Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

WARNING: There is gore in this chapter. I don't want to spoil anything, so I'll just say that it is rather graphic, but brief. This story will not be focused around heavy gore, but if what is in this chapter is a bit much for you, you may want to think twice about continuing to read because it will get worse.

Author's Note: At the end of the chapter…

Harry woke in the morning feeling like he hadn't slept much at all. He sighed and sat up wearily, rubbing his eyes. A quick tempus spell told him that he'd slept almost an hour later than normal. Probably not surprising given the crazy afternoon and uneasy night. He never, ever wanted to sleep in a public room again and promised himself that he was going to do everything possible to avoid having to spend the night here again.

"Master."

Harry turned toward where he could feel his invisible familiar lurking at the side of his bed. He felt the cool snout nuzzle at his hand and ran his fingers along the snake's smooth scales.

"You are well," Rhast said, though it sounded more like a demand than an expression of concern.

Harry smiled, "I am well, Rhast," he said quietly, keeping a cautious watch on the room to make sure he wasn't surprised. There were portraits in the room, but they were high up on the walls on the other side of the room and were paying no attention to him.

"Good. You must not die, master. I like this place, but not enough to stay here forever. I would become incredibly bored without you."

"Well, in that case I'll do my best," Harry responded sarcastically, though he knew that his friend was just not good at expressing his concern. Snakes were not exceptionally emotional creatures, but Rhast and he were family.

"I saw the smelly beast with the garlic man, master."

"Before or after it was dead?" Harry posed.

"Before."

Harry badly wanted to pursue that line of questioning – proof that Quirrell was responsible for the troll – but at that moment he felt the approach of Madam Pomfrey.

Rhast needed no prompting to make himself scarce as the mediwitch approached.

"Awake already, I see, Mr. Potter. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry replied cautiously.

She lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. "If I suspect you are lying to me, Mr. Potter, I will assume the worst and you may never leave my care," she threatened in a perfectly polite tone.

Harry couldn't help the nervous swallow her threat inspired. "I'm a little tired and sore, Madam Pomfrey, but it's not too bad, honest."

His confession pulled a tiny smile onto her lips, but she didn't comment as she pointed her wand at him and cast a nonverbal spell that created multicolored words floating over him. It took her only a moment to examine them and nod to herself, then a quick flick of her wand had them tucking themselves neatly into the rolled scroll she was carrying – the magical version of a medical chart, perhaps.

"You appear to be recovering just fine, Mr. Potter," she assured him. "You can get dressed," she nodded toward the neat pile of clothes on the table next to his bed. "The restroom is right through there," a gesture toward a door down the ward. "When you are ready, join me in my office."

"Yes, madam," Harry nodded despite the sudden nerves inspired by her invitation to her office. There really was every chance that it was nothing more than a formality that everyone had to do after spending a night in the infirmary, but… Well, maybe it was his paranoia, but something about this felt… off. Something in her tone or her posture, too minute for him to clearly define, was telling him that there was more to this.

So, it was with great trepidation that he carried his clothes into the loo and went about changing out of the pajamas Madam Pomfrey had put him in last night with a really nifty switching spell. The clothes, he noticed, were the very same set he'd worn last night. They'd been cleaned and flawlessly repaired overnight. He supposed it wouldn't take much work if one knew the right spells, but it did make him wonder exactly who was keeping Hogwarts clean. House-elves, he supposed. Surely, if there were a bunch of other humans working in the castle, they would see them at least sometimes. Filch couldn't be handling it all himself. According to the overwhelming conjecture of the older students, the man was a squib, incapable of even the simplest cleaning charm.

If that was true, Harry couldn't imagine why Hogwarts employed the man. Even a weak wizard could handle fifty times the work of a squib. So why was Hogwarts' already insufficient budget being wasted to employ a man whose greatest skill seemed to be monitoring detentions and making them unpleasant enough that no one ever wanted to serve with him? Surely, a wizard could manage that. Snape did a fine job of it, after all.

Harry shook his head, brushing away the random thoughts. He left the pajamas in the basket that he guessed was for that purpose, and took a bracing breath before relaxing his shoulders and checking the mirror to see that he looked suitably calm.

"You're adorable, dearie," the mirror assured him.

