A/N: Thank you all my wonderful reviewers!
Here's another chapter, especially for you… and a bit for me, too, though I don't like it all that much. It's sort of… shallow. Forgive me. I'll try harder.
I hope you'll enjoy it anyway…
Btw, there's some new stuff that isn't mine… actually it's mostly paraphrased, but just in case…
Brynn

Chapter 15: Lucretia

'You won't like to hear this, I know that. But I wouldn't lie to you, Harry, and I know you are aware of it. It's my responsibility and I have to ensure that you will be able to face the Death Eaters when you encounter them. Yet-'

"I am not," Harry supplied calmly. He could tell he had startled Fawkes, not by interrupting his speech, but by actually not arguing. He was hot-headed, looking back at his past reactions, but not as stupid as to object to the accusation of lack of skill. Especially after he had seen a kid that didn't look older than fifteen outperform him by far with such unnerving ease… although that wasn't an information he would like the phoenix to acquire.

"I know. I've noticed… I…" he sighed. "Fawkes, the school isn't going to help me. It never did. I don't know who's going to teach the Defense this year, but there's no chance I could learn enough in the class. If we had Remus, and I got 'remedials', maybe, but…" he sighed again and sat down on the cushion that conveniently turned up for him. The Room of Requirement even had a few advantages to the Potions laboratory.

'We'll remedy that. Trust me. Albus's reason is that he wants you out of the game for the time being, but I insisted that you stay in school for your own safety and to buy you time to learn. I'm already working on it… It's a bit hard with my communication barriers. If you have any new ideas, tell me- The newspaper is getting into motion, by the way.'

"Fawkes… I… don't know if I can make it. I don't know if I was the right choice for your charge." He was thinking of the hazel-eyed boy, feeling a hint of jealousy towards him.

'Hmm… but you were my choice. So don't let it bother you, alright?' the phoenix replied calmly, strangely reminiscent of the living Dumbledore, 'And besides, the Death Eaters are more afraid of you than of a squad of Aurors.'

Harry couldn't find it in himself to enjoy Fawkes's humor. He was grateful for the continuously expressed trust, but the true reason why Death Eaters weren't scared of Aurors was the fact that the Ministry did nothing purposeful at all. He doubted the Magical Law Enforcement even met any dark wizards nowadays but those the Ministry employed.

'…my little Death Cook.'

Harry gaped, suddenly worried about the phoenix. Could such a creature get mad? Or was it some kind of a joke he wasn't old enough to understand?

"Death Cook?"

Fawkes gave a low, not quite articulate screech and pecked on muesli on a very wide, very flat plate that the Room provided for him.

'The Dark Lords generally do not have much imagination when it comes to names… And yet, 'Death Eaters' was not Tom's idea. Still I think it's one of the worst I've ever heard…'

This time Harry did laugh. He was getting into the mood as his worries dissipated. Fawkes wouldn't give him up for a strange kid. He was not only the phoenix's charge – he was its foster-hatch.

"Whose idea it was then?"

'You have three guesses.'

Harry scratched his head, forgetting that his hands were still gloved. He pulled the dragon-hide monstrosities off and ditched them onto the empty armchair.

"Lucius Malfoy," he guessed, trying to think of a person that would have enough inflence to get the name to be accepted.

'Hardly started school when the first were already gathered.'

"Ah. Then his dad? What was his name…" Harry knew he had heard it already… Malfoy had bragged about his grandfather to Slughorn. The man died on pox or something… Indubitably after he had raised his son to be a vile malicious stavesacre.

'Abraxas. Closer.'

Closer? Did it mean he had the correct generation? But he had no idea when the old Malfoy was born. Or what did he do (apart from bribing and murdering) before he died on the pox… So he decided to try it the other way. Who did he know who was ancient, had to do with Voldemort, and posessed a sick sense of humour…

"Oh, sure. A Dumbledore… Albus Dumbledore-"

'Almost!' Fawkes exclaimed, beating his wings. The muesli flew across the room and made a worse mess than twenty students practising Stunners. Harry was glad he had just in case erected a shield around the cauldron, although he doubted that a few bits of cereals would anyhow harm the brew.

'Well, at least Albus claims the idea was Aberfoth's. He said… actually he quoted some Muggle about a 'Tree of reason' that transforms immoral thoughts into moral actions by explaining the guilt away. And since they secretly wanted 'the Wrong' and listen to the persuasion of its support, they were going to eat death…

I personally think that 'Knights of Walpurgis'(8) had a better ring to it. It was their choice… I'm afraid, though, that they got the idea with eating death reversed.'

