Arts and Sanctuary

by DoctorD

In the summer following his first encounter with the Dark Lord, Harry has managed to find himself in a situation where only a miracle could allow him to survive. Fortunately for him, Harry has that miracle inside him: it's called a Horcrux, but what is Harry willing to do to survive? Dark AU. Dark Harry Potter.

5. Chapter 5

thank you for following the journey so far. special thanks to DZ2 who continues to be an inspiration for this.

chapter six is completed and will be uploaded in a few days however-

if you are interested in seeing the chapter early, please follow my twitter or tumblr (links on my home page) to find out how to do so.

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"End of year exams are coming up."

"That it is."

"Do you suspect they'll be done with all this… you know, heir business, by then?"

Breakfast wasn't the best place to have a conversation on Hogwarts' ability to efficiently and competently solve a major issue, but Draco and Blaise took it upon themselves to hold council anyway, with voices low and tones carefully empty. Harry thought the action was admirable, their false-concern for the poor lives and wellbeing of Muggleborn students. He had to wonder if they tapered down their excitement about the situation for him, as if he held some sentimental value toward the lives of muck just because his mother happened to be one. It was a useless action, overall. He held little care for those beyond his immediate collection (the Circle or otherwise) and defending the honor of the dead was an idea that had died as soon as he'd accepted the greatness of freedom beyond freedom.

Those that proved themselves to hold no value weren't worth his time or concern, so it was no wonder that he felt no need to react when whispers came to him from other tables, tables that held strained conversation and drawn tight expressions, considering-

"Just like that, I heard. Just like that. One wrong move and-"

"-But, you must admit, he went looking for trouble-"

"-and that's an excuse, is it? An excuse to be… well…"

"Don't be so insensitive about the ordeal, the Gryffindors are right mad-"

"Mad? They look scared to me."

Harry gave a soft laugh around a mouth full of sausage before he grunted and swallowed. It was enough to draw the attention of his whispering Slytherin companions, but it wasn't their words that held his attention, it was the words that continued to flow in from around him, some tinted with disgust-

"So, who from Slytherin do you suppose it is? You know they don't much care for, erm, Muggleborns-"

Some with curiosity-

"Malfoy, you'd think. Thought he'd have bragged by now if it had anything to do with this or that, though."

And some with a healthy amount of fear and cowardice-

"W-well I don't have anything to worry about. Since, you know, I'm a pureblood and all. Yup, about four generations worth so-"

"Harry," Draco's voice interrupted, cutting through the droning whispers of those around him just as a particularly pale Weasley walked into the Great Hall, causing a strained hush to blanket the space. It was enough to prompt Harry to glance over his shoulder, to briefly make eye-contact with the shaken boy as he began to draw closer. Cautious, instead of self-righteous.

Immediately, to Harry's left, Crabbe twisted around, prompting Goyle to do the same, both of them prepared for an encounter as the whispers started up again.

But Ron was careful in his approach, hands up in a universal sign of 'safe surrender' before he croaked out a, "Mr. Potter."

His voice was shaky, his brow furrowed, before he tried again, "Mr. Potter."

Harry held up a hand, a motion for Crabbe and Goyle to settle, which they did immediately, unified and trained.

It was then, once the bulk of the Great Hall's attention was upon him, that he spoke, "Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

He would have been lying to himself if he wasn't curious about Ron's behavior. He hadn't seemed like the type to adhere to title or propriety, but the fact that he had addressed him with a sign of respect deserved some attention.

"I… May we speak," Ron cleared his throat, nervous, "M-may we speak in private at your earliest convenience?"

From the corner of his eye Harry saw Blaise raise a brow, his lips turned down hard in disbelief.

"As if we'd allow you to go about harassing our-"

But Harry was swift with an interruption, "It may take some time, Mr. Weasley. I'm very busy, you see. And, of course, with the heir business afoot…"

Ron winced, his gaze somewhat narrowed but his posture remained straight, and his flesh wasn't flushed with irritation or anger. An improvement in behavior. "Yes, of course. I…"

He swallowed once, twice, then started the speak again. "I know it isn't you, I know it isn't."

Harry gave a slight nod, a smile set to split his lips, something sly and almost playful, had it not been for the shadows that gathered in the depths of his gaze and the idle tingle of magic that came to his fingertips, "Oh? Yes, I can understand that. Since, they seem to think it might be you."

Now, Ron hunched in on himself. Now, he nervously wrung his hands together, and as he let his shields crumble-those that had been carefully wound around his emotions-Harry could clearly see the dark purple bags beneath his gaze, a gaze that lacked vibrancy, and the fine tremble along his arms. His shoulders were slouched, weighed down with the burden of a mantle he couldn't have possibly carried but lions were vicious and quick to turn on their own it seemed when you were supposedly the last one seen with the missing and unaccounted for.

"I know," he didn't bother to defend himself, it would have been only the fool that believed a Weasley capable of such guile and directionless hatred, "Dumbledore hasn't even bothered to quell the rumors either."

Dumbledore, Harry noticed, instead of the Headmaster. Instead of Professor. Instead of some asinine tone of respect that Hermione would have no doubt forced them to adhere to. Hermione, who sat at the Gryffindor table, with her head in a book and an intense look of study upon her face. He wondered, idly, if Ron relished that freedom, if their duo had been destroyed and irreparable since the night he'd seen them argue. Maybe, eventually, he'd ask him. Maybe, he'd reevaluate Ron's worth if he held the ability to act out on his own.

"And is it? You that is?" Harry asked innocently to the backdrop of Draco's snort and Blaise rude sharp bark of laughter.

"I…" he frowned for a moment before he gave Harry a tired but still sly grin, "Who knows, really?"

Ah, now that was interesting.

Harry returned that look with tilted head and quirked brow, "I see. Then, tell me, what happened to Mr. Creevey?"

Here Ron took a deep breath and then, with a shrug, he said, "Heck if I know. Nobody has seen him since last night."

Behind him Draco shifted slightly to lean over and whisper something to Pansy, who grunted in response and shoved him away from her ear.

"I asked Percy about it," Ron mumbled, unaware or uncaring that he was giving away Gryffindor information to a Slytherin, "but he just acted nonplussed. Said he'd look for him later, but with the uh... nasty business of the heir afoot…" Ron shook his head then, snorted, "and the fact that he was screaming bloody murder about you and your ah… 'gang' about the camera, well…"

Harry nodded, "I hope he's found soon, then."

