I own nothing. Least of all this.

8) BUNG A ROCK AT IT

The door to the room clicked shut behind the three of them.

At first, the bartender had wanted to join and make the number an even four, but when Harry had pointed out that one, he was quite capable of dealing with two self-important wizards who spent more time polishing their wands than using them; two, they still needed someone downstairs to deal with any unexpected guests; and three, he still had a bar to run, and no bartender in the middle of the day would look extremely suspicious, the barkeep had reluctantly relented, and marched back to his post behind the taps.

Harry could hear him grumbling the whole way down the stairs.

"You'd think he would've gotten his fill of war-talk earlier."

The reply from Harry's 'guests' came very quickly. "Seeing as how his friend and I were the ones doing most of the talking, I'd venture to say he has not."

The second wizard, the one calling himself Black, snorted. "Judging from the look in his eye earlier, I'd say he was hoping for more of a re-enactment than a re-telling. With us playing the part of enemy prisoners."

Harry sank down into the cushions of a chair that hadn't existed mere seconds before. "Well, seeing as how he does currently have both your wands, I'd say sentimentality for the old days might just have reinforced the image in his mind."

Both wizards had paled at his casual display of magic, Black in particular. "Chair…conjure…you…wandless…how?"

Harry shrugged. "What, did you think it was exaggerating when I made that crack about polishing your wands earlier?"

Potter gave a nervous chuckle. "Only a little, lad; only a little."

Harry frowned. "Okay, first off, the list of people that get off calling me 'lad' is extremely short; just one name on it, in fact. And yours is most definitely not it. Trust me, I've been around for far longer than either of you old farts, and the idea of either of you calling me 'lad' with a straight face is just laughable. Secondly, just what do you mean, only a little?"

Black and Potter shared a look, then squirmed in their seats. Finally, Potter gave a sigh. "We knew you were perfectly capable of 'dealing with' us, as you put it, because we know for a fact you've successfully dealt with far greater numbers than just two 'old farts' and come out with nary a scratch to show for it. But to go from what you did then, wandlessly, to what you did just now…that's control on Dumbledore's level, la…sir. "

Potter grimaced as he said that last bit.

"Third thing, I'm not a sir either. Spent a good bit of my life being called that, and it still bugs me a might. Fourth thing, you said 'far greater numbers'. To which…incident might you be referring, the first or the second?"

Both wizards blinked. "…What do you mean, the second?"

"…Well that answers that question. Now, let's see…Black and Potter…first incident…both know…ah. I take it that ickle little Bellakins survived her meeting with old Tom, then? Or at least long enough to pass along either a description or a memory, and from there you were able to piece together…"

"That you're a Potter?" the member of the mentioned family finished firmly. "Damn right. Only one bloodline I know of cursed with hair like that."

Harry held up a finger. "Technically not the Potters that are cursed, you know. Just the family of one of the males that married in, and took the Potter name."

Black nodded. "Yes, Peverell, we know. And if we know, then I think its safe to say that the other…recipients of my daughter's memory will probably deduce it as well; that is, if they haven't already."

Hmm. So this man was Bellatrix's father. He could see the family resemblance. Then again, considering pureblood families, he could probably spot resemblances to every single prominent bloodline if he cared enough to look. "Good. It'll keep old Tommy boy looking in the wrong place for answers; at least for exactly how I'm able to do what I can. And that's all he'll probably care about."

Black leaned forward in his chair. "This Tom you keep mentioning. I assume this would be the same Tom Riddle you referred to in the speech you gave my daughter, yes?"

"That's the chap. Half-blood wizard, and that only barely. Son of a Squib who used a love potion on a Muggle she fancied; she thought that after they'd married, and she was pregnant, she could afford to stop dosing him. Turns out she was wrong; he left her destitute and never once looked back. She survived just long enough to give birth, then died of a broken heart. Tom Riddle was raised in a Muggle orphanage, never knowing where he came from or what he was. Not until one Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore delivered his Hogwarts letter personally."

"Yes, yes, heartbreaking story, but what has it got to do with Tom Riddle now?" Black interrupted. "We know from your message that Riddle's high up in the Knights' leadership; how in Merlin's name did a half-blood manage that?"

Harry snorted. He chuckled. He guffawed. And finally, he disintegrated into gut-wrenching, tear-inducing laughter. "Didn't you know? You didn't, did you! Oh, this is too good! Scratch that, this is bloody fantastic!"

