O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that. -King Lear 3.4.21-22
One of the great mysteries of the Wizarding world was how irrelevant its news stories were. For example, nothing about a colony of angry, man-eating spiders infesting a forest less than a mile from the only school in Wizarding Britain appeared in the Daily Prophet. In the Muggle world, an extermination team would have entered the woods at dawn's first light. In the land of wizards, though, the acromantula attack was completely ignored.
"This is pathetic," Harry snarled, flipping through his newspaper in disgust. "Two Hogwarts professors horribly mutilated, including the great Gilderoy Lockhart, mentor to the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived, and what's the headline? Kidnapper Still Missing. Of course Malfoy's still missing! If he wasn't, that would be the headline!"
"It is the five-month anniversary," Daphne pointed out, daintily buttering a piece of toast. "And the Ministry hasn't seen hide nor hair of him since we were rescued." She shot him a warning look. It was time to change the subject.
Harry, Blaise, and Daphne knew exactly why Lucius Malfoy was still missing. After all, they were responsible for his disappearance. The possessed Death Eater was currently bound, gagged, and Petrified in the dungeons of Founder's Isle. They were experimenting on him in the hopes that they could learn how to exorcise Harry's Horcrux without immolating him in Fiend Fyre. They would return him to the Ministry only after Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes were destroyed.
Maybe.
"Anything interesting?" Blaise wondered.
"… that idiot Umbridge woman is trying to pass more anti-werewolf laws… a couple weddings…. Who cares if some Hollyhead Harpy is getting married?"
"Quidditch fans, maybe?"
"Shut up, Blaise.."
"We ought to have his tongue cut out," Daphne noted.
Harry laughed for a moment before turning his attention back to the paper. He beamed. "Ha. Look at this- there's been a Ministry break-in in Riga."
Wizards were extremely detached from events in the Muggle world. That was why, when Livonian territories had been split between Estonia and Latvia following World War I, its wizards had totally ignored the mundane government and retained their independence. As such, Riga was the capital of two wizarding nations: Latvia and dead Livonia. Conflict in the double capital was common (particularly in the start of the school year, when the nations fought over who would teach the new Muggleborns), and this break-in was presented as an attempt by one side- the Latvian Ministry- to one-up the other- the Livonians.
"We care about this why?"
Harry lowered his voice. "Remember Moony's friend?"
The other two Slytherins smirked. They'd never met Tyr Ulfhednar, but they knew all about him- and about his mission.
"The one visiting Livonia?" queried Daphne sweetly. "I hope he comes home soon. After all, if the Livonian Ministry can't defend itself, it certainly can't protect any traveling Brits."
"I think he will," Harry answered. "I certainly hope so. After all, it's almost summer."
Blaise grimaced. He'd once promised three potential allies that lycanthropy would be cured by summer's end. Since then, the five had been frantically pouring over books, going through distribution plans (actually having the cure wouldn't matter unless they could get it out), and harassing dragons for their ancestral memories, but without Tyr actually finding the Chalice of the Moon, all this would be useless. "I thought he'd be back by now," the Seer complained.
"We know, we know."
Due to the acromantula attack, classes had been cancelled for the day. Hermione, of course, was panicking. After all, they had less than two months until exams. Normal people- namely everyone else in the entire castle- viewed it as a welcome break from exhausting labor.
After an hour of exercise with Firenze (jogging, archery practice, followed by some basic sparring techniques) and another hour of tutoring in Gobblededook and Mermish, the exhausted wizards went their own ways: Neville to the greenhouses, Hermione to the library, Daphne and Blaise to the Common Room, and Harry to visit his brother Mark.
The Boy-Who-Lived slouched across the Gryffindor table, an expression of dull misery covering his face. Harry flinched; he knew his twin blamed himself for what had happened. "You okay?"
Ron Weasley, who had been sitting beside Mark, shot the Slytherin a filthy look. Harry ignored him.
"I'm fine," growled Mark.
Harry flinched. Two years ago, he would have pressed the issue. Now, though, their relationship was strained, nearly broken. There had actually been a period not too long ago when the brothers hadn't spoken to each other.
"I s'pose you're going to talk about how Occlu-whatsit will help?" Ron's glare intensified.
The Slytherin grimaced; that had been another mistake. He'd volunteered to teach Mark and his friends Occlumency ("so I can get to know them and teach something useful at the same time"), but the four Gryffindors had flat-out refused.
