Chapter 15: The Philosopher's Stone
"The longest journey is the journey inwards. Of him who has chosen his destiny, Who has started upon his quest for the source of his being. "
-Dag Hammarskjold-
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In his tower office Albus Dumbledore held up a lemon drop and examined it through an intricately-charmed jeweler's loupe. He curled his toes and tried not to giggle. Someone during the night had left a pair of extra-large, super-thick woolen stockings hanging from the ears of his gargoyle. Stuffed inside the stockings almost to the point of bursting—and inside of plastic liners to keep wool-yarn from contaminating them (and to keep the wool from becoming sticky)—were lemon drops. They weren't his usual lemon drop which he obtained from a muggle confectionary in Edinburgh that had kept him in sweets for three—or was it four now?—generations of proprietors.
He had already tested four of the strange lemon drops to the point of destruction, something he mourned the necessity of. There had been no indications of illicit potions applied or inserted into the treat. Setting aside the loupe he brought forth a pair of brass calipers and quickly measured the diameter of the small yellow lozenge, which he dutifully recorded in a handsome leather-bound journal. Setting the treat on a balance he quickly added and removed small, intricately-carved weights. He recorded the mass of the lemon drop as well.
"Taste test number one," he murmured allowed as he drew a column with a goose-quill, "The time being forty-seven minutes past the sixth hour on the morning of the Sixth day of December." He set the pen aside and carefully selected a lemon drop and placed it delicately on the surface of his tongue and closed his mouth.
In the mirror on his desk, his eyes crossed. His nose turned pink, followed by his ears and cheeks. His mouth, formerly an anticipatory smile, tightened into a thin line, his lips puckering a moment later. The lemon drop seemed to absorb all of the liquid in his mouth, rapidly desiccating the tissue. His cheeks collapsed inward, and he found it very hard to breathe.
Is this death? Albus wondered. Death by lemon drop, how very…unique. It was exquisite, a bright shining edge between pleasure and pain. Supremely sour without any hint of bitterness, and yet so sweet it reminded him of the days of wine, song, and celebration following the defeat of Grindelwald and poor misguided Tom.
His lips unclenched, his cheeks swelled again, and he found that with the dissolving of the lemon drop he could breathe once more.
"Wow," he said. Or at least that was what he tried to say, the word came out in a hoarse whisper so faint and rough that he was scarcely sure he had spoken at all.
Fawkes trilled a melodic burst of laughter at him.
Albus glared briefly at the phoenix but refrained from speaking. He took up the quill again, and by Taste Test #1: he wrote in Wow.
He set aside the quill, deciding to hold off on further testing until he had had a moment to recover.
Instead, he stood and crossed the room to where many silvery magical instruments whirred or puffed or glowed gently. Fawkes trilled gently as he stood and examined them.
He had been disappointed and not a little worried when Harry had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Much of how the Sorting Hat determined which student would go where, depended upon personality, and much of personality was based upon upbringing. But the knowledge a person had, one's views, could influence it. Sometimes they could influence it a great deal, thus his careful planning using Hagrid to introduce Harry to the magical world. As an added bonus it would give Harry a friend, and older one he could go to for advice, not a small thing for a young wizard away from home for the first time.
He had been outraged at the presence of one 'Elissa Blackthorn' disrupting his careful plans…and yet, he wondered if Harry would be doing half as well if they had worked as originally intended. Harry the Hufflepuff had two good friends in his own dormitory, both of families that were highly regarded in their respective communities. He had another good, if distant friend, in the Bones-heir. And, of course, the Patil twins, Mr. Weasley—another good family there—and Ms. Granger.
Professor Snape aside, all of his Professors had had good things to say about his work ethic—not surprising, it was a rare badger that didn't have a solid work ethic. A bit of a lapse towards the end of October, not really surprising considering how much school work he had, the intense practices before the upcoming Quidditch season, and, of course, the knowledge of what Halloween was the anniversary of. Talented, as expected as a child of James and Lily Potter, though better with the practical aspects of magic than the theory. But that wasn't so bad a thing, Albus thought, there were different kinds of intelligence and an Academic Harry would have meant serious problems in the future.
And the worst thing that he had feared, that Harry would lack the courageous bravery found amongst the lion house, had not come to pass. Loyalty? He thought about it for a moment and slowly nodded. Well, many of the greater attributes of human-kind were interrelated. Courage, loyalty, love…whichever it was, Harry had proven he had it when he had gone up against that troll.
At least one good thing had come of that shameful event, Albus thought darkly, but a worry lifted from his shoulders was still a worry lifted from his shoulders. That kind of courage wasn't something that he would have dared test for, and he had worried that Harry's being Sorted into Hufflepuff had been a dire portent. But Harry had proven himself of being capable of courageous acts. That was more than enough for one yet so young.
Unfortunate it had come to pass, of course, and should he ever discover who had so recklessly endangered his students… Well he had a few ancient spells recovered from the tomb of a mage-priest of Sokar that he might try—purely for academic interest, of course—before turning over what was left to the Board of Governors. No doubt Lucius would want some retribution of his own for the endangerment of the young Mister Malfoy, and it would be useful for that man to owe him a favor. As much as he regretted the troll and everything that came with it, he was not above getting all of the good out of it that he could.
Albus reached out a long finger and tapped a purplish-blue sphere only slightly larger than a snitch, that was resting inside a thin silver hoop held up by even smaller spindly legs. It didn't change color, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts sighed. Harry had depressed for weeks, if the mood-sphere was any indication.
He wasn't sure why. Between his schoolwork, quidditch, games in the Hufflepuff common room, being with his friends in other houses, and going wherever it was he had taken a habit of slipping off to, Harry didn't seem to have any time in which to be depressed.
Yes, the youngest Weasley boy and the Granger girl had replaced Ms. Thorne in Harry's circle of friends. All to the better, really. Powers like hers were incredibly corrupting in nature. Having her leave Harry now would spare him having to fight a close friend later. It was an experience he would spare anyone.
Perhaps, he wondered darkly, it would be better if Severus were to slip her something now and deal with that little problem permanently before it could become a bigger problem later. And it would, he knew, become a problem.
Hogwarts trembled about him and Fawkes squawked as the fire in his fireplace suddenly seemed dark and menacing when it had been warm and inviting only moments before.
"I know," he whispered, not a little horrified in the direction his thoughts had taken him, "I know. She is my student, and it is my responsibility to protect her as much as I would protect any other student. But that means I also have a responsibility to protect other students from her…and, ultimately, to protect her from herself."
Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes and sat back in his chair as he felt a great weight lift from him. He knew he was going to regret it. He could recall the grim days of the last war where things were so busy, so constantly in flux, that it was all he could do to try and keep as many balls in the air as he could. He could recall the bone-deep weariness that had robbed his steps of their spring and his mind of its normally lightning-quick agility.
Helping Ms. Thorne would likely prove just as taxing as insuring Harry's development. It would be a distraction that would almost certainly prove costly in the extreme and more than likely pointless in the fullness of time. Her Talent would be a potent weapon but a corrupting one, and her motivations would matter little in that regard. And yet…
He knew he was going to regret it, but the challenge was there, and along with sweets and a degree of curiosity that had bordered on 'unhealthy' in his youth, he'd always been hard-pressed to ignore a challenge. And maybe it'd give him a chance to do a little hands-on teaching again. As much as he loved becoming Headmaster of Hogwarts, he'd missed the personal instruction.
Now if only he had an idea of where to begin.
An eagle owl with a Ministry of Magic collar—this one bearing the seal of the Minister of Magic—hooted imperiously from his office windowsill.
Things were starting to pick up. The long lull, like a Quidditch training season, was starting to come to a close. A part of Albus, the part of him that gloried in the complex move/counter-move of plans wrought and discarded only for new ones to be set forth, was positively giddy. The part of him that knew that once the pre-season exhibition games were over people would start dying for real, mourned it. And in the back of his mind he recalled the terrible weariness that seemed to suck the life out of everything.
One last season, he made a mental promise to himself. I'll see this one through, see Tom dealt with once and for all, and then it will be time to retire. He nodded, perhaps there would be time to teach a few classes of his own, or maybe do a little research…or he could finally sit down and write that book.
He set these thoughts aside and tapped the mood-sphere again.