Ron returned the nod with a distracted mumble, "Hopefully. Ever since they found me at the Justin site they haven't been all that kind, you know. They keep asking me where he is, that Creevey kid. Bloody hell if I should know."

Harry nodded in mock-sympathy, "Of course."

But, before Ron could say anything more Harry turned back around, more or less to pay proper attention to those that had earned his focus, and the Nott heir that approached with arms full of parchment and a book or two balanced precariously among his other possessions.

"I'll send someone for you when I am ready."

"Thank you," Ron whispered, "Thank you, Harry."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Harry had a deep understanding of the hierarchy he cultivated within the Circle. He had managed to, slowly but surely, accumulate most of the important young lordlings and ladies that occupied his year. He'd bound them, tightly, within a web of power and greed. He'd left them hungry and wildly fanatic about the overall mystery of his ability, the vagueness of his origin, and the strength he kept carefully under control within him. They were selfish, occupying the bulk of his time with their playful mannerisms and grand ideals while keeping those they thought unworthy from his person with cunning viciousness. They whispered around him often, pleased at their work, as they kept him secluded, protected, theirs, with all the eagerness of treasure hoarding dragons.

He belonged to them, they must have thought. He was theirs to worship. Theirs to bask with. Theirs to teach and train and in return be taught. All the while Harry tightened the chains of ownership and manipulated them in a way that went beyond their idle perceptions. His magic, though soothing, was possessive. It clung to him, to the walls, to the space around him and in turn to the occupants settled in it. Harry suspected that Draco was unaware when Harry gently fed his ire, made him almost wild with the need to keep back to rabble. He found pleasure in fueling Theo's desire to please, to research, to grow all their intellect and make them study with an intensity born from wanting their collective to be notable and irrefutable. He expanded his security by nudging the desire to be alert and attentive in Crabbe and Goyle, and kept his secrets of prosperity safely tucked away beyond the mental walls of a fiercely protective Blaise, a grand advisor in the making.

But, his boys were only a piece of the puzzle, of the empire, he intended to master.

He invited, rather often, the diligent Daphne out and about, eager to pick her mind as he unabashedly looped a rope around her neck. The Greengrass heiress was a well of cultural insight, a proprietress in the making whose desire for power Harry had found and warped until she thought his presence just a bit more than delightful. Pansy, though somewhat reluctant, had proved to be just as valuable a tool in his search for family, with her vicious words and passionate dedication to a cause that would bring them the esteem they'd all secretly yearned for.

So, it was no wonder that he knew, for the most part, their reactions to certain stimulus. For example, he knew that Draco was somewhat unhappy with Harry's affirmation that he would give Ron some of his time, in private. He could tell by the way his magic slipped about his skin, how it jerked with a particular moodiness when his own magic reacted-reaching out with a soothing coil to ease the nervous anxiety that no doubt curled in Draco's belly. Yet, Pansy, who tapped her fingers with a confused impatience next to him, was even more of a giveaway to one fact-

Whatever was to be blamed for Creevey's disappearance, it was not his court that had attended to it. In fact, by the crease of Pansy's brow and the way she chewed on her bottom lip, it was clear that she was upset that their hunt for him the other day had been a fruitless venture. Still, Harry said little, enjoying the crunch of bacon and the rich flavor of his toast and jam that morning with little interruption set to come thereafter, even as his collective whispered and hissed around him, buzzing once more with careful plans that they may have presumed beneath him.

Still, he smiled, pleased at their subconscious elevation of his person.

So much that even a droll and fumbling class taught by the boisterous Mr. Lockhart was barely consequential.

"So, is anyone able to answer the question? Anyone at all?" The Professor whapped a rather long and thin stick toward the chalkboard, all presentation with little flare. "It isn't that difficult, is it? Why, I taught you all the incantation last week!"

Barely.

But it was somewhat odd that the question went unanswered. Specifically, the room itself seemed off, filled with an awkward sort of silence that surely had little to do with the disappearance of Mr. Creevey and more to do with…

Well, the absence of eager keening and a shifting stool as a particular swot tried to answer the questions.

But Hermione was quiet, staring at the board with heavy-lidded gaze and her quill trapped between her teeth, her books open to various pages and her fingertip tapping her parchment bound notebook. She didn't even twitch when Ron, settled at her side with a bit of reluctance, turned to glance at her as if even he expected her to flail in her desperation to answer. After all, ultimately, Lockhart had asked an incredibly easy question and if it was one thing Hermione no doubt enjoyed doing it was gaining recognition off perfect opportunity.

But no answer came.

Next to him Theo cleared his throat, before, with hands linked before him he said- "I can answer, Professor."

And that was the end of that.

But the next class, one held after a fast-paced lunch, was Potions and-

"-and I presume that something as bothersome as knowing what phase the moon is for a night-brew might be beyond students such as yourselves…"

It was as brutal as usual, filled with mild connections toward the obscure amongst more brilliant scatters of actual information. Harry found Snape's teaching style to be somewhat delightful now that he was no longer on the receiving end of admonishment. Now that his mind was free, free to absorb, free to reason, free to be more, he often came to the class well-beyond prepared. It helped that Draco seemed fond, if not overly attentive, in his diligence and study of Potions. He'd helped Harry catch up to an acceptable level over the summer, away from prying eyes and nervous antics. That casual study had blossomed into passion and that passion had transformed into a little more than proficiency.

He admired Snape's ability to remain chillingly cordial during the class considering past aggressions and fixed perceptions, but he held some insight-courtesy of Draco-that the professor had been impressed with his game of catch-up. A game that hadn't stopped. A game that had earned him his fair share of points for near-perfect liquids during the first half of the year. A quietly applauded achievement by the Circle.

But now his professor seemed particularly on edge-and maybe that could be blamed on the missing Creevey, who had yet to show themselves. Or maybe the fact that, for the past few classes, Neville had become more assured and less easily rattled. He stalked before their classroom with hands behind his back and nose tilted upward in a mockery of humble thought. He was a devious man, though harsh and cruel, and his style of motivation was a hassle, but he was competent and some of them-most of them, Harry suspected-learned enough, which kept his grumpy professor in occupation with the ability to be as intimidating as he pleased.

