Slytherin's Heart

by Jason de L'Epee

A young graduate of Hogwarts recounts his journey of self-discovery as a Slytherin, all the while as peer pressures and other magical and non-magical forces guide or hinder him. It only gets more complicated during the Triwizard Tournament. (The events run parallel to the books, not the movies).

2. Part 2

A hot summer came, but it didn't seem to matter to me. When I got home, I immediately dove into getting a job. My father was able to get me a job at the Improper Use of Magic Office in London quite quickly, and I dove into work as if tomorrow would never come. I wrote to Oleg as much as I could, and he wrote back just as much. It would have been a good summer had it not been overcast with such a dark overtone. Throughout the summer, the Daily Prophet seemed committed to discrediting Dumbledore and Potter as much as imaginably possible. If it didn't cover the front page so much, I would have assumed it was another gossip column by Rita Skeeter.

I primarily worked alongside Ms. Mafalda Hopkirk, who was an assistant in the same office. Her job was to issue warnings, letters of expulsion and such to those witches and wizards who were caught using magic under the Trace—underage wizard monitoring—or magical infractions caused by older witches and wizards.

For the most part, it was routine. I helped formulate other letters as well as receive intelligence of improper use of magic within our jurisdiction. I sometimes crossed paths with my father, who would often give me pointers on whom to talk to and to avoid if possible. One of which was Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary. It was hard to miss her in a crowd, despite her height. She seemed obsessed with the colour pink and she was the most toad-like of women I've ever seen. Normally, I wouldn't be so quick to judge someone, but apparently, the curtain does match the drapes when it came to her.

Thankfully, she seemed to not to notice me most of the time, because I got my job done, however basic it was, and I asked no questions. My purpose here was just to work, and I didn't want to get embroiled into the obvious private war between Dumbledore and Minister Fudge. My goals lay elsewhere.

My summer took quite the change in August. I was working late one early August night when the Trace picked up a very powerful use of magic in a Muggle town called Little Whinging, south of London. It was odd enough because the charm used was a Patronus Charm, a spell that cannot be done on accident. The real bombshell was who cast it.

When I got the intelligence, I was with Ms. Hopkirk at the time, refiling some past offences as we reorganised the office—clutter is something not exclusive to Muggles to be sure. Normally, most of the intelligence we gather from the Trace doesn't come from the "offenders" themselves, but from something that happened nearby, typically from their parents in all-magic families. This is often overlooked due to how often this happens, and it's well controlled by the parents. This time, however, it was undeniably caused by an underage wizard, and worse, in the presence of a Muggle. The wizard cast a Patronus Charm, a spell that can't be cast on accident, in the presence of a Muggle. It was a worst-case scenario, but what made it all the worse was whom the caster was:

Harry Potter.

My eyes nearly bulged out of my head when I saw the name. At once, I turned to Ms. Hopkirk. "You better see this."

Ms. Bopkirk looked at the intelligence, and shook her head. "I had already warned him once. There's going to have to be a hearing now."

"What did he do last time?" I asked.

"You can look at his file to find out," she said. "I need to send a letter right away. He wasn't at home, but he will soon return there. A letter must be there when he arrives."

I had mixed feelings about this. Potter was not an idiot, but to do such a thing seems unfathomable. Patronuses are generally used when resisting dementors, but minus a few rare examples in recent years, the dementors stayed at Azkaban. Nothing about this made any sense. "Very well. I'll draft a report and scribe a copy for the rec—"

The softest clearing of the throat silenced the room. Both of us stopped what we were doing to see a short squat woman, dressed in pink that seemed to only make her smaller and squatter, with a black velvet bow in her dark brown locks of hair. It might have been adorable if it wasn't so nauseating. Plus, the room seemed to grow a lot colder. I had to suppress my emotions quite well around the Senior Undersecretary. Ms. Umbridge delighted in making someone's life barely better than a cell in Azkaban.

Ms. Bopkirk seemed just as uncomfortable. "Yes, Madam Undersecretary?"

Ms. Umbridge smiled, which seemed to have an ironic effect on anyone who saw it. "Mr. Colquhoun. I require your presence in my office as soon as I'm done with Ms. Bopkirk."

That smiled remained unchanged, and I grew more and more unsettled. "Yes, Madam Undersecretary. Right away."

I gingerly made my way around Ms. Umbridge, and she didn't seem to pay me more any mind than she did Ms. Bopkirk. Once out of sight, my blood began to chill. What could the Senior Undersecretary want with me? For the last month, I didn't do anything that might merit discipline, and my jobs were so mundane that I haven't done anything worth mentioning. What could she possibly want to speak to me about?

I reached her office, which faced several interns assembling pamphlets on columns of desks. Despite the only thing they were doing was waving wands over each pamphlet and sending it down, the noise it made almost sounded like a slow march. I stood waiting outside the office, dreading the upcoming conversation.

"What are you doing here?" came a voice.

I looked up and looked to see one Albert Runcorn. I have run into him a few times before, and while he wasn't nearly as bad as Ms. Umbridge, something about Mr. Runcorn always chilled me. His chilly attitude towards me right now wasn't even the reason for that. "I was summoned here by the Senior Undersecretary. I'm merely waiting until she returns from other business."

He seemed to scowl at me, but his face seemed stuck in that position. "I'd be more careful whom you mouth off to, Colquhoun."

"I wasn't mouthing off, sir. You can ask her yourself when she gets here."

He continued to scowl, but bit back his retort when the squat form of Ms. Umbridge came around the bend. "Ah, Mr. Colquhoun. Very good. We'll get started right away." She turned to Mr. Runcorn. "Thank you, Albert. You may go."

He seemed slightly more cordial to her, as he slightly bowed respectfully. "Madam Undersecretary." He turned around and strode away, although he seemed to go at a clomp. Ms. Umbridge strode up to her door, and opened the door with a point of her wand. "If you would, Mr. Colquhoun…"

I nodded as I followed her into her office. Her office was just like her: painted pink, gaudily decorated, and far too saccharine to be welcoming. There were even plates and pictures of cats depicted on the walls flanking the desk, all mewing far too innocently to be settling.

Ms. Umbridge sat down at her desk and poured herself a cup of a reddish-coloured tea, and proceeded to apply two cups of cane sugar into it. Stirring the tea gently, she smiled as she seemed quite content in her seat. I once read a Muggle-story I found that had a woman in it that seemed to be a lot like Ms. Umbridge. I just hope I could keep my head after today.

"You may sit, Mr. Colquhoun." Placing her cup of tea down, she raised her wand—a rather short one I noticed—and summoned a chair for me. It wasn't quite as nice as hers, but still matched the decor of the room. As I sat down wordlessly into it, she placed her wand back in its place on the desk next to two perfectly lined pens, and returned to her tea. "Would you like a spot of tea, dear?"

I was startled by the question, and some instinct screamed at me to refuse. However, I had the feeling that she would insist and make life for me uncomfortable if I persisted. I remembered her reputation among the Improper Use of Magic office, the section of the Ministry she had direct control over. I stealthily reached into one of my pockets and pulled out something that I carried for small emergencies. "Thank you, Madam Undersecretary."

"Ms. Umbridge will do for now."

"Very well, Ms. Umbridge."

She briefly looked away as she poured another cup, and I raised my hand, making a motion as if I was wiping my mouth, but I bit down on what was in my hand and quickly sucked it into my cheek as stealthily as possible. I then lowered my hand as she looked back up at me, offering me the cup. I took it, trying to stay as calm as possible. I took a sip of tea because I knew she was looking at me expectedly. Very carefully, I swallowed it, and made a note to monitor myself throughout this exchange.

"Well, dear, shall we get started then?"

I had taken another sip of tea—I needed to stay inconspicuous against my better judgment—before I could answer. "May I ask what?"

"I have some questions for you, Mr. Colquhoun. I understand it that you are a recent graduate of Hogwarts, am I correct?"

An innocent enough question, so why did it make me nervous? "Yes, Ms. Umbridge."

"Of Slytherin House, am I correct?"

"Yes, Ms. Umbridge."

She nodded every so slightly. "I thought as much. You have come highly recommended. So, tell me, Mr. Colquhoun. How would you rate your education at Hogwarts?"

The question was so odd that it threw me off, and I felt kind of flushed to answer. "I would say I did very well."

"I would expect that, but I'm interested to know more. If you wouldn't mind answering a couple more questions for me…"

"I can do that," I said automatically. That surprised me, in addition that it felt like it was getting hotter in here. Was it the warmth of the tea?

"Thank you, Mr. Colquhoun." Something about that gratitude didn't feel genuine, and I felt more flushed than ever. "There has been a turbulent tenure for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for several years, is that correct?"

There was that flush again, and the answer was right at my lips. "Yes, you can say that." I blinked. I felt like I was going to throw up.

"So, it is true that no teacher has stayed longer than a year, correct?"

Another flush. "Correct."

Ms. Umbridge made the smallest of chuckles, which sounded a little like a small hiccup. "It truly is a shame that such an important class is squandered on teachers not willing to enrich students with proper educations throughout the years. One would think that needs to be changed, do you agree?"

Once again, the flush came back, compelling me to say what was on my mind. My blood chilled as soon as I realized what was happening. I looked at the teacup, half-full of tea still. I had the suspicion that something was in the tea, hence the Mandrake leaf in my mouth. Mandrake leaves can delay poisons enough to seek proper antidotes, but it was never tested against Veritaserum. While I've never been under it before, the fluctuations of my inner temperatures every time I was asked a question, pushing me to speak the truth, it could only be that.

"Are you feel all right, dear? You don't look well." She smiled.

That confirmed it. She was digging for answers and I had fallen for it. I had to breathe; I couldn't panic. Otherwise, she could suspect that I knew. "Just a little under the weather. I imagine it will pass if I have more tea."

Ms. Umbridge regarded me silently, her face not moving a twitch. If there was a deity of the wizarding world, I'd be praying that Ms. Umbridge didn't see through me. While I certainly didn't lie, I had to concentrate enough to suppress the full truth. Veritaserum is a very powerful "truth serum" as they call it in the Muggle world, but not a hundred percent efficient. If one cleared one's mind enough and focus on what to say instead of getting too wound up, one could effectively fight the compulsions the Veritaserum was making.

Finally, she placed her cup down. "Lovely, dear. Thank you for your time and your visit. You were a great help to me, and I hope you continue to be so. You may go now. Don't worry about the tea."

The flushing was getting a little strong now, and I'm sure it was showing in my face at this point. "Thank you, Madame Undersecretary." I stood up and tried to keep my composure as I left the room. As soon as I left, I made my way back to my desk in the Improper Use of Magic office and quickly fished out a small clear flask. My father had given me this flask as soon as I started working here, and had filled it with an antidote that he said that I may need someday. Apparently, having a conversation with Ms. Umbridge and needing the antidote afterwards was something a little too normal. I took a drink of it and sat down, trying to relax. Soon enough, the flushes went away, and I felt normal again, although still a little shaken.

I busied myself with work, trying to not draw attention to myself. As I did, I thought about what just happened. I was mainly questioned on my time at Hogwarts, particularly about how things were there with education. As my mind raced to replay what I had just went through—I had no idea Veritaserum had a way of fogging up one's mind afterwards—I had to wonder what was she really after. What was the purpose of such a line of questioning?

Everything went breakneck from there. In the week to follow, I learned through the grapevine that Potter was initially expelled without any real hearing at first, but somehow that was rescinded, allowing a hearing after all, which resulted in an acquittal. I knew that the term was about to start again, and around the time it did, I found out the scariest revelation: Ms. Umbridge was to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I had to wonder what arts got her that position but judging from the few exposures I've had with her, I dearly pitied anyone that was unfortunate to take her class.

Later that day, after I left for the day, I was feeling shaken. Something was very wrong, and this entire summer seemed like the entire world had gone crazy. With what happened during the Triwizard Tournament in addition to the near daily smearing of both Potter and Dumbledore, I couldn't help that even if Dumbledore was mistaken, the reaction by the Wizarding World seemed rather pretentious, even overdone. I was very new to the Ministry, but I couldn't help but wonder if I dug deep enough, I would find the truth behind everything.

