Posted 2/3/2014, fixed typos 2/25/2014

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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.


Chapter Twenty - A Possibility

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On Saturday evening, after a day of reading, of double-checking his findings, after a night without any sleep he could remember, Harry felt safe enough in his theories. He had prepared, he had cancelled the Quidditch practice, even going so far as to skip homework with his friends. He had been a man on a mission. Time, he felt, was of essence. He had felt so stupid for not thinking of it earlier. All the clues had been there. He had had all the necessary knowledge so why hadn't he thought of it earlier? It was... well, not simple, no, he decided, as he neared the gargoyle guarding the staircase to the Headmaster's office. It was so obvious. Well, no, again, it wasn't really obvious, and he very much doubted anyone had ever tried it before, but then, the situation he was in had to be unique.

Clutching the notes he had to his chest, he told the gargoyle the password and ran up the stairs. He didn't care whether Dumbledore was there or not, he would wait if necessary. It was important, after all.

He hadn't reached the top of the stairs when the door opened and the Headmaster smiled down at him.

"Harry," he greeted, "I hadn't expected you but I'm very pleased to see you again. Do come in!"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied with a slight nod.

"You have gathered the memory, then?" Dumbledore asked with twinkling eyes.

Harry blinked, too surprised to understand the question. Then, he understood. "Oh, no, sir."

"Harry," the Headmaster frowned, looking for the first time to the parchment his student had brought with him, "I made it abundantly clear just how important that memory is, haven't I?"

"Yes, sir, you have, but that's not why I came here," Harry waved off and dropped his notes on the desk. Turning to his Headmaster, he said, "This is about me being a Horcrux."

Dumbledore's eyes widened, and he paled dramatically. Harry meanwhile looked through the parchment he had brought, rearranging them once more.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore told him in a heavy tone. "I never intended for you to find out about it like that."

"Yes, I can imagine, but don't worry, it doesn't matter."

"You must be devastated, Harry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it. I have tried finding a solution for your problem and didn't want to burden you with the truth. You've surely lost all trust in me by now, but please believe me I always had your well-being in mind."

Harry glanced at him. "I'm not devastated. I had guessed I'd die in this war since last June. With the Horcrux issue, I merely have to. With the soul fragment in me, I knew for sure about my fate and it allowed me to prepare for it. And I haven't lost that much trust in you after that revelation. We're just working together –you've made that pretty clear –so I can't lose what I don't have, you know? Now where was I?"

Dumbledore paled even further and swayed dangerously on the spot. Harry could tell that one had hurt but he didn't care that much. The realization that Dumbledore had indeed knowingly kept the information about the Horcrux Harry Potter from him stung too much at the moment to listen to the small voice in the back of his head. So what if the Headmaster had had Harry's interests at heart, he had still done a terrible job of ensuring his well-being It had been the Headmaster who had abandoned the orphaned Harry at the Dursleys.

"But nice of you to admit to your knowledge, that speeds up the process considerably." And with that, Harry shifted the topmost parchment to the back. "To topic then. We agree that I am indeed a Horcrux. We both know what needs to be done with them. They need to be destroyed, and that would include me as well. As you can imagine, I don't like that prospect all that much, to be honest, and I think... no, I'm certain I've found a different solution, at least for the fragment in me."

Dumbledore stared at him, but Harry smiled. "No, I enjoy this too much to tell you outright. We'll do it your way instead. So how does one destroy Horcruxes? For simplicity's sake, let us say, by the use of highly destructive magic, substances, maybe creatures as well, and regret from the creator. In the case of a living Horcrux, I'm assuming death in general would count as well?"

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry immediately continued. "Well, neither of those appeals to me, unsurprisingly. But isn't there one which isn't quite like the others? Regret, I mean, of course. Well, I guess the highly dangerous creatures, Dementors in this case, would count as well, since they aren't mentioned in the sources, right?

"But back to topic, regret doesn't quite have the same ring to it, and only the creator of the Horcrux can use it. Well, I've wondered about that one, to be honest. What difference would it make to feel regret? Then I remembered something you told me back in November –the Horcruxes try to become whole again. And I think those two matters are linked. The parts of the soul try to reunite, to become one again. It is only natural; they were meant to be one, so why should they tolerate being separated? It is only the magic of the Horcrux that is keeping them apart. That is its purpose, to keep apart what should be one. A barrier between the two. A wall, if you will. Well, if the creator regrets his deeds, then, I think, that barrier is destroyed. Or dispelled, I don't care. What matters is that the soul parts are drawn to each other and the fragment of the soul is torn from the container by a pull strong enough to overcome the magic of the Horcrux."

"A bold theory, Harry," Dumbledore pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Do you think I'm mistaken?"

"... no," the Headmaster said. "It does make sense, and I have guessed so in the past. It does explain the power regret would have in the destruction of a Horcrux. But it doesn't matter, Lord Voldemort will not regret his actions, I fear. He will not do us that favour."

"I don't expect him to, but I'm not finished with my explanations. Now then, the parts of the soul reunite. They mix and fit together and all is well. Sunshine, unicorns prancing, whatever. Well, the creator of a Horcrux cannot be possessed by his own past self because the two fragments simply mix. A possession would be something of an unsuccessful reunion, I guess –the soul fragment has enough time to grow stronger than the original soul of the victim and overpowers the original soul."

"Again a bold, but altogether valid theory," Dumbledore told his student. "You have put quite a bit of thought into this."

Harry smiled. "Well, there you go. Horcruxes can either be destroyed or the fragment of a soul can be taken from it if the creator regrets his deeds. If he does, he can reunite the split soul. That would be the end of the Horcrux as it would stop existing as a separate entity.

"So why am I not possessed by the fragment in me? The diary needed a few weeks at most, I'm carrying a part around me for years, yet haven't had much trouble with it. I'm even profiting off of its talent, Parseltongue, yet something seems to keep my soul and Voldemort's fragment apart. Well, I gave the answer, in a way," Harry said. "There has to be a barrier in place."

