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Chapter 21: Morbid Messages


Torchlight glinted off painted green scales and turned them a metallic shade of grey. Who did these paintings? It was eerie how lifelike they were.

The snake hissed in surprise when purple tongues of flame appeared and licked up its portrait's frame. Harry watched the painting burn and permitted himself a brief pause. He had destroyed hundreds of them the first night of hunting, but the snakes had caught on and since grown elusive. If he did not finish them off tonight, Riddle was likely to realize that his network of subtle spies was being compromised.

Harry had considered making a spectacle of his hunt and framing Charlus but had decided doing so would be a step too far. Riddle must have known how knowledgeable James was in regards to the castle and its secrets. If Harry poked too hard, Riddle might lash out against James, suspecting he was acting in his father's stead.

But if he destroyed the serpents subtly, Riddle's ire would be cooler when he eventually took notice and his desire to remain reputable and respected would offer James protection.

Not that it would contain Riddle's retaliation forever, but Harry did not want it to.

The snake's haggard hisses faded. Another down. There could only be a handful remaining in the castle. Almost a hundred had been disposed of tonight alone.

Harry considered his options while ducking past the tapestry of a sun-soaked lake and into a secret passageway that would take him to where he knew the next serpent was presently depicted. There would be another attack against the Potters. Riddle's pride demanded it and he had never mastered the art of putting his ego aside.

Harry suspected the strike would come some time during spring break. That would not only give Riddle more leeway in timing the attack, but it would satisfy what he must be craving. Harry would have gambled his right hand that what Riddle wanted most was to redo the attack on New Year's Eve. A rerun was not something he could have, but attacking during the upcoming holidays would be the nearest thing. Predictability had always been Voldemort's most glaring weakness.

Not that it made things easy. Spring break spanned an entire week, which made intercepting any attack difficult at best.

Harry rolled his shoulders until a quiet pop relieved a portion of his discomfort. Things would become much simpler if he found himself deep enough in Riddle's ranks to join in on the attack, but the chances of that were slim at best. Good progress had been made — his second private lesson with Marcel Zabini had come and gone earlier that night — and he hoped the infiltration could happen before much longer. But he won't trust me with something like that right away.

Harry would have to earn that trust and hope for another opening down the road if he could not capitalize on the attack he suspected would come soon.

A thick lump settled near the back of his throat and robbed his mouth of moisture. So long as the Potters survive.

Charlus had proven himself capable, but it was unlikely they would expect a second attack after the first had gone so poorly for the intruders. That would be Riddle's advantage — that and the fact he rarely made the same mistake in combat twice.

Harry decided he would have to warn them but had no idea how. It was not as if an anonymous letter informing the governor of Riddle and what he might be planning would be given a second glance.

Harry shelved those plans for now. There was still time to come up with something and he had to focus on what could be controlled. All he could do for now was keep Riddle on his toes.


The tug of sleep still weighed down his eyelids when he stepped into the Great Hall that next morning. It had been late by the time his work was done. Or early, I guess, he thought with an inward sigh.

"Oi! Harry!" He could feel Lily tense beside him, but he had no energy to rehash old arguments and excused himself to take a seat with the Marauders.

"What's up?" he asked Sirius once seated.

The Black heir drained his mug of coffee and smacked his lips before replying. "I've sent off the gold for those contracts you commissioned. They should be here in the next week or so."

A tired smile spread its way up onto Harry's lips. "Thanks again for that."

Sirius tossed his mane in that careless way he had. "Fair is fair."

"Any plans for spring break?" James chimed in.

"Not really," Harry replied. "I'll be staying here and will probably spend most of the time studying. That's what I did during winter break."

James heaved a dramatic sigh. "We'll have to show you how to have fun one of these days."

"He should probably learn to sleep first," Sirius commented. "You could store gold in those bags under his eyes."

"We should head to classes," Remus said with a measured look up at the clock.

James stretched and yawned before getting to his feet. "Shall we?"

Pettigrew looked down at his half-full plate. "I don't have alchemy," he mumbled.

James rolled his eyes. "We know that, Wormtail. How daft do you think we are?"

