"Who are you, then?" Harry's capacity for shock had been rather exhausted by this point. The words had escaped in a sigh, exasperation weighing his tone.
"She won't leave." Sarchanie's triangular head appeared over the canopy of his bed, and she dropped down gracefully to land on his shoulder. "She popped into existence and disturbed my nap. She smells wrong."
"I don't smell like anything," the winged girl said, a small frown creasing her smooth brow. The way she glared at the dragon suggested the creature's words had wounded her.
"That's the problem," Sarchanie curled her tail around Harry's neck, glaring daggers at the interloper.
"Right...who are you, then?" Harry tried again, his tone easing up. Despite Sarchanie's warnings, the girl had yet to cause any trouble. As far as he could see, she was just a normal girl - no different than Hermione or Ginny. The human skull was of course an eerie touch, but Harry could only hope it wasn't real.
"I have a lot of names," she chimed, and began ticking them off on her fingers. "Mot, Thanatos, Śmierć, Hel, Santa Muerte - "
"What shall I call you, then?" Harry interrupted - it seemed like she could go on for a while.
"You'll know me as Death, I think." The girl's expression never changed. Her round eyes only looked up at him, portraying nothing but innocence.
"Death...right." It took him a moment, but slowly Harry's mind connected the dots. "The Hallows - "
"That's right," she cut in, nodding. She was stroking the yellowed skull, cradling it in her arms like a child. "You've mastered them, and thus - me."
"But I didn't master the wand," Harry objected with a frown. "Dumbledore still has it."
"He may possess it, but you've won its allegiance." She tilted her head and regarded him for an awkward, silent moment. Something about that gaze made Harry uncomfortable, chilled to the bone. "You're very young, aren't you?"
"I'm fifteen," Harry said, unable to keep the defensive tone from creeping into his voice. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Old," she replied with a bored sigh, and nodded down at her skull. "Older than him."
"You don't look very old."
"And you don't look very bright, but appearances can be deceiving, no?" Her quip was sharp, but before Harry could assume it was offensive, she flashed him a cheeky grin; it extended even, to her eyes.
Harry was certain that he heard Sarchanie stifle a serpentine chuckle, but when he looked at her she was curiously absorbed with inspecting the curtains that hung around his bed.
"Good one," Harry replied in a mirthless monotone. "So...what are you doing in my bed, exactly?"
"Waiting for you, of course." She said it as though it should have been obvious. "You're my master, now. I'm bound to follow your orders."
"So you're - a slave? A servant?" Harry frowned, trying to wrap his head around it. When he had learned that uniting the Hallows would make him the master of Death, this wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind.
"In a manner of speaking," Death's brow creased in another frown at Harry's choice of words. "It's a bit more complicated than that. I'm bound to follow your orders, but I still have my purpose to carry out. Nothing I do for you can interfere with that."
"You mean killing people."
"Guiding souls across the veil," she countered. This time her smile did not reach her eyes. "They're already dead when they come to me."
"So you can't kill anyone for me," Harry didn't bother to hide the disappointment that colored his voice. "That would have made my life a bit easier."
"Albus Dumbledore is beyond my reach," she admitted, discerning Harry's intent. "I can only claim those who are rightfully mine."
"Those who should be dead," Harry clarified. "The ones who have cheated you."
"There are not many who can make that claim," she said. Her tone sent a chill down Harry's spine.
"So...what can you do for me, then?" Harry asked bluntly. "I can't exactly have a winged...death-girl following me around to my classes, now can I?"
"I only appear to those whom I choose," she said. "And there is much I can do. I can see the unseen, command magics long lost to wizardkind, and pierce the veil at a whim. And while I belong to you, you can never belong to me."
"You're saying I can't die," Harry said carefully.
"Yes," she said. Her voice was as cold as the grave. "It is not a blessing, Harry Potter. Death is natural, and right. Horrible things happen to those who do not die when they are meant to."
"What kinds of things?"
"It is not my place to know." Her fingers trailed over her skull, a lover's caress that lingered on empty eye sockets. "Those who defy me are...lost. They may never pass through the veil, but neither do they truly belong here."
"Where do they belong?"
"Somewhere else," she said with a shrug. The answer clearly didn't interest her.
A question was weighing heavily on Harry's mind, and he had expended nearly all of his willpower by not asking it. Finally, it was too much.
"My parents…can you? The stone..."
"The stone can recreate their bodies, but Lily and James Potter are gone." There was no warmth in her voice, no comfort. But neither was there malice. "Their souls have shed the burdens of this world, ego and id. What remains of them is unknowable to you now."
Harry nodded, swallowing a lump that had formed in his throat. He didn't speak.
"I am sorry," Death said, and her expression softened into something that resembled sympathy. "The pain of this world is fleeting, as are its pleasures. Soon you too will shed the shackles that bind you to this place, and forget your parents along with everyone else you know."
"That isn't exactly comforting," Harry said, his voice flat.
"Forgive me," Death said, her gaze dropping to Harry's bed sheets. "I am not well-versed in human emotions."
"Did...did you make the Hallows, then?" Harry asked, eager to change the subject.
"No," She replied. Her finger was lazily tracing her skull's eye socket. "Not exactly. They are a part of me, and they have taken many forms over the years. The Hallows as they are known now were bound into their current physical forms by wizards using magic as old as the bones of the Earth."
"Wizards? Who?"
Death simply shrugged.
"Why were they made?"
"It's not my place to know that, Harry."
Harry was quiet for a moment, trying to process all that had happened in the span of a few hours. After a few minutes spent wrestling with the problem, Harry gave it up as a bad job and collapsed into his bed beside Death. He could deal with her, and Dumbledore, and everything else that had been piled up on him tomorrow. For now, all he could think about was sleep. Sarchanie glided down alongside him, searching for her favorite spot to curl up. She gave Death a wide berth.