"So then, could one of you, any of you, tell me why exactly it would be unwise to brew this particular potion during the new moon? No, let me rephrase that, I fear the level of difficulty…"

He paused and lifted a hand to tap lightly at his chin in contemplation before he drawled, without a note of curiosity, "Why are some potions better brewed at dusk instead of dawn? Why are some ingredients crushed instead of sliced?"

There was a snort from someone in the back, a someone that Snape called upon immediately-

"And do you know, Mr. Finnigan?"

That snort rolled into a bit of a cough before the Gryffindor in question cleared his throat well enough to answer, "I uh… because the instructions tell us to do so, sir?"

That got a laugh or two, mostly from his own house, before such sound was quelled with only a dry look in the direction of the disturbance.

"No, Mr. Finnigan, that is not correct." Snape drew the weight of his gaze and his ire upon the boy then and Harry repressed a slight smile as the halfblood squirmed in his seat. "Instructions are not available every time and though these are barely fourth year concepts it's not difficult to assume that it's important to understand why something is done, not just do it.

"So, perhaps, Mr. Finnigan, I will mark a few instructions on the board-oh don't look so glum, it would be of a potion you've already surely accomplished-and see if you can brew it while avoiding any notable… traps?"

Snape's only received answer was a gulp and a slouch from the boy in question before the professor shook his head and moved on, "Or maybe not. Maybe you are incapable of doing more than just following directions, but that's alright you see, tools are necessary for any field of work and some would enjoy a tool that is… good at following instructions."

And yet… "But I find it rare that you're capable of doing even that."

He shifted just slightly, a couple of steps to the left, closer to the Slytherins, closer to Harry's table which housed Draco to his left and Theo to his right. To the only group that might have understood his question.

Except…

"And so, I ask again, why do we prepare in the manner we prepare?"

Silence. Again.

With a tilted head Snape tossed his gaze back to the Gryffindors, before he spoke what was no doubt on all their minds- "Ms. Granger?"

Hermione lifted her gaze from an open book, quill ink splattered on her fingertips, "Yes, Professor. Sir?"

Her tone was a bit distracted and her gaze distant, as if she'd been deep in thought. Again, Ron looked at her, his face pulled into a grimace of frustration.

"How odd for you to not know an answer to something, isn't it? I must admit I expected your hand to be the first one in the air." Snape sniffed for a moment, head tilted in false-interest, "Or, maybe, you aren't paying me any attention?"

Slowly, Hermione stretched out her arms and adjusted the position of her books and parchment, but wordlessly she shook her head, as if that was answer enough.

It wasn't, "What was that? You… weren't paying attention?"

"I was," she whispered, somewhat nervous as her gaze flickered around the bulk of the class, landing upon Harry before, in a blink, it was back upon Snape, "I was."

"Then, is the class to assume that the reason you didn't have your hand in the air is because you don't know the answer?" Snape seemed oddly pleased by that, to be able to know something that rattled Hermione's know-it-all atmosphere.

Harry knew better. She knew, some portion of her certainly.

"I… I know the… answer," she whispered, looking uncomfortable.

"You do?" Snape seemed unconvinced.

But perhaps, this once, just this once, she wasn't eager to play the role of the swot.

"Then please, share with the class."

She swallowed once, twice, then sighed-as if defeated, "It's potency."

"Potency? Explain."

She wriggled her fingers across the edge of her books, either unaware or uncaring that she'd get them smudged-odd, "It's the reason some ingredients must be crushed instead of sliced. It's in the juice or the… potency of whatever you're adding. You want to get the best, the most amount of the object so that your brew has an acceptable level of power. Likewise, if you wish to lower the potency on, say, a bottle of Veritaserum you could cleverly slice this or that instead of strain, so one has to be certain they do just what the instructions-depending on the potion, of course- say least the entire purpose of the potion twist or break down into something else-"

"Ms. Granger," Snape interrupted, gaze somewhat narrowed, "where is it that one such as yourself would have heard of Veritaserum?"

"Oh!" She cleared her throat a bit, the vibrancy that had come to life within her during her explanation fleeing with a few rapid blinks, "I've been-"

"Reading?" Snape presumed before he shook his head and turned away, back to his lesson and his idle beratement of intelligence, even as Hermione slouched in her seat and narrowed her gaze, lips curled up in a sneer of discontent.

A rather… disrespectful action, Harry noted.

The bulk of his attention thereafter was upon her. Hermione, who always double checked the board to make sure she was stirring precisely how she should, didn't even bother to give it a glance as she added this and that. Hermione, who never chewed on her fingernails with mild anxiety. Hermione, whose magic was twisting beyond her control in idle tendrils that made her hair shift ever so slightly.

And Ron, who watched her work with slight bemusement and mild concern but said nothing as she slapped his reaching hand and palmed a fistful of powder Harry was absolutely certain she hadn't measured properly.

And yet, her potion still met the acceptable-expected-level of performance, shifting to a thick yellow paste that was quickly bottled and placed carefully upon Snape's desk.

She didn't even look at him as she hurried past.

And when he looked at Ron in mild question he only scowled and rubbed his still red smacked hand.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They found Mr. Creevey after dessert had been served. One moment the Gryffindors were serving themselves cake and pies and the next Mr. Creevey's stiff unresponsive body collided heavily with a large bowl of reddish-tinted pudding. The reaction was instant, a loudly screeched 'OY!' from a splattered Weasley twin and a scream from a pale first year as it became clear that Mr. Creevey's body was not a decoration or piece of rock cake that had fallen into the nearby confection. There was a moment or two, from one heartbeat to the next, before chaos broke loose in the form of other screaming students and fleeing Gryffindors swept up in the excited wave of forming madness.

There was a sudden sea of blue and yellow that stood from their tables and likewise several Slytherins did the same, more in defense than any sort of fright at the appearance of the body. Despite dinner once being a tense if not silent affair the entire hall was lit with the gasps and garbled shouts of the disturbed, terrified, and in Pansy's case-disgusted.

"Damnit," she uttered under her breath, a phrase Harry had to strain to hear as he stood from his place and palmed his wand in caution, "the heir got to him first?"

"Should have put a claim on your prey," Blaise mumbled casually, though his attention was on the bulk of the scrambling hall and the now very disgruntled professors that swept from the main table to manage the ridiculousness of the entire scenario.

