Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.

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In Terms of a Name

By Taliya

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Chapter XI: Obscured Personality

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Like the diary in Second Year, Harry thought, realization crashing down upon him. I've got to destroy the horcruxes in order to destroy him.

"I think it's time Dumbledore knew where Harry Potter disappeared to."

---

"Remember, under no circumstances are you to squish yourself into that armoire. I want you to relax in the other realm, just keep an eye out for me. When I open the doors, I want you to let some of that smoke curl out before stepping out yourself. I will allow my students to take shots at you; they are learning how to cast the Patronus Charm. I will protect you from the spell's effects while dampening my own affect on you. That way, the students will feel the coldness and fear that you usually invoke. All you have to do is pretend that the spell is affecting you; hide in the armoire when you back up away from it."

"I will do as you ask, my Liege; it is an honor to aid you."

"Thank you, dear friend. And also, rattle the armoire a bit every once in a while when the students begin entering."

---

The Sixth Year Gryffindors tittered in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. They were anxious; today was the day that their professor said they could possibly test their skill against a Boggart Dementor. Their excitement was nearly palpable in the air.

An armoire stood in a corner of the room, behind the professor's desk. Every now and then it would convulse ominously. It was an elegant affair, crafted from cherry wood and carved with delicate floral patterns on its doors.

"Good day, class," Harry greeted as he walked in the doors, a rather large boulder-sized hunk of chocolate drifting in after him. He took in the anticipation that gleamed in his students' eyes and secretly smirked. "As you probably guessed," he began, gesturing to the shaking armoire, "I have found a Boggart lurking in the castle. I have told you that today is the day that you will test your skill. You would be pleased to know that I've decided to let you try."

There was a wild cheer that quickly quieted with a simple gesture from Harry. "If you want to try, come stand up in front of my desk. The rest of you, please move to the back of the classroom and sit in one of those desks."

The students eagerly did as they were told. Those unable to conjure a Patronus, including Neville, sat at the back of the room, watching attentively. A flick of Harry's wand, and the desks in the fore were neatly pushed backwards, but not far enough to crush the already seated students. Another jab and the armoire was deposited off to the side of the professor's desk.

"Line up, across the front so that your peers may watch you." The practicing students jostled each other into a line, with Harry at its head. Turning to face his students, Harry lectured, "I am going to stand at the front to ensure that the Boggart changes into and remains a Dementor. Each of you will then take turns casting the Patronus Charm. Wand at the ready, Mr. Weasley."

Another flick and the armoire's doors banged open. Black haze billowed out before an emaciated hand grasped the side of the doorframe, followed by another on the opposite side of the frame. The air in the room chilled over, and a hoarse, rattling breath could be heard. The Dementor stepped fully out of the armoire, its faceless cloaked head turning this way and that.

Harry allowed his Metamorphmagus magic to relax a little, causing his skin to revert to its milky color. With a feigned strain in his voice, Harry instructed Ron to fire a Patronus.

The Dementor stood quietly, still breathing noisily, before deciding to go towards the redhead.

"E-Ex-Expect-Expecto Pa-Pat-Patro—" he stuttered, too cold and frightened to properly speak the incantation.

Harry's Dementor drifted ever closer. The DADA teacher finally intercepted and whispered, "Expecto Patronum!"

The orbs of light burst forth from his wand, and the Dementor shrieked and hastily retreated back into the armoire, which then slammed its doors shut. Harry had to keep his lips from twitching; the shriek that the Dementor gave was a laugh from being tickled by his Patronus.

Turning towards a pale Ron Weasley, Harry pat his friend on the shoulder and said, "Good try. It's not an easy feat to do. Sit down and have some chocolate." A conjured knife and serving spoon sliced off a chunk of chocolate and delivered the sweet to the shaking boy that now sat at a desk.

Ron accepted the sweet, popping the chocolate in his mouth. Color seemed to rush back into his face, returning to his normal complexion. The other students were efficiently served portions of chocolate before Hermione stepped forward.

Harry, face still pale and pinched, asked his friend, "Are you ready, Ms. Granger?"

"Yes, Professor," she replied crisply, eyes lit with determination.

Nodding, Harry stepped before her and once again opened the armoire. Again, the Dementor emerged from the wardrobe, breath rattling and cold.

