"The prank will last at least three days," Draco explained, as they treaded past students passed out mid-work on the ground. "Starting on Wednesday at the feast and ending on Friday, hopefully. Most of the things we're working on will be activated remotely with a simple incantation - the magic burst resulting will be rather big, though, so we've taken over an obscure hallway for someone to activate it in. Nobody wants to do it though."
"I'll do it," Harry decided, hopping over a first-year who was drowsily casting small levitation spells on some transfigured goblets. He looked suspiciously drunk, but Harry gave him benefit of the doubt and said nothing. "How are you going to get things into the feast?"
"We've already put up the streamers, those were easiest," Draco admitted. "Just had to ask our owls to drop them as they fly past. Our problem will be getting the potion we're using into the food and charming the cutlery."
Harry grinned. "Let me see what I can do about that. We've got at least two hours until potions, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Draco confirmed. "What are you-"
"Follow me," Harry cut him off, grabbing his wrist. "You'll love this."
"Why does that fill me with dread?" Draco commented, though it fell on deaf ears as he was dragged out of the lethargic Slytherin common room and away towards the kitchen.
"MASTER DURST IS HERE!"
The sheer silence that arrived as Harry strolled casually into the kitchens was maddening. It remained so for only a few seconds before the house elves began squealing in glee and racing over to him.
"Ari? What the hell?!" Draco hissed, eyes bugging out as elves clamored to hug Ari's legs. "What have you done to the house-elves?!"
"I come here often," Harry admitted. "They're the most powerful force in Hogwarts, I swear." At this, a few House-elves blushed in sheer glee at the high praises being sung, making way so that Harry and Draco could sit down.
Draco looked around. "I hope you know what you're doing, Ari, because I'm this close to running away screaming. I've never seen house elves so delirious." And it was true; a few had actually fainted. There were only a few actually acting logically; even as they spoke, a cheerful elf wearing a strange patchwork ensemble with a teacosy on his head brought over some biscuits and pumpkin juice.
"Dobby is happy to see Master Durst and Master Drakey again!" He exclaimed, putting the food in front of them. "What can Hogwarts elves be doing for Master Durst and Master Drakey?"
"I told you not to call me that," Draco grumbled.
"Ah," Dobby acknowledged, "But Master Drakey is not Dobby's master any more, so now Dobby can be's calling you whatever he is liking!" Dobby chuckled, "but Master Durst is liking Master Drakey, so Dobby is being nice."
Draco raised a delicate eyebrow, and Harry shrugged. "Is there something wrong with that reasoning?"
"I'll find something wrong with it eventually," Draco threatened. "Alright, we're here, you've got adoring fans in the House-elves. How is this supposed to help us prank Gryffindor house?"
The elves gasped in unison, and without any warning it devolved into excited chaos. Dobby was grinning from ear to large, floppy ear, eyes shining with mirth as Harry quickly whistled, bringing all the elves back to their senses.
"When is we playing the prank on the Gryffindories?!" One elf cried excitedly.
Another piped in, "Scrappy wants to help too!"
"You'll all get a chance to help," Harry soothed. "Draco? Take it away. Tell them about the prank we're playing."
"Uh, alright," Draco cleared his throat nervously. "We're setting up a prank that will last for three days, approximately. At the moment we're brewing a potion whose effect will be harmless but humourous. I assume Ari was hoping you would spike the food at Wednesday's morning feast with it, and furthermore replace the cutlery normally used with charmed cutlery we're making in Slytherin house."
Whispers erupted, but most elves paid rapt attention to Draco's instructions and explanations as Harry surreptitiously beckoned one of the younger elves. He leaned down and whispered into the boy's ear, watching, pleased, as the child's face lit up in pure ecstasy.
"Do your best," he advised the youth, snapping back up to a standing position as Draco finished with the other elves.
"They'll help," Draco grinned. "The only thing left to do is finish the potions and prepare for Wednesday. This is going to be brilliant."