Neither wizard knew just how to respond to that. But they weren't about to let a little detail like that stop them from trying.

Potter went first. "What? What didn't we know? Who is Tom Riddle? Really?"

That merely set Harry off even harder, if such a thing were even possible.

Black tried his luck next. "Listen my good man, this is something we absolutely have to know. Not just us, but our families as well. There's a war coming, and we need all the information we can get before we choose a side. So tell us. Please. Just how did a Muggle-raised half-blood end up a trusted associate of the Lord of the Knights?"

Harry only paused long enough between laughs to spit out his reply piecemeal. "Don't…you…get it…yet? He…is…the Dark Lord!"

The stunned silence of the two wizards was far louder than any laughter could ever hope to be.

Well, except maybe Shaxx's.


"My Lord."

"Rookwood. What did you find?"

"My Lord, I have reviewed the contents of the memory several times, but I have been unable to glean much of use. I feel as though there's some important detail that I'm missing, something incredibly miniscule, but it continues to escape my grasp. I plan to return to the Pensieve at a later time with a fresh perspective; hopefully, I may be able to find what I am overlooking."

Voldemort tightened his grip on his wand. "So, what you are saying…is that you have found…nothing?"

"Oh no, my Lord," Rookwood hastily retreated. "Not nothing. Just not the something I feel to be the most critical."

"Then tell me, Rookwood, what exactly did you find?"

The Unspeakable swallowed. "My Lord…at first, I had believed this Zarathos to be…possessed."

"Yes, the possibility had occurred to me as well. Continue."

Rookwood ignored the Dark Lord's interruption (wouldn't you?). "But after careful consideration and deliberation, I believe we are dealing with something much more…dangerous. Something that, while conceivably easier to deal with for one as skilled in the Mental Arts as yourself, poses much more of a risk should things go awry."

"Get to the point, Rookwood; my patience grows thin."

"Apologies, my Lord. I believe that, within the wizard Zarathos, there reside two distinctive personas. Two completely different people, and yet not, each forged from the halves of Zarathos' mind."

"…Elaborate."

"It is a well-documented phenomena in the…Muggle world, my Lord. A traumatic event, or a series of such occurrences, can fracture the mind, leaving behind two or more separate personalities. One to deal with normal, everyday happenings…and the others to deal with more unfamiliar, potentially dangerous, situations. I believe that whatever ritual this Zarathos performed in order to gain the abilities that he has…left his identity unstable, my Lord. Whether from an inability to deal with the trauma, or perhaps an overload of magical power. So, when the traitor Yaxley managed to fell him with the Killing Curse…I believe that it was his normal side that absorbed the blow, and the ruthless side that was left in charge while his soul healed from the damage."

Voldemort stroked his chin. "If what you say is true…then it could be that two Killing Curses, one cast right after the other, would have the required additive effects to end him permanently."

"A possibility, my Lord, but another would be that both sides become mutually dispelled from his body…and whomever he tried to possess would have to deal with two equally powerful wills simultaneously attempting to overcome their own. Or both sides could split entirely, leaving you to face both versions of him at the same time, should they possess different people that is. And the worst possibility of all…he may have, and keep in mind that this is entirely theoretical, my Lord…he may have managed to tie his soul, or I should say, souls, to something other than his body. Perhaps the sword he wielded in the first battle…it did seem able to absorb the Killing Curse, at the very least. If not that, then perhaps something else. Something equally…indestructible."

Had Voldemort's blood not already been cold, it would have run so at his lieutenants' speech. So, at least one Unspeakable knew of Horcruxes. And if one, why not all of them? Perhaps the Department of Mysteries kept them as trophies, to be experimented upon at their leisure. He barely resisted a shudder at the thought of exactly what that might entail should the Department discover one of his precautions. He began to severely rethink his decision to entrust one of them to Rookwood for safekeeping. Then again, the last place the Unspeakables would ever search for one of his soul anchors, should they learn of them, would be among their own.

Decisions, decisions, all of them wrong.

At the very least, he needed to know if the DOM had a way of permanently destroying his Horcruxes…or avoiding them altogether. "…And are you aware of a method to un-tie his soul from this supposedly indestructible object?"

