See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.

I know that it's been a while since I updated. I did warn everyone that there would be a "lamentable stretch of time." Um, I didn't lie. :(

School has started with a vengeance. I'm now in eleventh grade, that year of AP classes and standardized tests (PSAT, SAT II, more AP...), and homework has descended upon me like a ton of bricks. I will try not to have such long intervals between updates--I'll try to stick to monthly updates--but please be aware that there is such a thing as real life. Unfortunately, real life can be very busy. :(

That said, thanks to my reviewers, and please enjoy!

Chapter 20

Harry pushed his messy black hair out of his eyes; took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses with the sleeves of his robes. He placed them back on his thin nose and adjusted them. "Good practice, everyone," he said amiably. "If we keep this up, we'll do well at the next match. Next practice is Friday, see you all there."

As the other Gryffindor Quidditch players dispersed, Ron and Ginny flanked Harry on both sides. "Where's Hermione?" asked Ginny. "I mean, she's usually in the stands watching during practice."

The Boy-Who-Lived shrugged. "I think she said that she had to talk to Slughorn about some pet project of hers."

"I can't believe she likes Slughorn," muttered Ron. "I mean, he is such a—a—"

"Opportunist," Ginny said pertly. "Of course you wouldn't like him, I suppose, since you didn't get invited to his Slug Club. He does tend to ignore others, but I like him. He's really quite amusing, in a way."

"And you would," Ron said. "But Hermione thinks it's boring."

"That's what she says, of course," Ginny replied, "but I rather think that she doesn't mind it so much anymore."

"What?"

"Oh, just look at it from her point of view, won't you? She's a Muggle-born with no existing connections in the wizarding world, and here's her chance to create some. Slughorn invites lots of his old students to the parties, and Hermione needs it."

"Whatever," Ron said. Leaning towards Harry, Ron whispered into his ear, "Can I borrow the Map and your invisibility cloak, by the way? I need them for something."

Harry nodded. "Sure," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "What for?"

"Nothing much," was the hasty response, but Harry saw the tips of Ron's ears going red, an indication of discomfort and uneasiness. "Well, I won't pry," Harry quickly said. Ron must have a girlfriend, he thought. Wonder who she is? Oh well, I won't ask him if he doesn't want it to be known. "They're in my trunk, at the bottom."

"Thanks, Harry." Ron then said, more loudly, "Wait, I didn't finish the Transfiguration essay yet. Bye Harry, I've got to work on that."

"But you told me that the essay was due a week from now!" yelled Ginny after Ron's distant figure. "Hmm," she said to Harry. "He's probably got other stuff to do. I've seen Lavender Brown looking his way more than once—don't suppose he's doing some snogging?"

"Lavender Brown?" Harry winced. "I wouldn't want her to be my girlfriend. Ugh, that doesn't bear thinking about."

"Ron has more sense than that," Ginny said; thought for a moment. "I think."

"You have too low an opinion of your own brother," said Harry. "How was the last Defence class with Snape?"

"Actually, it's bearable," Ginny answered, a tinge of faint surprise in her voice. "Better than Umbridge, although I've got to admit that that isn't too hard to beat. It's not like he snaps at us all the time. We've been working on the Patronus—everyone from the D.A.'s done really well with it, especially after your teaching us."

"Yeah, I remember the lesson," said Harry, and did not say he also remembered that at the end of that particular lesson, a series of events involving an informant, a Weasley brother, an incompetent Minister of Magic, and a singularly odious Ministry-appointed Defence professor had led to Dumbledore's departure from the school. "Did you manage to summon one before?"

"No, I didn't," said Ginny. "But now I can. I love it—it's this incredibly adorable horse. It went right up to Snape and nudged his shoulder, and oh—you should've seen the look on his face! Of course, he took five points off—he said I'd told my Patronus to do that, but it was worth it." She smiled. "I imagine you didn't have any trouble with yours."

Harry nodded. "Our class just took a break from nonverbal spells to do the Patronus. It wasn't that bad. But guess what? Malfoy's Patronus turned out to be a sheep!"

"A sheep?" Ginny laughed out loud at that. "Oh, so Malfoy's really a sheep in wolf's clothing! A blessed Baa Lamb!"

"Well, it's a mountain sheep, what they call a Barbary sheep," admitted Harry, reluctant to spoil Ginny's fun. "So it's got some wicked horns, and none of that fluffy wool. But still, Malfoy looked all angry and everything. I expect he thought his Patronus was going to be a dragon or something like that."