"Perhaps we should have used passwords, or even blood-wards," he murmured, not for the first time reflecting on the object hidden in Hogwarts. But passwords were easily stolen, guessed, or broken, and in the event of emergency it was better someone else was able to get to the stone, just in case the one person allowed by the strongest of the blood wards had been neutralized only to find that they hadn't warded the damn thing quite as cleverly as they had thought.
And, if as he suspected was the case, expanding them beyond just himself would render them moot. For although he had no proof, not even the flimsiest shred of evidence, he strongly suspected that someone close, someone very close, was working for the Opposition.
No, the precautions would have to suffice. Getting past a monstrous three-headed dog in a chamber that allowed no magic would stymie the most powerful of wizards. Any first year would know Devil's Snare, but it was a plant soon forgotten and not even used on the O.W.L. tests. The key that could not be summoned to open a lock that could not be magically unlocked, a chess-set that would violently attack any that tried to bypass it. Quirrell's troll, Severus' logic puzzle. The mirror would arrive during the Christmas holiday when the school was largely empty. He would see to its emplacement himself.
The defenses already in place could not be lowered for longer than that. Replacing them all while students in school…impossible. It was a problem about which he could do no more and thus set aside. The owl…Cornelius wouldn't reach his desk for at least two more hours and wouldn't expect Albus' reply until well after that. If he had, he wouldn't have delayed the message so that it arrived so early in the morning. Another problem that could be set aside for now.
Likewise there was little he could do to help Harry. In all likelihood the girl didn't mean him any harm right now, was in fact possibly a good person…at the moment. But he knew better than most the kind of horrors that could come of trying to do good. With her magic in the equation…no, best that she remain where she was. Best for them both. Best that Harry was never put in the position of having to kill a friend. If Harry and she made up, so be it, but he would not do anything to encourage that turn of events.
He nodded slowly, turning the problem around in his mind. It was far from an ideal solution, but he couldn't see any better ones. Until she showed signs of slipping he would reduce his involvement to keeping a close eye on her. A very close eye…
There was a creak behind him.
"-on and on my friend.
Some people started singing it
Not knowing what it was.
And they'll continue singing it
Forever, just because
It is a song that doesn't—"
The music cut off abruptly as Severus slammed the door shut and layered on the three increasingly complex silencing wards needed to drown out the sound of his new doorbell.
"I still do not understand why you do not simply blast that miserable excuse of a door ornament into nothingness, Headmaster."
"I heard that you used that method to great effect, Severus," Dumbledore allowed, recalling how the shards of the blasted cauldron had slowly transformed into complete cauldrons of their own. All charmed to talk back to the person brewing in them. It truly was a remarkable piece of work, and he wondered where whoever had done it had gotten the idea.
Snape glowered at him.
"Is there anything new, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.
"No, Headmaster. I've just been going over progress reports," he grimaced.
"That bad?"
"Worse," The Potion Master said. "If I break up Longbottom and Blackthorn I'll have to put up with Longbottom's imbecility. If I don't break them up and pair her with Goyle and Crabbe, those two dunderheads will fail and have to take the course again…and again and again."
Dumbledore contemplated reminding Severus of his remarks about young Draco Malfoy's brilliance in potions, and grudging remarks about Hermione Granger's capabilities. Either of whom were capable of taking on one of the aforementioned students. He refrained, however. Classroom management was best left in the hands of the people who actually ran the classrooms. "Is that all?" he asked.
"I might have to loan Flint to Pomona for a few months to see if he learns a little 'Puff work-ethic," Snape said severely. "If I don't we may have to put up with him for Merlin knows how many more years."
"We have more than a year to worry about that," Albus decided. "What about Ms. Blackthorn's other classes?"
Severus' mouth twisted into something approximating a smile. "She is better than Granger when it comes to theory. Her practical magic scores in Charms, Defense, and Transfiguration, however, are abysmal. If I didn't know any better I would place money on her being in a deliberate competition with Longbottom for most dangerously inept student of the year."
It was disappointing, Albus thought. He had shown such potential in Diagon Alley for working with Harry, and while Severus was tormenting the boy far less than he feared, it was not at all like he had hoped for. Unlike Harry, Ms. Blackthorn at least trusted him, but Harry was—or at least had been—her friend, and Severus had alienated her along with Harry. Most unfortunate as Severus was her Head of House. But—
He paused at the stirrings of another idea. He had far too much experience with such things to rush it. Instead he frowned and peered down at one of the many magical devices to forestall Severus from speaking. Yes, he thought slowly, perhaps that was a possibility…
"Ms. Blackthorn has already been forced to see Poppy twice due to magic-burn?" he asked.
"Yes…" Snape said slowly, hissing the sibilants. "Why?"
"Hmm?" Albus Dumbledore asked as he straightened. "Oh, Severus, I must have had a stray thought. You must forgive me," he picked up the crystal bowl filled with the latest confections. "Lemon drop?"
Normally Severus was much too dour to accept, but perhaps, yes…Albus resisted the urge to giggle. Sometimes life could be so very interesting.
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Harry and the other Hufflepuffs hurried to Potions class. None of them wanted to be late. Snape, already the least favorite teacher in Hogwarts by far—or at least the least favorite to anyone who wasn't in Slytherin house—had grown increasingly sour of the last few weeks.
Despite the impending class, none of them were very anxious about it. The Hogwarts Express had been spotted that morning from the Astronomy Tower, taking on loads of coal and water. It was the last day of classes. Tomorrow, all of those students whose names weren't on the list to stay behind would board the train back to London. Even Harry, whose name was on the list, had found the excitement infectious as he led Ernie and Justin down the stairs into the dungeons while they compared magical and non-magical decorations.
The trip came to a shocking, sputtering stop as Harry, in the dim light of the first-level dungeon corridor, hopped down what looked like the last step and ended up nearly to his waist in freezing cold water.
For a moment the Hufflepuffs stared at each other. Harry's breath was stolen by the knife-like icy cold that stabbed into his legs.
"What the—" someone towards the back asked.
"Grab him!" Justin snapped to Ernie. The two grabbed at the shoulders of Harry's robes and pulled him back, Susan, who was next in line, grabbed him by the back of the robes and helped, only to yelp as her left foot was immersed up to her ankle.
"The water's rising!" she cried, but didn't give up her space.
Between the three of them they got Harry back on dry stairs—already the two steps Harry had jumped over had vanished under the black water—and helped him up to flight back to the side-corridor off the Entrance Hall that they had started down.
"T-t-thanks guys," Harry managed as he got his feet back under him. He couldn't feel anything at all below his mid-thigh other than that everything seemed very heavy, likely from how his robes were clinging to them.
He staggered up a step, and only Ernie's fast acting saved him from falling back down the stairs. It felt like he was standing on very long stilts with an articulation in them where his knee was. As long as he kept his legs straight he was more or less able to stay balanced, but he couldn't feel his legs to know if they were straight or not.
"What was that?" Justin asked as they made their way back to the Entrance Hall with one of Harry's arms slung over each of his and Ernie's shoulders.
"A prank?" Hannah asked.
"Sure, step in it and you're an ice-cube," Zacharias Smith said.
"Maybe it would be in summer when it's hot," Susan said. "But that wasn't funny."
"We should get Harry to the Hospital Wing," Justin said.
"I'm f-f-fine," Harry said.
"You're shivering," Justin said. "And I had to do a report last year on the arctic explorers. Cold can be really bad, and wet stuff is the worst."
They stumbled out into the Entrance Hall to find a crowd already gathering. Eric Bryce hurried over a cart loaded with goblets and a pair of cauldrons hanging over tiny purple flames.
"I was just about to send a search party for you lot," he informed them.
"You were?" Zacharias asked their prefect.
"It's my responsibility to know your schedules in case you need help finding your classrooms," Bryce said. "Although that's usually more a problem in the beginning of the year." He pulled out his wand and hit Harry's robes with a warm orangey-yellow colored spell that instantly left him dry. A second spell left his robes feeling toasty-warm and returned feeling to his legs, albeit a sharp pins-and-needles sensation.
"Anybody else get wet?"
"M-my f-foot," Susan Bones said, starting to shiver as well.
Bryce cast the same spells, then filled goblets from the first cauldron. "Pepper-up Potion, preventative measure against colds, ague, flös—"
"Flus?" Justin asked. "There's more than one?"
"Well, there's the flu, of course, but then there are also the flue, floo, and flew," Eric said sagely as the first year Hufflepuffs drank. Steam poured from all of their ears except for Ernie whose face got very red until he belched, releasing a cloud of steam and making a sound like a tea kettle left on the stove.
