"Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt".
-Measure for Measure 1.4.
Albus Dumbledore stared sadly at the weeping man before him.
"An' then, Aragog shouted 'Destroy the beast!' an' they jes' charged! I swear, Perfesser Dumbledore sir, they've never done anything like tha' before." Hagrid blew his nose with a noise like an elephant. "So we ran. We though' we'd be safe a' Hogwarts. I didn' think they'd follow us! Are Perfessers Snape an' Lockhart okay?"
"Fawkes and I arrived in time," the headmaster sighed, "but they are both in critical condition."
Hagrid howled. "I'm sorry, Perfesser! I didn' mean- Aragog never- I should be sacked!"
"No," his employer replied. "You had no way of knowing that the tribe would react in such an uncharacteristic manner. In fact, it was your valor that saved Severus and Gilderoy. What spell did you use to freeze their attackers?"
The giant stared morosely at his feet. "Tha's jes' it, sir- I dunno. I think it was somethin' Saysa did."
Dumbledore nodded. He knew that already from Legilimency, but it still needed to be said. They had to start discussing the mysterious woman somewhere. "How curious," he commented. "It must be some kind of racial characteristic, but I've never heard of any non-reptilian creature with those eyes except a select few of the Fae. You are certain that she is not?"
They discussed Saysa's possible identity for a few minutes before Hagrid Flooed to visit Snape and Lockhart at St. Mungo's. He brought with him two platters of his famous rock cakes, which were more apt to do more harm than good.
The Headmaster shook his head. "Come along, Fawkes," he ordered.
The phoenix trilled mournfully. It waited a token two seconds before alighting on his arm. In a burst of red-orange flames, master and familiar were swept away.
They arrived in a locale far gloomier than Dumbledore's merrily humming office. The Forbidden Forest seemed to be holding its breath, trying to comprehend what had happened earlier that day. Frozen spiders dotted their silky webs, trailed after the frantic human footprints leading back to the school. Dumbledore knew that if he followed that trail, he would find even more of the beasts.
Then one of the acromantulas moved. "Why do you come?" it clicked in its percussive rasping voice.
"What happened, Mosag?" the human asked quietly. Fawkes bristled. His feathers sparked with more light than the moon could provide.
The spider hissed. "Hagrid has betrayed us," she articulated shortly. "He brought the beast into our lair. Our home is now corrupted; our children turned to stone beneath its gaze. I have only returned to wait for you, to demand revenge."
Dumbledore's eyebrow arched. "Are you attempting to imply that Saysa is a basil-"
"Speak not the word!" cried Mosag. Even the frozen spiders, Petrified and unaware, seemed to shudder. "It has grown more powerful, more dangerous than ever. It must be destroyed." Her multiple eyes glittered. "You promised its death, Dumbledore."
"Indeed. The creature will die by summer's end. I have already directed my pawn to the legend of the Chamber of Secrets. He has Muggle-born friends; he will want to protect them, particularly after today's failure." It was almost a pity that Harry and Mark weren't close anymore. The elder twin's Parselmouth abilities would have been quite useful, but Dumbledore knew how to change the Chamber's password to something non-serpentine.
Back in his office, the headmaster furrowed his brow in thought. A human basilisk… how was that possible? Transfiguration perhaps?
He pondered it all through the night.
The moon was nothing but a sliver in the sky, but Harry didn't care. Yes, he was supposed to wait for a full moon to perform this ritual, but Saysa had assured him that Beltane's magic would suffice. If he'd been smart, he would have done months ago on the winter solstice, when there had been a full moon, but he'd been rather busy then. Besides, Firenze hadn't started teaching them archery until the middle of January.
The Parselmouth glanced at the west, where the sun was still visible. The ritual would work best in a twilit time, a time of transition between opposites.
It had been six months since the Winter Queen had told him how to restore the faerie raths, but he could still remember her every word. "On a day when both sun and the full moon appear in the skies, take a rowan bow and shoot three raven-fletched arrows to the setting sun." Of course, that was only the first portion of her very specific instructions. In rituals, the devil was in the details.
Harry hefted his centaur-made bow. The first arrow, fletched with a feather from his Animagus form, fit perfectly onto the string. Positioning himself carefully, the wizard fired.
