Chapter Eleven: The Serpent and the Snake

November rolled steadily into December. The icy winds outside were nothing compared to the cold shoulder that Hermione had given Ron and he for the week following his revelation to Daphne and Tracey about Sirius. It was not until Tracey spent an hour helping Harry and Ron correct their Herbology homework, after Hermione's flat out refusal, that she forgave them and only because Tracey and Daphne were still sticking around with their secret intact.

Harry understood her reasons, but knew that he had done the right thing telling Daphne and Tracey. After all, he hadn't told them what Daphne hadn't already figured out really. She had figured out about Snape and that Dumbledore was doing something. Hermione was right, secrecy was the Order's best weapon.

It surprised him that Sirius didn't object when he told him, one evening after a long and arduous Quidditch practice.

"You're sure she can be trusted?" he asked warily through the mirror he had given Harry.

"I'm sure, Sirius. Honest. She… she's told me a lot of stuff about herself and we're friends." He had not wanted to tell Sirius anything about her father, remembering the promise he had made to keep her secret to himself.

"Well, that's good enough for me. She can't be that bad if she's hanging around with you lot now, can she?"

Harry had wanted to say she was better than 'not that bad', but knew the teasing his godfather would give him. He knew this all too well because it was exactly the same type of teasing that Fred and George were giving Ron over Tracey. Whether either of them wanted to admit it or not, they certainly got along quite well, better in fact than Harry or Daphne had expected.

"I think she's rather fond of him," Daphne said as she crossed out a sentence in her Potions essay bad-temperedly. Tracey was at Slytherin Quidditch practice and Ron was busy looking for a book on Goblin wars with Hermione. "She won't say anything, not that Tori isn't trying to get it out of her."

"She seems to be persistent, your sister," Harry commented, remembering her entrance in the Hospital Wing.

"She knows what she wants and she gets it."

"Like someone else we know," Harry smirked, and Daphne threw a screwed up ball of parchment at him which he ducked easily. "Still finding it weird, hanging out so much then?"

"A little, I love her, don't get me wrong. It's just, I don't know…" she trailed off, no longer pouring over her essay. "I've spent so much time hating her too, hating how she is with mum, and the fact she's just better at basically everything than me. Okay, hating her might be a strong word, but do you understand what I'm saying? I guess I never really thought she actually wanted to hang out with me."

Harry knew all too well what she was saying, it would be like Dudley saying that they were suddenly best friends, although he suspected that Astoria hadn't bullied Daphne as a child, nor did she roam the streets beating up children.

"You know that's not true, right? I mean, the whole thing with her and your mum sure, but you're better at way more stuff than you think. You were basically the first one to get to grips with Impedimenta."

Daphne never really ever mentioned her sister, but the few times she had Harry had managed to figure out that Daphne felt far more insecure about their relationship and differences than she had any right to in his eyes. Sure, Astoria was easy going, funny and quite pretty. But Daphne had her own sense of humour and a loyalty that needed to be earned. He respected that and, if he was being completely honest with himself, he thought she was quite a bit prettier than her sister too.

"Hermione got it first," Daphne pointed out, but she smiled nonetheless.

"Yeah, well, Hermione gets everything first so that doesn't count. Besides, she taught it to me before the third task so it's not really fair."

"I still can't believe they made you go through with all that. It was obvious you were forced into it."

"No-one else seemed to notice" Harry muttered bitterly, remembering the crowds of students that had followed him round whispering about him for months on end.

"You just had to look at your face, you were more stunned than we were. Mind you, it was worth it just to hear darling Draco whining about it, he didn't stop complaining for weeks."

"Speaking of, is he still whining about Tracey being on the team?"

Malfoy had not taken the revelation that Tracey had not only flown brilliantly, but secured a spot as substitute in the team, well. In fact, according to Daphne, he was doing everything he could to get her kicked off the team. Minor hexes on her uniform, making sure whichever broom she was forced to use went missing, getting Crabbe and Goyle to try and dismount her during drills like they had Harry during the match. Montague, who was desperate to win the cup, had threatened to kick him off the team if he carried on according to a distraught Pansy Parkinson.