"My Lord, I can only conjecture. Research on such matters is beyond my rank in the Department, and will be for some time. Indeed, it may be above the rank of all that are not the Head Unspeakable. But perhaps…the Dementors might hold the key. If one were to strike Zarathos with the Killing Curse, exposing his 'dark' side, and then allow a Dementor to Kiss him, there exists the possibility that he would die permanently. Or at the very least be deprived of his more dangerous half, leaving you free to deal with the weakened other as you wish."

Hmm. So, if the Unspeakables knew how to destroy Horcruxes, they weren't telling. And the only person Croaker could ever be even slightly convinced to discuss the subject with was…Dumbledore.

Voldemort grinned. "You have brought me useful information indeed, Rookwood. I shall now fulfill my promise to you. On the table to your left is a box. Open it."

Slowly, Rookwood made his way over to the indicated table, and gently eased the chest's lid open, wondering what great treasure his Lord had stored within…

A gasp escaped the Unspeakable's lips. "My Lord…this…this is…"

"Something witches and wizards have been searching for since the time of the Founders. And I, Lord Voldemort, was the first to find it. Am I not a great and generous Lord, my dear Rookwood, to entrust this item to your care?"

"You are, my Lord. But, I must ask…why have you not showed this evidence of your skill and power to your other faithful followers?"

"Because, Rookwood, faithful they may be, but they do tend to brag on my behalf. And it is not yet the right time for the Wizarding World to be reminded of the lost Cup of Hufflepuff."


Judging by the amount of Firewhiskey he'd downed after learning Tom Riddle's true identity, Harry would hazard a guess that Black was definitely more grateful now than he had been earlier about being in a Potter owned bar. And Potter himself was proving to be no slouch in the appreciation department either.

"You're sure? Tom Riddle…the half-blood son of a Muggle…is not just the leader of a pureblood movement…but a full-blown Dark Lord as well?"

"Well, seeing as how don't exactly have a list of the qualifications for official Dark Lord-ering, there might be a little leeway in the exact definitions, but in terms of power? Power-wise, he could take on Dumbledore himself on a good day, and at least manage a tie. Maybe even win; it depends on how far he's gone as of yet."

"Why?" Black rasped. "Why in Merlin's name would you tell us something like that? Do you have any idea…knowing who the Dark Lord truly is…do you understand how dangerous that is?"

Harry shrugged. "Of course. As long as the two of you understand that as well, I think we'll get along splendidly."

Potter looked up from his empty tumbler. "What if we don't want to understand? What if we'd rather just…forget?"

"Then I Obliviate the pair of you. Truth be told, it's what I was planning to do anyway after this little group therapy session. Any Potters I could be bothered to associate with died long ago, and the Black family has caused me no small amount of grief in my quite eventful life. As it stands, the only reason I haven't Obliviated-slash-killed either or both of you yet is…well, to put it bluntly, I owe a debt to a Potter-Black alliance. You have until the end of this conversation to give me a better way to pay it back. And that's all I'm saying about that. The rest is up to you."

A look of confusion settled on Black's face. "As far as I know, there's been no Potter-Black alliance in recent history." He gave a sideways glance at his companion. "At least officially."

Harry's expression briefly matched Black's before fading away in understanding. "Ah. I'm afraid that you're correct. Not in recent history, official or otherwise. Although…I suppose you could say that the two alliances are…related, in a way."

Harry had to smirk at his private little joke.

Potter refilled his glass. "A discussion for another time. You said we needed to convince you of a better way to pay your debt; how about this? You let us follow you, as our Lord. We'll do whatever you ask of us, serve in any capacity you require; and all we ask is that you protect the rest of our families."

"Define the rest."

Black answered. "Anyone that decides not to follow…Riddle. Neutral, Light, Gray…you would protect them all from retaliation, even if they don't side with you. If you allow us to tell our Houses the truth, and if any of them still choose the Knights and their leader…we will not ask that you extend the same mercy to them."

Harry stroked his chin. "Survival by any means necessary, is that it? Part of your family follows Tom, part takes no side at all, and the last part would be you, I take it?"

"At the very least. My daughters as well, if you will allow it."

Harry looked back and forth between the two wizards. "Why? What on Earth could you hope to gain from aligning with me? I said before, at the very least I owe you your own lives. You wouldn't have to do much to get better than that; to me, it seems like you're asking for something worse. Just…why?"

Potter snorted. "As you said, my man. Survival. Black's children are practically full-grown; they can take care of themselves. If he should die, at the very least he'll know that they're safe. My situation's a bit trickier; up until a few years ago, the Potter family had no heir. The closest we had was the son of my unfortunate sister who decided to marry a Malfoy, of all things."