The arrow soared across the gentle mound, barely discernable from the rest of the landscape. Not bothering to see where it landed- as long as it cleared the mound, which it would, the ritual would work- Harry nocked a second arrow, aimed, fired. He followed with a third. With three rapid thuds, the projectiles landed. Nodding to himself, the Parselmouth began walking counterclockwise.
Circumambulation, the act of walking around in a circle, was an important part of many Celtic rituals, especially those pertaining to the Otherworld. Harry hadn't really been surprised when the Winter Queen's instructions had included it. He was just glad he only had to navigate the darkening knoll once; three was a very Celtic, powerful number.
As the wizard walked, he poured some silvery liquid that might have been water from a tiny crystalline vial. The fluid flowed into his shallow footsteps, gilding the grass and early flowers in light from the sunset. Though the vial was very small, only a few cubic inches, it did not run out.
It was twilight now, the in-between time. Harry began whispering gentle, floating words in the language of Saysa's childhood. Still chanting eerily, the young wizard raised his hands before him like a parody of Frankenstein. One hand was clenched in a fist around an ornate silver-tipped dagger. It was an athame, a witch's knife. Harry plunged the blade into his right hand. Blood squirted, showered the ground, just as his voice reached the climax of the invocation.
And nothing happened. Harry's jaw sagged in horror. What had he done wrong?
Raven-fletched feathers and rowan bow? Check. Time? Check. Walking counterclockwise as opposed to clockwise? Check. Water? Check. Blood? Check. Plunge the bloody dagger into the ground?
…not check.
Hoping he wasn't too late, Harry plunged the bloody dagger into the ground.
This time, the results were immediate and dramatic. His blood exploded into crimson starbursts, which spread rapidly throughout the circle's circumference, following the path of the liquid. It shone red before cycling through blue, green, and yellow. With a final explosion of white brilliance, the light vanished, leaving behind a blinking wizard.
In the distance, something snapped. It sounded like the twang of his bow when he fired it, like a heavy door swinging open. It was somehow both and neither, deep and sharp.
And then there was a rider atop the hill.
He had appeared suddenly, silently, without the crack of an Apparating wizard. One moment the knoll was empty; the next an androgynous figure on a star-colored horse was silhouetted against the last vestigial sunlight. It was clothed all over in heavy dark robes. Only a tiny slit at its eyes was visible.
The hair on Harry's neck stood up. The horse and its rider had identical pumpkin-orange eyes. Somehow, miraculously, he kept his voice cool. "I presume that you are a messenger from the Summer Queen?"
The rider nodded, its veils rustling. Then it charged.
The silvery horse made no sound as it sprinted towards Harry, who, losing all composure, jumped backward. However, just before their collision the stallion veered aside, racing around the hill. Once, twice, thrice it circled before halting in front of the bemused onlooker.
Orange eyes met green, considered, judged. Harry stared back. He'd once locked eyes with the Winter Queen herself, and her sister's minion had nothing on that icy gaze. For a moment, approval glinted in those inhuman orbs. Then the rider held out something that glimmered in the moonlight. It was another vial, identical to the one whose contents the wizard had used to restore the first rath. Harry nodded, accepted the gift. Then the rider was gone.
Harry stared at the now-unoccupied spot. He crouched, inspected the ground. No footprints.
The wizard shuddered. Why was he dealing with the Fae again?
Oh, right- because he had to.
Stupid prophesies.
"Hope."
The Chamber of Secrets was exactly as he remembered it: a vast subterranean hall covered in serpentine carvings. Except for the purple blossoms of Angel's Net, a gift from Neville, and the gleaming golden stairway, the Chamber was painted in shades of gray.
"Saysa? Are you here?"
The dry rasp of scales answered him. "I am here, Harry. Did you succeed?"
"I think so. I did everything the Winter Queen said, and when I was finished a knight appeared and gave me another vial."
"Wonderful." The basilisk's voice was dull, listless. Harry instantly knew what was wrong.
"If anyone's responsible for Snape and Lockhart, it's me," he assured her. "After all, I'm the one who refused to remove Voldemort's curse on the Defense position. I even made things worse by hexing the Potions position back in March. So it's really my magic that made the spiders attack." He hesitated. "And they're not going to die. I toned down the curse, remember? Lockhart's an idiot, but so are a lot of other people and I can't just kill them all. Snape- well, Snape does deserve death for wanting my mother as his sex slave, but Hermione would kill me if I killed a teacher."
Saysa chuckled gently. "Did Hermione mention that she followed us and destroyed ten acromantulas?"