"I'm going to go to sleep, now." He declared, and shut his eyes.
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Harry awoke slowly the next morning. He clambered to consciousness awkwardly, clawing his way up from the depths of sleep inch by inch. Strange dreams had plagued his rest; the details eluded him but he knew that he was searching, always searching, and never finding what he was looking for. He lay awake for some time, not quite ready to open his eyes. He told himself that perhaps it was all just a dream; Dumbledore, Death, even Sarchanie and the Tournament...perhaps he would wake up at the start of term, and be able to watch the Tournament with the rest of the fourth years like a normal student.
He couldn't help be heave a sigh at that thought. His career at Hogwarts had never resembled anything approaching 'normal', and he saw no reason for it to start now. With a wrench of willpower, Harry pried his lids open. A pair of pupil-less white eyes were staring back at him, inches from his face. Harry wrestled with the urge to cry out, and instead slowly levered himself to a seating position. Death mirrored his movements, and sat across from him at the foot of his bed. Sarchanie was still sleeping, snoring softly in her little nest by Harry's pillow.
"Good morning, Death."
"Good morning, Harry." Her voice retained that sing-song quality, and Harry found himself wondering how anyone could be so cheerful at such an early hour.
"Were you...erm, were you watching me sleep all night?"
"Yes," she answered without a hint of self-consciousness. "You toss and turn a lot while you sleep, did you know that?"
"Who're you talking to, Harry?" Neville was rolling out of bed, the left side of his face red and lined from where he'd slept on the corner of his Herbology book.
"Just Sarchanie," Harry lied.
"Oh." Neville's gaze traveled directly through Death to where the still-sleeping Sarchanie was curled up. "Right, then. See you at breakfast, Harry."
"Don't watch me sleep anymore," Harry whispered once Neville had gone. "It's very, very creepy."
"Oh." A small frown creased Death's face, but she nodded. "Very well."
"Thanks," Harry said. "Well, I suppose I'd best get some breakfast."
Harry stood, and began pulling off his pyjamas when something made him stop. Death was watching him with the same serene expression that she always wore, her skull clutched protectively to her chest.
"Er...do you mind?" Harry asked.
"Oh, not at all." Death nodded for him to continue.
"I mean...could you turn around?"
"Oh," Death said. A puzzled expression crossed her face, but she obeyed. "This is modesty, yes? I've never understood it. You're all naked when you come to me."
"You're a right ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Harry frowned as he dressed himself as quickly as he could manage. "Most people don't like to talk about death."
"I know," Death said, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I don't understand why. It's as natural as birth."
"Well - " Harry grimaced as he struggled with his tie. "It scares people. No one knows for sure what's on the other side."
"Does it scare you?"
"Yeah," Harry answered, his fingers pausing at his throat. "Yeah, it does."
"Is that why you were looking for the Hallows, Harry?"
"No," he answered, finally managing a knot that wasn't too sloppy-looking. "I'm just trying to do the right thing. Stop someone that I think is going to hurt a lot of people."
"It doesn't matter, you know." The matter-of-fact tone in her voice made Harry scowl.
"Of course it matters," he protested. "Why would you say that?"
"Nothing that happens here matters." Death shrugged, one slender finger tracing the eye socket of her skull. "You soul is cleansed of this place when you pass on, Harry."
"I don't believe that," Harry said firmly. "I can't. You're telling me that nothing we do here matters? None of our actions, good or evil, affect what comes after?"
"I don't know what lies beyond the veil," Death admitted. "I only know that in order to cross, a soul must shed its ties to this place. Release its burdens. They come to me confused, scared, angry – and when they cross the veil, they are cleansed. Pure."
"So the afterlife is a mystery even to Death." Somehow that made Harry feel better, and he could feel a slow smile spreading on his face. "That's kind of funny."
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Leaving the dormitory took some effort; in fact, he procrastinated to the point that he missed breakfast. Quite frankly, he was terrified – there was nowhere in the school that he could go where Dumbledore would not find him, and now that the headmaster was aware of what Harry knew there could be little doubt that Dumbledore was already plotting against him. Only Sarchanie's reminder that he was no safer in the dormitory than anywhere else got him moving at last. He silently berated himself as he threw on his robes and gathered his things for his first class; he'd missed his chance to fill Hermione in on what had happened, and now it would have to wait. He wouldn't have a chance to talk to her until lunch, now.
The thought of telling Ron about his confrontation with Dumbledore filled Harry with dread. He was so steadfast in his support of the headmaster that he refused to see any evidence to the contrary; Harry doubted that even the testimony of his best friend would sway him. Harry had felt a rift opening up between them since the beginning of the year, and it seemed as if it was only getting wider. He had little time to worry about that with all that was going on, and he firmly placed that concern in the back of his mind.
It had taken Harry a few weeks to get used to attending his classes with a miniature dragon riding on his shoulder. He didn't mind the stares or the crowds that had followed him, hoping for a chance to touch his new 'pet' – awkward though it was, Harry Potter was no stranger to that sort of attention. Rather, the most difficult aspect of his newfound friend had been her constant commentary, hissed into his ear where only he could hear it. He'd just gotten to the point where he could filter it out when his bizarre mastery over Death had thrown yet another wrench into his routine.
"No, that's not right." She was standing at Harry's left elbow, peering over his shoulder at the notes he was taking. "Professor Snape said the newt liver should be minced, not chopped."
"Right, thanks." Harry whispered as he scratched out the error and wedged in the correction.
"Mr. Potter," Snape's sardonic voice sent Harry's heart leaping into his throat. "I've grown accustomed to you whispering in my class, but now it seems you've nothing better to do than talk to yourself. Be silent."
"Sorry, Professor." Harry mumbled, his eyes glued to his notes. He felt his cheeks burning as a wave of muffled laughter swept over him.
"Just explain to him that you're talking to me," Death said.
