Author's Note: So it's been basically a year since I started this fic. I had plans to be a lot further along with it, but well we make plans and the universe laughs. Anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter than usual. Mostly because it's more of a half chapter than anything else. I'll try to have part two up before the end of the month, but real life has kinda had me swamped once again. So many doctors visits it's been ridiculous.
As they entered November, the weather became very cold. Autumn was ending and the trees surrounding the castle, which had put on a resplendent display of ochres, reds, golds and russets for October, were now stripped bare leaving their mountains looking grey and bleak as winter rapidly approached. The Black Lake, which had never appeared particularly inviting, now looked positively frigid as it took on the appearance of chilled steel. As for the castle lawns, they were now coated with a silver glaze of hoarfrost every morning which could persist until noon in the shade. Through the fern pattern of the frosted windows Hagrid could be seen going about his business on the grounds, bundled up in his long moleskin overcoat, enormous beaver skin boots, and a pair of rabbit fur gloves.
In the days following the Hallowe'en Feast it became apparent that no one besides those who had been in the girls' loo, as well as, the teachers knew that it had been a Draugr that had entered the castle instead of a troll. All of the rumors and wild tales that had begun circulating amongst the students were speculation about how a mountain troll had managed to get in in the first place with a few of the better-informed wondering how a trio of first years had managed to escape. Even the portraits, which were an excellent source for castle gossip, were suspiciously mum on the subject.
"I asked the Grey Lady and she supposes that the staff are keeping quiet about the Draugr because they don't want to cause a panic – you know, on account if it having been dealt with so quickly," Luna informed Harry and Hermione at dinner one evening, her misty voice pitched low so as to not be over heard.
Harry supposed that made sense, but it hadn't stopped him from writing to his grandad about the Draugr. Nevertheless, he had left his suspicions about the thing having been summoned and why out of his letter. That was something he would rather discuss with his grandad in person over the Christmas holidays rather than risk the message being intercepted.
Amongst the rest of the student body talk of the 'troll' tapered off soon enough as the start of the Quidditch season came ever closer. On Saturday, the ninth of November, Harry would be playing in his first ever match – Gryffindor verses Slytherin – after all the long weeks of training.
Only his teammates had ever seen Harry play, because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, a secret. However, as Dean Thomas had predicted, the news that Harry was the new Gryffindor Seeker had of course leaked somehow.
There were several reactions when the news broke. Some congratulated Harry telling him that they were sure he'd be brilliant. Others informed him bracingly that were sure he would be fine, but that just in case they would be running around underneath him holding a mattress. And then, there was Cormac McLaggen who'd gotten into a screaming row with Oliver Wood in the Common Room.
"He's only a first year and he wasn't even at the tryouts," McLaggen had raged up at Wood, who was a good head and shoulder taller than him. His face a lurid shade of puce while a vein pulsed in his forehead. "You're only putting him on the team because he's The Boy Who Lived! I bet he's not even that good!"
"Rubbish," Wood had ground out coldly. "The team has been training with Potter for weeks now and the lad could out fly you with his eyes closed. Just accept that the better flyer made the team."
McLaggen had scowled bitterly at this and looked as though he'd wanted to deck the fifth year. But in the end, he thought better of it. It hadn't stopped him from shooting nasty, jealous looks in Harry's direction whenever they were in the same vicinity as one another, however.
Wood may have thought Harry was the better flyer, but that hadn't stopped him from attempting to drive the whole team into the ground with all the last-minute Quidditch practices he was making them attend. Between choir rehearsals and Quidditch practices, Harry was positively dismayed when Wood held him back at the end of their last practice and thrust a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages into his hands with instructions to try and have it read before Saturday's match.
It's not like I don't have enough work to do with Professor Flitwick assigning that essay the Mending Charm, Harry thought sourly.
Honestly Harry wasn't sure how he would have managed to get through all of his homework if it weren't the fact that he was friends with such bookish people as Luna, and now Hermione Granger as well.
Ever since the events of Hallowe'en night, namely her losing House Points for no other reason than she'd been upset and wished to be alone, Hermione's attitude towards the teachers had shifted a bit; as one's views were wont to do when their idols fell from their pedestals and were found to have feet of clay. While still courteous and respectful, she now no longer seemed quite as desperately eager for their approval and was – in Harry's opinion – much less annoying because of it.