Harry froze. "No, she didn't. I thought that she was depressed because of the teachers, not-"
"Go talk to her," Saysa advised. "She is very gentle and has never killed before. I would myself, but neither of my forms is exactly inconspicuous."
"Yes, ma'am," the Parselmouth agreed.
He stopped to visit Moaning Myrtle (he'd never admit it, but the ghost had grown on him, and he did feel guilty about remembering her death) and tell her about the injured professors. Myrtle was thrilled. She'd never met Lockhart and consequently couldn't care less about him, but she did know Snape. Promising to keep her updated, Harry escaped to Ravenclaw Tower.
"Knowledge has a twin. What is her name?"
Harry smiled ruefully. "Her twin has many names: madness, lunacy, insanity."
The portrait swung open.
For a moment none of the milling Ravenclaws noticed his presence, but then a fourth year caught sight of the green trim on Harry's robes and hissed. Soon the entire common room was glaring hostilely at the Slytherin intruder.
Harry ignored them, made a beeline for the stairs. He was intercepted by two bulky seventh years.
"What're you doing here?" the first asked suspiciously.
"I'm looking for Hermione Granger," Harry replied amiably. "Could you give me directions to the second year girls' dormitory?"
"I could."
Harry waited.
"Boys can't go into the girls' tower," interrupted a dreamy voice. Luna Lovegood, Hermione's odd but brilliant friend, smiled at him. "I'll go get her, though, if you'd like."
"I would like. Thanks, Luna."
The first year glided up another set of stairs. Harry sighed; apparently he'd been trying to climb up the boys' tower.
"You can wait outside," seventh year number two growled. Harry nodded, trotted over to the portrait hole.
Hermione's face was blotched with ugly crimson spots. Her eyes were poufy and downcast. Harry slung an arm around her shoulder, and they began to walk.
The Slytherin was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. He had little skill at comforting people; that was more Hermione's forte. Still, he had to try.
"How are you feeling?"
"Rotten," was the blunt response. "I suppose you've heard."
"Yeah, she told me you followed and did your best to help them."
Hermione halted. Her bangs hung over her eyes, blocking them from Harry's view. Softly, very softly, she breathed, "I've never… never killed anything before. I know it was either us or them, I know it was the right thing to do, it's just- they were alive, and I changed that." Her shoulders trembled. "And I didn't care, not until it was all over and I started thinking again." A hoarse sob escaped her throat.
Harry held her, not knowing what else he could do. Meaningless phrases bubbled from his mouth- "There, there," "It will be all right."
Then he had an idea.
Keeping his voice low, the boy asked, "What about Horcruxes?"
Hermione blinked, her sobs pausing. "Wh-what about them?"
"You don't mind when we kill them."
"That's different. They- they're foul, they're the only thing keeping a monster alive, if we don't he's going to ki-" Her eyes went wide. "Oh."
Harry sighed. "I don't pretend to know a lot about guilt. After all…." He gestured at his scar, itself a Horcrux, with a scowl. "But I don't feel sad when we destroy the Horcruxes. It's not a pleasant thing to do, sure, but it needs to be done. If I have a choice between killing an enemy and watching an enemy kill you or Mark or Sisith, you know what I'd do. You did the same thing."
A rueful smile flickered across Hermione's face. "When did you become so wise?"
"Blame the Sorting Hat." Time for a change of subject before she started bawling again. "D'you want to hear about my evening?"
The Ravenclaw perked up immediately. "Oh, that's right! You were-" She remembered that they were technically in a public place and dropped her voice. "You were restoring a rath. Did it work?"
"Yeah." Harry described the ritual, how he'd almost forgotten the final step, how the faerie rider had come to inspect his work. By the time he was finished, Hermione's face had lost all its grief.
"That's incredible! When are you going to do it again?"
"Later this month, I think. There's a full moon on the fifteenth."
"If the rider comes again, ask him for more than one vial. That way the others and I can help."
He groaned softly. "That's right. I'm a bloody idiot."
She grinned, pressed a finger across his lips. "Language, Harry."
The Slytherin grinned, unrepentant.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's almost curfew," she warned him. "We'd best be getting back to our Houses. Good night, Harry."
"G'night, Hermione. Sleep tight, and try to avoid nightmares."
Her answering smile was brilliant. "Don't worry. I will."
The moon was full, its beams shafting through the atmosphere, sparkling in the dark of night. Beneath it stood a naked youth, shivering with cold or terror, in a perfectly circular grove.