Harry ignored her, and instead tried to focus on what Snape was saying. To his left, he caught Hermione throwing him a questioning glance, but he put that out of his mind as well. Frankly, he was glad for the opportunity to focus on something that wasn't life-threatening, even if his only distraction came in the form of Snape's sneers and thinly-veiled insults. Frankly, with his O.W.L.'s rapidly approaching, there was little time for him to be concerned about much else besides his schoolwork. For a little while, at least, Harry felt like a normal student.
The rest of the class passed more or less without incident. He managed to ignore both Death's and Sarchanie's commentary and scribbled notes that had a fairly decent chance of being accurate. When the chime sounded and dismissed the class to lunch, Harry's troubles came rushing back in. The students all piled out of the dungeon classroom in a babbling throng, and Harry craned his neck over their heads to search for Hermione. He spied her walking next to Ron, laughing at something he'd said. Harry threaded his way through the stream of students and laid his hand on her elbow.
"Hey," he said, his voice hushed. "I need to talk to you."
"Alright," she said, glancing at Ron to her right.
"Alright," Ron echoed after waiting a moment to see if Harry's invitation included him. "Catch you later, Hermione."
"Harry," Hermione was watching Ron leave, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "What's going on between you and Ron?"
"I don't have time for that right now," Harry hissed. "Come on."
The mazelike dungeons of Hogwarts weren't a place Harry visited often, at least not when he could help it. He had to admit, however, that the labyrinthine corridors were practically designed to offer students inconspicuous places to have dangerous conversations. Harry led Hermione down a disused passageway, and pulled her into a nook framed by a roughly-hewn stone archway.
"Dumbledore has the elder wand. He knows that I know he's a dark lord. And I'm the master of Death." The words that Harry had been itching to say all day tumbled out of his mouth in a heap.
"What?" Hermione asked, her face screwed up in confusion.
"I thought she was supposed to be smart?" Death said from just behind Harry.
"Who is that?" Hermione yelped.
"You can see her?" Harry blinked.
"Of course I can!"
"I told you," Death said, rapping her knuckles on her skull. "I can appear to whomever I chose."
"This is Death," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "This is what being the 'Master of Death" means, apparently."
"Okay..." Hermione said slowly, eyeing Death nervously. "Maybe you ought to start at the beginning."
It took the better part of an hour for Harry to fill her in on all that had happened. He explained everything; Dumbledore, the Wand, the timely arrival of Professor McGonagall and, finally, Dumbledore's parting words. Hermione stood silently for a moment, processing all that Harry had told her with her hands crossed over her chest. When she finally spoke, she spoke to Death.
"Can you protect him?" She asked intently. "From Dumbledore?"
"I can," she said, though her tone made it clear that it wasn't quite so simple.
"But?" Hermione pressed.
"I can't take any action against him," she admitted. "He doesn't belong to me."
"What about Voldemort?" She asked. To Harry's surprise, he'd nearly forgotten about the dark wizard who, at one time, had been his greatest threat.
"That one," Death's knuckles turned white as she gripped her skull. "Not many can say that they have cheated Death. His soul is broken and hidden from me. It is mine."
"Broken?" Harry asked.
"Old, forbidden magic," Death explained. "He has split his soul, and placed the fragments into objects for safekeeping."
"Hermione, I don't know what to do." Harry's voice sounded helpless even to his own ears. "Everything is happening at once and I'm not even sure where to start dealing with it all."
"We need help," Hermione admitted. "What about Professor Moody? He owes you his life, he might be inclined to listen to you."
"If I had proof," Harry said with a frown. "All I have right now is my word against Dumbledore's."
"We need to talk to someone close to him," Hermione mused. "Someone who might know what he's really after."
"What about his brother?" Death suggested.
"Dumbledore has a brother?" Harry asked incredulously.
"He does. He runs an inn in the nearby village."
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The Hogs Head Inn was a squalid little place, nothing more than a single room with a few mismatched tables and chairs strewn about carelessly. It was very nearly as filthy as the Gaunt shack; dirt encrusted the windows, the floors, and every other available surface. Harry was almost positive that he saw some sort of insect scurrying away from the light when they opened the door, but he didn't dare tell Hermione – her face already wore a look of muted horror. It seemed an altogether strange place to find the brother of the greatest wizard who ever lived.
Albus Dumbledore commanded the attention of anyone sharing room with him, his mere presence an announcement of his mastery. The headmaster was serene and confident, every action measured and precisely executed. One knew, just by bearing near him, that Albus would know what to do in nearly any situation. When he spoke, his voice captivated and commanded effortlessly. If Aberforth Dumbledore had even one of these qualities, he hid it extremely well.
He had seen him before, of course, but Harry had never paid the barman of the Hog's Head Inn much attention. He had the appearance, Harry thought, of a tired goat; pinched and thin, with a long scraggly beard and thinning grey hair. Yet, as Harry sat across from Aberforth Dumbledore, he saw his eyes for the first time. They were a familiar, piercing blue, yet weighed down by a burden that Harry thought he could understand.
"You know," said the brother of Albus Dumbledore, "Not many students come in here, but you're the first to want to talk to me in about forty years."
"Why?" Hermione asked with a frown. "Surely someone has wanted to talk to Albus Dumbledore's brother."
"Albus Dumbledore's brother," Aberforth echoed bitterly, staring sullenly into the bottom of his mug. "Albus prefers to pretend that we're not related, and that suits me just fine. I'd prefer to be something besides Albus Dumbledore's brother, even if it's just the barman at the Hog's Head."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend." Hermione grimaced as she looked down at her butterbeer.
"One student did come searching for me, though." Aberforth continued as if Hermione hadn't spoken. "Nice enough young fellow, though a bit intense. Name of Tom Riddle."
Harry froze at the name.
"Voldemort came here asking you questions about Dumbledore?"