"You can say that again," Harry replied, waving as he left to the elves, still shivering with excitement.
Tuesday was spent preparing for Project Basilisk. Though classes needed to be attended, sleep gotten, and food eaten, their minds were on anything but that. Instead, their heads were filled with charms and transfigurations, streamers and potions, and the spectacle prepared for the next day, the next and the next...
Tuesday night, Harry snuck out of the Slytherin common room, smirking with amusement as Draco chatted with the twins, Carla and Callum about their plan to snatch the Marauder's Map. Pleased as a cat who got the cream, he tip-toed into the halls and raced towards the seventh floor, to his father's final discovery.
Bustling past Barnabas the Barmy three times, he raced into the resulting door, closing it behind him and looking around.
A Potions lab. Perfect.
Throwing his cloak aside, he began grappling at ingredients seemingly at random, snatching up some bat-eyes and throwing them in with Hippogriff feathers as if they were supposed to mix perfectly. Strangely, this worked; he began stirring at a frenzy, grinning like a loon.
Now, one must always remember that Harry spent eleven years treated like a house-elf. One must also remember that Harry was a brilliant cook as a result, and therefore had all the skills a potioneer used, as well, since potions was really just very complicated cooking, when one got to the root of it all. Finally, one must acknowledge that until Harry went into hiding as Ari Durst, his marks were as biased as a war's retelling; namely, the victor tells the story, or in this case, the teacher gives the mark.
Therefore, while Harry himself had no idea, he was actually quite a brilliant potioneer, and could probably match Snape in skill if he worked at it; it was Snape who marked him as if he were a potions master and not a third-year student. So while the potion, in another's hands, would have exploded by this point, Harry was skilled enough to steer it directly where he wanted it. Tossing in the Kneazle hair and squeezing in a few drops of an obscure goblin fruit into the mix, he stopped stirring abruptly and began rapidly casting goblin spells.
The potion, under his watchful eye, slowly began to shimmer and shine a glimmering pink. Waiting, he peered at it as it began to bubble, little sparks of magic shooting out each time a bubble burst. Finally, he shot out a stasis spell, sighing in relief and checking to make sure it was secure before racing back to the Slytherin common room.
Dobby watched with pride as the elves prepared the prank. Harry Potter had given him this task. He would not fail.
Very, very carefully, he poured a bit of the potion into the food. It was harmless, he'd checked, and he was ever so excited to be watching the feast tomorrow. It would be ever so fun.
His elven friend, a little elf named Gresbie, snorted in amusement. "Gresbie is surprised. Dobby is working eagerly for once."
"Master Harry Potter is giving the order! That is why Dobby is finding this task more fun," Dobby grinned. Gresbie laughed knowingly.
Many an elf had felt like Dobby before, but none were quite as honest as Dobby. House elves weren't supposed to be bought or sold; elves were supposed to choose their masters, worthy masters like Harry Potter.
It was true, however, that elves could not leave masters who had not refused them; that was how elves had become property for masters. It was a mediocre life at best for most elves, but most elves would not willingly leave a master; their lives depended on it. The only reason Dobby was still alive was because Harry had accepted him; this made it less fun to work for Dumblydore, but he managed, reminding himself that by helping Dumblydore he was helping Harry Potter.
Gresbie recited a charm on one of the plates. "Gresbie is thinking Dobby should be telling his master the truth," he commented quietly.
Dobby shook his head vigorously. "Dobby is not doing that. Master Harry Potter is nice, but he is not finding comfort in house elf bond. He is likely to be freeing Dobby if he is finding out," Dobby murmured fearfully.
Gresbie sighed. "Gresbie is not thinking that is true, but Gresbie will stop asking. Will Dobby help Gresbie do something to help Master Potter's prank?" House elves were notorious for putting extra flair into anything they did.
