Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Thank you to my loyal reviewers and the newcomers! Drop me a line if you like this story! ;)
Also, the result of my little enquiry is the Severus' POV at the end of this chapter. The other alternate POVs should be covered in the following chapters, so don't worry if you haven't got your pick. ;)
FanFiction Lover: Is the third person Mrs Weasley? Ah, and finally, the twins aren't in this chapter, but they will be in the next, in a way ;)
emeraldeyed and Guest: Thank you! :D
Enjoy!
Chapter 36: 19th of November, Part Two: Grimmauld Place
I Apparated to a side alley near the Ministry. It was the closest I had been to Grimmauld Place. The distance was close enough to walk from there, but it would take me a while. The delay didn't bother me. It was still early in the evening, even if it was dark outside, and I needed the time to think and settle some of my problems, namely about my relationship with the Dark Lord.
I had fooled myself. That man was the Supreme Leader of the British Wizarding World. He wasn't a nice guy; he didn't reach that position because he had a nice smile and a fair approach. But he was also my lover, and I had recently discovered that I loved him.
And I liked the relationship I had with him. The easy companionship, the teasing, the passionate sex, the fascinating discussions...I loved it all, despite of whom he was and what he had done in his life.
I couldn't continue to act like a disappointed puppy every time he tortured someone. That's whom he was, and he certainly wasn't going to change because of me. That he even wanted to compromise with me on certain issues was more than I expected from him.
I should stop behaving like a powerless child. I should determine what I was ready to accept and what I found immoral or intolerable. If I wanted to oppose him on a certain subject, I should do it in my own way, not by begging, pleading, sulking or waiting for him to offer a compromise. I had to be Slytherin about it. Negotiation could work, but I didn't really have anything else to bargain with. Cunning and lies...he'd probably see through them quite easily. And he told me when I challenged him to that stupid Duel that I shouldn't even try to manipulate him because it would come back to bite me in the ass. Perhaps literally.
Wishful thinking, I thought with a humourless smile.
So, what was I to do then?
I should take my life in my own hands. Have a plan B, A shelter, an alternative, contacts. Make my own alliances. Exploit my strengths. Have some power of my own.
For the moment, I had a cosy and warm place as the Dark Lord's lover. It probably wouldn't last. I didn't think it would last as long as it already had. From what I had heard from Draco, the Dark Lord never really kept a lover longer than a few months and they would only see each other sporadically, at the Dark Lord's demand, of course. I was at his Fortress all the time. Surely, that meant that our relationship would end more quickly. And then, what would I do? I wasn't about to stay at the Dark Lord's Fortress when he'd have his new lovers over and parade them in front of me. I could probably stay at Lucius' place, but it would still be under His thumb.
And the Dark Lord wouldn't let me have my own place away from him so easily because he wanted to keep his Horcrux safe. But I wasn't about to let myself be discarded and then kept like a prize on display. I needed a place to escape to, just in case. And that was what I came to check.
My feet slowed down as I took in the narrow, dilapidated houses. The overgrown bushes and the broken windows didn't inspire me much good feeling about what I would find. I looked at the street sign: 'Grimmauld Place'. Yep, that was it.
My eyes swept over the house numbers to locate the twelfth. My brows furrowed when I realised that it was missing. Number eleven and number thirteen stood next to each other without as much as a hair's width between them.
It must be hidden.
Indeed, as I came closer, I began to sense the subtle thickening of the air, the faint glint that stayed even when I didn't use my magical sight, the smell of Dark magic with which I had become so accustomed in the past months.
I focused on the wards. They were quite old, but not as ancient as the ones at the Dark Lord's Manor.
I soon realised that I didn't need to worry about them, however, since they recognised their new Master and opened up for me.
The house that revealed itself looked in an even worse shape than the rest of the street.
There goes my plan, I thought morosely.
I still went inside to check the state of the building. I had to use a few Black passwords that Sirius had given a few years ago when we had sat down to discuss inheritance questions. Without the passwords and ritual spells, I'd have managed to access the communal part of the house, but not the Black library or the Master's bedroom. The former might be the only interesting thing for me in the whole building.
The front door opened with a gloomy grating sound. I coughed when a dust cloud entered my nose before I thought of doing a Bubblehead charm. I lit one of my lighting balls and made it follow my progress in the narrow corridor as I walked, my wand forward and alert.
It didn't prevent me from starting violently when I heard a voice suddenly speak up from behind me.
"Who are you?" I heard someone ask in a shrill voice.