Goblets filled from the second cauldron were dispensed to Harry and Susan who immediately felt the last of the icy chill leave their bones.
"Excuse me! Coming through!"
The Hufflepuffs hurried to the side as an older student with a Ravenclaw house badge and the shield of a Prefect below it, hurried over to the corridor and waved his wand. A shimmering barrier appeared, blocking the passage before water could flow into the Entrance Hall. As they watched, water began to rise on the other side of the barrier.
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"We aren't sure," the Prefect said. "We think someone opened some kind of portal to the Black Lake. One of the first-year Slytherin girls said that the windows in their common room exploded, but I'm not sure anyone could have gotten out of their common room if that were the case and so far there are no signs that anyone is seriously hurt."
Someone screamed and another person cried: "Look!"
They turned as water came thundering down the Grand Staircase in a swirl of frothy white. Upper years conjured blocks of stone, wooden walls, or shimmering magical shields and the channeled water went crashing out the main doors. The Entrance Hall was split roughly in two by a torrent of rushing water.
"Where did that come from?" Justin demanded.
"The third-level north-east dungeons have a stair that leads down to the second left-hand corridor on the fourth floor," Bryce said. By now Harry had learned enough of Hogwarts bizarre internal geography that even though he couldn't picture the staircase he was not at all confused by the impossibility of this sentence.
"But the water is coming from the second floor!" Ernie objected.
"Right," the Prefect said. "There's a cross-passage to there, right-hand side corridor…"
"But there's a cross-corridor that should have filled first and it lets out there," Bryce pointed to the second, smaller staircase. "There hasn't been any water from that side."
"Flood Control probably already Sealed it off," the other Prefect said. He nodded a parting to Bryce and hurried off.
"Flood Control?" Harry asked Bryce.
"Oh sure. The Prefects are briefed in on all sorts of contingency plans. Tsunamis, volcanoes, barbarian hordes… I have to get going, duty calls."
"Harry, you alright, mate?" Justin asked as Harry watched Bryce leave with his cart of cauldrons.
"For once I wish there really was a map of Hogwarts," Harry said. "There's something…odd. We need to find Cedric and Tonks. Maybe they know something."
Tonks was nowhere to be seen, but Cedric flew into the hall from one of the upper landings that were now cut off by the Grand Staircase Rapids. He was just setting down with the diminutive Charms Professor riding quillon behind him when Harry, Justin and Ernie ran up. Flitwick nodded a brief thanks to Cedric and went off to shore up the spells directing the Grand Staircase Rapids of the Hogwarts River.
"Harry?" Cedric asked as they pulled up. "I was worried, I thought you'd be down in Potions."
"We're all right," Harry assured him.
"Harry jumped in," Ernie said. "It was awesome," he added, a little time and the giant river putting enough space between the memory of the event and the event itself to make it seem far more exciting and less scary than it had been at the moment.
"Cedric," Harry said in a hurry. "Water is flowing from the dungeons down a stair to the second left-hand corridor on the fourth floor."
"Right, a cross-passage from there to the right-hand-side corridor on the second," Cedric said.
"But there's a cross-corridor that's—"
"Blocked, I was going to fly through it when bringing Flitwick down but someone had already blocked…it…off…" a funny look crossed his face.
"What?" Harry demanded. "What is it?"
"They aren't on the same plane," Cedric said. "The cross-corridor, that one," he pointed to the dry staircase, "it's a half-level lower. It should have flooded out first, but it was totally dry. Someone must have been right there to block it off so fast."
"And?" Ernie asked.
"And since Halloween most of the accesses to the Forbidden Corridor have been blocked off," Cedric said. "The second-hand-right corridor on the fourth has a staircase, and there is a trick mirror in that flooded corridor. Those are the only permanent entrances still open that I know of. All the rest are only at certain times."
"You think this is an attempt to get the…whatever it is?" Ernie asked in a quiet voice. "Seems a bit much, don't you think?"
Harry frowned. "That or Snape—"
"And Blackthorn," Ernie said.
Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Most of the others had taken to calling Allie by her last name, but he couldn't do that.
Ron and Hermione, were sure that Allie was working with Snape, and Ernie and Justin, Harry knew, had tolerated her more because she was Harry's friend than because they liked her. Parvati avoided the issue whenever it came up. Her sister, on the other hand, was firmly convinced that they were all being idiots. Padma was the only one of them who still regularly spent time with the Slytherin. Tonks had flatly told them that she hadn't heard anything to convince her one way or the other, but while she and Allie were still more or less on speaking terms there weren't a whole lot of occasions for a first-year Slytherin and a seventh-year Hufflepuff to socialize.
"Anyway," he finished lamely, "Snape could be taking advantage of the situation."
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"Quickly."
Quirrell bit back the response the statement so richly deserved, but The Master heard it anyway. Dark laughter rippled inside his mind like rusty iron nails scraped on a blackboard. The door was quickly opened and as expected the half-breed's monstrous dog was waiting, fully as foul as its breeder.
It was at this point that Snape had surprised them last time. Only barely had they been able to slip aside and hide so that the Traitor had gone through the open door in what he believed to be pursuit. He had pushed the door closed and The Master had been most pleased. Even though the Traitor had survived they had learned that the door could not be opened with magic, which would be most useful once The Master had the Artifact.
Quirrell raised his wand and loosed a blasting spell. The Killing Curse would be far more efficient, it was impossible to miss at this short range against a target so large. But to use it would alert Dumbledore immediately. While many of the traps were known, some would take time to work past and still others remained. Discretion was call for…for now.
Nothing happened.
"Again, Fool," The Master hissed.
"Inferno," Quirrell hissed the high-level flame-curse. Again, nothing happened.
"What is it? Why aren't you casting?"
"Something is interfering with magic," Quirrell said flatly from the shelter of the doorway. This close the dog could not get at him and he still kept the door open just in case.
"Tell me everything you see."
"There is a large three-headed dog, a trap-door in the floor, and runes on the walls," Quirrell said, and began to quickly describe the intricate rune-sequence. He was far from an expert in the subject, but he could identify enough of them and describe their relative positions.
"An anti-magic chamber," The Master said, sounding vaguely impressed. "It cannot extend far. Such a place is anathema to Hogwarts. Dumbledore profanes the Castle with its existence."
"What do you think we should do, Master?" Quirrell asked.
"We must find another way past this accursed dog," The Master informed him coldly. "The half-breed gamekeeper will know if anyone does. He always wanted a dragon, this will do for a way in."
"Master?"
"An egg, fool. For a dragon's egg, he will tell us all he knows about how to— Quickly, somebody is coming."
Quirrell just had time to slam the door closed when a voice asked from behind him.
"Professor Quirrell?"
Quirrell turned and blinked as he settled his assumed persona into place. "M-Ms. P-P-Patil, w-what are y-you d-d-doing here?"
"I thought Snape might be after whatever it is Headmaster Dumbledore is guarding here," the girl told him. "I got in just ahead of the waters."
Deal with her. The Master's voice whispered in the back of Quirrell's mind.
"S-Snape?" he asked, making his voice squeak as he pretended to shiver in fear at the name of the Traitor.
The girl stopped. "But I was right all along…and wrong," she whispered. "It wasn't Snape, was it?" the question was purely rhetorical. "It was you."
Quirrell stared at her for a moment, wondering what (besides the fact that he was at the entrance to the Forbidden Corridor) had given him away. She started to raise her wand but he was far faster and the disarming curse was so violently executed it broke her wrist at the same time it slammed her back into the wall.
A mild sound-dampening spell cut off her scream as he sent a bludgeoning spell to her face, then summoned her. He stepped aside and added a banishing spell as she flew past into the opposite wall.
She slumped to the ground, barely moving, and Quirrell walked over and kicked her twice for good measure. He could no more use the Cruciatus curse without alerting Dumbledore than he could use the Killing curse, but there were so many spells to choose from. His first one shattered her left knee. Two more curses followed.
"Enough." His Master snapped. "Toss her into the water and let her drown. There is not time enough for this."
Quirrell quickly opened a shut door. A shimmering barrier held back rushing water and he tossed the broken girl into it. He quickly used his wand to vanish the evidence of the fight, then used her wand to blank the magical memory of his own so that it could not be replayed. The girl's wand was snapped and tossed in after its owner.