"Your mother's sacrifice, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "But it doesn't help us remove the fragment from you, unfortunately."

"I know. So far, we're on the same page, then. Our goal is to destroy the Horcrux though, not necessarily remove the soul fragment. The Horcrux has to cease existing. I don't fancy dying, really, so I don't want to destroy the container, which would be me. Well, I remembered something that might be the solution, and I could have hit myself for not thinking of it earlier. We're talking about parts of a soul inhabiting the same body, yet kept apart by some force. That's something quite similar to a shattered mind, I think."

Dumbledore jumped to his feet. "No! Harry, we cannot do what you are thinking of!" the Headmaster yelled. "To toy with the fragile balance or with your mind like that on a mere whim would be madness!"

His student smiled. "Madness? Perhaps. But all the greatest wizards of all time had a dash of madness as well, and without trying it, we will never know whether it could work. I think it would work. It's not a whim. From what I read, a shattered mind can lead to separate minds inhabiting the same body. Different personalities coexisting. And they can be reunited. A Summersby-Tsareva bridge, created by a skilled Legilimens, opens a path, lets them flow into each other and mingle. Well, if it works with the mind, why not with the soul as well? They are linked, in a way, mind and soul are linked, so it should be possible."

"Well," Dumbledore spoke up patiently, sighing, "a modified bridge could work, yes, but we are not talking about two parts of one mind or soul that were meant to be one, but a parasitic fragment kept at bay within you. They were never meant to join in the first place. It is not, as you called it earlier, a mix of two parts belonging together, but a deliberate attempt to have you possessed."

Nodding, Harry pointed to a piece of parchment. "Yes, I know that already. I'm certain it will still work. Once the pieces join, the fragment of Voldemort should be diffused within my own soul and cease to exist as part of him. Without the time to grow stronger and possess me, the fragment will be the one overwhelmed, I think. That should be it, then. I'd be possessing the soul fragment, instead of the other way around. That is, of course, if the fragment doesn't have the time to possess me first, so speed is the key there. But assuming it works, we'll have one less problem to deal with and don't have to worry about me dying to save the wizarding world."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "But you would cease to exist as well. You cannot expect to come out unharmed, and you would not be the same Harry Potter anymore. In a way, you would still die. What you're proposing is your assisted suicide with a very real chance of giving birth to a new Tom Riddle in the body of Harry Potter."

"I'm willing to take the risk, and I'm willing to make that sacrifice," Harry countered. "Here's how I see it. Option one is to let myself die, destroying the container and with it the Horcrux that is Harry Potter as well as the soul fragment. I'm disinclined to go through with that one; I do want to stay alive for a bit longer.

"Option two is trying the Summersby-Tsareva Bridge. If it goes wrong, then either nothing happens and the soul fragment continues to exist –in which case we'd have neither won nor lost anything –or the soul fragment takes control. Then a possessed Harry Potter would have to die. Again, nothing would have really changed and I'd have to die as well. But I doubt this would happen. If all goes according to plan, however, the Horcrux will be destroyed –absorbed, I should say –without anyone any wiser, and I'll still be alive. One problem solved."

"No, Harry, no," Dumbledore countered. "You fail to see the consequence of your idea. If all goes according to plan, the Horcrux that you are would cease to exist, but so would you. Harry Potter would stop existing as well the moment we allow the fragment to mingle with your soul. It would be the end of you. You would die as well."

The instruments in the room huffed and puffed as both looked at each other. Finally, Harry shook his head. "With all due respect, sir, you fail to see the consequences as well. The Harry James Potter standing in front of you would disappear, I'm well aware of that. But I would merely become part of a new being -I'd be mostly dead. And before you start, while we cannot say for sure who that will be, the less time Riddle's fragment has, the faster the actual integration is done, the more of myself will remain. If we are quick about it, then you will get a slightly altered Harry James Potter, but ultimately still me. People change, sir."

"They grow up, Harry, which is not the same," the Headmaster replied.

"Well, why should I be like everyone else?" Harry joked without any real humour. "Sir, I'm certain it will work. This way, we can prepare for it. We can deal with another Horcrux on our own schedule. I am ready to go through with it. I want it to be over and done with. No more Voldemort in me. If we cannot pull him from my head or wherever that bastard is, then I'll take the next best thing. It's a solution to deal with it now while we still have time for it. I have only one question for you right now –do you think it could work, sir?"

Dumbledore looked at his student for a long while. Then, he extended his healthy hand and nodded towards the stack of parchment Harry had brought with him. More reluctantly than he should have been, Harry handed his notes over. He really should have made a copy, just to be on the safe side, he thought suddenly.

The Headmaster read for a while. Page after page he looked over, carefully comparing the annotations and theories. After a while, Harry got bored with watching him. Fawkes seemed to have noticed it as he came over. Obediently Harry petted the bird and whispered compliments to him. Perhaps it was a trait of birds as Hedwig was the same, but compliments did seem to work rather well on both.

"Well," Dumbledore said unexpectedly, "you have done a remarkable job with it, no doubt. But your outlined plan wouldn't work, Harry. Not, mind you, because you haven't put enough effort into your research, but because you are lacking important knowledge, mainly Arithmancy."

"It always leads back to that, doesn't it?" Harry asked wryly.

"It tends to, yes. Keep in mind you have ventured into hitherto unknown territory. It is decades ahead of anything you might have come across, and as a result, it is horribly flawed. So, no, your theory would not work the way you imagined it. You've miscalculated."

"Are you sure?" Harry questioned with a raised eyebrow of his own. "You're not just trying to discourage me from my course of action because you dislike the method?"

Dumbledore frowned deeply. "I'm insulted you would think so lowly of me. I do not approve of your ideas, yes, but I am still an educator. No, I do not try to dissuade you. It is simply as I have said –your theory is flawed and would cost you your life without even a chance of success."

Harry pursed his lips. "And could you help me work out the flaws?"

"You are rather set on this, aren't you?" the Headmaster asked.