I turned around quickly to face whoever was there, only to come to face with an old witch in a painting.
"You don't look like a Black! AN INTRUDER! AN INTRUDER IN THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK! KREACHER!" she screeched.
I heard a pop and a House-Elf appeared in front of me, his finger connected prepared to snap me away from the house.
"I am the rightful Master of this House. Cease now," I ordered. The House-Elf grumbled, but lowered his hand and bowed his head.
The threat of expulsion gone, I turned sharply to face Walburga Black. I recognised her from Sirius' description. He had loved to make me laugh by describing his mother as a harpy and imitating her screeching.
"Madam Black. I am Sirius' heir. My name is Harry Potter and I am the new Lord Black and Lord Potter. I will be taking possession of this house and might come to live here eventually...if I find this place suitable. So far, I must say that I am not very impressed with the formerly illustrious dwelling of the Blacks," I said with an imitation of Draco's sneer on my face and my disdainful voice.
Sirius' mother scrutinised me in the faint glow of lighting bulb. I waved my hand in a careless move and lit up the torch in the hallway in a rare display of my limited wandless capacities. I strove to make an impression, after all. It would make life easier in this place if I had their support.
I saw her eyebrows lift at my spell and her eyes turn speculative.
"Are you a Pureblood, boy?" she asked.
I frowned at her in discontent.
"I'm a Half-Blood, but I've grown up in the Wizarding Society and uphold the beliefs and traditions of my world. My abilities and convictions are enough to compensate for whatever tarnish you imagine my family tree might suffer from."
The foremost argument for Pureblood supremacy was the loss of our culture and the increased contact with the Muggle World. I thought that by tackling those issues first, she'd accept me as Lord of the House more easily, particularly since the House-Elf looked like he obeyed her.
"Who are your contacts in the Wizarding Society? My blood-traitor of a son doesn't count," she said, with a disdainful curl of her lips.
"The Malfoys and the Dark Lord, mostly. I have had the pleasure of meeting two of your nieces, actually. Narcissa and Bellatrix," I said, before waving off a bit dismissively. "I don't have time for this interrogation now. I'm only looking at the premises. I must say I am quite disappointed in your work, Kreacher. I would have thought that an Elf who had the privilege of serving the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would be more assiduous at its tasks..."
I winced mentally when I saw the Elf start to look around for something with which he could punish himself. I wanted to appear firm and Pureblood-like, but there was a limit to my acting capacities. I wouldn't be able to not wince or flinch if he started to punish himself because of what I said.
"Kreacher, you are not allowed to punish yourself. It's a waste of your time. Use it to clean up this place and repair what has to be repaired. I want this place up and running before long. Understood?" I ordered in an imperious tone.
The House-Elf bowed and popped away. I released a small sigh of relief before leaving the portrait alone in the hallway.
.
I walked around the House. It was in a deplorable state, even for me who had grown up in relatively poor conditions. I wondered if the Elf had done anything at all in the past ten years or so since his Mistress passed away.
Probably not, I thought after I had to fight with a particularly vicious nest of Doxies that attacked me when I tried to look out of a window in the dressing room.
I should check everything for emanating magic before I approach them. There's got to be other unpleasant surprises lurking about... I thought as I focused to bring my magical sight up and look around. It didn't look like there was anything else in the room.
When I was in the staircase leading upstairs, however, I caught a whiff of something unusual. A faint taint of Dark blue magic was swirling around lazily and floating up to the second level. I would recognise that magic anywhere.
Has the Dark Lord been here recently? He would have had to spend a considerable amount of magic in this place to leave a mark so obvious in the ambient magic...
I followed the trail upstairs. It led me to a door which had "Regulus Arcturus Black" written on it.
Sirius' brother? Sirius told me that the Dark Lord had killed him two years before my parents died because he was trying to leave his service. Had Marvolo really used that much magic on doing that?
A shiver of dread passed through me.
Am I going to discover his body?
With trepidation, I slowly opened the door, prepared to close it quickly at the first sign of a cadaver or an Inferi...only to see that the room was completely empty. Or, at least, devoid of any sort of decomposing body.
The midnight blue magic was coming from a drawer. My first thought was that it was probably a trap.
I should leave it there, go back home and ask the Dark Lord about it...but I don't want the Dark Lord to know about this place.
I pondered the dilemma, but my curiosity would not let me leave whatever was in the drawer alone. It was nearly itching me. The pull I felt toward it was worrying me. I thought of forcing myself to leave the room...but why would I do that, really? Whatever is in the drawer must not be really big. It's probably not dangerous...
