Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin

by The Sinister Man

Harry Potter was Sorted into Slytherin after a crappy childhood. His brother Jim is believed to be the BWL. Think you know this story? Think again. Year Four starts on 9/1/20. NO romantic pairings prior to Fourth Year. Basically good Dumbledore and Weasleys. Limited bashing (mainly of James).

118. HP&DEM 35: Secrets Revealed

SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT!

My first original novel, Strangers In Boston, is now available on Amazon under my pen name, T.S. Mann (get it?). It's free to Kindle Prime members and $4.99 to people who want to download the Ebook. Paperback copies are available for $12.99. Check it out, and if you like it, please leave a review. Basically, it's American Harry Potter. Except there's no school, no wands, and no thinly disguised allegories about tolerance. Oh, and if you use magic improperly, it can drive you insane and possibly destroy the world. No pressure or anything.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled fanfic!

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Harry Potter
and the Death Eater Menace

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

CHAPTER 35: Secrets Exposed

2 February 1994
From the Daily Prophet

THE DEATH EATER MENACE!
ARE MUGGLEBORNS SECRETLY TO BLAME?

An Investigative Expose by Rita Skeeter

Regulus furrowed his brow at the lurid headline, and his grimace only deepened as he read the rest of the article. It had been the conspiracy's plan to make the Aurors believe that a group of Muggleborns with access to shapeshifting magic had been behind the Azkaban breakout. A small group most likely motivated by revenge for past harm suffered at the hands of Death Eaters during the last war. It was not meant to be a massive conspiracy whose goal was to seize the magical and material assets of Voldemort's former organization as part of some vendetta against all Purebloods. Yet that was the slant of Skeeter's story: that the daring jailbreak was part of a plan by American Muggleborn metamorphmagi – and wasn't that a mouthful! – to undermine Wizarding Britain's defenses for some inscrutable reason.

Well, it was officially inscrutable because the article never came out with direct accusations, but the subtext was quite plain. The article spent much of its length rehashing old news and conspiracy theories about the Muggleborn Rights movement that had briefly flourished in Britain prior to Voldemort's rise. A movement that quite a few Purebloods thought led to Voldemort's rise, in fact.

Then, Regulus grimaced again as his plane experienced some turbulence. He'd drawn the short straw in this endeavor, as he was the only conspirator who'd ever been on a plane before. ("Once! In 1987!" he'd protested.) Alas, it had been decided that someone really needed to investigate the disappearance of Herbert Cattermole if they were going to clear Sirius of his crimes. Cattermole's trail led to the Bahamas more than a decade earlier and then went cold. And since a Portkey to anywhere in North America would be heavily scrutinized in the current political climate, that meant taking a Transatlantic jet for the journey.

The wizard sighed and put away his newspaper and reclined his chair to try for some sleep. He'd charmed the moving pictures in the Prophet to be still, but the headlines were still potentially visible to Muggles, and he had no wish to risk a breach of the Statute of Secrecy. He'd be breaking quite enough laws on this trip as it was.

---

Hogwarts
Later that same day…

Naturally, Skeeter's "investigative report" caused quite a stir among the student body. Things weren't improved by a subsequent interview given by James Potter over the Wizarding Wireless in which he condemned Skeeter's "flights of fancy" but was nevertheless unwilling to conclusively deny that her theories could be true.

The article and the Ministry's response to it dominated the discussion at that afternoon's meeting of the Hogwarts Cultural Preservation Society. Daphne Greengrass gave a report to the group on the final days of the Nobby Leach administration and the extremist Muggleborn elements that emerged after the death of the first (and only) Muggleborn Minister for Magic and the expulsion of his patron, Alexander McAvity, from Britain. In particular, Daphne spoke about McAvity's three chief lieutenants, Martha Bracewell, Timothy Spraggins, and Rian O'Grady, all three of whom were Muggleborn activists who turned to violence and revolution in his forced absence. Bracewell accidentally killed herself in a quixotic attempt to blow up the Marriage Contract Registry Office because she was opposed to arranged marriages. Spraggins was cornered while trying to sabotage the Hogwarts Express in some manner and killed himself rather than be taken alive and made to betray his fellow terrorists. Most shocking, though, was the tale of Rian O'Grady who simply disappeared after his public assassination of Cantankerous Nott, author of The Sacred 28 and father of the current Lord Nott. And whatever feelings anyone had towards House Nott, most of those present were incensed at the thought of such a revered Pureblood historian dying at the hands of an Irish revolutionary Muggleborn who'd never even attended Hogwarts.

As they listened to Greengrass's speech and the fierce arguments it engendered, Ginny and Amy nodded along at the appropriate moments. But inwardly, they were growing concerned at the number of students who increasingly found it acceptable to mutter openly about "filthy Mudbloods." And they were even more concerned that neither Diggory nor Neville nor any of the other "good Purebloods" felt inclined to speak out against the slurs.

The next day, posters for upcoming SPAM meetings were found defaced in the halls.

---

9 February 1994

By this point, Harry didn't need to be a secret Legilimens to know that something was seriously wrong in his relationship with Jim. His brother wasn't openly hostile as he'd been throughout most of their first two years, but the Boy-Who-Lived was visibly tense and closed off whenever they were together. Even Remus had remarked on it during their few sessions since the new year began. Jim had denied it, of course, but he'd also revealed that a recent "schedule change" in the Gryffindor practice schedule meant that he couldn't continue to practice Wu Xi Do at their normal time. Remus, who apparently never slept it seemed, readily agreed to meet at 5 a.m. instead, a prospect that horrified Harry. As he agreed to separate lessons in the afternoon for Theo and himself while Jim and a reluctant Ron met before dawn, Harry's hurt feelings over the lengths Jim would endure to avoid him warred with a degree of pride in how Jim had figured out the best way to avoid him – by threatening to make him get up earlier in the morning.

To Harry's great surprise, the answer came from Ron Weasley who pulled Harry aside after DADA one afternoon with Hermione at his side. They agreed that Jim was acting strangely but promised to handle it … the Gryffindor way. Harry had no idea what that meant, and so Hermione explained the concept of an intervention. Harry privately agreed that having a group of friends corral Jim into a room to force him to talk about his feelings was the most crudely blunt approach he could think of and so was indeed The Gryffindor Way.

---

Later that afternoon …

When Jim entered the study room to meet with Ron for their weekly tutoring session with Hermione, he was surprised to find that Neville and Luna were also present.

"Come in, Jim," Hermione said with authority. "We need to talk."

"Uh-oh," he said. The witch's tone reminded him uncannily of his mother's whenever he'd been in trouble growing up. "What did I do?"

"That's what we're here to find out, mate," Ron said. "This is an interjection."

"Intervention," Hermione corrected.

Ron shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, we're here because you've been acting funny towards Harry ever since we came back to school. And since we've got a sort of informal policy of doing something now whenever a fellow Gryff is acting funny, well, here we are."

"I'm not … possessed!" Jim said hotly. "Did Harry put you up to this?" he added in accusation.

"Actually, Jim," Neville said. "We've all noticed it. And we decided to talk with you even without discussing it with Harry beforehand."

Hermione nodded along. In fact, Harry had asked her to keep an eye on Jim weeks earlier, but she felt it unwise to reveal that in light of the boy's evident paranoia.

"Well, there's nothing to talk about!" Jim snapped. "And I'm not acting funny. It's just … I mean, Harry's my brother, but he's … he's still a Slytherin, right? So, I should just be … cautious around him."

As the boy spoke, Luna Lovegood said nothing. She simply stared at him intently. Or more accurately, the space surrounding his head. Hermione noticed the girl's attentiveness and then turned back to Jim.

"HARRY POTTER IS OUT TO GET YOU!" she shouted urgently and loud enough to make Jim twitch. Then, she turned back to Luna. "Well?"

Luna stared back at her in surprise and mild offense. "I thought I wasn't supposed to do things like that. That it was unethical when I did that to Neville on the train last September when he was afflicted by purple metal fury-flies and was acting all surly and disagreeable."

"And here I thought they were indigo," Neville muttered sarcastically. Hermione ignored him.

"Yes, yes," she said with a diffident wave of her hand. "But this is different. Or if it's not, just accept my hypocrisy and move on. Now what do you see?"

Luna scrunched up her face at that before looking back to a confused Jim. "Well, the nargles are acting funny. They're mostly … maroon. Or fuschia maybe. The fury-flies are okay, and the wrackspurts are normal. I would say it's not really anger or fear driving him but somewhere in between. Like a deep suspicion for reasons he can't explain." She tilted her head.

"But the flight pattern is … weird," she added.

Ron chuckled. "I can't begin to describe how troubling it is to hear Luna Lovegood call something weird."

"Is it like the nargles that you see around Neville and everyone else affected by the Ultimate Sanction?" Hermione inquired.

"I'm right here, by the way," Neville said irritably, but the two girls ignored him. After a few more seconds of study, Luna shook her head.

"No. Well, not quite anyway. I mean it's similar in that it's something external affecting his emotions. But the pattern itself is different. To be honest, I don't think I've ever seen this particular flight pattern before."

"What are you people talking about?!" Jim sputtered angrily.

"Mate," Ron said, "come on. I'm sorry to be the one to say it. But I think you've been spelled against Harry somehow."

"Oh come on!" he spat. "If someone had put a hex on me to make me distrust my own brother, don't you think I'd remember it?"

At that remark, Neville and Hermione looked at one another sharply.

"Neville…?"

"On it!"

Instantly, Neville had his book bag open, and touched his wand to a hidden side compartment. Then, he reached inside and pulled out the Remembrall he'd been carrying since his First Year. He handed it over towards Jim who looked at it in distrust before sighing loudly and reaching out to take it. To his surprise, the Remembrall instantly lit up with a vibrant purple light. Hermione gasped in shock and shot up out of her chair in surprise.

Jim blinked, nonplussed at her reaction. "So … that bad, huh?"

"Hermione, what is it?" Neville asked cautiously, concerned by Hermione's reaction. "What does a purple Remembrall mean? I've never seen it do that before."

Hermione swallowed. "We, um, studied this last year in Project Recall. How a Remembrall reacts to different Memory Charms was the first thing we learned. Dark red means an Obliviation. Blue means a voluntary Memory Lock." She looked up at Jim with an unnerving concern. "Purple means you were commanded to forget something while under the Imperius Curse!"

At that, everyone gaped, and Jim's eyes widened in horror. "Someone … Imperius'd me? Who? And when?" Then, his expression darkened. "Could it have been Harry? Is that why I feel so … distrustful towards him? Maybe I saw him doing something he shouldn't have at Potter Manor and he used the spell to make me forget it but I remember it subconsciously."

