was fragile and would collapse the moment the Death Eater was gone, but in the meantime it would banish the magic and—this was the part that had interested Harry—not alert any Aurors that their spells were being disrupted.

He only needed the spell to last long enough to let him step through a door.

"Finite Incantatem Glomero!"

The magic surged through him, an unfamiliar thrill, the way it always was when he tried a spell for the first time, and then a sphere of expanding air opened around his hand and pushed steadily outward. Harry was already sweating with the effort of holding it. Of course, he'd never done this before, and he'd done it wandless, besides. I really ought to have used my wand, he thought, as he watched the wards and spells on the door disappear one by one.

At last the sphere was as big as the door, and Harry stepped through, with Dobby close on his heels. The door swung shut behind them, and Harry released the sphere with a hiss. He remembered hazily that it had been harder for the Death Eaters to raise the spell when the Aurors trying to confine them were strong wizards. The sheer power and age of the spells on Snape's door probably had something to do with his inability to maintain the sphere.

Dobby tapped him on the shoulder. Harry jumped and looked back.

Dobby regarded him carefully. "In future," he squeaked, "Dobby will be happy to Apparate Harry Potter past the door."

Harry smiled in spite of himself. I didn't even think of asking him. 'Thank you, Dobby," he said, as he turned to study the Potions lab. "I hope that we should only have to do this once, though."

The only light in the lab was a candle floating on top of a potion in a cauldron behind Snape's desk, which had been burning for days now. Harry knew better than to touch it. He was surprised how empty the room seemed, how dusty, how dead, without Snape to give it a spark of warmth and life. He shook his head to unsettle the lingering impression and moved towards Snape's desk.

Dobby trailed behind him. "What is Harry Potter looking for?"

"Any handwritten notes with the name of a potion at the top," Harry said, studying the locked drawer at the top of the desk. The locking spell was a simple one, and he wondered why, until he saw the wicked-looking needle that would have pierced his fingers if he'd used his hand to it. He shook his head. Snape really is paranoid. "Or anything that says James Potter."

Dobby nodded, and whisked away to the other side of the room. Harry could hear faint squeaks and pops, and assumed he was using house elf magic to search. He didn't bother to look over. He trusted Dobby completely.

He rifled through a few half-scribbled sheets of parchment that weren't anything like complete Potions recipes, and then paused. The nearest sheet had flickered, as if the words written on it were only a glamour, and a cover for what was really there. Harry flipped back to it and narrowed his eyes.

The Meleager Potion.

Harry lifted the notes out, and whispered, "Aspectus Lyncis," when he realized the words wouldn't stop flickering in front of his eyes. That stripped the glamour from the parchment, and the words calmed and let him read them.

A potion to imitate and reverse the fate of Meleager. We all live as long as candleflames, in truth, compared to the mountains and the rivers.

Harry knew the legend of Meleager, whose life had been tied to a burning brand, and who had died when his mother threw the brand into the fire in grief over Meleager's killing of her brothers, his uncles. He could imagine what a potion tied to that legend would do, though of course Snape was not stupid enough to actually write that out in the notes. He found his head turning, little by little, to stare at the potion on which the candle-flame floated.

He walked slowly towards it and bent his head, sniffing. When he realized that he could smell chocolate, and that he had a deep desire to taste the potion, he leaned back and closed his eyes, fighting down several emotions.

The potion smelled, and looked, like the one that Fudge had licked off his fingers when Snape and Harry visited the Ministry. Whether Snape had created the Meleager Potion with just Fudge in mind, Harry didn't know. He also didn't know whether Fudge would die for certain when the candle was doused.

He did know that it sounded like it, and all he could feel was a sick wonder at the back of his mind. Would Snape really kill the Minister, in such a way that no one else would probably be able to trace it back to him? Surely, if he was tested for the potion, no one else would recognize it, since it was an entirely new creation. Snape might even have made it out of ingredients that would go inert when their work was complete, a tactic he had told Harry about in their summer potions theory discussions. That would prevent anyone from finding anything suspicious when they examined Fudge's body.

Harry checked the parchment in his hand. Yes, the Meleager Potion included several of those ingredients.

He found his hands shaking, his breath rushing, his heart pounding hard enough in his ears to make his vision blur. Snape could only have wanted to kill the Minister because he was angry at him over Harry's abduction and trying to return custody to James. There was no other reason. So far as Harry knew, before this summer, Snape had completely and utterly ignored the Minister's existence. Perhaps he might have felt some grudge from the days when he was arrested and denounced as a Death Eater, but Harry doubted that. The timing of this revenge would have been too coincidental.

