Author's Notes: I hope you all appreciate the effort I took to learn a little Old English and Old French. The grammar is all weird. It's not precisely Old English grammar that's being translated because I wanted it to be readable without giving people too much of a headache. Have fun.
Every day that Harry spoke to Draco through the mirror, their conversations seemed to shorten bit by bit. Draco kept asking for more time and Harry was growing impatient with him. The night before Draco was due back to Hogwarts he admitted that he could only delay the Committee's hearing.
Harry told him, "I don't want Buckbeak's hearing delayed; I want a stay of execution. If you can't do that, the deal's off."
Draco's expression went carefully blank and then he nodded, disappearing from the mirror without another word. Closing the compact, Harry sighed. He understood it had to be hard to deal with a powerful man like Lucius Malfoy, but they were running out of time. Harry had a feeling that Draco was the only one who could stop the hearing. Buckbeak didn't deserve to die for acting on his instincts.
Harry never found Sirius Black on the Marauder's Map, but he did discover from reading the book Neville gave him that the Whomping Willow had an interesting feature. Somewhere on it was a knot that if tapped would paralyze it. Unfortunately, Stunning it wouldn't render the tree paralyzed. Most magical gardeners would use a very long Unbreakable pole to do the deed, and since Whomping Willows were generally pruned to chest height that made sense.
Harry went outside on walks with Theodore to observe the shifting Whomping Willow. Harry didn't think using a long pole would work given that the tree was perfectly capable of snagging it to drag him along with it. How else would he get close enough to touch the knots to find the right one? If he levitated something, the Whomping Willow would flick it out of the air like the bluebirds that got too close during the warmer months.
"What are you thinking about? Revenge?"
Blinking out of his thoughts, Harry gave Theodore a strange look. "Who?" At Theodore's gesture, Harry laughed. "What, revenge on a tree? Why?"
"For bludgeoning you last year and for destroying your broom."
Harry shook his head. "There wouldn't be any point in it. It'd be like saying all spiders should be killed because you were bitten by one."
"Ah," Theodore said.
"What?"
"You're more forgiving than me. I'm not fond of things that try to kill me."
"Me neither, but it's the intent that's important. Buckbeak and the Whomping Willow don't go out of their way to kill things for fun of it. It's a defensive mechanism."
"Ah. Alright, I think I see your point." Theodore grinned with a chuckle.
Giving him a look, Harry huffed. "Yes? What've I said now?"
"You keep surprising me is all. You're so... nice. Makes me want to be like that too."
"You're already nice."
Theodore grinned. "That just means you've already rubbed off on me, see?"
Walking into the cool breeze that would lead him back into the castle, Harry shook his head. As much as they got along, it was the small conversations like these that reminded him that his thinking style was different from others. Though... it was a little heartening to know that Theodore was already nicer because of him. Then again his friend could just be saying that.
Two days later, classes started again. The flobberworms had apparently died of overeating; instead, they had fire salamanders to care for. They spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs.
The first Arithmancy lesson of the term was much less fun; trigonometry was turning out to be much more complex than Harry had imagined. They learned about the polar graph and the difference between radians and degrees among lots of tedious formulas that he had to memorize.
The next day after Charms class, Professor Flitwick informed Harry that it would take longer than he anticipated even with Madam Hooch's assistance to finish checking the Firebolt. Harry assured him that he was in no hurry to get it back, since he'd been benched for the rest of the season. The diminutive professor had beamed at him. Harry hoped that the professor was meticulously reverse-engineering it so he could carefully re-apply each charm correctly. He didn't want a dud broom.
Transfigurations had moved on to turning jewelry boxes into turtles. Harry had never found anything as impossible as that. Sally-Anne was the first to get it done, swiftly followed by Draco.
"You know, it helps to think that the object was always something living to start off with," Sally-Anne suggested.
Harry only succeeded in turning the box into a turtle shell. He sighed. Charms was easy compared to this. Why was Transfiguring becoming so difficult for him? It had to be something he was doing wrong…
The next day was yet another boring lecture by Professor Binns about goblin rebellions. In Astronomy, there was in-depth learning about rising and descending stars and planets, zeniths, how to measure positive and negative aspects, and the like. Then Thursday was Potions and Study of Ancient Runes, both classes Harry wasn't fond of, but he managed to leave both unscathed.
Friday morning the Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson on stumping a shadow-thief was very interesting to say the least. Simply having one's shadow choke the thief seemed to do the trick of scaring it off. Inside the protective warding holding the shadow thief in, they'd each taken a turn in front of a large bright light, miming the action.
Harry was keen for the lesson to be over because he wanted to ask after the tutoring he and Theodore were promised.
"Ah, yes," Lupin said after class when Harry broached the topic, "Let me see… how about eight o'clock this evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough… And that should be long enough time to find another boggart."
