(sigh) Fanfiction is fritzing on me. The ruler line between sections isn't working right now so the jump to a new location in the story will now be signified with a large 'X'.
I'd like to thank my Beta Reader Katie...and then I'd like to go to bed.
Enjoy, you guys. Any and all readers are highly appreciated. :)
Nighty night.
Spite
Chapter 1. A History Lesson
Seventh year. Harry could hardly believe himself.
It seemed like only yesterday that he'd walked into the Great Hall to be sorted. Seventh year had seemed so far away, and now he wasn't even going to graduate.
He'd made up his mind. There were more important things.
Like killing Voldemort.
Ironically enough, he knew, the only person this decision was truly killing was Hermione. She and Ron were currently standing next to him, adamantly trying to talk him out of his decision, the surprisingly bright October sunset shining towards them in the west wing's corridor as people rushed by them to get to class.
It would be only a few minutes before the moon would forcefully push the sun's head beneath the horizon, drowning the world in dusk.
"Look, mate…" began Ron morosely, then he stopped, unable to think of anyway to convince Harry to change his mind. Hermione, on the other hand…
"Harry, please. Please stay. You need your final year, here. You need this education if you're going to face Voldemort with any confidence!"
"I've faced him just fine before, Hermione," said Harry, a little insulted. People were shooting him covert glances as they passed by. He stood out like a sore thumb, the only person not in school uniform.
"But it's been what we've learnt here that's saved our arses every time we've run into him, Harry," Ron rubbed his face tiredly. "Don't you think you'll be missing important stuff, dropping out now?
Harry studied his two best friends, thinking of how they were feeling for the first time that day. They looked…old. They looked old and tired, and it wasn't just the building shadows. For seventeen year olds, Ron and Hermione certainly looked pale and sunken-eyed enough, like good parents with an irredeemably criminal child.
And I'm the child, he thought. I've done this; I've aged them…they didn't ask to get involved, to be traumatized and scarred and put into danger, time after time, or to have their families put in danger. It all happened the moment they met me…on the train…in first year….
"Harry, please stay." Hermione's voice suddenly broke, her eyes filling with tears. "Dumbledore would have wanted it. Hogwarts isn't perfect…but if you leave, it'll only be a matter of time before the Death Eaters get you. Then, they'll… you'll…you'll die…you'll die if you leave, Harry…"
Ron turned and wrapped his arms around her. Harry stood frozen, mortified by Hermione's pain. "I'm sorry." he whispered.
"It's not good enough!" she snapped angrily. " 'Sorry' is not good enough! Don't Ron and I mean anything to you? We've worked long and hard to keep you alive…"
"Oh Hermione…" moaned Harry. "That's not fair!"
"No! Shut up! It's true!" she yelled shoving away Ron's comforting hands, denying his attempt to soothe and silence. "You're going to get yourself killed!"
"Well, if I stay here you'll all be killed," he replied testily. "If I stay, they'll come to Hogwarts and there are other people here, besides myself, that need to be safe. I am a curse to those around me in case you haven't noticed! A bloody curse!"
"Harry…" began Ron.
"No!" insisted Harry. "No, Ron, stop thinking like you always do for a minute and think logically!"
"Thanks a lot…" snorted Ron.
"Your eldest brother is missing half his face! Your father's almost died on numerous occasions! You! YOU! You got poisoned last year! Or in first year when you went up against that chessboard! You were eleven! You had no business doing that! And Hermione getting petrified by a fucking Basilisk in second year! Let's not even get started on Ginny!"
"You saved all our lives, mate…" Ron smiled weakly. "I think we can forgive you!"
"Ron, it's not funny," Harry shook his head. "I can't anymore. I can't be at Hogwarts. It's…selfish. I've ruined enough lives. Killed enough of the people I love already…"
"You haven't killed anyone, you twit!" howled Hermione. "Voldemort has! Voldemort! It's none of it your fault! And if he kills you…if he kills you we're all fucked!"
"HerMIONE!" Ron stared at her in shock. Hermione never used profanity. Never. "That was…kind of hot."
Harry rolled his eyes and turned away when his friends began furiously macking. Alright, so maybe I haven't aged their HORMONES, he thought irritably. For God's sake, he was saying his goodbyes. Couldn't they keep their mouths separate for all of five minutes?
As his eyes drifted over the now dwindling crowds in the hallway, a gleam of orange hair caught his eye.
Ginny was surrounded by a flock of girls who wanted to be her, as usual. Watching her made Harry ache inside like when the Dursleys used to forget to feed him; an ache that made him giddy, and breathless and hopeless and hopeful all in one go. He missed Ginny. He missed her a lot. Sometimes, at night, when he closed his eyes and tried really hard, he could still remember how she felt.