Only McGonagall stayed behind, her face flushed in red-was it rage or embarrassment or a combination of both?-and her gaze leveled so heatedly upon Dumbledore, who leaned over the table with slightly parted lips. His own gaze was not upon the professors who began to pull Creevey's body from the pudding or the Gryffindors who-some of which-were sobbing and outraged.

No, it was on him, a gaze of full on introspection, somewhat narrowed as Harry tilted his head and returned it. But it moved on quickly-drawn by the sudden shout of a nervous Hufflepuff, Smith was it?-and if Harry hadn't caught him in the act, he would have thought Dumbledore's attention had never lingered.

Smith had drawn his wand though, so he supposed that was far more important-

"Weasley!" Smith yelled, arm trembling as he drew it across a line of Gryffindors, Gryffindors that parted like an enchanted sea once the screech echoed over the hall, loud enough to cut through the unfortunate rambling of the students that remained there.

Ronald was shoved to the front by a couple of hands belonging to irate upper-years while a teacher-Lockhart in this instance-glanced up from wiping a smudge of pudding off his face.

"Now now," he grumbled, not paying too much attention as other professors-seeing that Lockhart had stepped up to remove Creevey from the pudding-ran off to corral a few of the students that had departed while Dumbledore slipped through the administrative doorway with a harshly whispering Deputy-Head behind him.

Which left the student body alone with Snape and the widely smiling defense wizard.

Snape, who merely stood with his calm and settled Slytherins before he casually leaned against the table, one hand on the wood and the other rubbing his chin. He looked pensive, and a little… eager. Harry had a good guess as to why since Lockhart's grumbled grab for attention had done little to stop Smith from pointing his wand in Ronald's direction.

"Weasley, w-we've had enough of this! Enough of your terror!"

Ronald looked flabbergasted for a brief moment, surprised, "My terror?"

"You heard me!" Smith's scowl was tainted by the wild look in his gaze, by the storms of desperation there and a sort of… opportunistic gleam, "It's time someone took charge and ended this. If the professors won't then I, Zacharias Smith, thee pureblood heir to Hufflepuff, will stop you!"

For whatever reason, a cluster of students were making it difficult for Lockhart to properly get to the scene. He was trapped on the edges, muttering excuse-me's to deaf ears as most of them-even Harry was compelled to do so-began to form a semicircle around Smith's performance.

There was a hum in the space, Harry could feel it crawling across his skin, an odd sort of pleasure, an excitement that felt different from Snape's own cruel amusement and yet so closely aligned that he almost thought… Yes, there it was, a pull, an ache in his very being, a lure that pulsed and beat heat across his forehead. Something that screamed Him and yet didn't-

His heart rattled in his chest. His magic sang. His blood howled, and for a brief moment he was delirious with profound joy… Something in him, that piece that had merged with his being and given him life, felt a connection and just snapped with near physical weight. The billow of emotions that swept through him weren't his own and yet they were. The magic that brushed against him, thick and almost angry, manic and happy and and… and something more was so potent he could taste it as he swallowed. Flecks of red twisted among the darker greens of his gaze and Harry almost, almost, twisted about on the heels of his feet like an eager puppy to search for that signal, that sign that He was out there among them, somewhere, somehow-

This idle pulse, this brush of familiar magic against his own, was so distracting that he scarcely noticed when Ronald barked out a crazed laugh and began to flail his arms about, screaming that he'd had nothing to do with the scene but he would gladly take on the burden if they needed someone to blame because all of them were too stupid to see-

To see…

To see that He was not here.

But something else was?

Lockhart had finally managed to push to the front of the circle just as the first spell was flung from Smith, who yapped out something or another as Ron dove out the way of the hex intended for his person. It slammed right into the slight girl behind him-Ginerva, Harry noted-and she was flung back into the arms of Hermione, who managed to catch the girl with only grunt from the impact.

Immediately that sickeningly pleasant magic, emotion and all, was cut.

He snarled at the interruption, even as his heart continued to beat heavily against his ribs. If only Lockhart had managed the scene sooner than maybe, maybe, he could have pinpointed that… that feeling and found out why it had existed in the first place. Instead, he watched as Lockhart literally had to wrestle Smith to the ground, prompting a groan from Snape who finally strode forward, looking somewhat uncomfortable and annoyed, and Ron twisted around to care for his sister still semi-held up in Hermione's embrace as nasty boils began to swell and blister all over her person.

One breath.

Then another.

And with a parting gaze toward Ginerva that slipped over to a carefully placed Neville, Harry turned to his Circle, all of which were stiff and alert, so acutely turned to his magic and moods.

"Theo, a word please. To the dungeons."

Then, as one, they left behind a scene that was rapidly turning into a circus.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Heir Parkinson, Heir Greengrass."

"Yes, my Lord?"

They answered as one unit, perfectly synchronized and attentive. All of them were, even as they stood and waited for him to give them the unspoken signal to join him in lounging on their gathered chairs within their claimed and sacred space. He didn't bother to look at them, the Circle, as he lifted a thick and poorly bound book of wrinkled parchment out of his satchel and onto his lap. He knew they would obey, that they would remain stiff-backed and courteous until he bid them otherwise. But, he was not that cruel and today was not a day for games of will to reaffirm his dominance.

He gave a slight nod, and they sat, Blaise within a plush chair with Crabbe settled on the arm of it. Goyle on the floor with a heavy grunt and slouch with his back against the couch Harry had claimed. Theo, to Harry's right, with his bundles of notes and books brought in from the Nott libraries. Pansy, a dramatic lump that leaned against his left-to which his lips twitched in slight smirk at her bravery-while Daphne lifted Pansy's feet off the couch so that there was room for herself before she allowed them to settle on her lap. Which left Draco to the floor, a position he only shrugged at before he settled back and against Harry's legs with all the grace of a pureblood heir.

Perfect.

"What have you heard?'

Pansy and Daphne were respectable individuals in what Harry could only describe as a circuit of information. They were his ears, listening for strange but valuable tidbits of knowledge obscure enough to be passed through word of mouth instead of through parchment and ink. He found their gossip so much more than simplistic girlish rumors. That gave him an edge, an edge he fully intended to utilize.

Pansy gave a huff before she, somewhat rudely, fell back onto Harry's lap and his book before linking her arms behind her head, "Ravenclaw isn't as frazzled about the entire ordeal as much as Gryffindor or even Hufflepuff. Word is that Lovegood is a more interesting topic to them. Over Yule break a third year attempted to steal something from her-the information isn't clear on what-and after a successful snatching the girl accused was found half-frozen in the infirmary from a nasty spill in the lake. Heir or no heir, they're far too eager about that mystery to be bothered about much else."