Before the Hogwarts term started, but after my chat with Ms. Umbridge, I was able to secure a residence of my own in London, a short walk from the main entrance. It was a small flat, barely big enough for two, but it was within my budget. Once I secured my monthly rent, the first thing I did was enchant the entire flat with permanent Muggle-repelling spells in addition to sound silencing spells, linking the chimney to the Floo Network and everything else to prevent anyone from noticing any magic happenings. Apart from the Muggles asking questions, there were many others in the current climate that I didn't want to know where I was. I also had to "train" Lumi as it were to only deliver letters at night. Owls in the daytime are unusual to Muggles, and I didn't want to attract the least amount of attention.

A letter that arrived one night was from Oleg, and it had me nearly forget everything that was happening at the Ministry:

"Dear Ewan, I need your help. My uncle had to go into hiding because Death Eaters have been spotted in Russia. He said that for both our safeties, we need to separate. The Death Eaters are looking for Durmstrang students specifically, and I need a place to hide. Please, you are my only hope."

At once, I penned back.

"Oleg, do exactly what I say. Apparate to just outside Hogsmeade, the far side away from the castle. I suggest you Apparate short distances to avoid splinching. I'll be waiting for you around six o'clock outside of town. Don't do anything rash. I don't want to lose you."

It would take Lumi a day to find Oleg in Russia, but I knew he would. My instincts screamed that something was going to go wrong, and I know that I needed to be ready. The next day, I spent a lot of time fretting and it nearly hindered my work. When my time to leave had come, I left the Ministry as nonchalantly as I could; I didn't need the Ministry to tail me. Once I got out and found a secluded alleyway, I Apparated all the way to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and I had forgotten how tiring that can be. Summer had not quite ended yet, and I was still in my work robes. The sun blistered down on me, despite the sun setting to the west. I should have changed first, but the entire day, I felt like something was going to go wrong.

The hour came and went, and there was no sign of Oleg. My fretting turned into outright anxiety. Something must have gone wrong; it had to. I'd Apparate all the way to Russia myself, but I had no idea what Oleg's house looked like. If I Apparated without knowing where I was going, it would be a disaster. Feeling helpless, I continued to wait. If I had to stay in Hogsmeade all night, I would.

Suddenly, a loud pop of Apparation shattered the silence of the twilight hours. I looked, and I saw Oleg several metres from me, and he slumped over as soon as he had arrived. Alarmed, I ran up to him. "Oleg!"

Oleg managed to look up at me, and he looked like he was in excruciating pain. "Ewan…I'm sorry…" He slumped to the ground.

"No, no, no!" I shouted. I managed to turn him over, and nearly lost my composure. A gouging wound had nearly split open his right side, and blood was pouring everywhere. I didn't think. I grabbed Oleg and Apparated both of us back to my flat. Not even thinking about the mess that would be left by the blood, I lay Oleg's unconscious form on the bed and immediately whipped out my wand. "Diffindo!" His bloody jumper split and I was able to pull off the remnants of it, and I saw the real damage of Oleg's wound. Whatever the spell was, it seemed to cleanly cleave a piece of flesh right out of Oleg's side. Trying to stave off panic, I thought back to a spell I overheard Madame Pomfrey back at Hogwarts used. I even remembered how she said it. Slowly waving the wand over the gouging wound, I started to say very slowly and monotonically, "Vulnera Sanentur." I held my breath as the blood flow slowed substantially, but I couldn't stop now. "Vulnera Sanentur." The wound began to look cleaner. "Vulnera Sanentur." The wound finally started to knit itself shut.

I finally let out the breath that I didn't know I was holding, but I wasn't done yet. Dashing to the pantry, I found some dried dittany, I mixed it with water and ground it into a fine brown paste. I quickly wrapped it in a loose-knit poultice and took it back to Oleg's side. "Epoximise!" I said as I pointed my wand at the poultice and pushed it against Oleg's wounded side.

Oleg moaned, and I nearly jumped. He was coming around. "Don't move," I commanded. "You're safe now."

Oleg opened his eyes weakly. "Ewan?"

"Shh," I soothed. "Try to sleep. I've got you."

Oleg didn't seem to have the energy for anything else and was soon unconscious again. I sighed, finally relaxing. Had I been slower or messed up anything during the process, Oleg might not have survived. I may have been skilled at magic, but sometimes, thanking something beyond magic was gratifying somehow.

Oleg slept throughout the night and I stayed up, ever alert of Oleg in case he took a turn for the worse. My mind flashed to brewing a Draught of Peace, but in my anxious state, I'd rather not risk making a mistake in brewing it. I also told myself that depending on magic or potions wouldn't help anything. That being said, I never knew that nights were so long.

Oleg came back to shortly after sunrise. I was close to dozing off beside the bed, but when I saw his breathing grow faster, any fatigue I had evaporated into the sunlight. "Hey, you made it through the night," I said. "Looks like you're going to be ok."

Oleg seemed out of it, and I couldn't blame him. He looked like he had just gone through a round of N.E.W.T.'s. Blinking slowly, he tried to focus on me. "Ewan?" He blinked a couple more times. "Where am I?"

"My place," I said. "You fainted from blood loss and I patched you up the best I can."

Oleg's brow furrowed in confusion, but then he looked down at his bare chest and found a poultice seemingly stuck to his right side. Initially surprised, he relaxed a bit as his mind started to catch up. He then looked mournful. "I am sorry, my friend…"

I was confused at the sentiment. "Why?"

"I was hoping to get away from Death Eaters sooner, but I was lured away and distracted. When I found out it was trap, I did what you had said."

"The Death Eaters found you?" I said, trying to remain calm.

"Yes. I do not know how, but they seek Durmstrang graduates. I do not know how many they have turned or—"

"What about Viktor?" I asked. It was a question for my curiosity, and Viktor seemed a decent sort despite having a head filled with sawdust on occasion.

"I do not know. He was leaving back to Hungary after we returned."

"Then he may have avoided them then, but that's all speculation."

"We were not followed?"

"I doubt it. As soon as you passed out, I Apparated us here. Unless they've infiltrated the Ministry—which admittedly is a possibility—then I wish them the best of luck to try."

Oleg looked confused. "Why would you wish them luck?"

I smiled. "I don't. That was sarcasm. Sorry, I keep forgetting you're not quite adept with the nuances of the English language. It's sometimes hard for we native speakers."

Oleg seemed to understand and looked at his injured side. "Was it bad?"

"It seemed to be," I admitted. "Honestly, I would have taken you to St. Mungo's if I wasn't able to do anything, but I don't know that after my attempts, I might not have gotten you there in time. Thankfully, I knew enough."

Oleg smiled. "Thank you…for saving my life."

"I was happy to, although I hope you don't make a habit of needing me to do so."

Oleg nodded, and he tried to sit up.

"I'd not try that just yet," I said as I stood up. I took out my wand again and aimed it at the soiled poultice. "Finite." The poultice tumbled right off, and I saw a fading wound now revealed. "Pardon me," I said as I applied some light pressure to the closed wound. Oleg winced, and I immediately withdrew my hand. "I thought as much. My spells stopped the bleeding, but they didn't quite repair the damage underneath. I don't know what caused your wound, but it was bad. It looks like something ripped a chunk out of—" I stopped myself. I realized what had happened. "Oleg, how far did you Apparate when you found me?"

Oleg looked down. "I am sorry…"

That confirmed it. "You Apparated all the way from Russia, didn't you?"

Oleg looked tearful, as if his guilt hurt worse than the wound. Truth be told, I was incensed. Possible legal complications notwithstanding, Apparition was dangerous enough by itself because spinching was a common complication of improper Apparition, and Apparating very long distances magnified the danger. "You're lucky you didn't die!" I said, harsher than I intended.

"I know," he said, properly admonished.

"You could've—" I stopped myself. Yelling wasn't going to help anything, and Oleg was already sorry. I had no place to make him feel worse. "I'm sorry; it's just that you not only could've died, you probably did break international wizarding law. All I can hope is that it wasn't Traced properly by the Ministry."

"Could they?"

"Very likely. Wizarding law here is strictly enforced, albeit probably overmuch lately. Just a couple of weeks ago, Harry Potter himself was nearly expelled from Hogwarts for using a Patronus Charm. I don't know why he would, or even why such a quick expulsion, but it was reversed and now things have taken quite a dark turn here in London."

"What do you mean?"

I reached over for an old copy of the Daily Prophet and showed him the articles depicting malicious attacks on Potter's and Dumbledore's character. Oleg took the paper and looked it over as I said, "It's been going on all summer."

"Is this about what has happened at Triwizard Tournament?"

"About You-Know-Who coming back and at large? Yes."

"There isn't any proof?"

"Nothing but Potter's word, like I said a few months ago, but Dumbledore believes him, and I'm still unsure if I do. Still, this reaction by the Daily Prophet is a lot like grandstanding. It's just…overdone."

"So, you do not believe this?"

"Well, to paraphrase an old poet, 'methinks the Ministry doth protest too much'. It's just such an overreaction. If there was a proper counterargument to You-Know-Who's return, it wouldn't be so base as to attack someone's credibility. There'd be inquires, investigations and the typical political bullocks that everything is all right. I can tell you right now as a Ministry employee that there hasn't been any of the first two and the third is just louder than usual."

Oleg digested what I said. "You mean that You-Know-Who is back then?"

"Again, I don't know what to believe, Oleg," I said. "But the behaviour of the Ministry is so off-kilter that I'm slow to believe them. Dumbledore has by all appearances taking this mudslinging with grace, and I imagine Potter is just buggered."

Oleg looked concerned. "What are we going to do?"

"We can't do anything right now, but after what you told me, you need to lay low for a while. You need to stay in bed until your injuries are healed. Since you got splinched, this could take a while depending on what you lost. Let's just hope that whatever you lost, you didn't leave anything important behind, if you know what I mean. I'd even go so far as you're going to have to go without magic for a while so you don't exert yourself." When I said that, I then realized something was amiss. "Wait a minute, where is your wand?"

Oleg looked sad again. "When I was fighting Death Eaters, one of them cast a curse, and it shattered my wand. I panicked, and the next thing I knew, I was in front of you."

My eyes nearly fell out of my head. "You Apparated without your wand? Don't you realize how difficult that is?" I wasn't angry, but serious. Oleg didn't seem keen on just what he did, so I continued to explain. "Apparation is difficult on its own, but to do it without a wand? I haven't heard of that, but I would imagine it takes immense magical talent. Sounds like you're no ordinary wizard, Oleg."

Oleg wasn't sure what to make of what I said, but still seemed lost without a wand. "What do I do?"

"The natural thing is to get a replacement. I don't know whom you went to back in Russia, but we have an excellent wandmaker here in London. Once you're well enough, we can go. Don't worry if you have money. I've been saving up for a rainy day, so to speak since they literally happen all the time here."

Oleg seemed to relax. "Thank you."

"That being said, you need to stay in bed until your internal injuries heal, and you need to let me know if you feel worse in any shape or form, because that could mean that I didn't properly fix the injury. Once you are well enough, then we can get you a new wand."

"I understand," Oleg said.

"Good." I relaxed, and I then realized that this was the first time I saw Oleg without a shirt on and actually recognizing the fact he was bare-chested. Clearing my throat, I then smiled, "Well, I'm sad to say that you have a scar that has forever marked your…admittedly fine architecture, and I'm sorry I couldn't return your body to its beautiful self."

Oleg had to laugh, but it hurt a little bit. "Please do not be making me laugh."

"Sorry, but perhaps this will make you feel a little better." I leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips, ignoring how cracked they were from dehydration. Oleg joyously returned the kiss. We reluctantly pulled away from each other. "That's the best I can do for now, sadly."

Oleg looked like he was going to pout.

"Well, you can get started on this." I flicked my wand towards the kitchen. "Accio." A glass flew from the kitchen to my waiting hand, and then I pointed the wand into the glass. "Aquamenti." A weak jet of water filled the glass, and then I handed the filled glass to Oleg. "Drink up. You're dehydrated from blood loss and this will help restore your lost blood."