As if on cue, she turned and their eyes met. She smiled at him. It was a sweet smile, even loving. But there was anger there too, and resentment and some sort of vow that Harry just could not decipher. He barely understood what girls were on about under regular circumstances. All he knew was that Ginny had not agreed that his breaking up with her for her own protection had been necessary at all, and he was secretly terrified of what she was promising him every time she looked at him like that.
"…Oi! Harry!"
Harry jumped and turned to see Ron glaring at him. "What?"
"Stop staring at my sister. Either be a man and crawl to her on your hands and knees and grovel and beg for her to take you back, or stop behaving like a stalker…"
"I don't stare." was all Harry could stammer in defence.
Hermione groaned.
"Yes, you DO! Yes you do!" insisted Ron. Then remembering something, he added (pointing a finger at Harry), "You poured cereal and milk all down your front yesterday; that's how hard you were staring!"
"Ron…" Hermione murmured warningly.
"No, Hermione! I'm sick of the both of them! He mopes; she mopes. She moped all summer, you know? The Burrow was unbearable! And mum kept behaving as if they'd both lost a limb. If they want to be together, then they should be together! Enough of this whole sexual tension bit, please…"
"That's rich coming from you, Mr. It-Took-Me-Six-Years-To-Admit-That-I-Like-Hermione-Granger," snapped Harry.
"Yeah, but…what?" Ron went bright maroon up to his hairline.
"You heard me," Harry raised an amused eyebrow. "Six years, Ron. I put up with you for six years…."
Hermione started laughing hysterically.
She abruptly stopped laughing when a long, morose howl erupted from the Forbidden Forrest, ringing over the entire school, bouncing off its walls and rebounding back over the moors.
Harry had never heard the school go so quiet so quickly before. Infact, He'd never heard such utter, fear-filled silence at all. Hogwarts had fallen deathly silent and the moon shone balefully overhead like the back of an acid-washed skull. This, more than anything else, made it clear to him that it wasn't just him and those close to him who were shell-shocked by the uncertainty of Hogwarts' security.
Not even the birds, settling in the trees in great swarming clouds as they always did in the evening, weren't squawking, and, perhaps, that was the greatest indication of danger . A moment later another howl sounded, coming from a different part of the Forbidden Forrest, then another howl, then another and another. A cacophony of howling, a lupine choir announcing their arrival.
"Werewolves!" breathed Ron. He was so frightened, his eyes had opened wide enough for Harry to see the whites all around his irises. Hermione stood, statuesque with terror.
At that precise moment, a loud snarling and growling sounded from right outside the gates in the courtyard. It was so savage that the three friends could hear the monsters fighting to the death from where they were, up four floors, right across from the gates. It was a terrible, angry primal sound, of a power struggle filled with teeth and claws and hot gushing blood.
Then…
"Open the gates! Open the gates! Minerva!"
Harry's heart almost stopped beating.
"That's Hagrid…"
Professor McGonagall exploded out of the classroom right next to them, closely followed by Professor Flitwick, out of the next classroom, and Professor Sprout out of the last classroom down the corridor.
Screaming and wailing began to rise from the terrified student body as all over the school teachers began to emerge, wands at the ready.
"To the front gates!" yelled McGonagall. Then, she took a moment to turn to Harry, Hermione and Ron, and say, "You three! STAY…..HERE." Before she took off at a run.
"You know," mused Ron, pulling his own wand out. "After seven years…you'd think she'd know us better, by now."
"I think, on some level, she does," panted Hermione as they began sprinting down to the front gates.
X
An insistent heavy hammering rattled the gates, accompanied by Hagrid's desperate cries of , "Open the gates! Open the gates!"
Hermione, Ron and Harry came to a stop behind the line of teachers. Behind them, the courtyard was scattered with students with their wands drawn, students who were sick of being afraid, or who had younger family members at the school to defend, or who had lost something to Voldemort and his minions and were just generally itching for a fight.
Harry stared in disbelief and felt a painful surge of his pride and love for Hogwarts come flooding back from where it had retreated to when Dumbledore had died. Hogwarts, Harry suddenly realised, had been his family, his parent and his siblings. It had annoyed and frightened and bewildered him sometimes, but mostly it had also knocked a lot of sense into him. And he was proud. Proud to have belonged here and sorry to have brought such dire circumstances down on the people here who'd been his reason for living for so long.
"Right!" shouted McGonagall. "Wands at the ready!" The professors held defensive positions. Ron, Hermione and Harry too, raised their wands and braced themselves. Instinctively, Harry knew that the other people in the courtyard had done the same. This time, the Death Eaters weren't going to take them by surprise. "Argus! Open the gate!"