He crossed to another hidden door and opened it and stepped through. Quirrell closed the door most of the way leaving it open just far enough to aim his wand and drop the two barriers holding back the water before he slammed it closed.
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"PADMA!"
At the cry every head in the Entrance Hall turned as one towards where Parvati Patil stood amongst a crowd of Gryffindors.
Harry looked around. All about him were black-robed students, but no sign of the Ravenclaw. The crowd was so thick, however, that he doubted he could have seen her if she was standing ten feet away. He only knew where Parvati was from her scream, not because he saw her.
He started shoving through the crowd with Ernie and Justin in tow.
In the middle of a cluster of Gryffindors, Professor McGonagall was trying to comfort a distraught Parvati while keeping an eye on the river and set up an effort to find the source of the flooding.
"He's got her!" the first-year screamed.
"Who has her?" McGonagall asked at the same time as Harry blurted "Snape?" and Ron asked, "Blackthorn?"
"What does Professor Snape have to do with this?" McGonagall demanded.
"I don't know who! The Dark Man. He's going to kill her!"
"We have to save her!" Ron shouted madly.
"Enough!" McGonagall glowered at Ron before fixing Parvati with a much less chilling look than she had given the other Gryffindor first-year. "Ms. Patil. I assure you, your sister is fine. Hogwarts is the safest place—"
"Look," someone said. But unlike the earlier shout this was a ghastly sort of gasp.
Harry turned to see a black spot in the white foam at the top of where the water fell down the stairs. Parvati gave a ragged moan and buried her face in his robes, but the rest of the hall watched in a kind of horrific silence as a dark-robed student went crashing down the Grand Staircase/Rapids and into the river.
"Oh, God…" Hermione, for once, had run out of things to say and Harry carefully passed Parvati to her and turned to Ron. "C'mon," he said, knowing Justin and Ernie were right behind him.
With the rest of the Hall just standing there he shoved his way to the riverbank and crawled up on a conjured marble ledge. Justin, without asking, grabbed his legs, and Ron and Ernie did the same thing next to him.
All Harry could tell was that it was another student of about his height with long-dark hair, and was floating motionlessly, face-down in the swift-flowing water. He managed to grab a fist-full of robe as it went by, and Ron got an arm and then—
They were all lifted up into the air and set down in a space clear of students.
McGonagall gave him a look that was half-chiding for his foolishness, half-approval for his action, and extremely stern.
"Padma!" Parvati screamed again, but McGonagall motioned for Hermione to hold the distraught girl back.
The Transfiguration Mistress waved her wand over the still form, then seemed to slump, though she remained just as erect as before, and mutely shook her head.
"No," Parvati said in a horrible gasp as her hands flew up. "No!"
"Move. Move, damn it. Let me through."
"Allie?" Harry asked as the Slytherin burst through a ring of onlookers and crouched next to the still girl.
"Help me turn her over," Allie said.
"It's too late," McGonagall said flatly. "She's dead."
Harry head Parvati gave a horrified little gasp as he helped Allie carefully turn his friend over. She wasn't moving. He looked up at Allie. "Are you—"
"She's only mostly dead," Allie said shortly. "No one is all dead until a qualified medical-witch or –wizard says so."
Harry swallowed as Allie pressed her mouth to Padma's. He knew, roughly what she was trying to do even if he didn't know how to do it. What made him feel sick however, were the injuries that covered Padma. One hand hung at an angle that nature did not intend. Teeth had been missing in the swollen maw of her mouth, and her nose and one cheekbone had been crushed. A large cut across her brow must have bled profusely if the pink-tinged skin of her face was anything to go by.
"She's dead…this is…"
Harry looked up at McGonagall who seemed torn between wanting to curse Allie or encourage her.
"If she is dead," Allie grunted as she positioned her hands on Padma's chest, "then it's not like I'm actually hurting anyone."
"That's sick," Harry murmured to himself to keep from distracting Allie.
"But—"
"Professor, with all due respect," Allie said between breaths, not sound at all respectful, "Are you a medi-witch? No? Well until one tells me to stop, or my arms fall off, I'm going to keep going."
"You can't…" McGonagall was still trying to find something to say.
"Actually, ma'am, she can," Hermione said unexpectedly, and Harry twisted to look up at where she was standing next to McGonagall. Her expression and tone were oddly detached—academic, really—from the situation, and she was still holding Parvati back. "If she can keep blood circulating so that the organs, especially the brain, don't start to die from oxygen starvation…but we don't know how long she was in the water."
McGonagall gave her a withering look.
"Even if it wasn't that long, it isn't a permanent solution," Hermione went on, staring back at where He and Allie were hovering over the still form of Padma. "CPR only on rare occasions is enough on its own. You need something to get the heart to start beating again."
"Think faster, Granger," Allie grunted as she started doing chest compressions again, then, in a louder voice added. "And I had better not be the only bloody person in the bloody hall who bloody well knows CPR until Granger came come up with something!"
"Cardiac arrhythmias such and ventricular fibrillation and ventricular tachycardia can be treated with defibrillation."
"Granger!"
"Um…an electrical impulse—"
"We're kneeling in water, Hermione!" Harry protested.
"I can help."
Harry turned as the same Ravenclaw Prefect from earlier, pushed through the ring of onlookers and knelt opposite Allie.
"Take over on compressions," Allie said between breaths.
"I'm taking over on compressions," the boy repeated.
"What else, Hermione?" Harry asked.
"I don't know!" Hermione snapped at him. "I suppose somebody's created a spell for it but I don't know it."
"I should bloody well hope not," came a half-muttered response pitched just loud enough to carry over the roar of the rushing river as the crowd parted in front of a swan-shaped-hat-wearing medi-witch. "Sweet and Merciful Merlin," Madam Pomfrey whispered, then, in a clinically precise tone, asked, "status?"
"CPR has been going on for approximately three minutes," Allie said.
The Prefect looked up, "Broken right wrist and knee—"
"The superficial injuries can wait," Madam Pomfrey said severely and raised her wand. "Back away."
Harry tried to sit on his heels but fell back onto his butt into a puddle of freezing-cold water as a beam of soft blue-white light connected Madam Pomfrey's wand and Padma.
"Have a pulse," Allie reported, checking Padma as soon as the beam of light flickered out. "Still no—"
Padma lurched and started to choke. The Prefect and Allie rolled her over and Padma spewed water out onto the floor and Allie's robes.
"Hold her like that," Madam Pomfrey ordered, quickly conjuring up a stretcher before drying their robes with a flick of her wand.
"Get her legs," the Prefect told Harry.
"The girl is freezing cold," Harry heard Madam Pomfrey tell McGonagall as they rolled Padma onto the stretcher.
"I need access to my hospital wing as quickly as possible, Minerva." She paused and looked around. "And conjure some screens please; this isn't a carnival sideshow attraction!"
"Madam Pomfrey!" Another Prefect, a girl Harry didn't know with a Gryffindor badge, came running up.
"More injuries?" Pomfrey asked grimly.
"Nothing worse than a broken leg," the Prefect said. "We, uh, set up an aid station in that side room where First Years are held until they're ready to be Sorted."
"Well at least someone is showing some common sense," the medi-witch said. "Let us go. My Hospital Wing, Minerva, don't forget. Get me as soon as a way is clear, any way at all."
She hurried off, the stretcher following in her wake, and Parvati nearly dragging Hermione after.
"That was pretty quick thinking."
Harry turned.
"Drew Maylard," the Prefect said.
"Harry Potter," Harry said, offering his hand which the Prefect shook.
"Elissa Blackthorn, thanks for joining in."
"I never thought I'd need it." He saw Harry's confusion and explained, "My mum's muggleborn and she insisted I learn how to do stuff without magic as well as with." He gave a ruthful grin, "I can just hear her now, 'I told you so!'" he squawked. He shook his head, "The only place to really learn the high-end medical magic is if you apprentice as a Healer."
"Healer?" Harry asked.
"Sort of like a muggle doctor," the older boy said. "A lot of Healing magic is really easy to abuse. You have to know how curses work before you can undo them. That's about the width of a cat hair from being an expert in the Dark Arts. There are all sorts of magically binding Oaths to make sure that doesn't happen of course, but it also means that medi-witches and healers aren't capable of fighting, their oaths don't let them. Anyway, that's why you won't find any spells like Madam Pomfrey just did in the library, not even the Restricted Section."