Harry repressed a smile and instead lifted a hand to shift fingers through the fine and silky texture of Draco's hair as he leaned his head against his knee. With a deep breath and a loud sigh, he felt the boy relax further against him, "Gryffindor?"

With a squeeze to Pansy's ankle Daphne said, "Ronald Weasley is number one suspect for Heir of Slytherin-"

"A wise assessment," Theo snorted.

"-but Patil, Parvati to be clear, is very aware that there is little in his bloodline to suggest such. The next Most Ancient and Noble family in his line is a Black, but nothing as substantial as say… a Gaunt. This would have been decades ago, by the way."

There was a collective sound of curiosity from the Circle, but Harry only motioned for Daphne to continue.

"Most suspect Weasley due to a combination of unfortunate inconveniences but no real proof. They found him at the previous site without much excuse as to why he'd been there. Dean Thomas said that Ron was the last one to see Creevey after he begged some upper year to do something about the camera-"

Here Daphne paused to look to a smirking Pansy who practically beamed with pride about that incident-

"-because he was howling bloody murder about you, Harry, being the heir. To which Weasley told him, to 'shut his bloody yapper ' intermingled with threats of taking his tongue."

Goyle gave a sharp laugh that ended abruptly, silenced by the knock to his noggin from Daphne's balled fist and a look of ire tossed at the back of his head.

"And Hufflepuff?"

"Bones," Pansy took over, "said she heard some crying by the first-floor bathroom, boys room. She thought about investigating but a couple of sixth years went in and told whoever it was to knock it off."

Harry held up a hand for a moment and with tilted head he said, "Did Bones confirm if that was Creevey?"

"We can only assume that after Ron yelled at him he might have gone somewhere quiet to… be embarrassed."

"And," Harry pondered, "If he'd been run out of the first-floor bathroom, the next quiet place could have been the haunted bathroom… is it confirmed that he left the first-floor bathroom?"

"No, I wasn't able to get a witness or even a rumor of a witness seeing him leave after his scolding."

Which made pinpointing where Creevey had been a bit difficult.

"He was stiff. Petrified," Harry mused, "his body didn't so much as twitch when he fell."

Theo sat up a little straighter then, noticing his cue, "The Chamber of Secrets was host to a beast, a monster that was meant to cleanse the school of undesirables."

Harry nodded.

"That beast hasn't… killed anything yet, Flint claims it's only a matter of time though."

To this statement Draco nodded, it was something he'd said himself.

"There is something… odd happening. It is suspicious that the beast hasn't killed, like in the past-"

"The past?" Harry interrupted.

"A girl died last time in the… uh, haunted bathroom. Muggleborn."

Now Harry gave a thoughtful hum, "I've been there once. I think. When the troll attacked and Weasley and I saved Granger. It had an odd feel to it, around here, the dungeons, isn't it? It's a strange place, you know. Never heard of a ghost there though-"

"Longbottom saw it, her actually. Said she was rather unhappy with them when they were down there-"

"Right." Harry said, an abrupt cutoff as he used his free hand to tug slightly at Pansy's hair, to which she barely reacted. He didn't want to hear about Longbottom in the haunted bathroom, the bathroom where they'd made that potion with near perfection. The bathroom where Longbottom had disobeyed to keep an eye on his… friends.

Nervously, Blaise cleared his throat but continued, only slightly uncomfortable with the interruption, "Well, the story I've heard goes that she was killed in that bathroom by Slytherin's monster. They didn't find Creevey there though he was…" Blaise frowned, "Hiding, invisibly, above the Gryffindor table pudding."

"But not dead though," Pansy grumbled unhappily.

Harry only gave a playful rumble to that statement.

"Either way, this isn't the first time this has happened. Last time they blamed that Hagrid fellow."

"The groundskeeper?" Draco mumbled.

Theo looked through a few parchments before nodding to confirm Blaise statement, "Yes, arrested for breeding something or… another. They thought that might have been the issue…"

There was a sound, a soft clearing of the throat and Pansy sat up abruptly as Tracey Davis stood before them, looking a bit nervous. "Hrm… um."

Pansy narrowed her eyes before she mumbled a soft apology and scrambled off the couch to firmly lead Tracey away from the group.

Harry left them to their illusion of privacy before turning back to the Circle, "So the real question is, what could the beast be and how is it doing whatever it is it's doing…"

"Does it matter much?" Crabbe interrupted, and Draco grew stiff against his leg. "It's just that, it's only hurtin' the Muggleborns, so…"

"Of course, it matters," Harry whispered, his magic a mischievous curl across the flesh of those closest to him. Draco shuddered and tilted his head back, gaze glassy and Daphne squirmed in her seat, somewhat apprehensive, "the school is in danger, you know. The longer this goes on, the less… secure people will suspect the space to be."

He tilted his head as Crabbe wrinkled his nose, "But, we'll be safe, right?"

"Supposedly. But, who do you suspect will get the blame for all this if it continues?"

"Weasley?" Crabbe grinned.

"Maybe," Harry murmured but his tone was decidedly unimpressed. He sat up just a bit before he leaned forward, his shoulders rolling in a listless shrug. "Most likely it would be Dumbledore, it's his job to keep them safe after all. And, possibly, Weasley might get the blame for a time. But eventually that blame will roll back to us, those of the brave and courageous in Slytherin."

Harry pouted, just a bit, a little disappointed that nobody seemed captured by the genius of his… joke, but his magic did tend to suffocate them when he got this way, when he wanted to drive home his point and the weight of his teachings. "And, as you know, Mr. Crabbe, I am all about turning our house into one of esteem and reverence. I have no desire to be the rat of Hogwarts, shuffled in with the filth and sneered at due to the rabbles incompetence and misplaced perceptions of the past. To dominate, to conquer, we must seriously contemplate this single fact, that we can assume it is our place to be blamed, to be the untrusted. That our Headmaster is content with our lack of progression, as we desperately hold onto what little rights we maintain without the finesse and cunning we are known for."

He looked to them all, stared at them with flecks of red among the twisted green of his gaze. He let them fill pinned beneath his stare and allowed them to witness the passion of his... love for them. "But I… I will do whatever it takes to return us to a decade of prosperity, worship, and wealth. To steal back what has been taken and twisted away from us."