A heavy, creaking and groaning sounded as the gate struggled open. Once again, the school fell deathly silent; all the other students, it seemed, were now waiting for the sounds of open battle.
But none came.
All that could be heard once the gates were open, were Hagrid's loud, braying sobs. All the howling had stopped, but the cessation of the werewolves' announcement seemed a triumphant one, as if they were waiting in the trees to witness some grand grief, another great blow dealt to Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix.
Hagrid stumbled in with a long, lean shape, covered in matted fur and bloody lesions, laying limply stretched in his arms.
"Hagrid!" screamed McGonagall, dismayed. "What are you doing!"
A horrid gurgling sound came from the mauled creature and a few gobs of clotted blood slid out of its maw and splotched onto the emerald grass. Harry heard several of the surrounding witnesses shriek in fear and recoil in disgust.
It was alive.
Harry couldn't believe it. Yes, it was true that Hagrid tended to take pity on the worst of God's creations, but this was ridiculous! This was a werewolf! They were the enemy! They worked for Voldemort! This one, no matter how tattered and torn it was, could very easily be a spy.
"Kill it." snapped McGonagall angrily.
The teachers raised their wands again, pointing them at the sad, quivering pile of fur.
"NOOOOOO! NOOOOOO!" screamed Hagrid, turning around and putting himself in the line of fire. "NOOOOOO!"
"Hagrid!" screamed Professor Sprout, obviously at wits end. "What's wrong with you-"
"IT'S REMUS!" howled the half giant sinking to his knees. Tilting his head back, he let out a long, mournful bellow at the sky.
Hermione turned frantically to see how Harry had taken this. She was just in time to see him blanch too suddenly, wheel around and vomit so violently he stayed bent over and shuddering for a good long while after he was done.
"Hagrid…Hagrid!" Professor McGonagall tried to be heard over the half-giant's thunderous sobbing. "Put him down…GENTLY!"
Hagrid collected himself enough to subdue his blubbering and actually lowered Lupin's battered form, very slowly, on to the soft grass of the courtyard.
"Good. Argus! Close those gates and lock them. I want Auror sentries posted on the walls. Mr and Miss Weasley…"
Through the haze in his head, Harry thought, That's silly…why is McGonagall calling Hermione that? Then, he suddenly realised that it was Ginny who was gently rubbing his back and wiping his mouth. She straightened up when her name was called and went to stand next to her brother.
"Go get Madame Pomfrey down here. Quick as you can," Minerva McGonagall remained in control, but something about her demeanour betrayed her panic.
Another original member of the Order…Another one…And no Death Eater corpse to show for it.
It wasn't fair…
"Potter… Potter! Oh for goodness' sake, Potter will you answer me?" Someone grabbed his face. It was Minerva. Harry didn't remember her moving towards him. She stared into his eyes for a moment then called someone else over. "Longbottom, when Madame Pomfrey comes down here to take Remus…Professor Lupin, to the infirmary I want you to follow her up there with Potter and tell her to give him something for shock. Can you do that, boy, or shall I get Miss Granger to do it?"
"Yes, Professor…" Mumbled Neville. Harry was mildly surprised that Neville and Luna had been amongst those who'd come down to face the Werewolves. Then again, Neville had proven on more than one occasion that his usually meek exterior dropped away in tight spots, revealing a true Gryffindorian disregard for personal well-being.
"Professor!" Hermione's voice was sharp.
Harry peered around McGonagall to see his friend kneeling at Remus's human head, holding the older man's hand. Harry hadn't even noticed that Remus had transformed. Someone had covered him with a cloak to save what little dignity he had left, but his dignity was the last thing that currently seemed to trouble him. Remus was frantically struggling to raise his head, glaring meaningfully at Minerva because he had no strength to call her.
"Professor! He's saying something!" shrilled Hermione, who, with help from Professor Vector, was helping to prop Lupin's head up.
McGonagall walked quickly back to Remus and went down on her knees next to him, bringing her face very close to his.
Harry heard the faintest of whispers as Remus struggled to make himself heard. Some subconscious part of himself noted that Hermione too had leaned forward to listen to what Lupin was telling McGonagall.
That was when Madame Pomfrey came running across the courtyard. In the bustle that ensued, Hermione was pushed back by the crowd of attendees trying to get Lupin on the stretcher and found herself next to Harry.
"You alright?" she asked him tenderly. She ran her dirty hands through her hair and managed to get some of Lupin's blood all over her face.
"Oh God, Hermione," gasped Ron in horror and began using his own shirt sleeve to get it off her.