Harry gave a weak smile and suppressed a shudder before leaving the bathroom. He really hated talking mirrors. He couldn't understand why the wizarding world seemed to favor them. The simple thought of anything watching him use the bathroom or get out of the shower was highly creepy to him. The possibility that Dumbledore or someone else could use the mirrors as spies like the portraits just made it ten times worse. That was the worst part about Hogwarts. Even in the bathroom he didn't feel safe. Someone or something was always watching.

Harry was nervous as he stepped into Madam Pomfrey's office, but not nearly so much as he was when he took in the fact that Snape was in the room, reclined comfortably next to the mediwitch in front of the fire and sipping casually from a teacup. Snape looked almost disturbingly relaxed, but something about him nonetheless seemed tense. Something in his eyes, maybe.

With an effort, Harry averted his gaze from the spiteful professor and focused on the mediwitch. "You wanted to see me, Madam?" he asked with polite neutrality.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. Come in and sit down, please."

Harry swallowed uneasily as he did as he was bid, hoping they couldn't tell the way his heart had started to race. He did his best to keep his breathing slow and even as he took a seat across from the mediwitch and professor and politely declined the offered tea. His stomach wouldn't accept anything at the moment, he was sure. He resisted the urge to speak first and instead focused entirely on the mediwitch and tried to pretend that he couldn't feel Snape's black eyes burning into the side of his head.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey began evenly, "You are an intelligent boy, so I'm going to be blunt. You live with your aunt and uncle, correct?"

Harry felt his chest tighten. He'd had this conversation before. More than once. Nothing good had ever come of it. "Yes, Madam," he answered neutrally.

"Are you happy with them?" she pressed.

"Perfectly, ma'am," Harry answered with a straight face tilting his eyebrows as though curious about what she could mean. "Sure, we don't always get along, but no family does. Why are you asking?"

One of Snape's eyebrows rose very slightly, Harry saw through his peripherals, but the man said nothing.

"Some of the diagnostics that I ran last night in the course of your treatment gave some troubling results, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey explained in that same even voice that was neither suspicious nor indulgent. "Is it not the custom in the muggle world for children to receive a set of inoculations throughout childhood?"

Harry nodded, slightly surprised that she'd been able to tell so easily. He really had to research healing magic. It was truly incredible, and not only for the purposes of healing. Being able to tell so much about someone could be a huge benefit. For example, if Dumbledore had a deadly peanut allergy, that would be good to know. "They were concerned that the inoculations could react poorly with my magic," he invented on the spot.

Pomfrey blinked in apparent surprise. "That's ridiculous. Virtually every muggleborn that's come through this school in the last few decades has had muggle inoculations. Why would they think that?"

Harry shrugged, "My aunt only knew very little about magical people and the wizarding world. Her sister was magical, but they weren't that close. She knew that I was magical, but she knew nothing about how to take care of me properly. They didn't know how to reach anyone in the magical world and couldn't even get into Diagon Alley. She thought it was better to be safe than sorry after I had an allergic reaction to some medicine when I was little." Harry had gotten very good at inventing all manner of stories to explain away anything suspicious after the second time one of his teachers called Child Services. Just like the first time, it had ended a week later with a vicious beating for him and everyone else acting like nothing had ever happened – or worse, glaring at him like he was some kind of troublemaker. After that, he learned to lie for all he was worth.

There was a chance that things would turn out differently if the investigation came from the magical world, but even if it did, the best case scenario was him being placed with a new family. The last thing he wanted was to end up trapped with strangers. Even worse, magical strangers, who would be much harder to avoid or escape if necessary. He'd been taking care of himself for as long as he could remember. Now he had money and a place to live that he could carry in his pocket. It was only a couple of months during the summer, anyway. No, he very much wanted things to remain as they were.

Severus watched silently as the boy spun a rather believable tale. The child was a surprisingly talented liar, but Severus had twenty years' experience on the boy and more than enough evidence to support his theory. No child from a happy home had eyes so cold or a temperament so hard. He was good at hiding it, no doubt. Severus hadn't drawn any conclusions until the evidence had been all but shoved into his face. Add to that the fact that everyone had been convinced as to what Potter would be long before ever meeting the child – himself included – it wasn't surprising that such a young child was doing so very well fooling them all.