"To anyone who'll listen," Daphne said, "you'd think the way he carried on she was rubbish, but she's flying better than him. No surprise, really."

"Any luck finding a new broom?" Harry asked, checking that Ron and Hermione were still hovering over in the History section. Hermione was scanning the shelves, while Ron was practising Impedimenta on nearby flies.

"Not yet, she's been looking but there's nothing in her parents' price range."

"And she still won't let us help?"

"The last time I suggested she threatened to drown me in my own porridge," Daphne said conversationally, before irritably crossing out another line in her Potions essay."So I took that to mean she didn't want any."

"What's this?" Ron asked loudly as he re-joined them, a book entitled Goblin Wars Through the Ages under his arm.

"Tracey and her new broom, still not letting us help out."

"Don't know why we don't just do it," Ron shrugged, "bet everyone from the DA'd pitch in, wouldn't even cost that much split between us."

"Not everyone," Harry pointed out, "Lavender and Parvati still hate her and Daph for existing, remember?"

"Really? I thought we were the best of friends." Daphne said sarcastically, earning herself a snort of derision from Ron. "But I don't think this is one where she wants our help."

"Shame, she'd be way better off the school brooms. Still her choice, but speaking of people who actually want help, anyone know anything about Ragnock the Great's various atrocities?" He picked up his quill and looked at Daphne expectantly. Daphne was, Harry had to admit, surprisingly good at History of Magic.

"Page 450 onwards," Daphne answered, "ish, you might get some stuff about Strimiex the Unyielding first."

"Isn't he the one that died after being tortured for three years? After that cult of weird Goblins started hacking off people's hands for being 'unworthy'?" asked Harry, who had been learning rather more about History of Magic from Daphne than Professor Binns had ever taught him. Daphne rather liked the subject, but only because History books were some of the ones she read in her library at home. She confessed to having spent a whole summer being obsessed with the Witch trials across Europe and America, to the point that she tried to set up a fake witch burning in her garden, much to the displeasure of her mother. She had been five at the time.

"Very good, ten points to Gryffindor." Daphne smirked, although her expression went sour as she re-read her last line and crossed it out again. "Bet I'm going to lose points for this stupid essay though. This is the last time I look at anything Snape sets us without Trace."

"Give it here," Hermione said, in much the same way she did to Harry and Ron when they were struggling with their homework.

"Thank you?" Daphne said, confused but passed it over all the same. Hermione had never offered to read over Tracey or Daphne's work, probably because she thought they didn't need as much help. After a moment or two in silence, punctured only by Ron's frustrated sighs and the scratch of Hermione's quill, she passed the essay and complete set of notes on another bit of parchment to Daphne. "Okay, definitely thank you."

"You were just mixing up what Unicorn hair does with the purposes of Salamander blood. Oh, and it goes green when it's ready, not orange."

"Is this how you two have been passing all these years?"

"Us? No. We, er, know stuff." Ron said with false innocence. Looking up from his own History of Magic essay, he noticed Hermione and Daphne share a knowing smirk. The group fell into relative silence for an hour or so, only speaking up to ask one another questions, until they were joined by a very damp, very irritable Tracey.

"Quidditch practice was fun?" Daphne asked, moving up her bench to make room and making the informed decision to move her now correct essay first.

"Loads," Tracey snapped, bad-temperedly. "Montague made us play through snow, snow! The git. Why we even need to train is beyond me, it's Christmas next week, not like we're going to be playing anytime soon."

"Be fair, it's still pretty close. You've got Ravenclaw, they're pretty easy these days. They got flattened by Hufflepuff." Ron pointed out, in a bid to provide some light in a resoundingly dark picture for Tracey. She huffed as she sat down, wiping her sodden hair out of her face. Like most people, Tracey had areas where her magic wasn't the best and Charms, it turned out, wasn't her strong suit.