"I'm Dumbledore." Aberforth scowled at Harry, and drained the rest of his tankard. "And yes. Back when he was a student, he came her asking about Albus."
"What did he want to know?"
"Same as you, I expect. Wanted to know about what had happened with Grindelwald."
"The duel, you mean." Hermione leaned in intently.
"That hadn't happened, yet. You mean you really don't know? About Albus and Grindelwald?"
Harry and Hermione looked at one another and shook their heads.
"Oh, blimey." Aberforth sighed, and hauled himself to his feet. "I'm going to need another drink for this."
Harry and Hermione waited as Aberforth made his slow way to the bar. He didn't move like Dumbledore; the headmaster always seemed to stride about with purpose, but Aberforth shuffled towards the bar like a man who simply had nothing better to do. He poured himself another ale, filling the dirty glass to the brim and licking the foam from the top before he returned.
"Right," he said with a groan as he lowered himself back into the both opposite from Harry and Hermione. "Well, you'll be knowing who Grindelwald is, then?"
"He was a dark wizard," Harry said with impatience coloring his voice. He wasn't quite sure what this all had to do with Dumbledore.
"He was the dark wizard." Aberforth's voice had grown dark. "He was my generation's You-Know-Who, and the jury's still out on which one of 'em was worse. He had a notion that wizards shouldn't hide from muggles – we should rule them. He thought it was for their own good, see; wizardkind could protect the muggles from the darker forces out there."
"And I'm sure that the muggles would be happy to do the manual labor that was beneath us wizards," Hermione said coldly.
"I doubt they'd be happy about it, but that was his idea all right." Aberforth nodded once, and paused for a deep gulp of ale. "Anyway, turns out that this notion of his was fairly popular. He got a lot of support, from a lot of people you might not expect. Including my brother."
"Hold on," Harry said, frowning. "You're telling me that Dumbledore was working with Grindelwald?"
"At first, yeah." Aberforth shrugged as if it was common knowledge. "They made a lot of plans together, spent months huddled over their notes and books back in Godric's Hollow. He might of gone all the way, too, if not for me."
"What happened?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
"I told him that it was nonsense," Aberforth said firmly. "Our father'd already served time in Azkaban for attacking muggles, we didn't need more of that talk about our family. Told him that he needed to stay home, take care of our Ariana. Albus didn't listen, just brushed me off, but Grindelwald..."
Aberforth shook his head, his eyes far away.
"Cruciatus curse." The old man swallowed heavily, the memory of that terrible pain haunting his eyes. "I don't remember much of what happened after that, on account of the pain, but Albus attacked him. Some shred of brotherly love, perhaps, or part of some greater scheme. Whatever the reason, there was a duel – I got involved in it, once my head had cleared – and when it was over, my dear sister – my little Ariana was dead. Grindelwald fled and started making moves in Eastern Europe, and Albus didn't waste any time in leaving, either. The rest, as they say..."
Aberforth shrugged and left the idiom unfinished.
"But..." Harry still didn't understand. "Dumbledore – Er, Professor Dumbledore – he defeated Grindelwald, didn't he?"
"Aye, he did." Aberforth nodded once more. "He didn't have much of a choice. He was the only one strong enough to stop him, and he'd done nothing for far too long. Make no mistake – Albus always has a plan. I'd wager a galleon that he never gave up on those dreams – the idea that wizards should rule over muggles. That mind of his never lets go of an idea once he latches on to it. But Grindelwald was too..."
"He was too cruel," Hermione cut in when Aberforth began struggling for words. "Dumbledore knew that Grindelwald would never unite wizardkind because of his methods. Dumbledore doesn't want to take over the Ministry, he wants to bend it to his purpose, make everyone think that it was their idea all along. God - "
Hermione covered her mouth with her hand.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"I was just reading – old ministry records."
"Why on earth were you reading old Ministry records?" Harry asked, but his question was ignored.
"Sixteen years ago, the Ministry enacted a bill called the Frownden Act. I didn't think much of it at first, but..." She paused and shook her head. "It allows the Ministry to enact a kind of...marshal law over the muggles in extreme circumstances where there is a magical threat that can not be contained. Place their leaders under the Imperius Curse and use their governments to control them. It was named after the head of the department of Magical Law enforcement, but the article said that without Dumbledore – Albus Dumbledore's support, the bill never would have passed."
"So?" Harry frowned. "Isn't protecting muggles a good thing?"
"Can't you see?" Hermione's voice was taking on the shrill edge of panic. "It's a foundation. Say there's a magical crisis – one large enough to threaten all of Muggle Britain. Or the entire world. What then, with this new law?"
"Well, I suppose we'd step in and stop whatever the crisis is," Harry said with a shrug. "Move the muggles to safe places, things like that."
"We would tell the muggles what to do in order to be safe," she countered. "And when do we stop telling them what to do?"
"When the crisis is over," Harry said, but now his voice was tinged with uncertainty.
"When we decide the crisis is over." Hermione shook her head slowly. "And what was happening about fifteen years ago?"
"You-know-who was at the peak of his power." Aberforth cut in. His knuckles were white as he gripped his mug.
"A threat that was on the brink of spilling over into the muggle world if Harry hadn't stopped it," Hermione went on, slapping the table with her hand. "Just like Grindelwald might have, if Dumbledore hadn't been forced to stop him. Why else would he have waited so long? Why would he have let You-Know-Who become so powerful, when he could have defeated him at any point?"
"He wants a crisis," Harry said slowly. "He wants something that will give wizards a reason to take control of the muggles."
"That's the Albus I know," Aberforth said. "Always scheming, always plotting – and always coming out on the other end looking like a saint."
"If you knew this about your brother, why didn't you say anything?" Harry asked, incredulous.
"Me?" Aberforth snorted derisively. "Who's gonna take my word – a half-literate barman – over the great Albus Dumbledore's?"
