HARRY POTTER AND THE SECRET ENEMY

Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.

CHAPTER 38: Slouching Towards the Endgame Pt 2

4 May 1993
8:30 p.m. in the Headmaster's Office

"So what you are saying, Headmaster," Lucius Malfoy said in a voice that was equal measures of silk and steel, "if I understand you correctly, is that you have no idea who is responsible for petrifying my son nor even how it was accomplished?"

The Lord of House Malfoy and the Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors sat in Dumbledore's office and regarded the older wizard calmly, speaking in the dulcet measured tone that only the best of Slytherin House could master. It was a tone that conveyed cold menace to the person being spoken to while generally sounding mild and polite to any non-Slytherins observing. In this case, that included the Minister of Magic who sat next to Malfoy and who was oblivious to the lethal fury masked by the calm demeanor of his most trusted advisor.

Also present in the room were Profs. Lockhart, Snape, and McGonagall, Chief Auror Scrimgeour, and Senior Auror Potter. Of those five, Snape and Scrimgeour were Slytherins and knew how to read Malfoy's subtext, while McGonagall and Potter simply knew the man's history well enough to assume malicious intent. For his part, Gilderoy Lockhart bore a smile of bland amusement that gave away nothing of what he thought of Malfoy's words.

"Lucius," Dumbledore said with an equally deceptive calm, "let me assure you that we are investigating every avenue and considering every reasonable suspect."

"Is the Boy-Who-Lived among your 'reasonable suspects,' Dumbledore? I have followed his recent exploits in the Prophet with great interest." Fudge seemed scandalized by that suggestion, while James was incensed.

"Now see here...!" he started.

"No, Lord Malfoy, he is not a suspect," Scrimgeour interrupted testily while shooting a glare at his subordinate. "Or at least no more than anyone else. I personally interviewed Jim Potter last February, and I was of the opinion then and remain convinced now that someone has been trying to frame him. As for your son and the Hufflepuff boy who was petrified alongside him, Jim has an alibi for most of the period from the time they were last seen until their petrified bodies were discovered. Of course, Jim doesn't have an alibi for that entire period, but while we don't know how the petrifications are being accomplished, I find it unlikely that it's something that can be done in mere moments by someone located on the other side of the school. On the other hand, we can't rule out the possibility that the petrifications are being done by some means that could be set in motion in advance while the perpetrator goes off to create an alibi, but if that's the case, any alibi would be meaningless and the perpetrator could be essentially anyone in the school." He smiled at Malfoy. "Excepting, naturally, those who have been petrified. At least they're in the clear."

"Do you know something, Chief Auror?" interjected Lockhart cheerfully. "I said the exact same thing when young Malfoy was discovered! Great minds and all that, what? ha-Ha!" Everyone simply stared at the man for several seconds until he coughed softly and adjusted his cravat. Lucius in particular gave Lockhart a withering look before turning his attention back to Dumbledore.

"Tell me, Headmaster. Are there at least prospects for unpetrifying my son? And the two Muggle-borns also petrified, I suppose?"

"Alas, Lucius. I am informed that there is simply no Essence of Mandrake to be had anywhere in Europe for any sum of money."

"We shall certainly see if that is true, Dumbledore. In the meantime, I expect this matter to be resolved immediately. Or else I shall bring it to the Board at the meeting scheduled for next week. I must say that in light of your complete lack of progress in this 'Heir of Slytherin' business that has been percolating since last November, I'm beginning to wonder if you've ... lost your touch. I suspect a majority of the Board might well agree with me. Perhaps it's time for some ... new blood, as they say?"

"If you remove the Headmaster, the Muggle-borns at Hogwarts won't stand a chance!" exclaimed James Potter.

"Yes, that would be simply awful," Malfoy said blandly before turning to Minister Fudge. "Minister, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll take this opportunity to check in on my son. Hopefully, the infirmary is better run than the administrative offices."

"I quite understand, Lucius," Fudge stammered. "I... I'm sure young Draco will be alright. Just as I assure you I'll do everything I can to procure that Essence of ... whatever as soon as possible. You have my word!"

"I am indeed grateful, Minister Fudge." Lucius bowed deeply and respectfully before taking one last glance at the others in the room. He did not bow (respectfully or otherwise) towards any of them before making his exit.