Blaise trembled, his hand balled into a fist, his expression a fierce twist of longing while Goyle nodded, almost mindlessly.

"I want you to understand, Mr. Crabbe, that solving this issue is only a portion of what it will take for us to conquer, that we aren't theorizing this mess because we care about Muggleborns so much as we care about ourselves and our education. They could close Hogwarts for this and that would be unfortunate. After all, academia is very important, right?"

Crabbe's throat flexed, and he drew in a raspy breath before he croaked out a, "Y-yeah, uh huh."

Harry watched him and relished the memories that flickered in his gaze. He enjoyed watching Crabbe recall the lesson on attempting intelligence, on the motivation Harry had given him on the cold hard floor of the Slytherin Common Room when he'd failed, again, to understand why not doing one's homework reflected badly on Draco-as the vassalage holder-and Harry… as-

"M-my Lord," Crabbe croaked again, before he fell to his knees and pressed his nose against the cold stone, "I'm sorry, sorry for my doubt."

Harry slowly leaned back with a curious hum and a simple nod, "It's fine. I'm here for you, you know, to help you understand why I want you to better yourself. If you ever have any questions, any needs… I'll take care of them, for you."

Crabbe didn't remove himself from the floor, he only nodded his head against the stone.

"Now now, don't do that. Pansy is coming back, and I don't want her to have to step over you, it isn't gentlemanly to inconvenience a lady. Go. Back to your seat."

With a relieved expression, he took his spot back on the arm of Blaise's chair.

Pansy said nothing as she reclaimed her spot on the couch and Tracey returned to the general fold of Slytherins that mingled, curious but cautious, about them. Too far to hear, but not so far away that they hadn't noticed Crabbe's performance of servitude.

Good.

"News," Pansy said, linking her fingers together, "Ministry came by after dinner with utmost urgency. They took the groundskeeper."

Harry snorted, "Of course they did."

"Odd enough some Aurors came to walk Weasley to the Headmasters office. No one has any clue what's come of that yet."

Which meant there would be no private conversations with Weasley just yet, though… hadn't Lovegood stated as much?

"House arrest?"

"Possibly."

Harry allowed the conversation to lull into silence then before he tilted his head, "Theo… sometimes the walls talk to me."

That got his attention, "Excuse me?"

"I said, sometimes the walls talk to me." Harry gave him a look from the corner of his eye, "Sometimes they talk to me, but I have never been a speaker to walls."

There was a slight hissing sound from his sleeve and the tickle of a tongue against his wrist. His familiar remained out of sight, but he could sense her amusement.

Theo stiffened and inhaled sharply, "I… I'm sorry, my Lord?"

Harry blinked, "Oh, sorry. Was that last bit I said in English?"

He knew it hadn't been.

But slowly, something dawned in Theo's gaze and he stood up from the couch so abruptly that his notes and books fell to a pile on the floor around him, forgotten even as Draco yowled as a particularly heavy transfiguration text bonked him.

"You see," Harry continued, even as Theo grabbed his head with one hand, a motion of deep thought, "it's been a bit distracting, the talking walls, so I wasn't sure… is that a thing Hogwarts does? Do you hear it sometimes to?"

"Hah, no." Goyle snickered, only to grunt as Daphne whapped him on the noggin again.

"No… no, and I wouldn't hear it." Theo whispered.

"Are you sure?" Harry pressed, "Because if only I can hear it that would mean… well, that would mean it's something exclusive to me and, well, sometimes I do hear snakes out in the greenhouses and-"

"Snakes? Snakes in the walls?" Draco whispered.

Theo gave a slow lick of his lips before he stuck out his tongue, "Snakes... Snakes in the walls. Snakes… in the pipes? Does the castle have pipes? Of course, of course it would but, but what sort of snake could…"

Silence, for a time, before Harry tilted his head this way and that and blurted out, "Pansy!"

She jerked, "Y-yeah?"

Ignoring her slight tone of annoyance, he said, "Most obscure and weird piece of info you've heard all year, go!"

"Um," she hesitated, right until Harry gave her a look and then she was quick to babble. "Once I heard someone say the Weasley twins were offered Slytherin."

Harry gave her an expression of exasperation before he furrowed his brow in thought, "Really? That is… inter-No, that's not... Please, actually try Pansy."

"Right right," She chewed on her bottom lip, "Davis just said the Minister might consider removing Dumbledore from power if this goes on for much longer."

"Yes, yes," Harry nodded, eyes closed, patient.

"There is also talk of a sixth year Ravenclaw disappearing at all hours of the day, people see him walk to the seventh floor and then, poof, but he's always back in his dorm room the next day."

"Mhm."

"Smith, Zacharias, the one who confronted Weasley and has been touting his supposed purity lately claimed earlier this year to be a direct descendant of Helga Hufflepuff herself. Most of Hufflepuff believes him, actually-"

Here Harry frowned, "Remember that information. He said something like that in the Great Hall too. I'll have need of it later."

"Of course," Pansy said, right before whispered, "actually there was something else too."

He quirked a brow, but didn't open his eyes, as he waited for her to speak.

"Over Yule break," there was a bit of hesitance then, before she spoke again, "the groundskeeper made a complaint. Some first year said they heard him practically sobbing to Dumbledore about something."

Now he opened his eyes and Pansy, almost nervously, rolled her hands back and forth across her lap. "It was uh… I'd dismissed it at first because, really, who cares about such dreadful things but-"

"Pansy, please." Daphne hissed, clearly irritated with the hesitance to deliver her information.

"It's just that," and still she seemed nervous, "it's just animals, his animals, and he does live out in the forest, so I never thought it was important."

"Pansy," Harry said, brow furrowed but he kept his expression delightful even as his patience began to ebb, "I can decide the importance on my own, you see. So…"

The warning was clearly there, and she bobbed her head fiercely, "Of course. Right. Well. He was crying, they say, about roosters. Dead roosters. All slaughtered. Throats cut, blood everywhere. It was a right mess-he was a right mess, covered in the gunk of it."

Pansy opened her mouth to say more but Harry raised a hand, instantly capturing her attention and Theo's whose nostrils flared in sudden realization.

"I don't suspect that any of us were here over the break, is that correct?"

There were various nods from the Circle all around.