Severus nearly snorted when he heard Potter say that Lily and Petunia hadn't been close. When he'd first met them, they'd been all but inseparable. Later though… On their summers home from Hogwarts. Petunia hadn't merely drifted away from her magical sister. He'd come to hate her. Truly hate. He really should have suspected this when Albus had told him that Potter was with Petunia, but… He hadn't. Petunia was always such a covetous wretch that he'd automatically assumed that she would be hideously proud of raising the Boy-Who-Lived. And even if she didn't realize that she was raising a celebrity, he'd have thought that she'd have gloried in the knowledge that Lily's greatest pride and joy was her own to mold in her foul image.

But perhaps her hatred ran deeper than that. Instead of merely taking what was Lily's, she'd tried to destroy it.

Merlin, he hoped that it wasn't as bad as he was beginning to fear.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," he heard Poppy sigh. "Please, advise your guardians that, though you may be allergic to certain things just like any muggle child, there is no reason to forbid you all muggle medical care. It is likely that some medications may not work as well as they should or as long as they should… In fact, please ask her to owl me as soon as possible so that I can advise her properly regarding the care of a magical child."

"Oh. Well, I'll tell her, ma'am, but I don't think that'll be necessary. Once Hagrid brought me to Diagon Alley, she got a whole lot of books about the magical world, so I'm sure she knows all that by now."

Severus sipped his tea again as he watched the child invent a believable excuse on the spot. It was becoming distressingly apparent that Potter could have been a Slytherin. In fact, he didn't doubt that the Hat had at least considered it.

"I see," Poppy conceded. "Nonetheless, if she has any questions…"

"I'll tell her, madam," Potter promised.

"Very well. You may head to breakfast, Mr. Potter."

The boy nodded as he stood and shot one suspicious and confused look toward Severus, likely wondering at the purpose of his presence, before taking his leave.

Poppy sighed heavily once she was sure Potter was beyond hearing. "That isn't the first time he's lied about his living situation," she observed. "If I didn't know better, I'd have bought that."

Severus hummed his agreement as he finished his tea and placed the cup gently on the table.

"There's nothing I can do to help him unless he admits that he needs it," she noted quietly, her tone achingly sad.

Severus frowned, recalling the first time he'd heard her use that tone. It was when he'd been promising her that there was nothing wrong with his own home life. "You can't, but…" he hesitated, feeling rather dubious about his own plan. "I will speak with Albus. If anyone can manage something-"

Poppy's inelegant snort made him give up on the statement. "We both know how likely that is, Severus."

He nodded grimly in return, "Yet, I must try," he admitted.

That's the truth of it, he mused on his way out of the hospital ward. He truly had to try. He could feel the Vow tightening his chest at the mere thought of being unable to help Potter. As much as he may dislike the brat, he had Vowed to protect him, and right now he suspected that sending the boy back to those muggles may just equate to failing to protect him.

It was nearly time for breakfast to begin, but Severus didn't bother heading to the Great Hall in search of the old coot. Albus, old Gryffindor that he was, never arrived at breakfast before eight and often closer to eight-thirty. Upon reaching the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office, Severus muttered the inane sweet of the month, licorice whips, and was admitted to the revolving staircase.

"Do come in, Severus, my boy," Albus called out just as Severus was stepping onto the landing outside the office door.

He didn't even bother to roll his eyes at the old man's childish little game. Any first year with a brain could deduce that the gargoyle and stairwell were laced with security warding of the spying variety. Severus had no care if the old man wished to use his little omniscient trick to impress the gullible ingrates of the inferior Houses, but why the man insisted on carrying out the charade with him, of all people… It was possible that the man was succumbing to senility. Sadly, it was rather more likely that he was hoping people would think that, thus underestimating just how dangerous he really could be.

"Headmaster," Severus greeted as coolly as ever. When the old man started up with the "my boy" nonsense, Severus felt inclined to fight back with as much formality as he could muster.

"Please, do sit, dear boy," Albus twinkled annoyingly. "Would you care for a lemon drop or some tea?"

"You know that I cannot stand those insipid sweets of yours, Albus," Severus snapped, lowering himself stiffly onto the edge of one of the overly soft chairs placed before the massive desk. "And as for tea, as we are shortly to have breakfast, I hardly think it the time."

"Ah. Quite right," Albus chuckled in a fashion that just screamed, 'how silly of me'. "Well, then, perhaps I would have more luck in inquiring as to the purpose of your visit as you've just pointed out that we'll see one another at breakfast shortly."