Once Harry had left the classroom, Theodore and Sally-Anne walked with him to lunch. Professor Lupin was ahead of them, waving when other students greeted him. When the trio passed a group of Gryffindors, who had just left a Herbology class by the smell of them, Harry heard Ron asking Neville, "Professor Lupin's always getting ill. What d'you reckon's the matter with him?"
Hermione had tutted very loudly, holding a large bag so stuffed with books that it made Harry wonder exactly how many books were in there to overcome the Extendable Charm that had to be on it. Harry stopped, curious about their conversation.
"What are you tutting at me for?" Ron asked irritably.
"Nothing," Hermione said, moving to go into the Great Hall.
"Yes, you were. I said I wonder what's wrong with Lupin and you—"
"Well, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said with a superior tone Harry would have thought suited Draco better.
"If you don't want to tell us, don't," Ron snapped.
"Fine." Hermione disappeared into the Great Hall.
"She doesn't really know; she's just trying to get me to talk to her again," Ron told Neville sullenly. Harry was unsurprised to hear that Ron and Hermione had yet another fight.
Theodore exchanged a look with Harry. What was really important about the overheard conversation was that Hermione knew that Professor Lupin was a werewolf. Not for the first time, Harry wondered why Snape had taught that lesson to the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. They weren't all stupid. Even worse, the Hufflepuffs were generally inclined to the Terra Arts which meant they'd be more likely to notice the lunar cycle than the other houses... Then again, Hufflepuffs were also a fiercely protective and loyal lot. Even if they discovered Professor Lupin's secret, they might not say a word about it because he was a good teacher and very polite. However, what would the Hufflepuffs do with that knowledge...? They would certainly prepare themselves if anything were to go wrong with their DADA instructor. Perhaps stock up on silver and dittany as Theodore had.
"What do you know that I don't?" Sally-Anne asked, looking put-off by Harry and Theodore's silent communication.
"I'll have to tell you once the term is over," Theodore answered. "It isn't something you'd want to discuss even behind a Silencing Ward."
"You know something that sensitive…?" She scowled, hmph-ing. "If that ever changes, you had better tell me."
Harry's roommate chuckled and promised to do just that.
The tutoring lesson with Professor Lupin went rather well. Harry insisted that Theodore practice first since Harry thought it'd be useless if he ended up passing out again before his friend had a turn. Of course, Harry had to be closer to the boggart for Theodore to cast a Patronus.
It only took Theodore four more tries before an incorporeal Patronus burst from the end of his wand with an avian scream; a large falcon dove at the fake dementor, sharp talons forward, crowding it back into the suitcase. Harry had been very relieved to see the Dark creature shut up again. He'd had to listen to the sounds of screaming in his mind for the scant seconds it took for Theodore to cast.
"Very, very good, Nott!"
Theodore flourished his wand with a bow.
"Have another piece of chocolate, Harry, you're looking peaky." Professor Lupin gave him another small bar, and Harry unwrapped it and took a large bite. "We can postpone this for later, if you'd like."
Harry shook his head. He wrapped what was left of the chocolate and set the package down. "No, I need to do this."
Theodore gave him a concerned look, but he nodded in agreement.
"All right then…" Professor Lupin sounded defeated, yet lifted his wand to pop the suitcase open. "Concentrate firmly on your happy memory and have your wand at the ready."
Harry's hands were already sweating. He furiously thought about how happy he was to have a family that wouldn't abandon him or betray him. He lifted his wand and nodded at the professor.
A flick of the wand and the History of Magic classroom went icily cold and dark once more. The dementor glided forward, drawing its rattling breath; a rotting hand was extending toward Harry, grasping—
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted over his parents' screams.
A huge, silvery shadow surged from Harry's wand and then faded like mist, leaving him defenseless.
"Expecto Patronum!" He tried again as his legs shook beneath him from sudden fatigue. Only faint wisps this time, and the cold and the emptiness were sinking deeper into his chest. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" He yelled.
Sound had been sucked out of the room; he no longer felt his fingers as his vision became obscured. Blurred, moving shapes came into focus.
His father's panicked face came into view, causing Harry to bawl, and then Harry was shoved into his mother's arms, who looked terrified.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"
His mother took him from that room into the dark hallway. There was the sound of an explosion—a cackle of high-pitched laughter—his father's war cry, an ensuing volley of red, blue, and green light flaring—and "Avada Kedavra!" A green light flashed into the room his mother had run to. She slammed the door shut behind her, spelling a complicated Magical lock on it.
"Shh, dear Harry," she told him her face streaked with tears, placing him down very gently into the crib. "Harry, you are so loved. So loved. Mama loves you. Dada loves you. Be safe… Be strong…"
The door crackled apart in a spray of sparks and splinters, and Harry saw his mother spin to face who had entered.
"I am feeling merciful tonight," a nasal voice proclaimed. "Stand aside."
"Not Harry, not Harry, please—!"
"Harry!" Theodore's voice was distant. "Harry, wake up!"
Someone was lightly slapping his cheeks. It was a minute before Harry understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor.