"I wouldn't mind but it's not like I can do anything," she continued, as she pulled a roll of parchment from her bag and her battered Potions book. "I just keep beating Malfoy to the Snitch unless he cheats. Git grabbed hold of my broom last session, the cheating, arrogant, little —"

"At least you're beating him," Hermione said hurriedly as the severe Madam Pince rounded the corner and glowered at them all. It was fast approaching nine o'clock and she did not like students staying near to curfew.

"Maybe you'll get ihm kicked off," said Ron, excitedly.

"Fat chance. His dad paid for their brooms, remember?" The mention of brooms made Tracey even more sullen. "Wish I still had mine. I can't believe he got away with that."

"Oh I wouldn't say he did," Daphne commented as she made the many changes that Hermione had laid out for her. "It must drive him insane knowing that you're better than him and everyone can see it. And on a school broom too."

"They buck like mad, I nearly got thrown off today. Mum and dad are still looking but there's nothing we can afford."

"When are the try-outs again?" Harry asked, remembering that Tracey was desperately training to apply for the many teams that she'd written to earlier that year.

"A few weeks, just after Christmas. It won't be too bad though, they give you brooms so that everyone's on the same playing field. Then they're testing their ability rather than who can afford the best broom." She said all of this very fast, reminding Harry not for the first time of Oliver Wood. She then stopped, looking mildly horrified and nervous again. It didn't take long for her and Ron to resume, as they always did, their deep discussions about Tracey's chances at the trial. Ron, to his credit, refused to hear any talk that she wasn't good enough and instead chose to point out that training on the school brooms and still beating Malfoy was the best sign she could hope for.

Hermione, who had been rather forthcoming earlier that evening, seemed slightly put out by this but said nothing when Harry frowned at her. The trouble was without Hermione, Harry himself was making slow work of his Transfiguration essay and by the time nine o'clock rolled around he was still nowhere near finishing.

"Stuck?" Daphne asked as he stared blankly at the parchment, hoping that words would just spring onto it from the recesses of his brain. Hermione had left fifteen minutes earlier, claiming that she wanted an early night to start packing for her skiing holiday. Ron and Tracey had never really started and were still happily discussing Quidditch by the bookshelves where Ron had fetched his book on Goblin wars.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Harry sighed. It was two days until the end of term and McGonagall had set them the monster essay the week before. What with the DA and Quidditch, homework had mounted up around his ears again as it had at the start of term. It was taking up so much of his mind that he had missed the Snitch fluttering about in front of his eyes in the Gryffindor's final practice of the year.

"Anything I can help with? I'm pretty good at Transfiguration." It intrigued Harry what Daphne was and wasn't good at. With a little encouragement her Defence Against the Dark Arts skills had sky-rocketed, her Charms work was okay but Herbology and Potions were her worst subjects by far.

"Not unless you can sit up with me until midnight writing this out."

"I mean, I can."

"But the library's closing." It was true, students down the back end of the library were already being shooed away by the formidable librarian.

"Harry, we've got a whole room that'll do anything we ask it. I'll stay up with you if you need me to."

"Seriously?" It was like the gigantic weight that had been crushing his brain had been lifted.

"Sure, why not? It's not like I'm doing anything else, plus I think they're a little preoccupied." Daphne said gesturing at Ron and Tracey who were laughing at something Ron had just said. "Don't you?"

"There something I should know about, you reckon?"

"Not unless he fancies, Trace." Daphne shrugged, "not sure how she's feeling. Tori tried pressing her last week but got told to go eat Hippogriff dung. But let's put it this way, I don't think she'd say no if he asked."

"Honestly, I don't think he would either. I've never seen him like this, it's weird."

"Ickle Ronniekins is all grown up. I could cry."

"You've been hanging out with Fred and George too much," Harry smirked. "But if you really don't mind helping, that'd be great. I don't particularly fancy staying up in the Common Room all night."

He had spent far too many nights hunched up in one of the armchairs, his back aching from the lack of support and his temper fraying as the hours slipped away from him. Not that Ron wouldn't be bound to do the same, but it felt rude somehow to interrupt him at this point. He wondered if Daphne was right and if Ron would really say yes if Tracey asked him out? Or would he ask her himself?