"You could have tried," Harry said firmly.
"I could have gotten myself killed, just like Ariana." Aberforth scoffed. "It's no coincidence that she died in that duel – I'm not saying Albus planned it, but he's cold, boy. And he know show to seize an opportunity. She was holding him back, and he knew it – so he took care of it."
Harry shook his head slowly.
"We need proof," Harry said, falling back against his seat with a sigh. "You're right, no one will believe us if it comes to his word against ours. But there has to be proof out there, somewhere."
"I have something that might help," Aberforth said after a moment. "Wait here."
The two of them watched him stand up and disappear into the back room of the dingy little pub. When he was out of earshot, Harry leaned in and spoke in an urgent, hushed tone.
"Hermione, should we even believe him? I mean, after what Dumbledore said to me – and the Elder Wand – but to think that he's behind some sort of plot to take over the muggles - "
"He's not lying," Death cut in and made Harry yelp with surprise – she hadn't shown herself the entire time that they'd been in the Hog's Head.
"How do you know?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowed.
"I can...see it?" Death tilted her head, searching for the right word. "He's...broken. He doesn't care enough to lie."
"Here we are," Aberforth said as he emerged from the back room. "Knew I had it somewhere."
The old barman returned to the table carrying a small cylindrical bundle wrapped in dingy, moth-eaten cloth, which he laid carefully down on the middle of the table. He unwrapped it slowly, laying the cloth out with care until they could see what was wrapped up within. It was a scroll, the parchment yellowed and cracked with age. He held it out to them, and Harry took it in trembling fingers. He unrolled it gingerly, wincing each time the parchment cracked and little plumes of dust were shaken free. When he laid it flat, both Harry and Hermione leaned in to read.
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I'm writing to thank you for your guidance and mentorship throughout my years at Hogwarts. Your willingness to expand my education beyond the, shall we say, 'traditional curriculum' will no doubt be the foundation upon which I build my power. I will take our vision of a greater Wizardkind to new heights, farther and greater than any wizard before me. The muggle-born boy you once tutored is no more, and in his place is reborn something far greater. Join me when the time comes, and you will have an honored place in my new world.
Tom Marvolo Riddle
I am Lord Voldemort
"Where did you get this?" Harry asked quietly, his eyes still flitting over the words on the page.
"I stole it," Aberforth admitted without hesitation. "In the early days of the First Wizarding War. We had something of a secret society, an underground resistance movement against You-Know-Who. Albus was in charge. The war...it was going badly. The Death-Eaters always seemed to be one step ahead of us, like they knew our every move almost before we made it. We knew there was a spy in our midst, but no one suspected Albus. No one but me. I stole that letter, read it, and realized what it meant."
"Dumbledore groomed Voldemort," Hermione said, shaking her head. "He created the most terrible dark wizard of all time just so we would have something to fight against. Something that would unite Wizardkind and give him an excuse to enact the Frownden Act."
"This letter..." Harry rolled it carefully, and wrapped it once more in the dingy cloth. "I don't know if it will be enough. How can we prove that it's genuine?"
"There's magic that can verify a person's handwriting," Hermione said. "I don't know it, but..."
"We know someone who might." Harry said as a slow smile spread on his face. "An ex-auror who owes me a favor. And he's just paranoid enough to believe this."
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"No." Mad-Eye Moody was pacing behind his desk, and he shook the letter in Harry's face as he spoke. "Absolutely not. Do you have any idea who you're talking about? Do you have any idea what that man has done for us – all of us, you included?"
"I know it's hard to believe, but - " Hermione wasn't able to finish her sentence.
"Hard to believe?" Moody hissed, leaning over his desk. "It's not possible. We would all be dead if not for Albus Dumbledore, or worse."
"Can't you verify that Voldemort wrote the letter?" Harry nodded at the faded parchment. "Isn't there a spell that will tell you?"
"There is," Moody said between gritted teeth. "And what if the spell reveals that Voldemort did write it? The Dark Lord would stop at nothing to discredit Dumbledore, to drive a wedge between us. And now it's working, you're letting him win by believing this nonsense."
"This is what Dumbledore wants," Harry burst out, rising to his feet. "He wants us to trust in him so completely, so blindly, that the mere thought of questioning him is ridiculous. Can't you see how dangerous that is?"
The old auror stopped in his pacing and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Hermione cut him off.
"All of the pieces fit. The Prophecy, Grindelwald, the Frownden Act, the Elder Wand, now this - please, Professor Moody, you can't ignore it."
Moody growled, a low guttural sound that came from somewhere within his chest. Yet, Harry knew, the old auror knew they were right. Too much was at stake to simply ignore what they had brought him. With a sigh, he threw the parchment down on his desk and drew his wand.
"Delensrevelo," he barked.
A golden beam of light shot from his wand and struck the letter. The aged parchment seemed to quiver as the shaft of light enveloped it, as if reluctant to give up its secrets, but finally the light puffed into a golden mist and floated up to form letters in the air before Moody's face. They were backwards from Harry's perspective, but he could read them well enough.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
"Fine." Moody snarled, and he waved away the words with one scarred hand. "Fine. I'll look into it. Give me a few days – for the love of God, don't do anything stupid. Don't ask any more questions about him, don't talk to him, don't look at him if you can help it. If you're wrong – and you'd better pray to every God that you are – you've got nothing to worry about. But if you're right – well. I don't have to tell you how much danger you're in. Now get out, I have work to do."
Harry and Hermione did as they were bade and left Moody's office, closing the door softly behind them and shutting out the old auror's incessant stream of curses.
"What do we do now?" Harry said, frowning.
"Nothing," Hermione said. "Harry, we need to trust Moody. He's been doing this for a long time."
"I know, it's just..." Harry led them out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and into the corridor as he spoke. "I feel like I can't trust anyone, anymore."