It was irrational and suspicious, but I breathed in and out quickly before making a spur of the moment decision to just open the drawer and not touch whatever was inside.
I stayed at a good distance from it, reaching slowly forward with my magic to tug the drawer open. As it came closer to its destination, my magic started sizzling a bit and I felt tingles spread through me from my scar. It made me close my eyes and shudder slightly.
I really ought to just leave it there and come back with the Dark Lord...
I shook my head resolutely. I wasn't an honorary Gryffindor for nothing.
I reached back until my magic connected with the drawer, grinding my teeth at the energy I felt coursing though me. It felt a bit different than when Marvolo was touching me...but strangely similar at the same time.
The drawer inched forward as I pulled it open with my magic.
I drew closer to look inside.
It was a locket: golden, with an ornate serpentine S on it, a bit gaudy, ostentatious. After living for a few months in Slytherin's Fortress, I'd recognise his mark anywhere with my eyes closed.
.
I paused and thought. The magic of the locket seemed aggressive, dangerous. It was probably cursed. I decided against touching it.
I tried a trick that worked on nearly every mysterious thing there was at the Fortress: I hissed at it.
Bad. Bad idea.
It opened immediately, a waft of dark clouds emerging from it and swirling with energy. My scar burnt like when the Dark Lord was angry. I slapped a hand on it to dim the burn but I still felt a head splitting ache.
§ What the heck is that? § I said, still hissing in Parseltongue.
The clouds suddenly took the shape of a younger Dark Lord who looked at me shrewdly.
§ You are a Speaker, and yet you don't know what I am. Who are you? And how do you know the noble language of the serpents? §
Understanding jolted in my mind.
By the gods could it be a... §Horcrux...§ I gasped as I realised that I had said the last word out loud.
The younger version of the Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at me.
§ What did you say? §
§ The answer to both of your questions is Horcrux. § I answered. There was no use denying my knowledge. I felt strangely intrigued to talk with a younger version of my lover.
His eyes widened in surprise before they shined in glee. His lips stretched in that smug smile I was so used to seeing on his older counterpart.
§ So I succeeded then? Of course I did, I'm a genius! § he boasted.
So he didn't grow into his ego, he's always had it then. Interesting, I thought disparagingly.
"You are the Leader of the Wizarding World at the moment, so I guess you probably succeeded in whatever you planned..." I said, unconsciously switching to English.
The young future Dark Lord's eyes flashed in satisfaction and his lips stretched in an evil-looking smile.
§ And all the Mudbloods are probably dead by now. Perfect, § he commented, volunteering information in a peculiar way for him.
I jolted at the careless statement.
So this was the Dark Lord's original plan then? I wonder what made it change...
My thoughts were interrupted by the young Dark Lord.
§ And I even managed to create a living Horcrux...an unprecedented feat. Tell me, Horcrux, when were you created and which year is this? § He asked imperiously.
"The year is 1997. I was born in 1980," I answered succinctly, evading his question. "And you? Which year were you created?" I asked, not liking his pretentious attitude. He looked younger than me, so I thought his expression of superiority was not justified with me.
"1947," he replied, for once not hissing, but still speaking in a sibilant voice.
"So, he left you in your Locket for fifty years. You mustn't be very important then. So there is really no reason for you to pretend you are better then me. What use could you have for him? You would have to be brought up to speed. There have been a lot of magical innovations since your time. You'd be practically useless. The only reason you can stay out of the Locket so long is because you're feeding on my Magic." I paused at his furrowed brows.
"What? You thought I hadn't noticed? I bring my own Magic to the table, you know. I'm not a leech like you," I pushed. I wanted to provoke him into giving me more information.
He narrowed his eyes at me, scrutinising. I hadn't managed to rile him up.
"I couldn't have created a living Horcrux out of pure Magic. No matter how powerful I became. It's the gods of Nature's privilege to create life, and only Theirs," he stated.
I felt my eyebrows lift on my forehead in surprise. That sounded nearly...religious. I tried to think of if the real Dark Lord had ever expressed similar faith. I faintly remembered that he said he would like to believe that Magic was sentient...but that she probably wasn't?
While I was thinking, the foggy figure had crept closer to me, looking at me closely.
"Are you my son?" he asked.
I choked on nothing, coughing abruptly, my face twisting in disgust considering my current relationship with the Dark Lord. When I regained my composure, I shot him an incredulous look.