The onlooker's sight was unnaturally clear. He saw strong features, a strong face. The nose was long, the eyes dark and slightly uneven. His skin was tan also, and his hair seemed another part of the night itself. He was lithely muscled, particularly in the arms, and his coarse hands bore several thick callouses. Beneath his feet a stream gushed forth from a rock like a giant's bone, black as soot in the night. Hidden within the trees, shadows shifted, roiled, boiled.
"Why do you come?" The voice didn't speak English, it didn't even speak, but the onlooker understood it anyways.
"Because they took my family," the youth gasped.
"Revenge?" The silent voice was contemptuous. No, not contemptuous- it was contempt. The onlooker could feel the emotion, the cold dismissal.
"No!" cried the youth, looking wildly about. "By Jarilo, I do not seek revenge- at least, not revenge alone!" Sweat streaked his face. "But neither do I wish to stand aside as they advance. Please, Master, let me join you!"
Silence. The bubbling shadows stilled. Now the onlooker could see faint pinpricks of color, the eyes of wild beasts.
"Leave." There were many not-voices in this one powerful not-voice, male and female, young and old. All were as distant and dismissive as the moon itself. "You have no place with us."
The youth hesitated, heartbroken. His shoulders squared. "No," he whispered. "Forgive me, masters and mistresses of the night, but I will not stand aside again at their raids. I will come here every night, in rain or snow or sleet, and I will stay here until death takes me or you agree to initiate me." His voice became stronger. "This I swear."
Time passed in a blur. The sun rose and set in clear or cloudy skies. The moon waned. Each night the youth, holding fast to his promise, sat down at the rock and waited. Snow fell, dusting the ground with white, and he brought a fur to sleep on.
On the night of the new moon, another man was waiting for him. He was older, scarred and muscled from a lifetime of war. He offered the youth a rocky loaf of bread. "Eat."
The youth took it without a word.
They sat there in tense silence until the older man commented, "You're stubborn, aren't you. Why are you so intent on joining us?"
The other snorted. "Why would I not be? You alone can fight."
"We do not fight for revenge."
"I know that!" The youth was frustrated. "Why do you assume I want vengeance? Yes, I do, but I considered joining you even before my family was taken. I've always wanted to fight."
"How fare they?" The elder's face was neutral.
His companion flinched away. "As well as can be expected," he said quietly. "None of the Taken-"The onlooker was beginning to detect a capitalization- "have much life. It's what makes them so horrible."
"And you claim you do not want revenge."
A sigh. "As do you and yours."
The elder chuckled. "When did any of my kin say such a thing?"
The youth scowled. "Is that not why you refuse me admittance? Because you fear that I'll let my hate, my rage against them destroy your- our- calling? No one can fight a war without passion. He who tries will be slaughtered in the first day. But in the same way, a warrior must never be ruled by hate or rage, because in doing so he will endanger his entire army and the enemy will be better served than if he'd never taken up a sword at all."
"Wise words," the second man mused. Then he laughed, a thrilled celebration. "Congratulations, cub. You've been accepted."
"What? But- but- you were all so against me- you said-"The youth's composure was gone. He realized it with a blush. "That is to say, I was under the impression that you personally were against my initiation."
"And yet you still came here every night for half a moon."
"In defiance, not in hope."
"Sometimes, dear cub, defiance is all we have. It creates hope, for isn't that all hope is? Hope is just another form of defiance. You're a wise young man. Perhaps," his eyes twinkled in a Dumbledore-esque fashion, "you will succeed me one day."
The youth's remaining dignity fled as his mouth worked helplessly. The elder roared with laughter. "You know when to come. Until then, fare thee well!" He bounded off into the night, form melting into the shadows, reforming as something different, something wild and dangerous. The onlooker caught a glimpse of flashing teeth, dark fur, golden eyes-
Then Blaise Zabini, Smoking Mirror and Seer extraordinaire, woke up.
Yes, the dream does have a point, just like the storm last book. All shall be revealed in time. I promise.
I originally wasn't going to involve the whole kill-Saysa subplot, but Dumbles has to react to her presence somehow. It's just not in-character for this version to sit around idly when two of his teachers have been mutilated. The canon version probably would, but... this is not the canon version.
The moral of the story: don't stash huge deadly creatures where they can eat you. It's just a really bad idea.
-Antares