They had not really spoken about Tracey outside of Daphne, and vice versa, since they had joined the DA. Yet, there was no denying that Ron and Tracey got on well, better than well in fact. Their Saturday morning training sessions were led more and more by Ron as Harry instead took the position of occasional tips and friendly competition. He wondered how Fred and George would react if he started dating her, or Mr and Mrs Weasley, or Hermione. Somehow, Harry suspected that would be the biggest hurdle to jump.

He and Daphne hurriedly finished packing up, avoiding the wrath of Madam Pince, and headed out to the Room of Requirement. Along the way they swapped theories and ideas about whether or not Tracey and Ron would get together and how it would work. Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing at the thought of Mr Weasley cornering Tracey's father and asking him all about muggle life.

The Room turned itself, this time, into something which resembled the library they had just left — only smaller. Bookcases filled much of the space, with a table and two chairs sat neatly in one corner next to a roaring fire. The talk soon turned towards work and for an hour or so he and Daphne picked their way through his essay on animal transfiguration. It was slow work as the theory was intricate and changed for every animal, and in some cases subspecies.

"I think you've got it," Daphne said eventually, after what felt like the fifteenth draft. "Just add a bit here about size making the spell more difficult," she pointed to the fourth paragraph, "and I think you're done."

"Thanks, Daph. You're a life-saver," Harry said gratefully, making the appropriate change before setting it to one side with a sigh of relief. His eyes were heavy with tiredness and the warmth of the fire was making the droop further still. He let out a long, exhausted yawn, sagging into his chair.

"No problem, you can help me with Sprout's one tomorrow."

"Deal," Harry yawned again, trying desperately to keep his eyes open. "What time is it?"

"About half eleven," Daphne told him.

"Not too bad," Harry said, he could stay for a few minutes then he'd get going. Yeah, that's what he'd do. For the first time in half an hour of fighting with his essay, he let his eyes close and enjoyed the relief of finally being caught up.

"Honestly, anyone would think you have loads to do." Daphne said sarcastically. "Not like you're running an illegal defence club or anything."

"Not at all," Harry mumbled. He heard Daphne laugh off to his right and he smirked. She was a good friend sitting up with him, if he was honest with himself she was a good friend all round. Any trepidation he had felt about letting her into the DA had died a long time ago, and if anything he was grateful she had shown up to the Hog's Head all those months ago.

He wasn't exactly sure when he fell asleep, but was aware that he had because he was in the middle of a DA session. Their last one, which had been moved to a weekend because of Tracey's Quidditch practice. He was smiling at Daphne, who was duelling Hermione, and winning. Just as she disarmed Hermione, she looked up and smiled back at him, her blue eyes bright with happiness.

Then the room faded and he was in a dark corridor. His body tight and powerful, slithering along the ground. At the end of the all too familiar corridor sat a man, red hair thinning and his eyes closed. Harry felt himself slide forwards eagerly, this man was the only guard. He was right, they were guarding it, but no guard would be enough to stop him.

Just as he reached the man his eyes opened and he screamed in horror. Harry bit. There was blood everywhere.

"Harry!"

Screaming filled his ears, he bit again enjoying the pain.

"Harry! Wake up!"

Every inch of his body was covered in sweat. His vision was blurred, his glasses had fallen from his face and he was on the cold hard floor. Above him a shape, Daphne, was gripping him. Shaking him. The scar that had spent so long that term prickling on his forehead was now searing, white-hot and excruciatingly painful. He rolled over just in the nick of time as his stomach clenched and vomit spurted everywhere.

"Merlin, Harry."

"Ron," Harry panted, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robes and trying to sit up. A wave of dizziness hit him like a freight train and he heaved again, clenching his jaw against the urge to vomit again. What had he done?

"What about him?"

"It's his dad… he's, he's been bitten. There was blood everywhere. We've got to help him."

"It's just a dream, Harry. It's not real."