The day before Harry's first Quidditch match found the three of them huddled at the base of the statue of the harpy Celaeno. The statue's spread wings serving as a buffer against worst of the wind's chill while the jam jar full of Bluebell Flames that Hermione had conjured up created a little bubble of warmth around them. Harry was reading Quidditch Through the Ages while listening with half an ear as Luna chatted with a doubtful looking Hermione about something in the latest issue of The Quibbler, when he caught sight of Professor Snape crossing the courtyard. He noticed at once that the other wizard was limping.
"Quick," Hermione whispered, urging Harry and Luna to shift closer to her so that they would better block the fire from view. Using magic outside either a classroom or a common room was against the rules after all.
Unfortunately, something about their guilty demeanor drew the professor's attention. He limped over anyway.
"What's that you're reading, Mr. Potter?" he asked.
"Quidditch Through the Ages, Sir," said Harry, showing him.
The professor stared at the book almost suspiciously, then extended his hand for it. With great reluctance Harry handed it over.
The Potions Master glanced at the stamped seal on the front cover that proclaimed it Property of Hogwarts Library, then cracked it open to the title page as though checking that he hadn't slipped the dust jacket onto another book.
Apparently satisfied that Harry wasn't reading anything nefarious he went to close the book when his dark eyes landed on the borrowing card stuck to the back of the book's front cover.
"This wasn't checked out to you, Mr. Potter," he said finally, closing Quidditch Through the Ages with a little snap. "I am assuming that it was Mr. Wood who lent it to you?"
"Yes, Sir," Harry confirmed, wondering what this was about.
The Potions Master gave a displeased little sigh at his confusion.
"As a first year I suppose your ignorance can be excused," he said, sounding as if he didn't believe that there was ever really an excuse. "However, as a fifth year Mr. Wood should be well aware of the school rules by now. Specifically, the one that prohibits library books from being passed along to those who have not checked them out. Madam Pince is most strict about this, you know." A darkly amused little smile tugged at the corners of the professor's mouth as he said this. "She likes to know exactly who to hold responsible when something … untoward … happens to one of her books, after all.
"As such I'm afraid I can't return it to you," he went on. "However, you may retrieve it from Madam Pince yourself later if you wish."
And with that he turned on his heel and limped away.
Harry let out a groan of annoyance. He wasn't sure who he was more annoyed with: Wood or Professor Snape… Or Madam Pince for creating such a stupid rule…. Probably the latter.
"At least he didn't take any points," Hermione murmured consolingly, watching as the dark figure of the Potions Master disappeared into the castle.
"True," Harry conceded. "I wonder what's wrong with his leg though?"
"I don't know, but it seemed like it was really bothering him," said Luna thoughtfully, before turning her misty grey eyes on Harry. "He was fine the night of the Feast when we saw him, but … the next day when we had class with him he stayed up at his lectern instead of walking around like he usually does… Was it the same during your lesson this morning?"
But Harry didn't answer he'd caught sight of something red and glistening on the flagstones where Professor Snape had been standing. Frowning he fished a clean white handkerchief from his robe pocket, slid over to the freshly spilled blood, and began to clean it up as surreptitiously as he could.
"Harry what are you doing," asked Hermione aghast.
"Disposing of this," he explained, sliding back over to them and feeding the bloody handkerchief to the Bluebell Fames in the jam jar where it was rapidly rendered down to ash. "He can't have realized that he was still bleeding otherwise he never would have walked away without cleaning it up. I mean he's a Potions Master after all, so he knows how dangerous it can be to leave bits of yourself laying around."
At Hermione curious look Harry hasten to explain, "Blood – especially fresh blood – but really anything that was once a part of you can all be used as conduits to do some seriously nasty bits of magic to someone."
"So that's why my dormmates told me to always burn the hair that collects in my hairbrush as well as the trimmings from my nails," she asked, her brown eyes agleam in her pursuit to know.
"Exactly," Harry confirmed, but his own eyes were still troubled.