After the man left, Fudge exhaled and turned to the others. "Honestly, Albus, you must admit that this situation is intolerable. Why can't we just send in a few auror squads to search the castle from top to bottom and find out what's causing this?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Because, Cornelius, the school's inherent magic will not allow any significant number of Ministry personnel to remain on the grounds for more than a few hours per week to perform such a search."

"But why?!" the man asked in frustration.

"It's because of a magical treaty between Hogwarts and the Ministry dating back more than four centuries that guarantees the school's independence, Minister," said Scrimgeour. "One you should be cautious about challenging since, as Minister of Magic, you would bear the brunt of any assault if the castle decided we were intruders and you were present at the time."

The man sighed in irritation. "But surely there are exceptions for legitimate law enforcement operations?"

"I did find one possible exception," James Potter suddenly spoke up. "Murder investigations. If someone is killed on Hogwarts grounds, we're allowed to enter the grounds to investigate. Likewise, if there is a warrant for the arrest of someone on suspicion of murder who's hiding out here, we're allowed to come onto the grounds in force to arrest them."

"And are either of those two exceptions remotely relevant to our current circumstances, Senior Auror Potter?" drawled Snape with obvious disdain.

Potter's lip twitched slightly. "Not at this time, Professor Snape. But you never know what's going to happen in the future."

"Indeed." Snape turned to face Dumbledore. "Headmaster, is my presence required any further? I have potions brewing."

Dumbledore gave the Potions Master leave to depart, while the others continued to review their options.

Malfoy made his way towards the school's infirmary at a leisurely pace, mentally reviewing what he'd learned from the Headmaster. En route, he passed by the Library just as Jim Potter exited. Jim froze instantly upon seeing the man who he'd been told was a member of Voldemort's inner circle. Malfoy likewise paused upon seeing the Boy-Who-Lived before sauntering over to him.

"Well, well, well. Jim Potter, we meet at last. Your reputation proceeds you."

"As does yours, Mr. Malfoy," Jim said quietly.

Malfoy smiled and reached up with one gloved hand to brush aside Jim's messy hair revealing the distinctive V-shaped scar on his temple. Jim, refusing to show any fear of the Death Eater, fought down the urge to flinch away from his touch.

"Do forgive me," the man drawled. "Your scar is legendary. As was the wizard who gave it to you."

"Voldemort was nothing more than a murderer," Jim said through gritted teeth as he stared unflinchingly into Malfoy's eyes. The man twitched nearly imperceptibly at the mention of Voldemort's name, but then he smiled again.

"You must be very brave to mention his name. Or very foolish." Then, the smile melted away. "But hopefully not so foolish as to have harmed my son, Potter! For that crime, should you be found guilty of it, boy, the vengeance of the Dark Lord would be as nothing compared to mine!"

With one last sneer, Malfoy spun on his heels and strode away from Jim, who was left shocked by the realization that Lucius Malfoy suspected him instead of the other way round. Shaken, the boy headed off in the opposite direction. As Lucius rounded the nearby corner, he stopped short once again. Sitting on the bottom step of a nearby staircase was another boy he recognized, one so very much like Jim Potter yet so obviously different in bearing that the man knew he'd never mistake one for the other.

"I do apologize for eavesdropping, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said calmly, "but I didn't want to intrude. I must say though – it is wise to bodily threaten the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Are you presenting yourself as a witness against me, Mr. Potter? I believe your father is still upstairs in the Headmaster's office if you wish to run and find him."

Harry shrugged. "I'm sure if Jim plans to report you, he can relay all the important details without my help." He turned and looked down the corridor. "Were you headed to the Infirmary to check on Draco, sir? I was headed that way myself to ask Madam Pomfrey if there was any change."

"I doubt that very much, Mr. Potter," Malfoy said bluntly. "However, if that is the excuse you wish to offer as cover for your obvious desire to speak with me, I shall do you the courtesy of pretending that it is true." With that, the wizard turned and headed off towards the Infirmary, his serpent-headed cane clicking along the stone floor. Harry fell easily into step beside him.

"My son has mentioned you, Harry Potter. He has described you as being one of his ... friends."

"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Malfoy. While we both got off to a rocky start, I've grown quite fond of your son."