"Oh," Harry said. "Is that what you're going to do?"
"Probably," he said, then shrugged. "Of course, I also have an offer from Miskatonic U to study trans-dimensional metaphysics," he grinned at them. "I hope your friend is all right," he added before wandering away.
They sat for several minutes, then Allie pushed herself up. "I guess I'll see you around, Harry."
"Allie, wait," Harry said, rising to his feet. "Can we…can we talk?"
She gave him a guarded look before slowly nodding her head. "Sure, don't think I can manage quiet or private, mind," she said, sweeping a hand out in a gesture that encompassed the roaring river and the noisy crowd of students that filled the Entrance Hall.
"That's fine," Harry said. "How about over here?" he walked over to where large blocks of stone were channeling the water out the main doors. McGonagall had left the hall and was carving out a river-bed that directed the water around and down into the little cave that served as a harbor for the charmed rowboats that had taken them across the lake months before. They sat down and Allie gave him an expectant look, but Harry didn't know where to start so he said nothing.
"Harry."
"How do you think she's going to be?" he asked quickly.
Allie gave him a look that clearly said that she knew that this wasn't what he wanted to talk about, but after a moment she shrugged. "I don't know. I know the mundanes have a couple of cases where a person wasn't breathing for a half-hour or more, but all of those involved emersion in really cold water. Like, frozen-over cold. I suppose it depends how long she wasn't breathing, how long her heart stopped, whether or not the water was cold enough or if she was in it long enough. She was breathing on her own, that's a good sign, and Madam Pomfrey is a fine medi-witch."
For Harry it was like things were almost back to normal. That the problems between him and Allie had never happened and they were just sitting in companionable silence. It reminded him of that first night, sitting in her flat after crisscrossing London and using a motel to take a saltwater bath to get rid of tracking magic.
"You can believe whatever you want, Harry," Allie told him after several minutes of silence. "All I knows is that I'm not your enemy, and neither I nor, to the best of my knowledge, Professor Snape are after whatever it is that Dumbledore has hidden away. If you can't open your mind to that possibility, you and your friends are going to be in a lot more danger than you are already…unless you think what happened to Padma was just an accident."
Harry stared at her. "You mean…you think someone did all of this," he gestured to the Grand Staircase Rapids, "just to beat up Padma?"
Allie gave him a look that coming from Hermione would have made him feel like he was being extra dense. But in that case it would have also been accompanied by a lecture. Allie just looked at him, and then explained.
"No," she said. "I know what caused the flooding and that was purely accidental and almost impossible to time accurately enough to be a set up. What I think is that someone saw an opportunity and tried to take advantage of it. I think Padma either saw who it was, or saw enough to figure it out, and that person or persons tried to kill her to keep it secret. Tried, and came very close to succeeding.
"Dumbledore is playing a dangerous game, Harry. We don't know who is on the other side, but we, the students, are caught between both and that is a very dangerous place for us to be. I fully intend to keep my head down."
"Allie," Harry said after a moment.
"Mmm?"
"About that night, back in September when we were doing that prank and I messed up with the circles. I saw…stuff."
She nodded slowly. "The third eye. It can cut through many illusions, even those made of flesh and blood that we show the world. It can allow you to see inside, see people as they really are."
"I saw you, you looked—"
Allie held up a hand and Harry paused. "Seeing someone like that is personal, Harry. And it's how you interpret what you see. What you see would be vastly different than what Granger would see, or Cedric would see."
"There she is!"
Harry blinked as Draco Malfoy glared down at them, pointing at Allie.
"She tried to kill me!"
Allie looked up and gave the other boy a baleful look.
"What do you want, Mr. Malfoy?"
"I," Malfoy said grandly, "challenge you to a duel."
"You cannot be serious," she said.
"Do you refuse my challenge?" Malfor sneered.
"I have no reason to accept," Allie said.
"She is quite correct," said a thin-faced boy that Harry didn't know, but who wore a Slytherin house badge. "First, an insult must have been offered. Second, you're supposed to send a letter first asking for an apology, or at the very least, leave it to the Seconds to sort out the particulars."
"She tried to murder me!" Malfoy cried.
"Still saying no."
Draco sneered, "When my father hears about this he'll make sure that—"
"Everyone who listens to him will wonder why Lucius Malfoy is bothering to slander a first year," Allie finished. "Those with two or more brain cells to rub together will figure out it's because his son is unable to do more than run to daddy when he doesn't get his way." She shook her head, "go away, Draco, before you make yourself look anymore foolish. If such a thing is possible."
Harry was taken aback. As much as he enjoyed seeing Malfoy being taken down a peg, he had never heard Allie talk down to anyone, or with such deep scorn in her voice.
"Affairs of Honor are private matters," Malfoy said loftily. "If anyone speaks of it, it shall not be a Malfoy. But know this, your affront to Malfoy Honor will not go unanswered."
"Affront to Malfoy honor?" Zabini asked before Harry could asked Allie what Malfoy was talking about.
"Her rejection of my very generous offer—"
"Is that what you are calling…that?" Allie spat, rocketing to her feet.
"Of course," Malfoy said, sounding rather puzzled.
Allie's hand clenched and for a moment it looked as though she were about to strike the other boy. "I admit," she said in very formal tones, "that it has been some time since I last read the Accords, but I seem to recall a duel being the Court of last resort. Used only when other methods of recourse are unable to resolve the situation. Is that not the case, Mr. Zabini?"
"It is," Zabini said.
"In that case gentlemen, if you will comes with me?"
Harry looked at Allie's retreating back, then at Zabini as he hurried after her. He didn't know the other boy well. Hufflepuff and Slytherin didn't have many shared classes and the other boy only rarely spoke in class. "What is going on?" he asked.
Zabini gave him a sideways look as they threaded through the milling students. "Malfoy's trying to back her into a duel."
"You mean a fight? With magic?" Harry asked.
"Formalized fight, yes." Zabini said, giving Harry an odd look.
"Why?" Harry asked.
Zabini shrugged. "Apparently he thinks she tried to kill him."
Harry wanted to ask more, but by that time Allie had found Professor McGonagall.
"What is it?" The Head of Gryffindor was unusually brisk as Allie approached.
"I need to speak with Professor Snape immediately," Allie said.
"Can't you see we are dealing with a crisis here, Ms. Blackthorn."
"The situation seems well in hand," Allie noted.
"Professor Snape is repairing the breach in the Slytherin common room, Ms. Blackthorn."
"Headmaster Dumbledore then."
"The Headmaster is with Professor Snape," McGonagall said. "Can this not wait?"
"No, Professor, it really cannot," Allie replied. "Mr. Malfoy gave me insult and—"
"We are in the middle of dealing with a flooding castle," Professor McGonagall said in a short, furious voice. "A number of your fellow students are injured, some of them severely. Ms. Patil is a close friend of yours, I believe. And you interrupt my time with this?"
"It was a truly vile and odious insult, madam," Zabini said in a lofty tone. "Positively obscene."
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Zabini," Professor McGonagall said coolly. "I'm not sure what you want me to do about this, Ms. Blackthorn. But unless a Professor or a Prefect saw something there is little I can do."
"I see, Professor," Allie said seriously. "Thank you." Then, before Harry of even McGonagall could do anything, she whirled on her heel. Her fist started somewhere from the orbit of Mars, and a sharp crack was heard over the rushing water as Malfoy was thrown to the floor.
"Allie!"
"Ms. Blackthorn!" McGonagall hissed. "In all of my years—detention!"
Harry gave the enraged transfiguration professor a nervous glance as Allie apparently ignored her to ask Zabini in a cool voice: "I believe that the Accords state that a blow can answer for an insult?"
"Indeed they do," Zabini allowed.
"Then a detention is worth it," Allie said, gingerly massaging her right hand. "We're even, Malfoy. Honor is satisfied. Do you wish for me to stop by your office once things have…gotten dryer to settle the particulars for that detention, Professor?"
"Detention? I demand she be expelled. I won't be satisfied with less."
Harry looked at Malfoy whose cheek was very pink and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he picked himself up off the floor.
"You cannot be serious."
"You physically assault another student, Ms. Blackthorn. And did it in front of the Deputy Headmistress," McGonagall observed coolly. "However, Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Blackthorn's punishment has been settled."