"Come on, Harry." Neville began ushering him after the medical gaggle and the zoo of professors who were currently herding Lupin's prone form up to the infirmary.
"Where are you taking him?" demanded Ginny a little too harshly, considering that she was talking to Neville.
"To the infirmary. Professor McGonagall said he had shock…" Neville withered beneath Ginny's gaze, but put out his hand and firmly gripped Harry by the arm as if Ginny was going to have to fight him for his bespectacled friend..
But Ginny peered into Harry's face worriedly, instead. "I'll come with you."
"You know, I think it'd be better if Madame Pomfrey cured him for Beelzy-Bub Beetle eggs," began Luna serenely. "They crawl up your insides when you go to the bathroom and-"
"Wait," Harry croaked. "Wait…" He tried to turn back, but couldn't do so without Ginny and Neville's help. He found himself watching Hermione and Ron who were frantically discussing something in whispers. "Hermione…"
His two best friends jumped guiltily.
"Harry," began Hermione. "I know what you're going to ask and I don't think now's the best time to-"
"What did he say, Hermione?" slurred Harry. He suddenly felt very sleepy. "What did Lupin say?"
Hermione hesitated, looking slightly irritated at the fact that there were so many people around to hear what she obviously had wanted to keep to herself. This only made Luna, Ginny and Neville lean in closer, closing in the circle. Ron remained a distance from them, arms folded, his brow creased with anxiety. It appeared he'd already heard what Lupin had to say.
Hermione took a deep breath. "He said, "Medusa's out."
X
Madame Pomfrey dismissed Harry early the next morning, with the express order that he eat a large breakfast. When asked if Lupin was going to make it, she could only look at Harry with a cryptically miserable expression and tell him to come back later. Feeling exceedingly isolated and still a little numb and disoriented from the potion she'd given him the night before, he made his way down to the Great Hall.
He was so used to people falling silent upon his entrance, by now, that he barely noticed it. But perhaps it was also a testimony to how dulled his senses were when he realised that he'd also sat down without seeing Ron or Hermione. They weren't at the table.
" Potter."
Harry swivelled in his seat and looked up. It was Professor McGonagall. Or Headmistress McGonagall; he'd never get used to that.
"Come see me in my office the moment you're done breakfast." She patted his shoulder gently as she walked away.
Harry felt sorry for her. She looked like she hadn't slept all night.
"You better skip breakfast and go see Ron and Hermione right now, then," murmured Ginny, not even looking at him.
He stared at her. He hadn't even noticed that he'd sat down next to her. Looking down the table, a couple of the other Gryffindor boys were glaring at him. As if the shaky situation between him and Ginny mattered at a time like this...
"Why?" he asked. "What's going on?"
An expression of …of something…twisted across Ginny's face, narrowing her eyes and filling them with tears.
"Just GO, Harry." she spat, rising out of her seat and quickly walking out of the Great Hall. The doors slammed closed behind her, leaving that familiar, lonely aching in Harry's stomach to keep him company.
X
"There he is!" Ron leapt out of the booth they usually sat in while doing homework… or conspiring to defeat evil. "You got the message, then?"
"Yeah," said Harry with disgust. "You couldn't have told anyone but Ginny to tell me to come to the Library, Ron?"
Ron looked puzzled for a spilt-second, before it dawned on him that this perhaps hadn't been the best idea.
"Ron, you didn't!" Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Sorry. Was she really upset?"
"Bit my head off…" muttered Harry.
"She feels left out, you know," sighed Hermione. "She doesn't understand why you let us help you but not her."
"If I had my way, you wouldn't be anywhere near me," Harry spoke through clenched teeth. "Why am I here and missing breakfast?"
"Harry," Hermione licked her lips and slid forward on the fake leather seat. "Did you get a chance to think about what Lupin said yesterday?"
"Some," he admitted. "But it meant nothing to me. Who…or what…is this 'Medusa' ? And what does he mean by "Medusa's out" ? And why should we care? " He stopped. Once again, Ron and Hermione had shared a look. He leaned forward. "You've found something, haven't you? Oh Hermione, you're brilliant!"
"Well, we wouldn't be here, if she hadn't," said Ron, rather proudly.
Harry could remember a time when Hermione's affinity for the library irritated Ron.
"What's 'Medusa' ?"
"Not 'what'. 'Who'." Hermione corrected him. She reached forward into a huge pile of wide-girthed, leather bound tomes branded with the Hogwarts crest and the words 'School Years 1970-1980'. At a touch of Hermione's wand, the book snapped open and the pages flickered by until they fell open on a Slytherin quidditch team from the mid to late seventies.