Oleg obediently took a drink. "Maybe I am feeling sick, but this is best water I have ever had."

"Magical water." I smiled as I stood up. "Does its job every time. Get some rest. I'm going to send word to the Ministry that I'm calling in a sick day. You're to stay in bed for all reasons except go to the loo. Do you understand?"

Oleg seemed to get exasperated. "I understand, Ewan."

The tone wasn't lost on me. "Move from that bed and no kisses for a fortnight."

Oleg finally relented. "Very well then."

The threat might as well of have happened, because Oleg wasn't feeling up to get out for about a fortnight, although he made slow progress being able to walk without pain. I made sure to keep healing and pain-relieving potions readily available. While Oleg healed, I worked at the Ministry and I could see that things were getting out of hand. During that time, Ms. Umbridge was promoted to High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, granted the power to dismiss poor-performing teachers and then some. I had to wonder what her definition of "poor-performing" was, because I certainly didn't hold her teaching abilities in high esteem. Not that I personally knew, but even instincts couldn't be always wrong.

During that time, an increase in mysterious disappearances were taking place and they were quickly blamed on Sirius Black, the escapee from Azkaban two years ago. In retrospect, Black was a loyal follower of You-Know-Who and his escape was still one of the most disturbing mysteries, but on the other hand, the Prophet was very quick to cast blame on him.

It was closing in on October when Oleg was healthy enough to stand up on his own without pain, and I was glad to see that no lasting damage was made from his emergency Apparition. When he was finally healthy, the first thing we did was take a weekend trip to Diagon Alley to get some supplies. He had to leave everything behind, and he couldn't risk going back should the Death Eaters be waiting for him. While it was likely they moved on by this time, there was no telling what was going on back in Russia. The Daily Prophet was consumed with libel against two certain wizards that it scarcely made room for anything else. After picking up some spare robes, clothing and other essentials, we finally arrived at Ollivander's to replace Oleg's broken—albeit lost as well—wand. When I stepped in, Mr. Ollivander wasn't immediately visible.

"Is he not here?" Oleg asked, worried.

"Oh, he's here, I'm sure. He's—" Suddenly, Mr. Ollivander seemingly rematerialized from the back, obviously having heard the door. He was older than I remembered, but that's what happens after seven years. "—right there."

Mr. Ollivander looked weary, but he still seemed to have a spark to him. "Mr. Colquhoun, I remember you. Rather, I remember your wand." He smiled warmly.

I turned to Oleg. "He remembers every single wand he has ever sold," I explained to him before turning back to Mr. Ollivander. "Which I still maintain is an amazing memory."

"You're too kind, Mr. Colquhoun. Even more significant considering you herald from Slytherin."

It was a compliment, albeit somewhat backhanded due to Slytherin's reputation and the current political climate. "Well, my mother and father taught me how to be respectable, regardless of my house."

"I remember their wands as well, and your family is a noble one for rearing such a son. What brings you to my shop today?" He then frowned. "You can't say that your wand is broken or lost."

"Not mine, master wandmaker," I said. "But my partner here can't say the same."

Oleg politely bowed. "I am Oleg Mikhailov of Durmstrang. I am humbled to meet you."

Mr. Ollivander nodded a bow in return. "You are definitely a polite young man, and in good company, although I'm under the belief that the students of Durmstrang get their wands from the wandmaker Gregorovitch."

I looked at Oleg and held a finger up, letting him know to leave the talking to me. I knew the name because Gregorovitch was also the proprietor of a wand shop somewhere else off Diagon Alley, a branch of Gregorovitch's main wand shop somewhere else in Europe. I also knew that it was in direct competition of Ollivander's and that they didn't agree largely on the nuances of wandlore. "That may have been, but he's of age now having graduated from Durmstrang. He's since moved to London for reasons but he needs a new wand. I recommended you."

Mr. Ollivander looked amused. "There's no need for the theatrics, Mr. Colquhoun." He turned to Oleg. "Welcome to London, Mr. Mikhailov. Step over here so that we may select your new wand. I promise you that it will serve you well, perhaps better than your last one."

I kept my thoughts to myself as Oleg stepped over to the desk. Mr. Ollivander may have been old, but his wit was still as sharp as ever. I remembered when I accidentally set his desk on fire with a wand that would not be mine. After banishing the flames, he simply responded nonchalantly with "Evidently not."

I watched as Oleg went through twenty or so wands until one finally responded to him. I watched with nostalgia as it felt like a moment of empowering seemed to wash over him. I smiled; I remembered the exact feeling when I held the wand that did become mine. It was that moment of fulfillment, and he was feeling it again. The wand had chosen him.

Ollivander looked at me strangely, just like he did when he sold me my wand. "Curious, indeed. And so it is."

I didn't ask then, but now I had to ask. "Mr. Ollivander, you looked at me that same exact way when I got my wand. You look at me that same way now. What are you not telling me?"

"Yes," Mr. Ollivander nodded. "It's time I explained. May I see your wand?"

The request struck me as odd, but I obeyed. "Of course." I withdrew my wand, turned it around in my hands and handed it handle first towards Mr. Ollivander.

Mr. Ollivander took it delicately from me, looked it over, and his eyes looked it over with nostalgia. "Yes, indeed. Yew wood, eleven and three-quarters inches…" He tested the rigidity of it in his hands. "Slightly springy." He then held it to his ear. "Dragon heartstring. Yes, indeed. It's all coming together."

"What is?"

He ignored me but turned to Oleg. "Mr. Mikhailov, if I may?"

"Yes, sir," he said, and handed back the wand, although I could tell he was a little reluctant.

"Thank you. Now, both of you, come to me."

We both came to him and he set both wands next to each other. "Tell me, Mr. Colquhoun. Do you see anything?"

I looked at the two wands. Oleg's was slightly shorter than mine, by about a half-inch I'd say. My wand had a twisted, dark tan handle with a smooth, lighter-coloured shaft; Oleg's had a smooth shaft, but a notched handle, all the same lighter colour, unlike the changing color of my wand. From what I can tell, they were as different as apples and oranges were to each other. "Should I?" I asked as I looked back up at him.

"As you've said, I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Colquhoun. These two wands seem as different as different can be, but they do share a bond. Your wand has a dragon heartstring core, while Mr. Mikhailov's new wand will have unicorn hair. The lengths are different as their flexibility differs as well, but the wood is the same. These are both yew wood, and not only yew wood, but yew wood from the same tree."

My eyebrows rose. "That's fascinating, but how is that significant exactly?"

Mr. Ollivander smiled slightly. "I've made wands for longer than either of you have been alive, respectfully, and I've sold countless wands, but I remember every single one. I've sold wands that share the same cores, or the wood has come from the same tree. Every time that has happened, I've learned that those who wield those wands are tied together, for good or ill. Even if they were sold decades apart, they would meet again. Today, these two brothers have met again. Time will only tell what that will mean."

I had no knowledge of wandlore, and my mind was quick to make the excuse that this was coincidence, but it made too much sense. My mind flashed back to when I purchased my wand. "You knew, even back then when I got this wand."

Mr. Ollivander nodded. "In a sense. While I had no idea how they would meet, I did know that as long as you were alive that if I sold this wand—" He motioned to Oleg's. "—to any other, that they would meet again. As I've said, time will tell what it means."

I looked at Oleg, and Oleg looked just as mystified as I was.

We purchased the wand and made our way back home through the Floo Network through a chimney at the Leaky Cauldron, silent as both of us were lost in thought. Once we arrived at home, the erumpent in the room was finally addressed. Oleg asked the lingering question, "What is he meaning by what he said?"

I looked at him, and I realized that the entire time between Mr. Ollivander's shop and arriving here, I never put my wand away and was now looking over it as I had just rediscovered it. "I'm not sure. I know better than to question him though; he's the best wandmaker I know, and he's been making wands for decades. My father and mother even got their wands from him before their own tenure at Hogwarts."

"But what does it mean?"

"I can't say, Oleg. He mentioned that this kind of phenomenon seems to infer some kind of bond between the wands. That could mean anything, but with the way things are looking lately, it might not even be a good thing."

Oleg looked at his new wand and looked rather tortured. "I wish I had my—"

"Shh," I cut him off, not harshly but assuredly. I knew what he was going to say. "The wand chose you, and that means this is the best wand for you. You can't change it as much as you could change the entire perception of the world about magic. Besides, I have found that it's a complete waste of time wishing that things were different."

Oleg looked at me strangely, unsure if he should feel assured or not.

"Do you know how many times I wished I wasn't sorted into Slytherin House? You've seen the ilk I've had to deal with, and I had to deal with it for seven years. It's a waste of time wishing for a change on something that already happened, but what we can do is deal with what has happened and learn from it." I placed a hand on his cheek. "One thing I've noticed about Muggle and wizardkind alike is that we seem to always wish for something different. Sure, we have the ability to create change, but we can't change what happened and expect a magic fix."

Oleg seemed to relax. "Okay." He smiled. "What would I be doing without you?"

I smiled. "We can't wonder what would happen either. That's also a waste of time. Now, finding out what will happen, on the other hand…"

Oleg took the hint and pressed his lips against mine. We kissed for a while, wands and destiny forgotten. What happened next? Well, that's between us.

XXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the year was fraught with deception and fear—none between Oleg and I for we were quite the loving couple—spread by the Ministry and the Prophet, and my work were dominated by what was "officially" happening. Going to work became a slog as all I can hear was what was happening at Hogwarts, and reports of disappearances plagued the Ministry. False alarms and hysteric witches and wizards plagued my desk, and it was difficult to handle the peace, despite the reassurances of the Ministry. As the months progressed, faith within the Ministry began to wane, and Minister Fudge seemed to grow more and more unstable. He continued to blame new disappearances on Sirius Black, despite the fact that reports of him have more or less vanished since his escape from Hogwarts almost two years prior. As for Hogwarts, it was virtually unrecognizable if the Prophet was to be believed. I could only imagine what was going on inside the walls.

The new year came, and the news continued to darken. My father confided in me that the Ministry was getting more and more unhinged. It all seemed to come crashing down when a mass escape occurred at Azkaban, and the prisoners that did escape were among the worst. One in particular caused chills to run down my spines: one Bellatrix LeStrange. Her picture in the Prophet was bad enough, but she was one of You-Know-Who's most loyal followers. She was one of the very few that after You-Know-Who's downfall that never switched her allegiances. She was responsible for the deaths and tortures of many witches and wizards, most notably the traumatizing tortures of the Aurors Longbottom via the Cruciatus Curse.

Once again, it was all blamed on Sirius Black, but the lies were becoming more and more transparent. None dared voice it, but sentiment that the Ministry knew more about what was going on was growing. The lies were breaking down, and for the first time, I began to really believe that Dumbledore last year was right.

In response to everything that was happening, Oleg and I scheduled regular times to practise offensive and defensive magic. Oleg learned fast, his new wand over the months proving to be an amazing teammate for him. We particularly practised wordless spells, which was something strongly taught in my sixth year. Every week we Apparated to an open field, far away from Muggle villages to practise, but not before I cast every spell I knew to keep us hidden. I didn't want anyone, Muggle or wizard, to stumble upon on by happenstance.

Other times I began to push my magical skills by creating new spells, in addition to boosting the power of the rest of my spells in my arsenal. At some point, I spoke to my mother about everything, and she felt much of the same how I felt about everything. After dinner at one point, she gave me a small grimoire, and told me to guard it with all the power I could muster. Arriving back at my flat that night, Oleg and I discovered that it was a list of more spells, some having unfathomable potential. One spell in particular—called "Gurges Aternum"—sounded particularly powerful. It was one of the only spells to not have directions to cast, but it did have an addendum: "Use only in extreme emergencies." Whatever my mother created, it was powerful enough to merit a heavy disclaimer.

Month after month, we practised our battling spells while the Wizarding World seemed to crumble around us, and all the Prophet could do was offer platitudes. Every day, it seemed to get worse…until one fateful night in June. It was before dawn, when I got a Patronus waking Oleg and me up saying that I needed to come to the Ministry at once: the Trace had picked up alarming amounts of underage magic inside the Ministry itself. I quickly got dressed and took a Floo jump straight to the Ministry. When I arrived, I knew at once something was wrong. There were crowds of witches and wizards, and I could see the flashes of cameras. I couldn't even get through the crowd, but I tried to peer over them to no avail.