"No! It was real. Daph, I was there. I saw it! He's dying, we've got to help him!" He pushed himself up blindly, staggering and falling against Daphne who staggered against his sudden weight.

"No, it was a dream. You were screaming, it was, I dunno, a nightmare. It's fine, here, put these on." Something cold was pressed into his palm, his glasses. He rammed them onto his face, her panic which had been nothing more than a blur suddenly coming into sharp focus. The eyes that had been so happy in his dream were now staring at him with nothing but pure and abject fear.

"You don't understand," Harry bit angrily, his head was throbbing nastily but that was nothing compared to what Mr Weasley would be feeling. He tried to focus, dizziness making his vision spin as he did his best to look at Daphne. "I've got this… thing. I can… I can see Vol - You Know Who's mind. It's like a connection, I can't explain it, but I know it happened. It's real. Mr Weasley is dying. We've got to help him."

"Alright, okay." Daphne nodded, forced calm radiating from her. For whose benefit, he wasn't sure, but his heart was racing. They had to get help. "You said Dumbledore's head of that army thingy, right? Let's get him, he can help."

Harry wanted to argue but this was too important to let his argument with Dumbledore get in the way. Half walking, half dragged, he and Daphne made their way to the door which opened, not in front of the painting he was so used to seeing, but in front the stone gargoyle which protected Dumbledore's office.

"Password," Daphne cursed, "Harry what's the password?"

"Er…" He didn't know. Mr Weasley was bleeding to death and they were going to let him die because of a password? God, why had Dumbledore not spoken to him, not trusted him? Every other year he had been up there, spoken to the Headmaster, but this year of all years he was left standing in the corridor confused and alone. No, his brain reminded him, not alone.

"Help, please, we need help. Mr Weasley is dying. We need to see Dumbledore, please, let us see Dumbledore."

A long moment passed as Harry stared at the gargoyle, praying that his words would work. Every second eked the last remaining drops of hope from him, but then the gargoyle leapt aside and the familiar spiral staircase took its place. Harry practically fell onto it, caught by Daphne, and together they rode it up to the oak door adorned with the shining brass knocker.

"Enter," the door snug open to reveal the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore was sat at his desk, his fingers steepled and pale blue eyes fixed intently on Daphne and Harry as they entered the room. Daphne, who was still holding Harry upright, was looking around and Harry imagined that under any other circumstances she would have been excited to see the inside of Dumbledore's office. But these were not normal circumstances.

"Professor," Harry breathed. He had never been more pleased to see Dumbledore. "We need your help. It's Mr Weasley, he's been bitten. There was this snake, a giant snake. He's bleeding everywhere. You've got to help him, please."

The words echoed around the silent office. Every picture was lying, apparently asleep, slumped against their frames. Daphne's grip on him tightened as he tried not to wobble on the spot, his head was still splitting with agony and the nausea that had gripped him earlier was doing its best to win once more. He blinked against the pain, breathing heavily as Dumbledore looked back at him as impassive as ever.

"And how," Dumbledore said calmly, "did you see this attack, Harry?"

"I…" Harry paused, taken aback by the question. "I dreamed about it. Well, no, it wasn't a dream. It was real, but I was asleep."

"And were you watching from above? Did you see the scene from a distance, or perhaps from beside Arthur?"

"I…" Harry faltered again, suddenly painfully aware that Daphne had never heard him talk about his connection with Voldemort, nevermind the dreams that he had been having for the edge of his panic, he also wondered why Dumbledore was asking such questions. What did it matter? Mr Weasley was dying. Who cared where he'd been? Wasn't it enough that he'd seen it? "I was the snake."

"Very well," Dumbledore said gravely. What happened next was a blur of calm requests to the various headmistresses and headmasters on the wall. All the while Dumbledore refused to look at either Daphne or Harry, instead focusing all his attention on the many paintings around the room who dashed away just as quickly.

"He's there, Headmaster, he's lost a lot of blood." said one.

"They've got him, Albus." said another. "He's in the hospital. It looks like he'll pull through."