"My dad… told her to run… tried to take on Voldemort himself… My mum knew she wouldn't be able to escape… She spent her last moments telling me how much she loved me..."
Theodore's hands squeezed his shoulders.
There were tears on Harry's face mingling with sweat.
"You heard them again?" Professor Lupin said in a strange voice.
"Listen, Harry—you should take a break," Theodore said, peering down at him worriedly.
"I want another go." Harry stubbornly pushed the hands off his shoulders and sat up.
"No, Nott is right. You've had enough for one night." Professor Lupin's smile was a bit wan. "If I have to take you to the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey will be after my head!"
Theodore handed Harry chocolate, and he chomped on it hungrily.
"Same time next week?" Professor Lupin looked at the both of them.
The two boys nodded somberly. As Theodore helped Harry to stand, a thought came to Harry. This would be the perfect opportunity to ask questions. "Professor Lupin?" The kind professor turned to him attentively. "If you knew my dad and mum, you must've known Sirius Black as well."
Lupin froze, and then his joints seemed to thaw. "What gives you that idea?"
"Well, why else would Black be made my godfather if he wasn't good friends with my parents?" Harry trailed off. Theodore also seemed suspicious.
The professor's face relaxed, and he nodded. "I knew him," he said with a sharpness Harry had never heard before from him, "Or I thought I did. You'd both better be off. It's getting late and I don't wish for your Head of House to reprimand me for keeping two of his students out after curfew."
With that dismissal, Harry and Theodore left. Once they'd passed through enough corridors, Harry asked, "I wonder how close they were?"
"Judging how he clammed up, likely very close. Must've been a nasty shock to learn that his friend was capable of such senseless violence." Theodore looked pointedly at the chocolate remaining in Harry's hand.
Still feeling empty, Harry crammed the last bit of it into his mouth as they headed down into the Slytherin dungeons. He kept his doubts about Black's guilt to himself, though it surprised him that Draco hadn't saw fit to inform Theodore about them. Draco was likely keeping his cards as close as Harry was.
Ravenclaw played Slytherin a week later. Harry attempted to sit with Hermione and Neville, but failed when his housemates saw fit to bully everyone out of the stands. It nearly started a riot until Harry apologized to the Gryffindors and left the way he'd come. His excitement soured, Harry thought Draco had taken long enough to find the Snitch. In his Spellfast cloak, Harry had spent a good two and a half hours in the damp, blustery cold watching as the stand of green around him cheered for the Slytherin team.
Late February faded imperceptibly into March, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. Harry still hadn't received his Firebolt; he wondered if Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch had found a nasty spell or curse laid into it, but whenever he asked the Charms professor told him that it was taking longer than expected and nothing else.
To make matters worse, Harry's extra lessons with Professor Lupin hadn't shown any improvement in his ability to successfully cast a Patronus in the presence of a pseudo-dementor. Meanwhile, Theodore's glowing white falcon was looking more and more opaque each time he cast it.
Harry tried not to feel envious. His Patronus was indistinct and shadowy, too feeble to drive a dementor away, instead of the magnificent creature with a full set of antlers he knew it could be. All the ectoplastic proto-Patronus did was hover like a semi-transparent cloud draining him of energy as Harry fought to keep it there, fought to keep his memories happy. Harry knew why he was having trouble; he could not perform a correct Patronus charm so long as he half-wanted to hear the echoes of his parents' last attempts to protect him.
"You're expecting too much of yourself," Professor Lupin said sternly. "For a thirteen-year-old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a feat."
Harry nodded his head towards Theodore. "He did it."
"Nott has been raised from a very young age to defend himself against Dark creatures. There's perhaps other subjects that come to you more readily than to him, isn't there?" Professor Lupin said kindly.
"Half the time I'm completely useless in Charms class, and I don't have near the physical stamina on a broom for an extended Quidditch game," Theodore said wryly.
It was true. Harry had seen Theodore struggle with Charms...
"And you no longer faint in the boggart's presence, which I think is a remarkable achievement." Professor Lupin reached into his tatty briefcase. "Which is why I think this calls for a reward for your efforts—something from the Three Broomsticks. You won't have tried it before, I believe…"
"Butterbeer!" Harry cheered when he saw the bottles. "Yeah, I like it."
Professor Lupin raised an eyebrow, handing the bottles out to them.
"Harry's been to Hogsmeade once before. For an eventful twelfth birthday that ended with him being grounded for a month by Professor Snape," Theodore said with a grin.
Harry huffed. "It's not my fault that Dobby—he's a house-elf—" Harry explained to Professor Lupin, "framed me for using magic outside of school!"
"Oh, yes, Severus told me about that but didn't give me any details," Professor Lupin said with a wistful tone, opening his own bottle and taking a sip. Almost immediately a frown settled on his face.
"Something on your mind, sir?" Theodore asked after taking a large gulp.
"Oh no," the professor said mostly to himself and then he shook his head, wrapping his hands around the open bottle. "… Alright. Maybe I read something in the Daily Prophet this morning."
