Chapter Seventeen

Dumbledore was unsurprised.

Concerned.

But unsurprised.

Which only meant that the Headmaster knew far more about what was going on than Severus did.

Rather than springing to action, hurrying to gather the troops, prepare for the inevitable war – that seemed far closer, now, than Severus could have predicted – Dumbledore had simply asserted the need for the occlumency lessons to continue, now as a matter of urgency, as he had done when Severus had first gone to him the month before regarding a possible connection between the Dark Lord and the boy's scar.

Not that the Headmaster had spoken urgently, of course. Rather, he dealt with the whole thing as calmly and rationally, as ever.

Which was more than could be said for Severus, who was beyond rattled by the unexpected discovery that Potter had been getting glimpses into the Dark Lord's mind for the past few months. Perhaps even longer if what the boy was telling him measured up; that he had been having nightmares for years and, no, they hadn't always been like this, but he couldn't, really, remember when it was they had started to change.

For all the understanding Severus had started to develop towards the boy, it never ceased to amaze him how little sense Potter exhibited when it came to matters of such importance; notably, life and death!

Potter acted as if the entire ordeal with the Dark Lord was a game in which he were an equal player. Chasing the Philosopher's Stone, entering the Chamber of Secrets and, now, concealing the fact he had an open window view of the Dark Lord's current dealings.

Severus flicked through the parchments Potter had given to him, after he had finished recounting and writing down as much as he could remember, but it was for naught. Glimpses, flashes, nothing concrete; nothing at all that would help Severus in his endeavours to locate him and the congregated followers.

His conversation with Dumbledore offering little in the way of assurances, Severus had gone to Regulus immediately upon his arrival at the Foundation.

"Has your Mark burned?"

"No. But then, it wouldn't, would it?" Regulus stated, his hands clasped more tightly together than could be considered natural, where they rested on his desk.

Severus was pacing the office, unable to sit still as his mind continued reeling.

"You sensed the circumstances of his demise, it stands to reason you will sense his rise, also."

"Well, we don't know how the Mark works with defectors. It could be redundant."

"Unlikely. Though you're right, in that you're the only one of his adversaries who lives, Marked."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll make it a priority to eliminate that little oversight as soon as scheduling allows," Regulus stated, lightly, lifting his glass of firewhiskey to his lips and taking a long drink.

Severus eyed the glass disapprovingly, though said nothing.

"You're sure that Harry is seeing into his head?" Regulus pressed, as if he didn't want to believe it.

Well, obviously he didn't. Neither wanted to believe it. That the Dark Lord even had a head to be looking into right now.

"Positive," Severus affirmed.

"Maybe it's just nightmares from things he's been reading, things he's connected with what happened the night the Dark Lord fell," Regulus suggested; "Malachi told me they've been looking up on all of this. The Dark Lord and the war. They're curious boys; imaginations run wild."

"I know what I saw, Regulus."

Severus drew in a breath, eyes closing for a second, before he turned towards him with further elaboration; "Regulus, I have never seen anything like it. The visions, they were so accurate, right down to the details of the masks – so much so, that I could identify each of them – Lucius. Bellatrix. Pettigrew. I could have been there myself. And the emotions; those were not Potter's. The satisfaction, the anticipation –"

Regulus bit down on his lip, glancing away.

Severus nodded, slowly; "He's making a move. Directing things from afar."

"What does Dumbledore have to say about it?"

"Only that the Occlumency lessons must continue, as a matter of urgency."

Regulus looked startled; "He wants you to keep teaching Harry? You have to stay away from him."

"Impossible. This connection needs to be broken."

"Severus, if Harry is able to see into the Dark Lord's head, surely you must realise that the very same thing could work in reverse."

"Oh. I had not considered."

"You hadn't?"

"Of course, I realise that, Regulus!" Severus snapped, impatiently; "But if I were to withdraw from the boy, now that the connection has been revealed to me, and the Dark Lord has been observing us then it only suggests to him that I have something to hide."

"Which you do."