"You can trust me," Hermione said, taking his hand between both of hers. "And I think we can trust Moody."
"Right," he said with a sigh. "Okay."
"Besides," Hermione said with a small smile spreading on her face. "You're behind on your homework, the second task is in three days, and oh...there's one other thing."
"What is it?" Harry said, feeling the crushing weight of his responsibilities settle squarely on his shoulders.
"It's been too long since we've done this."
Hermione stood up on her tiptoes and cupped the back of Harry's neck with her hand, pulling him down to her waiting lips. Harry felt her melt into him, and his arms slipped around her waist without conscious thought. All of his burdens seemed to be washed away in that kiss, replaced with some purer, baser impulse. He pulled her in close, feeling her hips press against his in a way that lit his every nerve on fire. In an instant Harry had lost himself, pressing Hermione firmly against the cool stones of the wall as their kiss deepened.
"What are you doing?" Death's voice was quiet, but it may as well have been a gunshot.
"For the love of - " Harry and Hermione sprang apart, and Harry whirled on Death with a scowl. "Don't do that. Don't you have anything better to do than spy on me?"
"No," Death said, tilting her head curiously. "Well, that is to say that I can spy on you while I'm doing other things as well. Being here doesn't really take up much of my attention."
"Brilliant," Harry said, irritability creeping into his tone. "Can you just – bugger off for a bit?"
It was only after she had vanished that Harry felt bad about what he had said. Harry turned to Hermione once more, but the moment had been ruined. He sighed and took her hand, gently leading her down the corridor that led to the Gryffindor common room and doing his best to ignore the way his heart was pounding. Hermione had a distinctly flushed look, but apart from the color in her cheeks she displayed no indication that their kiss had affected her.
"That was rather rude," Hermione said quietly after a moment, though the soft smile she offered him took the bite out of her words.
"It was," Harry said, grinning in return. "She did choose a rather inconvenient time to appear though, didn't she?"
"I daresay she did." Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.
"I don't know what I'm going to do about the second task," Harry admitted as they walked hand in hand. "Two weeks away, and all I've got is that useless hint from Cedric. Take a bath? How is that supposed to help me?"
"Maybe you should do it," Hermione shrugged, and slipped her arm through his as she drew him closer. "It couldn't hurt."
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It was late. Harry knew he should sleep, but her knew that sleep would not find him that night. His mind whirled with detached thoughts, vague worries flowing through his brain like sludge. He stared at the parchment that was unfurled in his lap. His scribbled handwriting seemed undulate before his very eyes, letter and words that stubbornly refused to form into coherent sentences. With a groan, he realized that his last paragraph had been comprised of complete gibberish.
Harry threw his quill down in disgust. He spent only a moment moping with his face in his hands before that little voice inside of him reminded him that he had too much to do to be sitting around feeling sorry for himself. It took him only a moment to find the egg and tuck it into his robes, and with his invisibility cloak tightly wrapped around his shoulders he set out towards the prefect's bathroom that Cedric had recommended.
He found it to be deserted, as he'd hoped; he shut and locked the door behind him to ensure that it stayed that way. He had to admit that it was quite grand, as far as bathrooms went. The massive tub in the center of the room was bigger than some swimming pools that Harry had seen back on Privet drive, ringed almost completely by gleaming golden taps. Each tap was capped with a different colored gem; Harry wasn't quite sure what they meant, so he selected a few at random and waited for the tub to fill. Each tap dispensed hot water treated with some manner of foaming bath the same color as the gem.
Harry examined the window while he waited. It was a vast stained glass depiction of a mermaid, enchanted in such a way that she appeared to be brushing her hair and fanning her fins. He didn't have much time to examine the piece, though; he had no sooner looked away from the tub than the golden taps closed themselves. When he returned his attention to the bath, he saw that it was full. With a shrug, he disrobed and stepped gingerly into the hot water, golden egg in hand.
With a deep sigh, Harry leaned back against the smooth stone wall. There were little seats formed into the sides, making it easy to relax against the edge of the tub and lay his head back against the rim. The bathwater smelled vaguely of fresh strawberries. Harry soon found his eyes drifting shut as the gentle lapping of the water soothed him to the brink of sleep.
"I don't want to startle you." Death's voice was soft, and Harry looked up to see her sitting in the tub opposite him; given the size, she was rather far away.
"I'm too tired to be startled," Harry mumbled. Suddenly, he remembered something. "Listen, sorry about before. It's been a long few days."
"You don't have to apologize," Death said. She set her skull down on the floor behind her head and leaned forward, peering intently into Harry's eyes with those unsettling white orbs of hers. "What are you doing in here, Harry?"
"Falling asleep," Harry admitted with a sigh. "But I'm supposed to be figuring out this egg. I'm just so bloody tired."
"May I try something?" Death tilted her head as she watched him, and Harry noticed for the first time that she was naked. The swell of her bust was just visible beneath the foaming pink bubbles. "I think I can help."
"Erm, sure." Harry suddenly felt self conscious, and he took a moment to make sure that he was adequately covered by bubbles. "What did you want to try?"
"I have to show you," she said.
Moving with deliberate slowness, Death rose to her knees and shuffled towards him. The water lapped against the sides of the tub in waves from her movements. She never took her eyes off of Harry's, even when his dropped to her bared chest and his cheeks began to burn red. She slid forward until her knees brushed his beneath the water, and it occurred to Harry that he'd never actually touched her before. She felt cool, even beneath the steaming water.
"Erm, I can see your – the bubbles, um - " Harry stammered, averting his gaze.
"Shhh," Death silenced him with one exhaled breath and beckoned him forth with one crooked finger. "Come here."
Self-consciously, Harry leaned forward, following her summons until his face was inches from hers. She didn't breathe; it was such an odd thing to strike him at that time, but so close to her he couldn't help but notice that her chest did not rise or fall. His own breath was coming faster as he stared into those pure white eyes. Hesitantly, with an expression that Harry could only describe as coy, Death reached out and laid the flat of her palm against Harry's chest. And then she kissed him.