Hermione shook her head. "I find it difficult to believe that Harry, as gifted as he is, can cast the Imperius Curse at 13."

"Besides, Jim," added Luna. "Your nargles may not reflect any changes to your memories, but they clearly act unnaturally due to some external force that makes you distrust Harry whenever you're forced to think about him. I think that was a deliberate part of the curse – both to make you turn against Harry and not know why."

Jim frowned. "Who would go to those lengths to turn me against Harry?"

Ron snapped his fingers. "Hang on! That solicitor bloke who was at your house over the Christmas hols! Podmore, I think his name was. If Harry really does reconcile with the Potter family, isn't he out of a job?"

Neville shook his head. "I've met Artemus Podmore several times. He seems like a fine fellow and is very conscientious in his work for Harry. I don't think he'd resort to an Unforgiveable against you while visiting your home no matter how much money is at stake."

"In any case, you're all forgetting something," Hermione said. "As far as you know, this all started on January 1st, right? Well, that was the day after the Potter New Year's Eve Ball. There must have been over 200 people in your house that night. It could have been any of them who cursed you."

"But why?" Jim asked while rubbing his head in frustration. Hermione shrugged.

"Perhaps you overheard something you weren't meant to hear. Or saw someone doing something they shouldn't have been doing."

"Look," Ron said while putting a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder. "The first step in finding out who did this is to undo it. So how do we break someone out of the Imperius Curse?"

Everyone looked to Hermione, expecting her to have the answers as usual.

"Sorry, but for once I've no idea. We don't cover Unforgiveables until next year. And I know that, unlike conventional memory charms, a Remembrall can't restore memories you've been Imperius'd to forget. But right now, I think we need to let a teacher know about this. This was a very serious crime committed against you, Jim, and whoever is responsible will be facing a lifetime in Azkaban if they can be caught and convicted. We need to tell McGonagall, if not the Headmaster, at once. And your parents, of course. And I suppose probably the DMLE."

Jim nodded slowly. "I'll go tell my Mum right now. She can Floo call Dad, and then we can all go see Dumbledore together, I suppose." Then, he looked up at his friends. "Listen, can you guys … would you please not tell Harry about this? At least, not until I've told Mum and Dad, and we've figured out what to do next?"

The others agreed to his request, and Jim left Gryffindor Tower despondently in search of his mother.

---

Gryffindor Tower
8:00 p.m.

It was not until several hours later that an emotionally drained Jim returned to his dormitory where his friends were waiting on him. After adjourning to a study room (and setting up several privacy wards), the Boy-Who-Lived relayed the news.

"You were right. Apparently, it's nearly impossible to tell if someone is still under the Imperius Curse if it was cast properly. That's why the Imperius Defense worked for so many accused Death Eaters. But whoever used it on me was in a hurry, unpracticed with the spell, or both. Professor Dumbledore says he can spot enough signs of the Imperius with a Legilimency scan. I'm not currently under it, but the effects are now ingrained in me for the foreseeable future."

"That's awful!" Ron exclaimed. "Surely there's some way to break it!"

Jim shook his head. "If your will is strong enough or if you've been trained to resist the Imperius, you can throw off the control while it's happening or later while you're actively under the dark wizard's control – though apparently, that's very hard. But if it's only one or two specific and limited commands – like 'distrust Harry' or 'forget you saw me' – then you can't throw it off at all by yourself. You need outside intervention by high-level Legilimency. Dumbledore says that while both he and Snape are strong Legilimens, neither of them has any skill at … well, psychic surgery is what he called it, which sounds horrible and painful and is apparently kind of dangerous. So, it's been decided that for right now, we're just going to ignore all this and hope there aren't any other commands too deep for the Headmaster to detect. At Easter Break, I'll go back to Shamballa for a few days and let Healer Baskar take a look at me to see if he can fix me."

He sighed. "Well, that's what Mum wants to do. Dad seems really worried about me going back to Shamballa right now with everything else that's going on. I reckon they're in her rooms right now arguing about it."

"Do they have any idea who's responsible?" Hermione asked. "Or anyway to find out?"

"No," Jim replied with a crack in his voice. "And you were right, Hermione. It could have been anyone from the Ball. For that matter, it could have been anyone from the Ball who'd been Imperius'd themselves by someone else and then commanded to curse me! And if this psychic surgery thing doesn't work, the only way I'll ever be free of it is if the person who originally cast the curse dies."

"But surely the DMLE can do something!" Neville exclaimed.

"Dad doesn't want them involved yet. He's afraid that with the current climate, if it gets out that someone cursed me like that, it could cause a panic." He chuckled wryly. "That's another thing he and Mum are probably arguing about. But he's got a point. If it got out that I thought Harry was behind this … I mean, Rita Skeeter is already out to get him for some reason, and he was raised Muggleborn. You can imagine how people might take it if he were implicated in all this. Even though …."

He paused and blinked rapidly before wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

"Jim?" Ron said gently. "Mate, what is it?"

"I actually accused Harry of being responsible in front of my parents and the Headmaster! Can you believe it? I couldn't resist thinking that way. Dumbledore reassured me that there's no way it could have been Harry but …." He wiped his eyes again. "I remember how I felt before. How happy I was that Harry was coming home to us and that we were going to be real brothers. And now … I can't stop being worried about what will happen if he does. I can't stop feeling that Harry's … up to something. Something terrible that has to be stopped. That he's a danger to everyone I care about. And I know it's not real but still I… I…."

He paused, overcome with emotion. Suddenly, Luna rushed forward and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Jim, have I ever told you about the Kynocephalos I saw with my father in Greece?" she began in a high, sing-songy voice. "They're huge, almost as large as Hagrid, and their heads look like those of dogs."

Ron, Hermione, and Neville stared at the girl in confusion over her strange non-sequitur. But then, something in her voice seemed to break through Jim's despair. He relaxed and gently returned the girl's hug.

"No, Luna. Why don't you tell me about them now? I could do with a good story."

She smiled at him and began her tale.

---

Meanwhile in the rooms of the Muggle Studies Professor

Lily strode into her chambers with a cross expression on her face and an anxious husband on her heels. As soon as they were both inside, she sealed the door with a wave of her wand that simultaneously activated all the privacy wards she'd installed on her quarters.

"I still don't understand why you don't want to involve the DMLE, James," she said angrily. "If someone has used an Unforgiveable against our son, surely getting the Aurors involved is the next step. I mean, you do run the Auror Corps, do you not?"

"You know perfectly well that I do, Lily," he responded in a placating tone. "But I … just think it's in Jim's best interest that we keep this in-house for right now."

She crooked an eyebrow at him. "And what about Harry's best interest, since whoever cursed Jim seems to have done so with the goal of turning them against one another."

James grimaced. "You don't know that," he said with a nervous urgency. "I mean, for all we know, maybe that's just a side-effect of whatever happened."

Lily nodded slowly at that and then moved over to the window that looked out over the Forbidden Forest. It was a new moon, but she could still see the swarm of Dementors that hovered over the forest even by starlight. She shivered slightly, wondering which of the floating nightmares was the one who'd attacked Jim during last November's Quidditch match. She was still looking out the window with her back to James when she spoke again but more calmly. Or so it might seem.

"So… what do you think of Jim's claim that Harry might have been the one to cast the Imperius against him? Do you think he's capable of that?"

James hesitated and then spoke slowly, aware that he was tiptoeing through a verbal minefield.

"I … certainly don't want to even think that. I mean, like Albus said, Harry's only a Third Year. Then again, I know you don't want to imagine it. And of course, I don't either. But we have to face facts, I guess. I mean, he is a Slytherin…."

Before he could say anything else, Lily whirled around in a flash with her wand pointed straight at him. "EXPELLIARMUS!" she cried. And James had just enough time to register that the green of his wife's eyes matched the Killing Curse before his wand was ripped from its holster to fly into her waiting hand.

"Lily! What do you think you're …?!"

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP AND STOP LYING TO ME, YOU BASTARD!"

James froze. While his wife was clearly in a fury, he noticed her anger had no effect on how steadily she had her wand pointed at him. And he was suddenly put in mind of some of the more vicious curses he'd seen her wield against Death Eaters back in the day.

"You've certainly proven you can keep secrets from me, James," she continued bitterly. "But only through silence. You have never been able to outright lie to me! I know you were the one who placed the Imperius on Jim! The only reason Albus doesn't know it too is that he's too good a person to think the worst of you. Oh, and because I encouraged Jim's theory that it was a guest at the Ball, I suppose. But I know the timeline! Jim and Harry were fine together after the Ball. They were fine together at lunch the next day. Jim wasn't cursed until after Harry, Artemus, and Peter had left the Manor. It could only have been one of us. And of the two of us, I'm not the one obsessed with the insane idea that Harry is going to trigger the Wizarding Apocalypse!"

"HARRY IS GOING TO BECOME THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN!" James suddenly shouted in a panic. "It's … it's not a metaphor or anything! There is a literal actual title among the Snakes called 'The Prince of Slytherin.' Jim told me about it."

"Before or after you cursed him?" she spat.

James looked away in shame and then related to Lily what had happened on the Quafflebash Court and what he'd learned about the conversation between Harry and Voldemort.

"You see, Lily-Flower? I'm ashamed, terribly ashamed of what I did. More ashamed than I've ever been in my life! But none of that matters in the face of what we now know about the Prophecy. Please, honey. Just give me back my wand and let's talk about this. I promise I won't use it against you."

He held out his hand to her, but her own wand hand didn't waver at all. Instead, she tightened her grip on both wands in case he tried wandless summoning.

"I know you won't use your magic against me, James. You couldn't even if you wanted to. But I'm holding onto your wand so you can't defend against me should I decide to stun you before calling Albus and then the Aurors. Or should I decide instead to hex you with something worse than Azkaban since I am not constrained the way you are."

He blinked at that. "What are you talking about?"

Lily laughed. "Really?! Fifteen years since our wedding day, and you still haven't bothered to read that marriage contract your mother had you sign?!"

Then she turned serious once more. Deadly serious.

"I don't care about your Prophecy, James! I don't care about your Greater Good. All I care about is protecting my two boys. I know Fate is a cruel bitch, and that someday, I might have to choose between them again. I don't know what I'll do on that day, James Potter. But until then, so long as I have the option of protecting them both, I will do whatever it takesto do so. And I warned you once before what would happen if I ever judged you a danger to either of them."

James lifted his chin defiantly. "So what happens now? Are you going to expose me and send your husband to Azkaban?"

She glared at him as if considering the issue before slowly lowering her wand.