"I can get around that easily enough. The Dark Lord isn't going to be any better pleased by Potter's ability to see into his mind than the boy is; you think he wants his deepest dealings and conversations out there for observation by Dumbledore's Golden Boy? These occlumency lessons will benefit him also, should Potter make enough progress that he is able to cut the link off between them."

"Why doesn't the Dark Lord just do that himself, if breaking it off is possible?"

"The Dark Lord is unstable at the best of times, I highly doubt his abilities as a Legillimens are any reflection of his abilities as an Occlumens. The Dark Arts have done their work on him. Though, obviously, I would omit that thought from my arguments when I am addressing the Dark Lord, himself, on this matter."

Regulus seemed to think on that for a moment, then nodded, giving him a wry smile; "That's why you're the spy, Severus." He reached over, lifting his glass and finishing off the rest of the liquid within it.

"Stay sharp, Regulus," Severus found himself unable to hold back from saying; "Drowning yourself in firewhiskey and loose women are not going to stop these events from happening."

Regulus rolled his eyes, pouring another glass; "Lighten up, old man." He indicated the other glass, in offering, but Severus only stared in response.

Regulus capped the bottle; "What does Lily say about it?"

"As yet, she is unaware of it. I had hoped to speak with her directly but she is not in a the Lab, as the schedule says she should be."

"Oh. Yes, she was called into St Mungo's just before lunch," Regulus stated, leaning back in his chair and lifting his glass to his lips; "Something to do with Potter. Senior."

"Ah. I see," Severus glanced away.

"You approve?"

"It's none of my business."

"Well," Regulus looked sceptical; "It's sort of your business. What if it works?"

"Then it works. You know what Clay's trying to do?"

"It passed my desk. It's risky. Revolutionary if he succeeds. Did he consult you?"

Severus shook his head, glad of the fact, because a conflict of interest in this case was blatant, even if he did force a show of indifference.

Severus would not touch it.

"No. This is entirely his own project."

Regulus nodded, slowly, before he said, his voice softening somewhat; "I doubt you'd have anything to worry about, either way."

Severus met his eyes.

Regulus held his look for a second, before flashing him a smile, that cheeky, mischievous one that was so rare these days and Severus gave a snort, rolling his eyes.

"I had better get down to the Lab," Severus got to his feet; "My contributions since returning have been severely lacking, as of late."

"Well, you know, you're only trying to stop the end of the world. I'll let you off."

"Will you send Lily my way, if you happen to see her?"

Regulus confirmed the affirmative, as Severus headed from the room, mind filled with the thoughts and images of the Dark Lord, his Death Eaters, and, to his chagrin, James-Bloody-Potter.

Malachi peered at the old Prophet front page.

Another that he had found, left for him, within his schoolbag, those same words – 'Blood Traitor' – enchanted across the page, corner to corner.

Thirty-Six Dead in Anchor Ridge Massacre.

With a careful glance over his shoulder, Malachi quickly skimmed the article, looking for any mention of his dad but there were no names, not even of the victims.

He quickly stuffed it back into his schoolbag when the door to the Common Room opened.

Draco and several other, older, kids walked in, ignoring him, and sitting down on the couches in the centre of the room. Malachi relaxed, somewhat, when he noticed no one from his own year amongst the newcomers and leant back against the sill of the window, returning his attention back to the book he was reading.

The Grindelwald one that had also been left for him, concealed within his Potions textbook, almost finished.

"Good read?"

Malachi looked up, sharply, when Draco's voice sounded at his side a few minutes later.

"Oh, uh," Malachi drew closed the books in his lap slightly, pressing them to his chest and drawing his knees up; "Just Potions, y'know. Professor Snape gave us another assignment for tomorrow, so."

Draco only eyed him; "It didn't look like a Potions assignment to me. In fact, it looked like a copy of The Ingenious Ideals of Gellert Grindelwald. The same one you've been reading all week, I noticed."

"You've been watching me?"

"You're my cousin. It's my job to keep an eye on you."

Malachi didn't point out that his big cousin's eye had done little to help him out for the past couple of years but said nothing, just lowered his knees somewhat so the books were no longer so pressed against him, glancing down at them.