After that evening's choir rehearsal, Harry and Luna met up with Hermione in the library to work on their homework. On account of Madam Pince's strict rule it was always much quieter here than it ever was in either of their Common Rooms.
The entrance to the Hogwarts Library was located all the way down on the first floor where its heavy, oaken double-leaf door was guarded on either side by a pair of stone griffins, each of which were sitting on their haunches atop their marble plinths. Once through those doors it was all polished, natural wood – the endless, narrow rows of bookcases, the long sweeping top of the collection desk, as well as, the elaborately carved crown molding – and the scent of books, old but not musty.
A smell that honestly reminded Harry of his grandad's study at Agesander Hall.
Unlike his grandad's study, however, the library wasn't lit by beeswax candles in brass sconces. Instead it was illuminated by a series of enormous leaded windows that dominated the rear wall, each of which had decoratively arched tops and seats built into the deep sills at the bottom.
It was a table near one of these windows that Harry, Luna, and Hermione laid claim to. The window providing a good view of the grounds where they could see the wind blowing the few remaining leaves from the trees and chasing them up and down the lawns. Meanwhile, the few people still wondering about on the grounds were walking with a cold-weather hunch in their shoulders. Inside the library though the three first-years were comfortably warm.
For a while they worked on their Charms essays. Quill nips scratching across rolls of parchment as they explained why the Mending Charm could be used on inanimate objects only.
"Unless of course you want an enormous scar," said Luna.
"Or its an emergency and you don't know any healing spells," added Harry.
Hermione just watched them both with bemusement as she set about editing her own essay with a vicious quill dipped in red ink.
Once their essays were done, the girls set about comparing their notes for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Maybe between classes taught to two separate groups they would be able to actually get a single, whole lesson. Harry, meanwhile, was feeling restless. With his homework done he now no longer had anything to take his mind off his growing feeling of nerves for tomorrow.
If asked Harry wasn't sure he would be able to explain exactly why the thought of the Quidditch match the next day unnerved him more than the choir's performance at the Hallowe'en feast. Perhaps it was because as the Gryffindor Seeker he would be alone in his role in tomorrow's event? After all, with the choir he had been only one small part in a much larger ensemble. If he'd messed up there it would have been noticeable, but much less so than if he were to completely fail in Saturday's game.
Heaving a sigh, Harry climbed to his feet. He needed something to take his mind off of the upcoming match.
"I'm going to ask Madam Pince if Professor Snape's handed Quidditch Through the Ages back in," he informed the girls.
"Better you than me," they said together, as the older witch was the least helpful librarian in the history of ever as far as they were concerned.
Madam Pince, the thin, perpetually irritated looking witch that was the Hogwarts Librarian, was behind the collection desk when Harry found her. As he approached, she stared at him suspiciously down her beak like nose looking even more like an underfed vulture as she did so.
"What do you want, boy," she demanded.
"I was wondering if Quidditch Through the Ages had been turned in, Ma'am," he asked hopefully.
"No," she replied sharply, then more to herself she muttered. "It's still out there being pawed at and dribbled over, urgh." She shuddered.
Harry felt his face fall.
"If that's all you're after then you'd best be on your way," the librarian informed him, flapping one of her hands at him in a shooing motion. The heavy silver bangle that served as the key to the Restricted Section glinting with smoldering runes as she did so.
Unwilling to irritate Madam Pince further for fear of being kicked out Harry disappeared back into the stacks and made his way back through the labyrinth of bookcases to Luna and Hermione.
"No luck," Hermione asked when he came into view.
"No. Apparently Professor Snape hasn't turned it back in yet," he grumbled before brightening as an idea struck. "I think I'll head down to the staffroom and see if he's there. Maybe he'll let me have Quidditch Through the Ages back if I promise to turn it back in."
Both Luna and Hermione shot him a look that said quite plainly that they doubted the wisdom of this plan.
"Just don't go looking for him down in the dungeons if he isn't in the staffroom," Luna cautioned. "Slytherin territory might not be the best place for Gryffindor's new Seeker to go the day before the match."
Harry nodded to show that he'd heard her and made his way out of the library and past the stone griffins that guarded the door. He then went down the marble staircase to the ground floor and turned off down the corridor that led to the staff room, which was itself guarded by a pair of stone gargoyles.