"My great-great-grandson says he'll be delighted," drawled Phineas Nigellus.

"But what of the Weasley children, Headmaster?" asked a rather stout woman from near Harry's head.

"We shall inform them later," Dumbledore said calmly, "Molly will be told first, we can ensure they are informed in the morning. There is nothing they can do for him now."

"You're not going to tell them?" Harry asked incredulously. He thought of Ron, asleep and completely oblivious to the fact that his father was fighting for his life.

"I shall keep an eye on the situation," Dumbledore said, in that same passive, calm voice. "Arthur is in the right place, if anything changes I will, of course, alert his children to any danger his current position poses. However, the Healers are with him and doing everything they can. Had you arrived later I suspect it would have been far worse. There is no sense in worrying them, especially since Professor Umbridge seems to be unaware of your arrival here."

"What does she have to do with anything?"

"Everyting, I am afraid. From now on we must be extraordinarily aware of exactly what Professor Umbridge knows. Now, Miss Greengrass, might I be correct in assuming that Harry has already informed you about our efforts against Voldemort? And of his godfather?" Daphne, to her credit, said nothing. Dumbledore smiled. "Harry always has held his friends in the highest regard."

Harry felt his fists clench as Dumbledore still refused to look at him, or even talk about him like he was actually there. How, when all of this was happening, even when he was talking to him, would Dumbledore still refuse to meet his eye? What was he scared of seeing?

"In that case, might I ask for you to join Harry temporarily with his godfather? It is imperative that Dolores does not know anything of what happened here tonight, and I imagine that your absence from the dungeons will have been noticed."

"You want me to go with him?"

"If that is alright?" Dumbledore asked as if going to a complete stranger's house after finding out that your friend can see into someone else's mind and your other friend's father might die was a perfectly normal thing to ask of someone.

"Of course," Daphne nodded, completely unphased. Her hand was still wrapped around Harry's waist, though he no longer needed her to hold him up, the squeeze that he felt made his rapidly beating heart calm down just a little.

"Excellent, Sirius will be expecting you and I would ask that everything you have seen here tonight remains strictly between us."

"You can trust her," Harry blurted out, both to defend Daphne and to also get the Headmaster to just look at him. He felt like he was back in his childhood, lost in a school where he was the freak that no-one went near for fear of receiving a beating from Dudley. The boy that had found a home in Hogwarts, a home that in that moment felt like it was slipping away from him.

"Your ability to choose friends has always been a keen one, I see no reason to doubt it now." Dumbledore smiled, glancing at Harry. The moment those blue eyes locked with Harry's something washed over him. Something evil, something desperate. His body wanted to lurch forwards, to attack Dumbeldore. To bite him, like he had just bitten Mr Weasley. He wanted to hurt Dumbledore, to rip and tear his frail skin and it would be so easy.

Kill him.

"Miss Greengrass, if you would be so kind as to read this," he produced a piece of paper and handed it to Daphne. "And if you both wouldn't mind taking this," Dumbledore said, looking away from Harry and placing a small kettle on his desk. The feeling left him as suddenly as it had come. Harry blinked, what was happening to him? "I will inform your sister that you have been taken ill, Madam Pomfrey will assure her that you need rest and that you will join her at your home in a few days. As for Mr Weasley and Miss Granger, I will explain the situation to them myself."

Daphne reached forwards first, taking the kettle from Dumbledore's desk and passing it to Harry who found himself staring at the carpet. What was happening to him? It was his turn to avoid Dumbledore's eye this time around as his brain, desperate and panic-ridden, tried to forget the feeling of wanting to hurt, wanting to kill Dumbledore and that voice. He knew that voice all too well.

"On three then," Dumbledore said, "one… two…" Harry looked up at Daphne, who smiled at him, slipping her hand into his and squeezing it tightly. Even amidst all the pain, confusion, and fear, Harry could not help but be somehow relaxed a little by her silent support. There had been no need for her to come, no need to stay, no need to be there. But she had without even the hint of running, and for that he would always be grateful.

"Three."