Hermione stood, pallid, quivering, and frozen, her eyes seemingly focused on some distant, other-plane of existence even as she stared vacantly at the approaching Dementor.

"Ms. Granger! Concentrate!"

The hissed admonition snapped her out of her daze, and she visibly drew her courage around her like a cloak and cried, "Ex-Expecto Patronum!" Light swirled around the tip of her wand, creating a miniature cloud. This, in turn, shaped itself into the vague form of an otter, one that soon dissipated after formation.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry murmured, once again producing the eerie spheres of light that wailed softly, their iridescent tails fluttering behind them.

Chocolate was once again handed out, and the rest of the line of practicing students gradually shortened as the class period wore on. Hermione was the only one out of the practicing students to obtain the telltale white wisps of the Patronus. While many of the students were disheartened, Harry did his best to cheer them up.

"I know how hard you lot tried. It's not easy to cast in the face of a Dementor. All of you that tried today, as well as all of you that practiced but were yet unable to obtain a Patronus, I congratulate you all for your hard work and effort."

A ripple of pride swept through the class. Harry gave them all a slight but gentle smile. "I must say I am… very pleased with you all."

The pleased smiles of his students were what made teaching worth it.

---

Harry headed to the Headmaster's Tower during his afternoon break, firm in his resolve to reveal his secret. A barely noticeable smile could be seen lurking about his lips; his Sixth Year Gryffindors had done better than he had anticipated. He hoped that his later class of Sixth Year Ravenclaws would do just as well.

Giving the silly candy password, "Cockroach Clusters," to the stone gargoyle, Harry watched as the statue leapt aside to reveal the winding staircase. He pondered how to present himself to the Headmaster as the stairs smoothly spiraled higher.

At length the winding staircase deposited him before the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Instead of attempting to knock, Harry simply waited until he heard the elderly man's voice rumble, "Enter, Professor Hamilton."

Harry opened the door and stepped inside, finally deciding not to pussyfoot about the issue, but to, simply put, be blunt. The office appeared the same as he had last seen it, which was before the beginning of the fall term. Dumbledore sat behind his claw-footed desk, his eyes twinkling genially. His phoenix familiar, Fawkes, perched on his stand, head tucked beneath a warm vermillion wing.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Faustus?" queried the Headmaster.

Harry did not reply; rather, he responded by flicking his wand at the door and walls, quickly and efficiently setting up wards to keep eavesdroppers from listening in, including the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses. For the portraits, Harry erected an obscuring ward so that they would not be able to witness what went on in the center of the office.

As he quickly worked through the wand motions, Dumbledore's consternation grew. "Faustus? Faustus what is the meaning of this?"

Done with his work and pleased with the subsequent inspection, Harry turned to face the alarmed elderly man, a blank expression on his face. Dumbledore had his hands politely settled on his desk, waiting attentively for an explanation. It was then that Harry noticed his blackened and shriveled right hand.

"Headmaster," Harry greeted quietly, eyes riveted to the cursed hand even as his brain ran through a list of curses that potentially caused that sort of outcome.

It clicked in his brain and Harry asked somewhat more harshly than he meant, "When did you come into contact with the Tardus Agon Curse?"

Dumbledore glanced at his ruined hand, then back at his Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, who was studying him intently. "Over the Winter Holidays, I'm afraid," he answered, "Do not worry yourself, it is merely but a trifle—"

"A trifle!" snapped Harry, "It is more than a simple trifle, Headmaster! That curse will creep up your arm, decaying as it goes, as well as inflicting immense amounts of pain. It also leaves you dead in a week's time. Which leads me to ask: why aren't you in the Hospital Wing right now?" He eyed the suddenly innocent-looking Headmaster.

"Would you believe me if I said that Madame Pomphrey let me out?"

A raised eyebrow was all the answer he got.

"I supposed that wouldn't have flown," Dumbledore grumbled, deflating. Catching the eyes of his employee, he said, "I know what this curse does, and its subsequent effects. I've already had it treated as best as possible—only by slowing the spread and dampening the pain—thereby extending the amount of time I have on this plane of existence. When the time comes, I'll be ready."

Harry looked away, jaw clenched tight enough to make his teeth squeak in protest. "Why?" he ground out, suppressing the sudden upwelling of emotion at the revelation of Dumbledore's impending death.