"No, James, I won't, for three reasons. First, with the evidence I have, I don't think you'd be convicted. It's been far too long to detect the Imperius with Priori Incantatem even for Albus. Outside of that, the evidence is mostly my word against yours, and I know how the word of the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House who is also Chief Auror would stack up against his uppity, gold-digging Mudblood wife. Tiberius Nott was able to escape prosecution despite much more evidence and much less renown. I have no doubt you'd slither out of justice."

James winced at the comparison to one of the "slimy snakes" he'd railed against for years.

"The second reason," she continued ruefully, "is that even if I could get you convicted with the sentence you deserved, it would be bad for both boys. With Lord Potter disgraced and in Azkaban, in this political climate, I have no guarantee that the Ministry would allow his uppity, gold-digging Mudblood wife" – she practically spat the words, each of which made James flinch – "to keep custody over either the Boy-Who-Lived or the Potter Heir. I can only assume the worst about which former Death Eater would be appointed their guardian in my place."

"Peter would never let that happen to you," James said confidently. Lily simply stared at him before continuing as if he'd not spoken.

"But the third reason, James, is that I won't take away Jim and Harry's father from them so long as I have power to ensure that you will never harm them again."

She tossed James's wand back to him almost casually. Then, she raised her own until it was pointed straight up.

"Heed my words, James Charlus Potter," she intoned with a strange solemnity. "Know that I, Lily Evans Potter, your wife and consort, and pursuant to our Contract of Marriage, do hereby deem your actions towards our children to be in breach of your marital vows. Pursuant to Clause 19 of said Contract, I now inform you that any further harm inflicted by you upon either of them, whether physically, mentally, socially, financially, or magically, shall be judged by the Magic of the Contract. And if Magic finds you in violation, may you experience the full brunt of all contractual penalties. SO MOTE IT BE."

In response to her final words, the tip of her wand lit up briefly with a furious red light. James simply stared at her in utter confusion.

"What does all that mean?!" he asked.

Lily flicked her wand, and the door to her chambers unlocked and opened.

"It means you should probably go home and read the damned Marriage Contract before you do something else stupid that ruins you completely." She nodded towards the door. "Get out. And don't expect me at the Manor for Easter. Or the summer. Or possibly ever."

James stood and peered deeply into the eyes of the only woman he'd ever loved as if searching for the tiniest shred of pity or compassion. Then, he hung his head in sadness and left the room. Once he was past the threshold, Lily flicked her wand again, and the door slammed shut and locked.

Only then, did she allow herself to break down and cry.

---

Later that night in Jim's dorm room…

It was well after midnight, but Jim still couldn't sleep. Unable to relax after the events of the day, he finally gave up, crawled out of bed, and crept as quietly as he could out and down to the Common Room with his book bag in tow. Once downstairs, he pulled out his prized Invisibility Cloak and set it to one side. He'd need it for a quick post-curfew trip to the Owlery, but first, he had a letter to write to the one person whose opinions mattered to him the most.

Dear Uncle Pete,

I don't know how much Dad has told you, but something has happened. Something terrible I can't talk about in a letter. When can you come to Hogwarts?

---

10 February 1994
The Island of St. Cyprian
(technically in the British Virgin Islands)
Office of the Chief Auror

"So tell me, Aura' Proudfoot!" snarled Chief Auror Marcelline Dupont of the St. Cyprian's DMLE in a heavy patois. "Why does a pasty British redcoat want to be comin' to owah liddle island without so much as a lettah of introduction! Like you Brits think you still own da place or somthin'!"

"Junior Auror Michael Proudfoot" pulled at the collar of his uniform coat as the witch regarded him balefully. For a moment, the intensity of her gaze reminded him of Rufus Scrimgeour's glare, despite the obvious differences between an elderly white Brit often described as "leonine" and the middle-aged black woman in dreadlocks. Not even the woman's attire – a short-sleeve white coat festooned with medals and what appeared to be a pith helmet – undermined the severity of her expression.

Right up until she smiled broadly and laughed at his discomfort.

"Ah'm just playin', Aura' Proudfoot! Ah sweah, you shoulda seen da look on your face!" She laughed some more and shook her head. "But seriously, what can I do for you Aura'?"

"Proudfoot" relaxed. The woman accepted his performance after all and would not be using some obscure magic he'd never heard from to see through his disguise. Regulus had arrived two days before at Nassau International Airport. It had then taken him that long to find someone magical who could ferry him by boat from the Bahamas to the "lost island" of St. Cyprian, which was otherwise protected by anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards against interlopers who had not already been granted permission to travel there. St. Cyprian (population: 420) was located roughly 300 miles due east of the Bahamas in the heart of what the Muggles called "the Bermuda Triangle." A silly superstition, even by Muggle standards – there had been a few mysterious incidents over the decades, mainly the result of Muggle aircraft interacting poorly with St. Cyprian's web of Muggle-Repelling and Notice-Me-Not Charms, but those problems were soon resolved and the island paradise returned to its usual placidity … and to its status as one of the world's best places for expatriate wizards fleeing their home governments. Notably, it was not a signatory to the ICW's Special Treaty on International Extradition.

"I'm actually here looking into a cold case," he said easily while perfectly imitating the real Proudfoot's voice. "One that heated up after the Azkaban breakout."

Dupont stiffened. "Do ya t'ink some of those escaped Death Eatahs might have come ta St. Cyprian?" she said with alarm. Reg raised his hands to reassure her.

"We have no reason at all to think that, Chief Auror. But in the course of pursuing all leads, we discovered some … irregularities in the trial of one of the escapees. I drew the short straw and got sent here to interview the man who was court scribe at the time. His name is Herbert Cattermole."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Cattermole? I t'ink ya come all this way for nothing, then. He's been dead for ovah twelve years."

Reg blinked in surprise. "Dead, you say. Well, since you remember him so clearly after all this time, I take it his death was under suspicious circumstances?"

"Ya could say dat. Ah remember the case quite clearly. Most of the auras from dat period do. Ah wouldn't necessarily say St. Cyprian's a peaceful, crime-free place. We gots our bar room brawls and our jealous husbands and wives and all the usual tings dat can lead ta killings. But in de last fifty years, we've only seen one person dead o' da Killin' Curse. It's understandable that Cattermole's death made quite an impression."

He whistled. "The Avada Kedavra! Yes, I can see how that would be something memorable. What else can you tell me about the case?"

"Ah can do moar dan tell ya. Ah'll be happy ta give ya da case file. What dere is of it, anyway."

Dupont waved her wand, and after a few seconds, an old manila envelope flew into the room with the name Herbert Cattermole on it, along with the date: 20 November 1981. Reg fought to conceal his interest. That was just days after Sirius's fictitious trial date. He thanked Chief Auror Dupont warmly for her assistance, and after some idle chit-chat about the history of the island and some sights he should check out while here, Regulus left and returned to his hotel room where he reviewed the file on the murder of Herbert Cattermole.

According to the sparse report, Cattermole had arrived on St. Cyprian on the 13th of November in 1981, when he rented out the Honeymoon Suite in one of the island's swankiest resort hotels. He'd also dropped several hundred galleons at the hotel's casino without anything more than mild disappointment. On the 15th, he'd been joined by a lady friend he introduced as Ariana Cattermole, his new bride. Naturally, Reg already knew that Herbert Cattermole still had a wife back in Britain who he'd never divorced (or even told that he was leaving before his departure) and her name was not Ariana.

Herbert and his young (and bigamous) bride spent a few days quietly enjoying the sights and amenities of St. Cyprian, and according to one noise complaint made to the hotel manager, they spent a few nights loudly enjoying one another. On the 19th, Cattermole removed all of his money (a sizeable sum) from the hotel vault, saying that he and his wife would be traveling on to America the following day. The next morning, he was found dead in his room. There was no sign of Ariana or any of her personal effects or any of Cattermole's money. The Killing Curse was swiftly identified as the cause of death.

Frustratingly, there were no pictures of Ariana Cattermole, but there were a few witness interviews that described her as a platinum blonde, young (far too young for a man of Herbert's age, though she was of-age herself), and stunningly beautiful. One detail noted was that upon arrival, the woman insisted that a copy of the Daily Prophet be specially delivered every morning and then brought up to their room. In a folded pocket of the case folder, Regulus found a small envelope with a preservation charm on it. From inside, he withdrew what appeared to be the 16 November 1981 issue which had been delivered to the room three days after its British publication. The headline, to Reg's surprise, was a story about Lucius Malfoy's exoneration and release from jail after Sirius Black's "shocking confession" about placing the young Wizengamot Lord under the Imperius.

The only other thing in the packet was the charred remains of what appeared to be Herbert and Ariana's wedding certificate. Although most of it was illegible and too far gone for a standard Reparo, Regulus was able to use some more obscure evidence-preservation Charms he'd learned as an Australian Auror, Charms probably unknown here on St. Cyprian. After a few seconds, the certificate repaired itself, and Regulus was surprised to see the mystery-woman's full maiden name: Ariana McFlossy.

He laughed for a second at the name, which he thought silly even by the standards of wizards. But then, he paused and reconsidered the newspaper headline, eventually looking back and forth between the article and the certificate as he considered what he knew. He pulled out his wand and cast the name Ariana McFlossy into the air in flaming letters. Then, he studied the name for several seconds as his expression darkened. With an angry slash of his wand, the letters began to move and reassemble until they spelled out a different name.

Narcissa Malfoy

"I swear," he muttered in annoyance. "What is it with Death Eaters and anagrams?!"

---

11 February 1994

Lucius Malfoy bit into a crystalized pineapple and thought about how long he should continue to use flattery before resorting to blunt threats. He had never been an acolyte of Horace Slughorn, but he respected the man's abilities, both as a potioneer and as a power-broker. If only he weren't so … unctuous.

"I must say how wonderful it is to see you again, Lucius, my boy!' said the corpulent retired Potions Master. "But, if I may be so bold, what has brought you to my humble abode? I've sent you many invitations to my special candle-light suppers for members of my old Slug Club who've gone on to bigger and better things, but you've never replied. You really should come, Lucius! For my next one, we shall be partaking of the Dowager Lady Ursula's home-made gooseberry wine!"

"That does indeed sound delightful, Horace," Malfoy said languidly. "And I shall certainly do my best to attend your next soirée. But I am here today on a matter of some urgency, so I hope you will forgive any brusqueness on my part." He paused and then decided he might as well sweeten the pot. "You see, Horace, I have a meeting this afternoon with the Minister. You know how much he relies on my insights."