Taking a slow, steady breath to suppress his strong desire to simply get up and leave the old fool's presence while his own sanity remained intact, Severus decided that there was no point in beating around the proverbial bush and giving the old man more opportunity to annoy him further. "I have serious cause for concern regarding Mr. Potter's living situation," he said directly.

Albus blinked and sat back suddenly, looking perfectly shocked by the direction of the conversation. "Harry? Why… Has he said something?"

"Much louder than words, Albus," Severus snapped. "Yesterday, he fought a troll, was nearly killed, and was seriously wounded and the boy did not scream, cry, nor even so much as whimper. He has no medical condition that may explain the lack of reaction, leaving the only possibility that he has simply become so acquainted with fear and pain as to handle the situation with equanimity."

Albus looked genuinely puzzled and maybe very slightly amused, "'The only possibility', Severus? I know that you are rather prone to the dramatic, but I believe this discussion warrants a more candid approach. Honestly, everyone reacts differently to such situations and it is impossible to predict what sort of reaction that may be until the situation has arisen. I believe that Harry showed us a very strong character and a brave soul to go with his giving nature and academic acumen. The child is truly something exceptional. I have spoken with the portraits and they have supported Mr. Potter's story.

"Despite the fact that he and Miss Granger have not been close, when he heard that she was distraught, he sought her out and offered comfort. Truly, neither of them can be faulted for being out of bounds when they happened upon the troll, and Harry's actions were simply extraordinary as he risked himself to protect Miss Granger.

"No, Severus, my boy, I believe what you fail to grasp – the factor that has stymied your deduction – is that Harry his not his father. Nor his mother, I must admit. He is the best of them both and so much more. He has Lily's thirst for knowledge and kind spirit, James' unshakable bravery and natural magical talent, and more, a sense of what is right and the need to defend it. Harry is the best of us, Severus, and it pains me that you are blinded to this. I will admit that I hadn't quite expected you to jump to such conclusions as you have, but I promise you that you are mistaken."

Severus' eye twitched as he swallowed down the bile dredged up from the headmaster's deifying the little deviant. Though there was more than one rant he'd have loved to vomit all over the old man, he remained cognizant of the fact that Albus was very likely hoping for that very thing in order to change the subject and cleanse Severus of any less than foul feelings he may presently be harboring toward the vile little Potter spawn. But Severus was the Slytherin here. He was the spy. He'd be damned if he was going to let Albus manipulate him. Not in this.

So he remained quiet until Albus had wound down, then spoke quite calmly despite the fact his words were sharp enough to cut stone. "Albus, he is an eleven-year-old child, not a God. No one, and I mean no one, reacts to the acute threat of death, broken bones, and heavily bleeding wounds with hardly a flinch unless he has faced such things repeatedly in the past. That statement ignores the fact that the individual of whom we are speaking is a small boy."

Albus sighed, the sound somewhere between exasperation and annoyance, "Severus, you are projecting your own childhood onto young Harry. Not everyone who is different must be so because of hardship. Now, did the boy say that he is having problems at home? Of any kind?"

"No," Severus grated out through his clenched teeth.

"Then, I feel I must point out that this entire conversation is rather futile, my boy," Albus chirped, recovering his good humor immediately. "If Harry says that there is no problem, then there is no problem. If he needs help, he will come to us."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose hard in some hope of staving off the massive headache Albus was presently seeding. "Albus, how many times must I explain to you that that is exactly what an abused child will not do. Their abusers condition them to hide their pain and to lie in the face of suspicion-"

"Severus," this time Albus sounded rather weary, his shoulders drooping with the weight of age he did not normally show, "my dear boy, it heartens me to see you champion those of our children who do need your help, but Harry is not one of them, I promise you. Harry is in the very safest place he can be with his aunt and uncle. The blood wards around their residence are unique, created specifically to harness the power of Lily's sacrifice. As long as he can call home the place where her blood resides, he is protected not only while he is within the house but always. The protection is in his very blood and magic. I know that you want to protect Harry, but you have to understand that he is safer with them than he could possibly be anywhere else. Severus, I know that you, of all people, would not wish to squander the power of Lily's sacrifice – that you wouldn't want to put Harry at risk."

Severus swallowed hard and felt his face settle into a stone mask as Dumbledore managed to play to Severus' every weakness in one brief speech.

"Please," Albus reiterated when Severus failed to immediately comment. "Please, let go of this crusade, Severus."

