Chapter Seven: Slip of the Serpent's Tongue
Harry's dulcet, yet dull, words continued with the prompt of the Wizengamot, and he began to talk about Christmas break. Hermione's gaze drifted over to Ron, who seemed to sink lower and lower in his chair as Harry spoke of "useless baubles" as Christmas gifts, of bribery by the Minister of Magic, and of wondering how Draco was. They dared not write back and forth during their separation, seeing as Harry was surrounded by the Order of the Phoenix.
His words maintained their same dull and lifeless qualities, but his eyes almost glowed with life as he recounted his return to Hogwarts - his return to his Furies and to Draco. He spoke of the meetings that Dumbledore had arranged and of what he had seen inside Dumbledore's Pensieve – the memories of Tom Riddle's life. It did not surprise Hermione to learn that he had lied to them about those, too.
"Ron and Hermione asked me what had happened during these meetings," Harry stated. "I knew that I had to stay close to the truth, in case they ever learned anything on their own, and began to suspect me. I did not mean to tell them of the Horcruxes upfront – but I did. It was a slip of the tongue. I berated myself for it afterwards, but then decided that it did not matter whether they knew of the Horcruxes or not. After all, even if they did have some significance to Voldemort, they were of no importance to me. I decided it was safe after all, and not to modify their memories of the occasion. They already knew the changed memories, so if they wished to find the Horcruxes after I betrayed them, for any reason, they would have no idea where to look."
"This is risky, chick, too risky. You would be safer in the Chamber."
Harry shook his head and waved off his owl's concerns. "What I want to do cannot be contained in the Chamber. The Forbidden Forest will have to be safe enough."
He could feel Hedwig's disapproving gaze, but she knew not to bother telling him of the risks he took by exercising his innate magic outside of the Chamber of Wisdom. One wrong move and Dumbledore would become suspicious.
But he continued on, heedless of the risks. It wasn't as if he was choosing to do this on his own. No, he had a different reason. The magic wanted out. He was furious with himself for having spoken to Ron and Hermione, perhaps telling them much more than he should have. It meant he might have to get rid of them earlier than he'd planned to. Not that he was particularly angry about that, but it was wasted time and energy. He didn't need any more complications.
The magic agreed with him, and it wanted out. It wanted to be used. It wanted to fix what he perceived as a problem. If he tried to keep it in much longer, it would eventually spark out of his control – most likely at some very inopportune time. He had to prevent that – no matter the risk.
He did not go to the area of the Forest which the Centaurs called their home; he needed solitude and a large area with which could work. He was deep in the Forest, farther than he'd ever gone, when he finally allowed that he had gone far enough.
The first raindrop on his skin caused him to start in surprise. The night sky had been clear a moment ago, but was now clouded over. Strange. Oh well, it didn't mattered; rain would not deter him from what he had come to do.
Carefully, he removed his glasses and placed them in a pocket, blinking as his eyes adjusted to their owl-like form. Heat sizzled between his fingers of its own accord. He had cut it close, he admitted; he should have done this sooner.
He breathed in deeply, calling to mind all that the world perceived Harry Potter to be. He exhaled, then stripped that away from himself, and let it flow out as if it had never been.
And Scylla attacked.
The rain pelted down harder, dousing the small fires that lit wherever the lightning struck. The smell of smoke mingled with the earthy smell of rain, but Scylla ignored it.
He'd been careless. He had told Ron and Hermione potentially useful information. But there was a deep web of lies that blocked them from seeing how useful it truly was. Only when they stripped that away could they know its importance. And even if they did, would they not suspect that this, too, was a lie?
Perhaps. In any event, he would notice if they reached that point. And, if they did manage to reach that point before the point he chose to reveal himself, he would get rid of them. It would not be what Voldemort wished; it would probably cause more than a few problems. And he would have to make sure to get Draco out of Hogwarts before that - before he killed them, before he was revealed. But he would have to make it work.
There was a huge crack as a tree – larger around than Harry was – began to fall, a victim of a rather large bolt of lightning from Harry's slightly smoking fingertips.
Draco. There was another problem. Something was troubling him, something more than the cabinet. True, he could not ask for help, even from Harry, but that would not cause the underlying current of fear that grew stronger with each passing day. There was something else going on, something which Draco wouldn't, or couldn't, tell him.