"Minister Fudge? Oh what a coup! I haven't seen dear little Corny in years. I must say I'm astonished at how far he's come. Looking back, I do regret never inviting him to a Slug Club gathering. I guess it proves the old saying: You never know how some people will turn out. But I digress. Of course, I will help you if I can. What do you need of me, Lucius? A potion, a letter of introduction, or just a bit of gossip."

The portly wizard chuckled and then took another sip of tea, while Lucius chose his next words carefully.

"The latter, I suppose. Tell me, Horace. Do you recall a Slytherin student – he would have been many, many years before me – by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

The tea cup fell to the floor. Lucius crooked an eyebrow. That Slughorn remembered Tom Riddle was not a great surprise, but his loss of composure at the mere mention of the name certainly was.

"R-r-riddle?" Slughorn stammered. "My word, that's a name I haven't heard in years! However did you hear of him? I thought he'd died ages ago!"

"Yes, so I have been told. Indeed, the consensus is that he was murdered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Have you heard any rumors about that?"

"W-w-well, not that specific detail," he said as he picked up the now-empty cup. "Though hardly surprising," Slughorn muttered under his breath. "But I've no idea what any of that has to do with me, Lucius."

"Oh?" Lucius replied brightly with a smile. "I was given to understand that you were … quite fond of the young Mr. Riddle back in the day."

Everyone in the Azkaban cabal had skills they brought to the table. One skill (among many) that Lucius Malfoy offered was being able to spot another person's point of weakness. To know what words or deeds would break another's resistance. And to know where and how to strike.

The older man's face darkened angrily at the insinuation. "What are you implying, Lucius?"

Malfoy's face assumed a mask of innocence. "Oh, certainly nothing … prurient, Horace. Though, well, you know how baseless rumors can spread. What's the old Muggle saying? A lie can be halfway around the world before the truth has finished pulling up its trousers."

Slughorn stared at his former student, the one who he was quite certain had once been a Death Eater, no matter what the papers said. Slowly, he leaned forward and placed the tea cup back in its saucer on the table before him.

"Lucius, we are both Slytherins and we are alone. There is no need for shadow-dancing. Why are you really here? What do you want?"

"As I said, information. Tell me, Horace. What do you know of … horcruxes?"

The other man gasped in horror. Malfoy smiled. He knew Horace Slughorn would normally have more composure than this. But the man was notorious for giving his most prized students insights into obscure and occasionally forbidden magic if his vanity was stroked enough. And while Lord Voldemort rarely worried about the feelings of others, Tom Riddle was supremely skilled at plying others to do his bidding through subtlety rather than terror. Slughorn's reaction to the mention of horcruxes on the heels of his reaction to Riddle's name confirmed Lucius's suspicions. Tom Riddle had approached his most favorite and doting professor for more information about the forbidden spell.

"I … I know nothing of such things!" Slughorn exclaimed.

"Well, you certainly know enough to be disturbed by the mention of it. Did you react this way when Tom Riddle asked you about the topic?"

"Enough!" Slughorn shouted as he jumped up out of his chair. "This discussion is over! I must ask you to leave now, Lord Malfoy!"

Lucius rose but more casually. "Very well, sir. I'm sorry you can't help me. I suppose I shall have to look for … other sources who can answer my questions about your … relationship with young Riddle."

Slughorn sputtered angrily. "We had no relationship other than pupil and student!"

"Oh, I believe you, Horace, I believe you. But, well, you know how people like to talk. I can only promise to do my best in my efforts to find out details about the late Mr. Riddle's life and death to prevent any unfounded rumors from being spread about him that might falsely implicate you."

The older man closed his eyes as if in defeat. After a long painful moment, he began his tale.

"Tom … came to me once during his Sixth Year. He said … said that he'd come across the horcrux in the Restricted Section. He asked me for more information. I told him I didn't know anything about it. And then, I told him I never wanted to hear him mention that word again and sent him away. That's all that happened. I swear!"

"Well, sir, if that's the case, I don't see why you would object to providing me with a pensieve memory of that encounter."

Slughorn shook his head as if he didn't want to relieve the memory. "But why, Lucius? Why are you so interested in what a Muggleborn who died decades ago wanted to learn about dark magic? Why does it matter?"

Lucius studied his former Head of House and wondered whether to lie or simply evade. He chose the latter.

"Because as it so happens, whatever Tom Marvolo Riddle learned about horcruxes, that information eventually fell into the hands of You-Know-Who!"

Slughorn looked as if he might faint at the news. Lucius leaned forward and calmly plucked another crystallized pineapple out of the bowl on the table, as if he had not just revealed one of the most portentous secrets of all Wizarding Britain.

"And so, the memory, if you please," he added politely before popping the candy into his mouth.

---

An hour later in the Ministry of Magic…

Lucius strode confidently into the private office of Cornelius Fudge with Slughorn's memory resting in a vial in his pocket.

"Lucius!" the Minister said jovially. But it was a false joviality, Malfoy realized at once. "Thank you for coming!"

"I am always available for the Minister of Magic, good sir. Indeed, in light of current events, I'd been expecting your invitation for many months now and despaired of ever being called upon. How may I be of service?"

Fudge had the decency to blush at the implied rebuke. "Please! Take a seat. And I do apologize for any offense I may have given by avoiding you since … well, you know."

"Since the Azkaban break-out," Malfoy replied blandly. "And as I was forced to serve You-Know-Who while under the Imperius – and I was formerly married to a member of House Black which supported You-Know-Who openly — you had doubts as to my loyalty."

Fudge blushed deeper. "Lucius … I am sorry. I have never doubted your loyalty. But you know the demands of politics, especially in a time of national panic. The nation was up in arms about the Death Eater menace. I have no doubts about your innocence, my friend, just as I have never doubted your support. But someone who was cursed with the Imperius once could be again. I thought that if I relied too heavily on people who, as you said, were former Death Eaters albeit unwilling ones, it might cause the public to doubt me right when I needed as much support as possible."

"Say no more, Minister," Lucius said with highly convincing sincerity. "I fully understand the conflicting strains you were under, and you were probably wise to have acted as you did. Think no more of it. Now again, how may I serve the Ministry?"

"To be honest, Lucius," said Fudge as the two men took their seats across from each other at the Minister's desk, "I don't know that you can. But I would be remiss if I didn't ask your advice since no one else I've talked to has had any good suggestions to offer."

The Minister paused and took a deep breath.

"By any chance, have you ever heard of … the Treaty of Azkaban?"

It was a testament to Lucius Malfoy's skill as an Occlumens that when he left the Ministry of Magic three hours later, at no point had he started screaming in outraged fury.

---

Hogsmeade
12 February 2012

While the first Hogsmeade Weekend of the 1993-94 school year was an unmitigated disaster, the second went off without a hitch, and so, the Fudge Administration decided to test its luck. For the February weekend (which coincided with St. Valentine's Day and thus was an important day for Hogsmeade merchants), a full dozen Aurors were dispatched to the hamlet, and after some persuasion by the Minister, Dumbledore agreed to relax the curfew slightly. For this Saturday only, students in Third Year or higher could exercise Hogsmeade privileges even if they could only cast the mist-form Patronus instead of just those few who could summon a corporeal one.

This development was quite convenient for Harry because despite his best efforts, that was as far as he'd gotten with the Patronus Charm, and on this day, he really needed to visit Hogsmeade. Alas, he was not optimistic about persuading Jim to let him borrow the Potter cloak any time soon, and his Disillusionment Charm was still a work in progress. (He still couldn't reliably render his feet invisible, and on one embarrassing occasion, he'd somehow managed to turn all his clothing transparent and been unable to restore them. Theo and Blaise, who'd been with him in the empty classroom where he cast the botched spell, had simply looked at each other and then ran out laughing, leaving him to hide effectively naked in a supply closet until the spell wore off three hours later. They were completely unrepentant.)

After a few hours spent shopping, Harry and Neville made their way to the Three Broomsticks for lunch in a private room with Lady Augusta. Snape, Regulus (in disguise), Rufus, and Lucius were already in attendance. The remaining members of the cabal (or the Azkabal, as Sirius had jokingly christened it) were back at Longbottom Manor, listening in through Regulus's magic mirror. After the two boys entered the room, all three of the adult Slytherins each insisted on putting up their own privacy charms, as apparently none of them trusted the others to properly do the job.

"Ahem!" Lady Augusta said with disdain. "If you've all quite finished displaying your competing paranoias, may we get to the point of this meeting? Lucius, why were you so insistent that we meet as quickly as possible? And that Neville and Harry be present?"

"To be honest, Lady Augusta," Lord Malfoy replied, "I only wanted Mr. Potter here because, like Scrimgeour, he possesses a powerful deductive insight, but I assumed that it would be less suspicious if he came with your grandson ostensibly to lunch with you. I have obtained a memory from Horace Slughorn that depicts a conversation between him and a young Tom Marvolo Riddle. Since Potter is the only one of us to have ever seen the Dark Lord as a young man, albeit in the form of a debased copy, I wanted his impressions. Also, the memory takes place at Hogwarts. If there's any useful clues to be obtained, he as a student might be in a position to investigate further."

"But first," Lucius continued with obvious trepidation. "There has been … a development. One which I wanted to share with the group as it may affect our future deliberations." He took a deep breath. "Yesterday, I had a meeting with Minister Fudge, and he took it upon himself to reveal to me a state secret of terrible import. Apparently, there is an official treaty between Wizarding Britain … and the Dementors of Azkaban. And among the many other provisions of this treaty is one that requires our government to maintain a minimum population of inmates in the maximum-security level of Azkaban Prison. Our little jailbreak has reduced that population to below the treaty's requirements. Thankfully, even excluding Sirius and Bellatrix, we can meet those requirements if the Lestranges and Rookwood are returned to Ministry custody before August 1st of this year. But if we fail to timely hand them over – or worse, if it turns out memory-wiped prisoners count as dead as far as Dementors are concerned – the treaty will become a nullity and the Dementors will be free to leave Azkaban and attack Britain en masse!"

A shocked silence fell over the room.

"What idiot set that up?!" exclaimed Regulus.

"Thorfin Rowle's thrice-great grandfather," Lucius replied tartly. "He was Minister at the time of the Treaty's ratification. Based on Thorfin's career as a Death Eater, I assume stupidity is a common family trait."

"Okay, obviously this is bad," Harry interrupted. "But it's not the end of the world. I mean, we do still have three Death Eaters left. Mr. Malfoy, are you sure that's enough to satisfy this Treaty thing?"

"According to Minister Fudge, yes. However, all three of them have been subjected to Tabula Rasa. And we do not know how Dementors will react to victims who have no bad memories or indeed any memories to trigger and who are thus incapable of suffering at the hands of Dementors in any meaningful way."