"Because it will be my time to go on the next great adventure, Faustus. I can only hope that by the time I leave, many things will have been worked out and resolved for the better."

Controlling and calming his roiling emotions, Harry looked at the aged man and nodded his resigned acceptance.

"Now," Dumbledore said briskly, resuming his cheerful façade, "What was the reason you sought me out?"

"Albus, do I have your oath that what I am about to say will not be repeated to any soul?" Harry asked with such intensity that it made the Headmaster hesitate.

"Faustus, what are you—"

"Do I have an oath, sir?" Harry pressed, refusing to be sidetracked again.

Dumbledore appraised the young man before him. "Fawkes," he called softly, awakening the bird, "Please come here. I have need of your abilities."

The firebird twittered softly as he fluttered to rest on the large claw-footed desk. Harry remained silent, observing their interaction.

The Headmaster fondly stroked the bird's head, eliciting pleased croons. "Can you tell me whether or not this man is worthy of my trust and silence, old friend?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a piercing black gaze. He held himself still, maintaining steady eye contact with the phoenix. The bird made a flustered sound, and Harry realized that Fawkes could not penetrate his Dementor-spawned Occlumency barriers. With a thought, he dispelled enough of his barriers to allow the bird entry.

The firebird's eyes gazed deeply into him; Harry could feel the avian's presence gently sift through his memories, impressions, hopes, fears, and dreams. Fawkes seemed particularly intrigued by recollections of his life with the Dursleys.

Yes, I've been hurt by them, Harry thought, somehow understanding that his mental narration could be heard by the avian. Images of the night he fled from Death Eaters on Privet Drive fluttered past his mind's eye. They did so much to me, but they were still family—the only family I had left. It was my duty to protect them. The replied mental twitter of commiseration echoed softly in his mind before Fawkes withdrew entirely.

The firebird cooed gently to the Headmaster, chirruping at the young man with contentedness. Stretching the brilliant red wings, the phoenix beat them twice, landing gracefully on Harry's shoulder and erupting in a burst of song that made Harry's resolve strengthen. Stroking the bird's cheek, Harry thought, Thanks, Fawkes.

Albus leaned back into his chair, the pads of his fingers pressing against each other as he did so. "You have earned Fawkes' approval, and I trust my familiar. Very well. I swear on my magic to never tell a soul of this conversation."

Harry heaved a silent sigh of relief. "Albus, let me begin by saying that the name Faustus Hamilton is simply that: a name." At the Headmaster's puzzled expression, Harry continued, "In other words, Faustus Hamilton never existed."

Harry watched with hidden amusement as Albus blinked, no doubt due to just having had the proverbial rug pulled from beneath his feet. Then the aged man sighed deeply, his good hand going up to massage his left temple. His exceptional hearing was able to pick up the Headmaster's groused, "Why does it always happen to the DADA professor?"

Squashing his amusement, Harry waited for the Headmaster to collect himself. After a sufficient amount of time, Albus faced the young man. "So if Faustus Hamilton never existed, who are you?"

Harry released his Metamorphmagus abilities, save the ones hiding the telltale signs of his being not human and enhanced physical form. Black hair writhed and twisted as it resumed its untidy nature, glacier blue eyes darkened to a rich viridian. Harry's facial structure changed, and suddenly an older, thinner, more somber Harry Potter stared back at the astonished and gaping Headmaster Dumbledore.

Throwing the crooked grin at the elderly man who was currently doing a perfect imitation of fish, Harry said, "You know, if you keep that up, a chizpurfle might decide to settle in your mouth."

Harry's crooked grin morphed into a horrified frown as the esteemed Hogwarts Headmaster flopped over his desk in a dead faint.

Reflexes kicking in, Harry managed to catch the elderly man before his head crashed onto the polished wood. Gently, he straightened the Headmaster, carefully leaning him back on his chair.

Now what? he thought to himself.

Fawkes twittered, landing on the Headmaster's desk and motioning that Harry should wake the older man up.

"Oh," Harry mumbled, feeling supremely idiotic for not thinking of that solution. Waving his hand at the Headmaster, Harry muttered, "Ennervate."

The Headmaster's eyes fluttered open, and he gazed wordlessly at Harry for a long while. Then, slowly, a joyful smile spread across his aged face.

