Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast. –Romeo and Juliet 2.3.94

Sisith the garden snake was a creature of simple pleasures. He liked Harry, he liked his family, he got on very well with Norberta (at least, he usually did. No one was friendly with dragons all the time). Most of all, though, he liked excitement, adventure, thrill. So when Harry asked him to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic's most dangerous, elusive department in search of a magical artifact that had been lost for centuries, he simply grinned and asked, "When do I leave?"

"How does now sound?"

They were gone in ten minutes, just enough time for Sisith to eat and Harry to brief him on the Ministry's pathetic security. The serpent laughed. "It's a miracle your government hasn't killed you all yet."

"I know," Harry sighed. He shifted into his Fae form, and Pollux's deeper voice ordered, "Stay hidden."

The Parselmouth Apparated to Hogsmeade. He didn't bother disguising himself - only the teenage girls, his allies, and the inhabitants of Founders' Isle had seen Pollux Ophion Riddle's face.

He walked into the Hog's Head, Sisith hidden on his arm. After downing a butterbeer to remain inconspicuous (no one paid attention to just another customer, even if he hadn't ordered the bar's famed firewhiskey), he wandered over to the fireplace and Flooed to the Ministry. Humming a mindless, innocent little tune, he walked across the Atrium, just like a hundred other witches and wizards.

If it hadn't been for the flustered, hurried witch who darted into the elevator just before the doors closed, the trip would have gone without a hitch.

She was an older woman, perhaps Professor McGonagall's age. She bore a vague resemblance to Harry's "aunt" Marge, but friendlier and without the moustache. The witch's florid face lit up when she saw her travelling companion. "Tom!" she exclaimed, drawing every eye in the crowded elevator to herself. "How lovely to see you!"

Every eye in the crowded elevator turned to face Harry, who silently cursed the Winter Queen and her atrocious sense of humor. He bared his teeth in an expression that hopefully resembled a friendly smile. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but my father died eleven years ago."

It was true; James Potter had left that world on Halloween of 1981, little more than a decade before. It was also true that Tom Riddle had 'died' on that same date, so he wasn't technically lying about anything. It was an elusion worthy of the Fae.

"Oh!" The woman's already-pinkish face turned bright red. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry about that, I didn't- oops, here's my stop!" She ran out, even more flustered than before. Most of the elevator's other inhabitants followed. The few remaining eyes bored into Harry's skull. He ignored them.

No one else was headed to the Department of Mysteries, so Harry and Sisith had a few seconds alone in the elevator. "Who was that?" the serpent wondered.

"Probably one of his old schoolmates," Harry growled. "I think her name was Jane Spencer, but she was a year younger and in a different House, so he didn't bother remembering much about her. She's not really good minion material."

"You can say that again." The elevator dinged, and the disguised Parselmouth ambled down the hall to the unprotected door to one of the most secure places in magical Britain.

"…They really need better security."

"In the words of a wise snake I know, you can say that again." Harry indulged in a brief grin. "When should I come to get you?"

"Four days," Sisith decided. "I don't know how big this place is, but that should be enough. I'll curl up in that corner there and wait for you." They passed the corner in question to enter the room of revolving doors. Before he closed the door to the entryway, Harry marked it with a blinding blue X.

The room whirled, black blurring into black with only a small flash of blue to break the monotony; when it was over, Harry continued their conversation as though nothing had happened. "I'll probably come sometime in the early afternoon, around lunch."

"Speaking of lunch, bring me some when you come back. I'll probably be hungry."

The Parselmouth chuckled softly, opening the door next to the blue-marked exit. "I will. Good luck."

"Who needs luck?" Sisith laughed as the Portkey whirled his companion away. "If it's there, I'll find it. That's a promise."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Mark Potter's voice was lost, confused. "I…." As he had many times before, the boy trailed off, unwilling to speak the thoughts which had plagued him for days.

The headmaster forced a gentle laugh. "I know, Mark. Exams can be very stressful. When I was your age, I had trouble sleeping and eating, but don't worry. I am confident that you'll perform most excellently."

"It's not exams," the ersatz Boy-Who-Lived confessed.

Dumbledore took a sip of his tea, waiting. As always, his patience was rewarded.

"I…I was there when Lockhart and Snape were attacked," he whispered, not meeting the old man's eyes. He was blinking very rapidly, his face red and miserable. "But I didn't do anything. I sat around and let those spider things eat them."