Her lips, like her skin beneath the water, were cool against his. She cupped his face in one tender hand, pulling him in even as something radiated from their embrace. The coolness of her touch spread throughout his body, purging away the fatigue and stress like a wave of pure, cold water. Harry's eyelids fluttered closed as he gave himself to that wave and welcomed the succor that it provided. It was a different kind of kiss than the one he shared with Hermione; he felt no passion, just cool relief and comfort in her touch. When they broke the kiss, he found himself missing that sensation just as much as the heat.
"I...wow." Harry's eyes opened reluctantly to find her watching him with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "I feel great. How did you do that?"
"I just gave you a little bit of me," she said with a slight smile and a tilt of her head. "To make you whole again."
"You have to do it with a kiss?" Harry asked, swallowing heavily.
"No," she admitted with a shy smile. "I wanted to try it...did I do it right?"
"Um," Harry's eyes opened reluctantly to find her watching him with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Yeah, I think so. I mean...yes. That was amazing."
"Good," Her smile was radiant, and Harry couldn't help but mirror it. "I've never done it before. I was worried you wouldn't like it."
"No, I did," he said, but he could feel guilt gnawing at the back of his mind. "But, listen...Hermione and I, we...well, when people are together the way she and I are, they don't kiss anyone else. I don't think she would like this very much."
"Oh," Harry felt his heart wrench as Death's smile was replaced by a sad frown. She lowered herself into the water, bubbles once again obscuring her nudity. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that."
"It's alright, just...we can't do it again."
"Okay," she agreed, but confusion still lingered in her voice. "Is that love, Harry? What you and Hermione have?"
"I - " Harry found himself stumbling over his words. "I mean, I don't know. It's not something you just know, at least...I don't think it is. It's something that grows as you spend time with a person."
"Oh," Death nodded sagely, but she looked away. "I see."
"Listen," Harry cleared his throat, eager for a change of topic. "Can you help me with this egg?"
"Maybe," Death shrugged one bare shoulder. "May I see it?"
Obediently, Harry handed it to her. She peered at it for a moment, examining its every surface, before she opened it. Harry had been ready; he tried to shout out a warning as he clapped his hands to his ears, but the screeching barely seemed to faze Death. She closed it calmly and handed it back to him after only a moment of listening to the insufferable wailing.
"It's a poem." She said. "Open it underwater, you'll hear it."
Harry did as she instructed; he opened the egg beneath the bubbles and, when he heard nothing, lowered his head beneath the surface as well. To his amazement, the egg was no longer screeching but singing. A beautiful, haunting melody filled his ears.
"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."
With a gasp, Harry lifted his head and filled his lungs. When he had caught his breath, he submerged himself once more and listened again, but the song didn't make much more sense to him the second time. When he lifted his head at last, Death was sitting on the rim of the tub, completely dry and trailing her bare feet in the water as she once again cradled her ever-present skull. To Harry's mingled relief and disappointment, she was once again wearing her white gown.
"What does it mean?" Harry mused, more to himself. "We can not sing above the ground..."
Harry's eyes were drawn upwards, to where the stained glass image of the mermaid was bathing in the yellow glass sun.
"The merpeople in the black lake." Harry felt a shudder travel down his spine, despite the warmth of the water. "They've taken something, and I'll have an hour to get it. How...how am I going to breathe underwater for an hour?"
"That's easy," Death shrugged one shoulder. "I can help you."
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It was a cold morning; the wind whipping over the lake tore at the robes of the champions who had assembled on the dock. They'd all worn bathing suits under their robes, an indication that they had all figured out the secret contained within the egg. Fleur was clenching and unclenching her hands repeatedly, and Viktor was pacing like a caged tiger; only Cedric seemed to be at ease. Harry, for his part, kept peering behind him, hoping to see Death standing there waiting to help him; stubbornly, she had refused to appear.
Harry had looked for Hermione that morning, hoping that her rational mind would offer him some comfort in the face of his anxiety regarding the task. She hadn't been at breakfast, nor had he spotted her in the crowd that gathered to watch the event. When asked, Ron simply offered a sullen shrug and said he hadn't seen her before shuffling off. Harry felt a stab of pain at that; Ron had been his best friend for three years, but it seemed that the rift between them was growing wider by the day.
The sound of a pistol startled Harry from his thoughts, and three champions leapt into the water on both sides of him. Harry lingered , casting his gaze left and right in search of Death. There was no sign of her, and Harry felt panic start to grip at his heart. With slow, deliberate breaths he forced himself to remain calm – he could do this, there had to be some spell he knew that would help him.
"Come on, Harry!" He didn't recognize the voice that called out from the stands, but it was followed by a peal of laughter.
Harry drew in a deep breath, and dove in.
The water was shockingly cold. He would have gasped in surprise, were his lungs not already full; instead he thrashed about, pulling himself deeper as he fought to regain control. He could hardly see; the Black Lake was aptly named, and the murky water stung his eyes. The cold conspired to steal his breath, and soon his lungs burned. He was about to give up and swim to the surface when a pale shape in the water caught his attention.
"Hello, Harry." Death's voice was perfectly audible, despite their watery surroundings. "Here you go."
She placed her palm against his forehead. Nothing seemed to happen; he was still cold, his lungs still burned, and he couldn't see. Finally, it was too much; with a strangled cry Harry drew in a desperate breath, flooding his lungs with water. The sensation of drowning was curiously absent; he exhaled, and drew in another breath. He could clearly feel water flowing into his mouth and nose, filling his lungs, but each breath satisfied him as effortlessly as a breath of air.
"I can't see," Harry said, his voice escaping in a cloud of bubbles.