"About the Ministry authorizing the dementors to give Sirius Black the Kiss, sir…?"
Harry sat stunned for a moment at the idea of Black getting his soul sucked out of him when there were still unanswered questions about what had happened on that last day of October in 1981.
Professor Lupin looked very grave and drank a little more of the Butterbeer.
"Do you think he did it, professor?" Harry asked, unable to drink any more as his stomach turned.
"He claimed he didn't. Said he was framed… Said it was Peter Pettigrew who'd become Lily and James' Secret-Keeper and that it was Peter who had betrayed them." Professor Lupin's grey eyes went distant. "But Dumbledore himself told the court that Sirius was to be their Secret-Keeper… and all that was left of Peter was—"
"A finger," Harry and Theodore interrupted him.
Professor Lupin sighed. "Yes. Without Peter Pettigrew to provide his side of the story, the evidence weighed too heavily against Black. I imagined he lied about what he'd done to try to get out of being sentenced to Azkaban."
It sounded rather sensible to Harry... to lie so you didn't rot in a horrible prison filled with creatures that ate your happiness.
"Then why didn't he lie about being under a spell?" Theodore asked abruptly.
"I knew Black could shake off the Imperius Curse, so he couldn't say that he'd been under Voldemort's control."
Harry recognized the name of that curse; it was one of the three Unforgivable curses… Anyone caught using any of them was sent straight to Azkaban.
"I apologize. This topic is too dark for two third years to ruminate over." Professor Lupin stood up. "It's getting late. I'll see you two weeks from now."
The both of them nodded in understanding. It would be too dangerous to continue the lessons after dark so close to the full moon. They had already postponed them for a few days two previous times since they had started in January.
"Thank you, professor," Harry said.
"Don't forget your potion, either," Theodore said, "I rather think you're a fantastic Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It'd be a shame to see you get sacked."
Professor Lupin's smile was wan. "Goodnight to the both of you. Hurry along now!"
Setting the Butterbeer bottles down, the teens rushed to the dungeons and passed through the portrait hole into the common room.
"Potter!" A peeved voice rang out from the office.
Harry's spirits drooped as he wondered what he'd done wrong now. "See you upstairs, Theo."
His roommate nodded and continued on.
Turning into Snape's office, Harry crossed his arms. "Yes, sir?"
"You have a secret admirer," he drawled nastily from his standing position. He gestured to the magnificent broom lying on his expansive desk. "There was nothing discovered to be amiss with it."
Forgetting his anger at the Death Eater, Harry's hands dropped to his side; he wanted nothing more but to hold the Firebolt in his hands once again. Then, sense came back to him and he warily looked at the greasy-haired git. "Secret admirer?"
"You idiot boy, why else would someone generously gift you something as expensive as this anonymously? It appears your felonious godfather is attempting to lure you out of the castle by lowering your guard."
Harry's response was caught in his throat at the surge of happiness. He wondered whether the escapee had seen his performance as Seeker during the first Slytherin match or not.
"Of course, I would delight in withholding a possession of yours that brings you such blithe joy, but it appears your friendship with the headmaster has earned you certain… privileges."
A smile erupted onto Harry's face, and he snatched the broom from Snape's desk. "Am I dismissed, sir?"
"Wipe that smirk off of your face, Potter. I never explained the terms."
"Terms of what, sir?" Harry said as his lips curled into growing bitterness.
"Until the dementors have left Hogwarts grounds, you are not to ride your broom. Doing so will result in—"
"You're saying I can keep the Firebolt, but I can't use it as it was meant to be used?!"
A nasty smile appeared on the sallow-colored face, and the adult's eyes glittered meanly. "Oh, yes. Poor Poppy has tended to you enough this year. You ought to quit acting so selfishly and think about others for a change."
"You're calling me selfish!?" Harry said outraged. "You greasy-haired, hook-nosed git—"
"Tut, tut, Potter. I see you owe me another detention," Snape said, his yellowed, uneven teeth bared. "I expect you tomorrow morning."
"But tomorrow's the match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff!" If he couldn't play, he wanted to at least watch the games!
"In my office at ten o'clock sharp."
Harry sent Snape a baleful look when he felt a niggling sensation and immediately wished the adult's head would explode where he sat.
Snape chuckled. "So infantile. I suppose I could assign another detention…"
"I'll see you tomorrow, sir," Harry said, grinding his teeth.
Long, too-pale fingers flicked towards the door.
Harry turned abruptly, storming out of the office. Ignoring the looks of pure jealousy from his housemates that were directed at the Firebolt in his hands, Harry gnashed his teeth as he jogged up the stairs to the third-year dormitory. He slammed the door open, and it banged against the wall.
"You got it back!" Theodore crowed from his bed, setting his Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms book down.
Draco's head jerked up from his desk and immediately came to take a closer look, reaching Harry's side before Theodore. "May I?" He held out a hand. Harry had never seen Draco ask for something so politely without a note of syrupiness to it.