It was infuriating. How was he supposed to fix what he did not know was broken? It wasn't that he couldn't drag it out of Draco, inch by inch, and then find out what was going on, but he didn't want to do that.
He shouldn't have to do that. Not to Draco. Not ever to Draco.
But there was no sudden inspiration as there had been when he worked over his failure with Ron and Hermione. There was no spark of insight, no flash of wisdom on how to handle it. There was only helplessness.
And Scylla hated being helpless. He screamed, lightning spreading out from his body. For that instant, the small clearing he'd made seemed brighter than day, more luminous than light, and yet, still, all he could do was resolve to ask Draco again what was bothering him. Harry didn't doubt Draco would wave off his concern as he'd done over and over.
"You have come a long way in a very short time, chick."
Harry leaned against the charred bark of the closest tree. "Why does it not feel that way?"
"Because your heart is heavy with other burdens - it clouds how accomplished you have become with your birthright."
"Really."
"Do not take that tone with me, chick. The lightning comes to your call without you even needing to beckon it now. You have crossed the boundary that has kept wizards from reaching their full potential for centuries. Your magic has become one with you; it is no longer a separate entity within you. You have advanced beyond what even I thought you could in this short period of time."
"I guess heartache is good for something, then," Harry muttered.
He seemed to only just have fallen asleep when Ron was shaking him awake, protesting very loudly about how the trip into Hogsmeade had been canceled.
"It was on my birthday!" Harry heard through the fog of sleep that he desperately wanted to sink back into. "I was looking forward to that!"
Harry realized that the canceling of the trip was probably because of the freak rainstorm the night before. That would make the loudly protesting Ron, who wouldn't let him sleep, his fault. Bloody hell. He definitely should have worked off that pent-up magic earlier.
"Here, have a present," he muttered, a hand falling to where he'd tucked it beneath his bed. It had been strange shopping for a present for a person that you really didn't want to give a present to, but he figured he'd done a good enough job. He tossed the present onto Ron's bed, next to the small pile already there.
"Cheers," said Ron as he moved away from Harry and back to his own bed. Harry muttered something unintelligible into his pillow as he – sorrowfully – bid farewell to any sleep that he had been hoping to get. He fished the Marauder's Map out from his trunk. He had resolved to try and find out what was really bothering Draco today.
"Nice one, Harry!" said Ron enthusiastically, waving the new pair of Quidditch Keeper's gloves Harry had just given him.
"No problem," Harry replied absentmindedly, as he searched for Draco. Wouldn't Draco have been asleep right now? But there was no sign of him in the Slytherin dormitory. "I don't think he's in his bed…" Harry mumbled.
Ron didn't hear over the sounds of unwrapping presents. "Seriously good haul this year!" he announced.
He went on to talk about coming of age next year, as well, but Harry didn't pay much attention. Where was Draco? He wasn't eating breakfast in the Great Hall, he wasn't in any of the bathrooms or in the hospital wing…
"Want one?" Ron held out a box of Chocolate Cauldrons.
"No thanks," Harry muttered. "Malfoy's gone again!"
Ron shrugged it off, as he and Hermione had been doing every time Harry commented about Draco. "Can't have done," he said, stuffing a second Caldron into his mouth. "Come on, let's get some breakfast."
It would be more wasted time; Harry could get breakfast after he talked to Draco, but he cleared the map and hid it away again. Ignoring Ron, Harry got ready to go to breakfast, and was halfway to the dormitory door when he realized that Ron had not moved. He turned back and saw Ron, leaning against his bedpost, staring out of the window with a strange look on his face.
"Ron? Breakfast?" Of course, if Ron didn't want to go to breakfast, Harry didn't care. He would just go looking for Draco. He was probably in the Room of Requirement.
"I'm not hungry."
That was annoying. Hadn't Ron been the one who suggested going to breakfast? "I thought you just said-?"
"Well, all right. I'll come down with you," sighed Ron. "But I don't want to eat."
Harry glared at Ron in suspicion. "It's because you ate half the box of Chocolate Caldrons, isn't it?"
"It's not that," Ron sighed again. "You… you wouldn't understand."
"Fair enough," Harry shrugged. If Ron didn't want to explain, he certainly didn't want to wait around and ask about it. He turned back to the door.
"Harry!" said Ron suddenly.
"What?"
"Harry, I can't stand it!"