"My father is on the Board of Governors," Malfoy said in a high-pitched voice that sounded to Harry to be very close to a whine. "When he finds out that you allowed a muggleborn to get away with attempted murder and only gave her a detention for assaulting—"
Harry watched with much the same horrified silence that makes people stop and stare at really bad vehicle accident. The temperature seemed to drop—though that could have been a side-effect of the icy-cold mist thrown up by the river streaming through the Entrance Hall—as Professor McGonagall looked ready to explode.
"Accepted."
Harry gave Allie a quizzical look as with that one word the tension not so much broke as it…shifted. McGonagall, who had looked ready to erupt, actually seemed to slightly stumble, and Malfoy was left looking very confused.
"What are you talking about, Blackthorn?" Malfoy asked.
"You demanded satisfaction, yes?" Allie asked. "I accept."
"Dueling on Hogwarts grounds is strictly forbidden," an unsmiling Professor McGonagall said sternly.
"I'm sure our Seconds will bear that in mind, Professor McGonagall. I wouldn't want to be accused of making light of Hogwarts' rules," Allie said seriously. "I believe that all of the proper forms are now in order, Mr. Zabini, and that our Seconds are supposed to see to the details?"
"Yes," Zabini said, giving the furious transfiguration teacher a furtive look. "That's correct."
"Your Second, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Goyle," Malfoy hissed. "Goyle will be my second."
"Mr. Zabini, I believe that I am accorded two?"
"Up to three, actually, Draco is as well."
"That's okay," Allie told him, "One is fi—"
"Allie," Harry cut in, "I'll be your Second, if you want."
Allie stopped and looked at him. "Seriously?"
"If you want," Harry said. "I, um, I'm not sure what I'd have to do…"
"Nothing much, really," Zabini said. "If his Seconds try to interfere we have to stop them, but we can find a good Master of the Field to make sure all of those particulars stay in order and I can see to the actual requirements of the duel itself. Mostly you'd just lend moral support."
Harry nodded. "As I was saying, Allie, if you want me."
"As amusing as Potter's ignorance is—"
"Malfoy, do be a dear, shut up and wait your turn," Allie said. She turned back to Harry. "If you're serious about it, then I'd be honored to have you." She gave Malfoy a sideways look, "Your most important job will be trying to convince him to apologize so that I don't have to kill him. His Second tries to get me to ignore the insults, but I doubt Goyle is capable of doing more than grunting."
"You'd kill him?" Harry blurted. "Seriously?"
"What exactly did you think you were getting yourself involved in, Mr. Potter? A round of fisticuffs?" McGonagall asked. "The Headmaster will not let this stand."
"Perhaps, Madam," Allie allowed.
"Two, then," Zabini said. "Do you have a second, Draco?"
Draco glared at him.
"In that case, I think we should select a potential Master of the Field," Zabini continued, shooting McGonagall another hesitant look. It appeared that the Professor was going to stand and observe for now, though only a fool couldn't tell she was unhappy about it.
"We shall ask Mr. Nott."
"Mr. Nott is a close associate of your father's, I believe," Allie replied. "Perhaps Professor Dumbledore."
"That old man would never agree," Malfoy said scornfully. "Professor Snape."
"Who just happens to be your Godfather," Zabini interjected. "Try to show yourself capable of some honor, man. Professor Flitwick."
"Fine!" Malfoy snapped and stalked away.
"So now what happens?" Harry asked.
McGonagall started to reply, but a shout drew all of their attention away. At the staircase at the top of the rapids, the water flow was reduced to a trickle, and then gone completely.
A moment later, Dumbledore appeared in the doorway. He walked down the stairs, his wand swishing before him, drying out the stairs and floor while simultaneously vanishing the blocks that had directed the River Hogwarts out through the front doors.
"I believe, Professor McGonagall, we could do with canceling further classes for the day," Dumbledore said.
McGonagall gave him a pinched-lip frown.
The rest of the hall burst into applause.
"Yes, yes, well done to you all," Dumbledore said.
Madam Pomfrey, Harry saw, was already hurrying Padma out of the hall towards the hospital wing. Parvati was following close behind. The rest of the hall was likewise starting to empty, so Harry grabbed Allie's uninjured hand and pulled her towards the Hufflepuff common room.
"Not so fast."
A hand clamped on his shoulder stopping him in mid-flight.
"Is there a problem, Professor McGonagall?" Dumbledore asked.
"These four were about to partake in a duel," McGonagall said severely.
"Dueling is expressly forbidden in the halls of Hogwarts," Dumbledore said.
"A place hasn't been set yet," Allie said.
"Be that as it may, I am sure that this is all just a simple misunderstanding."
"She tried to kill me!" Malfoy screeched.
Dumbledore turned to Allie and Harry.
"She asked me to be her Second," Harry said quickly. "I'm apparently supposed to get him," he nodded towards Malfoy, "to apologize so that she doesn't have to kill him."
Dumbledore raised one bushy eyebrow and his eyes twinkled.
"She struck me!" Malfoy yelled.
"I can attest to that much, Headmaster," McGonagall said unhappily.
She was unhappy about the whole affair, but Harry thought she seemed to be particularly upset about having to take Malfoy's side.
"After you accused me of being an incompetent murderer," Allie said.
"There was a graphic insult, Headmaster," Zabini said in an extremely formal tone, "of sufficient nature that Ms. Blackthorn was well within her rights to demand satisfaction of Mr. Malfoy. She did her utmost within honor to avoid such a necessity. Only when Mr. Malfoy challenged her, and then threatened to use the influence of his friends and relatives against Hogwarts, the Staff, and herself did she agree."
"What kind of insult could possibly warrant challenging an eleven year old boy?" McGonagall demanded.
Zabini half-bowed. "With respect, Madam, it was an insult so odious, so vile, that to utter it again even to report the conversation—"
Allie crossed her arms. "He said that if I was nicer to him and did all of his magical-theory homework in charms and transfiguration that he'd let me have the honor of being his second mistress once he graduated."
Dumbledore's mouth disappeared into his bushy mustache and beard. He didn't seem to know what to say, which, Harry suspected, probably didn't happen all that often.
"You didn't," McGonagall said, her lips pressed even tighter than Harry remembered them being on Halloween as she gave Malfoy her most stern look.
"I didn't say anything about her cheating for me," Malfoy sniffed. "Besides, my father says that every wizard of good standing should have at least three or four."
Harry relaxed slightly as the two professors focused on Malfoy and Allie's familiar smirk returned.
"He actually said this to you?" McGonagall asked.
"Yes," Allie said seriously. "The homework was, I admit, only implied, but the rest was said out loud…in the Slytherin common room…in front of witnesses. I was getting ready to demand an apology when the window that looked out into the lake gave way."
"While that is ground for a formal duel, it is hardly fair to challenge an eleven year old boy."
"Allie didn't challenge him, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said. "As Zabini said, Malfoy challenged her, for the attempted murder thing, I think."
"I had planned to ask only for an apology," Allie allowed. "I hoped to come to you or Professor Snape so that things wouldn't be so…public, but Professor McGonagall made it clear that both you and he were…unavailable."
McGonagall gave Dumbledore a grudging nod.
"But she refused to address the matter of the insult since neither a Professor nor a Prefect witnessed it, and then Mr. Malfoy accused me of attempted murder. I admit that I struck him then, for the insults had come so close together and were so much to bear. She gave me detention for it, which I will gladly submit to."
McGonagall gave another grudging nod.
"You will apologize for the blow?" Dumbledore said.
"Certainly, in full accordance with the Code," Allie said.
"You will?" Harry asked. "But I thought—"
"The Code requires that the first apology must be for the first insult, and that all apologies come in the order of subsequent insults," Zabini offered. He turned to Harry and added, "That's why our job, Potter, is so important."
Harry turned to Dumbledore expectantly. If first insult offered was the first apologized to, the Headmaster could order Malfoy to apologize and then Allie could, and this whole matter could be cleaned up without anyone getting hurt. Well, other than Malfoy after getting hit by Allie.
"Draco is much too young to be issuing a challenge," Dumbledore said slowly.
"But not too young to issue gross insults?" Allie asked.
Harry hesitated, then moved over to Zabini. "I'm not even sure what the insult was about," he admitted in a low tone.
"A mistress is sort of like a wife, but without any legitimacy," the Slytherin told him in a low voice. "Some wizards have them, but in polite society they are ignored. A second mistress would be regarded even less well than the first. I'm not sure if she'd told you this, but Blackthorn's family is old. Really old."