"One crisis at a time, Malfoy," Scrimgeour said gruffly. "We just need to accelerate our plans for getting Sirius cleared of the charges against him. If we can achieve that within the next two or three months and deliver our three prisoners to the Ministry simultaneously, that will be plenty of time for Fudge to arrange a fallback plan if the three amnesiacs are not suitable for Dementor-feeding purposes."

Several of the attendees winced at the former Auror's blunt description.

"Just what sort of fallback position can Minister Fudge have?" Neville asked. "It's not like maximum-security inmates can be obtained that easily."

All the Slytherins present snorted in unison at the Gryffindor's naivete.

"Mr. Longbottom," said Lucius patiently. "Cornelius Fudge is acting under authority of Praetor Maximus. Where the Azkaban Crisis is involved, he has near-dictatorial powers. Ethics and sentiment restrain him at the moment, but if no other options present themselves before the end of July, I am quite certain he will not be above snatching a trio of minor criminals off the streets, engineering a conviction for some Azkaban-worthy crime, and dispatching them to the Dementors forthwith."

Neville was suitably horrified by that idea, but Harry was more thoughtful.

"What about the three werewolves still in Auror custody?" he asked. "They're in Fenrir Greyback's pack. That's about the next best thing to being a Death Eater, isn't it?"

Lucius smiled evilly. "Clever boy! Unfortunately, I suggested that same possibility to the Minister, and he shot it down. The Treaty specifies that the maximum-security inmates must be wizards. The surviving werewolves still in custody were Muggles before being bitten."

"Let us return, for now, to other matters that we can address," said Snape, who'd been quiet up until now. "Rufus, you intimated that you had some ideas on clearing Sirius Black of the charges against him."

"I do. It's … a bold plan. Distressingly so, I must admit. It borders on … Gryffindorish!"

"Hey!" said Neville, who was echoed by Sirius through the mirror. Scrimgeour ignored the complaints and pulled a thick wad of bound papers from an attaché case. With a tap of his wand, the papers were copied and passed to each member of the group. Lucius studied the cover and then looked up at Rufus with a dubious expression.

"The Betrayal of Sirius Black by the Death Eater Marcellus Frump. So … you have written … a play?!"

Rufus grinned. "I have indeed. A gripping drama that details a heretofore unknown Death Eater named Marcellus Frump who was You-Know-Who's true right hand before he was captured and forced to confess his sins, only to be freed by Death Eater collaborators with his confession altered to frame Sirius Black instead."

Lucius barked out a laugh while everyone else stared at Scrimgeour as if he'd gone mad.

"And how will performing a play about this deception fool anyone?" Regulus asked.

Scrimgeour grinned cruelly. "Well, here's the thing. It is quite easy to tell when a memory has been altered if you know what to look for. But it's a very different thing to spot the deception when reviewing an accurate memory of well-staged events. We have the two Lestrange Brothers. We can use them, along with some of us wearing altered forms either through Metamorphmagic or Polyjuice, to enact scenes from my little play and then withdraw pensieve memories of those scenes from the Lestranges immediately before their memories reset. Then, we just present the memories along with their bodies when we eventually turn them over to the authorities."

"How can we get the Lestranges to cooperate with this mad scheme if they are under the Tabula Rasa curse?" Augusta asked in confusion.

"Well," Rufus continued, "it occurs to me that anyone devoid of memory and unable to form new long-term ones would be particularly vulnerable to … mental persuasion."

"What sort of mental …?" Regulus began, but Lucius cut him off.

"He means the Imperius, Regulus. He expects someone to use the Imperius Curse to compel the Lestranges to perform the roles he would assign them."

"Well," Rufus said almost amiably, "we'd be foolish not to take advantage of the fact that we have among our number someone who is so very skilled at that particular curse. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Malfoy?"

Lucius said nothing. He simply glared at the older Slytherin who returned his gaze levelly. The others were also quiet at the thought of using an Unforgiveable to such an extent even on people like the Lestrange Brothers. Finally, Lucius broke eye contact.

"We will discuss that facet of your plan later, Scrimgeour. For now, I would like to hear Regulus's report on how Sirius was falsely convicted in the first place. Regulus, were you able to locate Herbert Cattermole?"

Regulus stumbled a bit before answering. "Um, well, I found his grave, if that's what you mean. A few days after Sirius was arrested, Cattermole left Britain for the Bahamas in the company of a young witch he'd married bigamously. The name she used was Ariana McFlossy … which is an anagram for Narcissa Malfoy. The two of them laid low at a casino hotel in the magical enclave of St. Cyprian until she got word that you'd been released from jail after Sirius's supposed confession. Then, she murdered Cattermole and returned to Britain."

"Ariana McFlossy," Lucius muttered with an amused sneer. He studied Regulus appraisingly. "How much of that can you prove?" he asked.

"I have recreated the marriage certificate. She signed a fake name, but it should still be her magical signature on it. I reckon the goblins could properly identify it. She's still wanted by the St. Cyprian Aurors today."

Malfoy nodded stoically before turning back to Rufus. "Do you think those details could be fit into your … play?"

"Easily," the man answered breezily. "In fact, in this instance, the truth would be much more plausible than the contrived storyline I came up with. You aiming to expose your wife as a secret Death Eater?"

"Ex-wife," Lucius answered coolly. "And yes. I am indeed."

He turned back to the group. "We will speak more on that later. Right now, our two youngest conspirators should return to the school soon. So let us take a moment to witness an important meeting between Horace Slughorn and young Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Lucius nodded at Harry who pulled his pensieve from a pocket and then expanded it on the table. Malfoy placed the memory he'd acquired inside, and then the group entered the memory.

To Neville's surprise, he was back in the room where the Hogwarts Cultural Preservation Society met, though in this earlier era, it was home to Horace Slughorn's informal group of select students that was known (bizarrely, Neville thought) as the Slug Club.

"Heh, I remember these Slug Club meetings," Regulus said. "Dreadfully boring, but the food was usually pretty good."

"When was this memory, Lucius?" asked Augusta.

"1943," Malfoy answered. "November, I think."

The party had broken up, and most of the students had already left. But one remained, a handsome lad in a Slytherin tie and a prefect's badge who Harry had recognized at once. Indeed, Tom Riddle had barely changed from the 15-year-old manifestation that had haunted the Diary. Within minutes, everyone else had left, and Slughorn was surprised to find that Riddle was still present.

"Look sharp, Tom," said Slughorn, turning around and finding him still present. "You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hour, and you a prefect…"

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away…."

"Sir, I wondered what you know about … about Horcruxes?"

Upon hearing the word, Slughorn instantly grew angry.

"I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning it again!"

"Pause," said Severus Snape just before the memory could end naturally. In response, the memory froze, though the observers could still walk around within it. The Potions Master studied the scene carefully. Then, to Harry's surprise, he stopped in front of the memory of Horace Slughorn and poked him forcefully through the chest. As he pulled his finger back out, an inky fog trailed after it.

"Fake," he said. "This memory has been subjected to the False Memory Charm."

Of those present, only Rufus and Harry were unsurprised.

"Are you sure?" Lucius asked.

"He is, and so am I," said Scrimgeour. "I suspected it as soon as Old Sluggy got to his furious denial. That's not the memory of someone moving and talking. It's a construct based on how someone would have imagined him moving and talking if he had, in fact, done and said those things. No matter how perfectly realistic a false memory is, it can't stand up to any degree of Legilimency when viewed in a pensieve. The body language never looks quite right."

He turned to Harry. "Do you concur, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I knew something about the scene was … off. I wouldn't have known to call it a False Memory Charm until you explained it, but I agree that it looks … fake."

"Still, the memory has value, even if altered," said Snape. "The setting looks genuine enough, and the exchange seemed accurate up until the end. I suspect a conversation like this did occur between Slughorn and Riddle. Only at the end did the memory become obviously tainted."

Regulus seemed dubious. "So, what, you think Slughorn actually answered Riddle's question? About horcruxes? How could he have even known anything about the topic?"

"He learned the same way I did," answered Rufus with some distaste. "And for the same reason. Horace is … a collector."

After the group finished their meeting, Lucius Malfoy pulled Harry aside and set up a privacy charm. The boy looked at him in surprise but without concern.

"I have some information for you, Mr. Potter. Information I wish you to pass on to the Outcast."

"Oh?" Harry said cautiously.

Lucius nodded grimly. "According to my informants, it appears my former wife has taken up with his former father. I do not know that the information will be of any value to Mr. No-Name, but, well, he is a Slytherin after all. If he can make some use of the insight in his own affairs, I'm sure I can turn it to my advantage in my own future dealings with Tiberius and Narcissa."

Harry studied the older man intently. "I was given to understand that you were fully under the effects of the Ultimate Sanction and so had little concern for Theo."

"I am, and I don't, Potter. But the enemy of my enemy and all that. In this instance, the artificial disdain I have for Theo No-Name is eclipsed by the quite-genuine loathing I have for Narcissa Black."

Harry's eyebrows rose at the blunt admission. "How on earth did you two end up married if you feel that way?"

Lucius's face darkened. "That is none of your concern, Potter. Suffice it to say that mistakes were made, and except for Draco, nothing good ever came of them."

But then, Malfoy studied Harry's face more intently, and his demeanor softened a bit. "Still, you are an ally, and puberty beckons. And so, I feel I should warn you that Narcissa Black has access to an artificial form of Veela allure. Do bear that in mind if you ever find yourself in her presence."

As Lucius dispelled the secrecy charms, Harry grew queasy at the thought of Draco Malfoy's mother trying to seduce him at some point. He resolved to learn more about "Veela allure" and how best to resist it.

---

13 February 1994
A random empty classroom coopted by The Goldstein Group
3:00 p.m.

"The Goldstein Group?" Blaise said with a dubious expression. "Seriously? And you're okay with that Hermione? Su?"

Hermione shrugged before returning to the runes she'd been carving into the underside of a wooden table.

"Oh no," said Sue Li, "I'm mad as hell about it actually. But fair is fair. Hermione didn't care what we called our research team, and Anthony beat me in Rock-Paper-Scissors."

"And it's a good thing too," Anthony Goldstein said heatedly, "since you wanted to call us the Li-gion of Doom."

"Well, okay," Harry interrupted. "Now that we've answered the exciting question of what your Ancient Runes team is called, can we get to the reason we're here?"

That reason had to do with the discovery by Harry and several of his friends that Hermione had been brewing large quantities of Pepper-Up Potion and other similar potions in a magically-hidden toilet stall in Myrtle's bathroom. After hemming nervously and then angrily denying Blaise's suggestion that she might have "a potion problem," the witch finally revealed the truth.