Two years ago, Mark would have stood up for his brother, no matter how miserable he was. That day, though, he just sat there.
Harry sighed. "I'll see you tonight at the study session." He walked away, feeling helpless and very much alone.
The Lightning Speaker and his allies Portkeyed to Founder's Isle late that afternoon. The attack in Livonia hadn't occurred very long ago, but there was a remote possibility that Tyr had already arrived. Besides, they hadn't visited the island's two guests for over a week.
Sirius was sunning himself in canine form near the Portkey point. His ears pricked up. The dog frisked around his friends' feet, ignoring their laughing rebukes.
"How is the village coming?" Harry asked.
In February, Padfoot had overheard Hermione and Neville (in their Fae forms, of course) lamenting the lack of a greenhouse. The stir-crazy Animagus had instantly volunteered to build one. Much to his own surprise, he realized that he enjoyed architecture and decided to construct an entire village. After all, he'd pointed out to the skeptical quintet, they needed more room if they were going to host anyone else. The castle was already full.
Magic meant that Sirius could get an entire house up in just under a week, so nine cottages clustered around the castle and greenhouse (which was already filled to bursting with cuttings from the Longbottom greenhouse. Sirius was actually considering making another). None of the dwellings was very impressive-looking: simple thatched domiciles with stone walls and a few windows. Their builder, still new to architecture, had experimented with them, so each looked different from its fellows. He was currently working on a tenth.
The Animagus shrugged. "It's coming along. I don't really like the latest design- too many rooms. It feels too crowded, so I'm probably just going to stick with the seventh house's blueprints." He could have continued for hours- not much else happened on Founder's Isle besides dragon-watching, Dudley-watching, and building- but Daphne cut him off.
"We think that Tyr is coming back soon."
"You mean Moony's werewolf friend? The alpha you sent abroad?"
"Technically that was Pollux, but yes."
Sirius beamed. "So he's found a cure for lycanthropy?" He laughed. "Wait until Moony hears!"
"We don't know if he's actually found a cure," Hermione cautioned. "No one has heard from him for months. It might just be that he's been kicked out of Livonia, or that the break-in really was due to a Latvian spy." She paused to open the castle door. "I personally don't think that's the case, but it's always better to be safe than sorry."
Sirius nodded. "He can live in one of the guest houses. I just hope he doesn't try to turn us in."
"He won't. After all, they never recanted his arrest warrant." Harry scowled. "They should have erased it in January, when we proved that Lucius was the kidnapper." Technically it had been a Horcrux possessing Lucius, but Sirius didn't know that.
"It's the Ministry." Padfoot shrugged philosophically. "When have they ever cared about werewolves? Besides, you've already got a plan for pointing that out." His grin became demonic.
The five younger wizards laughed. "Speaking of which, we've got another story," Blaise informed him. "It's about your dear old friend, Severus Snape."
"Is he dead?"
"Not yet." The Seer proceeded to tell him about yesterday's acromantula attack.
Sirius howled. "That's definitely going in the VV!"
"Good."
"What's going on?" Dudley Dursley meandered down the stairs, blinking curiously.
They told him. He blanched. "A werewolf's coming to live here?"
"Moony's a werewolf. You like Moony," his guardian pointed out.
"But I've never met this Tyr person!"
"You hadn't met Moony a few months ago. And it's not like Tyr will be staying in the castle. He'll be in one of the houses."
"But what if he eats us on the full moon!"
That pulled Sirius up short. Hermione intervened. "The castle is designed to be impregnable. He won't be able to get past the ground floor."
Dudley did not seem convinced, but he didn't say anything else. They chatted idly for a few more minutes before Harry excused himself.
He thought back to last January, how they'd rescued Daphne and the other kidnapped girls from Malfoy's clutches. He remembered how he'd only turned aside the possessed wizard's wand instead of snapping it. He remembered how he'd gloated. You want to know what's great about Slytherins, Tommy-boy? We're liars. And we're good at it too.
Harry didn't gloat.
Voldemort did.
Thanks to the Horcrux, he already had the elder Parselmouth's memories. How long would it be before he had his personality as well?
Hermione scowled at the unconscious form of Lucius Malfoy as though he were responsible for all the wrongs of the world, which in her opinion: he was.