"Most students worry about the marks in their tests. I worry about surviving long enough to actually sit them," Harry countered. "Most students count the days until they begin a new chapter of their life. I count the days until I close the last in mine. Sir, if this plan works, it will be one less thing for me to worry about. If I can solve this problem ahead of time, then I am very willing to do so. Then I can focus my strength on a war I might even survive. And you do want me to survive, don't you?"

Dumbledore didn't react to the last question and instead steepled his fingers. "Could I help you work out the flaws? No, I do not think so. Harry, you are far outside of your territory here. It would take years to help you fix the problems. There isn't enough time for that, unfortunately. I wouldn't live to see that day."

"Oh," Harry sighed. "Well, that's... well..."

"I could," the Headmaster continued in a hollow, tired voice, "solve them myself."

Harry blinked in surprise. "You... you could? But you just said... you could?"

"Yes, Harry, I could, mainly because I would not have to bother with you and could work at the more reasonable speed of an adult wizard experienced in research in highly theoretical fields and backed with almost a century of knowledge. Most of the mistakes are matters others study for decades until they understand it. Teaching you would take too long; doing it myself, I would cut a lot of unnecessary delays and explanations. Please understand I am very hesitant to go through with it and dread the day you will ask me to assist you. And make no mistake, I cannot allow you to have anyone else perform the procedure. I wouldn't trust anyone with that information, and I cannot allow anyone to discover Voldemort's secret."

They looked at each other for another moment. Fawkes stared between the two, mustering them. Finally, he decided and turned back to Harry, nudging him.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Well, that settles it, then. If Fawkes thinks so, then I will do it. Let us write history, then, with this foolish endeavour."

"The Dumbledore-Potter Bridge," Harry replied, equally saddened. When he had come to the office, he had wanted to force matters to resolve in his favour. But sitting with the Headmaster and seeing the reluctance did put a damper on his happiness.

"The Potter-Dumbledore Bridge, Harry. It has a nicer ring to it, not that it will ever see publication."


On Tuesday evening, Harry settled for a small dinner. He had organized another training session with the team, even if it would be short. He had to keep his mind busy. Since he had left Dumbledore on Saturday, he had grown restless. Sure, the Headmaster had agreed to correct the mistakes and prepare for the actual attempt but Harry couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He knew it would happen. He knew it was drawing nearer every day. It had been his idea, and he understood the implications well enough. But it had been one thing to theorize about it, to fantasize about getting rid of the fragment lingering in him, earning himself a chance to have a life, and another altogether to know it would happen. The procedure he had imagined, the Summersby-Tsareva Bridge he had altered, had sounded like a good idea in theory, and Dumbledore had reluctantly agreed to it. But to actually go through with it sounded like a big risk. It could go wrong, couldn't it? It would be an experiment, very chancy. To distract himself, Harry had to play Quidditch. It was the one aspect of his life he had control over.

He strolled through the castle. He still had about half an hour until he was needed at the pitch, and was at war with himself. True, as Captain he should be there before everyone else, but it was still freezing outside. And Ron might be late, just like Peakes. Katie was alright, in a way, even if she had threatened him if he endangered her N.E.W.T.s. So maybe he would be even longer outside without anyone joining him. As a compromise, he had chosen the longest path he could think of without actually making a detour. He wasn't wasting time, he reasoned, he was on his way to the pitch. Yes, that was his story, and he would stick to it if anyone asked.

As such, he passed one of the deserted areas of the school as well. Once it had been used for additional classes no longer funded. From what Hermione had once told both Ron and him, about a hundred years ago, Muggle Studies had been created by joining Muggle Culture and Muggle Technology. It explained the lack of knowledge passed on in Muggle Studies as naturally the two classes had been far too extensive to fit properly into the tight time-frame. The resulting muddle of half-truths invariably led to the lack of competence when dealing with Muggles.

As with Muggle Culture, Hogwarts had once offered Wizarding Culture as well, intended on teaching purebloods about their own government, traditions, and history.

Nowadays, the corridor was unused. The classrooms occasionally served as make-out spots if one of the students figured out how to unlock the doors. Passing Paul and Agnes, the arguing, but silenced stone figures at the halfway point, Harry had almost walked past the alcove looking out over the dark grounds when he noticed a spot of colour hiding there. He looked closer and identified it quickly. Slytherin green. And, his eyes adjusting to the dark, he even recognized the person sitting there. Well, it wasn't really dawdling if he did something worthwhile, was it? He walked over and could see her tensing.

"Hello, Greengrass," he greeted, keeping his voice low.

"Leave. I don't have any use for you." She turned even further away.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Nice view, don't you think? So... dark and gloomy."

She turned to him, her eyes shining with anger. "I told you to leave, Potter. Don't make me repeat myself."

"Ah, don't be like that," he countered playfully. "I just saw you sitting here and wanted to know how you're doing. Just being friendly, you know?" But as he said it, trying to playfully examine her, he grew worried. The rings under her eyes didn't suit her any more than the slightly ashen complexion.

He leant forward, closer to her. "Everything alright with you?"

"Not your business," she snapped, glaring at him.

"You don't look all that well, and as the resident hero, it is kind of my job to worry about people, you know?" he tried.

"I don't look all that well? Rich, coming from you," Greengrass replied, giving him a meaningful glance.

It was true, he mused. While he was on his way to solve the issue with the Horcrux, it weighed more heavily on his mind. And then he had the other burdens troubling him. If that wasn't enough, his nightmares had returned as of late and had kept him awake occasionally. He probably didn't look his best either.

"And," she added after a moment, "you aren't much of a hero. Puny, short-tempered, biased against a fourth of the school..."

"Yeah, but no one can stand those Ravenclaws," Harry told her with a shrug.

"And you aren't even funny."

"So I'd need some writers to do my lines for me," he said. "Doesn't matter, you get the hero you deserve, not the one you want."

"You are still a disappointment, Potter. Nothing at all like in the books."

"I've fought dragons," Harry pointed out.

"You played with one dragon. And you haven't defeated that many dark wizards."