Harry's first thought on seeing the picture was, Lucius Malfoy; a beater. How appropriate.
Then Hermione's hand broke his line of vision as her finger jabbed down right on to the Seeker, at the very front of the photo. "That…" she insisted. "Is Medusa Judasine Zabini."
It would have been more logical to say that Harry felt nothing as he stared at this completely unknown girl, grinning back at him, out of these ancient school books. But something about her, something about how she had stared down the photographer sent shivers down his spine.
Then, there were the other discrepancies in the photo. Discrepancies like the fact that everyone else on the quidditch team was later famously linked for being in cahoots with Voldemort. There was Lucius, and Rudolphus and his younger brother Rabastan Lestrange, and of course his future wife, Bellatrix. Amacus and Adolph Brussier; the whole inner circle.
This…Medusa… appeared to be the youngest member of the team. The rest of them appeared to be at least sixteen, but she appeared to be all of the tender age of thirteen.
And of course she was lovely.
Harry didn't know what creeped him out more; the fact that her bone structure was very similar to Draco Malfoy's but darker, or the fact that her hair was just like Ginny's but jet black. Then of course there was the undeniable striking resemblance to Blaise Zabini.
"Any relation to Blaise?" He asked.
"You know his black-widow of a mother?" Ron touched the year book with his wand, making the pages flip. "That's her little sister. She's his aunt." The pages fell open on a photo of the seeker, Medusa, in dress robes, laughing joyously, with her arms thrown around a slightly older girl who bore an amazing resemblance to her. She and this other girl could almost be two peas in a pod, the stuff that twins were made of, except that the other girl was evidently a lot older, better… 'endowed' …and incredibly beautiful. The inscription underneath the photo stated: Morgana (Silver Dress) and Medusa (Green Dress) Zabini; Yule Ball.
Wow! Blaise's mother's HOT… thought Harry darkly. Explains how she can keep getting married despite her long list of mysteriously expiring husbands.
Yet.
There was no doubt; though Morgana Zabini was the shinier coin in the purse, Harry's eyes kept being drawn back to Medusa. He couldn't tell why. Their faces were very similar, but Morgana's was logically better, heart-shaped in contrast to her sister's strong jaw, framed in ringletted hair in contrast to Medusa's plainer thick waves and the darkest, deepest black eyes Harry had ever seen, fenced in by a fringe of velvety lashes. Medusa, on the other hand, had these very odd amber coloured irises that made her look mildly reptilian or feline. Even when she was laughing they seemed narrowed, as if she was eternally up to no good. There was just something off about her. Where Blaise Zabini's mother had a voluptuous vulnerability, a tender sexiness, a maternal whorishness, the kind that would appeal to men who didn't know any better, something about his aunt spoke of a sheathed blade, steel wrapped in silk, a barren, burning femininity that so firmly contrasted her elder sister's Earth Mother image. Both girls were wearing shoulder baring dresses; instead of the skinny softness revealed by her sister, Medusa's shoulders bunched with muscle as she embraced her sister in the photograph. An Artemis and an Aphrodite with the same last name…
"I take it she was a good athlete?" Harry gauged from Medusa's muscle-mass.
"You know how you're the youngest quidditch player in a century?" said Hermione. "She's the second youngest. She'd just turned twelve when the Slytherins put her on the team. And it wasn't even allowed, before then. I mean really allowed. Took a lot of influence to put her on the team. Lucius Malfoy's father, I'm guessing; Lord Bartholemeux Malfoy."
"Does the nepotism ever stop?" Ron rolled his eyes.
"How can it, when the entirety of the Wizarding world is related to each other?" Hermione shrugged, then leaned forward to look Harry in the eye. "Are you keeping up with all this?"
"Yes, this is all well and good but why should I care? Why should Remus care? He was on the point of death and all he could talk about was this…girl…"
"Harry….you….he….Tell him, Ron."
Ron took a deep breath. "SO I didn't tell you coz I didn't want you to go mental, but a month or so ago, when we were still at The Burrow, I got up to go to the bathroom, one night and I heard my mum and Dad talking about Remus going undercover amongst the werewolves to keep tabs on the Death Eaters' plans."
For a moment, Harry was speechless; he was intensely agog with this information. Then, "RON! HERMIONE!"
"SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" hissed Madame Pince from the front desk.
"Sit down; this is more important." Hermione grabbed his shirt and pulled him back down into his seat again. "Well, you saw him yesterday, right? AND you heard all the howling? The werewolves were chasing him down. They wanted him dead. Which means he must have broken his cover to get here and tell McGonagall exactly what he told her yesterday. Which means…"
"…that this Medusa person is somehow important." finished Harry, calming down. "We've got to find out why, then."