"What happened?" I asked a nearby witch. "What's going on?"

"You didn't hear?" She looked like she was about to go into a dead faint. "It's him! He's back!"

"Who is?" I asked, but I felt my stomach turn into stone.

"You-Know-Who!" she hissed.

At first, I thought she expected me to guess, but just as fast, I understood. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned? My mouth went dry. "I need to go." I turned and strode for the nearest Floo-chimney. Grabbing some Floo powder—and ignoring how much I spilt—I jumped right into the chimney. "My flat!" A flash of green fire took me away and I reappeared back in my flat, a shocked Oleg was the first thing I saw.

"What is it?" he said.

I tried to calm down, but I found that I was unable to. "He's back. You-Know-Who. He was at the Ministry."

Oleg dropped the book he was reading and paled even further than his complexion. "He's back?"

"Yes. I arrived at the Ministry early today, and he was there. I didn't see him myself, but others did, but I can tell they didn't lie. He's back."

Oleg looked fearful. "What do we do?"

I was still in shock from having what I had entertained was the truth affirmed for the first time. What do we do? For all intents and purposes, we were not prepared for the second coming of one of the most powerful dark wizards this century. You-Know-Who was next to invincible it seems, and he even cheated death itself somehow, which made the news of his return all the more terrifying. Even worse, he was still at large. War was coming, and if You-Know-Who was wise, he wouldn't make the same mistake as last time: underestimate the enemy.

My mind raced each scenario, and it all spelled out that ultimately, I would have to fight. The big question was where and how. Running away would soon not be an option, especially if You-Know-Who somehow overthrew the Ministry, and it wasn't a stretch considering that he would try. Suspect people were already in the Ministry; it would be child's play for him. There was no trusting the Ministry to protect us against You-Know-Who and his inevitable army of Death Eaters and Merlin-knows-what. That left only one option.

My face hardened. "We prepare. I don't think the Ministry will be of any use to us after this last year, and we need to get ready."

Oleg looked nervous. "Is that all we can do?"

I shook my head. "Even if there was, it would only delay the inevitable. After what happened nearly twenty years ago, I feel like this will be worse and we need to be there when it all goes down." I looked around my flat. "We may need to even prepare to leave at a moment's notice. Disappearances have already begun, and I have no doubt now that he's responsible, and the Ministry's attempt to cover things up has only weakened the state even more. If we have any chance, we may need to fight as if our lives depended on it." I looked regretful. "I'm not going to ask you to stay and fight if you aren't comfortable." I had to look away. "I won't force you to do anything that you're not comfortable with."

"Stop." Oleg stood up as I looked back at him. "I understand. I am not going anywhere. I am not wanting you to fight alone. I am with you."

I had to really control myself to make sure I didn't start crying. I didn't deserve Oleg at all, I felt. "I'm not forcing you to stay."

"I know," Oleg said, smiling. "But I am not leaving."

I smiled slightly. "Thank you. It means a lot to hear that, but I swear I'm not about to go looking for trouble. We will be careful, I promise."

"We will have to be," Oleg said. "I cannot lose you."

"Nor I you," I said, placing a hand on Oleg's cheek. "You gave my life purpose, and no dark wizard is going to take you away from me, not if I can help it."

Oleg nodded, and words were no longer needed as we kissed. As the year passed, Oleg had always been in my flat, even though he never officially moved in, but it was just right. It was hard sometimes trying to earn enough for two people, but I was happy to do it. Before today, I entertained the idea of recruiting Oleg for a job at the Ministry, but I was always hesitant because of the atmosphere before. It certainly wasn't happening now since he had escaped Death Eaters only last year. They still might be looking for him, and likely don't know the connection between himself and myself, and I couldn't risk that being exposed, especially now.

After we separated from our kiss, Oleg looked at me. "So what do you have in mind?"

Truth be told, I wasn't sure what I had in mind. It wasn't exactly protocol to prepare for what seemed to be the end of current magical civilization, but by Merlin's beard I wasn't about to just sit by and let it come washing over me like some Obliviated Muggle.

"I think it's time to find a place to practise our defensive spells again." I looked back at the fireplace. "As much as I don't want to go, I should head back to the Ministry. There's going to be quite the reckoning and I need to be there. Once I find a good place and have an idea what to expect for the Ministry, I'll let you know."

"How?"

"Owls maybe swamped at this point, and I don't want to subject poor Lumi to exhaustion." I tapped my wand thoughtfully. "I think I have an idea." I strode for the study and withdrew the cover. I found a rather nondescript jotter. I picked it up and looked it over. For all intents and purposes, it was just an ordinary jotter, but perhaps with the right charm…

I placed the jotter back down on the desk and pointed my wand at it. I kept a clear mind as I focused on exactly what I wanted. With a quick flick, I uttered the spell, "Geminio." The jotter flipped towards the left side of the desk, but at the same time, an identical copy of it seemingly split away from the original jotter, only it flew to the right.

Once the cloned jotters rested, I reached for a pencil and wrote down the words "Hogwarts is the best school" on the left one and closed the jotter. I then opened the copy on the right. I smiled as I saw the same words written in the same handwriting as if I wrote them there myself—in a way I did but that's neither here or there. "Ok," I said as I picked up the cloned jotters, "here's the plan: I will take one of these with me, while you keep the other one." I handed Oleg the cloned jotter. "We should be able to instantly talk to each other with these, but we need to be discreet. Anyone can use this, so it's imperative we use these wisely.

Oleg opened the jotter and read the contents, and then looked strangely at me. "Is that what you think?"

"I didn't make the rules, Oleg," I said, smiling slightly. "You'll just have to deal with it."

Oleg shook his head and sobered up. "I promise that I will be careful."

"No need to stand on ceremony," I said. "I know that you will." I put my jotter into my satchel. "I'd best be going. The Ministry may not be missing me at the moment, but I imagine there's going to be a lot of damage control, so my office will be busy."

"You are probably right." Oleg looked apprehensive. "Be careful, Ewan."

"I will. I will let you know if I find out anything. For now, don't leave the flat."

Oleg nodded as I stepped into the fireplace, reaching for a small handful of Floo Powder. "I will be back tonight, and we'll talk about how to prepare for the worst."

Oleg nodded again.

I cleared my throat—I may need to clean the fireplace soon—and said clearly. "The Ministry of Magic!" and threw down the Floo Powder. As I shot through the Floo Network back to the Ministry, I didn't realize just how much things were going to get worse, or how fast.

XXXXXXXXXX

The summer of 1996 was likely the most unrestful summer I have ever experienced. The Ministry, despite all its bluster, was unraveling at the seams. Minister Fudge could not shake off the events of last year as it came to light that he not only had been warned about this, but also took active steps to discredit the source of the truth. It came of no surprise that the Minister was pressured to resign, but it was still reeling how fast the magical public turned on him. He was basically out of office within a fortnight. He was succeeded by one Rufus Scrimgeour, and after witnessing his induction, I can't say it was an improvement. I watched appalled as it became the mission of the Ministry to create the illusion of safety while You-Know-Who ran practically unchecked in the shadows.

As the summer drew on, I was beginning to wonder if the collective Ministry had lost its mind. Despite the atrocities committed by Ms. Umbridge at Hogwarts—who had Dumbledore to thank for her rescue from a herd of centaurs—Umbridge served a very short suspension, and basically was handed the position of Undersecretary by Scrimgeour. I began to question further tenure at the Ministry, but I knew that if I really wanted the truth, I would have to keep gleaning through the lies spewed here so I could properly prepare. I kept my head down, but it was certainly not easy as the summer dragged on.

Before all that even, the Death Eaters were clearly getting bolder. Two bridges in London, the Millennium and Brockdale Bridges, were destroyed by Death Eaters. The Muggles were likely still trying to find all the poor Muggles that perished. Closer to home, Mr. Ollivander disappeared, and Ms. Bones was murdered. I rarely spoke to her, but I knew that she was a voice of reason during Former Minister Fudge's deluded campaign against Potter, particularly during a full trial that was convened in front of the entire Wizengamot that sought to expel Potter from Hogwarts last year. My father and I would have plenty of private conversations about what should we do if the worst should befall us. He suspected that instead of facing the problem, the new Minister was basically inviting the Death Eaters to infiltrate the Ministry and it was only a matter of time before You-Know-Who would basically walk in and take over, and that there was nothing that really could be done now to stop it. When I asked what we should do if that happens, all he said was "Run and don't look back."

The Daily Prophet, despite the dismal news practically blanketing every page, I did start seeing a few suggestive articles around Potter, and they were all practically the same: suggesting that he was the "Chosen One." The Minister even seemed hellbent on recruiting Potter to "support the Ministry" to keep up the illusion that everything was ok. I didn't know what was worse; the sheer gall of the Minister for trying to keep up the illusion, or that everything was so desperate that we were going to create a Messianic figure in Potter. He hadn't even graduated from Hogwarts yet, and he likely felt that there was already a target on his back. This wasn't helping him at all. It was still a mystery how Voldemort even returned, let alone how Potter himself survived taking a blast from the Killing Curse to the head.

As the summer began to wane, it was pretty evident that despite the assurances from the new Minister, the morale was sinking ever lower as each day passed. I tried not to let it get to me, but a few times, it did. Just a few days before September, Oleg caught me in a rather despondent mood back at the flat.

"Are you all right?"

I looked up from a bowl of porridge that I was barely eating. "Oh, uh, yeah."

Oleg looked skeptical.

I sighed. I wasn't trying to pull one over on Oleg; I just didn't want to risk slipping because the times we were living in were wearing down on me and I was just barely holding it together. "I'm just feeling the strain of everything. I just feel like I'm on a sinking ship and I'm the only one really able to get away. Everything going on is wearing me down."

Oleg nodded and reached out for my hand, grasping it. "We are going to be all right. You are always telling me that and I am believing you."

That dragged out a smile from me. "Thank you, Oleg. I guess because I've been telling so many other people that I really haven't kept that same hope for myself, and it's barely begun."

Oleg understood. "Do you still want to practise our defensive spells tonight?"

"Yeah, we can't really afford to fall out of practise, even for only one occasion. The Death Eaters won't be shy using sinister spells against their targets, so we will need to stay vigilant."

Oleg nodded. "Very well."

Earlier in the summer, I had located an abandoned warehouse in the Harringay Warehouse District in North London as I scouted for safe places to practise our spells, somewhere where we could Apparate to and fro without exhausting ourselves. I went back in the dead of night and placed protective and repelling spells around the area to dissuade curious investigators. Once those were in place, Oleg and I would Apparate here twice or thrice a week to practise spells as opposed to our previous location. After You-Know-Who had been revealed to really be back, we took to taking more measures to remain hidden as we practised our spells.

Oleg and I would take turn practicing offensive spells of varying form all the while we tested the limitations of our Shield Charms. Over trial and error, we discovered which spells we were particularly good at, as well as just how fast we can lower and raise shields to deliver retaliatory spells. While we were able to boost the efficiency of our Shield Charms, one thing I noted was that we weren't able to test how many spells we could deflect unfriendly spells with the same charm. That would require more than one attacker and that was something I wasn't willing to risk.

Other times we would test out various spells. I kept my Charms books from all seven years at Hogwarts in the event I needed to review, in addition to the grimoire my mother entrusted to me. As I've said, most of the spells she recorded were quite intricate and it took a lot of effort for either of us to use them properly. Besides the one we saw that had a disclaimer to only use in extreme emergencies, we had found Fulgura Maxima—it casts a lightning burst so powerful that it nearly blew out the opposite wall—Impetus Tempestum—a whirlwind of varying strength—and Crepitus Igno—similar to Confringo but more widespread—to name a few. I knew my mother was quite the dabbler for magic, but I was surprised at the force of these spells. I was able to invent a couple of my own, which I added to the grimoire. Two I created was a time-stop charm—Tempus Nullum—and an Anti-Magic Ward over a small area—Maleficus Nullum. The tricky thing about the final spell of those two was that it not only prohibited any spellcasting, no matter the strength, of my enemies but also my own. It left us safe from all magic, but completely vulnerable to physical harm. The effects were temporary, unless I paired it with Fianto Duri. Only an overpowering use of Finite Incantatum from someone outside the ward can banish the ward. It took Oleg several minutes to do that when I tested it. We didn't know how effective it would be against Death Eaters, or even if it was a good idea, but after everything that has happened these past two years, I knew that I had to take all precautions.