"I killed Slytherin's monster," he spoke up, pouting playfully. "A Basilisk, if you want to know."

"Did you now? That wouldn't really endear you to me. Why would you slay the poor creature doing its duty? No, you don't make a good hero, Potter. And you certainly don't look the part."

He winced. "Ouch. And how should I look?"

"Tall, handsome, strong, proudly standing among your fellows," Greengrass listed off. "Laughing in the face of danger. Groomed, ideally, not slobbish as you do. Not as pasty, as well."

"I'll keep it in mind. Yeah, I'm dealing with some stuff, but that'll pass, hopefully. I'm working through it bit by bit so thanks for asking. I just need to get a bit of sleep and I'll be fine."

"I doubt that. No amount of sleep will make you fine. And I don't care what you do; I already told you to leave so I didn't ask you about your well-being," she replied, bored with him.

"Well, if there is something I can do, you know where to find me, alright?" He made to leave, but hesitated.

"What now?" she asked, annoyed.

He sighed. He really shouldn't, but something compelled him to. Curse his good heart, he mused, he couldn't let her run into danger like that. "Be careful around Malfoy, he's... perhaps dangerous. He might try to..."

Her stare made him fall silent. It was as if she stared right into his soul, as if she tried to uncover all his secrets. Finally, she nodded. "Don't worry. He's keeping to himself. And I can look out for myself as well."

"I'm not just worried about him," Harry began.

"But about his master as well, yes," she finished for him with another nod.

It was weird to be standing in a darkened corridor yet still seeing something so clearly. And it was equally as weird for Harry to want to give her a big hug in that moment and for such a stupid reason. He wasn't idiotic. He wasn't seeing shadows on the walls, or conspiracies, and he wasn't alone. She knew it as well, perhaps even more than he did.

"Yes," he said, barely audible. Then, louder, he repeated, "Yes! I'm not crazy! He is? I knew it! Ha!" And for some reason, he had to stop himself from dancing in celebration.

Daphne peered at him warily. He might have seemed crazy, whatever he claimed to the contrary.

"So he's really a Death Eater then?" Harry asked her. "I knew it!"

"I have no evidence either way," she told him with a wave of her hand. "And I don't care. If he isn't, then I have no problem with him. If he is, then it is not my business to get involved. It is his life; he can choose to live it any way he likes. If he is a Death Eater, I'm better off not opposing him. The less I know, the better for me. It's not my war, you know? I'm trying to stay out of it as well as I can."

"So you don't know for sure?" he asked.

"I don't know; I don't care. He keeps to himself and away from me. What he does is no business of mine." She turned back towards the window.

"Ah, that's too bad," Harry said into the silence. "I mean, that you don't know for sure, not that he keeps away from you."

"It's none of your business either," she told him. "Run along now, Potter, I'm sure you have important business to attend to." But he didn't leave. He just stood there, breathing.

"So he just keeps to himself?" he asked her.

She sounded irritated when she answered, "He talks to people, just not me. And I don't care about that. I'm quite happy to not have him in my life, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, right." He scratched the back of his head. "Well... I mean... see, I..."

"Go, Potter. Just go and leave me in peace." She leaned against the wall, letting the cold sink into her head.

"Well, yeah." Turning to leave, he mumbled, "I hope you'll get better." And he went away, leaving her in her darkened alcove.


"... and you can't write it like that, Ron. You make it sound as if it is an unavoidable conclusion when in reality it is only a reasonable assumption." Their Wednesday quarrel had arrived, it seemed, and Harry had to bite his tongue to not jump in.

"Yeah, well, it sounded like it was," the redhead grumbled. "This stuff doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, it does," she spat. Then, she pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Look, I know this isn't your forte, but try to keep in mind we are talking about plants here. Living beings. Some may surprise you. Yes, cutting them back to the degree would lead to them taking severe damage they would need years to correct, but..."

"I get it," he waved off. "It was rubbish." He glared at the parchment set upon the table in the niche.

"No, it was not rubbish," Hermione contradicted, "just..."

"Malfoy's a Death Eater," Harry interrupted. He couldn't stand them arguing, not when there were more important things to deal with. And since they were already secluded and had put up the privacy charms just to be undisturbed, he figured it didn't matter.

"Not this again, Harry!" Hermione groaned.

"We are kind of busy right now," Ron told him with a roll of his eyes.

"Daphne thinks so too," Harry replied. "I ran into her earlier today."

"Daphne?" Ron said with a snort. "Yeah, yeah. Lots of Greengrasses. Still funny. How's your betrothed doing?"

"Not so well, it seems," Harry answered with a sigh. "But it doesn't matter. She thinks as well that Malfoy is a Death Eater."

"Does she know it?" Hermione asked with narrowed eyes. "Did she tell you she is sure of it? Or are you just assuming?"

"She said she had no proof either way," he told her truthfully.

"Well, there you go," Hermione pointed out, "she doesn't know either. And, Harry, he's not one, you are just seeing things."

"I disagree. It is actually the logical conclusion," Harry said.

"No, it's not," Hermione disagreed. "Don't you see? You just want him to be a Death Eater so you have something against him. He's sixteen, Harry. He's a student."

Harry sighed. "He's going on seventeen, Hermione. He's almost an adult. But let's look at Malfoy for a moment, alright? He comes from a pureblood family with his father, aunt and uncle being Death Eaters. His mother isn't that far from it as well."

"You have no proof for that," Hermione reminded him, "she could be a lovely lady for all you know."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What, baking cookies for the neighbourhood? But back to Draco. Would you honestly be surprised if he were evil? I can see him supporting blood purity. It's what he learned from his father and possibly his mother."

"You're still missing a motive, both for him wanting to join and for the Death Eaters to let him," she reminded him. "Just because he has the connections does not mean he took after them and the high risk connected to being a Death Eater. And the teachings of the parents aren't the only influence in life."

"You want a motive for Malfoy to join?" Harry asked. "He's a bully."