"We already know why." said Ron gesturing to whole pile of old Daily Prophet copies. "And it's not good."
"What do you mean?" asked Harry worriedly.
"Look at this picture again, Harry." Hermione pointed at the Yule Ball photo. "This was taken at the beginning of the Dark Lord's rise, when people were aware of him but before any of his huge successes. The ministry was adamantly weeding out Dark Lord followers and the Death Eaters as we know them today had not formed yet. The Slytherins had it bad, back then, because most of them truly had nothing to do with Voldemort. If you look at the class photos during the Yule ball that same year, hardly anyone's wearing green or silver at all. Even most of the Slytherins are wearing pinks and reds and golds…"
"Going incognito…" Ron interjected.
"The braver ones, like Lucius and Narcissa are wearing black or white…purist colours not affiliated with any house, but previously associated with Slytherin…" said Hermione.
"But…" Ron raised his eyebrows.
Harry frowned at the photo. "But these two are…"
"Proudly wearing green and silver. There were two photographers at the party. The first one was a fanatic Anti-Voldemortist who kept harassing the Slytherins when they came up to have their photos taken."
"Serves them right, the bastards…" muttered Ron.
His girlfriend ignored him. "Some of the first year Slytherins were bursting into tears or refusing to have their photos taken. Then it came to be the Zabini sisters' turn. Morgana went first and he asked her what she was thinking wearing silver. She cleverly replied that she merely liked the colour and thought she looked good in it. She very smartly and very coyly seduceded him into taking this photo of the both of them, then another very nice one just of her.
When he asked Medusa why she was wearing green, and if she knew that green was the colour of the practitioners of the Dark Arts, she simply smiled at him…and set him on fire."
There was a silence. Harry sat back stunned. "She what?"
"Well that's not entirely accurate," said Ron. "His trousers caught fire. No one knows how, exactly…"
Hermione made a noise of disgust at Ron's naivety and he turned to her with his hands spread neutrally. "It's true, Hermione. The Hall was full of people. If she'd cast the spell someone would have heard her."
"RON!" Hermione grabbed handfuls of her own hair. "Ron, she could've cast a voiceless charm!"
"She was only fourteen, that year, Hermione…" Harry peered at the date beneath the photograph. "You only start learning voiceless charms in Sixth…"
"She was a years ahead of everyone else, Harry! She jumped grades in third year!"
"That's impossible," said Harry, hesitantly smiling at Hermione, who was looking more manic by the second. "Sirius always said you were the brightest witch of our age and you barely survived third year without skipping a grade…"
"Yes, well, what Sirius said was more true than we knew," moaned Hermione. "I am the brightest which of our age. Just our age, though, because he'd already met the brightest which of his age. .."
"Are you saying…" Harry suddenly found it difficult to swallow.
Hermione wordlessly touched her wand to the yearbook. Its pages flew past for a couple of seconds before they fell open on a page emblazoned with maroon and saffron banners with little, gold pouncing lions on them. The caption under the photo in the centre of the page plainly stated: James Potter (Vermillion dress robes) and Sirius Black (Scarlet dress robes); Yule Ball.
"Is…is this the same year?"
"It's the same party, mate," Ron murmured.
"Here," Hermione flipped the pages again to the list of graduating grades a few years later. "Look! Look what she graduated with! She took every subject the school could offer, with the help of a time turner I'm sure, but she did every single NEWT she could get her hands on and graduated with a flawless list of 'Outstandings' , and a quidditch cup, and a house cup! Look! Look! She even got an 'Outstanding' in DIVINATION! Divination, I tell you!"
"Easy, Hermione," Ron patted her arm.
"SO what! So she's clever and she went to school with my parents and was probably as criminal as most of her house! So what?" yelled Harry. His head was spinning.
"She's not just clever; she was a prodigy, the pride of the Slytherins. And she wasn't just criminal. Lucius Malfoy's criminal. Her sister, Morgana's criminal. Even Bellatrix could be called criminal…"
"And mental…" muttered Ron.
"Medusa was ruthless, Harry. And she wasn't just academically clever. She got out of every bit of trouble she ever committed at Hogwarts, slippery as a snake. And she didn't just take inhumane liberties, she believed that she was entitled to them! Here. Look," Hermione placed a crinkled, yellowing copy of the Daily Prophet in front of him, folded open on the first page's cover story. The picture there was a portrait of an older Medusa, in her final years at Hogwarts. Her face revealed nothing in the photo, but her eyes swivelled from side to side slowly, as if she were neutrally watching what was happening around her without much care as to what happened to her. "Do you know," Hermione went on. "… the very next year, she was found in the same room as a boy who'd been attacked by the same shredding spell you used on Malfoy, last year…"
Harry cringed and convulsed with dread.