The look that passed between Remus and Sirius would have been answer enough had James seen it. Harry did not think his father realized he had just slipped up.

Sirius snapped a sudden shout when they were halfway across the Entrance Hall. A dark red curse buckled the Black heir's half-conjured shield and tore a thin gash in Harry's shoulder.

His right arm moved almost of its own volition, heedless of the hot pain searing through his shoulder. A second spell sliced towards him. Only at the last possible second did he identify and counter it. Anger reared its ugly head alongside jarring recognition. Sectumsempra…

Nearby students scattered and exposed an empty patch of flagstones separating the two opposing groups. Pettigrew had vanished, but the rest of them had their wands drawn and ready — Harry and the Marauders on one side, Prince and the three bastards he called friends on the other.

"What's the matter?" Prince sneered. "Not so bold when you don't have Lily here to call me off?"

He's not worth it, Harry recited inside his head. He's not worth it. He's not worth it. "I'm warning you, Pr—" Harry cut off mid-speech and cast a wordless counter to the Langlock hex Prince hurled at him.

The spell fizzled over the flagstones between them and Prince's pale face slackened. "You—"

Loud squawks drowned out his words as a flock of birds flowed from James's wand and swooped down towards the Slytherins.

Prince reduced them to black vapour and his friends returned fire. Harry threw a dome of magic up around him and the Marauders and let the incoming barrage break against its silver surface.

Avery stumbled to his knees across the hall and clawed at the purpling skin of his throat with clear panic.

"Lift the curse!" Harry snapped at Sirius, who must have snuck it through the chaos.

"What?" the Black heir sputtered. "But they—"

"Lift it!"

Avery flopped against the flagstones and gulped great lungfuls of air as a head of red hair appeared from the crowd of students trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on.

A slap echoed through the Entrance Hall and sent Prince sprawling. Harry took the chance to disarm Macnair as Remus knocked broad-shouldered Brandon Burke off his feet and sent his wand skidding.

Sudden silence swept over the scene. Everyone's eyes were focused on the head girl, who was trembling with unmasked fury and glaring down at Prince, who sat stunned and clutched at his reddening cheek. Lily straightened up as her face contorted with contempt. "You—"

Pounding footsteps cut her off as James charged headlong across the Entrance Hall towards her. Purple light flashed and someone screamed. James stumbled past the place where Lily stood. A thin stream of blood flowed from a gash in his right arm and through his clutching fingers.

Harry's entire body clenched with heedless rage as he saw Avery on his knees and with his wand aimed at Lily's back.

A rush of magic from near the Great Hall's entrance interrupted Harry's outburst. His silver shield sprung up just in time to shelter him from the shockwave sweeping through the Entrance Hall. The unseen spell struck a shrill sound against his shield and sent him stumbling several paces back.

No one else had fared so well. The Marauders were laid out flat on their backs, as were Lily, Prince, and the three twats with him.

Harry looked past them and saw Riddle twirl his wand between long fingers from his place framed against the Great Hall's threshold.

No one uttered so much as a single word. Harry settled into the silence and turned over the preceding minutes for the first time. Unease tingled at the edges of his considerations. Why had Prince attacked him instead of James? Why did he attack like that at all? Open melees in the Entrance Hall were about as far from his preferred tack as could be found.

Riddle sought out Harry's eyes and the uneasy tingling worsened. Unless…

Had this all been an elaborate test orchestrated by the headmaster the same way Marcel Zabini showing Harry cruel curses and watching for his reaction had been? Riddle himself had been right there the moment things had got out of hand…

"What happened?" The headmaster's cold voice crept across the hall with the slow, corrosive sear of subtle poison.

"We were attacked, sir," Harry answered, focusing only on the initial spray of spells as he met Riddle's eye. "I tried to stay out of it like you told me to, Headmaster. I only shielded and disarmed." Harry choked down his pride and lowered his eyes. It was important for Riddle to see what he expected from a servant.