"Of course Dobby is helping! What is Gresbie doing for the prank?" Dobby inquired eagerly.
"Gresbie is not telling; Gresbie is showing." He snapped his fingers and passed off the work they'd been doing to some idle elves, grabbing Dobby's hand and popping into the silent great hall.
"Gresbie is thinking," Gresbie explained, "That Master Durst and Master Malfoy are sticking to foodies and streamies because those is the ones they is able to do. Gresbie is thinking to do pranks that Masters are not able to, because they is not able to quietly set pranks up."
"Dobby is listening!" Dobby nodded. "What is Gresbie wanting to be pranking?"
"Gresbie is wanting to charm the roof," Gresbie grinned, pointing. "Gresbie is planning on having rain in the Great Hall."
"Ooh!" Dobby awed, holding up his finger. "Dobby is liking that idea."
"That is not all," Gresbie looked incredibly smug. "Gresbie is planning on raining treaties in the great hall. It will make little masters very happy."
Dobby smiled. "Gresbie is having the best ideas!"
Together, the two elves began to charm the projection on the roof. Tomorrow would be fun.
Fred and George felt a particularly cold parade of beetles down their backs. Shooting up, the pair glanced at each other. Reading each other naturally, they hopped out of their beds and dressed, quickly heading down a secret passageway out of the Gryffindor common room.
Most normal people would shudder, yes, but return to bed. However, wizards knew what these shudders meant, and it was a close-kept secret that the Weasley family often produced seers. Fred and George were not trained seers, obviously, but they knew how to interpret their skill.
"What was that?" George asked. It went unsaid that both felt it; they already knew from the moment they'd woken up. However, each stored different knowledge, and took over different tasks, to help each other manage more than they could alone.
"I don't know, George." Fred worried. "Sure felt creepy, though. Maybe something's in the castle."
George nodded. "Let's go search."
Fred grabbed a flashlight. George snatched up the map. Together they passed through the passage and hurried off down the halls.
It was a while before they found anything. It was just like old times, really; a little game of dodge Mrs Norris, even if it was laughably easy with the map in hand. It was required for this one, however; as they hit the first floor again, they caught sight of a name moving down the halls.
"Ari Durst?" Fred murmured.
"Doesn't his name look fuzzy?" George commented. "And what's that symbol next to him?"
Words wrote themselves onto the paper.
Messrs. Padfoot would like to remind Gred and Forge that that symbol is for the invisibility cloak.
Messrs. Prongs would like to say that Ari Durst is a disguised metamorphmagus, and that Ari Durst is not his real name.
Fred and George shared a look and began to follow Durst's footsteps down the halls, following him down a secret passage through to the other side of the floor. From there, he turned and began pacing, as if trying to remember something.
Then, with a triumphant grin, Durst turned to them. "Messrs. Weasley," he greeted them kindly. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
"Research," they replied, grinning. Internally, both were shivering.
"What's an ickle third year like yourself doing here?" George asked, grinning like a cheshire cat.
Durst laughed. "Same as you - research." He whipped out a hand-drawn map. "Unfortunately, I don't have some of the interesting trinkets you do. My map, however, shows a few things yours doesn't." Giving them a smirk, he trotted off down the hall, at ease.
"What do you think, George? Follow him?" It was a rhetorical question; they did this merely for the sake of humour, a humour all their own.
"Follow him," George agreed, starting down the hall.
Following Ari Durst was particularly more difficult than the Weasley twins anticipated.
They were fairly certain Ari Durst had caught on, if not anticipated it, immediately. If not, then how had he led them through half the school without getting caught, or even close, to Mrs. Norris? It was almost as if he could naturally tell what was happening in the castle.
They had never encountered such a good chase. Following him through secret passages, lefts and rights that blended into a never-ending wind through the castle; there was something about the way that Ari seemed to simply know where he was going, even if his path was absolutely directionless. The further they went, the more tired they got, the Weasley twin found themselves more eager to discover the secrets behind Ari Durst.