Death reached forward and touched Harry's temple. His vision blurred and his head spun for a moment as his eyes seemed to refocus, and then suddenly he could see with perfect clarity. Harry blinked; his eyes felt oddly-shaped in their sockets.
"We'd better hurry," Death said, and with her long raven hair flowing behind her she turned and swam down, into the darkness.
They swam until Harry's arms and legs ached. The gloom soon became too deep for even Harry's adapted eyes to penetrate, but luckily Death's white dress seemed to glow. It was a beacon that Harry followed deeper and deeper until he became hopelessly lost. He could only trust that Death would lead him to his goal, and he swam on despite the fire in his muscles.
It felt like many minutes had passed before he finally saw something. A collection of crude driftwood huts, walled with seaweed, cluttered around four stakes that had been driven into the lake bottom. A person was tied to each stake, bound hand and foot and deathly still. Harry's heart dropped into his stomach when he recognized Hermione's bushy hair fanning out in the gentle current. Harry swam with renewed vigor towards the victims even as the sleep shapes of merpeople began to flit around him. To his great relief, Hermione was breathing as if in a deep sleep, a bubble of air held captive around her face.
"Hermione," He shouted, his voice escaping his throat in a stream of bubbles. "Hermione!"
"She's asleep," Death said at his side. "They all are."
Merpeople had gathered around the stakes, clutching crude spears and watching Harry curiously. Harry peered at the other prisoners; he saw Cho Chang, whom Cedric had taken to the ball. There was a young girl with silver hair who had to be related in some way to Fleur, and finally Harry saw the Ravenclaw girl that Viktor Krum had taken to the ball. As he watched them, the egg's song filtered unbidden through his mind.
"But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."
"How long have I been down here?" he asked Death.
"Thirty-eight minutes," she replied.
No one else had come for their prisoners. What would happen if they were still there when the time ran out? What would the merpeople do when the hour was up? Harry didn't want to risk finding out. He had made up his mind to rescue all of them, when a flash to his right captured his attention even as Cho's bindings disappeared in a puff of vapor.
Cedric Diggory was powering towards Harry's position, his head encased in a bubble of air just like the ones sustaining the prisoners. His arm sported a fresh gash, but he grinned fiercely as he wrapped his arm around Cho's waist. He was about to leave, when he glanced at Harry and tapped his wrist urgently. Time was running out. Then he was gone, swimming expertly upwards towards the distant light of the surface.
Harry waited. Viktor came for the Ravenclaw girl in that Harry didn't know, and carried her away in a bizarre half-man, half-shark form. Harry waited for what felt like hours, but he knew it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. The merpeople simply watched him, their spears held in loose fingers as they tried to puzzle out what he was doing. The watched idly as he freed Hermione and hefted her in his arm; only when he attempted to free Fleur's relative did they take action to prevent him.
"Only one!" The merman's voice burbled menacingly, his spear held before him.
"Fifty-nine minutes, Harry." Death's voice was calm against the backdrop of Harry's mounting panic.
He made his decision. With a blast from his wand Harry sundered the bonds that held the young silver-haired girl captive, sending the merpeople scattering. The brave ones that tried to prevent Harry from taking both girls were held at bay with harmless sparks, and soon Harry was swimming up and up and up, the light growing as his aching muscles propelled them to the surface. He suspected Death of helping him in those last minutes, but he wasn't about to complain; when at last he breached the surface with his arm around both girl's waists, Harry's body trembled with exhaustion.
Waiting hands at the docks lifted the girls onto the docks, and Harry himself was hauled bodily up by none other than Alastor Moody himself. The auror's face was grim as he pulled Harry in close.
"Good work, Potter. But you've got bigger problems." Alastor's electric-blue eye swiveled around, searching for anyone that might overhear their conversation. "We need to talk. Tonight, after the feast. Meet me in my office."
Moody stomped off, every other foot thudding woodenly against the dock as he left. Harry didn't have time to dwell on his words, for he was swept up in people congratulating him, clapping him on the back as they drew him towards the champion's tent to warm his shivering bones. The mass of people was stopped, however, when Fleur Delacour stepped in Harry's path and threw her arms around him.
"You saved 'er!" She planted a kiss on Harry's cheek, and his skin tingled were her lips had touched it. "You saved my sister! Thank you!"
And then they were swept up, drawn towards the tent on a wave of cheering bodies.
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The evening feast was a raucous affair, but Harry and Hermione distanced themselves from the festivities and ate quickly. Moody was not at the staff table; Harry could only assume that whatever news he had to share was dire indeed. Even the announcement that Harry was tied with Cedric for first place did little to lift his spirits; against the dire threat that Harry was faced with, the tournament felt like nothing more than a petty distraction.
Harry and Hermione were just about to leave for Moody's office when Dumbledore stood at his lectern and tapped his wand for silence. The buzz of conversation died down, and Dumbledore cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back before he spoke.
"Students, teachers, ghosts and caretakers. It is with pride that I congratulate champions Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter on their outstanding performance in today's event."
The hall erupted in cheers, but Harry barely heard them.
"Let us also congratulate champions Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum; the Triwizard Tournament is an arduous contest, and their achievements should not be overlooked."
Cheers swept over the hall once more, though this time the revelry was noticeable more subdued.
"And finally, it is with a heavy heart that I must announce the resignation of our beloved Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Alastor Moody." Dumbledore's voice was grave, tinged with the sadness that one would expect from a man announcing the resignation of a dear friend. Harry knew that it was only an act. "Professor Moody handed in his resignation to me personally this afternoon, and departed immediately afterward. He will be missed. Professor Snape has graciously agreed to pull double duty as both Potions Master and Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."
The hall erupted in a buzz of conversation, and even the teachers at the staff table were talking in hushed whispers among themselves. Confusion was evident on every face, save two; Harry and Hermione looked at each other with fear in their eyes. They had just lost their only ally at Hogwarts.