Still angry at Snape and irritated that none of them had bothered to ask, Harry wordlessly handed it over and headed to his wardrobe unclasping his Spellfast cloak to hang it up.
"The balance is phenomenal," Draco murmured, letting the broom go to float in front of him at just the perfect height for him. Theodore's gaze was fixed on the golden-red hued broom as were Crabbe's and Goyle's. Harry didn't know what to think of Draco's comment; he sounded as if he'd never touched a Firebolt before, which was simply ridiculous.
After taking off his dragon-hide boots, Harry opened his trunk. Suddenly he realized why Snape would allow Harry to keep a broom he couldn't fly. "Draco, did you ever hear back from your father?"
"I should have an owl any time now with his decision…" Draco said absently. "I won't know if the hearing's cancelled until then."
Pulling out the Broom Servicing Kit, Harry closed the trunk lid and put the bag on top. He unzipped it and took out Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish which sat next to a very dog-eared book on broom care. "I hope you get word back so you have time to fly it before the end of term."
"You think I'd spend a favor on this?"
"Look at how you're holding it," Harry said with a chiding tone.
Draco blinked owlishly at his hand and relaxed the tight-knuckled grip he'd had on the broomstick.
"Now, may I have it back? I've wanted to polish it since I received it."
With a terrible sigh, the broom was returned to Harry, and the teen spent an hour polishing it. The bristles at the end of it were already immaculate and required no trimming. Afterward he placed it on top of his trunk not wanting to dirty it by putting it on the floor or bend the tail-bristles by storing it in the wardrobe. Harry changed his clothes and crawled into bed, closing the curtains until no cheery glow came in.
When Harry could hear that everyone had fallen asleep, he took out the pouch and pulled out the Marauder's Map. He tapped it and whispered the incantation and then cast "Lumos". He spent all night watching the goings-on in the corridors, how Filch and Mrs. Norris met up on the hour, how the ghosts, excepting the Grey Lady and Peeves, often stayed clustered together in the farthest, deepest, and chilliest corner of the dungeons, how the greasy-haired git prowled the third-floor corridor while several prefects lurked in other areas of the castle.
And then… Harry saw something very unusual: Peter Pettigrew's name floating by feet that waddled and scurried about in a zigzag pattern. His very first thought was that he was seeing things as he'd been looking at the map for what seemed like hours. He closed his eyes and reopened them. The name of the dead man hadn't disappeared. Pettigrew was very slowly scaling the stairs towards the Divination classroom in the Astronomy tower.
Oh, how Harry wished he had his Invisibility Cloak! With it he could have immediately squashed his curiosity and solved the mystery. He frowned. Should he alert the headmaster? … But that would require showing him the map, and Harry was very certain that it would be confiscated if he did that.
And the map was old. It could very well be malfunctioning.
Harry continued watching the shuffling footsteps, until his eyes were too heavy to keep open.
"It's a great day for a Quidditch match!" Theodore's voice cried out boisterously.
Harry started, wiping the drool off of his face. He cancelled the Lighting spell.
"Shh!"
"He's not awake yet?" Theodore said more quietly after Draco's loud shush.
Seeing the map was still active, Harry tapped it and whispered, "Mischief Managed." Before the ink had disappeared completely, he shoved it into the tiny pouch next to him.
The curtains were yanked back suddenly, and Harry lifted his hand as he winced in the light, protectively cupping the pouch in his other. "What time is it?"
"Nine, and you need to stop emulating an owl," Draco said.
"You missed the work-out," Theodore said congenially.
"And breakfast," Goyle grunted, his thick eyebrows drawn down in concentration as he squinted at the schoolbook in his hands. Crabbe was thumbing through the glossy pages of a new magazine with more moving pictures of half-naked witches and wizards.
Harry knew that skipping breakfast meant he'd gotten another detention. He gathered clean clothes to take to the communal bathroom downstairs. "I'll head to the kitchens after I shower then."
Pouch still in hand beneath the fresh clothes, he tramped down the stairs, Theodore trailing after him.
Once Harry had cleaned up, he and Theodore traveled to the kitchens. Harry showed Theodore how to enter the kitchens; his fellow Slytherin amused himself by inspecting the decorative plates, while Harry ate as much as he could.
"Detention?" Theodore asked when Harry said he wasn't going to the match. "What'd you do? He only talked to you for ten minutes!"
"I called him something I shouldn't have," Harry grumbled, tearing into the red apple in his hand.
"Why're you and him on such bad terms now?"
Harry took another loud chomp. His chest hurt when he thought about it.
"Not going to tell your best mate?"
Swallowing the mush of apple, Harry scowled and settled on telling him a lie instead of the truth. "I found out that he's only been nice to me to turn me over to Voldemort later. The moment I accused him of it, he showed his true form: a nasty, mean bully who only cares about his own skin."
"Well," Theodore said after a long pause. "Good thing you found that out now before you got too attached to him."