Finally, finally, Ari stopped. Hiding just around the corner, the twins watched warily as Ari began to quietly murmur spells.
"Doesn't he realize he can't cast spells wandlessly?" George asked, but even as he said it Ari created a few chains from thin air. For a sick moment they humoured the thought that he was a werewolf, but it wasn't the full moon, so they watched with rapt attention as he set up and slid away, disappearing completely.
The trap was flawless. Fred and George stared through the spellwork as much as they could, watching the thin veil of white that spun and swirled almost invisibly in the darkness along the small area Ari had chosen.
"What do you think he's trying to do?" This was an honest question Fred posed. Unlike most, George had to think about it carefully.
He finally came up with something reasonable. "He's trying to catch someone… maybe he's trying to catch Black."
"He wouldn't be in the school, would he?" Fred inquired hopefully. "Not with the dementors around."
"Think about that for a second," Ari's voice behind them jolted them awake, spinning around, wands at the ready. Ari prattled on without a care, ignoring their drawn weapons. "Sirius lived with dementors for twelve years and remained somewhat sane, then escaped. Isn't it reasonable that Sirius could break through the failing defenses around the school? The fact they have dementors here at all means that the school wards aren't enough to keep him away."
It actually made a lot of sense, which scared the twins considerably. That they could have a murderer enter the school…
Ari rolled his eyes. "Relax. Either I'll catch him and hand him over to the goblins, or he'll spend the year frantically searching for Harry. I doubt he'd have a reason to hurt you two." He gave them a look. "Since you don't believe me, I'm not going to try and convince you. Good night."
However, they suddenly remembered what the Marauders had told them.
Ari Durst is a metamorphmagus. Ari Durst is not his real name.
It translated fairly easily into something else. Ari Durst has something to hide.
The twins nodded at each other and snuck up to Ari as he walked calmly down the halls. Fred reached into his pocket and shook up the capsule of powder - an experimental product - which he threw a few meters ahead of Ari.
In an instant darkness flooded out of the Peruvian Darkness Powder, and Fred allowed a moment to celebrate before following his brother up to reaching for Ari.
Ari dodged swiftly, but George whipped out his wand and cried, "Homorphus!"
In that instant, Ari's eyes went wide, and his face transformed into seriousness. He threw himself bodily to the floor, glaring daggers at them and reaching for his own wand.
Fred slipped in and whispered, "Accio Ari's wand." Ari swore at him as the wand flew from his grasp, but he stayed otherwise focused as the darkness powder coiled away.
"I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm afraid I'm not in polite company," He mused. "Well. Not like I'd be revealing anything." He hopped an inch into the air and his body instantly coiled into itself, rippling and changing rapidly into a crow.
With a single flap of his wings, he swept away down the hall, cutting easily through the coiling darkness and flipping to turn down out the window.
The twins ran to follow him, but in the end they simply weren't fast enough, and watched as a little black crow flew off into the moonlight, cackling at their predicament.
Padfoot's eyes widened, watching the blackness with rapt curiosity. It had no scent, but he could see it, even if it was obstructing his view of everything else.
He couldn't remember feeling lighter. His mind wandered to the things he had to feel bad about, the things he had to do. Harry… yes. He had to kill Pettigrew. Then he had to find Harry and keep his promise. That was it. Where was Harry? He was certain Harry would have been at Hogwarts, but during his stay he hadn't so much as caught a whiff of him. Well, actually, he had, but he knew that the scent was weak; that was also why he wasn't worried. Even if he couldn't see Harry, Harry was here, and Harry was safe. There was nothing to worry about.
Stretching, Padfoot trotted down the hall, searching for familiar scents. Scents. Right, he needed to follow Pettigrew's trail. It had led him to Hogwarts; Pettigrew was surely here somewhere.