He was going to kill someone. Not in battle, not because I asked him to, but because he wanted to, for what he sees as wrongs done to me.

It was intolerable. There were some things that went too far, particularly when he was out from under the Occlumency shields. Harry might have been able to understand Snape brewing a potion like this for a personal enemy; the man who had that many spells and wards on the door to his potions lab was perfectly capable of coming up with the idea, even if he never used it. But he would have killed someone in Harry's name, in a way that would make Harry indirectly responsible for it.

Harry could not bear it. No matter how much he didn't want to make Snape angry, no matter how much he loved his guardian, there were some things that he couldn't bear.

He opened his eyes and surveyed the Meleager Potion bleakly. Of course, part of the problem was that he didn't know what might happen if he disturbed it. If he put out the candle at all, Fudge might die, or at least burn. Or perhaps Snape intended to blackmail the Minister, and would only snuff the candle if Fudge did not do as he wanted.

Or perhaps the potion was actually primed to do something else, and Harry would set it off if he touched it, because he had an imperfect understanding of how its name was tied to its nature.

He was sure of only one thing: he could not leave the potion in Snape's care, no matter what deception he had to come up with to conceal that he had been the one to take it. He could not bear it if Fudge died after he knew about the potion.

He extended his hand, and his will, and his magic swept forward and delicately levitated the entire cauldron into the air, keeping the floating candle alight. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when no wards screamed at him. He knew that Snape often didn't use wards around his actual cauldrons, for fear of the magic interacting with the potion's ingredients, but if any brew would have been the exception, it was this one.

"Master Harry."

Harry controlled his flinch with a stern command to every muscle in his body, and didn't let the cauldron of Meleager Potion fall. He turned and smiled at Dobby. "Yes, Dobby?"

"Dobby has found a paper with James Potter on it," said Dobby, waving a sheaf of papers, and held it so that Harry could read it.

Harry let out a breath when he saw the name of his father scrawled at the top of the parchment, deep enough to half-tear it, and the list of ingredients below. At least some of them were ones he had suspected must be in the potion, to make his father act like he had. And, though Snape did not say so, the antidote would also be fairly simple to make. This potion was delicate and complicated and designed to evade notice and attention. Its antidote would be brute strength, a potion designed to smash at and tear away and counteract those complex, fine chains of magic.

Of course, there was the problem of brewing the antidote, and of making sure that Snape did not blame him for taking the notes for James's potion and the Meleager Potion.

Harry hesitated for only a few moments before the answer came to him. He smiled slowly.

"Thank you, Dobby," he said. "You've been an immense help. You can go back to Malfoy Manor now, if you like."

Dobby regarded him calmly, and didn't move. "Harry Potter will need help brewing the potion?"

Harry blinked. "Yes, of course, I'd like some. But I didn't know if you would want to stay and aid me."

Dobby reached up, and very gently, tapped him on the side of the head with a long finger. Harry blinked again.

"Harry Potter should ask for help more often," said Dobby, and reached out and gripped his arm. "Where does Harry Potter want to brew the potion?"

Harry's mind fixed on the image of the abandoned classroom where he'd been trying to teach Connor and the others, but he knew that he needed to go back to the Slytherin rooms first, to fetch his cauldron and the ingredients he would need. He told Dobby so, and felt the house elf Apparate him, the odd feeling as though he were being squeezed out of the world and then fitted back in. To his relief, when he looked around his room, the cauldron of Meleager Potion had come with them.

Harry trotted to his trunk and drew out his cauldron, his wand, a pouch of crushed violet petals, a small vial of dragon's blood, a pinch of demiguise hair, and a few other things that would counteract the more volatile ingredients in the potion that Snape had fed James. It really was a marvelous creation, but marvelous creations could be still be undone by the simplest means.

He found himself shaking his head, though, instead of letting Dobby Apparate him and the ingredients again. He made his way to Draco's bed and drew back the curtains, watching as Draco slept.

His sleep seemed to be more restless these days, Harry thought, watching him, but also more satisfied. Draco usually had no expression when he slept. Now he often smiled, and murmured what sounded like the names of potion ingredients as he twitched around in search of a comfortable position. He had his head dug into the pillow now, strands of blond hair scattered in several directions, his breathy mutter not loud enough to make out.

If Snape is going too far, does that mean that Draco also is?

Harry half-closed his eyes. Draco still hadn't told him what the purpose of the potion and his research on Julia Malfoy was, and wouldn't let him read the book, but Harry thought he should know more about it as the time to make it drew on. If Draco was going to use the potion to hurt someone else…

Harry wouldn't let him.