"Thanks."
Zabini nodded to him. "This really caught you cold, didn't it? I mean, the Potters are another old family, even if they didn't run in the same circles."
"I wasn't raised by my parents so…" Harry shrugged. "Can we really get involved in duels? I mean, I hardly know any magic."
"That's the Headmaster's point, and normally I wouldn't think so. Or at least there aren't any of us stupid enough to do so. There are rules to make things fair which means that mostly people our age don't get involved with duels. If Blackthorn had challenged Malfoy it would probably be dismissed. Dueling as a whole is really seen as outdated these days anyway, or at least it is by a lot of wizards and witches. But Malfoy challenged her and the insult really was graphic, not to mention that whole thing about his father being one of the Governors"
Harry nodded and turned back to where Allie was talking to Dumbledore.
"…the responsibility of the Head of his House to apologize when he makes such an egregious violation of all codes of public decency."
"She doesn't mean Snape, does she?" he asked to Zabini.
"Lucius Malfoy, Malfoy's father and the Head of House Malfoy," Zabini said with a shake of his head.
"There are other options."
"A champion," Allie said mildly. "I'm sure Lucius Malfoy can hire the best."
Now it was Malfoy's turn to smirk at Harry.
"Oh, that was low," Zabini muttered.
"What?"
"She implied that Lucius would hire a, well, what's known as a professional duelist. Since she's only a first year, apprenticed or not, it'd be murder-for-hire, basically. Insulting and very, very illegal. Probably about right, though."
Harry didn't like the situation, not one bit. A glance at McGonagall made him pretty sure that she felt much like he did. Malfoy's father had loads of money. He could find and hire a 'champion' that would certainly be able to kill Allie.
"And do you think that he won't do just that?" Dumbledore asked.
"If Malfoy is too young to issue a challenge—"
"I am not too young!"
"—then what need is there for a champion? A parent remains, however, responsible for ill-chosen words of their child." She glanced sideways at Malfoy. "Either Mr. Malfoy can apologize, or the senior Mr. Malfoy can make a public apology for his son's insult."
"Apologize for what?" Malfoy asked. "Fine, so I should have gone to Professor Snape. That doesn't change the fact that she tried to kill me, and when my father hears about this—"
"Enough!" Allie snapped. "I am the insulted and challenged party. I am going to have to insist that any apology he makes is formal and public."
"There is another option, Professor Dumbledore," McGonagall said quickly.
Everyone turned to look at her.
"Minerva?" Dumbledore asked.
"If the professors dealt with the initial situation?" she suggested.
"That would be acceptable, Professor," Allie said. "Provided it was dealt with firmly enough, that some statement regarding the egregious insult was made so the people know why, and that Malfoy, and his father, agree. In writing. By your leave, Headmaster?"
Harry watched her turn and stalk away before Dumbledore could respond.
"You expect me to apologize to that?" Malfoy sneered. "When my father hears about how she attempted to murder me and you let her get away with it—"
"Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his voice rolling like distant thunder. "While your father does indeed sit on the Board of Governors, I am Headmaster of Hogwarts. You would do will to remember that. I have returned from the Slytherin House and determined that the failure of the window was an accident, a relatively harmless one considering some of the accidents that have happened in classes past and will happen in classes yet to come, and that there was no malice involved." He paused and looked at Harry. "You can go, Harry, Mr. Zabini."
"Come on," Zabini said.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked, following the other boy across the hall.
"We need to talk to Professor Flitwick."
The diminutive charms professor was overseeing the removal of the blocks and shields that had channeled the River Hogwarts, and the drying of the former riverbed.
"Professor Flitwick?" Zabini asked.
Flitwick look from Zabini, then to Harry, and back. "Is something the trouble, boys?"
"Can we talk in private, sir?" Zabini asked.
Flitwick put a seventh year Ravenclaw Prefect—the same one that had helped Allie with CPR, Harry noted—in charge and led them over to the same room that he had waited in three and a half months before while waiting to be Sorted. There were a couple of potion vials and some conjured bandages laying around, and in one corner was Bryce's cart with its steaming cauldrons, all the evidence that remained of its use as a temporary medical ward.
"What is it?" Flitwick happened.
"Draco Malfoy challenged Elissa Blackthorn to a duel," Zabini said. "They've agreed to ask you to be the Master of the Field."
"Stars and Stones…why?" Flitwick asked. "Tell me everything?"
"Malfoy insulted her. It was…really bad. The Headmaster knows, but it isn't the kind of thing…" he shrugged.
"Understandable," Flitwick said softly.
"Anyway, that was the window that looks into the lake blew."
"Afterwards, Malfoy came up to us and accused Allie of trying to murder him with it, the exploding window and the water I mean," Harry added. "Professor Dumbledore says that that was an accident."
"Malfoy tried to challenge her for that. I think he just wanted a straight-out fight without any sort of official rules," Zabini added.
"That is hardly grounds for a duel, boys," Flitwick said sternly.
"I know, sir," Zabini said. "But the initial insult remained and when we went to Professor McGonagall Malfoy…made comments about this father being on the Board of Governors."
Harry frowned, remembering another point that seemed very important to him. "We're supposed to try and convince Malfoy to apologize so she can apologize for slapping him and we can all walk away from this,"
"And you want me to make sure that if your negotiations for apologies fail that all of the appropriate forms are followed at the duel itself?" Professor Flitwick asked.
"Essentially."
"And you both are Seconds to Ms. Blackthorn?"
"Correct, sir," Zabini said.
"I can do nothing until I am contacted by Mr. Malfoy's Seconds, of course," Flitwick said. "After that I am going to need to think about it for a few days at least. I will certainly need to talk with the Headmaster so that I can take a temporary leave since, as a Professor of Hogwarts, I am not allowed to take part in any duels in any role. But if I am convinced of the rightness of it, I will surely consider it."
"Thank you, Professor, that's all we can ask," Zabini said quickly.
"Well," the other boy told Harry once they were out of the room. "I'm going to need to talk with my mother. I've never really examined all of the Accords. She, however, was in a duel a couple of years ago so she should know the relevant parts."
"I'll let Hedwig know so that we can stay in contact."
"Hedwig? Oh, is that the name of your owl?" Zabini asked. "Don't bother, I can use one of the family owls to get post here."
"All right then," Harry said.
"Something wrong?"
"I guess," Harry stopped. "Yes, I don't know what is going on. I mean, I know what, what I don't understand is why."
"Ooh boy," Zabini said. "You remember how I said that dueling was considered old-fashioned?"
Harry nodded.
"Well Malfoy's father is a traditionalist, and the Malfoys are one of the oldest, richest, and most influential families in the country. The Thornes—that's her real last name."
"I'm not sure it is," Harry said. "She said something about only the head of family and her immediate family being called Thorne—"
Zabini nodded. "My point is the Thornes are the oldest family in the country. They're wealthy and powerful, but they keep to themselves so no one really knows how wealthy and most of that influence is theoretical."
Harry nodded.
"Back in Merlin's time it wasn't uncommon for two wizards who were upset with each other to fight it out. That's how the muggles got their stories of wizards shooting spells at each other. As the risk of our world being exposed grew, duels became less popular. There's actually an international effort underway to get them banned. For now, however, they still remain a legal recourse.
"But because they are a legal recourse, it means other legal avenues are closed once a challenge has been accepted. The Wizengamot can't put her on trial for attempted murder, for example, even if there was enough evidence for them to try. It doesn't matter if she wins, he wins, or they both apologize and drop the challenge. Likewise she can't file suit against Malfoy for slander over the insult."
"I can get most of that," Harry said. "But why did she hit him? I mean, she didn't just haul off, it was thought out and deliberate, and in front of a teacher."
"The Accords govern all aspects of duels. They outline what grounds are appropriate, the roles Seconds play, the role of the Master of the Field, how grounds and implements are to be chosen… They're complex, and a lot of things need to happen, or not happen, to get to the point where a duel is actually fought. Most challenges are resolved well before it comes to actually fighting a duel."
"So they try to keep things from getting to the point of a duel?" Harry asked.
"Exactly."
"How does that make sense? Wait, it tries to limit the number of duels so the mundanes have less chance of noticing us, right?"
"Got it in one," Zabini said with a nod. "To get back to your question though, there is a…scale. There are levels and degrees of insult, is something personally insulting, does it insult a host, does it insult a family's honor… As I said, the insult was sufficient that if she wanted Allie could have challenged Malfoy, she demanded an apology, which can satisfy all insults though depending on degree the insulted party can make certain conditions."