"Oh, Harry, that's laughable!" She threw up her hands. "'He's a bully'? First of all, that's not true; he's been fairly decent this year. And second of all, even if he was –and I'm not saying he is, quite the contrary actually –that's a claim of yours, but not a motive. How would him being a bully lead to Malfoy joining the Death Eaters? Ron, say something!"

The redhead frowned. "Well, alright, I'll say something. I don't believe it either. Yeah, he's a git, but a Death Eater? I don't know."

Pursing his lips, Harry spoke again. "It is a motive, Hermione. He is a pampered prince, had probably always gotten whatever he wanted. Every wish, big or small, was fulfilled. Whenever he had a problem, Daddy Dearest would fix it. With that power backing Malfoy, he could push people around without fear or consequences. I doubt he would have been punished for misdeeds so much as for being caught. That's a lot of power, Hermione. And give it to someone who was taught he is better than everyone else and you get a bully."

"Still not a motive, Harry," she reminded. "And not necessarily true either."

"Fine then. I haven't told you about my first meeting with him, have I? In Madam Malkin's. He was getting fitted. He mentioned the injustice of not being allowed his broom and bullying his father into buying him one. Malfoy's words, not mine. His mother was 'looking at wands', or so he claimed. Then he spoke about how Hogwarts should only let the right kind in."

"That's a long time ago," Hermione claimed. "And no proof or motive, Harry."

"Remember how much he enjoyed the terror in second year? Or think about third year. He insulted Buckbeak and got hurt. Instead of owning up to it, he had his father push for an execution. I could understand a bout of anger, yes, but even when the exams were drawing close, he was still very happy about the situation. He enjoyed the thought of cruelty, of harm coming to an innocent."

"Harry, that's..."

"... something you see in psychopaths, yes, Hermione, I agree," he interrupted. "Pulling out a fly's wings, kicking animals... Or think about fourth year. And I don't mean the buttons, those would count as bullying all on their own, no, I mean the end of the year. The train ride back. Remember? He insulted Cedric. He dishonoured the memory of a fellow student he had no real reason to hate for the simple reason of hurting others, in this case, me."

Seeing her about to cut him off, he raised his voice. "Fifth year, he became Prefect. What did he do with that kind of power? Trouble people. And don't forget the Inquisitorial Squad. What was the first thing he did upon meeting us? Punishing us. Me for not liking me, you for your heritage..."

"He went a bit overboard, but could easily have learned his lesson. This year, he hasn't acted up at all," Hermione told him resolutely.

"As far as you know. But my point was that he is a bully. He is cruel; he very rarely had to face any consequence. What was his punishment for all that rubbish he did last year? He lost the privileges he shouldn't have had in the first place. That's no punishment for filching other students. And don't deny it; we both know he did it."

"Well," she told him, "going after the minions wouldn't have served the purpose. He was merely doing what he was told to do; Umbridge was the real problem."

"He was given more power, and he abused it," Harry retorted. "And he liked it; that is how he operates. He hungers for power, Hermione. Back to topic. So we have someone who likes having power, usually leeches it off of others –his father, Umbridge –and who likely hasn't had any hardships in life. Then he lost his father due to our meddling. He lost that power of the Malfoys; he lost the wealth, he lost the person. The first real loss, I'm willing to bet, and something he valued without a doubt. So a bully lost one of his toys. Some recognize the wakeup call and change their ways."

"Yes, Harry, and Draco is just like that!"

But Harry shook his head. "Those, Hermione, didn't have to fear the consequences of their actions because they felt safe, but they lost that sense of safety. They knew they could get away with their actions, and after they are for once the victim they come to their senses. But Malfoy? All his life being special, all his life hearing he is better than everyone else... There's a second possibility, Hermione. Those that search out other sources of protection. Confronted with loss they seek revenge. They feel the loss and want to lash out. They want to prove their strength."

"You don't know that, Harry," she countered.

"I grew up at the Dursleys," he ground out. "I know from experience. I know bullies. I know how they think, I know how they are raised, I know how they are treated; I know how they act. I know bullies, Hermione, and I'm not talking about those pulling your hair. Take something from them, even if it is something they never really wanted in the first place, and they will act. They will see it as a challenge. Someone is challenging their power, and they react.

"Malfoy lost his father. Not to some freak accident, mind you. No. Someone had the audacity to lay hand on him." Harry ignored Ron snort. "Someone will have to pay for that. In the mind of a bully, that is about as clear of a challenge as there can possibly be one. And Malfoy would surely love nothing more than to make someone pay.

"But what can he do? With the money gone, with his father's power gone, what can little Draco do? He will need someone else to back him. And what do you know, there's Voldemort, offering power, offering resources. And all he asks for is loyalty and a few dead Muggles along the way. Really, is it that much to ask for? Sounds like a bargain to me –lots of power of the measly price of perhaps having to commit some crimes down the line."

"Still no proof, Harry," Hermione told him with a shake of her head. "You're just speculating. You have no evidence. Do you even know what Malfoy is supposed to do for Voldemort? And Voldemort is still missing a motive for letting Malfoy join. Why would he do such a deal in the first place? He lends Malfoy his power, something the boy cannot make use of –What can he do with it, really? He can't run around boasting about it –in exchange for... what? What exactly would Malfoy have to offer, stuck here as he is, that is... of...?" She slowed down, paling. Her eyes started bulging as well as she locked gazes with Harry. She had seen something even he hadn't noticed before.

Harry frowned. If she had drawn a conclusion in that short amount of time, then what had he been missing? What could Malfoy possibly have to offer that had Hermione paling? Harry tried to imagine the other boy going through his day. And suddenly, he had caught on as well. He had found it. He had found that something he had been missing and it had indeed been right in front of him. He had simply been too blind to realize it, or perhaps he hadn't wanted to acknowledge that possibility.

Ron stared between the two of them. "What's up with you? I don't get it."

Hermione shook her head, slowly at first, then more frantically. "No. He... he wouldn't. They wouldn't! They... No! That's... no..." Her hands found their way to her hair, and she gripped it, pulling fiercely.