"And so, I can assume, there wasn't any need for us to enact or even attempt a blood based ritual of magic." Not that they were forbidden to do so, he just suspected that sort of complex magic to be beyond their current level, and he himself had yet to find a wizard or witch sturdy enough to attempt the ones he'd been interested in.

He didn't suspect that to change until, at the very least, the summer.

"Furthermore," he continued, "The groundskeeper has been out in the Forbidden Forest for some time now and, this is the first I've heard of a specific animal slaughter… oh, other than the unicorn incidents of first year."

Draco swallowed a bit, but otherwise the Circle remained silent, except for Theo, who collapsed heavily onto the couch back besides Harry, an answer already poised on the tip of his tongue but not yet realized.

So, Harry would help him, "How many magical creature books have you read Theo?"

"Well," Theo said, slowly stretching out the word, "I happened to read ahead a bit and Father does have an extensive book collection."

One Harry hoped to crack into very soon.

"But the knowledge wouldn't have been useful until at least third year, Harry, so I didn't think-"

"But you are thinking now, correct?"

"O-of course."

"Tell me then, Theo, in that no doubt gorgeous library you've combed to near completion, there must have been a book on dark magical creatures."

"Technically, all books of that sort tend to be on dark magical creatures…" Theo's lips twitched, lifted into something sly and triumphant, as his mind made the proper connections.

"Last year, something specifically targeted unicorns." And while they might not be privy to what had done it, Harry did know, "I think this year something in the forest either has a peculiar diet or doesn't want a specific animal to be alive. An animal that is-"

"A snake, in the walls, leaving children petrified." Theo finished, "Lord Slytherin's monster has been known to kill with its gaze, but it has so far only been able to petrify. Somehow, that gaze must be getting reflected. Creevey is an abnormal because he must have been moved. If he was petrified in the bathroom, any bathroom really, then the lucky git would have seen that stare reflected in the mirror. Lord Slytherin's monster is a basilisk."

Got it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Harry thought about going to a professor with the information. He thought about, at the very least, letting Snape know and understand the importance of their unraveled mystery, but he was curious, so insanely curious about the why. About the heir. About the Chamber.

So, he didn't. He kept the secret close to his heart while he attended tension filled classes. He watched the stressed faculty bumble through lesson plans. He heard the murmurs in the hall and practically tasted their cloying fear as he roamed the them without the distinct stench of nervous anxiety clinging to his skin. The Circle did the same, remained brave and secure in the knowledge that Harry could hear the monster before it arrived-and maybe, they felt somewhat shielded by their blood, since the monster had only attacked those of Muggle birth so far.

But, beyond the angry invasion of Aurors and Ministry officials and the intensity of their questioning, the initial excitement of Creevey's explosive reappearance began to taper. Children, particularly wizards and witches, found it difficult to maintain a reasonable healthy dosage of terror when there was a lapse of it. Only those who weren't used to the odd and eerie seemed hyper aware of their surroundings. Or, maybe that was just the Gryffindors, who scowled a little less at him and more at…

"Hello, Mr. Weasley."

Harry was surprised to see him out and about without the intensity of security-Ministry mandated-around his person. He'd become a shallow shell of himself, a pale figure with hunched shoulders and a weary gaze that lacked the vibrant personality he'd displayed only a year ago. It was strange and yet fitting to see him so… downtrodden. To know that he suffered. To see the results of exile and solitude done by one's own house.

Maybe, had Harry been surrounded by his usual collective, the Gryffindor redhead might have tried to remain proud and strong, but he alone for once, a strolling 'vulnerable' student who needed time to think and decide his next action without the dotting almost possessive aggression that constantly pulsed from his guardianship.

Not that he didn't enjoy it, of course.

"Harry," Ron whispered, the twisted shadows of desperation in his gaze, "I need you."

"Do you?" Harry whispered back, despite the fact that their hall was currently deserted, abandoned as students shuffled along toward dinner-hungry and oblivious to the schemes orchestrated around them.

"Yes," Ron said, but his tone was so drained. Almost empty.

"I needed you too, over the summer," Harry stated, but it was just a conversational note, "when my family turned on me."

Ron closed his eyes and exhaled long and slow, "I'm so sorry, Harry. No one told us you were missing. I thought about the letters, we tried to do the rescue, but Dumbledore said not to worry, that you were fine and we were overreacting. Then the article came out and he said…"

His voice trailed off, dissolved into a wistful sigh of disappointment. Disillusioned in himself. Disillusioned in the adults that had fed him a tale and crafted a paradise around him. Harry had been so interested in the crumbling destruction of Ron's self-worth that he nearly missed the sudden subject change.

"Sometimes, I wonder how we ended up together. First year?" He gave a strained smile, lost in some memory when he wasn't being watched all the time, wasn't a pariah, wasn't lonely or confused.

"Where are your guards," Harry said instead.

"Busy. Fred's got them up on the fourth-floor, slipping on goop and getting stuck. Something like taffy-"

"-Then let us talk freely," now Harry smiled, something pleased and wicked, "Where have you been, Ron?'

The usage of his first name seemed to startle him. He drew his shoulders back and took a quick nervous breath, "T-the Common Room, they don't let me go anywhere else."

"And what did you discuss with Dumbledore? After they found Mr. Creevey?"

Ron grimaced, "He just asked me what I'd been doing the night before his disappearance. Asked me why I threatened him the way I did but, but Harry I'd do it again. The grease ball said some dreadful things about you and those… um." Here Ron swallowed, "T-the lovely Slytherin ladies in your company."

Impressive.

"And, well, girls are insufferable and all and Hermione can be a real bossy bore sometimes, but Mum always says a gentleman doesn't call a lady the sorts of things Creevey was callin' 'em. Slytherins or not."

He seemed a bit confused for a moment, surprised by his own words perhaps, "Harry, all my life I've been taught that they can't be trusted. That they are sneaky and all but, well, you are a Slytherin and Malfoy is horrible but you…"

They were both silent for a moment, Harry contemplative, Ron stumbling over his words.

"But you… Harry, Longbottom told me the other day that I'm the last son of a fallen house and I was pissed but he isn't wrong. After I cooled my head he explained to me that… that you were a pretty, um, famous bloke. While I've always known that… that you were The-Boy-Who-Lived and all, I never really understood."