"I was just curious."

"You don't have to explain it to me, Mac. My mother says my father swears by it."

"Oh. You've…you've read it?"

"Of course!"

"Oh." Malachi let his legs relax completely, then, the book now completely on display.

"Well. What do you think?"

Malachi met his eyes and then glanced at the book, speaking uncertainly; "I…uh…I dunno. It makes sense, I guess."

Draco only looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for further elaboration.

Malachi released a breath and then shrugged; "Why should we be the ones who have to hide? They're the ones with the problem, right? The muggles."

Draco regarded him for a minute.

And then he smiled.

"Come with me," he took a step backwards, indicating in the direction of the couches; "Greengrass and Zabini, they're big Statute opposers. You should talk to them."

"Oh. I don't –" Malachi shook his head. He wasn't an opposer. He just could see the reasons for the arguments, that was all.

"Come on, Mac." Draco took him by the arm, drawing him off the sill and towards the congregated group of Slytherins who Malachi had never been a part of.

"Hey Zabini. You know my little cousin, right?"

Blaise Zabini eyed him, with evident distrust; "Black."

He said his name as if it were something disdainful.

"Greengrass," Draco nodded at the girl to the other boy's right. She gave a small smile, though she regarded him with a guardedness as well.

All knew he was the traitor's son.

"Malachi's been reading up on the Statute. He's with us on it, too. Right, Mac?"

Malachi looked at him, between them, unsurely, wondering if he should deny it and leave – go find Harry, wherever he was – but then, did he really want to incur the wrath of the third years, as well as the second?

After all, it wasn't like he didn't think the Statue was wrong.

"Yeah," Malachi eventually said, uncertainly. And when the Slytherins eyed him, sceptically, he drew in a breath and nodded, speaking more surely this time; "Yeah. I am."

There was a moment of stillness.

And then Zabini scooted up slightly on the couch and Draco nodded down at the newly freed space.

For the first time since his arrival at Hogwarts, Malachi took a place amongst them.

The nightmares continued.

Harry's Occlumency lessons with Snape increased, accordingly, with Tuesdays and Wednesdays being added to the schedule and Harry guessed the only reason Thursday's weren't included were because of the extra lessons he was already taking with Remus.

They weren't every night, the nightmares, no, but they were frequent enough that Snape was increasingly concerned by them and Harry had been given instructions to write down anything and everything he saw, the moment he woke when he experienced them.

Harry's occlumency abilities improved, somewhat, with the increased practice and his resistance was getting better. Sometimes, he could even keep Snape out of his head completely, if only for a short while, though it was obvious that he was doing so; offering up a blank slate in lieu of emotions and memories but that was not what Snape wanted him to be able to do.

Snape wanted Harry to be able to trick people into thinking they were seeing into his head, that they had him at their mercy when he was the one truly exercising the control, by offering up only things he wanted his attacks to see.

It was impossible.

Harry was sure no one could ever do that. All those things Snape said he needed to be able to do at once, his brain would sooner explode!

But Snape was happy – well, as happy as Snape could ever be – with the progress he was making, instructing him to clear his mind, blank it out, exactly the way he was doing, every night, last thing before setting down to sleep.

'An empty head did have some benefits', Snape had remarked with a smirk, though it lacked the usual bite Harry was used to, and it was still a little strange, the seeming shift in the way he spoke to him. But then, Harry doubted it was any different to the way he treated Malachi and his Slytherins.

Harry didn't think it worked; clearing his head before sleep.

But the nightmares were so erratic, following no schedule whatsoever, that it was impossible to be sure.

It was two weeks after the initial realisation with Snape what was happening, that anything he was seeing in his dreams at night finally made any sort of connection to what was going on outside in the real world.

Darkness surrounded him, as it always did.

The firelight.

The masked faces.

The hiss of the snake, somewhere nearby, only just audible over the sound of the crackling firewood, the snapping of branches beneath footsteps, and the lower, satisfied rumbling of a laughter.

"You have proven yourself worthy, Pettigrew. Most worthy."