It was a good thing too as summer ended and a dreary autumn began. Morale continued to wane, although I did find a small piece of consolation: Lucius Malfoy, the father of the upstart Draco, was sent to Azkaban for being a Death Eater, at the testimony of several who witnessed him accosting Potter and his friends in the Department of Mysteries earlier in the year. While I didn't wish Azkaban on anyone, having his slimy influence removed from the Ministry was a welcome change. Sadly, it was the only change that seemed beneficial. As the year waned, the Ministry seemed steadfast in its façade, and I knew it was only a matter of time before everything went to hell.

Despite the practises Oleg and I had, something felt that we just weren't ready. How could anyone be ready for anything of this magnitude honestly? I felt like despite the spells I learned and the amount of practise I've had, it wasn't even close to being enough. I felt myself losing sleep over it; at times while Oleg slept blissfully unaware of my inner turmoil, I was staring into the looking glass in the loo contemplating the future and seeing my own turmoil mock me in the face. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't be complacent. I needed to prepare more, continue to find new ways to fight…

…I need more power. Power is what I need to do what I must: protect myself, protect Oleg, protect my future and to curse any fool who dared ruin it all. I need more power…

It was then I started to feel cold, as if a fire was dying within me and was being replaced with something else like a cold raging storm, but somehow, I felt hollow inside. Despite how alien it felt, there was something else behind it, like a wellspring of power just outside of my reach. I wanted it, I needed it…

"You feel it, do you not?"

I looked up and saw only myself in the looking glass. Who was that? I looked around and saw no one. The feeling I felt before I heard that voice was still there but was in turmoil, like a blazing fire battling a maelstrom of winter winds.

"I can feel your lust for power, Ewan Colquhoun, and I have seen your fears."

I heard something dripping into the sink, and I looked down to see several blood drips pooling in the basin of the sink. I never admitted this to anyone, but I'm what Muggles call a hemophobe. I struggle with the sight of blood. A boggart I faced in Defence Against the Dark Arts was myself, bleeding out from my mouth, my nose and multiple wounds. When I found Oleg injured as bad as he was, it took every single bit of my strength to keep myself from getting unnerved because of all the blood. Why was blood in the sink? I looked up and saw my reflection and saw a gushing nosebleed. I was so startled that I turned away and wiped my nose automatically, but when I removed my hand, there was no blood. My nose was as dry as it normally is. What was going on?

"Fearful of being inadequate, fearful of failure, fearful of letting people close to you die."

That voice droned on and on, hypnotically and invitingly. I've never heard of such a voice, but an instinct was beginning to make itself known through the noise that I should fear it.

"There is only one way to save them…"

The voice sounded like it was coming from the looking glass. When I turned to look, I nearly cried out in terror as the face looking back at me wasn't mine; it was a pale face, nearly completely white, no nose except for two slits like a snake's, but I couldn't look away from the red slit eyes that stared right through me.

Voldemort.

"And that is to join me at my side," Voldemort said to me from the looking glass, smiling ever so slightly.

"REDUCTO!" I screamed out as I nearly threw my wand at the reflection. A blast from my wand vaporized the looking glass and the wall behind it, but also sent me into the opposite wall. The back of my head smacked hard against the wall, but I thought I heard a cruel laughter in the back of my head as I slid down. I still can't recall what happened between what I saw and when Oleg came into the loo, likely awakened by the blast.

"Ewan!" he exclaimed, and he was at my side. I was too dazed to perceive him at that moment, but I felt the sensation of being shaken awake. "Ewan, wake up!" He continued to shake me.

Finally, I came to enough to realize he was there. "O-Oleg?"

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Honestly, I didn't feel all right. I felt like I was going to throw up at any minute. "I feel really bad…," I said slowly, becoming aware of something wet and sticky on the back of my head. Reaching up, I felt something warm and oozy and my head stung from the touch. Pulling it away, I saw a little bit of blood on my hand.

Oleg winced. "You're hurt…"

I looked up at him. "Yeah…do you have your wand?"

"U-uh, it is in bedroom."

"Go get it. I need you to clean the wound, so we can dress it. Also, grab a small handful of dittany."

Oleg nodded and disappeared out of the room. I shimmied forward and opened up the cupboard beneath the sink. I located a green satchel-like case with a first-aid symbol on it. I had to hand it to Muggles; having an emergency kit is a great idea. As soon as I opened it, Oleg was back with his wand and a small bit of dittany. "What do I do?"

"Point it at the wound on my head and say Tergeo, but wait until I have a poultice prepared." I took the dittany, and ground it into little pieces on a moist gauze pad that I used some Muggle paste called antiseptic. I heard it stings like a murtlap bite, but it does a great job keeping a wound clean. "Ok, I'm ready."

Oleg pointed his wand at the back of my head and swallowed a bit. "Tergeo."

I felt a strange wetness at the back of my head, and before Oleg said anything, I quickly covered the wound with the poultice. I hissed in pain as it felt the wound was about to catch on fire. "Merlin's beard! These Muggles put this dross on their cuts and what-not? Are they buggered?!"

"What is that?" Oleg exclaimed seeing me in pain.

"A Muggle concoction called antiseptic. They should call it fire-paste because this burns like a doxy bite!"

Oleg looked a little distasteful that I was willing to resort to Muggle means to treat myself, but I've proven more than once that Muggles have their own intelligence. Being deprived of magic caused them to evolve differently. Using a few of their means to deal with problems wasn't a sign of weakness; it was a sign of resourcefulness, a mark of Slytherin I was glad to bear.

I was tying some gauze around my head to secure the poultice when Oleg noticed the destroyed looking glass and the huge gouge in the wall. "Bozhe moi, what happened?"

I looked up and saw the disaster I caused. It wasn't a dream then, I thought. "I'm sorry." I waved my wand around in a small spiral towards the mess. "Reparo."

Essentially, the Reductor spell I cast went in full reverse; both of us watched as the gouge in the wall filled itself back up, and the looking glass rematerialized from the dust everywhere as if nothing had happened. I stood up and looked in the glass, blood still cold from what I saw moments before, but all I saw was my own reflection in addition to Oleg's own puzzled reflection.

"Ewan?" he asked.

At that moment, my viscera chose to reject its containments, and I was just barely quickly enough to make it to the toilet for it all to spill out. After several minutes of vomiting, I shakily leaned back and had to really focus to see Oleg standing just outside the loo, looking very concerned. I couldn't blame him, for I had just destroyed a wall, put it back together, got a bleeding knot in the back of my head, I spewed into the toilet, and haven't told him anything that happened; all in the space of about five minutes.

"I-I'm sorry," I said shakily. "I'm honestly still not sure what happened."

Oleg looked uncertain. "Do you need hospital?"

That was a reasonable question. After a nasty hit to the head and then throwing up, a concussion was a logical diagnosis, but I didn't think I had one for my own reasons. I know him though; if I didn't tell him what happened, he'd insist on me going to St. Mungo's. If I did tell him though…I didn't know which was worse: the truth or the fear of it.

"Ewan?" Oleg asked again.

I knew I had to tell him, to my shame. I think I know why it happened too, and I had to tell him. I looked at the looking glass, almost expecting to see his face again. "I saw him…"

"Who?" Oleg asked automatically.

I looked at him. I knew he knew what I meant.

Oleg blanched; I wasn't disappointed. "Him? You-Know-Who?" His wide eyes shot at the looking glass. "In that?"

"Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but I saw him." I started to feel sick again as I recalled everything. "I even heard his voice in my head."

"Oh no," Oleg said, paling.

"I don't think You-Know-Who knows where we are, or at least I hope he doesn't. I don't even know if he was actually in my head or it was just a really vivid nightmare."

That was a lie. I knew exactly why You-Know-Who was in my head tonight. I just couldn't tell Oleg, because I felt guilty. It was my fault and I couldn't admit it right now.

Oleg didn't seem assured, but leaned down beside me as he asked, "What if it isn't?"

That was Oleg for you. While he was no Legilimens, he had a good instinct and it saved him more than once. "If it isn't," I said, trying to suppress the chills inside my heart at the moment, "I think I need to go back to Hogwarts for a visit."

That surprised Oleg. "What are you thinking you will find?"

"I'm not sure," I said, "but despite my exhaustive time at the school, there's no way I've combed through every book in the library. There's got to be something. I might see if I can get an audience with Professor Dumbledore. He must know something."

"What if he isn't there?"

"He's almost always there. The odds are good that he's there."

Oleg nodded. "When do you want to go?"

"This coming Saturday. If the trends are the same as the years I was there, this will also be a weekend for the Hogwarts students to be at nearby Hogsmeade. Hogwarts won't be so busy during that time as classes won't resume until Monday. The library may be a bit busy, but I doubt we will draw attention."

Oleg looked as if he understood. "Are you ok, Ewan?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I will be, although I don't think I'll be sleeping soundly for a while."

Oleg stood up and held out a hand. I took it and he pulled me up. He must have done it a little too fast because I lost my balance and found myself in his embrace. He must have realized he did it too fast as well, but instead of steadying me, he merely held tighter. Despite that it might have been an accident, I held firmly to Oleg as well, burying my face into his neck, ashamed at myself for practically inviting the same lust for power that took so many of my House back in Hogwarts. I thought myself immune to it by putting up a wall between myself and my peers, because I wanted nothing they possessed. Despite being as good as I was in Hogwarts, it seems that I've learned nothing at all.

Eventually, we went back to bed. Oleg held onto me as he fell back to sleep, but sleep eluded me as my mind was filled with everything that was happening. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named somehow found me, having heard my lust for power and my anger. It's no secret that he's been recruiting, and he probably felt my lust for power at that moment and decided to attempt to recruit me into his building army. Essentially, I was a good candidate being from Slytherin, his own house, not a Muggle-born, and was an exceptional wizard with ambitions. I don't know how he could have found me, but he is a powerful wizard; who knows what dark arts he has at his disposal?

As sleep finally started to claim me, my mind cursed me for the cowardice I displayed for being unable to confide the truth with Oleg. I didn't know what was worse: that I could be so easily enticed by my own magic, or that I couldn't even confide my own struggle with the person I love more than magic itself. As my eyes closed for the night, I felt a new sensation. What replaced the cold chill of greed was the pain of guilt and shame. How could I ever tell Oleg?

XXXXXXXXXX

The weekend arrived sooner than we thought, and so we Apparated to Hogsmeade. Thankfully, we had the foresight to dress accordingly as the weather was cold, snowy and a little blustery. That being said, we weren't prepared for just how cold it would be, despite our wears. We took refuge in The Three Broomsticks and ordered a round of firewhiskey. While this doesn't technically warm any witch or wizard up, the punch in the gut it gave was better than the punch to the face the weather was giving. Before we headed out, we both used the Impervius Charm on our cloaks to keep the snow off ourselves. Blowing snow was an annoyance in itself without the questions I had in my head.

We were on our way to Hogwarts, trailing two sets of students ahead of us: one set of three about twenty metres in front of us, and another set of two girls thirty metres ahead. The latter of the two seemed to be having a bit of a row, and the first set of three seemed oblivious to it. Still, it wasn't any of my business, so we paid it no mind either.

"What are you thinking you are finding at school?" Oleg asked.

I looked at him. We didn't talk a lot about my purpose coming back to Hogwarts since the night of the incident. "I'm not sure. Anything could help. I remember back in my last two years of school, in my Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, we were taught about the Imperius Curse and how to fight it."

"I remember," Oleg said. "You tried to teach me."

I smiled a little bit, remembering that it was about two years ago now. "Foolish, wasn't it?"

"I did not think so. You tried to help me."