"From his name, I suppose," Ginny said. "Draco, dragon—I think it's Latin. Did Snape show his Patronus?"

"No," Harry said. "He just told us the incantation and think of happy thoughts, and then he stalked around the room and yelled at people. What about your class?"

"The same," said Ginny with a sigh. "Pity—I'd have liked to see his. He did tell us it was a cobra, though."

"Oh, damn," Harry replied cheerfully. "I was hoping it would be a large bat." He grinned. "He is like one, swooping about everywhere."

"Except he isn't blind."

"But he's got echolocation, right? Sort of in a way. He's always out after curfew, patrolling the corridors, and—" Then Ginny clapped a hand over Harry's mouth and pulled him behind a bush.

During their walk, they had strayed very close to the Forbidden Forest; now, through a tangle of leaves, Harry saw Snape emerging from the Forest silently. Then a twig crackled, and Harry stared as a centaur came into view, not quite out of the Forest, but his face half in, half out of the shadows. Next to him, Ginny stifled a gasp.

"—there is a barrier there that we cannot cross," said the centaur gravely, light grey eyes glinting as light filtered haphazardly through the foliage, falling upon his face in spots and spatters. "Since you can—that would be due to his presence of sorts, though." His voice rose and fell in steady, even cadences, like ocean waves rolling gently upon the beach. He seemed oddly familiar.

"Unfortunately," Snape replied, a sardonic touch to his voice. However, it was less acidic than it might have been, less scornful and mocking than when he spoke to his students. He was more informal than Harry had ever heard him be. "And I can't risk it now, not knowing what safeguards are in place. I do not have enough time."

"Over Christmas?"

"Busy with other errands."

"For both?"

"Yes."

The centaur did not inquire as to what kind of errands, much to Harry's secret disappointment. "Summer, then?"

"Perhaps then." Snape shifted. "I don't like delaying it, though. It's not helpful, Lahir."

So the centaur's name is Lahir, then, thought Harry. A sudden flash of insight came to him. That night in the Forest, surrounded by centaurs… "Lahir Cahadhwy, I was not aware that you were so hostile to those who would seek refuge in the forest…" Recognition struck him like a lightning bolt. He stiffened a little; Ginny gripped his wrist as he involuntarily twitched. Lahir—Lahir Cahadhwy. That centaur. What is Snape talking to him about?

Then Lahir spoke, but it wasn't in English. It was a strange, lilting melody, that Harry had only heard once before, like a silvery sigh of the wind twirling amongst the trees. Snape didn't say anything; his body became more rigid, but he only nodded; then turned and left, walking slowly across the Hogwarts grounds.

In the tense silence that followed, Harry could hear his own shallow breathing, the faint crackle of leaves on the ground.

"What was that?" Ginny said as they remained behind the bush, her words coming out in a sudden rush of breath. She shivered; Harry did not know if it was from the cold, or if it was from her apprehension, plainly visibly upon her face.

Harry heard a twig snap under pressure nearby.

"It is something, but it is not for you to worry about. Not right now," someone said simply, and they both turned around to see the centaur behind them. Ginny's brown eyes widened as she stared at him. Seeing that Ginny was momentarily speechless, Harry said, haltingly, "I—I know you. You're Lahir—Lahir Cahadhwy. From that night."

"Yes," said Lahir Cahadhwy.

Ginny mouthed at Harry, "What night?" Harry shook his head, trying to communicate to her that he'd tell her later. Instead, he asked, "What was—Professor Snape saying?"

"He," the centaur said, "has a terrible burden. Terrible and great. You should not have listened."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He had the nagging feeling that Lahir Cahadhwy was undeniably right. Ginny, flaming red hair streaming down her back, looked the Lahir in the eyes. "But why shouldn't we know?" she asked softly.

"For many reasons," Lahir Cahadhwy said. "But perhaps, most of all, because young foals do not yet know how to forgive—because young foals can be impetuous in their actions." He leaned forward. "I knew that you were listening," he said quietly. "Professor Snape sensed that someone was listening. So—do not remember." A gentle breeze came, whipping the dried up fallen leaves around them. Harry and Ginny gripped each other's hands tightly, as the figure of the centaur seemed to recede into the distance… were those stars he was seeing? But night had not fallen yet, but Harry was sure that he could make out the starry pinpoints—and yet they seemed to be rushing upon him with a shocking suddenness that made him want to jump back, only he couldn't—he was held there by some strange, unknown magic…

… they stared into the Forbidden Forest. Harry's mind felt muddled. What had just happened? Someone was holding on to him. He looked to his side. Ginny was still blinking, looking confused; her cheeks ruddy from the wind. They jumped apart, looking at each other. Harry rubbed his eyes. "What was here again?"