Hermione's Ancient Runes team (the aforementioned "Goldstein Group") had chosen for its end-of-year project a security ward scheme. An ambitious project for a trio of Third Years, the scheme was one that could be carved into a stationary object that met certain parameters, one such as the oak table that Hermione was presently defacing. Once properly prepared, anyone who had been keyed into the runic pattern could call out an activation phrase, and the rune scheme carved into the object would generate an area-of-effect stunner that would render anyone in range unconscious. To alleviate their concerns about her supposed "potions habit," she invited Harry, Theo, and Blaise to a meeting of the group.

"Wait a minute," Theo interjected after the project had been explained. "You're making a delayed action stunner that anyone could fire off wandlessly with just a password? There's no way a few Third Years could come up with something like that!"

Anthony chuckled. "Well, I wish I could say 'of course we could – we're all geniuses,' but the truth is … this wasn't even that hard. That is to say, the rune scheme itself isn't overly difficult. But it will only work for us because we're at Hogwarts and there's plenty of ambient magic to fuel it. That's the problem with runic wards – they usually need ambient magic, which means they need access to ley lines or the equivalent."

"So what's the point of this then?" Harry asked.

"Basically, it's just a proof of concept," Sue Li answered. "Our idea was to present it as a security feature. Shops in Diagon Alley and other magical communities often tap into ley lines to power security wards. This one can be put anywhere in a shop and if somebody tries to hold the place up, the owner or manager can just yell out the activation phrase, the ward will go off, and the bad guys get knocked out without anyone else being affected."

"And does it work?" an impressed Blaise asked. Sue and Anthony both gave pained expressions.

"Not … yet," Goldstein finally said. "We're close. I'm sure of it. But right now, the effects are limited. The range on the rune scheme is only a few feet, and only one person can be keyed into this ward to give the activation phrase. So right now, it's not very effective at knocking out a group of intruders while leaving more than one person unaffected."

Harry nodded at that. "Alright. Sounds like you're on your way to a good grade from Babbling."

"Professor Babbling," said Hermione absent-mindedly from beneath the table.

"But none of that explains why you have Hermione brewing Pepper-Up Potions in a bathroom."

"Well," Hermione answered while pulling herself up off the floor. "I was using Myrtle's bathroom because virtually no one goes in there. Although apparently, you three seem to have chosen a haunted girls' toilet for your own probably illicit experiments and discovered my cauldron. As for why I was brewing Pepper-Up, it's for our research subjects."

With that, she gestured over to a corner where Colin Creevey, Lee Jordan, and four other Gryffindors Harry didn't know were standing around and somewhat nervously listening to her explanation.

"Normally, a Stunner will put someone out for hours. And even with a Reviving Spell, a stunning victim will feel groggy and out of sorts for quite some time. So we follow up our spells with a shot of Pepper-Up so no one gets sick or misses any class time. Nothing more to it. Satisfied?"

Blaise and Theo turned to Harry who simply studied the Gryffindor witch.

"Conditionally," he finally said. "So, do we get to see your project in action?" Anthony and Sue Li glanced at one another nervously.

"Don't worry," Harry continued. "We won't be ripping off your work. Blaise and I are working on a rune scheme that improves Protego Orbis."

Mollified by the explanation, she ushered the three Slytherins to the opposite side of the room while Anthony and Hermione carefully positioned the "test subjects" around the table at varying distances from it.

"How did you get them to go along with this?" Theo asked.

"Money, of course," Anthony replied. "Hermione set it up. Ten sickles every time they get knocked out."

Harry looked over towards Hermione in surprise. "Weirdness" was one thing, but he'd not expected his friend to be so … mercenary. As he watched, Sue and Hermione walked around behind the test subjects conjuring large pillows on the floor behind them.

Anthony flicked his wand to a nearby desk, and in response, a quill jumped up and began taking dictation.

"This is Experiment 6.1 on 13 February 1994 at 3:09 p.m. Test subjects are in position." As he spoke, Sue joined him and the three Slytherins against the wall and threw up a shield spell while Hermione moved to the opposite wall. "Test begins in Three. Two. One. Go."

At that instruction, Hermione took a single step towards the table and said the activation word. "Morpheus!" Nothing happened. She took another step and repeated the word. Then, another. And another. Finally, after six paces, she said "Morpheus!" again, and the rune triggered. There was a flash of red light emanating from the table, and four of the six text subjects fell down onto the pillows unconscious. The other two remained standing and exhaled in relief. Instantly, Hermione flicked her wand and shot off a spell towards the table that caused ghostly numbers to appear in the air in front of her.

"The rune finally activated when I was 2.85 meters away from the table. It affected all targets who were within a 2.73-meter radius of the table."

"Excellent!" Anthony exclaimed. "That's a big improvement over last week."

"What's a meter?" Theo asked.

"Muggle unit of distance," Harry answered idly.

"Indeed," Anthony added somewhat smugly. "And one much better suited to scientific experimentation than Imperial measurements."

"So where the heck did you find a Charm that measures things in meters?" Blaise asked. "I've literally never heard a wizard use metric terms."

"Ravenclaw library. A member of my house came up with it decades ago." Anthony smiled. "Perhaps you've heard of him. Alexander McAvity."

The three Slytherins recognized the notorious "Muggleborn Dark Lord" they'd learned about the year before from Professor Lockhart. The fact that McAvity had been a Ravenclaw was news, however.

"Which is why the spell isn't known well outside of Ravenclaw," Sue added, "though we were happy to share it with Hermione. Alas, the Purebloods in our house don't know or care about the advantages of the metric system, or really anything about proper experimental procedure. I gather that Pureblood Preservation Society or whatever they're calling it is spreading all kinds of lurid nonsense about McAvity and his followers, and we'd appreciate it if you don't tell them that Ant and I were engaged in 'dark experiments' or whatever."

Harry and his friends agreed. "So what's next?" he asked.

"We use Renervate to wake up the sleeping Gryffindors and then let them rest for a bit while we tweak the rune scheme," Hermione said.

"And give them Pepper-Up Potions, I suppose?"

"Only at the end of the session," Anthony answered. "We don't want to give them too many. I don't want them to be up half the night unable to sleep, now do we."

Hermione took a step forward. "Well, Harry? Are you more than conditionally satisfied?"

He looked at her levelly. "Yes, I suppose I'm fully satisfied at this point."

---

Two hours later …

After the Goldstein Group completed its session for the day, Hermione found herself walking alone towards Gryffindor Tower (the test subjects having left immediately after payment). She was surprised to find Harry Potter sitting on the steps leading up to her dorm. As she walked over to him, he folded what looked like a map of some kind and slipped it into his robe.

"Harry?" she said cautiously. He patted the step he was sitting on.

"Have a seat, Hermione. Let's talk."

She folded her arms in front of her and made no move to sit. "I thought you said you were fully satisfied."

"I did and I am. I am now fully satisfied that you are abusing Pepper-Up potions to make up for lost sleep, but I wanted to talk to you one last time before I go see McGonagall about it."

"Harry! I've been brewing those potions for research purposes. I'm not abusing …."

"I saw your cauldron, Hermione," he interrupted. "And your supply stock. And your recipe. And I also saw how much Anthony and Sue gave out to those Gryffs at the end of the session. And I know that you have been brewing way more Pepper-Up than you need just for Anthony's project. In fact, I'm now pretty sure that the reason you jumped on board Anthony's project is that you knew it would require lots of Pepper-Up and acting as the potioneer for the Goldstein Group gave you a cover for brewing it for your personal use."

He leaned back against the stairs and fixed her with his gaze. "Now, tell me I'm wrong."

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Then, she looked away nervously, unable to meet his eye. Harry relaxed slightly. He'd realized as a Second Year that he found himself unable to lie to Hermione. It was oddly comforting to know that Hermione couldn't lie to him either.

"I'm … I'm taking too many classes," she said. "I know that. Between my course load and SPAM and … other things I'm working on, I haven't been getting enough sleep for a while. For months really. I don't think I'm abusing potions. But yes, I am taking enough to get by on just a few hours of sleep a night.

"Hermione …." Harry began, but she interrupted.

"Please don't tell on me, Harry!" she said urgently. "I promise … it's not for much longer."

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"

"We leave for Easter Break on March 27th. Before then, I'll be dropping at least two classes. Maybe three. I still haven't decided for sure."

"Which ones?" Harry asked.

"Definitely Divination. Probably Muggle Studies. Maybe COMC."

"But why wait until the 27th if you already know you plan to drop these classes?"

She looked away while wringing her hands nervously. "Because Professor Trelawney predicted that someone would drop the class right before Easter?" she said unconvincingly.

"Hermione …"

"It's weirdness, okay? I can't say anything more than that. But if you can just give me until Easter Break, I'll be done with it. And then, hopefully, I can tell you everything."

He stared at her, frustrated. "Will you at least promise to lay off the potions and get some real sleep?"

She nodded. "I promise. Real sleep. Five hours every night."

"Hermione!" he said warningly. "Eight hours."

She huffed. "Well now, that's just unreasonable. Do you sleep eight hours every night?"

Harry grimaced. "Six hours on school nights. And you sleep in until 10:00 on Saturday and Sunday."

She smiled. "Deal." Then, she headed up the stairs while Harry rose and started in the direction of the dungeons. Before he could get too far, she froze as if a sudden inspiration had seized her. She turned around and called out to her friend.

"Harry, has Neville talked to you about Jim? Or Luna? Or maybe even Jim himself?"

"About what?" he responded.

"I'll take that as a no," she muttered. "I promised not to tell you this, but … well, I've got the feeling it's something you should know. Please don't tell anyone I told you."

She looked around cautiously and cast a Muffliato. Then, she told him what she knew about Jim being placed under the Imperius Curse. Harry was suitably shocked.

"Do any suspects spring to mind?" she asked. "I'd assumed it had happened during the New Year's Ball."

The boy looked at his friend with a grim expression and an angry spark in his eyes. "It was Pettigrew. I just know it."

"Harry, I know you don't care for Pettigrew and that he seems to feel the same, but he's devoted to Jim." She paused. "Isn't he?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I do know that he's not to be trusted for reasons I can't just share with the rest of my family." He hesitated. "He's got … Quirrell issues."

Hermione looked back at him dully. "Peter Pettigrew … follows You-Know-Who?"

"I know it's hard to believe …." he started, but the witch interrupted.

"No, no. If you say it, I believe it. Besides, it makes a weird sort of sense." She shook her head. "But why would he have cursed Jim? And what do we do about it?"