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" Harry told her, equally shocked. Then he remembered something else. "And it fits as well, Daphne said so, he's... Yes, it makes sense."

"Would either of you explain to me what you are talking about?" Ron complained.

His friends looked at each other. Finally, Hermione spoke up with a slight shudder. "It's like last year. No, not that, Ron," she cut him off as he was about to speak. "It's like Sirius said, back at... at that house the night Harry arrived. Voldemort is after something he can't get so easily. He has the giants and Dementors, and his Death Eaters, yes. But if he wants to fight a war, he will need more. He has to recruit, gather some new witches and wizards to join him.

"But he can't run around handing out brochures, no, he needs to find other forms of recruitment. Sure, some adults might be swayed, but it's not enough. Voldemort will need soldiers –wands at his command. That is something Malfoy can do, though. He's got the students here at school for over nine months, the Slytherins locked away in their common room out of the reach of the teachers. He can find candidates and send them on their way. He can poison their minds with rubbish, and the staff will never learn about it. Young minds are easily manipulated, after all. And he..." She stopped, blinked, and then cursed both so loudly and violently, that Harry and Ron gaped at her.

"And here I thought you didn't listen to me," Ron told her once the shock had worn off. She glared at him before turning to pace. He shrugged and mouthed to Harry, "Worth it."

"He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't, right, Harry? Please tell me he wouldn't!" She looked positively deranged. "He wouldn't use... He can't... He..."

Ron, in a rare display of understanding, gently led her to a seat. Harry meanwhile was thinking about it. "I think... no, I fear he would try, Hermione. Sorry."

"But..." she grasped her hair again. "But... Learning! He can't have... that'd be..."

"Evil?" Harry suggested. "I think he is at least trying to use those tutoring session to recruit outside of his house. It makes sense. Again, away from the teachers, heads over some books, he would have the perfect opportunity to sniff them out."

"But... that's tutoring! They're learning! He can't use that for his own purposes! He'd... ARGH!" And she jumped up again and let lose another bout of curses, each one more colourful than the last. Finally, she seemed to have spent her steam.

"So, he's doing something, then?" Ron asked.

Hermione sighed heavily. "We don't know. But it is actually an obvious plan. Voldemort needs more Death Eaters. Here at school he has the future of the wizarding world in one place. Of course he'd send someone to convince people to join him. They might not have experience, but each one that is swayed to his side is one less fighting against him."

"And the pureblood son of a wealthy family would be a good candidate," Harry added. "Malfoy fits the bill; he has a motive –revenge. He has the opportunity –the tutoring. And say what you will, but I don't doubt he will know just how to twist the words to turn someone's head."

"But Voldemort has Snape here," Ron pointed out.

"Snape's a spy," Harry replied. "He needs to stay undercover. And he's still a teacher. If you want to convince someone to become a criminal, don't send authority, send their equals. Let them talk about all the fun they can have, about the awesome health plan, about the important service to society, about the benefits of joining. Oh, I can see Malfoy, sitting down in the dungeons and twisting the truth any way he likes. Yes, that would be just like him, wouldn't it?"

They stared at each other. "So, what do we do?" Ron asked. "How do we stop him?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, we should tell a teacher, of course. This isn't some school-yard brawl. Don't you remember what Dumbledore said at the start of the school year? If we notice anything at all, we are supposed to tell the staff or the Aurors."

"The only trouble is," Harry told her, "I'm not sure whether being a Death Eater is actually punishable."

"Are you out of your mind?" Ron yelled. "Of course it is!"

"Well," Harry replied, "having the Dark Mark won't work, in any case. Snape's got one, and he's free. Malfoy had one and he got off. He's not the only one."

"He bribed his way out. That's not something his son will be able to do," Ron pointed out.

"True, but having the Mark be punishable?" Harry frowned. "That sounds like something the Ministry wouldn't do. Think about Occlumency. Learning it is forbidden, but knowing it isn't. That had been in part so people who had learned it beforehand wouldn't get into trouble. What to do? Hermione, you are right. We'll tell the teachers and the Aurors. There's that. End of story."

"But... all the Death Eaters went to jail!" Ron said, disbelievingly.

"People who have it cannot get rid of it, I'm guessing," Hermione replied, "so having it would make them criminals by mere existence of the Mark, something they cannot stop or change their mind over. They might have been sent to jail because of what they did, not what they were." She looked horrified by the simple prospect of one of her classmates being a Death Eater. "Yes, we should tell the staff and the Aurors. Just to be on the safe side."

"Well, maybe," Ron argued. "But once they get him, then all they have to do is dump some Veritaserum into him and he'll sing like a bird, won't he? And then they'll know what he did. Then they could cart him off, right?"

"Two problems," Hermione began. "It's not so easy to 'dump some Veritaserum into him'. We have no real evidence apart from the Dark Mark, which we don't even know Malfoy has. As long as Draco is stuck in school, he might as well have no Mark to identify at all –nothing to link him to Voldemort in case of a search." She threw up her hands. "Oh, how come no one noticed before?"

"Err, I kind of did," Harry told her. "I told you before about my theory, you brushed it off. Others might have been similarly unwilling to consider it, so that could explain why he wasn't caught yet. And Daphne seems to have figured part of it out. I'm guessing his dorm mates might know as well. If he has the Mark, that is. Maybe that's why he dropped Quidditch, though. The others in the changing room would have seen it. Or he simply didn't want to waste his time, not when he was entrusted with such an important mission."

"Quidditch is not a waste of time!" Ron yelled.

"So he may or may not have the Mark, and he may or may not have joined Voldemort, and he may or may not have a mission," Hermione summarized. "That's not a lot."

"But you believe me?" Harry asked.

"I'm finding too many reasons for it to reject the theory. You might have been on the right track or completely wrong," she told him. "Still, that no one noticed before... Someone must have seen or heard something! Remember all our adventures? First year, we were the only ones actually down there, but the whole school still knew exactly what had happened. If he's recruiting, surely someone must have become aware of it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. And with the rumour mill here..." He leaned back in his seat. "So, tomorrow, we'll tell someone, then? McGonagall? She'd never believe us. Remember first year?"