"I wasn't serious, really. It was the best I could come up with at the time. Perhaps, if we find something at the library that's far more concrete and not nearly so risky, we can both be the better for it." I looked at Oleg. "We both have our own reasons to keep our minds impenetrable. There's got to be something we can find in Hogwarts to help us out with that. We both could use it in these times."

Oleg looked away, understanding and understandably despondent. "I am hoping that this will all be ending soon."

I looked at Oleg; I shared this sentiment. These last few years have seen far too much change in so little time, and it looked to all intents and purposes that were being hurtled towards the end of all we knew, and there was nothing we can do to stop it. "I hope so too, Oleg."

Oleg looked as if he had another question, when a piercing scream shattered the air. We looked up and saw a disturbing sight: a girl suspended six feet into the air, her hair whipping around as if it was caught by a gale that wasn't there. A girl was trying to pull her down, and the three others joined her to help. As soon as they tried, the girl sprawled right on top of them all, thrashing about as if she was in a fit.

"Bozhe moi," Oleg exhaled.

I had no idea what I had just saw, but it had to be dark magic. My wand was instantly out and I looked around for any suspicious figure, but there were none. "I don't see anybody."

"What do we do?"

I was at a loss. I looked to see one of the students take off back to Hogwarts, hoping to find help presumably. "Come on." We ran towards the group. One girl was in hysterics as another girl was trying to talk to the thrashing victim. A red-headed student was trying the same to no success. "Did anyone see what happened?"

The girl looked up at me. "No!" She was trying to maintain her nerve.

I recognized her. It was Hermione Granger, one of Potter's friends. If she had no idea what was going on, then it truly was a mystery. I was on my knees beside the victim. "Who is she?"

"Katie Bell." Hermione answered, and then noticed my wand was still out. "What do you plan to do?"

I looked at her, then at my wand. "Nothing I dare try to her." I looked around once again, feeling powerless as my mind raced for any counterjinx that might absolve Katie of her suffering. Even if I knew though, would I dare? This was dark magic, it had to be.

Katie's mouth closed and open with a scream, and I looked around and my eyes saw a broken piece of wood. Just small enough to possibly fit inside a mouth? I pointed my wand at it. "Accio!" The stick flew towards me and I snatched it out of the air. I pointed my wand at it again. "Spongify." The stick seemed not to change, but I bent it to see how flexible and soft it became. I then carefully stuck the stick sideways into her mouth.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" the red-head—Ron Weasley I noticed—said to me.

Hermione recognized what I was doing. "He's trying to make sure she doesn't bite her tongue accidentally." She looked back to me. "Good idea…"

I looked at her. "From the brightest witch I've met, that's quite a compliment."

Hermione tried to suppress a blush. I meant it, although I noted that there was a small bit of a jealous glare coming from Weasley. If the situation wasn't so serious, I might have laughed.

"Get back!" said a gruff voice. "Lemme see her!"

We stood up obediently and backed off. I looked at the source and saw the tall bulk of Hagrid lumbering towards us, followed by a rattled, snow-bitten Harry Potter. Hagrid stooped down to pick her up, and she lay still, the Spongified stick dropping from her mouth. Hermione turned her attention to the girl I didn't know the name of, who was still an understandable sight.

I still wasn't sure what to do as I watched Hagrid about to carry her away, until I heard one of the girl talk about a package as if it was very important. I looked around and found the package in question—how did I not notice it before?—and I saw something sticking out of a tear in the parchment, something that glittered greenish.

Before I could even consider what it was, Weasley attempted to pick it up but Harry stopped him. "Don't touch it!" he cried. "I've see that before. It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched it."

I looked back down at the object peeking out of the parchment paper: a cursed necklace and from Borgin and Burkes. I have heard of that place. It was located in Knockturn Alley, a street that shot off Diagon Alley and had a dark reputation of catering to the Dark Arts. If this necklace was a featured display there, it was no surprise that it was cursed. Still, a curse this severe? What kind of necklace was this?

As I thought about this, Potter took off his scarlet-and-gold scarf and with great care wrapped the necklace in it without touching any part of it. I held my breath as he carried it off with his friends back towards Hogwarts Castle.

"What do we do now?" Oleg said. "Do we follow them?"

I looked at him. "No, we'd just crowd. Give them space; Hagrid will get the girl—Katie—to the medical wing. We can't do anything else. We just need to get what we need and leave, hopefully quickly. There's something very wrong going on at Hogwarts, I can feel it."

"How do you know?"

"A Gryffindor girl somehow possesses a cursed necklace, a necklace Potter said came from a place known to display dark magical artefacts, and is carrying it from Hogsmeade? No good wizard would ever venture there, buy such an artefact and carry it out in the open. I think she was cursed somehow even before all this."

Oleg looked nervous. "By who?"

"I have no idea…but we need to exercise caution." I looked around, almost expecting to see some far off figure that could be responsible, but there was none. "Let's go. Even with the Impervius Charm, it's still bitterly cold out here."

Oleg nodded and we made our way towards the castle. When we arrived, we were disappointed to find out that Headmaster Dumbledore was away for the weekend on private business and would not come back until after classes started again the next week.

"What do we do now?" Oleg asked.

"My best guess is the library, and hope we catch Madame Pince in a good enough mood to help us."

I felt like I was kidding myself. Madame Pince was at best overly-protective of any book in the library, and Merlin help anyone that inflicts even a speck of damage to a book. I dreaded going there, even after all this time. I tried my absolute hardest to not earn her ire while I was a student, but that wasn't always possible. On bad days, exhaling on the books was merit enough for her scrutinization.

As we walked towards the Library, we came upon the hallways that led to the Dungeons in the lower levels of the castle. I lingered there, partly because I wondered how many times I traveled down that corridor to my dormitory; also, I partly lingered because there was someone I could still ask for help in my problem, should I be brave enough. Ultimately, I decided against it, and continued on towards the library.

The library was busy enough, and Madame Pince was just as merry as ever. Despite the scrutinization, Madame Pince did not bother us as we looked through the library. I warned Oleg to be gentle with the books, or else Madame Pince will give us worse than a tongue-lashing. Respect the books, treat them gently, and she will leave us alone. Oleg understood, and definitely tried very hard to be delicate. For the better part of an hour, we tried find anything that could prevent mind domination: spells, potions, enchanted items, anything. We were unsuccessful and I had to balance my frustration with temperance as I'd rather not let Madame Pince catch me feeling hostile about anything.

Finally, after another hour, I close a book and put it back on its place on the shelf. "I haven't found anything."

Oleg looked exhausted. "I am not finding anything."

"At this rate, this trip will have been for nothing," I hissed. "What else am I supposed to look?"

"You gentleman have been looking for my books for hours," came a voice. I turned to see that it was Madame Pince, eyeing us for the umpteenth time. "What are you looking for?" she continued coldly.

I sighed. My frustrations wanted to banish the witch from my sight, but that wouldn't help. All I could do was either dismiss her kindly or request her help. Despite her extremely stern nature, she was genuinely helpful to anyone genuinely interested in research who also took care of her books with utmost care. Hopefully, Oleg and I met her standards for the latter. "Oleg and I are looking for means to block our minds from outside influencers, malicious or otherwise."

One of Madame Pince's harsh but thin eyebrows rose slightly, and she peered to the book I had just replaced, scrutinizing it. Satisfied with its treatment, she turned to me. "I'm afraid what you are looking for won't be found in these books."

Oleg looked disappointed, but I caught some key choice of words. "Do you know which books could tell me?"

Madame Pince looked me over once again. "In the Restricted Section, but if I must be blunt, I'd rather you find your methods elsewhere."

I brought my hands together, both pleadingly and to check my own temper. "Please, Madame Pince, I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't imperative. I know you know, and I promise to respect your books—"

"Enough," Madame Pince said quietly but sternly. "The books you are asking for are quite old, and even for delicate handlers difficult to manage. I'd rather you ask someone who could help you in that regard than risk harm to those books."

Oleg was starting to look frustrated at the librarian, but I looked at him and motioned that she was actually being helpful, so all I needed was a little trust. Oleg seemed to relax as I turned back to Madame Pince. "Do you know someone then?"

"Who else but the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Snape?"

I was about to thank her, but her answer stunned me enough to kill the words in my mouth. Professor Snape finally got the position for Defence Against the Dark Arts? I still remember the bitter poisonous glare he gave any one that got the position that he coveted. He did occasionally teach the class in my sixth year as Professor Lupin fell ill frequently—mainly drilling us on non-verbal magic. To finally get it after all this time, and with the rumor of the Jinx still there…

I snapped out of my stupor. "Th-thank you, Madame Pince. I will go right away."

"Thank you, Mr. Colquhoun." She eyed Oleg. "Be sure to replace every book before you do, if you please."

I recognized that cold tone. She was thankful for our care so far, but she was warning us to maintain that care up until we were out of the library. "We will, I promise."

"See that you do." She turned and left, and briskly stormed off when she noticed a second-year eating a pumpkin pasty while studying.

Oleg and I took great care to make sure we replaced each book back in its original spot, and then left. Once we were out, Oleg had to ask. "Is she always being so mean?"

"The books are practically her babies, and she's something of an overprotective mother. The best thing to do is to respect her rules and be dutiful. Honestly, she was quite civil with us today."

Oleg wasn't sure if he believed me, it appeared, but that comes to no surprise to anyone a stranger to Madame Pince. "Let's see if we can find Professor Snape, so we can finally get back to focusing on what we should be doing."

"I am not liking this, Ewan," Oleg said. "I have not been meeting this Professor Snape, but I have been seeing him during Tournament. I am not trusting him."

"He's my old Head of House, Oleg. He's taught me everything I know about Potions, and it saved your life once already."

"I am not talking about that." Oleg looked away. "I am seeing him and I am seeing someone that is reminding me of Death Eaters."

I was quite surprised at Oleg's prejudices. "That's pretty damning, Oleg, to say…"

Oleg looked away. "Perhaps I am wrong, but I cannot help my feelings."

"It's hard for me to argue that since you do have better instincts than I do," I began, but solidified my mind. "but he can't be a Death Eater. Before he got the position for Defence Against the Dark Arts, he was a Potions master for even before I was a student here. I doubt Professor Dumbledore would allow someone to stay this long if he was a Death Eater."

Oleg looked back at me and didn't look assured. "You might be right, Ewan, but I still cannot be shaking my feelings."

I nodded. I wasn't going to try to convince Oleg any further right now; it was all academic anyway. "It's ok, Oleg. I'm not trying to convince you of anything, but I am asking that you trust me."

Oleg softened at that. "I am always trusting you, Ewan." He raised a hand to my cheek.

I returned the gesture, and rested my forehead against his. "Thank you."

We stood there like that for a few more seconds, and then Oleg pulled away. "I am trusting you, Ewan, but I am not trusting Professor Snape."

I smiled weakly. "Well, I can still work with that." I looked around. "We'd better get moving; I don't know if Peeves is still here and I'd rather not take the chance."

I led Oleg through the halls of Hogwarts, noting how somber it felt this time around. It wasn't due to the majority of Hogwarts students enjoying a snowy weekend at Hogsmeade either. The air…felt despondent. In all my years here, I haven't felt this level of anxiety except perhaps in the very last week of my attendance, after Cedric Diggory was killed by You-Know-Who. I didn't have much idea what happened here between then and now—apart from what I had read in the Prophet—but I couldn't help but wonder if everything that was happening in the wizarding world had reflected just as poorly here.

As we made our way to the third floor, we crossed paths with Professor McGonagall, who had been returning from the Hospital Wing—presumably checking up on Katie Bell. "Professor McGonagall," I greeted.

Professor McGonagall had a talent for keeping a stern and serious nature, but now she looked concerned and distracted. "Oh, Mr. Colquhoun. Welcome back."

"Are you all right?"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and recomposed herself. "Yes, quite. I apologize. Did you need something?"

I knew that was all I was going to get from her, and that was fine. "I was actually here to research something in the library, when Madame Pince insisted that I speak to Professor Snape on the matter." I had forgotten that Oleg was right behind me for a moment. "Oh, introductions." I turned to Oleg. "Oleg, this is Professor McGonagall, my professor in Transfigurations while I was a student here."