"Have you indeed, Mr. Potter? Obviously, you've come to know Draco quite well. Have you any thoughts on who is responsible for his condition?"

"I do. That's why I wanted to speak to you. I've already brought my suspicions to the attention of both the Headmaster and Chief Auror Scrimgeour, but I'm not sure they take the suggestions of a Second Year seriously. I had thought that someone with your resources – to say nothing of your personal interest in this matter – might pursue my theory more diligently than the Auror Corps."

Malfoy nodded, as if absorbing that. To Harry's surprise, the man seemed to be taking him seriously despite his youth. He was curious as to how exactly Draco had described him when talking to his parents.

"I am listening, Mr. Potter. Who is your suspect that your elders see fit to ignore?"

"By any chance, sir, are you familiar with the name Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

Lucius stopped in his tracks and looked down at Harry, his eyebrows rising fractionally. To most people, his actions would have reflected interest, perhaps even curiosity. But Harry Potter had spent most of the last two years studying under a master Occlumens and most his free time in the company of Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Moreover, while Lord Malfoy was himself an Occlumens of considerable skill, he had just been caught by surprise, allowing Harry to read volumes in his face. And what he read alarmed him, so much so that he reflexively employed a skill that he had been practicing but had not yet had call to use under a high pressure situation.

He dilated his perception and fixed his mind's gaze betwixt the beats of his heart.

Thump ... Thump.

As he activated the obscure skill he'd been trying to master since Christmas, Harry's internal thought processes suddenly sped up to a superhuman rate. Everything around the boy seemed to slow to a crawl, and instantly, he became preternaturally aware of the beating of his own heart, which from Harry's dilated perspective seemed to have slowed to a fraction of its normal rate.

"A relatively large fraction, though," he thought to himself. "So I'd better get on with it. Obviously, Lucius Malfoy does know the name 'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' but he was not clearly expecting me to know it and is quite angry that I do. So tread very carefully, Harry Potter, and maybe we'll see where this goes without making the Big Bad Death Eater decide to kill us."

Thump ... Thump. Harry's heart beat once more as Malfoy opened his mouth to speak (still unnaturally slowly from the boy's perspective). Harry allowed his technique to lapse slightly so that he could hear what the man had to say and respond appropriately.

"Tom ... Riddle, you say? The name sounds ... vaguely familiar, Mr. Potter, but I cannot say for certain that I recall it. What connection does this ... Riddle person have to the petrifications?"

Thump ... Thump. "He was a Slytherin back in the 1930's and 40's. A prefect who became Head Boy his last year." Harry hesitated for emphasis. "And I have reason to believe that he might have been the so-called Heir of Slytherin who was responsible for the petrifications that took place in 1943. I also suspect that the current Heir of Slytherin is someone connected to him, his offspring perhaps. But definitely someone who learned how he did it and is following in his footsteps."

Lucius crooked his head slightly, and his shoulders slumped the tiniest amount. Thump ... Thump. Time slowed down again as Harry thought about the man's reaction. "Wow. Visible surprise. He was definitely not expecting that response. So he knows something about Tom Riddle that he considers a dangerous secret, and it's not the fact that he was the Heir of Slytherin. I wish Luna was here. I wonder what his nargles look like." Thump ... Thump.

Malfoy nodded slowly. "An intriguing supposition, Mr. Potter. Very well, I shall make some inquiries regarding this ... Tom Riddle. Thank you for bringing him to my attention. It may well prove to be invaluable information." He paused. "Do you still wish to visit Draco in the Infirmary? I have already seen through your pretense, after all."

Harry smiled politely while ending his dilation after the fifth heartbeat. "It is late, I suppose. Perhaps it would be best if I turned in. I wouldn't want to be out after curfew."

"Indeed. Do be careful, Mr. Potter, as you head back to the dungeons. There is a petrifying lunatic about, after all."

They both laughed though neither was sincere and neither was fooled by the other. Malfoy proceeded on towards the infirmary, while Harry headed off in the direction of his dorm. As soon as he was out of the older man's sight, though, he stumbled and clutched the wall with one hand for support. The other went to his forehead, and he fought down the urge to hiss in pain. He had only used perceptual dilation a few times before, and this was the first time in which he'd done anything remotely as complicated as carrying on a conversation with someone obviously cleverer than himself while dilating as hard as possible. The resulting mental stress was roughly equivalent to an ice cream headache multiplied by a hundred.