Harry's eyes burned, and the world blurred around him. That would have been too kind. He shoved a bread roll into his mouth and ripped his teeth into it, ignoring how hot his face became. It was his own fault for getting attached to a Death Eater.
"Oh… Bit of a nasty shock, was it?" Theodore said more gently.
"I trusted him." Rubbing his robe sleeve across his face, Harry sniffed angrily. "And I shouldn't have. The warning signs were all there. He doesn't like brats. He's loyal to the headmaster. He never once expressed paternal warmth. So, really, it's my own fault for assuming."
Theodore placed a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed without saying another word.
Harry swallowed. "And, I didn't want to see them—his chess plays. I was never his son; I'm nothing but a-a pawn to him." He pressed his forehead against the top of his crossed arms on the table. When the tears came, they moved silently. His uneven breathing was the only indication that anything was wrong, and he wanted it that way. Theodore didn't make a fuss or say a word about it, which was a nice change. Instead, he talked about the different sorts of people he met during his travels, until Harry laughed. Once Harry had gotten control of himself the comforting hand disappeared. Harry took a great breath and blew his nose into the cloth napkin that had been provided with his meal. He felt drained, and he didn't want to serve out his detention with that bastard.
"So," Theodore started again without looking at him, "The odds are in Gryffindors' favor ten to one; I always root for the Dark Horse so I placed my money on Hufflepuff winning."
Eyes itchy, Harry smiled. "You're going to lose your wager. The only team, who gets as sore about losing as us, is the Gryffindors. Flint says that the Gryffindor Captain's desperate to win this year since he'll be gone next."
"Says you," Theodore said, more characteristically himself now. "You've never mentioned that you had any second-sighted abilities. And if you had kept them a secret, I doubt you'd get into as much trouble as you do now."
Harry countered, "You're just jealous that you don't lead a highly adventurous and interesting life."
"No thank you. I've had such a life before entering school, and I find I really enjoy my peaceful existence here. And after meeting you I'd only ever wish your life on my worst enemies," Theodore retorted. "Haunted by the vengeful spirit of the scariest Dark Lord in this century? Fighting basilisks and possessing Dark artifacts? And now you're attracting dementors. You, Harry, are incredibly unlucky."
Harry burst into unexpected laughter. It did seem quite awful when put that way. With a much lighter heart—and Theodore's quickly spelled, gentle Cleaning charm—a fresh-faced Harry returned to the common room with his best friend. "Have fun watching the match, Theo."
"I'll tell you everything about it play-by-play!" The taller teen jogged down the empty corridor.
Harry entered Snape's office through the door which had been left ajar. When he looked around and did not see him, Harry drew his wand and cast "Homenum Revelio!", which was a spell he'd learned and practiced many times from the Viridian Vindictus books before he got it just right. It appeared that no one else was in the room with him. That bastard must have stepped out…
Harry grinned wickedly and darted to the nearest shelf, looking past the grisly jars of pickled specimens for any sign of hidden doors, cabinets, or anything else that might be of interest. Disappointingly, there was nothing. Harry darted into the small adjacent closet, lighting the sconces with magic. He began to dig through the books and parchments, lying on the crowded shelves.
He didn't expect that Snape had left his Invisibility Cloak lying about, but it didn't hurt to check. Keeping an eye on the time by casting "Tempus!" now and then, Harry was half-way through the storage room when he found a dusty transparent green stone at the back of one of Snape's bookcases in the corner.
Reaching for it, Harry lightly touched it and realized it was the emerald eye of a serpent which had been engraved into the wall. Thinking no harm would come of it, Harry whispered, "Open."
The emerald seemed to twinkle, but nothing happened. Harry frowned at the emerald… There had to be a different password!
'If there's ever a password to use, the map will tell you all you need to know', the twins had told him.
With a furtive glance over his shoulder, he yanked open his pouch. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The map filled out within painfully long seconds.
Rapidly he flipped through it looking for Snape's name. The Slytherin Head of House did not appear to be anywhere near the Slytherin dungeons… nor was anyone else for that matter. Harry assumed the others had all gone to the Quidditch match. He flipped the parchment until he found Snape in the Headmaster's Study pacing as Dumbledore's feet remained stationary. It puzzled him as to why Snape would assign detention to Harry without any intention of showing up... or perhaps he had intended to but the headmaster had summoned him for a chat. Unsure about how much time he had left to search, Harry tugged the paper flaps down until he was shown to be in Slytherin's Office on the map. The tiniest speech bubble had appeared by his name and feet in strangely curled symbols, symbols that Harry had no trouble deciphering. "Blood of my blood may open the way," Harry hissed softly in Parseltongue to the emerald.
The entire bookcase swung inward causing Harry to jerk back uncertainly. Harry peered inside. The map declared the room as Slytherin's Personal Study now that a door had opened to it. That worried him because there had been basilisks in the Chamber of Secrets. Surely the Founder of his House would not put such a dangerous creature near the dormitories of children. Then again, you could never be too certain about these things.