"Harry," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Harry, you've come at last!" Rising from his chair, he embraced the younger man. Stepping back with his hands on Harry's shoulders, Dumbledore gazed at the Boy-Who-Lived. "You've changed, Harry, my boy."

"Indeed, I have, Albus," Harry concurred, "Many things have happened after I was taken by Voldemort."

"Would it be asking too much to tell this old man?" the Headmaster asked. One of the things he had learned from Harry's "Faustus Hamilton" persona was that personal information was just that: personal. It did no good to him to try to pry, especially when it was not any of his business. Taking a well-educated guess that "Faustus'" personality was not all that different from Harry's, Albus settled and elected to allow Harry to tell him all that he needed.

"As you can probably tell, Azkaban wasn't a place I particularly thrived in," Harry began, making a weak joke out of his illusionary skinniness.

Dumbledore merely nodded, gesturing for Harry to continue.

"I won't go into details as to how I escaped, and don't argue with me about that Albus," Harry warned as the Headmaster made to object, "I have secrets of my own that I would prefer to be kept that way." There was a steely sort of glint in those green eyes that made Albus somewhat wary of the youth before him. He could not pinpoint why, but it set him on edge.

"Of course, Harry." Albus, being the great politician he was, gracefully admitted defeat and moved on to a different topic; one that he granted Harry the option of choosing.

After a short stretch of silence, Harry continued. "I have recently gained knowledge of Voldemort's plans concerning Hogwarts. My sources say that his plans are finalized, and that all that is needed is a date thus far. I believe he is debating between a Hogsmeade weekend and examination time. They are prime times to attack; the school's defenses will be scattered and stressed.

"He claims to have many different groups gathering to his cause, I cannot list for sure whom at the moment. That is all the information I have at the moment."

Dumbledore sat, gobsmacked at the amount of information Harry had just thrown his way. "I… I see."

Harry could tell by the way the Headmaster's eyes were not focused meant that he was mulling over the information presented. Debating whether or not to bring up the topic of horcruxes, Harry quickly decided to wait, given the Headmaster's glazed-over countenance. Giving himself a mental pat on the back for stumping the old man, Harry said quietly, "I'll take my leave then. Headmaster, Fawkes." Activating his Metamorphmagus abilities, Faustus Hamilton disabled his wards and swept out of the Headmaster's Office, leaving behind a quiet, contemplative Albus Dumbledore and a content, dozing Fawkes.

---

Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry…

The thought repeated itself over and over in his mind like a broken Muggle record. Fawkes cooed in his sleep, feathers rustling as he shifted. Muffled by the walls of the castle, the old clock chimed four times, indicating the lateness of the afternoon.

Aged, blue eyes stared sightlessly at the paper-covered surface of his desk, fingers lightly gripped the armrests of the ancient Headmaster's chair as his body slowly slid further and further off the seat.

Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry. Faustus is Harry…

Images of Faustus, of Harry, breezed through his mind, Faustus sitting out under a tree by the lake, grading papers, Faustus ice skating over an enchanted frozen lit lake, Faustus darting to and fro, attempting to land a jinx or spell on his person before a spellbound DADA class.

And it was Harry Potter all along.

Those blue eyes blinked, and consciousness of his surroundings flooded back into his senses.

"Albus! Albus!"

The Headmaster blinked again, twisting his head towards the clamor of voices. His eyes rested upon the row of portraits that quieted under his gaze.

"Albus, we've been trying to get your attention for near an hour now!" remarked previous Headmaster Dilys Derwart. "What happened, Albus? We couldn't see you!"

"That young whippersnapper didn't do anything to you, did he?" Dexter Fortesque inquired.

The present Headmaster shook his head. "No, no harm came to my person. Faustus merely wanted to talk to me in private."

Armando Dippet sputtered, "But Albus, we wouldn't betray your trust like that!" A chorus of voices joined his.

Dumbledore held up a hand, and the portraits stilled. His blue eyes glittered with gratitude. "Thank you for your trust. I am touched beyond words, my friends. It was not my idea to exclude you from our conversation—au contraire, it seems that young Faustus Hamilton was more… suspicious than I had anticipated."

The portraits seemed to accept his explanation and subsided, which Albus was extremely grateful for. He was not in the mood to explaining to the deceased Headmasters and Headmistresses how his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was the "mass murderer" Harry Potter masquerading in disguise.