The headmaster pretended to misunderstand. "The staff at St. Mungo's has assured me that both your teachers will be fine, though I doubt either will return next year." A pity that. Severus at least was useful, though fortunately not irreplaceable. "I will tell them about your concern." He wouldn't, of course. Best to sever all ties between Mark and his other mentor. Severus was another matter- he wouldn't listen even if Dumbledore did deliver the boy's message.

"That's not it," he whimpered, frustrated. "I didn't save them. I was right there, and I didn't save them. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. I should have saved them."

"Don't blame yourself, Mark," Dumbledore advised. "You were caught off guard, and despite your experience with Voldemort, you aren't accustomed to facing animalistic foes."

"I should have saved them," he insisted.

Dumbledore waited.

"I need more experience," Mark mumbled. "I need to… maybe I should go out and find those spiders?"

"Brave of you," his headmaster commented. The Gryffindor looked up, startled. He'd forgotten anyone else was in the room with him. "However, I've no doubt that the acromantulas have left the Forbidden Forest. Something frightened them, chased them away."

A thousand emotions crossed Mark's face: surprise, confusion, indignation, realization. If he proved himself against whatever had frightened the spiders… if he defeated the creature that made the beasts who'd defeated him flee in terror… he would more than make up for his perceived cowardice earlier that month. He would be a hero again, and his fame would receive a healthy boost. Perhaps he could even fill some of the immense niche that Gilderoy had so suddenly vacated.

The boy changed the subject to tiny things, inconsequential things; a child's attempt at hiding his true thoughts. Albus let him- even without Legilimency, he knew what Mark was thinking. He wanted his glory back, his confidence, and his self-esteem.

And he would have it. All it would take were a few questions to Hagrid, a lesson from Professor Binns, an introduction to Moaning Myrtle…. He would need to drop several dozen hints, of course, but by summer's end Mark Potter would set foot in the Chamber of Secrets, and its Guardian would be no more.

Something was nagging him, and he didn't know what.

Sirius growled softly, an action more suited to his canine form than his current human body. Kreacher was there in a pop. "Does master need anything? Wine, water, food?" He actually looked concerned, which still boggled Sirius's mind.

"I'm fine," the Animagus sighed, plopping into one of the Black library's ancient reading chairs. "It's just that something's wrong with how Pollux got sick, and I can't figure out how to help him unless I know exactly what's wrong."

"As Kreacher's mistress, master's sweet late mother, grew older and even wiser than before, she often solved problems by speaking her thoughts aloud."

Talking to oneself: the first sign of madness. Sirius wasn't surprised. "And it worked?"

"Of course!" Flames filled the house-elf's eyes. "Master's mother was pure of blood and brilliant! Mistress was always successful, not like some of the filthy-"

Padfoot blurted out the first thing that crossed his mind: "If it worked for her, it'll work for me."

"Master is wise, just like master's mother. Master will succeed."

"…Right. Thanks for the… advice, Kreacher."

"Kreacher is not worthy of receiving master's thanks. Still, Kreacher is humbly grateful towards master for saying such things. Master is a good master." He popped away.

Sirius was loath to do anything his mother had done, but plenty of other people talked through their problems and found solutions. "All right," he mumbled to himself, "fact one: whatever's wrong with Pollux is the result of a curse Voldemort put on him when he was a baby." A stunned, incredulous pause, "That was fast." The Animagus pushed himself out of the creaking chair, began to pace through the library's crowded shelves.

Pollux seemed to be in his mid-thirties, a few years older than Sirius himself. Voldemort hadn't been truly active until Padfoot was almost in Hogwarts. That left several possibilities. The first and most obvious was that Voldemort had hunted Pollux down in infancy, years before his other acts of terror, and placed some kind of Dark curse on the helpless baby.

But that didn't make any sense. Why would Voldemort do that, and why Pollux? The man was clearly extraordinary, but he couldn't have exhibited these characteristics that early on. And even if Voldemort had selected Pollux, how would Pollux have known? And most importantly, why had he waited so long before seeking a cure?

Sirius wasn't stupid; he'd overheard the other wizards discuss their leader's illness, and he knew that they hadn't started researching until January. Did that mean Pollux hadn't known about his curse until earlier that year?

The wizard groaned; too many questions, not enough answers.