Black sniffed. "Unfortunate, indeed. Abraxas is a perfectly fine gentlemen, even if he is a foreigner."

"Coming from a Black, that's high praise indeed." Potter sniffed right back. "The point is, that right up until eleven years ago, the Malfoy family stood to inherit the Potter wealth and seats on the Wizengamot. But now…now, I have a son. James. He's the pride of my life, and I can't…I can't imagine living without him. My brother, Lucius, has named him Heir Apparent to the Headship. I'm expendable, and I always have been. But James…he needs his mother. And he needs to live. Nothing personal to the Malfoys, you understand, but we'd rather keep things in the family."

Harry's mind was whirling. Malfoys…Lucius…Blacks…Potters.

The Malfoy Heir was once Heir to the Potters as well…

The current Head of the Potters was named Lucius, and was it a stretch to imagine his sister named her son after him…

Draco could have been Heir to the Black family as well, through his mother Narcissa, had Harry not survived…

Three powerful names, united under one bloodline…

It was enough to drive even the most moral of people to contemplate murder. For a Malfoy, to wipe out entire families to advance your own was the most natural of courses.

Harry decided then and there to take the job of DADA professor. After all, what better way to deal with a dangerous student than to become his teacher?

A cough from Potter drew his attention back to the conversation. "Well? Do we have a deal? If not, I'm sure we can think of a few ways to further sweeten the pot."

Harry waved him off. "No, the deal is fine. In theory. But…well, I've spent a lot of my life being called 'Lord' for one reason or another. Couldn't we…I don't know…call this a partnership, instead of a Lordship? If anything, I'd be getting more out of that than people asking me for orders all the time. And I'd like to see the Potter-Black alliance grow on its own, not under anyone else's control. Even mine."

Potter stuck his hand out immediately. "Deal."

Black was bit more hesitant, but nevertheless did the same. "Agreed."

Harry shook, and was surprised to feel a jolt of magic run through his body. He'd always thought that verbal magical contracts required at least one witness, more if there were multiple parties.

Black and Potter must've felt the jolt as well, because they were looking at each other in shock. "Well…you can change the name, but you can't change the man…"

Harry frowned. "Pardon?"

Black's explanation came slowly. "The only way to bind a partnership…without witnesses…or an official contract…is if…"

"Is if, what?"

Potter finished. "Is if Magic itself recognizes you as a Lord. You said you'd been called a Lord for a good part of your life…I assume you never thought it was literal?"

Harry thought back to exactly how he'd acquired the title of Iron Lord. "In the literal sense, yes. In the Magical sense, then no."

Black corked his bottle of Firewhiskey and rose. "Well, then. There's really only one way to know for certain. As a bonus, it has the nice byproduct of telling us if there's any resources you've inherited since the last…Potter-Black alliance. And as your partners, such resources could be quite…useful, to us."

Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "And what, precisely, is this one way?"

Black grinned. "Why, a Gringotts blood test, of course."

Harry snorted. He knew exactly what the test would reveal; the only thing even remotely interesting in the results would be his full legal name. Something he would probably have to give out sooner or later if he wanted to take Dumbledore's offered position. His bloodline? All it would give was which Houses he belonged to. His inheritances? There wouldn't be any; the Potters had James, the Blacks had Sirius, and the Peverells had long since been absorbed. Still, if he could get something out of going along with the idea…

"Very well. But I want your word that the only people you'll reveal the results to are your Heads of House. And then I want you to exert a little…coercion in their direction."

Black nodded, but Potter looked wary. "Coercion? To do…what, exactly?"

"There's a coalition forming. In both the Wizengamot and the Ministry. Dumbledore is the nominal head, but Alastor Moody and, I believe, Croaker from the DOM are involved as well. More than that, I can't say for certain. Get your Heads to at least talk to Moody and Dumbledore about it, and I'll take the test."

"Why both Moody and Dumbledore?"

"Because you know as well as I do the old man's propensity to exaggerate. Moody will tell it like it is, and then Dumbledore will smooth over any ruffled feathers afterwards."

Potter gave a sigh. "Good enough, I suppose. I'll try. But no guarantees."

"I understand."