"Where do you get that from?" I asked, disbelieving.
"You look...faintly similar to me. Similar bone structure, colour of hair...of eyes, although mine were a darker green," he explained.
The Dark Lord's eyes used to be green? Dark green?
A shock of arousal passed through me as I tried to imagine his intense ruby-red eyes turn to forest green.
The younger Voldemort smirked suddenly.
"Ah. Lover then. I take them younger than I thought I would at this point," he commented, brow furrowed and scrutinising me.
I shook my head quickly to get rid of my distracting thoughts and to focus back on the conversation.
"What makes you think I'm his lover?" I asked him carefully.
He scoffed.
"You are my Horcrux, you are young, powerful, handsome and obviously attracted to me, not that the last part is surprising. I would probably have made sure to bind you to me in a more...intimate way. You belong to me; you are mine. It's quite easy to see now...Did he create you for this purpose? Did he chose a baby and granted him the privilege of hosting his soul?
-No! By the Gods! That's disgusting! And it would mean that he would have brought me up! We don't have a father-son relationship at all...We never have had," I told him, shaking my head in denial.
The young Dark Lord nodded seriously, before narrowing his eyes.
"Why did you come here then? Did he ask you to pick me up? The defenses around me don't look strong enough," he commented, looking back at his drawer and at the room around him.
"Hmm...It's fine though, because this is my house and nobody else can enter as long as I live," I try to reassure him because I didn't really want to explain to the Dark Lord how I ended in possession of one of his Horcruxes.
"And if you died? After further consideration, I can't understand why I would create a living Horcrux. You are so vulnerable. I suppose the thrill of the experiment could partly explain it, but...
-What do you mean; I'm vulnerable?" I interrupted him abruptly.
"Well, a simple Killing curse can kill you, whereas I require much more than that. Also, I'm not sure of how stable the Horcrux is with the rest of your soul, especially if your own soul is whole. Is it inactive, or does it share thoughts and feelings with you?" he asked in his typical 'research voice'.
I felt my eyes widen at the thought.
"I...I" I stuttered." I never tried to communicate with it, to be honest," I confessed.
The idea of another soul in my head was still freaking me out a bit. I wanted to forget about it, not actively talk to it. What if it offered comments on my life choices, or myself? What if it took over my body?
I froze in horror at the thought. The young Dark Lord was still watching me closely.
"I've got to go," I said hurriedly. "You'll be safe in your drawer for the moment, right?" I asked the other.
He lifted an eyebrow at me (he looked exactly like his older self when he did so) before saying:
"Well, that wretched creature did try to destroy me a few times, but in vain.
-Which creature?" I asked, still distracted by my horror-filled realisation.
"The House-Elf," he said.
"Kreacher?" I asked. The House-Elf in question popped in at his name and gasped in horror at the sight of the Horcrux before popping out again.
"Kreacher! Come here!" I ordered.
My House-Elf Apparated back in, throwing terrified glances in the direction of the young Dark Lord. I ignored his fright.
"Kreacher, I order you to stop trying to destroy the locket or whatever is in it. Understood? If you don't follow this order and try to kill it again, I'll use the Slytherin curse for bad House-Elves. Do you know what it is?" I asked, menacingly.
Kreacher nodded his head rapidly, looking impossibly more frightened than before.
"Good, because I also order you to protect this Locket, should anybody want to hurt it, destroy it or steal it. Do you understand?"
My House-Elf nodded his head rapidly, his throat producing a panicked whine. I felt bad to terrify him so, but I didn't want to risk anything.
"Good," I said decidedly before dismissing Kreacher. I turned back to the Horcrux who was watching me with a suspicious expression on his face.
"Why aren't you taking me to him?" he asked.
I shook my head distractedly, still thinking about the possibility of being possessed by my Horcrux. If I touched another Horcrux, what if they could join up to take over my body? Could that be one of the Dark Lord's plan? Another of his manipulations?
My hands started shaking at the infuriating and despairing thought.
Maybe he was just keeping me close to him until he had enough, and then he'd just...give me over to the other Horcruxes, and then he'd have his heir...He'd never trust anybody enough to ever let go of his power, except perhaps himself. He'd never love anybody enough, let alone some poor idiotic and naïve child like me, to want to keep them at his side for long. Maybe that's why he never wanted to duel me. He was just bidding his time before my Horcrux would take over...