Harry laughed, sincerely this time. "And it was with Lucius Malfoy of all people!" he thought to himself dizzily. "I'm swimming with sharks!" He shook his head to clear it. After a few seconds, the sudden migraine his dilation efforts had caused began to fade, and the boy made his way back to his dorm.

"You will not find any Essence of Mandrake, Lucius. Not even with your great wealth."

Lucius was nearly at the infirmary door when he stopped suddenly and turned around at the sound of Professor Snape's voice. "Did the Headmaster send you to follow me, Severus? Perhaps to be sure that I didn't injure any of his pets while en route?"

"I am here of my own volition, Lucius. I always check in with Madam Pomfrey before retiring for the evening to see if she requires any of her potions stocks refilled in the coming days."

"Ah, of course," Lucius said with mild sarcasm. "How conscientious of you. Almost Hufflepuffian. As for the Essence of Mandrake, you seem rather certain that I cannot obtain it. You forget, Severus, that I am accustomed to getting what I want out of life."

Snape snorted softly. "We both know you are accustomed to no such thing, Lucius."

Malfoy regarded the other Slytherin with a grim expression. "Touché," he finally said.

"As the Headmaster indicated, you will not obtain Mandrake because there is none to obtain. The harvesting time for fresh Mandrake will be in less than one month's time. Once harvested, adult Mandrakes cannot be preserved for more than a year. At this point in the growing season, any remaining preserved Mandrakes will have already been converted into raw potions ingredients, and no one distills entire Mandrakes down into pure Essence this late in the season, not in the quantities we need. It would be uneconomical, almost frivolous to do so. Fresh Mandrakes may be harvested beginning on the 29th of this month at precisely 4:47 a.m. local time when Jupiter enters Libra and not one second earlier. Until then, there is literally no place in the world from which to procure them."

Malfoy laughed bitterly. "Ah, Severus, how I've missed your pedantry." Then, his face sobered. "If you learn anything about who is responsible for what happened to my son, you will inform me immediately, yes? I think you owe me that much at least."

Lucius moved to stand directly in front of the other man, close enough for Snape to feel breath upon his face. It smelled faintly of crème de cassis.

"You will do this for me, Severus, because even though I had many opportunities, I never told the Dark Lord that you were Dumbledore's spy."

Severus said nothing in response. After a moment, Lucius turned back towards the infirmary door only to pause once again with his hand on the knob. "One last thing, Severus. Harry Potter. Is he ... truly Slytherin?" Lucius asked without turning around.

Snape tilted his head at the odd question. "Yes," he finally said. "Certainly more so than I was at his age. Perhaps even as much as you."

Lucius absorbed that silently before entering the infirmary without another word.

Once inside, Lucius found Narcissa, as expected, in a chair next to Draco's bed with her needlepoint in hand. Snape spoke briefly with Madame Pomfrey before departing for the night. Then, the matron came over to the Malfoys to answer Lucius's many questions. Is Draco in any pain? No. Is he aware of what's happening around him? No. Will this condition cause any lasting side effects? No. Is it possibly bad for his vision that his eyes are affixed open and unable to blink? No. Through it all, Lucius Malfoy never took his eyes off of his son and heir, while his wife never took her eyes off of her needlepoint. Finally, after Pomfrey had answered every question Lucius could think to ask, she returned to her office and left the Malfoys alone with their stricken child. There was silence in the room for a time before Lucius spoke again.

"Narcissa, my love?"

"Yes, dearest?"

"It goes without saying, my love, that if you had anything to do with our son's condition... I will slit your pretty little throat while you sleep."

She smiled without looking up from her needlework. "You are certainly welcome to try, dearest."

They did not speak again. After an hour-long silent vigil, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy rose, exited the infirmary, and made their way out of the school.

5 May 1993
Percy Weasley's study room in Gryffindor Tower
7:30 p.m.

"But why?" asked Ron in utter confusion.

"Why what, Ronnikins?" George replied without looking up the parchments scraps laid out in front of him that he was trying to rearrange into a functional configuration. The Gryffindor prefects didn't have private rooms, but they were each entitled to a small private room with a table and chairs for private study. Ron and George had taken to studying with Percy in his private room ever since Fred's suspension, an event which surprisingly seemed to have brought the three of them closer together. That said, at a time when both George and Percy were struggling with their final papers for Lockhart's DADA projects, Ron's somewhat persistent questioning strained their new closeness.