Harry sighed and let the curtain fall shut again. It was so much easier defying his guardian and his best friend when they weren't awake, he thought.

He nodded to Dobby.

"Can you take me and all of this to the second classroom from the top of the stairs on the seventh floor?" he asked.

Dobby bowed, ears flapping, grabbed his hand, and Apparated them all again.

"Harry Potter must wake up."

Harry lifted his head with a start. He truly hadn't meant to fall asleep. In fact, the last thing he could remember was counting down the clockwise turns of the spoon in the cauldron, watching as the potion swelled and brightened towards what should be an off-white color, if the notes on the original potion were correct.

"Did I finish—" Harry asked, lifting his head off the table and whipping at his hair. A few specks of dust drifted out, but the classroom hadn't had enough time to get truly dirty since he was last here.

"Yes, Harry Potter sir," said Dobby, and nodded to something behind him. Harry turned around, and then let his breath out with a small sigh. His own cauldron was full of the off-white potion that should neutralize, one by one, the ingredients playing havoc with James's mind and body right now.

The Meleager Potion cauldron sat in a corner of the classroom, still full of its glittering liquid and floating candle. Harry shook his head at it helplessly. He had no idea what to do with the thing, except keep it safe. Any motion might be the one that would burn Fudge, or kill him, or, knowing Snape, tear all his limbs off.

Harry carefully used a cleaning spell on the vial that had held the dragon's blood, then slid the new off-white potion into it. He hesitated, then, looking at Dobby. He hardly needed help to go to the Owlery and send the potion to Remus for James, but there was something else he wanted to ask Dobby about.

The house elf gazed back at him, eyes large and solemn and gleaming.

I can't, Harry thought. He's done more than enough already, helping me search Snape's rooms and get here and brew the potion.

"Thank you, Dobby," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd have done without you. I hope that you have a safe journey home." Of course, if anything could stop a house elf from Apparating, he didn't know what it was, but the wish seemed appropriate. He started to turn and walk out of the classroom.

Dobby's hand caught his wrist. Harry turned and looked down.

"Harry Potter can at least ask," said Dobby. "Dobby knows he will not order."

Harry felt himself flush. Are my facial expressions that obvious? Or is it only because I'm with someone I feel I don't have to lie to? "I—Dobby, you're under no obligation at all—"

"Dobby prefers to freely offer his help," said Dobby, with a small stamp of his foot. "And if anything Harry Potter asks can help him along the path to becoming vates, then Dobby will do it."

Well, I should arrange that, too. Harry decided it might not be so bad if he linked what he wanted to ask Dobby to do with a conscious stride towards becoming vates.

"If you would seal this room so that no one can get in and touch the Meleager Potion," he whispered, "I'd be grateful. I'd also like to arrange—a delegation, a meeting, something, with magical creatures who are interested in talking about a vates. I've only broken one web so far. I think it's time that I should break more."

Dobby's smile could have lit suns. He raised one hand, and a soft ball of flames popped into being above them, quickly revealing itself as Fawkes. Fawkes uttered a chatter that Harry presumed was irritation at being summoned so abruptly, but then loosed a long trill as some signal Harry couldn't make out seemed to pass between phoenix and house elf.

"Fawkes has been waiting for Harry Potter to make up his mind on this," Dobby said. "Fawkes will go at once and tell the creatures of the Forest who will want to know that a vates wishes to meet with them."

Harry felt his face flush again. He had actually intended to ask Fawkes for help with something else, and now—

Fawkes uttered a sound that began as a trill but expanded into a warble in the middle. Dobby chuckled again, and shook his head at Harry. "Fawkes says you is to stop thinking so much, Harry Potter," he said. "Whatever you need, if it is not evil, you may at least ask Fawkes instead of brooding about it."

Harry nodded, took a deep breath, and faced the phoenix. "I want Snape to think that the Meleager Potion is utterly destroyed, even though the Minister isn't going to suffer from it. This is what I'd like you to do. I can't have you do it in reality, because I don't know what would happen to the potion then, but you can persuade Snape that you did it if…"

Fawkes listened to the whole plan with evident approval; Dobby didn't bother translating any of his increasingly enthusiastic chirps, until the last. "Fawkes has been wondering when Harry Potter would wake up to the damage the Potions Master was doing," said Dobby, with a slightly stern look.