"Are they so much alike? Albus and Aberforth, I mean," Harry asked with an air of hopelessness that he didn't quite feel. It seemed to amuse the phoenix greatly.

'Yes. And no. You will find out on your own. Now… how long does this potion not require your presence?'

"An hour, maybe hour and half."

'Kapai,' stated Fawkes and unexpectedly landed on Harry's forearm. The boy had to catch on the closest cabinet to avoid falling over. With a flash they were gone.

popopopopo

"You could have at least warned me," reproached Harry dryly, sitting down on the side of his bed and pulling the pensieve closer.

'You should get used to unpleasant surprised. Besides, you handled it well.'

This time Harry selected a different memory, trying to come up with something that would feature Snape, but wouldn't make him too angry with either the man, or himself, or Dumbledore.

'Do you want my assistence?' asked Fawkes, watching Harry contemplate.

'Your presence. Like the last time…'

'I am here for you.'

Harry nodded gratefully and put the tip of his wand to his temple. A silver thread of memory followed its motion as he drew it towards the basin – it was the finishing exam in his first year. It seemed quite safe in the anger part, as he was sure that Snape had not harassed him back there – he would have recalled that even through the haze he had been walking in as July 1991 drew nearer.

popopopopo

Harry never thought anything like this could ever happen to him. The exam was too long, so he didn't take to watch his younger self blotching the unbelievably easy Boils-curing Potion(9). He had to admit Malfoy did a rather decent job stewing the slugs, but it was most likely thanks to Bulstrode, who kept nudging him while he spent too much time watching Neville and counting seconds to the explosion. Precisely that awaited explosion followed right after, and Parkinson burst in a fit of shril giggles that made Harry's ears sting, so he tried to get as far away from her as possible. He passed poor Neville through the remains of his desk and cauldron.

"Not root! The haulm, you idiotic donk!" Harry slapped his forehead and with exasperation watched his younger self add the incorrect ingredient and effectively destroy the potion he had been working on. "Good Merlin… the root contains too much acid. It reacts with the powdered snake fangs and creates small nodulations. It's useless." He took a step to the right, unless he would end up standing at the same spot as Snape. He wouldn't have enjoyed that.

"Yeah, just tell me I'm an incompetent idiot. Cause I was."

popopopopo

'How did it go?'

Harry shrugged.

"It's alright. Though my absolute and unrivalled fallingshort wasn't nice to watch…"

'Harry…'

"Sorry. I jus don't like admitting that he might have been right… The truth is I was the second to blotch the potion, so I did have a rival. On the other hand, it was Neville, so I'm not sure whether it counts…"

Fawkes descended on his thigh and in a swirl of feather they appeared in a completely different place. Harry saw nothing, being blinded by the sudden lack of light. He paused for a while, and eventually the outlines came into vision. The room seemed vaguely familiar to him…

"Kitchens?"

'Yes. I figured you might like a cup of hot chocolate.'

A torch flickered to light and a single steaming mug appeared on the closest table. Harry eyed it suspiciously, but eventually complied and sat down, took the mug in hands and, instead of blowing across it chanelled his magic through his fingeres, casting a tender Cooling Charm.

'I understand that you don't like these… recollections, and I appreciate that you are viewing them all the more.'

'I already said I agreed with him. Is there more I have to find out?' he thought unhappily, and was rewarded with the sensation of walking through a spider web. He reflexively attempted to wipe his face, but only managed to get the thing inside his mouth. It tasted like licking a never-wiped floor in a forgotten attic.

'This is the point – do you think I'm insisting on it to torment you? Harry, you never bothered to see the things from Severus's point of view. You both were so prejudiced against each other since your first meeting that it never even crossed your mind that the other might be right. I just-'

"Want me to look at the past six years objectively. I know." The disciplinary-sensation disappeared. Harry sighed. "After the trip to Diagon Alley I… guess I really need it."

'I wonder what happened there…'

Harry didn't feel like telling Fawkes the truth. And Fawkes, to his mild surprise, looked like he wasn't going to pry.

'I witnessed something that made me realise I didn't know as much about the people I'm fighting against. Nor about those I am supposed to fight with. And… I found a shocking limitation to my abilities.'

The phoenix's smile warmed Harry a bit. It seemed that he had told enough.

'Are you willing to learn?'

'Willing!'

Fawkes laughed and, as always, it sent a wave of bliss through Harry's veins.