It was irrational and she knew it, but she blamed Lucius Malfoy and the diary Horcrux for Harry's… condition.
But if they were responsible for his suffering, they could also provide a way out. Sighing, she went through the diagnostic spells again: limbs, cardio, respiratory, magical core, serpent sight….
The last was her invention. Magical serpents like Saysa and Norberta and even, to a lesser extent, Sisith, could see auras. Hermione, realizing how immensely useful that could be, had spent two months working on a way to produce the same effect in humans. Her spell corroborated what Saysa told them about Malfoy's not-colors, so everyone assumed it was working. The only problem was that it didn't last long.
"I don't suppose you're ever going to let us know why he's here?"
Hermione jumped. She hadn't heard Sirius until he spoke. She turned around, forgetting all about the serpent sight.
The Animagus's not-colors blazed.
Indigo danced with cloudy gray. Dark thread ran across his arms, hands, face, forming the vague outline of a dog. Other colors, mostly browns and reds, swirled around his heart.
Hermione shook herself, muttered the counterspell. Sirius returned to normal.
"We've told you already. Pollux is sick, and Malfoy has the same disease." At least they were similar enough. Harry wasn't possessed- yet. "We want to make sure the cure doesn't kill him." Because there was no way she (or the others) would let Harry kill himself just so Voldemort could die. They'd already decided that if they couldn't remove the Horcrux, Saysa would Petrify the Dark Lord and kill him after Harry's natural death at a ripe old age.
The Animagus just looked grumpy. "Maybe if you told me what it was, I could find something."
"No, it's very obscure." Harry claimed that there were fewer than one hundred books in the entire English language that even mentioned Horcruxes, much less explained how to destroy one without harming the vessel. Besides, Voldemort had memorized the ten most relevant, and they were of no use whatsoever.
"Is it related to the Dark Arts?"
Hermione jumped. "What- whatever makes you think that?"
"Malfoy's a Death Eater," came the smug response. "And…" he tapped his nose. "I'm a dog. There's something wrong in both their scents." He shuddered. "I once saw and smelled a man who'd been Kissed. They smell like that, only… opposite." A shrug. "I don't know what that means, only that it's true."
He could smell the Horcruxes? He could smell them!
She forced her anxiety into retreat. "It's not my secret to tell," she told him, keeping her face perfectly neutral. "That's for Pollux to decide."
"I know," sighed Sirius, chagrined. "Can you blame a man for wanting to repay you?"
"Pollux knows more about his condition than any man in Britain," Hermione assured him. "Not even Voldemort knows more about this particular aspect of the Dark Arts."
Padfoot nodded. "Still, you're welcome to the Black library any time. I don't know how much it will help, but it's got some pretty rare books on the Dark Arts. Nasty things, too: Incanting, torture spells, making Inferi, making Horcruxes, Summoning-"
Hermione's brain shut down. Horcruxes? She knew that Sirius knew about the soul vessels- she'd told him herself- but not that he had his own information. "What?"
Sirius pulled up short. "Er-Pallas, are you all right?"
"Perfectly fine," she lied. "Excuse me a moment."
Hermione thought back to a day when she was only eleven years old, a day when a witch had walked through the door and whisked her into a magical new world. Minerva McGonagall had proved to the astonished Grangers that yes, wizards were real, and yes, your daughter is one of us.
She remembered another magical day, the day they'd realized that Daphne Greengrass, her closest female friend, was indeed the Daughter of Frost and therefore entitled to share all their secrets. She thought of how they had saved her, deliberately pushing aside the picture of her friend's unconscious form. No one knew why Daphne had fainted that day; Healers at St. Mungo's attributed it to attempted Apparition, but something about that theory felt wrong. She and Daphne had their own theory, and it was far more likely and useful than failed teleportation.
"Expecto Patronem."
The moonlight-colored raven burst from her wand, circled around the room before landing on her shoulder. "Tell Pollux to come to the dungeons," she ordered. The Patronus leapt.
Her friends had teased her about the raven, joking it meant she and Harry were in lo-o-ove and could I be godfather? (Yes, Blaise, you may.) They all knew it was because Harry was her first real friend, even before Blaise and Neville.
They waited in tense silence until Pollux arrived, Apparating in with a sharp crack. His expression of pained hope nearly brought tears to Hermione's eyes.