The second theory was that Pollux had lied, that he'd gotten this ugly curse somewhere else. But why would he lie? People didn't exactly boast about their association with the Dark Lord. Therefore, he was probably telling the truth that Voldemort was responsible for his mysterious condition, but he was lying about when that had occurred.

An ugly suspicion pooled in the pit of Sirius's stomach. If Pollux had been close enough to be cursed by Voldemort… why was he still alive? The Dark Lord always went for the kill.

Except with Death Eaters. He had no doubt that the Dark Mark was a foul, twisted piece of magic, but the Death Eaters survived that. Who knew what else Voldemort might do with his followers?

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Pollux knew all sorts of Dark magic; he'd known how to remove the curses on the Black library's book just by Transfiguring the cover from flesh to leather. He'd known that Sirius was innocent, that Pettigrew was the true criminal- but how? He doubted that anyone outside of Voldemort's Inner Circle knew the identity of his spy. Then there were the Horcruxes- how would he have known anything about them, much less how to locate and destroy the foul things, unless he was someone whom Voldemort had once trusted implicitly? Regulus had turned back to the Light; what could have stopped another, higher-ranking Death Eater from doing the same?

There was only one possible explanation, outlandish and wild though it was: Pollux Ophion Riddle was a reformed Death Eater.

But that left him with another question: what about the others? He couldn't imagine Alexander Chamberlain in the black robes and white mask- but then, he couldn't imagine Pollux like that, either. And Saysa… Saysa was obviously not human. He didn't know what she was, but he doubted that Voldemort would have let her into his council.

…Unless she was so dangerous that even he, nonhuman-hating fool that he was, was forced to acknowledge her usefulness.

The hairs on his neck, arms, everywhere but his head, stood at attention, forced there by a sudden eruption of goose bumps. What if they weren't reformed? He and Dudley could be hostages for Mark. Tyr and Remus… they weren't on Voldemort's side, he would trust them with his life, but many other werewolves followed the Dark Lord. If Pollux was using Tyr and Remus to find a way for werewolves to transform outside the full moon, Voldemort's pack would become even more deadly.

Oh, Merlin, they really were Death Eaters. No wonder the dementors had let Pollux take him from Azkaban- they were on the same side! Oh Merlin, sweet Morgana, he had to get out, had to get Dudley and Moony and Tyr and run-

-and then Pollux walked into the library.

Padfoot's heart skipped several beats. Oh crap. He'd opened the Black Library to a group of probably-not-reformed Death Eaters.

His parents would be so proud.

Sirius Black had always been an impulsive man: he'd run away from home as a teenager, almost fed a fellow classmate to a werewolf, and broken into the home of a man who hated his guts. That was why, instead of doing the sensible thing and lulling Pollux into a false sense of security, he grabbed his wand and started firing curses willy-nilly.

The Death Eater's face twisted in shock. "Sirius, have you lost your bloody mind?"

"EAT FURNITURE, DEATH EATER!" Not his best comeback, but he was still reeling from his obvious (though slightly erroneous) conclusion.

Pollux was so surprised by the completely reasonable accusation that he forgot to dodge the armchair Sirius had flung at him. It slammed into his frozen form, crushing him against the wall.

"Stupe-"

"Protego!"

"-fy!"

The Stunner bounced, ricocheting towards its caster. Sirius dodged. The chair holding Pollux captive dissolved into matchsticks.

Now Pollux was on the offensive, blasting silent spells towards his foe with the speed and power of Voldemort himself. Sirius laughed. "Can't hit me!"

The other man smiled, a feral bearing of teeth. "I wasn't aiming for you."

"Wh-" The Animagus's question died before its proper birth, strangled by the Transfigured chairs that had crept up on him from behind and were now pinning his limbs- most importantly, his wand arm- to his body. A Disarming spell hit him half a second later. His wand went flying.

Padfoot shifted to his canine form, but the chairs held him tight. What a death, commented the sarcastic part of his brain. Held captive by your own furniture as a Death Eater slits your throat.

"Care to explain why you think I'm a Death Eater?" Pollux's voice was filled to the brim with barely contained anger. No doubt he was put out about being discovered.

It would take too long to explain his fractured reasoning, so Sirius spat out, "You lied about the curse. You're using the werewolves to enhance Greyback's pack. Dudley and I are bait for Mark for when your master returns."