"Hello?" His voice echoed beyond him. Sconces lit up next to him cheerily without the greenish tinge he was so used to seeing in the common room. Sensing no danger, Harry stepped inside, and the bookcase ground shut behind him.
The study was a large circular room that smelled of dust and cobwebs, musty with the undertone of stale air. He spun around in place, watching fire jump to life from empty sconces as his attention shifted. The vaulted ceiling was as high as the Great Hall's and all around him were shelves upon shelves of books with different levels of walkways. Across from him in the corner was an arsenal of swords and epees, training dummies and suits of armor. Harry stepped onto the magnificent grey rug stretched over the majority of the stone floor. In the center were silver and emerald threads that intricately detailed a large basilisk with its eyes closed. As Harry moved across the room, the great beast shifted unnervingly beside him. There were no windows here, but there were thick green curtains which separated sections of the room out from each other.
"Godne morgen," a slightly nasal voice startled Harry so soundly that he had spun around with his wand pointed.
There in front of him was a portrait of a bald-headed wizard with pale skin, piercing dark forest green eyes, and gaunt cheekbones. His beard was dark grey. Wearing a high-necked and, understandably, old-fashioned set of black robes, the great Salazar Slytherin looked contemptuously down his nose at Harry. "Sprikhst thoo Eng-li-sheh?" He said slowly.
Flushing, Harry re-holstered his wand. "Sorry," he said, "You startled me."
Around the Founder's neck was a necklace with an octagonal powder box attached to it. On its lid was a thick 'S' in the shape of a snake. "Voh par-ley Frahn-sei?"
Harry stared at him. "Er, sorry. My French is absolutely abysmal."
"Welcome to this personal study, my Heir," the severe-looking wizard said in Parseltongue.
"Er, I'm not your Heir, Mr. Slytherin."
Slytherin merely looked at Harry as if he had said something rather dim-witted. "The age of you is what?"
Harry flushed. "Thirteen. I'll be fourteen in less than a year."
The portrait made a thoughtful noise. "On proper nutrition, One's theories were proved right after all."
"Sorry?"
"Unimportant." The man placed his hands together as if in prayer, except it was pointed towards the floor. "When deemed ready, the secrets of the Dark Arts that have been accumulated will be provided."
Harry grimaced at the mention of Dark Arts; he didn't particularly find them that useful unless you wanted to maim someone or raise Dark creatures for the purpose of getting ingredients. "Er, I didn't come here expecting to meet you. I just found the serpent's eye on the bookcase in Snape's office—Snape's the Potions Master and my Head of House—and decided to see if it opened anything up."
"Curious." Each of Slytherin's fingers ended in long fingernails that were sharpened to a point; Slytherin stroked the long beard on his chin, and then he stopped when his eyes had come upon Harry's forehead. "That which is above your brow is what?"
Self-consciously, Harry brought a hand up to the lightning-shaped scar. "Someone tried to kill me when I was an infant."
"Come closer. Examination of the brow on which lays the curse-wound would be treasured knowledge," Slytherin's voice did not sound as if it were a request.
"You want to look at it?"
"Yes."
Seeing no harm in it, Harry stepped forward and brought the black fringe back. It was then that Harry saw that Salazar Slytherin's eyes were merely a shade darker than his own.
"Survival of such curse happened how?"
"My mother sacrificed herself, so I might live. The Killing Curse rebounded back onto the caster."
"From Death's clutches an uncommon escape." Slytherin's eyes looked down. "That which is in your hands is what?"
Harry lifted the still-active Marauder's Map, seeing no harm in showing it to the portrait. "I was given this by a couple of mischievous brothers."
Slytherin's eyes widened slightly as he took in the details of the map. "So, you are Harry Potter…"
"Er…You know me?"
"Destroyed Jinara, the basilisk which was gifted to you from the Great One," the old wizard spat out, quite affronted.
"It was Petrifying students."
Slytherin exhaled slowly, stroking his beard again. "Then a direct descendant you were not… since control was lacked."
Harry clenched his jaw and looked down at the map. Snape was back in his office now, appearing to pace. "I told you I wasn't your Heir, and someone else was controlling her."
"Oh?" Slytherin looked
"Lord Voldemort."
"Lord Cheater of Death? Or Lord Vole of Death?"
Imagining a bald, blunt-nosed rodent at the latter name, Harry let out a laugh at the surprising play on words and shook his head. "He hates Muggles and wanted to murder the Muggle-born students. Even now he believes that Muggle-borns muddy the bloodlines and weaken the purebloods' magic."
Salazar Slytherin snorted as if this were a ridiculous notion. "Absolute codswallop."
"Er… but didn't you leave Hogwarts because you disagreed with Godric Gryffindor about Muggle-borns being taught here… because you thought that their blood was impure?"