"Why can't they get the stuff they need to unstiffen the petrified students? I mean, I thought it was just the expense, but the Malfoys are loaded. And I hear that Finch-Fletchley's family is rich too. Surely they can afford the Mandrake stuff to unstiffen their sons."

"The problem, Ronald," said Percy, "is that there is simply not enough of the Mandrake stuff as you call it to be had for any price, and there won't be until the end of the month. It's bad enough that the school will have to sacrifice fifteen or so Mandrakes out of a harvest of only fifty plants just to undo the effects of the petrifications. I heard they were going to buy new school brooms for the first time in ten years with that money, but those plans have been postponed indefinitely even though the current school brooms are a serious safety hazard. And it's not unstiffen. It's revive."

With that, the prefect returned to his Polyjuice Potion thesis which would be due the following Monday. Despite his outwardly calm demeanor, Percy was in a state of quiet panic over his paper on account of how busy this weekend would be for him. Percy's roommate and best friend, Oliver Wood, had twisted his arm into filling in for Fred as Beater in Saturday's Quiddich match against Hufflepuff. At this point, the Lions were playing just for pride. They'd already been crushed by the Slytherins the previous November and then lost almost as badly to Ravenclaw in March when they were forced to play with only one Beater. Cormac McLaggen, who had been subbing for Fred, quit the team after his brief petrification rather than be anywhere around Jim Potter, and no one else was interested in taking his place for the same reason. And while Percy wasn't as Quidditch-mad as his siblings, he was fairly handy on a broom which seemed to be a skill ingrained from birth among the entire Weasley family. Unfortunately, last minute practice plus a game on Saturday left Percy desperately short of time to finish his thesis. Secretly, he was rather hoping that some unexpected event would lead to the game getting canceled, a sentiment for which he would later feel profoundly guilty.

His curiosity satisfied for the moment, Ron looked across the small table towards George's project. There was a large sheet of parchment with thirty or so runic markings carefully arranged in an interlocking pattern. George had copied each of the individual runes onto smaller scraps of paper which he was now rearranging into new patterns. Curious, Ron reached out to turn the larger parchment around so he could see it better, but before he could even touched it, George slapped his hand away rather forcefully.

"No touchies, Ronnikins!" he said.

"Oww!" said the boy exclaimed. "What was that for?"

George pointed towards the parchment Ron had just been about to grab. "That there, brother-of-mine, is a genuine authentic explosive rune. Touch it wrong, and it's just possible you could set it off ... which would not be a pleasant experience for me, you, Percy, and whoever was charged with scrubbing our blood off the walls."

Ron's eyes widened while Percy just shook his head. "I still cannot believe Professor Lockhart gave you a sheet of explosive runes to play with," he said.

"I'm being careful, Percy," George replied irritably.

"That's not the point, George. I can't believe he'd give that to any student! How is it possible that something like explosive runes isn't dark magic?"

George shrugged. "They have perfectly proper purposes, Perfect Prefect Percy. Excavation. Construction work. I'll wager Bill uses these for his tomb-raiding."

"Curse-breaking, George, not ... tomb-raiding. You make the Heir Apparent of the House of Weasley sound like some sort of ... professional grave-robber."

"And you make him sound like he might claim our Wizengamot seat again someday," George replied with a grin. "We both know that's not likely to happen, now is it?"

Percy sniffed and resumed his writing. "It's the principle of the thing," he finally said quietly. "Anyway," he said changing the subject, "I still don't see what explosive runes, whatever their legality or utility, have to do with modifying Portkeys."

"Well, see, these particular runes in this particular arrangement work by taking the idea of wanton destruction and making it into an actual thing. Lockhart wants to know if its possible to tweak that idea so as to focus all that destructive potential on a different target. His theory is that you can take a bunch of runes that should result is a lovely ka-boom and instead rearrange them somehow so that all of the damage is inflicted on nearby magical wards while physical things in the way are left completely untouched."

"Is that possible?" Percy asked.