Suddenly, he felt himself trip on his own foot, and as his body was flung forward he felt the uncomfortable twist that accompanied the animagus transformation grip him and change him back. Growling, he put out his hands to break his fall and found himself bound by the wrists in seconds.
Sirius saw red.
Thrashing violently, he fought away the chains, scrabbling to get them off his wrists. They weren't particularly uncomfortable, actually- no! No, he couldn't succumb! Convincing himself there were spells on them to compel him to stay, he began to awkwardly kick at them, holding out his arms for his bare foot to smash at them.
Suddenly, the chains fell off effortlessly, and Sirius let out a whoop of triumph. Take that, chains! He turned to leave quickly, but ran headfirst into an invisible wall instead.
Reaching out, ever curious, Sirius felt the tingle of spellwork and cursed. How had he been caught so easily?! The spell must have taken time to solidify, too. The chains were only a distraction until better defenses could be established.
Sirius flopped down on his back and considered his options. He could try and untangle the spellwork, which would inevitably be extremely difficult without his wand and probably alert the maker of this trap that he'd caught something, or he could wait and jump the ass who had trapped him here. The second option was sounding increasingly alluring; he didn't have to move, he had time to think, and he could wallop the jerk who did this to him.
Looking out the window, he wondered briefly about his friends. The Marauders. Where was Moony? He childishly considered the idea that the werewolf had somehow gotten himself an excellent job and was living the high life somewhere in London, oblivious to the needs of his old friend Sirius, but honestly he doubted that was true. Moony wasn't likely to ever see Sirius again.
A crow was flying past the window. He watched it dip and twirl. It reminded him of flying, and he smiled fondly. He hadn't smiled in a long time.
The crow dove through the window and dropped down next to him. He pulled himself up to his feet and returned the crow's gaze, tilting his head out of habit, listening.
The crow dropped a rock and a letter in his hand, hopped up to his shoulder, and waited.
Opening the letter, Sirius waited for the words to stop swimming in circles and quickly opened the letter. He read it quietly to himself to make sure the words were real.
"To Sirius Black," he awed, "If you've gotten this letter it means that you're trapped. Please take this stone and say the name Prongs gave to his child. It will take you to a quiet, obscure place in the castle where you can use my drone system to find who you're looking for. In hopes of good relations in the future, Ari Durst."
Glancing at the crow, he murmured, "Harry." Nothing happened, and he frowned. He glanced at the crow again. "It didn't work."
The crow let out a high-pitched, keen sound, almost like a laugh. It cocked its head and gestured again to the stone, then to the paper, its beak poking at the curly ink in a determined manner.
Sirius, without any other stray animals to guide him, decided to look again. It seemed the bird was particularly taken with the word 'Prongs'.
Prongs.. Prongs… Pronglet!
"Prongslet," He breathed, and he let out a happy whoop as he felt a pull at his chest. He didn't particularly care about the uncomfortable feeling, because he was free once more, out of the cage, and opening his eyes he grinned at the room around him. It looked just like the Gryffindor common room!
Hopping eagerly onto a seat that felt amazingly like home, Sirius smiled at the crow. "Thanks!" He thanked it, simply because it was polite and he'd always humoured the intelligent birds.
It nodded, contemplative, and hovered over to a sofa where it adjusted itself. Sirius watched it awkwardly; it seemed a little different from most birds.
In flew two owls, though from where Sirius didn't really want to think about. One was an elegant, regal snowy which was a beautiful, vain specimen, and hooted at the crow in solid greeting. The other was a quiet brown creature which Sirius couldn't quite place, but he could tell that it was equally as vain and that it had great pride in everything from its angled, smooth beak to its feathers like carved wood.
There was a light glow, and the crow morphed into a boy.
Sirius leaped to his feet, but the boy, elegant and calm, merely held out his hand in a placating gesture. Taking out his wand, the boy - probably a student - put the wand down on a table in a somewhat obvious statement of confidence in him.