Severus let his eyes drift closed, admitting defeat, though his hopes hadn't been all that high coming in here. "Very well, Albus," he said after a moment. "I just hope you're right," he added because he was fairly sure Albus would be suspicious if he didn't. Of course, he wasn't going to just give up on this, but from here on out, he suspected that it would be easier if Albus was unaware of his actions.

He left the office as quickly as he could and made his way toward the Great Hall for breakfast. No, he couldn't say he was terribly surprised by Albus' response. The old man never did want to believe that anyone could ever abuse their kin. He preferred to think the best of everyone, even when he'd been given ample evidence to the contrary. Severus wouldn't be entirely surprised if Albus still hoped to bring Voldemort over to his way of thinking.

He snorted softly at that idea a moment before he stepped into the Great Hall, schooling his face into a mild scowl for all the little children. It was barely after eight. Not many of the little cretins had found their way to breakfast yet. Potter had likely already been and gone as it was his custom to be in the library when it opened at eight each morning – weekends included.

The irritating little pest of a Gryffindor had not given him any reason to like him – little enough to even so much as tolerate him, actually – but that didn't change the fact that had found himself in the unwanted role of Harry Potter's champion. For that foolish Vow he'd made – only someone suicidal would swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect the spawn of a half-wit Gryffindor – and for Lily, Severus would not let Albus pretend that there was nothing wrong with Potter's childhood. And as much as he hated to admit it, for himself as well. For that little boy he'd been once upon a time who'd been failed by every adult of his acquaintance time and time again, even long after he'd given up on them all. In his ten years teaching, Severus had identified and championed nine gravely abused children and supported many more from difficult but not necessarily criminal situations. Boy-Who-Lived or no, Harry Potter would be no different.

The weeks after the Troll Incident and Madam Pomfrey's attempted intervention into his private life were, in a word, exhausting. First, there was the fact that Snape never seemed to stop watching him. Even when the man wasn't looking at him, Harry could feel the attention being directed at him from the acerbic professor. He was pretty sure that it wasn't his imagination, either, as it was apparently possible to gain such a sense through the study and practice of Magesense.

The man still treated Harry basically as he had always done. Well, maybe he'd eased off very slightly on the personal attacks, but he still targeted Harry more often than anyone else in his class, hitting him with difficult, obscure questions randomly and Harry was fairly sure that he was more critical of Harry's potions than the other Gryffindors. The more time he spent around the professor the more perplexing Harry found him. He'd determined that the man wasn't on a level with the Dursleys, at all. He wasn't even necessarily a "bad" person. He was strict and harsh and definitely biased toward his Slytherins and against the Gryffindors, but he honestly did seem to care about his students' welfare. It even seemed, against all odds, that the man was concerned about Harry's home life. He wasn't getting the sense that Snape was pursuing the issue for malicious reasons, which could only mean that Snape was trying to help – however unwanted that help turned out to be.

Harry did his best to avoid the man when possible and stay completely in character whenever the professor was around. The Head of Slytherin was far too observant for Harry's comfort.

Of course, Snape wasn't the only problem Harry had newly acquired. No, there was also his bushy-haired shadow. He'd expected, when he'd initiated the little bonding moment between himself and Granger, that things between them would change. He'd planned to treat her rather like Neville. Polite bordering on friendly depending on the circumstances, but he definitely hadn't been expecting her to attach herself to him like a particularly stubborn barnacle. Either she was latching onto one of the only people in the school who had reached out to her, or she was literally being influenced by the magic of the Life Debt between them. Harry figured it was likely a combination of the two.

Regardless of the reasons, however, the result was exceedingly annoying. Being from the same House, they already shared all of their classes and a common room, but now she sat right next to him whenever she could manage it. She'd started getting up earlier and meeting him in the Great Hall as soon as breakfast started. Worst of all, she'd taken to following him to the library. Unlike Ron, who'd long since given up most of his attempts to be Harry's "best mate", Hermione was not afraid of the library. On the contrary, she voluntarily spent as much time there as Harry did, and now she expected that they would spend that time studying together.

Problem was that Granger wasn't dumb. For all she lacked in common sense, she was actually intelligent when she applied herself. If she caught him studying a fraction of the things he actually wanted to study, she'd figure out far more than he was comfortable with her knowing, and he doubted it would take very long. That left him with the infuriating dilemma of studying nothing more than entirely mainstream type topics the vast majority of the time. He still managed to get a few minutes here and there to find books that looked useful and smuggle them out of the library in the evening to read in the confines of his curtained bed, but he wasn't accomplishing a fraction of the progress he'd been making before acquiring his stalker. It had, in fact, become something of a challenge for himself to make it through each day without snapping at her.