"I don't know as to the first question. And I don't see what we can do about the second. Jim and James both trust Peter completely. And I don't have any usable evidence right now."

"Then how are you so sure Pettigrew's a baddie?"

He winced and looked at her ruefully. "Weirdness on my part?"

Hermione laughed. "Well, that's fair, I suppose." Then, she grew more serious. "In light of this news, I should probably tell you something else about Peter Pettigrew."

"What?"

"He's coming to Hogwarts for a visit later this week. I heard Jim talking to Ron about it."

Harry closed his eyes. "Bugger," he said. Under the circumstances, Hermione didn't even feel the need to chastise him for the vulgarity.

---

That night in Harry's room …

Harry stared up at the ceiling over his bed, unable to sleep. The ramifications of Pettigrew (or anyone else for that matter) using the Imperius Curse on the Boy-Who-Lived were startling enough, but if Hermione was right, the secret Death Eater seemed to have done so for the express purpose of driving a wedge between Jim and Harry. And to make matters worse, neither of their parents had seemed interested in letting Harry in on the news, even though they both now knew about it. Of course, Dumbledore also knew about the Imperius, apparently, but Harry could hardly blame him for deferring to the Potters' wishes if they decided to keep their eldest son in the dark about things. And indeed, they might have done so for entirely legitimate reasons.

Or they might have done so because they suspected him of cursing Jim.

Or, worse, James and Lily might themselves have been cursed to distrust him but more subtly than Jim.

The boy sighed in frustration. Too many possibilities. Too many unknowns. He would just have to stay on his guard and be ready to react to whatever came next.

"In the meantime," he thought to himself, "I can at least try do something constructive in another area that I've put off for long enough."

With that, Harry reached down to his bag on the floor and pulled out the Marauder's Map. Since Dumbledore had charged him with trying to figure out Remus Lupin's magically occluded Secret, he'd tried several strategies without success. In the course of those efforts, he'd also spent time over the holidays interacting with the younger Map-versions of his father's old coterie. Somewhat annoyingly, his very first interaction with the young Peter Pettigrew had been the most productive, as it had at least given him insights into the adult Pettigrew's personality and also clues as to how he might have ended up a Death Eater.

Since then, he'd also interacted with the Map-versions of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, but they were far less helpful, particularly when it came to ferreting out The Secret. Map-Remus had been twitchy and nervous without any of the Zen placidity of the real Lupin. Apparently, twelve years or so in Shamballa had been good for the man's nerves if nothing else. Sirius, on the other hand, was equally twitchy but for more specific reasons. Apparently, Black had last handled the Map on the night of The Prank, which was a topic he absolutely refused to talk about. Instead, Sirius was aggressively fixated on Harry's Quidditch skills, any "pranks" he might want to perform, and his dating history. To Harry's embarrassment, Sirius told him that his own father had ensured that Sirius's virginity had been taken at a French brothel on the occasion of his 15th birthday, and so he was full of "advice." Regardless, neither Lupin nor Black had provided any insights as to The Secret.

Or if they did, those insights did not survive the Fidelius. In point of fact, Harry had a strong feeling that both Remus and Sirius might well have revealed Lupin's Secret only for him to forget it once he'd left the confines of the Map. If he could confirm that to be the case, he would have to admit defeat and report his findings to the Headmaster, as meager as they were.

Only one avenue was left to try, and Harry had been resisting it: Map-James. Apparently, his father had been the last person to handle the Map before it was confiscated by Argus Filch while the young Gryffindor was on his way back to his dormitory after the Prank's conclusion. Harry was still fuzzy on what all happened during The Prank, even after talking with Map-Remus and Map-Sirius (and, of course, listening to Real-Sirius's confession over the Christmas break). The short version was that Sirius maliciously tricked Snape into visiting the Shrieking Shack at a time when a transformed werewolf was there. Specifically, the mysterious "Moony" after whom Remus Lupin was later named.

Harry tapped the Map with his wand. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good." In response, the Map came to life.

"James? Er, I mean … Dad? It's Harry. Can we … um, talk, I guess?"

Once more, a light erupted from the Map, and Harry felt himself falling into a deep hole with a sense of vertigo that quickly ceased as he materialized in a comfy sofa in the now familiar Gryffindor Common Room. And sitting across from him was a chipper, earnest, yet slightly-nervous James Potter (aged 16). To Harry's surprise, the other boy seemed slightly disheveled, and there were dirt stains on his clothes. Then, he realized – this manifestation of James Potter was fixed by the Map only a short time after The Prank, when Potter had somehow saved Severus Snape from a fully-transformed werewolf.

"Welcome to Gryffindor Tower, Harry!" James said somewhat breathlessly. "Not that you don't already know your way around here, being a Lion yourself! Ha! Has the place changed much since my day?"

"Not too much," Harry said, though he actually had no idea whether that was true or not. "Some of the furniture looks different. I'm sure it got restuffed at some point."

James nodded but then suddenly seemed at a loss for words, and Harry was unnerved to see how intently the other figure was studying his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just … a bit weird is all. Kind of like looking into a funhouse mirror. I bet you get that a lot, huh. 'Hey! You look just like your old man! Except with your mum's eyes!' Same wild Potter Hair as me and my own dad!"

Harry chuckled. "Well, you can't fight genetics, I guess."

In point of fact, he had long since mastered the problem of Potter Hair with the aid of Sleekeazy, but he made a point of mussing his hair before entering the Map, just as he'd swapped out his old wire-rimmed glasses for the magical Wayfarers he'd become accustomed to. It wouldn't do, after all, for any of the Marauders to notice the snake emblem on the sides.

James's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Genetics?" he asked, obviously unfamiliar with the scientific term.

"Never mind. It's a Muggle thing … Mum explained it to me once."

"Ah yes … Mum!" He shook his head in amazement. "I still honestly can't believe it. That Lily and I actually got together. I mean get together. And had a baby together!" He paused cautiously. "Are we … are we happy? Did we do a good job raising you?"

"You and she were awesome parents," Harry lied effortlessly. "And you're still very much in love. It's … kinda gross at times, to be honest. All that kissing and … stuff."

"YES!" James actually gave a fist bump at that news. "That's such a relief. I was sure I'd blown it for good."

"Oh?" the Slytherin said with curiosity. "How so?"

James paused to consider the question. "Before I answer that, can I ask a few things?"

"Hmm. Uncle Remus said I shouldn't tell you guys too much about your futures."

"I know, I know. Just a few general questions so I can avoid telling you things that grown-up me won't want you to know. Are all of us Marauders still friends? Were they all around to look after you when you were growing up? To be honest, we're … going through a rough patch right now, and I've been very worried that it might split us up."

Harry nodded sagely. "You mean, because of … The Prank."

James blinked in surprise. "You know about that?"

"Oh yeah. I know it was a big deal when it happened, but in time, you'll get past it."

The Gryffindor exhaled in relief. "Thank Merlin. And I suppose Lily forgives me too. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

"Was she that upset with you over it?"

James looked embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Honestly, by the time I lost the Map, we hadn't talked about it yet. That's why I've been so nervous about it. We're about a week out from the first Hogsmeade Weekend of our Sixth Year. At the start of term, she walked right up to me and said she'd go out with me to Hogsmeade, but only if I make it to that weekend without performing a single prank. And then, of all things, Padfoot flips out and sends Snivellus down to …. Wait a minute, sorry. I shouldn't say too much. First of all, do you know who Padfoot is?"

Harry laughed. "Of course! It's my godfather and your best friend, Sirius Black. I still have a stuffed black dog he gave me when I was a baby in a closet somewhere." With that lie, Harry suddenly wondered for the first time, whatever happened to that old stuffed dog, but he pushed that curiosity aside.

James nodded at that. "And I know you know who Snivellus is. Do you … do you know about Remus's … furry little problem?"

"Well," Harry said slowly as he prepared perhaps his most ambitious lie to date. "That's kind of why I wanted to speak with you tonight. To find out more about Remus's furry little problem."

James leaned back suddenly. "Whoa now. If you don't already know it, I can't tell you anything about it. We made a Marauder's Oath!"

Harry, who was quite sure a "Marauder's Oath" had all the magical force of tissue paper, nodded in understanding. "Oh, I know, I know. You told me all about that years ago. And I'm pretty sure you told me the truth about Uncle Remus. I just … don't remember it."

The other boy crooked an eyebrow. "You … don't remember it? What? Did you get hit with a Bludger or something?"

Harry shook his head. "See, here's the thing: Headmaster Dumbledore has Remus working on a special project involving something called the Fidelius Charm. Ever heard of it?"

James shook his head. "Sounds obscure. Wait … Remus is working with Dumbles?" He grew excited. "Is Moony working at Hogwarts in your time?" Harry nodded. "That's wonderful! I always knew he was the most academic of us all. I mean, Sirius and I have a lot of natural skill, but we both are pants when it comes to self-discipline and work ethic. Moony was the one who studied like mad for everything. What does he teach? DADA? I bet he'd be amazing at that."

"He does indeed teach defense," Harry said evasively. Granted, it was an extracurricular martial arts defense, but the principle applied. "Anyway, this Fidelius thingy is a Charm that lets you hide a Secret so perfectly that it's supposed to be impossible to figure out unless you hear it first hand from some bloke whose been appointed the official Secret Keeper. And to test it out, Remus and the Headmaster asked me to try to figure out Remus's Secret, even though I've been told the Secret already but can't remember it. Or at least not all of it. I can remember some of the … peripheral stuff about it, I guess."

"What do you mean … peripheral stuff?"

Harry leaned back in his chair and started counting off "Remus Facts" with his fingers. "Well, I know it has something to do with wolves. I know Remus is nicknamed Moony. I know you have some other friend also nicknamed Moony who is a werewolf that Uncle Sirius, in a really badly thought-out prank, tried to feed Severus Snape to." James winced at that description. "And I know there's some connection between Remus and the werewolf besides the fact that they're both named Moony."

James stared at him. "You're … you're fucking with me, right?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope. And here's the real kicker. You … I mean, the grown-up You … told me that if I can figure out this Secret, I get a new Firebolt out of it."

"A Fire-what?"

"Bolt. Firebolt. It's the absolute best broom in existence as of 1994."

Harry then proceeded to describe the properties of the Firebolt in salivating detail as Map-James's eyes widened in wonderment.

"Say no more. It would be a crime if I didn't do whatever I could to help you win such a prize. I mean, it's for academic research, after all! What can I do?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Can you show me … The Prank?"