Black waved his hand. "You need not concern yourself with my end; Orion, my brother and Head, has already agreed to view the memory of your…first incident, and then decide which side to support. I have no doubt he will choose yours. And that you wish for our family to be involved in political battles instead of the ones the Dark Lord desires to fight will be a huge selling point in your favor."

"…Good to know. We done here?"

"For now. Did you have any matters to attend to before Gringotts?"

"Before? No. After? After…well, lets just say I may ask for your opinions on which robes would impress a certain Board of Governors the most."

Black's eyes lit up. "Robes, you say? Considering we know for a fact you're acquainted with Dumbledore…might I be so bold as to assume he's offered you the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"Why yes, yes you can be so bold. So, QED, new robes."

Black practically purred. "Excellent. Both of our Heads of House just so happen to be on the Governors' Board; impressing them will do far more than our individual efforts combined ever could. Now, as far as I can see, that leaves just one thing for us to take care of before we leave."

"And that is?"

Black rubbed his fingers together. "I believe you have a few items of ours that need polishing?"

Harry laughed. "Right; completely forgot. Let's just go get them back then, shall we?"

Potter gestured to the door. "After you. If that trigger-happy bartender decides to curse first and ask questions later, I'd rather it be you than me."

Harry pointed in Black's direction. "What about him?"

"If I had him go first, and he got cursed because of it, what his sister would do to me would be far worse than anything you could ever hope to imagine."

"I don't know, I can imagine quite a lot."

Black sighed. "Don't I get a say in this?"

His answer came in the form of two simultaneous 'no's.


"Unless you have something important to say Albus, I'd advise you shunt off. Your stick's got the whole place in an uproar again, and this time there won't be any hushing it up."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Algernon."

"Like hell. Zarathos has gone and killed off bloody Fenrir Greyback; under a full-moon and uninjured, no less. And don't try and deny you knew, your conversation with Moody this morning was overheard by someone clever enough to go straight to a paying source with the news. By this time tomorrow, everyone will know exactly what Zarathos is capable of."

Dumbledore gulped. "Everyone?"

"Considering the Minister herself had to find out from her spies in the Prophet, I'd say so. If not everyone and their second cousin twice-removed as well. Tomorrow's headline should be most illuminating."

"…I can imagine."

"No Albus, I don't believe you can. So either shunt off, or give me something useful to work with."

Dumbledore made a snap decision. "Atlantis."

Croaker's voice suddenly got very low. "…What did you say, Albus?"

"Something useful to work with. To wit, the lost island of Atlantis."

Croaker's wand shot out, casting spell after spell on the room around. After about three minutes of continuous warding, he finally turned his wand on the only other occupant of the office. "Talk."

"Did you, by chance, happen to know the origin of the Dementors, Algernon?"

"…Yes."

"Hmm. Well, I must confess I did not. Not until Zarathos saw fit to enlighten me, that is."

"…I see."

"No, no you don't, Algernon. He knew it all. From the Vault of Glass, to Azkaban itself. I believe he has managed to replicate at least some of the few scattered recordings of feats accomplished on that accursed island. And you know as well as I that they were the last magical society capable of true magic without wands or staffs. If he knows the truth of what happened there, perhaps what he's doing now is his idea of preventing it from happening again. I already know for a fact the Knights' leader has delved into the same sort of soul magic; Moody tells me there was a Mark on Greyback's arm that practically screamed aloud under his examination. I would advise you look into the matter more closely, for any references to lost knowledge or abilities. It may be we have to employ Zarathos' methods if we are to succeed against such an enemy."

"Or if we are ever forced to succeed against him."

"…You are entitled to think that, yes."

"Hmm. Fine. Even if you've given us a dead end, it'll keep the Minister off our backs should he ask us to look into your stick's background. And I think the mention of Atlantis will be enough to convince her how serious the situation is. Good day to you, Chief Warlock."

"Good day, Head Unspeakable."

For a brief moment, Dumbledore regretted saying what he had. But they needed the DOM to look into Tom Riddle's experiments, if for no other reason than for the chance of finding a way to remove that infernal Mark. He had avoided mentioning Durmstrang; he had no desire to cause an international incident, and Zarathos deserved at least that much privacy. But if Tom Riddle had found at least some of the same knowledge Zarathos had, then they would have to prepare to fight it. He would, of course, consult his own extensive library on the subject. And wasn't there a Muggle saying about how two sets of eyes were better than one?

Then again, there was another that espoused the belief of there being only one guaranteed way for two people to keep a secret as well.