'Then it is alright. Keep your side of the deal, I'll keep mine. Take care of yourself, fledgling; I'm going to shedule your interview.' In another flash of light the bird was gone. Harry sighed as the torch immediately went out and he remained sitting in a complete darkness. Not even house-elves spent their time in there during the summer. He pictured a meadow filled with small square tents and an army of elves clad in scout outfits scurrying around… It didn't look too probable. Likely they just spent more time in different parts of the castle.

He stood up and, not bothering to make light again, paced to the exit, abandoning the empty mug where he had found it. The same elf that had prepared it was going to take care of it anyway.

'You couldn't bring me back upstairs before clearing off, could you…' he thought without real scorn. Despite watching the memory before, the chat with Fawkes left him full of energy and in positive mood, and he had an important thing to take care of.

popopopopo

Picking the scales from he bowl one by one while he was wearing gloves turned out to be harder than expected. In the end Harry resigned and moved each sole vividly orange polycrystal into the grey substance separately using a wandless Wingardium Leviosa. At the same time it was an experiment of sorts; he promised himself to work on wordless and wandless magic under the impression of the encounter in Diagon Alley. Right now he was trying to determine how far he had gotten with the simpler spells.

He surprised himself with the accuracy of those charms; more so that it worked by every of circa sixty scales, although he was rather tired after the last ones landed in the cauldron. He had not expected such break-through since the beginning of the holiday. Retrospectively, had he tried to hex the man who had harassed him without words, he might have been successful…

"Looks good, what do you think?" he asked of Hedwig, who had dropped in to remind him of herself, most likely jealous of Fawkes, and stood a bottle of the potion on the windowsill for it to catch the last rays of sunlight. It wasn't written in the instructions, but he had seen other potions that used almost the same ingredients and they were supposed to ripen faster when put in sunlight.

The bird eyed the purple concoction uneasily and then looked at Harry with accusation. He shrugged.

"If you don't like it… Will you go flying for the night? I'll keep the window open if you needed anything. Or fly to Owlery. As you wish. I don't mind."

Hedwig hooted and he let her out, having carefully scooped the potion out of the way before doing so. He knew it wasn't the nicest thing to brew, and what he was going to do next might be considered a betrayal in a way, but the pros outdid the cons.

Darkness fell on the land and he didn't even notice, buried in a stack of texts he had brought from the library. Pince was going to return the next day and he decided to get his mess out of her sight in advance. He even bothered to fill out the forms for those books. Studying was going to get harder and less enjoyable with his classmates around… He intended to do as much work as he could now – he went as far as to start (and finish) a few essays in advance, feeling he was worse than Hermione… He decided to use as excuse that there was going to be much more learning for him this year, apart from school. It worked. Sort of.

When the alarm-clock set on eleven thirty rang, he was in the middle of writing the conclusion to the first Potions Essay. It was an interesting topic and he found himself enjoying the odd information he had stumbled upon while looking for usable facts. Like that porcupine quills were much more potent crushed than added in one piece. He shuddered thinking how would their first Potions lesson go if Neville had added the quills crushed… His approximation was that about six people would have to spend the night in the hospital wing, having their skin re-grown.

It was quarter to twelve when he finally stood up and went to wash his hands. For a good measure he decided to wear the Diagon Alley-disguise. The portraits of former Heads knew him and he didn't doubt McGonagall would have him feel the skin re-growing on his own body if she ever found out about this stunt… Fortunately, she had a week off her duties to spend with her family – most deserved, in his opinion. She won a war against the Ministry, after all.

So it was an Asian Weird-Sisters-fan clutching a bottle of super-acidic concoction in his hand who snuck through the hallways of Hogwarts at midnight. He slipped through the secret passage and glared at the gargoyle. It glared back and shifted – it was the first time Harry saw it moving without receiving the password. The fact that it prepared to jump didn't make the situation less uncomfortable.

"Johny Walker," he said. The stony beast quailed and reluctantly stepped aside – Harry hoped that McGonagall would switch to something non-alcoholic during terms. The staircase didn't move, and he had no desire to make it move. He glid up into the Tower. It was as quiet as a grave – Harry didn't like the parallel, but it was fitting. The office was a tomb where the former – dead – Heads of Hogwarts rested…

And rest they did. He slid the door ajar and listened to the regular breathing and occassional snore. Now it paradoxically didn't seem so dead anymore.

He stuck his wand into the gape and muttered an incantation. It sent an invisible ripple of air in the form of an expanding sphere. Obviously the wards were changed again since McGonagall took over the Headmastership, because last time Harry checked he wasn't the Headmaster. It shouldn't have worked, but he certainly didn't object, even though it made his disguise useless.

He pushed the door wide open and went inside. The fires in the lamps blazed white and the room bathed in light. Headmistress's desk was a mess, covered with papers, parchments, Reminder-Bugs and – predictably – muesli. All of the portraits –including Nigellus – were sleeping.