Harry bowed his head. Waves of heat and cold were threatening to assault him again as he thought about what Snape might have done with that potion, and how he would be responsible for it. But he had to get through that, and do what was necessary. Merlin knew he would brood over what he had done right and what he had done wrong enough later. He was already coming to think that his latest plan of lying to everyone wasn't working, not if two magical creatures could see in a few glances that he so obviously needed help.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I—I'll do something about him. I don't know what yet, but I will."

Fawkes landed briefly on his shoulder, making Harry stagger under the weight, and pushed his head against his cheek with a croon. Then he rose and spread his wings, vanishing in a ball of flame that Harry knew would take him to Snape's office, and then to the Forbidden Forest.

"Dobby will seal this room," said the house elf, his hand gripping Harry's wrist once more. "Harry Potter need not worry."

"Thank you, Dobby," Harry whispered, and ran for the Owlery. He had only a short time till dawn, he thought, and he wanted to send the potion on its way to Remus and be in his bed before then.

He checked his hair and his robes for flecks of dust and potion ingredients as he ran. It was absolutely essential that no one know what he was doing.

His mind returned to the concerns Fawkes and Dobby had.

At least, not yet.

Snape opened the door to his potions lab, and was greeted with the smell of fire.

His first thought was that the Meleager Potion had somehow tipped over, and the candle had set fire to other things in the office. But when he looked, he found a very familiar phoenix instead, sitting amid a pile of ashes where the cauldron had been and grooming itself casually.

"What is this?"

Snape had never heard his own voice so cold. He could feel a small amount of shock trying to surface; he knew what Fawkes must have done, and he had an inkling as to why. But he shoved the thought away. He had done what was necessary to keep Harry absolutely safe. He would not burst out into rages anymore if he did this, and Harry's mind had been calm and brisk and efficient for as long as Snape had been existing on the icy level of his mind. He knew he was doing the right thing.

Fawkes raised his head and began to sing.

Snape's mother had told him no defense that could allow him to hold the ice against a phoenix's song. He found himself sitting on the floor with no notion of how he got there, his arms crossed over his head as though mere flesh could stand up to music that would conquer and destroy utter evil. The song washed over him, and dragged his emotions, the ones he'd been unwilling to acknowledge since he went cold—that is, everything except the icy rage—into the light.

He saw, as if in a dream, Fawkes flicking into being over the cauldron that held the Meleager Potion, alighting on it, and destroying it with flames of red and gold and blue. The phoenix, of course, being a creature of pure Light and fire, could absorb the candle flame without putting it out, and thus without hurting the person who had already ingested it. Then the phoenix had moved to his desk, and Snape's notes on that potion and the one for Potter, too, were burned and gone.

The potion was evil. What Snape had intended was evil, stepping beyond the bounds of guarding a child whom he wanted to protect. Fawkes, an independent creature of Light who had left his former master when that master grew too Dark for him, would not stand for it.

The whole vision remained hazy and surreal, as though it hadn't really happened, or as though Snape weren't understanding the full import of what the bird wanted to convey to him. But there could be no doubt of Fawkes's disapproval, which overflowed from every stern, loving note.

Snape found himself caught in the storm of emotions he was unprepared to deal with. He tried to fight them back, but so long as the phoenix was singing, he could not. He knelt there, panting, and at least refusing to weep.

A heavy, warm weight on his shoulder nearly unbalanced him. He dropped his arms and looked into the phoenix's dark eyes.

Fawkes pecked him, a swift, scorching motion that left a tiny bit of burned flesh on his cheek. Then he spread his wings, lifted into the air, and flicked out of existence in a ball of flames.

Snape knelt there, and closed his eyes, and breathed hard in the silence that seemed wrenching after all that music.

He felt sorrow swirl through him, and regret, and the panic that had been so familiar after the Death Eater attacks during the summer. He felt as he had when Harry had nearly died from the Blood-Boiling Curse, and he cursed, soft and low and steady, under his breath, as he might have then.

His carefully built refuge was destroyed. He did not know if he could go back to being cold.

But he knew he would have to try, because there was no other way to move forward now. The Meleager Potion was gone, but the danger from the Minister to Harry remained. He had to find some way to fight that, or leave himself helpless.

And Snape hated feeling helpless.

He climbed to his feet and went to fetch a bit of Floo powder and firecall the Headmaster. He would tell Dumbledore that he was not feeling well today, and would not teach his classes. It was only the second time he had ever asked for such an indulgence. He was sure Albus would grant it to him after seeing his face.

One day. That is all you have. You must become what you were again, or you fail Harry and you fail yourself.

If only the damn, dim remnant of the phoenix song would stop echoing in the room, and the sensation that he was making a mistake would stop echoing in his brain.