It took a little more persuasion, but not much. In a perverse way, Harry actually managed to play off Map-James's help as a way of pranking his own adult self and in a way that Lily would approve of. A few minutes later, the features of the Gryffindor Common Room faded away to be replaced by a rough-hewn subterranean tunnel that, from what Harry had already been told, connected the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade.

There was a strange sense of dislocation, and Harry realized it was the sensation of viewing the memory of someone who was running as fast as they could down a narrow tunnel.

"SNAPE! COME BACK! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" The echoes of Memory-Potter's desperate yells reverberated in Harry's ears. Up ahead, he could just make out a young Memory-Snape illuminated by a shaky Lumos. "SNAPE! FOR MERLIN'S SAKE, STOP!"

Undeterred, Snape rushed forward and threw open the door at the end of the tunnel before falling back with a scream of pure terror. Then, the sensation of flying down the corridor ended and Harry found himself standing next to Map-James and just a few feet behind Memory-James. Ahead lay Memory-Snape on the ground. And looming over him was a nightmare. The memory-form of the mysterious "Moony" in all his lupine glory. The werewolf was not as big as the one from Gilderoy Lockhart's infamous demonstration during Harry's Second Year, and its fur was silvery-gray instead of black, but the creature's presence was no less imposing. Instinctively, Harry reinforced his Occlumency shields against the unnatural fear emanating from this memory-of-a-memory.

"PROTEGO!" yelled Memory-James, and a brilliant shield appeared between Snape and the frenzied werewolf just before the beast could fall on its prey. It staggered back and let out a howl. In response, James lashed out with a Stunner so powerful that it blasted the werewolf back through the open doorway.

"COLLOPORTUS!" The door slammed shut with the angry werewolf still on the other side. James rushed over to where Snape was still cowering and whimpering on the ground.

"Come on, Snivellus! We need to get you out of here before it tries to bash through the door and come after you! Merlin, what an idiot you are!"

With that comment, the Gryffindor forcefully pulled the Slytherin up to his feet and started leading him away from the door.

"Well?" Map-James enquired of Harry in a helpful tone. "Did that jog any memories?"

Harry said nothing at first. He simply stared at the locked door with a powerful intensity.

"I need to get out of here," he finally said in a tight voice. "Right now."

---

Fifteen minutes later …

Severus Snape had only just begun to prepare for bed when he was startled by a loud banging on the door to his quarters. Grumbling, he made his way to the door and jerked it open, ready to harangue whoever dared to disturb him so late. That it was the Sensible Potter was a surprise. That Sensible Potter all but pushed his way into the room was a bigger surprise. That Sensible Potter was babbling was the biggest surprise of all.

"Sir, I apologize profusely for coming to see you so late, but I promise I wouldn't have except that this is incredibly important and I need to understand what I just saw and even though you'll probably be furious with me and hex me or give me detentions or give me detentions during which you hex me, I still think it's too important for me to wait until tomorrow, not that you'll be less angry with me if I ask you tomorrow…!"

"POTTER!" Snape barked. "Cease this gibbering at once! Five points from Slytherin for bursting into my rooms and another five for abandoning all sense of decorum! Now get hold of yourself and tell me what you're doing here before I add detentions to those points!"

Harry paused and then took several calming breaths. Then, he produced his miniaturized Pensieve from a pocket and enlarged it with a tap of his wand before he finally spoke as calmly as he could.

"When you were in Sixth Year, Sirius Black manipulated you into an encounter with a werewolf. I need to see your memory of that encounter."

Snape's face blackened with rage. "You have exactly ten seconds, Potter," he snarled, "to explain to me why I should not put you in detention until your NEWTs for DARING to ask about THAT MEMORY!"

Harry gulped. "I'm sorry, Professor. It's … it's not something I can explain easily. But … I've just seen that memory from a different perspective. And in it, I saw something I don't understand. But something I think might be incredibly important."

"POTTER!"

"SIR!" Harry said forcefully. "It's me. You know me. Better than any adult I've ever been around. You know I'm not frivolous or given to pranks. Please, sir, if you have ever placed any value on my opinions – if you've ever thought I deserve to be in Slytherin – just let me see that memory!"

Snape glared at the boy for several seconds in silence while giving every impression of wanting to hex him.

"I will give you the memory. And then, you will explain in exacting detail what has led you to this. Your answer will determine the extent and severity of your punishment. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. Then, Snape stalked over and touched his wand to the corner of his eye before withdrawing the silvery liquid that was his memory of that terrifying night and depositing it in the bowl. Harry cautiously moved past him and then lowered his face into the bowl. After less than a minute, he was back out again, and he looked up at his Head of House with an expression the older Slytherin did not recognize but nevertheless found discomfiting.

"You should come with me and take a look sir," he said with an eerie calm.

Snape sneered. "I don't need to review the memory, Potter! I lived it!"

Harry gulped. "That's the thing, Professor. I don't believe you have."

Cautiously, Severus Snape made his way down the dark passageway, his Lumos spell the only dim source of light. Finally, Snape could see a doorway twenty feet up ahead. He moved towards it carefully until, to his surprise, he heard a voice calling out to him from behind. A hated voice he recognized at once.

"SNAPE!" yelled James Potter in an urgent and possibly terrified voice. "COME BACK! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"

The Slytherin sneered. If Potter was here and insistent that he not proceed, then obviously, this wasn't a Marauder trap after all. He quickly darted ahead to the door, heedless of the panicked voice of James Potter who was sprinting up the passageway behind him.

"SNAPE! FOR MERLIN'S SAKE, STOP!"

The Marauder was close behind, but not close enough. Snape grasped the handle of the door and pushed with all his might. The door flew open, and inside ….

GREY FUR
SHARP TEETH
YELLOW EYES
HUGE CLAWS
HUNGRY, SO HUNGRY
AND SO FULL OF RAGE
MAD HOWLING
CHARGING TOWARDS ME
PLEASE, I DON'T WANT TO DIE!

"Pause!" Harry called out with authority, and the memory froze in response. The real Severus Snape stood next to him, his face pale but resolute as he confronted once more the vision of his nightmares in all its unholy glory. His memory-self was already on the ground, overcome by wolf-fear, while James Potter (fucking Potter!) was bringing his own wand to bear.

Snape sneered at the memory of his rival with contempt. "The final indignity," he thought. "Saved by St. Potter himself."

But then, to his surprise, Harry stepped forward, past Memory-James, past the cowering Memory-Snape. Without any fear of the monster before him, Harry walked right up to the werewolf.

And then, he poked his finger into the beast's stomach before pulling it out again with an inky black fog trailing behind it.

"Sir?" he asked slowly. "Does this mean what I think it does?"

A heavy silence fell on the memory before Snape spoke again. And when he did speak, it was so low and quiet that Harry shuddered – just for a moment, Snape sounded exactly like Vernon Dursley had on Harry's last evening in the Dursley household right before the Muggle went mad and tried to kill him.

"That depends, Potter," he hissed. "Do you think it means that my recollection of nearly being mauled and eaten by a werewolf, a memory that is foundational to everything I am today, is a FALSE MEMORY?!"

"Sir …?" Harry began.

"Get. Out."

Eyes wide, Harry nodded and withdrew from the memory, leaving the older man behind. Alone in a memory that he now knew to be a deception, Snape threw open all of his passive Legillimency senses to search every inch of the memory for the seams that connected truth and lie into a seamless whole. Then, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the monster that had plagued his nightmares for almost two decades.

"LEGILIMENS!" he cried out. In response, a strange tremor passed over the frozen memory.

"LEGILIMENS!" he yelled out, even louder. The tremor advanced to a violent shaking, as if the tunnel were suffering an earthquake. A rumbling sound echoed all around. A large crack appeared in the wall next to him.

"LEGILLLIMENNNSSS!" he screamed in utter fury, ignoring the tiny rivulet of blood that trickled out of his nose. A sound like cannon-fire erupted all around the enraged man, and more cracks appeared in the walls, the floors, the ceiling. The memory-images of Potter, Snape, and Lupin shuddered and then twisted and then shattered, along with the rest of the environment.

And then, the memory replayed.

"SNAPE! FOR MERLIN'S SAKE, STOP!"

The Marauder was close behind, but not close enough. Snape grasped the handle of the door and pushed with all his might. The door flew open, and inside ….

Inside … was a werewolf. Grey fur. Sharp teeth. Yellow eyes. Huge claws. But if the beast was hungry, it's countenance did not show it. And there was no rage. Only a sudden shock at Snape's entrance. Indeed, the monster was just sitting placidly on its haunches in the middle of some kind of runic circle. And as it regarded the intruder, it tilted its head to one side more like a befuddled dog than a deadly lupine predator.

"Sniv..lus?" the werewolf growled in confusion.

It was only then, after Snape absorbed the impossibility of a werewolf calmly speaking his name, that he could tear his eyes away from the creature to take in the other figures in the room. There were about twelve wizards and witches in total, all of whom were staring at him in a mixture of surprise and consternation. Most of them, the boy did not recognize. Three of them he did. The first was Augustus Rookwood who had been his DADA instructor just a few years before. The second was Damocles Belby who a few years hence would take him for a Potions Apprentice and train him to Mastery.

The third was Albus Dumbledore.

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NEXT: PROJECT ROMULUS!

AN1: Thanks to all my wonderful editors at the POS Discord Server: Adam Sitrich, CuredentTepes, darkphoenix31, HeidiWolf, LadyOfTheLibrary, MichelRika, pizdets UTC+10, Pokeflute, Prince of Conspiracy, ProfessionalDragonslayer, and Team Frigg.

AN2: Check out the Sinister Man's web presence on the POS wiki, the POS TV Tropes page, and my Discord server (through which you can see advance previews of this story as it is begin written). Also, the Sinister Man would be profoundly grateful if you checked out my P*****n page and supported my original fiction. Patronage is not necessary to get the free POS previews via Discord.

AN3 (What the Sinister Man is reading): "Gates of Azkaban" by mirrormarie (a sequel to "The Cactus and the Toad" by the same author) and "Wolf's Choice" by Lomonaaren (a sequel to "Other People's Choices")

AN4 (Stuff I stole shamelessly from other people): In the last chapter, the Fascination Fish was lifted from "Biting the Hand That Feeds You" by Andrew Joshua Talon, and the accusation of being a "livingist" is from "Oh God Not Again!" by Sarah1281. In this chapter, Luna's story about the Kynocephalus is a reference to "Stages of Hope" by kylie silverstorm (and there, it's also something Luna uses to get through to an emotionally drained Harry), while Horace Slughorn's "special candlelight suppers" are an homage to similar (and similarly dreaded) gatherings thrown by Hyacinth Bucket ("It's pronounced Bouquet!"). All of them, I highly recommend.