Harry sprung awake with a gasp.

It took him a second, merely a second, to come to himself, to become aware of the erratic thump of his heartbeat, the sweat that dripped from his brow, the throbbing of his scar.

But all that he could think of was the name.

Pettigrew.

Harry scrambled from out beneath the bedclothes, so tangled up due to his tossing and turning through the nightmares that he fell to the floor but he simply crawled to his schoolbag as quickly as he could, not caring how much noise he was making, and reaching in, pulling the map out frantically.

He quickly spoke the incantation to activate it, from right there where he was sprawled on the ground, and Hogwarts was quickly spread before him; names glittering the corridors and hallways and rooms, but none of them the name he was looking for.

Peter Pettigrew.

Peter Pettigrew who, he now realised, served Voldemort.

If what Snape had said to him were true, if he was truly seeing into Voldemort's mind, then Pettigrew was with him. Right now. The very same Pettigrew who had been creeping the halls of Hogwarts for months right under his and Malachi's nose.

And they had been treating it as a joke.

Calling him 'The Spirit', and laughing at how he was following Snape.

Harry scrambled to his feet, even as his mind tried to rationalise with him, that there could be many 'Pettigrews', that Voldemort had referred to him by last name only, and there was no way to know that they were one and the same person.

But Harry couldn't shake it, the sudden realisation that had just come over him – it had to be the same person – and he flung his robes on over his pyjamas, a hastily utter 'mischief managed' as he stuffed the map into one of his pockets, and sped from the room, taking the stars to the common room two at a time.

Ran all the way, once his feet hit the floor, until he was at the door to his Uncle Remus' chambers, knocking frantically.

Silence greeted him.

Harry knocked again, louder.

Nothing.

"Uncle Remus!"

Harry's knocking continued, pounding it with his palm and leaning in close.

He had to speak to Remus now. Before Pettigrew came back.

Harry took a step back, his eyes going to the little open window to his left when he did and the moon was framed within it; illuminating and full and the realisation came over Harry like a bucket of ice water.

Remus couldn't help him tonight.

Harry released a breath, his heart pounding and his nerves frayed, as he took a few steps backwards, turning and walking down the corridor, more slowly this time, wondering if he should go to Dumbledore, then. But then, with the initial shock wearing off, Harry was starting to wonder if this was silly, if he was exaggerating the urgency of it; he didn't now for sure that this was the same Pettigrew, after all.

Did he really need to go and wake up Professor Dumbledore in the middle of the night for it?

A flutter of black robes up ahead caught Harry's attention.

Snape.

The panic was back full force and Harry's steps picked up, quickly becoming a run; "Professor!"

Snape's steps halted, turning in his direction, and even from this distance Harry could see him roll his eyes.

"Out past curfew, again, Mr Potter. It is almost as if you are begging for –"

"Peter Pettigrew is in the Castle."

Snape froze.

For a moment, they only stared at one another; Snape's expression completely blank, while Harry attempted to steady his breathing.

"Say that again, Mr Potter?"

"Peter Pettigrew. He's been in the Castle for months."

"Where did you learn of this?"

Harry quickly reached into the pockets of his robes, thrusting the inactive map into Snape's hands; "On this. All the time, I've seen him. Me and Malachi, we –"

Snape held up a hand, silencing him, a careful glance around them.

And then he indicated that Harry follow, turning and sweeping down the corridor in the direction of the dungeons.

They walked in silence, Harry behind him, and he frantically tried to figure it all out in his mind, what it was he had seen in his nightmares – as Snape would surely question that – and all he had seen of Pettigrew on the map ever since he had noticed the strange name upon the parchment some months before.

Minutes later, they were stepping into Snape's office – a place entirely familiar to Harry now – and as Harry closed the door, he noticed Snape muttering something under his breath as he tapped his wand against the inactive map, impatiently.

Harry quickly took a step towards him; "Oh, you have to…"

He broke off, as the blank parchment in Snape's hands suddenly came to life in response to Snape's mutterings, words forming in a way Harry had never seen it do before, and he stepped closer until he was standing next to Snape, just as the sentences formed.