"Except you did it by mistake," said Hermione hurriedly, gripping his hand. "When they found this boy, he was barely more than a puddle on the floor at her feet. Cut all over and bleeding heavily! And when asked if she'd done it she said she hadn't cut him up, but she'd been hoping he'd bleed to death. Cold as you please, smug as ever. There are reports of the incident that insinuate that the investigators at the time could have sworn she'd done it but had nothing but circumstantial evidence against her; she'd planned it that well. Did it in the Room of Requirement and everything, Harry. It was phenomenal. She'd wanted to kill this boy. She hadn't failed for lack of trying, that's for sure. And she was only fifteen, at the time."
Harry looked down at the paper in front of him. Indeed, the title beneath the picture of Medusa read: Monsters Amongst Us! Medusa Zabini Accused of Attempted Murder…
"That's impossible," he found himself saying. "Dumbledore would have thrown her out if she'd really done it. He would've found a reason to toss her out if she'd been that bad…"
"He always believed that she was somehow redeemable. Infact, he kind of liked her," replied Hermione. "But he's made mistakes before. I mean…Snape…"
"And Riddle himself," added Ron quietly. "Professor Dumbledore knew how rotten Riddle was and he still kept him in Hogwarts."
"Let's face it," Hermione shrugged helplessly. "Dumbledore always believed that Hogwarts was a cure for all of society's miscreants…even when it was obvious to the rest of the world that there just wasn't a hope for some of them."
"Then again," said Ron, in a thoughtful tone. "No one could touch Medusa by then. She could have killed that boy in the Great Hall and no one could've done anything."
"Why?" asked Harry.
"It was the height of Death Eater power, Harry. They were everywhere, amongst the Aurors, in the ministry, in Hogwarts. Think about it. What class had graduated that year?"
It took Harry a moment to think through what Hermione was trying to say. Then, it dawned on him. "All the Death Eaters…they were a couple of years older than her…"
"Hogwarts had just given Voldemort his army." finished Hermione.
X
The sunlight shone through the crevice of a window by their table, igniting flecks in the air, making them dance down, spiralling serenely in the quiet it took for the three friends to digest all this information.
"Okay, up till now she's still pretty typical Death Eater fare," said Harry sitting forward again. "Maybe a bit smarter. They're popping up all over the place now. What's so special about her that Remus would risk his life to tell us she'd come back?"
"Good question," sighed Hermione. "But she's not back."
"She's not?"
"No," replied Ron. "She's not back. She's out."
"Out? Out of where?"
"Azkaban," Hermione took a deep breath. "And this is the scary part."
"It may seem like Voldemort's had a lot of right-hand men, Wormtail, Lucius, Barty Crouch, Snape, but in reality he's only ever had one true favourite.
When Lord Cassander Zabini was killed under mysterious circumstances, he left two young daughters and a mad wife badly in need of money. At first they could do nothing but survive on the donations made by their relatives. The Lestranges took in Morgana for a time, Blaise Zabini's mother, which explains her flare for the feminine. She must have had to excel at being the most perfect little girl if she were to be approved of in the household that also held Bellatrix, Narcissa and Andromeda…"
"Who?" Harry blinked.
"Tonk's mother," explained Hermione. "Medusa, on the other hand, was given to the Malfoys. Harry, we found photos of Lucius with her in his lap. He virtually raised her."
"Not surprised," said Harry. "Anyway, go on. Where was their mother? Why did she let them go to other people's homes?"
"Their mother was locked up in St. Mungo's Mental Ward," Ron pushed another ancient copy of the Daily Prophet in front of Harry. The headlines read: Infamous Voodoo Priestess Loses Her Marbles-Children to be divided amongst relatives…Not Literally.
"Voodoo?"
"She was an African queen, straight from the continent," Ron shrugged. "Lots of people say, in the paper, that she was evidently already a few crayons short of a box when Cassander Zabini brought her home as a trophy wife. Must be all the unbridled dark magic. She was a high priestess in the Arts, after all. Must have rattled her brains eventually…"
"And Zabini married her?"
"Well," Hermione growled through gritted teeth. "If you call locking her up in a cage and shipping her away from her home to his castle in the South of England marriage, then yes. He married her. Apparently she refused to nurse the girls after she'd given birth to them, so you can guess how they were conceived…"
"That's sick!" Indeed, Harry had turned a sweaty shade of puce. "Why would he do that?"