Ginny was frowning. "I think—I thought I saw something moving over here. Nothing, really. We ought to get back to the castle, though—it's almost time for dinner." She had regained her usual cheerful disposition. "I'll race you there." Not waiting for Harry to reply, she sped off.

Harry ran after her. "Hey! That's not fair, you got a head start!"

"Too bad for you then!" Ginny called back. "Ladies first!"

As the two Hogwarts students sprinted towards the school, Lahir Cahadhwy watched them go, nodding to himself. They will remember—they will remember when the time is right. Then he turned and, his hooves softly clip-clopping upon the forest ground, moved into the depths of the forest.

oOo

Ron placed the tip of his wand on a slightly crumpled sheet of parchment, and—after looking about to make sure no-one was within hearing distance—whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." No-one would have seen him anyway, as he had covered himself up with Harry's invisibility cloak.

Slowly, thin, spidery lines appeared. Ron scanned the Marauder's Map until he saw a small black dot labelled "Draco Malfoy" in the Potions classroom. "Aha!" he muttered.

As he made his way down to the Potions classroom, the dot "Draco Malfoy" moved out of the room and into the corridor, seeming to stop for a moment before starting towards… Ron squinted at the map. The Slytherin common room.

He sped up a little, reaching the entrance right behind Malfoy, who said, the usual tone of superiority in his voice, "Kunna ambitio." Ron slipped into the common room of the serpent hastily, whisking the tail end of the invisibility cloak through the doorway before it closed again, and hoping that no-one had noticed a possible disturbance in the air.

To his relief, it seemed that no-one had. Crabbe and Goyle sat near the fireplace, engaged in a series of culinary experiments with a large bag of deluxe Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Pansy Parkinson was seated more elegantly in a straight backed armchair with green plush velvet cushions, idly flipping through the November edition of Glamour Witch, all the while shooting badly concealed glances, meant to be full of coquetry, at Malfoy. Millicent Bulstrode was half-hidden in the corner, reading through the Defence text and sporadically casting nonverbal spells on an unfortunate rat which cowered in a large glass jar, absolutely terrified; Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott played chess at a table made of dark mahogany, and as Ron looked over the game, he had to grudgingly admire the way Nott was systematically and strategically destroying Zabini. Zabini looked very much disgruntled; Nott merely looked determined.

A few other Slytherins whom Ron did not recognise were scattered around the room as well: a second-year and a fourth-year were hotly debating Quidditch ("Don't be ridiculous, the Caerphilly Catapults are going to smash the Tutshill Tornadoes in their next match!"); a seventh-year was reading the Daily Prophet and underlining words with his quill, a small frown of concentration on his face; a first-year was alone at a small round table, working on an essay. Ron noticed that her wand lay next to her essay, close to her hand, and that she seemed oddly tense—her shoulders were stiff and the line of her body straight with a sort of wariness.

He recalled the last time he had been in the Slytherin common room. It was distinctly unlike Gryffindor's, adorned with red and gold and big comfortable armchairs. There was a certain air of coolness to this room, decorated tastefully and not ostentatiously in green and silver. Still, Ron was put in mind, not of a place where friends could gather to chat and fool around, but of a place where alliances were made and broken. More like a meeting room than a substitution for home.

Malfoy sat down next to Pansy Parkinson, who seemed utterly thrilled. "Hello, Draco, how're you?" she trilled lightly. The airy, flirtatious tone was somewhat ruined by her pug nose, Ron thought with a sort of malicious delight. He silently sat behind the chairs, checking that the invisibility cloak covered all of his body, then turned his head slightly to watch Malfoy, who would no doubt betray something of his criminal plans by his words, his actions, the expression on his face.

The blond Slytherin, however, only looked rather bored as Pansy Parkinson prattled about what had happened during the day to her. "—and Morag MacDougal fell into the lake. They say she was climbing up into one of the trees, for what I don't know, probably some silly little bet, and then she got all soaking wet and had to be taken up to the infirmary. Isn't that just positively ridiculous?"

"I suppose so," said Malfoy. His face was rather blank; his voice showed a marked lack of interest. He stared up at the ceiling.

Pansy Parkinson bravely forged on, despite the glaring fact that Malfoy wasn't even looking at her. "And by the way, where did you go, Draco? I couldn't find you anywhere."