As Harry approached the door to knock, the one perched atop the left-hand side of the doorframe shivered to life. It's skin swimming with etched rune matrixes and sigils animating it.
"What d'you want," it demanded, peering down at him with its beady stone eyes.
"I was wondering if Professor Snape was here," Harry asked and the second gargoyle shivered to life as well.
"Oooh, wanting to talk to the professor, eh?" it drawled. "Well, what are you waiting for? Us to announce you?"
They snickered to themselves, then went motionless again. Harry moved forward to knock on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing.
Harry knew it was a long shot, but perhaps the Potions Master had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside – and a horrible scene met his eyes.
Professor Snape and the school caretaker, Argus Flich, were inside alone. The Potions Master had his long dark robes hitched up above his knees to reveal the dark trousers he wore underneath. But that wasn't the horrible part. One of the trouser legs had been slit up the side to reveal the bloody, mangled mess that had been made of the man's calf. Meanwhile, Filch was standing off to the side holding fresh bandages.
"Lucky it was you who spotted the blood, Argus. I'd hate to think what would have happened if one of the students were to get a hold of any of mine," the professor was saying as he smeared his wounded leg liberally with a red poultice. It's sickly sweet scent so pungent that Harry could smell it all the way over at the door.
He watched as the professor winced then swore as he applied the poultice to one of the deeper lacerations. "Blasted thing," he growled. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once!"
I don't need to be here, Harry thought, and he tried to shut the door as quietly as possible, but –
"POTTER!"
The Professor's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.
"Sorry," he stammered. "I was just wondering if I could have my book back."
"You what?" said the irate professor, goggling at him for a moment, then the fury re-seized his features. "Out, Potter! Now!"
And Harry went as fast as his legs would carry him. Rushing away from the staffroom and the Potions Master before the man decided to take points as he sprinted back upstairs to the library and Luna and Hermione.
"What happened," asked Luna, when he came into view. Her grey eyes taking in his pale face and wide green eyes.
In a low whisper, Harry recounted what he had seen.
"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "Now we know for sure he was near that three-headed dog on Hallowe'en! It's must have bit him and that's why his leg was all tore up!"
Hermione's eyes were very wide.
"You're not saying that you think he was trying to get past it are you?" she asked. "I mean I know he's not the nicest of teachers but I can't see him trying to steal something Professor Dumbledore is trying to keep safe."
"No, I don't think that's it," said Harry, shaking his head. "From what I understand Professor Snape's loyal to Dumbledore. Besides even if he wasn't I'm sure he's not thick enough to go flashing that wound around in the staffroom if he did try and then fail to get past that dog."
"True," Hermione conceded.
"It's probably like Luna said on Hallowe'en," Harry went on. "Either Professor Snape knew that the Draugr was a diversion and went to check on things on the third floor on his own. Or Dumbledore figure it out and he sent him there."
"What I can't figure out is why he was bit," Luna mused softly. "You would think the headmaster would have made sure the person he sent to check on things would be able to pacify the dog if need be… but it's obvious that he didn't."
Hermione glanced at Harry at that and asked, "How common is the knowledge of how to knock out a three-headed dog like you did that night?"
"Not very," he informed them. "I only know because it's in one of the early chapters of my family's grimoire. The first Abhorsen's father had a fondness for those dogs. He kept one that I know of to guard his home…. You have to wonder what Dumbledore's having this one guard…."
And wasn't that still just the question of the day? But it was one – even with Hermione's help – that they were no closer to answering. All they knew about it was that it was either really valuable, really dangerous, and really rare…
"And it's something that a necromancer would be interested in," Luna added. "After all, not just any one could summon and control a Draugr, could they?"
That was not something Harry had considered before. The thief had used necromancy to create a diversion on Hallowe'en night. That wasn't a skill learned over night nor one used lightly – well at least not for very long. The river tended to claim the reckless quite quickly after all.
What sort of thing would a necromancer covet enough to try and steal? Harry wondered. In fact, he was still pondering just that when they were run out of the library at eight o'clock by Madam Pince and when he went up to bed later that night.