"History tells of One's resignation in this way?" Slytherin shook his head his severe look growing more severe. "Resigned for personal reasons. To refuse Magbobs was about the welfare of the rest of the students. Bewildered Magbobs often formed self-destructive habits from shift from a Mundane life to a Magical one, exacerbated by their subsequent abandonment by their frightened Mundane parents. Many talented students lost to stoning attacks, stake-burnings, and drownings. More gifted Magbob students, more murders by their own flesh and blood. To pick only from the Pure-blood families meant efforts to teach and mentor them would not be wasted."
Harry was dismayed to hear the distant past spelled out so grimly. 'Magbob' was not a term he was familiar with but he could guess what it meant by context… "…Things are much better, sir. Cases of child mistreatment are rare, and every Muggle-born I know was stunned to find out magic is real, and I haven't heard that their parents or guardians have tried to kill them. And there are spells now that can protect someone from projectiles, allow one to breathe under water, or stand in fire without it burning. And laws to prevent Muggles from learning about the Wizarding world, like the Statute of Secrecy, to protect both."
"So society has progressed beyond One's expectations..." Salazar Slytherin looked at Harry peculiarly. "Speak more of this Lord Vole of Death. Destroyed when the Killing Curse rebounded onto him… and yet to hear you speak it is as if he still lives."
"His spirit lived on… I don't know why, but my first year he possessed a teacher and attempted to kill me again and then last year there was a journal that contained a sixteen-year-old version of himself that attacked me."
Slytherin's curious gaze turned dark with a sternness Harry had never seen before by anyone. "A Dark Arts practitioner Lord Vole of Death remains?"
Nodding, Harry watched the ancient wizard bring a crooked hand to his beard once more.
"Methods to restrain a spirit to the mortal plane are known… but it is that which is exceedingly Dark and corruptible to the caster." Slytherin nodded to himself. "Yes, Harry Potter's survival of Killing Curse is understood and only partly because of mother's protection. Nevertheless, to hear that explanation you are not ready."
"You can't just do that!" Harry complained, "Say that you know how it happened and then refuse to tell me!"
"Young Potter. Who is it that knows the Darkest secrets of the Dark Arts?"
"Er… you do, sir?"
"And Potter's wish is to be told of how he has survived the Killing Curse?"
"Yes, sir…"
"Then speak not to One in such a manner again."
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said as his face reddened.
"Forgiveness will be earned in time. Bring a lexicon and a grammar book of your language so discourse is in a language that doesn't twist One's mouth so."
"What is a lexicon?"
Slytherin raised one of his thick, forked eyebrows that nearly kissed his temples. "A book of words, the vocabulary of a given language."
"I'll bring a dictionary to you next chance I get."
"Then good day, young Potter." The wizard bowed slightly, which Harry returned.
"Goodbye, Mr. Slytherin."
Without another word, the ancient wizard walked out of the frame.
With a deep breath of air, Harry let go of the tension in his shoulders and then inspected the map. That was a very odd conversation... Harry didn't think anyone would believe him if he claimed that Salazar Slytherin, according to his portrait, wasn't a blood purist.
According to the map, Snape had remained in his office, but had stopped pacing. "Is there another way out?" He muttered to himself, walking along the walls.
Minutes later, a small speech bubble popped up to the far corner of the room, across from where he had first entered. The map showed that the secret passageway led straight to a dead-end corridor in the dungeons, and as far as Harry could tell no one was around.
"Mischief Managed," Harry told the map with a tap of his wand, placing it back into the pouch. He then scanned the wall. He found nothing, but whispered in a hiss, "The greatest knowledge is meaningless without integrity."
The entire wall shifted to the right silently, leaving a small crevice wide enough for Harry to squeeze past. As soon as he was in the dank murkiness of the branch corridor, the wall closed behind him. Harry placed a hand on the dungeon wall next to him and followed the hall to the larger corridor.
When he re-entered the common room, Snape was standing at the bottom of the steps, glaring. "Potter, you've earned a month's worth of Independent Study."
Harry smothered the desire to smirk at his Head of House. "Yes, sir."
"I see you didn't take any time at all to leave," he drawled nastily.
Shrugging, Harry said, "Why should I wait longer than an hour in that smelly office for you?"
The Slytherin Head of House took in a deep breath. "...I expect you to stay in your dormitory until the match is over."
"Yes, sir." Harry calmly walked to the stairwell, surprised that the bastard seemed… resigned.
"And, Potter?"
Harry paused on the first step, his hand on the stone doorway.
"I will know the very moment you try to sneak out."
Without responding, Harry returned to his room. Instead of looking at the map for Sirius Black or Peter Pettigrew, he brought his schoolbooks to his desk and began to finish the essays that were due that week.
Afterword: Before anyone asks here are the phrases used. I did the phonetic spelling because Salazar Slytherin was speaking slowly.
Godne morgen. = Good morning.
Sprikhst thoo Eng-li-sheh? = Spricst þu Englisce? = Do you speak English?
Voh par-ley Frahn-sei? = Vos parle Françeis? = Do you speak French?