"Dunno," George replied while rearranging three of the scraps of paper onto which he'd copied individual runes into new positions. "I think it is, but so far I can't rightly see how."

Percy nodded. "You'll get it, assuming it's possible to get. Also, while we're on the subject, can I just say that the intense pride I have for you in finally working up to your potential is offset by my intense jealousy over the fact that you understand Ancient Runes better from being self-taught than I do from slogging through Professor Babbling's class for four years!"

George grinned. "Why Percy! That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"

Ron looked back and forth between his older brothers and their banter before shrugging and returning to his own homework.

Much later that night...

The door to the Fourth Year Gryffindor boys' dorm room opened in complete silence ... and then closed seemingly by itself. In the room were only four beds, as Fred and George's starting class had been rather small. Three of the beds were occupied by sleeping boys snoring softly away in the night. Fred's empty bed was just a simple frame and mattress stripped bare of sheets. Out thin air, a hand appeared holding a wand. A soft whisper intoned the word Somnium three times, and each time a flash of light struck one of the three sleeping Gryffindors ensuring that none of them would wake before morning. Satisfied, the intruder threw off the Cloak of Invisibility and abandoned stealth for speed.

"SCRUTIMINIUS EXPLODING RUNES PARCHMENT." A tiny ball of light appeared at the end of Ron Weasley's wand accompanied by a soft hum that grew louder as he moved across the room towards the foot of George's bed. The boy's backpack rested on top of it. Swiftly, the intruder opened up the bag and very carefully removed the sheet of parchment bearing the explosive rune sequence that George had shown Ron earlier.

"GEMINO." There was a soft flash, and suddenly the intruder was holding two sheets of identical parchment. He replaced the original back within George's bag and arranged it just as it had been before he arrived. Then, he pulled out a second parchment from one of his pockets and unfolded it to reveal a map of the school ... and everyone in it. After a few seconds, he confirmed that no one was up and about in the hallway or in the room he shared with Dean and Seamus, both of whom were sleeping as soundly as the Fourth Years were and for the same reason. "Mischief managed," the intruder whispered, and the map quickly faded away, leaving the parchment seemingly blank. He stowed the map, donned his stolen invisibility cloak once more, and left the room.

The map was, of course, The Map, the same one that had been stolen from the Weasley Twins back in November and which the intruder had found to be invaluable in his extracurricular activities ever since. Originally, those activities had been limited mostly to pranks and jokes, though always with a hidden purpose that Ron Weasley himself didn't even understand. Ron was not a naturally malicious child and certainly not a stupid one, even if he'd often felt stupid when comparing himself to his older brothers, each of whom was brilliant in his own way. But like so many children of his age and circumstances, he was terribly insecure, jealous, short-sighted and oh so easy to manipulate. Best of all, his parents, brothers, and former best friend had all worked together to instill in him a wonderfully useful fear and paranoia regarding all things Slytherin. Heighten those emotions to an uncontrollable degree at just the right instant and accompany them with a suggested course of action disguised as "a brilliant idea," and Little Ronald was off like a wind-up toy soldier that marched resolutely in whatever direction he was pointed.

Framing those brilliant ideas as "pranks" only made it easier to manipulate the boy who had always been desperate for approval from George and Fred, no matter how much repressed anger towards them the boy also carried. A little Mandrake dust in Longbottom's gloves. That hilarious suggestion to the Twins for Jim's "King of the Leprechauns" crown. The dung bombs that Ron had provided for Jim which the Boy-Who-Lived had invisibly planted on unsuspecting Slytherins. He'd even arranged to play a prank on Jim and himself both, changing their hair to Slytherin colors so that he wouldn't be suspected as the instigator. And all of it mere preparation for the grandest pranks of all – stealing the Potter Cloak and the Marauders' Map while convincing Jim and the Twins that either Harry or someone else in Slytherin House was the actual thief. George's Portkey notes were an unexpected bonus, one that opened up other doors through which that cretin Warrington had been all too happy to walk.