'Mr Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keeps his abnormally large nose out of other people's business.'

Snape's eyebrows rose.

Harry's eyes widened.

'Mr Prongs agrees with Mr Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git.'

Harry almost snatched the map back from Snape's hands, quickly reaching to do so, but Snape moved it just slightly out of reach, eyes narrowing as the writing went on.

'Mr Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a Professor.'

Snape's lips twitched, a humourless smirk, as he tilted his head, seemingly awaiting more, and Harry closed his eyes against it, praying that there wouldn't be anymore, to no avail.

'Mr Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball.'

A heavy silence fell over them.

Harry wished the ground would swallow him up.

And he suddenly wondered why on Earth he had even come to Snape about this all in the first place.

The Potions Professor was the first to speak.

"Well. It seems your mysterious parchment doesn't like me very much, Mr Potter."

"Professor," Harry shook his head, utterly mortified; "I swear, I did not make it say that!"

"No, indeed," Snape conceded, to Harry's surprise – and relief! – before he went on; "I presume this is something of your father's?"

Harry frowned, confused at the assumption; "What? No – I…What makes you think it was my dad's?"

"That is irrelevant," came Snape's smooth response; "What is it?"

Harry glanced back at the map, reaching for it hesitantly and Snape didn't seem all that keen to give it up, releasing only one hand and keeping hold of it with the other, as Harry took hold of the other side and lifted his own wand, speaking the incantation.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Snape's eyes lifted towards the ceiling, a slight shake of his head.

And then he froze, as the map revealed itself to them both.

"Is that…"

Harry nodded, glancing up at Snape; "Hogwarts."

Snape's lips twitched, and he shook his head, not looking impressed in the slightest; "Of course."

Snape merely peered at the names, as they moved across the parchment, saying nothing for a moment.

"This is the most blatant disregard for privacy I have ever seen."

"It shows everything. Everyone. Even ghosts. Peter Pettigrew's name's been coming up on it for months."

"Months, you say?"

Snape turned to him, his previous displeasure only seeming to increase at the information.

"Mr Potter. I have long wondered at the minds of youth. But, do tell me, why – why – when being confronted by the name of a known Death Eater upon this abominable piece of parchment, did you not think to report it – to your Defence Professor, if no one else?"

"I didn't know he was a Death Eater!" Harry exclaimed, in his own defence; "We thought he was a spirit or something. Or maybe just a mistake."

"Has this creation ever proven itself to be inaccurate before?"

"No. No, I don't think so. It just…knows everything."

Snape nodded, slowly, eyes dark as they turned back to the parchment; "It seems there is no trace of him within the grounds at the present moment."

"No. He's with Vold – him."

"What?" Snape looked at him, sharply.

"I saw them. In my nightmares. Just now. He spoke to him - Pettigrew - that's how I know who he is, or…what he is. Vold – he said his name."

Snape's hands curled the map creasing beneath the grip of his fingers and he looked at Harry strangely, almost distrusting, as if he were weighing what he was going to say next.

"The Dark Lord. And were there any regular patterns you noticed while observing Peter Pettigrew?"

Harry nodded, remembering how he had followed his movements with interest, during his times of boredom; "Kind of. He followed me a bit. And Malachi. Mostly you."

Snape regarded him, coolly.

"Indeed?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, before adding; "He was in the dungeons more than anywhere else."

"When was your last sighting of him?" came Snape's crisp response, as he folded the map.

"Last night."

"Return to your Common Room, Mr Potter."

"What?"

"Do as I say." Snape tucked the map into his robes; "Return, now. Speak to no one of this. And it goes without saying I shall be confiscating this particular item."

"But…it won't let you read it."

"I'm quite certain I can find my way around that."

Harry only stared at him, confused at the closed off way Snape was suddenly regarding him. Not even a hint of anger, or annoyance, or concern.

Asking nothing of what he had seen in his nightmares.

Nothing more about what Pettigrew had been doing.

Nothing.

It was as if Snape had suddenly gone blank.

"Go."

Harry left without another word.