The simpering tone Harry had adopted sickened him, but Riddle's gentle smile made the whole thing worthwhile. "I believe you. Thank you for your restraint." Other professors had stepped up behind him since he had squashed the situation. "Professor Caine, see that Mister Potter is escorted to the hospital wing. Horace, handle your brood. See that they are punished justly. The rest of you can continue to your classes."

Harry's forearm burned as he climbed the marble staircase. That fucking bastard! Risking the health of countless students all for some convoluted test of Harry's unquestioned loyalty was a depth of depravity too deep for him to stomach.


Conjuring up the hatred needed for the cruciatus curse was no trouble when Marcel Zabini showed it to him that Friday evening, three days following the brawl against Prince and the brutes who had fought with him.

"You cannot face the dark arts if you don't know what you're facing," had been Zabini's explanation for his choice of lesson.

Harry had almost snorted in response. Riddle had chosen a private tutor who could not be traced back to him in the event that Harry failed his test. That was the truth and it was clearer than glass.

Harry was grateful for the bright half moon shining overhead that night as he picked his way through tangled knots of hedge and branch alike. It was by that silver light he traversed the treacherous footing and freed himself from the wild foliage in time to step through a rare gap in the sharp-pronged ring of hedges up ahead.

He moved past the low wall which ringed the remainder of a property that had once been handsome. Harry inspected the remaining masonry more closely this time. Its crumbling grey stones were so crisscrossed with ivy-choked cracks they almost appeared to be a deliberate design.

A strong wind howled through the hedges and sent lifeless leaves skipping through the withered grass to left and right. Tenuous foundations groaned ahead as rotted walls bowed and a ruined roof bent under the harsh wind's weight.

Harry listened to each creak and shudder as if they were a skillful symphony and drank in the shack's appearance one last time before bathing it in Fiendfyre.

Only the door still stood when he condensed the flames into a wide-winged crow and sent them soaring skyward. The wings flickered with their emerald fire as they flapped three times against the star-strewn sky, then shattered into a spray of sparks.

There. Harry wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his right hand. Riddle would hear of the disturbance and would trace it to the shack.

Harry turned to face the door he had left intact. Its edges were charred and it stank of smoke, yet it still stood in a single piece.

Serpensortia.

Harry swished his wand and beheaded the garden snake almost sooner than it had appeared, then fastened its head against the door in a fashion Morfin Gaunt had once been fond of.


"Harry!" Marlene wore a relieved expression when he stepped into the all but empty common room. "Can I have some help with these runes? They're driving me mental." He tried to tell her that she could, but the words rasped in his throat like dry sand blowing over rough stone. The relief melted off Marlene's face. "Have you been practicing this whole time? Drink something, you idiot."

She shoved a goblet of water in his direction and he took it without question. Not until he had swallowed and felt the ache in his throat ease did he realize how fatigued he had become.

"Are you all right?" Marlene asked. "You look like you're about to fall over."

"Fine." Had casting Fiendfyre drained him this much? It can't have done. The long nights roaming through the castle destroying any portrait, tapestry, or other piece of serpent-themed decor must have finally caught up to him.

Marlene brushed black hair behind her ear and sighed. "Get some sleep, you dolt. This isn't due until Monday, you can help me tomorrow."

He had hardly pulled up the covers when he was blinking himself awake. There was a feel of wrongness in the room that left him rigid and on edge as he peeled his ears and probed out for anything unusual. Nothing felt out of the ordinary and the correct number of souls were present when he summoned the Elder Wand and cast Homenum Revelio, yet his instincts screamed that something was amiss.

His left elbow bumped against a cold, smooth something when he shifted out from underneath the sheets.

His next breath caught when he lit his wand and looked around. A skull-shaped envelope was folded atop a bone-white mask resting on his pillow.

His heart pounded as he examined both for curses before tearing into the envelope.

Mister Harry Kalloway,

We are aware of your exploits last summer and think you could be of great service.

You would, of course, be paid handsomely per commission and can be assured there is much more than gold to come if your service remains loyal and consistent.

The mask is to be donned next Friday at 11:00 PM. You should make use of the phrase Morsmordre.

The Knights of Walpurgis


"Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being."

Albert Camus


A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.


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