Relaxing in the peaceful silence, the Headmaster allowed his mind to analyze the information Harry had given him.

Azkaban has not been kind to him. He is even skinnier than I remember. And that glint in his eyes… it was harsh, cold. No doubt a residue from living in that hellish place. Could that look have also been a result of his time as a prisoner of Voldemort? I would not be surprised.

Poor boy, to go through so much, and yet he isn't even an adult in the eyes of the law. Only sixteen years old, and he's gone through so much more than an average witch or wizard.

Albus stroked his beard absentmindedly, eyes once again unfocused and staring vacantly at his desktop.

I failed to save you from Azkaban, Harry, and for that I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'll help you, Harry, in any way I can. I promise.

---

That evening found the Gryffindor Quartet, as Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville were now known as, on the seventh floor heading for the Room of Requirement to relax and discuss their DADA classes. As they neared the entrance to the Room, a ghostly melody seemed to emanate from a delicately carved oak door opposite the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy.

The four cracked open the door and peered in. A great auditorium was revealed to them; and playing Ludwig van Beethoven's Für Elise was their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, swaying gently in time to the tune, his fingers pressing ivory and black keys.

The foursome was transfixed at the sight. It was a change from his normally stoic façade. There was a certain sense of peace that seemed to radiate from his being. It was an astonishing transformation for them.

They had no idea how long they stood gaping, but they were interrupted from their dazed staring when their professor spoke, "Are you going to hang about the doorway growing toadstools? Or are you going to step inside?" His voice echoed in the Room even as his fingers continued to find the correct keys.

Four sets of jaws clicked and they sheepishly shuffled into the Room. They quietly settled themselves in the seats on the first tier, gazing about the auditorium in wonder. Only Hermione recognized the resemblance to the world-renowned Isaac Stern Auditorium of Carnegie Hall. She whispered her excitement, only to meet blank stares.

Für Elise ended, and the last few notes resonated warmly in the auditorium. Professor Hamilton turned from the piano to face his recently seated audience.

"Did you need me for something?" the professor inquired.

"That was absolutely beautiful, Professor," Hermione praised.

"It was brilliant," Neville commented, having never heard of anything so delicate and heavenly—Beethoven was, after all, a Muggle.

"What was that?" Ginny asked, curious.

"Für Elise, written by the German composer Ludwig van Beethoven in the early 1800s," was Hermione's prompt reply.

Harry chuckled at his friend's quick response. "Correct, Ms. Granger. Beethoven is one of what Muggles call the great classical composers. His works are well known throughout the Muggle world. Now, even though Muggle musical history is a very interesting subject for me, I highly doubt that you all came here for a lecture on it. Do you need my assistance in anything, or should I take my leave?"

Ginny bravely spoke, "Well, Professor, we were going to just talk about things. I, however, do enjoy listening to the music. I'd like to stay and listen, if you don't mind."

The other three nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly from Ron.

Giving them a small smile, Harry turned back to the piano.

The quartet listened to the soothing music for a while, before beginning to talk in hushed voices. And all the while, Harry played away, relaxing in the soothing melodies from the piano.

---

Severus Snape glared at the rolls of parchment from his Fourth Year class that remained to be graded. The roll that he currently graded had been written in scrawny, blotted handwriting. The Potions Master had quickly covered the parchment with red ink. As he sat scowling at the roll and stewing over his predicament, the person he was most curious about entered the staff lounge.

Faustus Hamilton settled into a desk by the fire, a mug of tea in one hand and grading tools in the other. From his pocket he produced a shrunken stack of rolls. Snape discretely watched as the youthful Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor juggled with his mug, his inkwell, his quill, and his students' papers as he set them down on the desk surface. Arranging everything to his liking, his colleague quickly fell into his work, reading through the rolls of parchment and scribbling his own comments where he deemed necessary.

The Order of the Phoenix spy distractedly graded his papers. There was something odd about the young man, although it was a completely different "odd" than what he had felt with Quirinus Quirrel, and consequently Voldemort, six years ago. Severus had instantly noticed it when he first met the youth. That feeling had only intensified as time had gone by. Faustus Hamilton was different, too different when compared to those his age. Not much could be said about his character, either. Hamilton remained so tightlipped about almost everything that it was exceedingly difficult to gauge his personality. If Severus were to guess, he would bet his Galleons that Hamilton fell into the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff categories. Of what he could tell, his coworker was fairly bookish and quiet; perhaps soft-spoken was more like it. The man stayed in his quarters in his spare time, so it was reasonable that Snape did not know much about him.