"Lord Zabini was huge advocate of the pure bloodlines. Most of the purebloods we see today aren't actually true purebloods. At one point they married into muggles; they had to, to survive. The farther back you had to marry into the muggle gene pool, though, the better you're considered by the Death Eaters. It means your family's had a chance to dilute that blood to a bare minimum by intermarrying amongst other pureblood families…"
"Sounds like a recipe for Malfoy…" snorted Harry.
Ron sniggered.
"Or Ron," shrugged Hermione.
"Hey!"
She ignored her boyfriend again. "Anyway, it was the same with Cassander, except that that part of himself disgusted him so much that he vowed to erase it with the purest line of magical blood he could find. His children would be as close to completely pureblood as he could get them without altering his own genetics. So he kidnapped this woman, Sheba, a Shamaness daughter of a long, long, long line of African witchdoctors, annihilated her tribe and then kept her locked up in a tower for years. Of course, by the time she was let out again, after his death, she really had lost her mind."
"Which brings us to Voldemort and his own obsession with pureblood. Looking around him as he was rising into power, Medusa caught his eye. She was pretty, popular, heartless, proud and had some of the most ancient undiluted pureblood in her veins this side of the equator."
"Which explains why Blaise Zabini's always been a bit frosty to Malfoy. Here's Draco pretending to be the big guns in Slytherin when in reality Zabini's always been the alpha!" spat Harry. "He's probably a spy!"
"Not likely," Ron shook his head from side to side.
"Why?" asked Harry.
"It's true that Blaise's mother was always as prejudiced and superior as the rest of the Slytherins put together. And she's always been a murdering whore…"
"RON!"
"If the shoe fits!" cried Ron indignantly. "Well anyway, despite all that, she's always had a great fear of all things Death Eater. She never jumped on to the bandwagon; it was the only thing her and Medusa never agreed on. Later on, she shut up, of course, and even stopped talking to her sister altogether. Voldemort wasn't going to have Morgana talk the apple of his eye out of being the heir to his throne. That's about the same time Blaise's father, Morgana's first husband 'accidentally' Aveda Kadavera-ed himself and she conveniently moved to Greece to marry hubby number two: Greek Billionaire Truphocalis Hyde, creator of Troo Hyde Dragon Saddles Incorporated. Blaise's dad left Morgana everything of course. They all did. Up to the seventh."
"Meanwhile, Medusa , thinking she'd been abandoned by her only surviving family, began to add to her list of crimes and murders. She was a bloody scourge, Voldemort's proud general. He lavished her with attention when he treated everyone else like dirt. Some people would even say that, as much as Tom Riddle could feel emotion, he wished Medusa had been his child. He couldn't have children because he'd split himself into the Horcuxes, but that didn't matter because Medusa was worthy. Worthy of being his heir and General…which brings us to the most important point in this long history lesson." Hermione paused to breathe, and Ron took up the story again.
"No one could ever keep up with her when it came to pleasing Voldemort. He ran every plan by her, sent her on the most important missions, let her run the faction of the Death Eaters in charge of taking over the ministry. And she never let him down, either. Infact she always went above and beyond. He was the father figure she'd always craved…"
"Didn't Lucius fill that role?"
"Lucius was more like a big brother. But Voldemort? I don't know, Harry. Maybe it was because she could do no wrong by him. You know; like a cycle. He loves her so she loves him back for loving her. Well anyway, she had a habit of openly criticizing the rest of the Death Eaters, testing their loyalty. No one spoke to Voldemort without going through Medusa, and if Medusa said she didn't like someone, they could be sure to fall in the ranks. There are accounts of Death Eaters trying to kill her on several occasions…"
"They were afraid of her." Harry's eyes widened in comprehension.
"Yeah," nodded Ron. "They were terrified of her. You couldn't get by her, with force or flattery. She was perfect for weeding out traitors and doubters and they were both treated alike. So when she was put in Azkaban, it was almost a relief for everyone. She was only twenty and they left her there. I mean, a lot of them were in Azkaban for a very long time, but they got out the moment Voldemort came back. Not Medusa, though. Even the Death Eaters wanted her on the inside. She was too much of a wild card."
"But…wouldn't she be one of the first people Voldemort would rescue out of Azkaban? If he really did think she was the only person worthy of being his heir?"
Ron and Hermione looked stumped. Hermione looked hugely perturbed, as if an inability to find information somehow meant she'd lost her edge. "We…we can't explain that one. We don't know why he didn't get her out the moment he could."
"But now she is out. He got her out, finally. Why? Why would they need her now?" Harry ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end like the spikes of a demented hedgehog.
"Well," Hermione bit her lip. "We don't know why the Death Eaters have chosen to spring her out of Azkaban now. But what we do know is…Harry…she was with Voldemort when he killed your parents."