They smiled sadly. Hermione spoke up. "Well, I think we should go to Dumbledore."

"If he'll see us, yes," Harry replied. "He's busy. It's a surprise actually seeing him at mealtime. And... well, I've seen him a lot over the last months, and he seemed weak. Remember his hand?"

"He might be weakened or something," Hermione said, sounding slightly worried. "So what about Professor Snape? He's Draco's Head of House."

"How about not," Harry snorted. "He's a git and wouldn't help us even if we were the last people on earth." Waving off her protests, he continued, "He can't do anything. If he investigates Draco, it will blow his cover, won't it? That is, if he's on our side."

"How about Flitwick, then? Or Sprout? They are Heads of Houses as well," Hermione tried.

Ron nodded slowly. "Flitwick might work. Sprout is... well, a Hufflepuff. Thinking bad of others is... anyway, Flitwick is smart, he'll listen to us."

Staring off into the distance, Harry nodded as well. Going over what they had talked about, an idea had come to his mind, and it didn't stop bothering him.

"Harry? Something the matter?" Hermione asked.

He pursed his lips. "Just thinking about something you said." And he was. He was also wondering if he should burden them with his theory. He owed it to them. More importantly, Hermione wouldn't let it go without him explaining, of that he was sure, and if he was indeed right, they would have no choice but to tell Flitwick about it as well. Instead of giving an explanation, he jumped to his feet.

"Excuse me, I need to speak to Katie real quick."

Ignoring Hermione's glare and Ron frown, he left their corner, stepping into the bustling common room and over to the table his team mate had claimed with some of her classmates. Hermione and Ron watched him, saw one of them jump up and leave for the stairs, crying, Katie and her friends exchange looks of their own. Finally, one of them walked over to the dorms. Katie gave Harry a reproachful look and said something to him. He nodded, probably thanking them, although neither Hermione nor Ron could see clearly, and walked back over to them, a pensive look on his face. Halfway there, he changed directions and headed, of all the places, to the painting of the Fat Lady and left the Common Room. Hermione and Ron stared at each other, too stunned to know what to do. Before they had regained their senses, however, Harry stepped back in and headed over to them. Once he stepped back into the private little bubble, Hermione and Ron quickly refreshed their privacy charms, just to be on the safe side.

"Well?" she asked him with a raised eyebrow.

Harry stared at her, and the look in his eyes made older than just moments before. His mind was racing as all the pieces fell into place.

"I think I know how he did it," he told his friends. "It should work, reasonably speaking."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione demanded.

He blinked, returning to them from his thoughts. "Well, I was thinking about something you said, Hermione. Someone should have noticed something. This is Hogwarts. Rumours are turning the wheels around here, it's what we pay with, isn't it? Something like that... someone has to have known about it, so why didn't they tell?"

"Why did you talk to Katie? Did you ask her something?" Ron enquired. "And where did you go when you left the Common Room?"

But instead of answering, Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration. It wouldn't have been surprising if they had seen pictures moving inside them. He was figuring something out, working his way through his theory. Finally, he nodded again.

"I talked to the Fat Lady," he told his friends. "I asked her just how good a painting's eyes are."

"Harry! That's what this was about?" Hermione yelled, too surprised by his admission.

"I assured her I didn't intend to spread the word..."

"Which you are still doing, great going," Ron threw in, laughing.

"... and that I didn't plan to use it for mischief. Well, I don't plan mischief anyway, so, there's that. She told me." He sighed. "Paintings don't have eyes, not really. They don't see what is there, but what is visible. It's not like the Map, for example, which shows the real name, and more like human eyes. To her, I'm a boy with wild, black hair wearing Gryffindor colours. I am what she sees, not Harry Potter necessarily."

"Why would that matter, Harry?" Hermione frowned. "That doesn't sound all that relevant."

"But it is. She can't see us under the cloak, for example. Paintings have slightly worse eyesight and hearing than humans, from what I can tell, but lack smell or that impeccable sense of cats. And I don't think they can create memories for others to see in a Pensieve, either." He paused. "That's it, then." Seeing their blank stares, he smiled miserably. "Remember the rumours about McLaggen?"

"You asked Katie and her friends about McLaggen?" Hermione interrupted. "They knew him well! How could you be so insensitive?"

"It was important, Hermione." He raised a hand. "Really, it was, and I needed to confirm something. Remember what we heard? He was up on fifth floor and told the painting of that bearded wizard Rumblings or something, the only one around in any case, to get some help and that it was urgent. Well, the painting did just that, he ran off. Shortly after, McLaggen fell. We saw it."

Hermione continued to stare, and he elaborated. "There were no witnesses of the actual moment McLaggen jumped, just the fall." She seemed to have cottoned on and slapped a hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened in shock, and she shook her head slowly.

"I think that's how it was done," Harry continued. "He told the painting something to make it leave. Maybe he had planned for a private meeting, but I think it was something else. That painting only saw McLaggen, yes, but that doesn't mean he was as alone as it had seemed. I asked Katie and her year-mates Back in our fourth, they were also put under the Imperius curse. And McLaggen had real trouble shaking it off."

"You... you think someone made him jump?" Hermione asked, her voice far too high for her.

Harry bit his lip. "I don't think so. I know a bit about that curse. It's a battle of wills. Crouch put us under the curse, but he had no real interest in us looking foolish. It worked, but wasn't really that serious of a control to overcome. There wasn't really anything too bad to fight, just embarrassment and a bit of pain. But the will to survive is very strong. I think even McLaggen or Ron would have put up a tremendous fight and possibly thrown it off before something happened. No, it is too much of a risk to have McLaggen come to his senses just before he is meant to fall. Here's how I think it was done, how I'd do it. McLaggen was put under the Imperius curse and forced to send the painting away. Someone under a Disillusionment charm might have been close by, but with the weaker hearing and sight, the painting wouldn't have noticed. Hermione, do you think you could do one? A Disillusionment charm? I'm sure you have read up on them already?"