For twenty minutes the sounds of the fire crackling merrily away and the scratching of quills could be heard in the staff lounge.

"Are you feeling well, Severus? You look a tad peaky."

The Potions Master looked up to find Faustus' glacial blue eyes upon him. Biting back the sarcastic and somewhat demeaning retort that wanted to escape his lips, the older man replied dryly, "The same could be said of you."

The DADA professor snorted softly. "Touché."

The room was quiet once more, filled with a contemplative silence. Neither knew what the other was thinking.

"Faustus," Severus began, breaking the peacefulness, "Where did you learn to fight?"

The younger man's brow puckered in thought. "I learned most of it from several tutors before my parents died."

Snape, however, read between the lines. I had to use what I learned to fend for myself. "I see," he replied.

So his duel with me only revealed the "proper" manner to fight; I do wonder how dirty he truly fights. Due to the fact that he knows how to grapple and aggressively attack, it's probably a safe bet to assume that he plays extremely dirty…

The Dark Lord will want to know about this—but I'm not going to inform him. I've been his pet potions slave for too long, receiving nothing in return. Albus will at least help me, however much I deny needing it, even if I don't believe I'm worth it. Now, how to make Hamilton reveal that he is not who he seems to be?

---

Harry watched as his colleague fell into pensive silence once more. I wonder what's on his mind, he thought as he returned his attention to grading the rolls of parchment. His mind flitted over using Legilimancy, but it was quickly discarded. Snape had been rather—courteous—to him, if his past behavior towards him counted for anything. However, Harry was here as a member of the faculty, not as a member of the student body; it was only natural and expected that he would be treated accordingly. Add the fact that Snape was both a Master Occlumens and Legilimens, and Harry was not about to start another rivalry with the man by sneaking a peek into his mind.

Coming across Ron's paper, Harry sighed as he read through the writings. Ron certainly had worked harder this year than in previous years. Talking with the other teachers proved that. Harry wondered if it was a direct result of his "disappearance." His brow furrowed slightly in worry. He certainly hoped it was not the case, although he could not say he was not proud of Ron for his efforts.

The two professors worked for another hour before Harry stretched his back, his work done. Exhaling softly, Harry began gathering his supplies and rolls. As his hand touched the doorknob, Severus' voice stopped him.

"Faustus."

Turning, Harry replied, "Yes, Severus?"

The Potions Master stared at him with unreadable eyes. "Why did you apply for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?"

Harry's own icy blue eyes grew brittle. "Because I learned you can never be too young to learn how to defend yourself," he replied, a bitter tone to his voice, "Experience has taught me that much."

His fingers once again gripped the doorknob, but paused yet again when the Potions Master's voice cut through the air.

"You're too young to have such experiences." There was a biting overtone, and an almost sorrowful undertone in his voice, as if the older man was lamenting his own lost innocence and naïveté during Voldemort's first rise to power.

Harry's fingers released the knob, and he turned around to face the older man, a blank expression on his own countenance; his eyes, however, revealed trace amounts of sympathy. "Regardless of my age, I have the experience needed to survive. It is this knowledge that I intend to pass on to the students."

"And what experience is that?" asked Snape cynically. "You are barely half my age; what could you have possibly faced?"

"Many things," Harry responded evasively. He knew where this questioning lead, and did not appreciate being trapped in the proverbial corner.

"Such as?" Severus pressed.

"Nothing that concerns you," Harry snapped, suddenly irritated with his colleague. "Why all the bloody questions all of a sudden?"

"Call it curiosity," was the snide reply.

"Well, just remember, curiosity killed the cat," Harry responded sourly before turning the knob and exiting the staff lounge.

Severus stared at the door long after Harry had left, once again deep in thought.

---

Harry left the staff lounge, brows turned downward with his simmering anger. Taking careful, deep breaths, Harry willed himself to calm down. There was no need to cause all of the inhabitants of the castle to go insane due to his fit of anger.

The nerve of that man! Harry fumed, setting a quick pace back to his quarters.

So caught up was he in his mental diatribe, he failed to take note of his surroundings.

"Oof!"