I slammed the drawer shut again with a wave of my hand and stumbled out of the room, down the stairs and outside the house. The portrait shouted something at me that I didn't understand. I'd come back to see the progress on the cleaning up and restoration at some point anyway. And I wouldn't go back to that cursed room if I could help it though.
Once outside of the Anti-Apparition wards, I twisted around and Apparated back to the Dark Lord's Fortress.
.
I half dreaded that the Dark Lord would be waiting for me in the entrance parlour. I felt too vulnerable to talk to him at the moment and too weary of his manipulations to face him. I also half-hoped he'd be there and take care of me like the night when he talked to me about the Muggles.
But he wasn't there. The parlour was empty and the Fortress was silent. I walked briskly to my room, my head fogged up by dark thoughts. I rubbed my itching scar, scratched it and pulled my hair out as I walked, full of nervous energy and jittery. My hands were still shaking. I could feel my mind cloud up and my head pound.
If he wasn't there, it meant that he trusted me enough not to check up on me. If he wasn't there, it meant that it wasn't important whether I came back or not. If he wasn't there and had felt me through the shifting of the wards, it meant that he was waiting for me to come back to him, giving me space. If he wasn't there and had felt me through the shifting of the wards, it meant that my presence didn't matter as long as his Horcrux was safe...
I arrived in my room, stopping in front of the door. I clenched my hands uselessly at my sides while I try to gather my thoughts. My clothes were covered with the dust that permeated the air of Grimmauld Place. My hair too, probably. I should take a shower. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go to the Dark Lord's rooms tonight. Had I promised I'd be sleeping that night in his bedroom, or only in his Fortress? I couldn't remember. I shook my head to clear my mind. Shower first. Bed questions after.
.
The warmth of the shower melted the tension in my muscles. It felt divine. I sighed in contentment before resting my head on the cool tiles on the shower wall. The fog in my head was clearing up, but only slightly. I couldn't understand why I felt so confused. It made me think of my Halloween breakdown and I really didn't want to address that issue unless it was necessary. But perhaps now it was. My conversation with the Locket had opened up a whole new line of questioning.
What if I got this sort of...episodes of craziness because of the Horcrux in my scar? What if it made me mentally unstable? Why hadn't it before? Was the contact with the Dark Lord or other Horcruxes making me more mentally vulnerable? What if I was just trying to find myself excuses and was becoming crazy on my own?
I was shaking my head in denial, still pressing against the tiles with my forehead, when I felt a hand graze my side. I jolted and quickly turned around, only to see the Dark Lord standing just outside of the shower, brow furrowed in what looked like worry and eyes narrowed scrutinising my face. I probably looked like a lost and wet puppy at the moment.
I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning back against the wall and savouring the caress on my skin. Another hand went under my chin and lifted it up, full lips connecting with mine softly as the shower rained over us. I responded slowly, and felt as if this kiss was different from all the others we had shared until now. It felt deeper, somehow, more intense. A tongue slid out of his mouth into mine, caressing my tongue unhurriedly. I felt the tension and the panic seep out of me. It had been a long day.
The kiss broke up naturally a while later instead of building up to something more passionate, but it felt comfortable like that. I bent forward slightly and rested my head on his strong shoulder. His arms surrounded me and pressed me closer to him. I felt the shower close off and a spell dry us before Marvolo coaxed me to follow him. He went to my bed and settled us in it, sighing before pulling me back to his chest. I tightened my arms around him and fell asleep, comforted by his presence despite the heavy doubts plaguing my mind.
Tomorrow, I would try to solve this.
.
o0o0o
A few hours earlier, Hogwarts
.
Severus was sitting at the Headmaster's desk, doing a marvellous job of holding up his poker face when he was screaming in rage and disappointment inside.
A young girl was in the guest's chair, her head bowed down in desperation and her hands gripping the leather of her seat in a pointless attempt to relieve some of her tension.
She didn't want to be there. She hated him. Like most of the students in his school, he suspected. She had still come to talk to him by her own initiative.
She bit her lip nervously. It was barely noticeable from her bent down position, but Severus was a perceptive man with a keen sense of observation. He was also a master spy and he would soon be forced to reveal his hand to this bushy-haired, beaver-toothed Know-it-all if he let her speak of what preoccupied her.
He'd have to thread carefully with his Head Girl. He had heard that she was passably clever. He had even had to lower a few of her marks discreetly to allow his nephew to have the highest average in Hogwarts. Having a Muggleborn, regardless of how well integrated she seemed to be, get the top marks in a Wizarding institution more or less controlled by the Dark Lord wouldn't do, naturally. Draco was a much safest choice for that role.