True, Warrington's own prank on the Slytherin Quidditch Team – made at the instigation of his "secret friend" – had failed to kill Harry Potter in a way that might have implicated Jim, but it did lead directly into that marvelous duel between the Potter Twins and, even better, to Jim's public exposure as a Parselmouth. And that, combined with just the right touch of emotional influence, had finally driven a wedge between Little Ronald and the Brat-Who-Lived. Naturally, that cunning serpent Harry Potter had concealed his own Parseltongue gifts from the crowd, but he'd still been quite helpful to Ron in turning the school against Jim. It amused the intruder that he was actually helping Harry to hide his Parselmouth status because doing so only made Jim seem darker as a result. Still, while the intruder had managed to compel the various Hogwarts serpents to ignore Harry's communication attempts, having a second Parselmouth rival was completely unacceptable, and so killing the elder Potter child was definitely on the long term agenda.

Unfortunately, Harry's demise would have to take a back seat for now, as the wedge between Ron and Jim had triggered other unexpected problems that needed addressing. The intruder had underestimated just how highly Ron prized his friendship with Jim Potter, and the break between them suddenly made it harder to influence Ron with any subtlety. Oh, he could inflame the boy with anger towards Jim when necessary, but it didn't linger for long before fading into regret and sadness over losing his best friend. "Quite pathetic, really," the intruder thought contemptuously. Increasingly of late, he was forced to resort to direct control over the boy to get anything accomplished (most notably unleashing Slytherin's Monster on whichever unsuspecting fool had been the last to bother the Boy-Who-Lived whenever the Map showed that Jim was alone and had no alibi). But direct possession was an exhausting technique, one that the intruder could only use sparingly at first until their psychic link had grown stronger.

Still, the union had born better-than-expected benefits. He could now possess Ron almost at will, and soon the link would be strong enough for him to consume the child's soul completely and use that to fully embody himself. Then, the real game would start. Right now, he only had one more move to make before the start of his endgame, but he expected that it would be a brilliant and devastating one. Indeed, one that might make checkmate inevitable. The Boy-Who-Wasn't-Ron-Weasley smiled at all the chess references he was now using. Truthfully, he was quite glad to have bonded with Ron Weasley instead of his sister despite the Gryffindor's occasional bouts of resistance. For one thing, he couldn't imagine ever keeping his presence a secret in a dorm full of Slytherins. But more importantly, he was delighted to discover that Ron Weasley's underappreciated genius meshed quite splendidly with his own. Many people had accused the intruder of being manipulative over the years, but before now, he would never have truly described himself as a chess master.

7 May 1993
9:55 p.m.

After a grueling but successful two-hour long Occlumency session, Jim Potter was now on his way back to his dorm accompanied by the Headmaster.

"You don't need to escort me, sir," the boy said. "I can make it back to the Tower fine alone. And I'm sure you have a lot to do."

"I do indeed, my boy. And one of those things is getting used to patrolling these halls again, something I haven't had to do since I was Head Boy." Dumbledore smiled as if fondly remembering his own youth. "In light of recent developments, I have directed that the faculty spend time patrolling the halls until midnight along with the prefects. I would be both remiss and hypocritical if I didn't take a few patrols for myself."

Jim nodded at that. This late on a Friday night, the hallways were almost deserted. No one wanted to be caught out by the mysterious Heir, so most students now returned to their dorms immediately after the evening meal and only the most studious stayed in the Library past eight or nine o'clock. As Jim and his mentor walked down the halls chatting about everything from Occlumency exercises to the next day's Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match, several figures from the portraits they passed wished the Headmaster a good evening, although most of them did so with yawning voices, and a few were already asleep.

"Headmaster, can the portraits not keep an eye out for ... whatever it is? Do they actually need to sleep?"

"I'm afraid the portraits do indeed require rest after a fashion. The magic of the castle which sustains them also causes most of them to become quiescent at night. Only the portraits assigned to guard the dormitories can easily stay awake for long past midnight. But even during the periods when all the portraits are active, our mysterious Heir seems able to evade their scrutiny somehow. It is most vexing."

Jim nodded in agreement. Soon, they were at the entryway to Gryffindor Tower, where the two bid each other good night. From there, Dumbledore took a leisurely stroll around the castle, but after an hour had encountered no one else except for Filch who was, as usual, both despondent and embittered over the status of his cat, perhaps the only thing in the world the irascible man cared about. After that unpleasant conversation, Dumbledore was headed back to his office when he stopped suddenly and listened. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a sound, the faint echo of someone ... whistling?