This problem had led him to focusing most of the study he could scrounge for the evenings on Life Debts. What he'd found was a solution to this one problem.

According to three different books in the library, Life Debts were one of the oldest, most sacred bonds in the wizarding world. They were created through a collection of circumstances that must all exist together. First, was an Action. One magical being must perform a feat to prevent serious harm befalling another. Typically, an action capable of forming a bond required a certain amount of personal risk on the part of the savior. Second, was Recognition. The Saved must recognize that he or she has been saved from serious harm. This does not necessarily require conscious acknowledgement. The individual may be in deep denial while his or her magic still recognizes the debt. The final factor is Acceptance. That is, the Savior must accept that a debt is owed him, at least on a subconscious level.

Depending on the severity of each part, Action, Recognition, and Acceptance, some may be very strong and others very weak and a debt may yet be formed. In some cases, for example, the Saved may feel so strongly that he owes a debt that it may persist even if the Savior attempts to dismiss it. In other cases, if the Action is great enough – such as the sacrifice of the Savior's very life – Magic may enforce the debt onto the family or next of kin even though the Savior is no longer among the living.

Life Debts, Harry had discovered, were extremely powerful and highly respected Olde Magick.

Harry had only been in the wizarding world a few months and he'd already accrued two such bonds. Some of the documented demands that had been made in repayment of Life Debts were… frankly, incredible. There were limitations, of course. One could only demand as much as the indebted believed his or her life worth. For instance, he couldn't demand Neville do something that the boy would rather die than do. It was a life debt and therefore only as valuable as the individual's life.

Still… Humans were instinctively selfish creatures with a deeply engrained survival instinct. When it came right down to it, there were very few people willing to sacrifice their life for anything. Not risk. Plenty of people would risk their lives, but to go into something knowing that they would die… Not many could do that. Which meant that there wasn't much a person could refuse as repayment of a life debt.

"Harry!"

He cringed slightly and sneered at the sound of the annoying Know-it-all's voice. Hermione sodding Granger. The stupid bint thought she was Harry's new best friend. Between their little "bonding" session when he'd coaxed her out of the bathroom and then that whole… saving her life thing, she'd somehow decided that they were besties.

Happily, he had a surefire defense against Granger now that he was sure he understood Life Debts.

He quickly wiped the sneer from his face when the big-toothed Ravenclaw-in-denial appeared around the library shelf, a smile splitting her face as her eyes fell on him. "Harry, there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Well, if you were looking everywhere, I suppose it was only a matter of time," Harry muttered quietly as he flipped shut the book he was reading and stood before she could sit.

She laughed quietly in response as he headed back the way she'd just come, motioning for her to follow. "Where are we going?" she whispered as they wound through the maze-like aisles of the massive library that was definitely not designed for ease of use but perhaps as a test of one's endurance and conviction as it required both to navigate successfully.

"We need to talk," was his only reply.

She didn't say anything more. She had enough respect for rules that she probably automatically assumed that he wouldn't want to talk too much in the library lest he disturb the other students. Of course, the only ones anywhere near his little study nook most of the time were those that sought the dark corner for snogging.

Once out of the library, it didn't take long for Harry to find the dusty old storage room that he'd identified as remote enough for doing things that he didn't want anyone to see. He drew the girl to the far back corner where they were tucked behind so many pieces of cloth-covered old junk that no one looking into the room would have any hope of knowing they were there.

"What do you want to talk about in here?" Hermione asked cautiously, glancing around with mild trepidation.

Apparently, the girl had slightly more common sense than Harry had credited. He held up a finger to request another moment of patience, then drew his wand and very carefully cast the spell that he'd just gotten down that morning. The Ward of Silence was similar to the silencing charm, but instead of silencing a person or object, the Ward of Silence worked over a set area and was connected to him in such a way that he would feel it if anyone or anything breached the ward. A standard Silencing Charm could keep sound from leaking out around a door or window but would do nothing for walls, nor did it account for the possibility of someone or something listening within the room. It was quicker to cast, but not nearly as secure.