Ah. A pureblood. Years of drilling the pureblood mandate into his head was paying off; he understood this. He relaxed and sat back, glancing around the room.
"I wrote the letter," the boy said suddenly, nervous and awkward. "You're Sirius Black, right? You're really him?"
Sirius nodded. "That's me, innocent man in Azkaban." He paused. "I'm not in Azkaban any more, though. Lucky me."
"Innocent?" the boy parroted. Ari Durst, that was his name. "Are you innocent?"
Really, why did he ask stupid questions? "Yeah, 'course I am. Why'd I betray James? Nah, it's Pettigrew who betrayed us," he growled, feeling tempted to rip into the seat with his claws in frustration. "I know Pettigrew is here, the rat."
"Pettigrew?" Really, was the boy daft? Was he demented?
Sirius groaned. "Yes, Pettigrew! He's here! Pettigrew's here!"
"I'll give him to you if I find him," Ari offered. Ah, now he was talking sense. "What's he look like?"
"Chubby little bugger," Sirius described. The image was burned into his psyche. "Blondish, seedy. Ooh, he's got an animagus form, little rat. That's how I know. I saw him in the papers on the Weasley kid's shoulder."
"I'll see what I can do." Ari paused. Why was the kid pausing all the time? "Say, is there anything else you're looking for?"
Sirius considered for a moment. There was something he was supposed to look for… right. Right. Prongslet. Harry. "Got to find Harry too," he voiced.
Right. This was all for Harry. He needed to care for Harry, like he'd promised James. Ari nodded agreeably. "I know him. He's fine. Focus on healing up and preparing for your return to society."
"Huh? Oh." Sirius frowned. That was right… what would he do after he gutted Pettigrew? He hadn't really thought about that. What… what was he going to do?
Ari Durst, smart kid, gave him time, walking through the common room and feeding the birds. He watched, not really sure he wanted to think about the future right now. He wanted to think about killing Pettigrew, because it was the most satisfying thought he'd had in a while.
Well, he could think about birds. Owls were nice. The snowy seemed rather proud.
"Sirius, please stay as long as you like," Ari said. Nice guy. "There's a fridge through where the boy's dorm is supposed to be - this room is charmed up a bit. Through where the girl's dorm should be there's a movie room that'll let you look at things happening in the castle. It only covers the great hall and the fourth floor hallway at the moment, but I'll hook it up to some more interesting things soon." That sounded nice. It also sounded like a great pranking device. "I'm afraid there aren't any beds yet, but I wasn't expecting any guests so soon." Sirius nodded. That was reasonable. He could sleep on the couch.
Ari looked at him for a few moments. "Sirius," he breathed, getting the animagus's attention. "I… take your time. Get some rest. I'll try and get a network in here so you can call me if you need something."
Sirius nodded absent-mindedly, staring at the ceiling. He was a bit hungry, actually. He remembered the kitchen being… right. Boy's dorm.
Sirius got up and left to eat.
A/N: Hey guys, back again! Education got in the way, but I managed to churn this one out. I'm afraid there will be a bit of a wait before next time, but it will be worth it. I'm afraid this was mostly a preparation chapter, although we'll be seeing more Sirius and Draco in the next few days. We're taking a break from following Harry around everywhere.
I'm just going to say it now before anyone argues with me; it's incredibly hard to portray Sirius. I know that they change him drastically between the movies and the books. He's probably going to be a strange mix of the two, and for that, I apologize. We're working under the assumption that, by exposure to dementors, all Sirius's happy memories of Harry have been pulled from him. He'll be worked on, I promise, but we're going from the ground up.
Finally, I want to ask you all a question. I've been working on the plans for the rewrite of this story once I'm done, and I want to ask; what do you think the title should be? Obviously it isn't the most important thing in the world, but I just can't seem to think of one. I can't make any promises, but I'm taking suggestions.
Until next time, and hope you continue to enjoy!
-MDH