Harry fought back a number of biting retorts. "You can't stand what?" Though, he had to admit, there was something off about Ron. He was now rather pale, and looked almost as thought he was going to be sick.
"I can't stop thinking of her!"
Harry gaped at him. He was not going to have to listen to this, was he? He'd be damned if he stayed around while Ron went on about his love life. "Why does that stop you from having breakfast?"
"I don't think she knows I exist," said Ron with a desperate gesture.
Harry's thoughts screeched to a halt. Hadn't Ron been snogging Lavender and causing Hermione to turn all shades of jealous colors? She would definitely know that he existed! "Who are you talking about?" he asked warily.
"Romilda Vane," Ron said softly, and his whole face seemed to illuminate as he said it.
Harry blinked at him and stared. "This is a joke, right? You're joking." He fervently hoped Ron was. If Ron started switching off girls, Hermione would be even harder to deal with!
"I think… Harry, I think I love her."
"Say that again with a straight face," Harry demanded. Something was wrong here. Something was definitely wrong.
"I love her," repeated Ron breathlessly.
Harry ignored him as he went on to describe Romilda in the flowery terms most often associated with a sonnet. "This is really funny and everything," Harry started, an idea of what might be wrong forming in his mind, "but joke's over, all right? Drop it."
He watched something in Ron's eyes snap, and rage take over his face. When Ron jumped him, he dodged, nearly hitting Neville's bedpost in the process.
"You insulted her, Harry! You said it was a joke!" Ron shouted.
"Ron, you've been drugged," Harry explained, not bothering to go into the details of where he suspected those Chocolate Cauldrons came from. "Romilda spiked the Chocolate Cauldrons with love potion."
But only one word seemed to have registered with Ron. "Romilda? Did you say Romilda? Harry – do you know her? Can you introduce me?"
Harry stared at Ron. This was going to be annoying. Too bad he couldn't just let it go. Harry Potter wouldn't have walked away. Harry Potter would have been all kinds of frantic over his friend's behavior, and taken him to get the potion treated. More wasted time. He would just have to search for Draco later.
"Yeah, I'll introduce you," Harry lied. "She'll be in Slughorn's office."
"Why will she be there?" Ron asked anxiously as he followed after Harry.
"Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him," Harry replied easily.
"Maybe I could ask if I can have them with her?" said Ron eagerly.
"Great idea."
Lavender was waiting beside the portrait hole, and Harry nearly groaned when he saw her.
"You're late, Won-Won!" she pouted. "I've got you a birthday-"
"Leave me alone," said Ron impatiently. "Harry's going to introduce me to Romilda Vane."
Oh, make it all Harry's fault, Harry griped mentally as Ron pushed past Lavender, and he followed after him.
Slughorn answered his door at the first knock, wearing a green velvet dressing gown and matching nightcap, and looking rather bleary-eyed.
"Harry," he mumbled. "This is very early for a call… I generally sleep late on a Saturday…"
"Professor, I'm really sorry to disturb you," Harry said as quietly as possible as Ron stood on tiptoe, attempting to see past Slughorn into the office, "but my friend Ron swallowed a love potion by mistake. You couldn't make him an antidote, could you?" Harry wrapped as much of the 'Harry Potter' persona around him as he could as he continued. "I would take him to Madam Pomfrey, but we're not supposed to have anything from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and, you know… awkward questions…"
"I can't see her, Harry – is he hiding her?" Ron moaned.
Slughorn eyed Ron with professional interest. "Was this potion within date? They can strengthen, you know, the longer they're kept."
Harry helped Slughorn maneuver Ron into the office, explaining to Ron that Romilda hadn't gotten there yet.
"How do I look?" Ron asked fervently, as Slughorn finished the antidote.
"Very handsome," said Slughorn smoothly, handing Ron a glass of clear liquid. "Now drink that up, it's a tonic for the nerves; keep you calm when she arrives, you know."
Ron gulped it eagerly.
Harry and Slughorn watched him. For a moment, Ron beamed at them. Then, very slowly, his grin sagged and vanished, only to be replaced by an expression of utmost horror.
Harry grinned in relief; now that this was over, he could go look for Draco. "Thanks a lot, Professor." Harry tried in vain to think of a quick way away from the office and Ron as Slughorn chortled on about getting Ron a 'pick-me-up'. He couldn't come up with anything, though; he'd have to resign himself to looking for Draco later.