"Public," Harry said.
Zabini nodded. "It became too public for a simple apology, so she tried to underplay it by answering the insult with a blow. If Malfoy had been smart he'd have taken it and kept his mouth shut and she would have served the detention from McGonagall. From what my mother's told me, the current Mistress of Thornes would be really pissed about it, but wouldn't really be able to do anything."
"But Malfoy threatened to go to his father who is on the Board of Governors," Harry said.
"And that's a big no-no," Zabini said. "Going to outside parties to influence decisions like that is a major breach of the Accords. By accepting Malfoy's challenge she prevented Malfoy from withdrawing the remark and made it look like she was accepting to spare the Hogwarts staff. And in the same blow she made the Malfoy family owe her for preserving their honor from Malfoy's mistake. Not only that, it spares them any legal difficulties from the incident should anyone decide to try pressing charges."
\|/\|/\|/
Inquiring of the Fat Friar as he passed the ghost in the corridor led Harry to a back corner table in the library where Allie was sitting with a rather large book. Her right hand was wrapped in bandages. After observing her for a few minutes, Harry walked over and sat down.
"Are you okay?" Harry asked, gesturing to her hand.
"Bruised a couple of bones, the bandages can come off tomorrow." She looked up at him, "I suppose I really messed things up."
"Dumbledore said that the window in Slytherin was an accident," Harry said. "That's a good thing, right?"
Allie shrugged. "Malfoy's dad is on the Board of Governors. Accepting the challenge was probably a little much, but…" she shrugged again.
"So now what?" Harry asked, sitting down across from her.
"I thought Dumbledore was going to make Malfoy apologize, but that doesn't look like it's happening. I hope the Profs come up with a way out," Allie said. "If not, maybe Malfoy really will apologize."
"So you really don't want to have to fight him," Harry said. "I wondered."
"I don't want to kill him," Allie said grimly. "I can't use thaumaturgy in a duel. There's no way he's stupid enough to give me that kind of time during one and it'd be against the rules and all sense of decency to try setting up something before." She rolled up her sleeve to expose the rune-inscribed metal band Harry had only seen once before. "I'm not sure my control is good enough that I could wound him enough to end a duel. Not without risking killing him."
"What if you apologized and bowed out?" Harry asked.
"I'd do it in a heartbeat if I could," Allie said with a hollow laugh. "But I don' think I can without my grandmother would get involved. I really do not want her getting involved."
"Because she hates you?"
"Because she hates the Malfoys even more than she hates me," Allie said. "Something personal. She is…a very hateful person. She savors her grudges. She nurses them until they die of old age, then she has them stuffed and mounted and sits in her room surrounded by them, recalling each like they are old friends."
"I don't understand," Harry said. "If you don't want to kill Malfoy, and don't think your grandmother would let you out of it by apologizing, why get involved in a duel in the first place?"
"It's…complicated," Allie said. Harry didn't reply, and after a moment she sighed. "When Malfoy said what he did, I was so angry that even with the bindings my magic flared enough that Hogwarts' wards…flickered. They absorbed it rather than it lashing out with…terrible results. As a result the magic that held the glass firm, that kept the lake from shattering it…gave slightly. Once the first piece went the rest cascaded."
"So…you really did flood the Slytherin common room," Harry said slowly. "Unintentionally," he added quickly when she glared at him.
"People almost died. Padma was dead, for all intents and purposes," Allie said coldly, "I don't consider it funny."
Harry nodded slowly, "All right. I'm sorry."
She nodded tightly. "If I had thought Dumbledore would seriously have forced an apology out of him, I probably wouldn't have hit him. But…I wasn't sure that he would. I know he doesn't like or trust me, and I don't think the Lady of Thornes frightens him the way she does most people. I'm not sure if he knows more, or less, or just doesn't care…"
"Zabini called her the 'Mistress of Thornes'," Harry noted.
"Either is correct," Allie said. "It has to do with the Head of Family, but also more, there's Magic caught up in the title." She shook her head, "And I really don't want to spend a couple of hours talking about my family. Suffice to say that she could make a lot of peoples' lives miserable, especially mine. And she loathes the Malfoy family even worse than she does me. If Dumbledore didn't force that apology and I did nothing to answer the insult she could have told me to issue a challenge, or she could declare a blood-feud with the Malfoys and that would get really messy, or she could do worse.
"Hitting Malfoy was an attempt to settle things short of a duel. My Grandmother would have been pissed about it, but she wouldn't have done anything. And, honestly, I was so angry that I could feel the Bindings beginning to…slip."
Harry thought about this for a bit. There were obviously some major things influencing this, likely part of the family history she didn't want to talk about. And even if he did know it, it would only tell him why this was happening, not how to stop it. Still, if her grandmother was the driving force, perhaps Allie could remove herself from it somehow? "Can't you just ignore your grandmother, or have her kick you out of the family or something?"
"I don't think you quite realize what you're asking," Allie said dryly. "And I already thought about it and the answer is no. If we were talking about nearly any other of the old Pureblood families, I could go ahead and do just that. I'm not sure I would, mind, but the possibility would exist. But as far as the Thornes are concerned, no, she can't kick me out, and I can't kick myself out or just up and leave. Truth be told, I've gotten a great deal of satisfaction knowing that I'm going to get the last laugh in her little feud with me when she finally dies and I become the Lady of Thornes. Change the subject, Harry."
"Okay…what's that book you're reading?"
"A treatise by an early eighteenth century German alchemist named Dippel."
"Oh," Harry said, vaguely. It sounded like something Hermione or Padma (maybe) would pick up. "Interesting?"
"Not really."
"Did you study a lot of alchemy?"
"Not really," Allie said again. "I dabble a little, but that's about it. Alchemy is about a quest, really, and the end product isn't something that holds much interest for me. I use it from time to time when I need a precursor agent or something for a potion, but that's it."
"So Alchemy is like Potions?"
"It's…" Allie frowned and looked at him. "I suppose it's similar in method to Potions, but what it's trying to accomplish is different. Sort of like the difference between cooking and baking, one an art the other a science," She rose and walked three steps to a bookshelf and pulled out a book which she flipped open on the table and turned around so Harry could see it.
On the page in front of him was what looked like a stone tablet with a poem in seven stanzas carved into it.
"'tis true without lying, aye 'tis most certain and true," he read. "That which is above is also below, as that which's below is also above, and so they accomplish the Miracle of the One Thing."
He looked up at Allie, "just what does that mean?"
She laughed. "That, Harry, is the Emerald Tablet. It describes the Primordial Substance and its transmutations.
"It's… Alchemy in all of its forms comes down to one thing. It's a quest for knowledge. If you are able to perfect your understanding of alchemy, you will become empowered with the understanding to successfully complete the quest. The mundanes think it is a philosophical construct, but on at least three occasions in history has that construct been given form."
"What does it make?"
"The Philosopher's Stone," Allie said. "No, excuse me, the Primordial Substance that the Tablet describes is something that everything comes out of. The end-point of Alchemy, the end of the quest, is the Philosopher's Stone, which is a construct that can warp the laws of transfiguration and turn base metals into gold, and produces the elixir of life. Age does not touch the imbiber of the elixir, nor can pestilence afflict them."
"Neat," Harry said, peering down at the book.
"Do you really think so?" Allie asked. "This isn't some potion that you can throw together in a few hours. It is a Quest, a serious old-school Quest. People have spent their entire lives, thrown fortunes into it, and found nothing. In the end, like the other great Quests—the Holy Grail, the Golden Fleece, Psyche's search for Cupid, Soria Moria—those that find what they are seeking are the ones who have proved themselves worthy of discovering it. And of those who are worthy of the Stone, most don't bother pursuing it to the end because they'll have found out something about themselves and found that understanding is more valuable than gold and eternal life."
Harry frowned as something profound itched at the back of his mind. Something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but that he knew was important. After a minute of trying to figure out what it was, he set it aside and looked up at Allie, and in that moment the past month seemed to melt away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "About the past month. I…we weren't fair to you."
She shifted uncomfortably. "Weasley had a point, and I could have handled it better."
"You shouldn't have had to," Harry said.
Allie snorted, "Which was about all the point I tried to make. I still could have handled it better."
They traded looks, then both slowly smiled.