"Sirius has volunteered his family library," she explained. "It might contain something we don't know about your condition."
The hopeful expression dimmed. "Thank you, Sirius," he sighed.
The Animagus frowned, thinking hard. He knew that he'd said something to make Hermione react that way, but what was it? He'd mentioned Incanting, torture spells, making Inferi, making Horcruxes, Summoning, blood sacrifices, and Binding before she interrupted. That meant that Pollux's condition had something to do with one of those Dark spells, but which one?
"Let's go there now," he suggested. Maybe he could figure something out by which books he chose.
Pollux shrugged, doubting there was anything in the library Voldemort hadn't already read. Pallas smiled. "Good idea."
The Black library looked like something out of Gothic manga: tall, dim, gloomy, and covered in cobwebs. Hermione shuddered slightly, thinking of Aragog and his kin.
They spent the next hour or so exploring. Occasionally Sirius would take down a book, holler the title, and sigh in disappointment when Pollux politely turned it down.
"Pollux! Get over here!"
Pallas's shriek echoed through the library, calling both men. They found her cradling an immense, thick tome.
Harry's eyes went wide. "Is that On the Destruction of Death?"
Hermione beamed, nodded.
Her friend laughed out loud, not a normal reaction to finding such an evil book. He'd often commented that the only book he could think of that might help was On the Destruction of Death, but that all known copies had been destroyed in the early 1920s.
Sirius gawked at them, mouth ajar. "That's what you need?" he demanded incredulously. "Do you have any idea how dark that is?"
Harry's mouth was a thin line. "Unfortunately, yes," he growled. "My condition is extremely unpleasant, Sirius. It was born of Voldemort's own magic, a curse cast when I was only an infant." He rubbed his forehead. "The only way I can find a cure is by researching things I'd rather not think about, things that are covered in this book." He touched it gently, scowling. "Believe me, if I had a choice, I'd burn this foul thing right now."
"It must be awful," Padfoot breathed.
"Trust me, it is. But now, with this, I can hopefully find a cure that doesn't involve suicide."
"Which isn't an option at all, remember, Pollux?" growled Hermione.
"I know that," he groused. "Honestly, Pallas, don't you trust me?"
Sirius was starting to freak out. What could possibly be so awful that only death could stop it? But he didn't ask- he knew they'd never tell him. If he wanted to find out, he'd have to do some serious investigating.
So would he actually have to read the book? He looked at On the Destruction of Death again: the yellowed pages, the binding of human flesh (which Pollux was quietly transfiguring to something more palatable), with its reddish sinister font. Just looking at it made him feel nauseous.
No, he wouldn't read the book. He wasn't that curious.
Yet.
At Hogwarts, the days passed quietly. Students studied for their upcoming exams, especially the frantic fifth and seventh years. Harry entertained his friends with stories of Tom Riddle's first exams, when he had panicked and forgotten to eat for two days straight, nearly fainting on the Transfiguration practical.
Hermione got the hint. "All right, Harry. I'll remember to eat and drink. I promise."
"Did I say anything?"
Gossip flourished regarding the new Defense and Potions professors. One person swore that Barty Crouch, arch-nemesis of all Death Eaters, would fill the first post. Others bet on Mad-eye Moody, an equally famous ex-Auror, Dumbledore himself, or, somewhat incongruously, Molly Weasley. Blaise suspected that that particular rumor had been started by her twin sons.
Speculation was equally rampant concerning Snape's replacement. Dumbledore had publically announced that due to "complications," the greasy-haired git wouldn't be returning in September. After the cheering had died down (from all four Houses, Harry was proud to see), he had added that applicants for the position would be interviewed over the summer. Popular theories included Horace Slughorn, a Healer from St. Mungo's, and a Bulgarian with a harelip.
There was only one thing wrong with the idyllic days: Tyr hadn't arrived yet.
The five companions constantly discussed him. Had he found another lead? Had he been captured? Was he dead? They made daily trips to Founder's Isle, but the werewolf never appeared.
Not until the day of the full moon.
I need to write more Dudley and Sirius stuff. Their interactions are so amusing (to me, at least, and I might just be talking about the ones that have taken place in my head).
Sirius is snooping because he's a man of action. He doesn't like sitting around, and he wants to repay Pollux for busting him out of Azkaban.
I think that's it. -Antares