"There you are, then," said Slughorn, who handed Ron and Harry a glass of mead each before raising his own. "Well, a happy birthday, Ralph-"
"Ron-" corrected Harry halfheartedly.
Ron didn't appear to have been listening, and had already thrown the mead into his mouth and swallowed.
Harry blinked, a trickle of lightning passing from elbow to wrist underneath his robes. Something was wrong. He looked over at Ron.
"Ron!"
Ron had dropped his glass; he half-rose from his chair, and then crumpled, his extremities jerking uncontrollably. Foam was dribbling from his mouth, and his eyes were bulging from their sockets.
"Do something!" Harry bellowed at Slughorn. Ron was poisoned, and he certainly did not want to take the credit for saving him! That would mean a whole lot more time wasted.
"What – but – " spluttered Slughorn.
Harry glared at the man, who was obviously not going to do anything, and leapt towards Slughorn's open potions kit. He raided through the kit until he found what he was looking for: the shriveled kidney-like stone.
Returning to Ron's side, he wrenched his jaw open and thrust the bezoar into his mouth. Ron gave a great shudder, a rattling gasp, and his body became limp and still.
By the time Harry managed to estrange himself from the horde of Weasleys that seemed to descend from nowhere upon Ron's sleeping form in the hospital, it was far too late in the day to do much of anything. Harry's foul mood only worsened when Draco was not waiting for him in the Chamber of Wisdom. Draco had been needing more sleep recently, another sign of some hidden distress.
Hedwig hardly flinched when a priceless statue was made sacrifice to Harry's mood. "More troubles, chick?"
Harry batted away her concern, falling into the nearest chair with a sigh. "Sometimes I feel more like his nursemaid than his lover." A spark flashed in front of Harry's owl eyes, and he shot back to his feet. A memory of the summer which he'd pushed back as irrelevant, before he'd become Voldemort's heir – of a house, and a house-elf.
He was halfway to the door back to the Owlery, when Hedwig's soft cooing stopped him. "Chick, before you rush off, you do have another letter. He inquires about your followers. He chides you for using lowly Centaurs." The slight sniff in her voice displaying the obvious disapproval she held for that assessment.
Harry frowned. "I'll figure something out. Centaurs are rather conspicuous," he conceded. "Though I wouldn't call them 'lowly'."
"You will gain more followers?"
"As I said, I'll figure something out to pacify him. But right now I'm headed for the kitchens."
Hedwig shook her head as Harry left in a hurry. "Just like a fledgling in spring," she cooed, amused. "Thinking with his heart instead of with his head."
Harry congratulated himself on his stroke of genius as he hurriedly made his way to the kitchens. He'd forgotten all about Kreacher – purposefully, at the time. The old house-elf would finally be good for something. He could watch Draco when Harry couldn't. And, by asking him in front of the other house-elves, it ensured that his actions would be told to Dumbledore. Though Dumbledore would stay blind as to exactly why he wanted Draco watched.
Just outside of the portrait door to the kitchens, Harry whispered, "Kreacher?"
There was a very loud crack, and the sounds of scuffling and squeaks filled the silent hallway. Harry watched in amusement at the scene which presented itself to him.
Two house-elves were rolling around before him, one wearing a shrunken maroon jumper and several woolen hats; the other, a filthy old rag strung over his hips like a loincloth.
"Kreacher will not insult Harry Potter in front of Dobby, no he won't, or Dobby will shut Kreacher's mouth for him!" cried Dobby in a high pitched voice.
While Harry thought this was a marvelous idea, it wouldn't do for anything to get back to Dumbledore that he was acting out of character.
"Kreacher will say what he likes about his master, oh yes, and what a master he is, filthy friend of Mudbloods, oh, what would poor Kreacher's mistress say-"
Exactly what Kreacher's mistress would have said Harry did not find out, for at that moment Dobby sank his knobby little fist into Kreacher's mouth and knocked out half of his teeth.
Harry chose that moment to pull them apart, though they continued to try and kick and punch each other. He thought for a moment about refining Kreacher's now obsolete view of him, but decided it would be a bad idea.
"Right – I'm forbidding you to fight each other! Well, Kreacher, you're forbidden to fight Dobby. Dobby, I know I'm not allowed to give you orders –"
"Dobby is a free house-elf and he can obey anyone he likes, and Dobby will do whatever Harry Potter wants him to do!" said Dobby, tears now streaming down his shriveled little face onto his jumper.