Oleg bowed slightly. "It is a pleasure, Professor."

"Professor, this is Oleg Mikhailov, graduate of Durmstrang. We've known each other since the Triwizard Tournament."

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Mikhailov." She turned to me. "If you desire to speak with Professor Snape, please walk with me as I must also speak with him."

I ventured a guess. "About Katie Bell?"

Her eyes flashed in surprised momentarily. "What do you know of this?"

I motioned back to Oleg. "Oleg and I were in Hogsmeade and on the way to Hogwarts when we saw poor Katie get cursed, although how is still a mystery."

"So you witnessed Katie being cursed?"

"I only saw her having a row with another student, and the next thing I know…" I paused to try to aptly describe what I saw. "…the next thing I know she was floating in the air."

Professor McGonagall nodded, disappointed that I hadn't seen anything else. "Very well. Come with me. Professor Snape may want to hear what you have seen."

"I don't know how I can help, but I'll do my best."

"That's all I've ever asked of you, Mr. Colquhoun."

I smiled weakly. Professor McGonagall was tough on me a lot during Transfigurations classes, and while I didn't understand it then right away, I was grateful for her attention to make sure I had everything I needed to excel. It wasn't until my third year when I started to do consistently well in Transfigurations, but it was better to arrive late than never at all. Still, those first two years of Transfigurations exams I had to work hard to pass.

We followed Professor McGonagall to Classroom 3C, which was the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom within the Serpentine Corridor. It felt strangely odd to walk this corridor again; For most of my time at Hogwarts, Defence Against the Dark Arts classes were unpredictable at best, disorganized at worst. Each year, we had a new teacher like clockwork, and every time, the teaching material changed. Perhaps with Professor Snape teaching it this time, they will have at least more than one year of teaching, although the rumor of a jinx on the position had never abated. No one knew there was a jinx for sure, but evidently there was one since the rumor alone was prophetically accurate.

We arrived at the classroom door. Before entering, she turned to me. "Wait here."

I nodded obediently as Professor McGonagall entered the room, closing the door behind her.

"What do we do now?" Oleg asked.

"We wait," I said simply. "We'll get our chance to speak to Professor Snape after Professor McGonagall is done with her business. Despite our own reasons, I fear that her business is at least slightly more important after what we saw on the way here."

Oleg had to concede that point, but after a few hours of fruitless searching, he felt obligated to be a little frustrated.

It wasn't long that we had to wait, and Professor McGonagall opened the door sooner than I expected. "Professor Snape wishes to speak with you, but only you, Mr. Colquhoun. I'm afraid he insisted."

Oleg looked as if he was going to protest, but I looked at him. "It's best if I speak to him alone then. I'm sorry, Oleg, but if Professor Snape was that specific, it's best to do exactly what he says. Potions class taught me that much."

Oleg sighed. "I am not liking this, Ewan…"

"I'll be fine, Oleg. I shouldn't be long."

Oleg still didn't look assured, but relented.

"Don't be afraid to look around the hall, but I wouldn't go too far. The Grand Staircase isn't too far from here and the stairs like to change, not to mention there are a few steps that are trick steps, so you don't want to step on them."

Oleg did not like the sound of that, and looked around as if he was expecting something else to happen.

"Just relax and stay in the hallway; you should be fine. I'll be back soon."

I opened the door and entered Classroom 3C, walking between the desks towards the back staircase that lead into the teacher's study. My heart was already beating harder than it should, and I knew it was because I was going to talk to Professor Snape. Even though I wasn't his student anymore, I was still intimidated by him. I was one of a very few fortunate that rarely earned his roused ire.

I reached the door and knocked. The door opened immediately, and I saw Professor Snape standing across from me as still as a statue. I entered and bowed slightly. "Thank you for seeing me, Professor Snape."

"Spare me the pleasantries, Mr. Colquhoun," Snape said dryly. "I do not possess the patience necessary for them."

I felt like the eleven-year-old boy freshly sorted into Slytherin all over again. Gulping, I nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"Professor McGonagall has informed me that you require my assistance."

"Yes, Professor."

"Then do not waste my time with inane babbling, Mr. Colquhoun."

I could hear the slightest edge of ice in Snape's otherwise oily voice, and I knew better than to waste Professor Snape's time, regardless of what he was doing presently. "I need you to tell me how to resist mind infiltration."

This was the first time Snape made any movement. It was subtle, but it was enough for me to see it. "Any why would you seek such a discipline?"

I knew that I had to tell Professor Snape. Something about him always told me that he could tell if I was lying or not. Thank goodness I prided myself in my honesty. "I'm afraid that You-Know-Who tried to recruit me."

Professor Snape moved like fluid; at once he closed the distance between himself and myself. While his face remained locked in its emotionless gaze, his eyes looked angry and probing. He stared into my eyes for only a few seconds, and then simply, "Explain," before turning away from me and returning to his previous position, only his back was turned to me.

I told him about seeing You-Know-Who in my flat's mirror, and hearing his voice in my head even after I destroyed the mirror.

Once I finished the account, Snape turned to me sharply. "Why should you think this was an attempt from the Dark Lord and not some childish-fear of a dream he had in the middle of the night?"

I refrained from pursing my lips in frustration. Professor Snape could tell any cue on anyone's face that would betray genuine emotions. While I was frustrated at Professor Snape's snide remarks, I couldn't let that get to me because it wouldn't help anything. "I don't know, Professor…"

One of Professor Snape's eyebrows rose slightly, although I couldn't tell if it was because he didn't believe me, or he was disappointed in my answer.

I sighed. I had to be completely honest. "I think I might have invited him into my mind."

Professor Snape's head turned a little more towards me. "My condemnation of such a foolish action notwithstanding, what would you have done to possibly do so?"

My mind drifted to Oleg, somewhere still in the hallway, partially on that it was my lust for more power to protect him that triggered the episode as well as how he would react if he found out. "I wanted more power." I said it in the past tense, but truthfully, what I wanted had never truly faded; merely covered up with fear. "No, I want more power. I need more power."

At once, that chill I felt was back, and there was no hiding it. My heart was racing and even my breath quickened, and I half-expected to hear You-Know-Who's voice again.

"Fool!" Professor Snape snarled.

I snapped out of my feelings and looked wide-eyed at him.

"Such arrogance! I would have expected this level of arrogance from Potter on top of his unbridled emotions, but from you? You have thoroughly disappointed me, Mr. Colquhoun."

I stood properly admonished, although I wasn't sure why at first. Lust for power I knew was a path to a dark side of the world, but what was the harm of it if it meant protecting those whom I cared about?

"But I suppose it was only natural that it would happen. Leave it to the foolish to think all problems can be solved with more power. With the flagrant use of those feelings and lusts dominating your mind when it should be clear and focused, you will never stop what you fear."

I felt a flush of anger for being demeaned, as Professor Snape so often does in his criticisms, but his words reached the depths of my brain. Did he just tell me what I needed to do? Clear my mind? Control my emotions? It certainly sounded like it. Just as fast as the flush of anger arose, so did it vanish. "Thank you, Professor."

"For what?" Professor Snape said. He turned away. "You are dismissed."

I bowed my head and turned to leave. I descended the steps and made my way back to Oleg, hoping that I didn't make him wait too long. As soon as I stepped outside of the classroom, I found Oleg deep in conversation with one of the ghosts of the school: Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, the Ghost of Gryffindor House.

"Snape is certainly one of the best Potions professors this school has had," he said to Oleg happily. "As a matter of fact, the potions master position has been filled with the finest potion brewers the world has ever seen!" He turned to see that I was walking towards then. "Good evening, Mr. Colquhoun!"

"Hello, Sir Nicholas. It's good to see you again."

"Thank you!"

"I should thank you for making sure Oleg wasn't too bored while I was gone."

"It's always a pleasure, young wizard. I do love to spend more time with both of you, but preparations for my Deathday party require my presence, so I must bid you both 'adieu'!"

As the ghost drifted away, I looked at Oleg. "You were asking him about Snape?"

Oleg looked weary. "I was asking one question, and he was answering it…and then he was still talking."

I had to chuckle. "Yeah, Sir Nicholas is happy to talk about anything. He's quite the friendly ghost. I'm glad you didn't ask him about the Headless Hunt though; he would never shut up."

"The what?"

"Eh, it's a ghost thing."

Oleg still looked confused, but decided not to pursue the issue. "Did the Professor tell you want you are wanting?"

"Kind of, yes, although he did chew me out before then."

Oleg looked shocked and concerned. "Why?"

"Eh…," I began, but I hesitated. This wasn't the best place to talk about it, even if I was ready. "…I'd rather not talk about it here. Like I've said before, even walls have ears and Hogwarts' is certainly no exception.

Oleg had to agree. Ever since he got here, he wasn't sure how anyone could study here because it was so busy. I had to assume that Durmstrang was a lot less…alive.

"Let's head back towards Hogsmeade. There's no Apparating on the school grounds, and I can't say for sure where the Anti-Apparation Charm begins or ends, so we may have to go all the way to Hogsmeade, weather be damned."

Oleg nodded. He seemed reluctant to talk much in Hogwarts. He was like that even when we first met, and doubtlessly it was due to his instincts.

We were on our way back to the Great Hall when we encountered someone I had not recognized: a short, portly wizard with a moustache that reminded me too much of a walrus. He looked like he might have had one too many fire brandies, or perhaps it was just age. We nearly ran into each other. "Excuse me, sir?" I asked to get his attention.

He looked up. "Oh, so sorry, my boy. I didn't see you there."

"It's quite all right…" I almost said 'Professor' out of habit, but honestly, I had no idea what this wizard's position was or even what his name was. "I'm so sorry, I did not ask for your name."

He smiled rather friendly. "Oh, think nothing of it all. I'm Horace Slughorn, master of Potions."

I had heard of that name in passing. "Professor Slughorn? The old Potions master from before Professor Snape taught it?"

He seemed to light up. "Oh, you've heard of me?"

"Indeed I have. I've heard you were not only an excellent teacher in your time before, but also a magnificent brewer of potions of all kinds."

"Oh, you flatter me, dear boy," he said. "Although I can also say I'm a master of all kinds of potions, if you catch my meaning."

He laughed just a little too hard at his joke, but I laughed along politely. No need to offend the old wizard. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"Oh, my dear boy, I don't believe I got your name…"

"Oh, yes, Ewan Colquhoun," I said. "I graduated from here a little over a year ago. I graduated after the events of the Triwizard Tournament."

There was a flash of regret on his face, but it was gone as soon as it was there. "Yes, beastly business, indeed. But I dare say that I've heard some of you."

"You have?"

"I heard you were a rather exemplar student in your day yourself, quite proficient in Potions and Charms, I hear."

"Well, I don't like to brag," I said, "but I was one of the few in Slytherin house to excel in all years of potions."

"Quite a feat, indeed," he said. "What brings you back to Hogwarts, dear Ewan?"

There was something about Professor Slughorn that I couldn't put my finger on, but he was friendly enough. I felt that I could speak freely with him. "Well, I had spoken to Professor Snape about means to resist outside influences. I have a little experience from Defence Against the Dark Arts, but I wanted to see if there was more. In this political climate, I thought it wise to broaden my skills."

That flash of regret was once again there, but it was gone again. "Yes, yes, that would be wise." He seemed to snap out of it. "Well, perhaps I can be of assistance to that."

"You can?" I said, genuinely surprised.

"My dear boy, I am a master of potions, and that includes antidotes as you might imagine. Eh, perhaps I can teach you a thing or two, if you can impress me with a potion of your own."

I wasn't sure how I felt about being challenged to make a potion in exchange for information, but I didn't see the harm of it. "You up to it, Oleg? Maybe I can show you a thing or two."

Oleg shrugged. He looked disappointed that he wasn't leaving the castle faster than he hoped, but he wasn't going to voice that in front of me.

"I don't think we will be long, probably no longer than any of my Potions classes that is." I turned back to Professor Slughorn. "Very well."

"Excellent, my dear boy!" He exclaimed. "Come with me to the dungeons to the Potions classroom. I'm pretty sure I shan't have to remind you where that is."