It took about fifteen seconds to cast the ward and once he felt it lock into place, he put away his wand and turned his full attention to Hermione.

Before she could ask any more questions, he spoke formally, "Hermione Granger, I hereby call upon the Life Debt between us. In repayment for your life, I demand your complete confidence. Henceforth, you shall never convey my secrets to anyone or anything, animate or inanimate, magical or mundane, intentionally or unintentionally. Fulfill your debt or forfeit your life. So mote it be."

Harry felt the magic swirl between them and had to fight the urge to grin at the look of total shock apparent in Granger's wide eyes and gaping mouth. After a few seconds, her chin started to tremble and tears welled in her eyes. He watched with fascination as devastation and betrayal blossomed in her eyes. So, this is what it felt like to be on the other side of such a moment. It felt better than he'd imagined. There was a heady power in disappointing such high expectations as Granger had clearly formed with regard to their "friendship".

With a small, stifled whimper, she turned and fled the room.

Poor fool. Harry smiled slightly as he made his way much more slowly out of the room. A small – very small – part of him felt a little badly. After all, he knew what it felt like to be in her place and it wasn't good. She'd trusted him to be her friend. To save her life just because he was a good person, and to offer the same any time it was needed without ever asking for anything in return. She'd thought she was dealing with a Gryffindor.

Well, technically, she was. But only because the Hat was a pushover. Really, Granger should know better. She was a clear Ravenclaw. For whatever reason, she'd wanted to be a Gryffindor and the Hat had let her and now she was miserable because she didn't actually get along with any of the Gryffindors. The only one to tolerate her was Neville and that was because the boy was clearly a Hufflepuff misfit who would loyally support anyone who was even slightly nice to him – which actually ruled out most of Gryffindor House.

Oh, well. Harry wasn't worried about Granger. He didn't doubt that she'd soon be in the library researching everything that could be found regarding Life Debts. She would quickly learn what he had. In the wizarding world, honoring a Life Debt was considered a point of pride. However enjoyable it may have been to watch her misunderstand, he truly hadn't done anything unethical or in any way cruel. He would let her figure that out and come crawling back. In the meantime, he had research to do without her hanging all over him. Not that it would matter if she did. She didn't have to accept his demand. So long as she didn't consider his confidentiality worth dying over, she was bound to keep his secrets from now on.

Harry was nearly out of the room when he felt something different. Most of the stuff stored in the room had some feel of latent magic to it. That wasn't surprising. This was the magical world. Chairs were charmed for comfort, tables were enchanted against wear, rugs that actually ate any dirt that touched them, and beds imbued with Sweet Dreams charms – even the sheets covering the junk in the room were charmed against dust. There was very little in the castle that didn't bear some form of magic.

The tall object that had caused him to pause did not bear the simple charms and enchantments of the rest. Indeed, the magic felt… deeper, was the word that came to mind. Heavier, maybe. More powerful wasn't quite right, because the magic didn't feel more powerful, just like there was more of it there. Like many layers had been lain over it again and again and again.

He couldn't identify any school of magic, he suspected because there were several woven together so seamlessly as to make it seem like something else entirely. In his, admittedly inexpert, opinion he was looking at a work of art.

Curiously, he stepped forward and gently pulled down the dust cloth. He stepped back as the sheet fell, taking in the sight of the mirror that had been revealed. It was huge. More than twice his height – not that his height was anything to brag about. Across the top was an inscription.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi

He stared at the letters curiously. He wasn't a linguist by any stretch of the imagination, but he had looked into the subject some in his research – mostly before Hogwarts. That was the Latin alphabet, but he was virtually certain that it wasn't any Latin-based language. He mentally flipped through every such language he could think of, but he was fairly certain that it wasn't in any of those. He should have been able to pick up the letter combinations or make out some of the small words if it was, even with his extremely limited understanding of the languages.

Which meant… If it wasn't written in a different language, perhaps it was a code of some kind. So what did he know about word codes. Most of them required a key. Considering the source, he assumed the key would be hidden somewhere on the mirror. He looked over the frame curiously, the edges of the mirror, and walked around behind it. Nothing. The only inscription on the mirror seemed to be the strange words themselves.

What did that leave? A word code that didn't require a key? A cipher? Of course, it was possible that the key was elsewhere, or meant only to be known to those within a group who already knew it. Or perhaps this was part of a set and the key was on the missing piece.