Ron shifted a piece of hair behind his head, perhaps expecting Harry to cut him off or walk away, but he was terribly curious and the best way to get a fellow speaking again was to remain silent and inquisitive. So, he did.

And that was enough to get him to speak some more, his posture, his body, his very magic suddenly alive, "And Harry, Longbottom told me that it was unusual for us to be friends considering our conflicting social status, but we are… were friends and I've always appreciated that. That you, you know, this heir to the hero Potters, was my friend and… when you have so much-"

He shrugged, words dying in a tight throat, before he croaked out, "and I've been jealous. Was jealous, a bit. You're special, and I'm me. And now, now you're with Malfoy and Nott…"

He shrugged again, his energy wasted, "I'm not stupid. They think I am. My brothers. And… maybe Hermione too, but I'm not, Harry. I can see that things are different. That you're different, and it's made you better."

"Being without me made you better," he whispered, and though his voice was soft Harry heard him just as well, "how did we all end up in that carriage together? Why is Dumbledore pushing so hard for us to stay your friend?"

Slowly Ron lowered his gaze to the floor and Harry opened his mouth to speak, but when his company lifted his gaze again it was fierce a thing of blazing heat, of fire, of anger that burned and burned and burned, "Why are you so vibrant now, when in first year you weren't? I thought it was the Muggles, their abuse and all that but it's so much more I think."

He held his breath as Harry drawled, "And what is it, Ron? What do you think… tell me."

Feed me your ire.

His eyelids fluttered, and he took a deep breath, swayed by Harry's unspoken command, by the pull of his magic, by the sudden overwhelming sense of connecting when he'd been so empty and rattled for the bulk of the year, "I have been thinking so hard about it. Us three. Hermione said you were the center, you balanced us. Elevated us. Somehow."

He shook his head furiously, tried to gather his thoughts, "I'm not sure I completely understand it. It's like you're a piece on a chess board, meant to be surrounded. Mum seemed happy when I wrote home about you. The Headmaster, she said, told her that our family would be good for you, that you might miss your mum and dad and need a bit of guidance, a brother to tell him the right things, to keep him safe. But I was nobody compared to you so why was he so interested in my friendships?"

Why indeed.

"Maybe the why is that it was because of you. We were put together for a reason, I said so many things, judgmental 'n stuff but that was junk I'd always heard mum and dad say and I fed it to you."

Harry sucked in a harsh breath, felt his heart rattle behind his ribs. He ignored the ache and tried to focus, tried to keep his magic that pounding lure instead of a reflection of his excitement. Such knowledge… and he had always wondered-

"Every meeting with him," Ron ground out between clenched teeth, "he just talked about you. Never about me, my problems, because I was… I am nobody."

Then a scream, an echo that rattled down from the hall, a shattering audio presence that made Ron snarl and Harry suck in a rapid breath-and his magic. He twisted around on the heels of his feet, gaze somewhat manic, hair wild, only to stop when he felt Ron suddenly grip his wrist.

Hard.

Harry whipped his head back around, a spell on the tip of his tongue, viciousness set to reflect in his gaze but Ron's own was blazing and he uttered-

"I am not stupid, Harry. I am not Dumbeldore's. I am nothing and I want to be something."

I want to be yours.

"I have seen you," magic curled along Ron's arm, flowed down, tentative and untrained as his face twisted into something strained, as he focused, as he tried to match the pure raw ability that Harry effortlessly wielded. As he tried to show him genuinely, and prove potential. "And I will not abandon you."

His eyes flickered in fear, a brief dosing of the flames that rolled through his gaze with the wildness of storms. He gasped once, then twice, as the thundering of feet drew closer and Harry's magic snapped out with cruel grip and perverse intentions to snag onto Ron's own. Harry's expression was pinched, nose wrinkled in his grotesque annoyance at the touch of another that had not been given permission to do so, but he was listening.

And that was what Ron needed.

"I know what you've done. With Longbottom. With Malfoy. With Parkinson and Zabini and the others-I am not unaware of my fallen houses traditions, I am not ignorant of my Mum's sighs when she eyes our squalor or the students when they talk about our stolen prestige."

Harry's chest felt tight, his gaze narrowed. He was trapped between wanting to tear his arm away from Ron and remain, caught constricted by the sentimental memories of friendship and urged by the harsh rolling possessiveness that Ron practically oozed and his magic returned almost tenfold. The need to conquer rolled like rocks in his gut, rattling like a haunting mantra across his mentality.

"Please," Ron croaked, his grip growing ever tighter, his breath coming out in a wheeze, his face so pale his freckles stood out against his trembling cheeks, "Save me from this—"

His voice cut out as the sound of adult authority began to crawl around the corner, and suddenly, Ron begged—

"My Lord."

Harry's movement was swift just as two Aurors tumbled into the hall, sweat slick and covered in guck. Their wands were out and aimed at them just as a professor-Flitwick-and two more Aurors rounded the corner. All attention had instantly zeroed in on them, on Ron, as Harry wrapped him up tight in his arms.

"Stop!" Harry said, his voice high-pitched and fearful, innocent and oh so pure, "W-we were just talking. Please! He was with me when we… was someone screaming? We-"

The professor came closer, he looked frazzled and unsure but, "Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes?" Ron croaked against his neck, face hidden by the bulk of Harry's hair.

"Is there a reason your assigned guards are…" Flitwick looked a bit disgusted at the appearance of the shuffling Aurors, who looked a bit red in the face. Angry and humiliated no doubt since their colleagues were trying to hold in their snickering.

"I... I dunno, I just… I had to find Harry so we could talk." He mumbled again, words muffled as his lips brushed against Harry's robes. "I thought that maybe, maybe they had left to give me some privacy. I've been asking… begging for days now."

It was a poor lie mixed with what Harry assumed was a bit of truth, but it worked well enough. Flitwick shook his head and whispered to the two men at his back, "I don't think it could have… well, no one was petrified, or dead thank goodness, not this time so… just words on the wall, spooked a kid. Could have been a prank, cruel but effective."

Harry absorbed the statement as he held Ron tighter. Ron who trembled in his arms. Ron who dribbled moisture onto the exposed flesh of his neck and wheezed.

Ron, whose magic sung with joy as he sobbed against him, finally no longer alone in a world where he was claimed to be the Heir of Slytherin.

And Harry, whose wild smile of triumph and possession went unnoticed in the darkness of the hallway.