He turned and headed in the direction from whence the sound came, and as he drew nearer, he recognized the tune as "God Save the Queen," of all things. Finally, after turning one last corner, he entered a dimly-lit and seldom-used side corridor. "And it's also one with no portraits at all hanging on the walls," he noted suspiciously. Halfway down and about thirty feet away, Dumbledore could see a small red-headed figure. It was Ronald Weasley, still whistling as he studied what looked like a large parchment map. On the wall behind the boy were words written in red paint, undoubtedly by a spell as there were no paint cans or other containers nearby. The twinkle faded from Dumbledore's eyes. "This is wrong," he thought, "decidedly wrong." Pulling out his wand from inside his robe, the Headmaster slowly moved towards the boy who finally put the parchment away and waited expectantly. Ronald had no wand out yet himself, but the boy still moved with easy confidence.

"Good evening, Headmaster," the boy said. "Thank you ever so much for coming to meet with me tonight."

As Dumbledore drew nearer, he could finally make out the words on the wall.

EVEN YOUR MIGHTIEST LEGENDS ARE NOTHING
BEFORE THE MIGHT OF THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN

"I do hope, Mr. Weasley, that you have a good explanation for being out after curfew," Dumbledore said calmly. "To say nothing of your vandalism of this hallway."

Ron chuckled softly before looking up at the old wizard. They were about ten feet apart now, and Dumbledore was finally close enough to see the boy's eyes. He gasped – the boy's eyes were red, the same terrifying red eyes that had haunted Dumbledore's memories for over a decade, along with the vicious smirk that was so familiar and yet so out of place on Ronald Weasley's normally genial face. Dumbledore practically snarled as he trained his wand on the boy, every trace of "the kindly grandfather" now vanished from his demeanor as he finally realized who had been the author of the school's troubles for months now.

"You!" he exclaimed in righteous fury. "All this time, it was YOU!"

The boy laughed with a high-pitched giggle quite different than Ronald's normal laugh and far more menacing. His face assumed an amused and indulgent expression, as if he thought it funny that the doddering old man had finally solved the puzzle.

"Why yes, Albus – it was all me. Me, me, me." He laughed again. And despite having a wand trained on him by one of the most powerful wizards in the world, he seemed supremely confident. Almost triumphant. "Me ... and my special friend!"

Dumbledore hesitated. "What is that supposed to mean?" he wondered. Then, he noticed a shadow at his feet, a shadow from something very large and yet unnaturally silent that had glided up right behind him. Moving at what should have been an impossible speed for a man of his age, Dumbledore whirled around to strike down this new enemy, but at the first glimpse of the brilliant green (and magic-resistant, he realized) scales, he realized it was already far too late. Instantly, he dilated his perceptions, but events were moving way too quickly to physically react in time, and so all he achieved was to give himself more time to contemplate his impending fate while leaving none at all to avert it.

"How in Merlin's name did that sneak up behind me?!" he thought in wonderment as his eyes reflexively panned up from the massive serpentine trunk to the gaping maw whose fangs bore one of the deadliest poisons known to wizarding-kind. And as that enormous head lowered to meet his gaze before he could had time to close his eyes, Albus Dumbledore's last conscious thought was: "Oh. Silly question. Magic, of course."

The next chapter will be posted sometime between April 4 and April 6.

AN 1: It goes without saying that Dumbledore is petrified but not dead. After all, he's one of the people who was in the meeting back in Chapter 1, so he's got plot immunity through the end of year 4. The idea that the Basilisk never killed anyone (except Myrtle) because people were looking at its reflections or through camera lens or some such thing was always improbable to me. Exactly how the Basilisk works in this universe will be explained soon, possibly next week.

AN 2: Snape's status as Draco's godfather was simply something I forgot until recently, so I decided to make the fact that Snape had been seemingly ignoring the boy for almost two years a plot point that will be expanded upon later.

AN 3: I made some minor changes to the previous chapter, mainly to make the Diary sound less like a computer and more like an evil alien intelligence during the scene when it was modifying Ron's personality. Let me know what you think.

UPDATED on 3/30/2016 to remove a reference to Snape being Draco's godfather which, to my astonishment, is not canon but which is so widely accepted in the fanfic community that I simply assumed it was true. So I'm cutting that fanon cliche entirely rather than retcon Snape and Draco's relationship completely.