"To talk to Slughorn," Malfoy replied shortly. "About the potions project he's got going for after Christmas break."

"Really? That's smart of you, Draco. Extra credit, then?"

"Partly."

At that, the girl looked more intrigued. She leaned closer and lowered her voice; Ron paid full attention. "Partly? Why else?"

"I don't see why I should tell you," said Malfoy, his voice sharp. "A certain access, is all. But I wouldn't want you to go chattering about it all over Hogwarts—your mouth is big enough as it is."

"I like to talk, perhaps, but I'm not indiscreet," Pansy retorted. "And if I were to carry something out, I certainly wouldn't be clumsy about it. Just a word of advice, you see."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her. Pansy Parkinson only smiled sweetly at him and leaped lightly to her feet. "I'm off to dinner," she announced with a rather regal air. "Are you coming?"

"No thanks, Pansy."

"As long as you don't starve yourself, mind," she replied tartly. "I expect to see you there in the Great Hall, eating along with everyone else."

"I notice you haven't specified how much I'm supposed to eat," commented Malfoy dryly.

A small smile blossomed on Pansy Parkinson's face, to Ron's own surprise. What was so wonderful about Malfoy's quip anyway? "Touché," she said, and departed for the Great Hall.

As soon as she had left the Slytherin common room, her seat was taken by Theodore Nott, fresh from his victory over Zabini at chess. He almost trod on a corner of the invisibility cloak, nearly giving Ron a heart attack from fear that he would be revealed and treated accordingly as an intruder by the Slytherins.

"Lo, Malfoy," he said.

"Lo, Nott," Malfoy greeted him.

The thin boy, all arms and legs, folded himself up compactly in the chair and looked curiously at Malfoy. Without a diplomatic introduction, he started off, bluntly, "How is everything going, by the way?"

"Why should you ask?" Malfoy said, his voice low.

Nott's voice was just as low. "Because Dumbledore's got to know that there's something suspicious going on as it is," was the soft rejoinder. "And I don't like you having to do it."

Malfoy let out his breath in a soft hiss. "You think you'd be better at it, then?"

"No," said Nott. "Just a note of warning, though—I don't think it'll come out in your favour, whether you succeed or not. You realise that, do you? Your father's in prison, you see."

"And?" Malfoy snapped. "What exactly does my father have to do with me?"

The corner of Nott's mouth quirked up. "Well, he is your father," he said. "That's obvious. But your family's lost all its influence with the Ministry too, and quite frankly, he—" Nott's voice left no doubt in Ron's mind as to who "he" was "—doesn't need you as much. Haven't you thought about how unlikely it'll be that everything will go all right?"

"You don't sound particularly loyal, Nott." Malfoy's voice was menacing. "I'm surprised your father told you about it."

"Perhaps not," said Nott. "I'm being realistic. So you know, Malfoy—it's a double cross. You'll never get it done. Keep your options open. You see, I don't like seeing my House ruined in any fashion. See you at dinner."

And with that rather strange conclusion, Nott got up swiftly. Ron thought, It's almost time for dinner. I'd better get back before the others start wondering where I am. Following Nott closely, he stepped out of the common room quietly, flashing a quick glance back. He saw only Malfoy's tired, wary face before the door shut behind him.

In the silence of the corridor, Ron bundled up the invisibility cloak and stuffed it into his robes. He paused, about to go straight to dinner, but—

A certain access, is all. Malfoy, caustic in tone, cool in words. Ron tilted his head to one side, frowning.

Access…

Ron decided to take a different route on his way to the Great Hall. He turned and left for the Potions classroom.

oOo

The password to the Slytherin common room, "Kunna ambitio": "Kunna" is Old Norse for "to know," "ambitio" is Latin, implying "ambition." If anyone remembers the Sorting in Ch. 13, they may notice a cameo by Evaline Schuhmacher in the Slytherin common room, the tense young first-year.

I'm pleased to announce that this fic has been nominated in the time-travel category at the Harry Potter thematic awards—The Sorting Hat. The voting session will be from the 18th of September to the 2nd of October, and I'd appreciate it if readers could go to the site to vote for this story. A link to the site is in my profile. Thanks go to whoever nominated my fic; I feel very, very happy. A very appropriate birthday gift, in fact. :) Yes, my birthday's today, September 8. (big smile) I'm now fifteen. I think I'm finally beginning to catch up to my 16- and 17-year-old classmates. ;)

Hope you liked it, and please review!

Talriga