"Okay then," said Harry as he slowly released the two – prepared to split them apart again if need be. But they fell to the floor and did not continue fighting.
"Master called me?" croaked Kreacher, sinking into a bow even as he gave Harry a look that plainly wished him a painful death.
Harry resisted the urge to rearrange Kreacher's face permanently as he responded. "Yeah, I did. I've got a job for you."
"Kreacher will do whatever Master wants," said Kreacher, sinking so low that his lips almost touched his gnarled toes. "Because Kreacher has no choice, but Kreacher is ashamed to have such a master, yes-"
"Dobby will do it, Harry Potter!" squeaked Dobby, his tennis-ball-sized eyes still swimming in tears. "Dobby would be honored to help Harry Potter!"
That could be helpful, Harry thought. "Come to think of it, it would be good to have both of you," he said. "Okay then… I want you to tail Draco Malfoy. I want to know where he's going, who he's meeting, and what he's doing. I want you to follow him around the clock. There's something wrong with him, and I want to know what it is."
"But Dobby already knows!" Dobby crowed with excitement. "It is an old secret, but Dobby no longer has to keep those secrets! Dobby will tell Harry Potter! It is because Dobby's old family has Vampire blood!"
How to respond to that? Harry allowed a greedy gleam to enter his eyes. Imagine what 'the Boy-Who-Lived' would do with that kind of slander against one of the most annoying thorns in his side? "That wasn't what I meant – but are you sure? Are you positive that's true?"
Dobby nodded eagerly. "Dobby swears it, Harry Potter! And Dobby swears he shall follow Draco Malfoy at all times! And if Dobby does it wrong, Dobby will throw himself off the topmost tower, Harry Potter!"
"There won't be any need for that," Harry said, though he stored that bit away as a potential way to get rid of Dobby if he ever stopped being useful.
"Master wants me to follow the youngest of the Malfoys?" croaked Kreacher. "Master wants me to spy upon the pure-blooded great-nephew of my old mistress?"
"That's the one," said Harry. "And you're forbidden to tip him off, Kreacher, or to show him what you're up to, or to talk to him at all, or to write him messages or… or to contact him in any way. Got it?"
He would find out what was wrong with Draco, and then confront Draco about it. There was no need to explain how he came to the conclusions he did unless Draco asked.
He could see Kreacher struggling to find a loophole in the instructions. After a moment or two, and to Harry's great satisfaction, Kreacher bowed deeply again and said, with bitter resentment, "Master thinks of everything, and Kreacher must obey him even though Kreacher would much rather be the servant of the Malfoy boy, oh yes…"
Harry resisted the urge to arrange just that and let Kreacher eat his words when he realized just how horrible Draco could really be. "That's settled, then. I'll want regular reports, but make sure I'm not with anyone – anyone at all – when you turn up. And don't tell anyone what you're doing. Just stick to Malfoy like a couple of wart plasters."
As Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, something caused him to slow his footsteps just outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. Dobby's words reeled in his mind, and he frowned as he thought, staring at the shadow cast by his figure on the Fat Lady's portrait.
"It is because Dobby's old family has Vampire blood."
Centaurs were conspicuous, loyal to a fault and strong, but they did indeed stand out. Harry needed some more insidious followers, someone to stand in the shadows cast by the Centaurs and remain unseen. A left hand to his right; Sinistra to Dextra (lit. left/sinister to right).
Harry's shadow raised both his hands, first the right, and then the left. It held the two out to the side like a balance, and tilted them, first the left up, than the right, and back – finally stopping with both equal.
"Are you going to say the password, dear?" the Fat Lady asked sleepily.
Harry muttered it, and climbed through the portrait hole in a daze, wondering how hard it would be to locate the scattered Vampire council.
Harry woke long before dawn, adrenaline and nerves making it almost impossible to sleep. Hedwig was just nodding off when Harry entered the Owlery, and she flew to his outstretched arm when he called her.
"What is it, chick?"
"I need you to go to Magorian. Ask him if it is possible for one or two of his scouts to locate the Elder of the Vampire council. If he says it is possible, have him send them as envoys to the Vampires."
"You wish to add Vampires to your followers? They will not be easy to sway."
"I do not think it will be so hard."