'It's better this way. I bet it would hurt terribly were he to experience this consciously…' The portrait was a stuck-up git and always had it in for Harry, but he couldn't bear even a vision of people writhing in pain.

According to Rayburn, who was nowhere near as good as Vivax when it came to writing, 'Lucretia' wouldn't harm stone. Keeping this in mind, Harry pulled Nigellus's painting off the wall and laid it in the hearth on the cold ashes, which house-elves had failed to remove. The wizard continued slumbering peacefully. Harry's heart clenched; his breathing quickened as he held the bottle above the picture…

'He wants it. He's going to pay for it…' Harry bit his lip, clenched the wand in his left fist and took a deep breath.

"Esrednet Raicapse Ralbodsed Ricrapse…" he chanted through clenched teeth. The potion he poured out of the thin neck of the bottle landed equally distributed throughout the entire surface of the painting and frame. The wizard jerked and opened his mouth in a soundless scream. Harry pulled his hand back, staring at the dissolving picture and biting his lip much harder than he did a while ago. He was shaking; goosebumps sprang on his body, and he felt physically sick.

"Evanesco," he said, pointing at the bottle with the rest of 'Lucretia' in his hand. Nothing happened. Harry watched the colourful residue of the potion destroy the ashes and sink into the stone. As soon as there was nothing left of the portrait, he practically ran out, slammed the door, released the Sleeping Spell and set off down the stairs.

The gargoyle eyed him suspiciously as he passed it, but did nothing to stop him. Harry ran through the passages, out of breath, but not going to be sick anymore. He had done it. He had held up his end of… the… deal…

It was back in the bedroom when he realised he was still holding the bottle. Disgusted, he aimed his wand at it again.

"Evanesco."

This time it disappeared instantly. He had about enough energy left to hide the clothes away in his trunk, and – half-naked – fell into his bed. Curled up in a ball, he quietly cried, still failing to understand why. What was it that made him so weak? What made him so depressed about destroying an ordinary painting?

popopopopo

"Potter."

Hearing the voice Harry almost shuddered, but he couldn't afford to show his weakness in front of the man.

"Good evening, Mr Nigellus," he responded coldly, his voice echoing in the vast trophy room, "Were you in the Head's office in the last twenty-four hours?"

The winner of the Duelling Tournament snickered.

"Quite an uproar there, isn't it?"

"Did they actually manage to stir up a commotion?" Harry asked, referring to the rest of the portraits. They seemed to have been missing one of them…

"They argued a lot. Finally they decided that, since I was 'reluctant about accomplishing my tasks anyway', my 'disappearance' would be reported as soon as possible… which turned out to be as soon as Dumbledore came to check up on them. About an hour ago."

"And?"

The portrait waved his hand dismissively and gave Harry an appraising scrutiny from the poster.

"You have surprised me. There wasn't much to report, really. I disappeared at midnight. Everyone slept; no one noticed a thing…" he snickered again, showing a row of pearly teeth, "A well done job, indeed."

"I expect the clearance," Harry stated flatly. Nigellus earnestly nodded.

"The library is on Blueberry Road 317, Golden Selasphore, Lancashire. Second floor in the Western Wing. Your access is granted; the password to the site is 'God did not blame the Serpent', to the main gate 'I walk in on my own free will'. The entryway to the library itself is guarded by a portrait who will let you in when she recognises you."

Harry wished he could write it down, but since the deal wasn't all that official, writing it would not be a good idea, especially with his roommates going to return in a few days time. He worked hard to remember it. Having to ask Nigellus for the address repeatedly would be humiliating.

"Are there any vampires?" he inquired. The second password sounded very suspicious.

"Not for a few generations. Shall some turn up, you will be warned before you go in."

Harry nodded.

"That is acceptable. It is pleasure doing business with you, Mr Nigellus."

"Likewise, Mr Potter," the portrait sneered and left, probably to escape the duty of polite conversation. Harry didn't mind in the least, fed up with the man, fed up with acting courteously, and fed up with lying.

"Nox," he muttered and went to sleep after another uneventful day. He hoped that if they didn't catch him by now – twenty-four hours after the crime – it meant they weren't going to catch him at all.

Still he didn't feel better with himself. The guilt was eating up on him from inside and he had no idea what to do to free himself of it. He had done lot of bad things in the past, attempted Unforgivables on various occassions, but the only times he felt ill like this was in the presence of dementors, when Sirius died, when Dumbledore died, and when he had almost killed Malfoy.