"After seven years, it's difficult to forget, Professor."

"Quite indeed."

In due time, I was back in the Potions Classroom deep in the dungeons. I couldn't shake the feeling of nostalgia from all the lessons I had in this dark classroom. This time around, there was more light illuminating the room this time around, and it was warmer. I guessed that Professor Slughorn found Professor's Snape's choice of ambience too dreary.

Professor Slughorn loaned me a pewter cauldron and laid several ingredients for me to select. "Well, my dear boy, if you wish to learn a few more secrets in keeping one's mind free from outside influence, I would like you to brew me a Draught of Peace of acceptable quality. I should warn you though, very few have brewed a potion of sufficient quality. Nevertheless, good luck to you."

"With all due respect, Professor," I said. "I don't need luck. I'm quite practiced at this particular potion." I looked at Oleg, who smiled. Oleg wasn't the best at potions, but I taught him how to make this one in case he needed it when I wasn't around. "Let's begin…"

I started off very carefully measuring the ingredients I needed for the potion, as well as making sure I had exactly the amount of water I needed in the cauldron. The Draught of Peace was ironically a very difficult potion to brew, and a large number of students in my fifth-year of class failed spectacularly at it. Even I had barely enough time to complete it, but thankfully, mine was at least good enough to merit complete silence from Professor Snape.

As I carefully mixed each ingredient and stirred each in both clockwise and counterclockwise, Professor Slughorn and I discussed some of the happenings in Hogwarts, as well as some of my own ventures in potion-making. While I hadn't dared to create potions due to the volatile nature of some of the ingredients, I did regularly prepare potions and kept a solid stock in my pantry. I mentioned that I regularly keep a stock of an antidote to Veritaserum, and mentioned that I started the habit after unknowingly taking Veritaserum from Madam Undersecretary Umbridge.

When I mentioned the name, Professor Slughorn shook his head. "I'm sorry that you had to deal with that dreadful woman. I taught her myself, and combined with her being idiotic, I tried my best to make sure she had no position of power. I'm sure you can see why."

"Yes," I said as I monitored the potion mixture as it simmered. I was looking for a purplish color which was the confirmation to proceed to the next step. "I believe it. I don't think anyone likes her."

"I'd be hesitant to disagree. She remains a discredit to Slytherin House, despite its already discolored reputation."

The potion mixture turned purple, and I added a measured sample of crushed porcupine quills, watching carefully as the mixture turned a turquoise color. "I had no idea that she was in Slytherin, although that does explain why she was so keen to ask me about Hogwarts two summers ago."

"Yes, indeed," Professor Slughorn said. "I was Head of Slytherin House before Professor Snape was, and I can't be sorry to say that I was glad to see her finally graduate from here."

"You were head of my house?"

"Indeed I was, for a long time. I often organized a private club for exemplar students each year. I even have quite a collection of talented students this year as well, although I can't promise most of them will make the shelf."

I had just added powdered unicorn horn after the potion mixture returned to a purple color, when the last part of Slughorn's statement struck an odd chord. "The shelf, sir?"

"Everyone who wishes to be someone ends up on my shelf. Perhaps if we have the time, I will show you it." He looked at my cauldron. "How comes it, Ewan?"

The potion mixture—currently a crimson color—was still simmering, and I had to wait until the mixture return to a purple color before I could add more powdered moonstone. "It shouldn't be long now…"

In due time, I reached the final step of the brewing process. I had added more ground porcupine quills, and the mixture was now a white color. After simmering, I had one final step to do: adding seven drops of hellebore. "The moment of truth…" I said. I took the syrup of hellebore and dropped exactly seven drops into the brew. Once I did, it turned a turquoise-blue color. As it simmered, silvery vapors could be seen riding from the simmering brew. I smiled; silvery vapor was the telltale sign of a properly-brewed Draught of Peace.

Even Professor Slughorn seemed delighted. "I dare say, my good boy, you could possibly rival Mr. Potter as a Prince of Potions yourself with your skills."

I looked up from my brew. "Mr. Potter? Harry Potter, sir?"

"Yes, indeed, the prodigy himself!" He beamed. "He's in my N.E.W.T.-level Potions class this year, and it's been a delight to have him in my class."

I looked at Oleg, who merely shrugged as he was content to wait in silence. I looked back at Professor Slughorn. "I didn't realize he was so gifted in Potions…" Truthfully, I didn't know of Potter's overall aptitude in his studies as I was more concerned with mine.

"How strange, Professor Snape inferred the same thing; but gifted, indeed! It was like teaching his mother all over again, and I couldn't be happier."

Something about Potter being so gifted in Potions sounded odd, although I couldn't argue the point succinctly since all I had was the prejudices of my house at the time of my tenure, as well as my own preconceptions of Potter. Stranger things have happened, I guessed.

"As for your own excellence in Potions, I'm almost sorry that I haven't had you as a student, but it is good to see that Professor Snape has taught you very well, although I never doubted that for a second."

"Thank you, Professor," I smiled. "Now, as we agreed…"

"Ah, yes, quite right. Let's deal with your new potion first and then let's speak more in my office."

Sooner or later, Oleg and I were in Professor Slughorn's office. He showed me his shelf of valued students, introducing me to a few by name. I mentioned I have met a few at the Ministry, and that seemed to please him that I was connected.

Finally, after a little bit of self-glorification, he finally shared with me what I had come here for.

"You already have some skill in preventing poisonings and reversing the affects of potions that will compromise your normal behaviors. Take for example Veritaserum: while an antidote exists, as you well know of and practice, a skilled witch or wizard could in fact suppress the effects of the serum by sheer willpower. It requires a clear mind and control of one's emotions, and it's a discipline that requires considerable skill to master."

I nodded as I understood. "Professor Snape more or less inferred as much."

"I expect so, especially as skilled as he is. The discipline itself is called Occlumency, and a simple form of it is simply clearing your mind and controlling your emotions. Advanced skills in it, and you could even convincingly lie under the influence of Veritaserum."

"Occlumency?" I said. "I wonder why I haven't been told of this before here…"

"Eh, it's something that should be taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but due to the…admittedly-turbulent education there, it's often lost."

"Yes, I see your point." I felt that I had gotten what I had sought today, and that it was time to leave. "Thank you so much for your time, Professor Slughorn. You've been very helpful to me. I hope you have a good rest of the year." I turned to leave.

"Mr. Colquhoun, before you go…"

I turned back to him.

"I wish to tell you that I'm pleased to see more of your sort come from Slytherin. I fear that the stock in Slytherin is quite thin as of late."

I smiled. "Well, it's up to me to prove to the world that a Slytherin is not destined to become You-Know-Who."

At the mention of You-Know-Who, Professor Slughorn seemed especially nervous, and didn't really shake it off. I didn't think much of it, especially in the current climate. "Y-yes, yes, indeed. Thank you, Mr. Colquhoun."

I bowed slightly. "The pleasure is mine, Professor."

Finally—and to Oleg's relief—we left the dungeons and made our way outside, although Mr. Filch kept stalking us with his Secrecy Sensor until we left the grounds. We arrived on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and Apparated back to my flat.

"Well, that was an enlightening day," I said. "I'm sorry if you were uncomfortable there, Oleg."

"It is not your fault," Oleg said.

"Well, thank you for coming along, regardless. I did find what I was looking for."

"This Occlumency?"

"Yeah, that's what Professor Slughorn called it. I wish I researched it more properly, but I think Professors Snape and Slughorn were very helpful. It's not so much a spell, but rather a discipline. Professor Snape gave me a hint by saying that an emotional mind won't cut it, while Professor Slughorn said that such a discipline could even block the effects of Veritaserum, even without an antidote."

"So we are needing to clear our minds?" Oleg said slowly.

"Partially," I said. "It also requires tempering our internal emotions. Emotions act like beacons to our memories and experiences, which means an insidious witch or wizard could find them, twist them around and use them against us." I looked away. "Strangely enough, I did that quite regularly before I met you while I was a student at Hogwarts. Although, it has admittedly been a long time before I've had to do that. It might prove difficult without practice now."

"How are we going to try?"

I weighed the various methods of how to infiltrate a wizard's mind where Occlumency would be affective, and beyond Veritaserum, they were insidious indeed. I could easily brew Veritaserum myself, but it takes a full lunar cycle to produce it, and even then, it was a very small amount. "Well, I could brew us some Veritaserum, but it takes roughly a month to make. If you're content to wait that long, we could while we wait work on clearing our minds. I've heard of a Muggle-technique of meditation that might work, but I'll need to research more into it. Otherwise…" I hesitated. I really didn't want to bring up this suggestion, but it was admittedly more direct and practical.

"Otherwise?" Oleg ventured.

I sighed. "Otherwise we may have to resume exercises under the Imperius Curse again…and honestly I'd rather not."

Oleg nodded, but he looked at me. "I am not wishing you to do anything you are not wanting to…but we might have to because I am thinking we are running out of time."

I looked at him. I couldn't disagree with him; it was only a matter of time when You-Know-Who would attempt to overthrow the Ministry. It's likely he already has agents in the Ministry. Every day I was there, I felt like I was walking around in a death trap just waiting to be sprung, and it became an effort to even show up there, knowing that one day, I might not leave again.

Time was also running out for me to be honest about the incident earlier this week; if I wasn't from this point on, it would continue to gnaw at me, potentially impeding on my ability to use Occlumency. It could even attract the attention of You-Know-Who again. If I was to succeed in this, I needed to be honest.

I sighed; here goes nothing. "Oleg…I'm afraid I wasn't honest about everything…"

Oleg blinked, surprised to hear me say that clearly.

"That night when I thought I saw You-Know-Who…" I started, feeling more and more like a slimy toad with each syllable. "…I didn't tell you everything. Yes, I thought I saw him in the mirror, but I didn't tell you why I did."

Oleg's brow furrowed, clearly puzzled.

I took a big breath, as if I was about to dive into the Black Lake itself. "I think it was because he felt my lust for more power."

Oleg had to process that a little, and I could tell that he was still confused. "Why were you lusting for more power?"

I felt a wetness in my eyes. "Because…because I didn't think I could be powerful enough to protect you—us if the worst should befall." My lip trembled as I choked back tears. "Everything we've been doing to protect us…I felt that it wasn't enough with everything going on…I just…" I wiped my eyes. "I just want to protect you from anything that could happen…and I still feel like I'm not strong enough to do it. Because of that, I practically invited the Dark Lord to our very door step! Also, I didn't put enough trust in you to protect us as well, all because I was afraid. I was so selfish into thinking that I needed more power that I likely jeopardized both of us. I'm so sorry…"

Oleg lowered his head, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Here was the moment: I told him the truth about what happened that night, and that You-Know-Who may have found us based on that. It was my selfishness and lack of trust that probably ruined it all for us. All I could do was apologise, and hope Oleg was a forgiving sort.

Oleg looked up. "I am not asking you to protect me, Ewan…"

I could only look at him. I was expecting some form of scorn or anger, but he didn't have it.

"I am asking you to love me…"

I couldn't contain myself after that; the tears flowed freely. All I could do was cry into his shoulder and say "I'm sorry" over and over. Oleg wasn't mad at me; if anything, he was simply disappointed that I was burdening so much of our safety upon me, even though it's been a joint effort since the beginning. I was ashamed that by doing so that I felt inadequate enough to desire more power. You-Know-Who was right about one thing; one of my worst fears was inadequacy.

Finally, I pulled my face out of Oleg's shoulder, and I'm sure my eyes were red and swollen. "I will always love you…nothing in this world will ever change that."

Oleg's own eyes were moist with tears as well. "I know." He stood up. "Let us go."

I looked up at him. "To where?"

He smiled slightly. "You are needing to rest." He offered a hand.

I took it and he led me into the bedroom. It was still early in the evening, but it seemed like it had already been a day. We were in each other's embrace and wouldn't let go until sleep finally claimed us. Oleg is always so warm, and when I am in his embrace, I feel like it's a different sense of magic, and it takes me to a whole new realm every time. It was then I began to realize that love was indeed the most powerful magic that has ever been found, and I would fight to the death to preserve it. Maybe it could even conquer death itself.