He shook his head and decided to assume, for the moment, that he had at hand everything necessary to solve the mystery. Harry did so love puzzles. He'd wasted a sad number of hours in his cupboard playing with word puzzles by the light leaking in through the grate in the door or the crack around it.

He tried mentally replacing some letters with others to make sense of the short words, trying to keep in mind that the answer might not be in English. Then he tried just shifting the letters around, as in an anagram.

He frowned curiously as he began putting together some words and then blinked and rolled his eyes as it hit him. Mirror writing, or rather a variation of it. The clue was the mirror itself.

He shook his head, a little disappointed in himself for not thinking of that sooner.

"I show not your face, but your heart's desire," he whispered to himself.

Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he felt the message was suitably non-alarming, and cautiously took a step forward to gaze into the mirror.

His eyes widened as he took in the scene. His heart pounded and his breath grew shorter. Damn, this thing wasn't messing around.

"Merlin," he whispered in awe as he stared at the mirror that could apparently see into his soul. What he saw in the mirror was… there were not words to describe how vastly the image appealed to him. It was a combination of things he knew fully well that he wanted and things that, until this moment, he wouldn't have guessed. Now that he saw it, however, he was certain that he'd never forget.

He lost track of time as he stared into the reflection of his heart's desire. Happily, it was a Saturday, so he was unlikely to be missed for a time now that Granger was avoiding him.

He couldn't take his eyes from the mirror's surface. It was utterly entrancing. He was older, in the mirror – an adult. He did wonder if he would grow up to look like that or if the mirror was projecting what he wished he would look like. He was rather impressive. Attractive, masculine, and menacing. The sort of person that didn't look like he ever could have been a victim, much less the victim of vile muggles. In the foreground lay the corpses of his dear family, each mangled in such a way that only magic would have possibly allowed them to appreciate his efforts. The vision incorporated a great deal of the ideas he'd entertained over the years.

Then there was Dumbledore. The headmaster was literally impaled on a bed of spikes, his head tilted back, blue eyes glazed with death. His long white beard was stained with his blood and twisted around his neck as though he'd been choked with it. His fingernails and toenails had been crudely removed – probably with a fishhook as that would be his first choice. His genitalia had been reduced to an unrecognizable bloodied pulp. His gaping mouth showed his teeth had been broken to bloody bits.

Near the bodies were a collection of faceless figures, trembling in fear and prostrating themselves before him, and he knew that these were the enemies he might have had were he weaker. Instead of daring to harm him, they cowered before him in hope of mercy.

None of that was surprising, though it was incredibly appealing. No, what surprised him was that he was not alone above the others. At his side, draped around him in a way that truly left no question as to the nature of their relationship, was a beautiful young man about the age of Harry in the image. He was striking, though not as menacing as Harry. More… arrogant and superior, though it was clear he wouldn't be those things to Harry. He looked at him with nothing short of adoration.

Though he found the sight appealing and the fact that his companion was male somewhat less than surprising, he wasn't entirely sure that he liked the way his reflection was looking at the other man. He couldn't quite imagine opening himself enough to be with someone like that. How much would he have to trust someone to…? How could he ever trust them not to hurt him? Letting himself care so much about anyone was just begging to be hurt.

He shuddered as he finally forced his eyes away from his greatest desires. After a steadying breath, he drew his wand to carefully levitate the sheet back over the mirror. He had no wish to look into it again.

Well, no. That was a lie. Part of him wanted to stare into it and never stop, but that part of him was stupid and he was ignoring it. The parts of that scene that he knew he desired would come true, but only if he worked hard for it and made it happen. Sitting here looking at the mirror was a surefire way to fail. As to the rest… He wasn't sure if he wanted to work toward it or work toward ridding himself of the desire.

He definitely wasn't dwelling on the fact that his companion in the mirror had looked a very great deal like an adult Draco Malfoy.

Author's Note: Yay, I made my deadline! Barely. *sweatdrop* It's not as long as some of the others, but still a healthy 7,500 words. I haven't started on the next chapter, but the plot is well underway, so you may rest assured that this story is nowhere near being neglected like so many of my other poor stories. You may expect the next chapter in two weeks, October 15th.

I hope you're all still enjoying. Thank you enormously to all of my wonderful reviewers. Whenever I'm having a difficult time getting myself going on writing this, all I have to do is glance at some of my reviews to motivate myself. Thank you all very much.