"Miss MacMillan," he started because he had no intention of letting her incriminate him as her accomplice or of sending one of his students, even if the most annoying one, to her death. He paused dramatically, giving his words the time to form slowly and carefully in his head before he let them go.
"Miss MacMillan," he repeated as his mind was whirling and trying to find a problem to his solution. "As the Headmaster of this school, I am a very-well informed man and would ask you to only waste my time with the trivial suppositions and conjectures your mind has no doubt come up if you feel it pertains educational matter. I am, after all, neither your Mind Healer, nor your friend. As such, you may reconsider whatever you wish to ask me and question the pertinence of sharing such information with the Headmaster of your school. Surely Mister Weasley would be more apt to help you in your endeavour," he suggested in that cutting, sharp tone that made the impressionable minds around him recoil at his every word.
It didn't please him to have to be so obvious in his statement. It was incriminating in itself to present it so plainly. But one had to use such direct words when they had to deal with obnoxious reckless Gryffindor.
Miss MacMillan was supposed to be a clever witch, but her company had never been conducive to the development of her intellectual faculties, to say the least. He only hoped he wouldn't have to reiterate his dangerous words, or explicit them even more.
He observed her closely and could nearly see the gears turning in her mind as she turned his words around and tried to make sense of them. A dramatic gasp fell from her lips as she finally understood their meaning.
He sighed mentally. Why the Rebels even bothered to do anything covertly when none of them could control their facial expression was a mystery to him.
She opened her mouth to say something, before, thank Merlin, she paused and glanced at the portraits.
Good girl, he thought patronisingly. Now, go back to that carrot-haired boyfriend of yours and learn to keep your head down. But know that I'll be watching you very closely from now on. One step out of the way and it will be the end of you. Muggleborn or not.
She nods decisively at him, obvious, much too obvious in her agreement.
"I'm sorry to have bothered you for nothing, Headmaster. I only wanted to give you the modified schedules for the Prefects' rounds of this week and to talk to you about some problems we ran into recently with some Slytherins bullying Hufflepuffs," she explained in that hurried tone of hers while she gave him the schedules.
He felt a whisper of magic warm his hand at the contact with the parchment and knew that these were not only the Prefect rounds. He glanced down at the glamoured paper and lifted one eyebrow at her very slightly to let her know that the message has passed. Again, too obvious a code for his tastes, but he would take what he could have.
"As it is a matter of inter-house discipline, I'm afraid that you will have to bring it to Professor McGonagall's attention. If the conflict degenerates to serious threats on members of either party, this will be brought to my attention again. Is it clear, Miss MacMillan?" he explained her, letting his second sentence deliberately vague to allow her to apply it to the real motivation behind her visit. He did want her to tell him if she knew about another potential attack, after all.
He caught a twitch of her right eye betraying her understanding before she ended the conversation and left his office.
When he was alone again, he glanced back down at the encoded message and rubbed the grainy surface of the paper pensively as he thought of the implication of this meeting. Nothing had been said too explicitly. He had been suitably irritable and unwelcoming to not solicit any further attention from the portraits and various spying spells present in his office. Her stress could be explained by his intimidating presence. Her words had been careful, banal. She shouldn't have used the excuse of the Prefects rounds, since by now, it was obvious that she should have given the timetable to Minerva. But it could pass as her searching an excuse to bring up the subject of bullying. And she had still managed to pass her information on those sheets.
Perhaps she was not so inept a spy, after all.
Now, he only had to determine what he would do with said information.
As he destructed the glamour, various outlines and drawings were revealed and, despite his incredible control, he couldn't prevent one of his eyebrows to twitch up on his forehead at the content of the parchment.
A hand went up to pinch the bridge of his nose and he allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment.
How was he supposed to transmit information he was never supposed to have in the first place?
A sigh built up to his lips before he clenched it down.
He had forgotten how complicated and dangerous his position as a spy had been.
As his mind continued to pass through various plans and discard them as quickly as he drafted them, he felt something move in his stomach and a small warmth flicker to life in his chest. A thrill of adrenaline ran through his veins and revitalised him for one of the first times in more than 16 years. A sly smirk slowly spread on his face.
He had forgotten how living felt like.
.
Next chapter: An important discussion between Harry and the Dark Lord, more on the paper planes and a glimpse at Bill's organisation!
Thank you in advance for reviewing! :)