She pursed her lips. "I guess so. They might not be perfect, but..."

"That's what I thought. So, Malfoy's there..."

"Wait," Ron interrupted. "You think it was Malfoy?"

"Who else?" Harry replied. "I can't see him trust someone else with something that important."

"You think he silenced a witness," Hermione said with a shaky voice.

"I think so, yes. McLaggen might have heard about what Malfoy was up to. Maybe Malfoy had tried to recruit him, but had failed. So the two of them were up there, the painting getting help. Perhaps he did order McLaggen to climb up there, but I think Malfoy stunned McLaggen and levitated him over the ledge. All he had to do is send McLaggen falling, head-first, if possible." With a wave of his wand, Harry made a quill rise and point straight towards the table. "It's not that hard to control the fall that way. The teachers will think McLaggen committed suicide. It should work. A fall from that height right on the head is deadly without a doubt. I don't know whether a Stunner leaves any traces, but the Imperius doesn't. All you have are the blank eyes, not a lot to go on. And with McLaggen..."

"Don't!" Hermione interrupted the intended insult.

Harry nodded. "Fine. But it fits; Malfoy might be cleaning up the Death Eater way. If you don't care for a human life, why not remove the obstacles in your way?"

They sat there quietly. Ron seemed to be struggling with the concept of one of his year-mates actually being a killer. Hermione shook her head in disbelief. Harry for his part had already accepted the theory.

"But," Hermione tried, "but Malfoy would have had to have learned it somewhere. For that plan to work, someone must have taught him the Imperius."

"He has Aunt Bellatrix to look out for him, doesn't he?" Ron grumbled.

"But the Decree for the Restriction of Reasonable Use of Underage Sorcery..."

"... doesn't really affect him," Harry interrupted. "The Ministry checks more where magic happened, not who did it, and yes, Hermione, it is an injustice, but that's how it works. That's why Dobby's spell got me in trouble before second year –the Ministry detected magic at my relatives' house and assumed it had been me. As long as he has his aunt or mother around –really, any adult magical at all –they are the one's who'd have to make sure he played by the rules. And can you imagine either of them doing that?"

They were silent. "So you think he killed McLaggen? Just to hide evidence?"

"Malfoy is not a psychopathic killer, I think. I hope. But to save his hide? Yeah, I can see it happening. What's a life when compared to a Malfoy's freedom? And cruelty is a lot about lowering the inhibitions. Get him to enjoy the thought of cruelty, get him to do it himself, get him to not care about it." Harry sighed heavily. "And I don't think it was his first, either."

Hermione locked eyes with him, and the remaining colour left her.

"Yeah, I think so," he answered her unvoiced question. "That's why I think he might have chosen to stun McLaggen, incidentally -that he learned from past mistakes."

Ron huffed. "You've lost me again. What are you talking about?"

Harry forced himself to keep calm. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. "Brooks. She must have known something, stumbled upon something she shouldn't have seen or heard. He had to deal with her."

"He could have erased her memories," Hermione pointed out.

"He might not have trusted the spells. Who knows what she couldn't be allowed to talk about? So Brooks, then. She was a fourth year, second when Crouch was around. I doubt he used the Imperius curse on them. She would have been unprepared. Just a quick jab with a wand. He must have gotten the Firewhiskey somewhere, but with people smuggling it into the school, it can't have been that hard," Harry mused quietly, but his friends still heard it. "Yeah, and then he had her walk up to the Prefect's bathroom. Maybe he had been there already, or he used another route, I don't know. There are no paintings nearby –no witnesses. Again. Or, you know... well, he went in. He ordered her to drink. It's not really a pleasant order, I think, but still possible with someone without any experience to fight the curse off." He went over it in his mind. "The empty bottle. It had been in the pool with her. There had been Firewhiskey on her clothes, from what the Aurors said. So, she... yes, that makes sense. She must have spilled something. Perhaps she did fight the curse. He had her empty the bottle. Then he had her undress..."

Hermione shivered violently on the chair, and Ron grabbed her arm to steady her.

Harry didn't notice. He pictured the murder in his mind, trying to fill in the blanks. "Yes, that has to be it. He had her undress and get in the tub. He had her drop the bottle in the pool. That's where... yes. And then, he had her drown herself; that way, there are no pressure marks from when she was held underwater. It fits, even if I don't want to believe it."

Hermione whimpered, but it might have been from Ron's grip. It looked painful, at least.

"And he just... left?" Ron asked, his voice nowhere near as strong as usual.

"Don't..." Hermione whispered, too low for Harry to hear.

"No, he wouldn't have done that," Harry argued. "If this was about silencing a witness, then leaving wouldn't have worked. What if Brooks came to? What if someone found her too early? If she did fight the curse, she might have shaken it off in time. He couldn't have risked it. He would have needed to make sure she wouldn't talk." Ron and Hermione exchanged wary looks, but Harry didn't notice. He stared into the space at a spot on the opposite wall of the room.

"He couldn't have risked it," he repeated, more quietly, dread stealing into his heart.


I thank everyone who's read up to this turning point.

The Summersby-Tsareva bridge was first mentioned in chapter five during the summary of Harry's summer holidays during the train ride. He also referenced it in chapter sixteen in his explanations of Occlumency to Hermione.

Horcruxes were explained in chapter nine, Harry's realization that he was one himself was equally in chapter nine. He connected the dots between the Summersby-Tsareva bridge and Horcruxes at the end of chapter nineteen.

Harry found Abigail Brooks at the end chapter seven, with chapter eight showing the events following the find itself, especially the bottle of Firewhiskey. McLaggen died in chapter seventeen with Seamus saying McLaggen sent the inhabitant of the nearby painting away.

Daphne came to the conclusion that Malfoy might be a Death Eater in chapter nineteen. Harry felt something was odd about Malfoy in chapter eighteen and suspected him joining the Death Eaters in chapter nineteen.