Something cold and deadly flickered in Pollux's eyes. "I do not," he growled, "serve Voldemort. I never have, and I never will. And why in the name of Merlin would I be destroying his Horcruxes if I'm one of his ridiculously named flunkies?"

Sirius stopped struggling. In his mental gallop, he'd forgotten about that little detail.

Pollux heaved a sigh. With a wave of his wand, the furniture holding Sirius fell, inanimate once again. He shoved that same wand into Padfoot's hand. "There. I'm unarmed. Would a Death Eater do that?"

"…Oops?" A pause. "Are you a reformed Death Eater like Regulus was?"

"No! Why are you so hung up on Death Eaters?"

"Because you lied."

"And every liar follows some deranged Dark Lord wannabe, is that it?"

He didn't deny the charge. "You said he cursed you as a baby, and that's where your mysterious condition comes from. You're too old. If he'd really cursed you as a baby, he would have done it years before going public."

Pollux nodded.

Sirius pressed on. "You know all sorts of Dark magic. You got past the dementors. The dementors were afraid of you. Your condition is so incredibly Dark that you have to read that foul tome to find a cure."

He was still nodding. Everything Sirius said was true.

"I want to know why. No, I need to know why. You saved me and Dudley, yes, but I still know nothing about you. If you want my help taking Dumbledore and Voldemort down, I need to know who, what, where, when, why, and how."

Pollux was still, very still. The silence stretched on for half an eternity before the Parselmouth heaved a sigh. Sirius said nothing. He knew he'd won.

"I need to talk with the others." His voice left no room for negotiation. "Ours is a long, complicated tale, and many of the secrets aren't mine. Saysa especially depends on secrecy for survival; she has for longer than we've been alive. However, as a show of trust…." He paused, hesitated. The muscles in his neck tensed, veins thick and prominent. "I'm a Horcrux."

"I'm sorry?" Sirius must have misheard. "Could you say that again?"

"I'm Voldemort's last Horcrux." His voice was strained, angry, almost a growl. "He's made so many of the bloody things that his soul has become unstable. When he killed my family, a piece of his soul flew off and attached itself to me. I didn't know what had happened, of course; I didn't have a name for my connection to him until January, when another Horcrux possessed Lucius Malfoy. We're trying to find a way to kill the blasted thing without killing me, but so far we haven't had much luck. Any suggestions?"

Part of Sirius wondered if he was joking, but the rest of him knew that Pollux Ophion Riddle was dead serious. No one in his right mind would joke about having a piece of Voldemort's soul on- or rather, in- his person. "No. I-" He froze, not knowing what else to say. The shock of Pollux having a Horcrux in one's skull overrode his curiosity. If the others' secrets were half that bad, he probably didn't want to know.

But he had to. He'd spoken the truth when he'd said that he couldn't follow Pollux without more information- namely, a set of goals and motivations.

"I'll go meet with the others," Pollux promised. "You get Remus and Tyr."

"What about Dudley and Harry?"

The other wizard smiled dryly. "Harry is a Hogwarts student; he doesn't get out of school for another month. As for Dudley, you're his guardian. After you've heard what we have to say, we can decide how much to tell him. I can hardly say he's too young to know."

What in Merlin's name did that mean? "What's that mean?"

The Parselmouth shrugged. "Meet us in the first cottage you constructed. It should be large enough. I'll try to hurry, but I don't know how long our discussion will take. Be prepared to wait awhile."

"I will. And, Pollux?"

"Yes?"

"Sorry for attacking you, pinning you against the wall with an ancient armchair, telling you to eat furniture, and accusing you of being a Death Eater."

The Parselmouth chuckled. "Apology accepted, Padfoot. In all honesty, I probably shouldn't blame you for getting suspicious. We've put off our explanations for far too long."

Sirius nodded. That they had.

Ah, Sirius. You make me laugh. I like writing you.

The revelation thing was inspired by a review from 782 pointing out that "Pollux" had indeed made such a slip-up. It was a plot hole on my part, but I decided to go with it. Why not? I was planning on letting the ignorant ones know more sooner or later. This just means it's sooner. By the way, 782, I'm dedicating this chapter and the next to you, since your comments inspired it. No, the dementor-killing was not inspired by Wolfbrothers in WoT. I can't even remember where it came from any more.

-Antares