"Whoa!"

Wincing at his now sore rump, Harry groaned and pushed up onto his hands. A rumpled mop of red hair appeared from behind a clothed body, faithfully followed by a freckled face.

"Ow…"

Grunting as he pushed himself to his feet, Harry began dusting himself off as he spoke, "My apologies, Mr. Weasley, I wasn't watching where I was going."

Ron Weasley rubbed his back gingerly before noticing the proffered hand before his face. Gratefully taking the offered hand, Harry heaved the redhead up.

"It's all right, professor," Ron replied, dusting himself off as well. "It happens."

Harry managed a small grin. "About your detentions, Mr. Weasley," Harry began.

Ron winced.

"I think after the next one, I will be satisfied with you and Mr. Malfoy's dueling performances. There will be no more after this Sunday."

"Really?" Ron breathed, unable to believe that after week upon week of being inflicted with the Slytherin Prince's presence, he would finally be rid of him—at least on Sunday evenings.

Harry was pleased with their progress. Once they passed the stage where they would attempt to discretely hex the other, under Harry's tutelage they blossomed into an effective and efficient working team. Conjured, animated dummies fell before them, and their detentions of late ended with cheeks flushed with pride, rather than embarrassment.

Harry favored Ron with a rare, indulgent smile. "Yes, Mr. Weasley, after this Sunday, you and Mr. Malfoy are through with your detentions."

Ron let out a whoop of joy, thanked his professor profusely, and took off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, intent on telling his friends the good news.

Harry chuckled quietly and continued his trek back to his quarters, feeling better than before.

---

A brown owl swooped down over the Head Table during breakfast, one of many that flooded the Great Hall daily. It alighted before a humming Headmaster Dumbledore, who was in the middle of buttering his toast. Holding out its leg, the owl gestured for the man to untie the missive.

After giving the owl a bit of toast, Dumbledore unrolled the parchment. It read:

Headmaster,

I had planned on asking you if you knew anything about Voldemort's items of immense value, but after seeing your near-catatonic state, I decided to inquire about it at a later date. If you have the time, I would like to come to your office to discuss the items used, as well as where they would be located, and how they can be destroyed. Please reply with a time that is suitable for you.

Sincerely,

Faustus Hamilton

Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts

A corner of his lips quirked upwards underneath his snow-colored beard. He folded the note and tucked it into one of his many pockets in his robes. He would reply later in the day. Twisting his head to look down the Head Table, his cerulean eyes caught a flash of bright viridian, and each man offered a ghost of a smile to the other.

Voldemort, in the words of the Americans, was going down.

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Professor Severus Snape was not having a good day. For his first class of the day he had third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Two of the Hufflepuffs had managed to not only botch their potions, but also blow up their cauldrons. Needless to say, Snape was not happy.

He spent a good portion of his free period after that class cleaning viscous neon blue goop and sludgy yellow-brown liquid off of his ceiling, walls, and floor. The house elves helped as much as they could, but were unable to do too much. The strange concoctions that the two dunderheads created were rather… volatile when they came in contact with magic. Due to the fact that house elves themselves were magical creatures, if an unfortunate house elf came too near to one of the fouled up mixes, they fizzled, popped, and either ate away into the surface on which they were stuck, or exploded, creating an even bigger mess.

And so it happened that Harry walked through the Dungeons into the Potions classroom to find the feared Potions Master on all fours, scrubbing away at a rather revolting goop-sludge mixture with a Muggle bathtub-scrubbing brush.

Stifling a laugh and committing the scene to memory, Harry remarked, "Why Severus, I hadn't realized you enjoyed manual labor."

If looks could kill, the glare that Snape leveled at Harry would have killed him faster than a Basilisk's gaze.

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I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I'm sorry this was so slow in coming; I've been swamped with finals and graduate school applications. For the record, there will be no Harry pairings. Also, I made an error in my last chapter regarding a beta. I'm actually looking for someone to help with Briticisms. "Tardus agon" is Latin for "slow agony," which I thought was a fitting name for something Voldemort would have used on the Gaunt Ring. And out of curiosity, why do people say, "(descriptive word[s])!Harry" when describing something about the type of persona Harry dons? What's with the exclamation point?

-Tal.

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Completed: 12.8.2007

Edited: 12.10.2007

Re-edited: 1.8.09

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