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The Horcrux's Red Head Friend [Harry Potter and the Accidental Horcrux Recursive Fanfiction, SI]

By: bool1989

So, this is something i've been writing on SB and FanFiction dot net. However, I have spent a…

Status: ongoing

Published: 2018-12-28

Updated: 2018-12-28

Words: 104185

Chapters: 40

Original source: https/forums./threads/52372

Exported with the assistance of

The Horcrux's Red Head Friend [Harry Potter and the Accidental Horcrux Recursive Fanfiction, SI]

Introduction

Ron: Growing Up as a Weasley

Ron: A Different Harry

Harry: A Polite Discussion

Ron: A Visit to the Kitchens

Snape: Harry Potter, a Slytherin

Ron: The Slytherin Common Room

Ron: Holloween: Part One

Ron: Holloween: Part Two

Harry: Quidditch

Ron: Christmas

Ron: The Room of Requirement

Harry: Second Term

Ron: Thoughts on Harry

Ron: Harry's Explaination

Ron: End of Term

Ron: Meeting with Aunt Muriel

Ron: At the Gala

Ron: Francis Weasley

Ron: Reparations

Ron: At Borgen and Burkes

Ron: Out for Ice Cream

Ron: A Meeting with Grandfather

Ron: The Fourth Time

Ron: The Second Meeting of The You Know What

Harry: Secrets and Lies

Harry: Memories

Harry: What Ron Knows

Ron: Every Plan That Fails

Voldemort: A New Ally

Ron: The Dark Mark and The Crow

Harry: Mudblood is a Terrible Word

Ron: Setting Malfoy Straight

Ron: The Next Move

Harry: The Heir of Slytherin

Harry: Hermione Makes Binns Interesting for Once

Ron: The Dueling Club

Ron: Conscripting the Slytherins

Snape: Every Move He Makes

Ron: Peter Pettigrew, Test Subject

Ron: Morpheus

Ron: Growing Up as a Weasley

I was three when I started to wake up to the fact that I was Ron Weasley, a major character in the Harry Potter verse. I had not always been Ron Weasley, as I recalled a past life where I had been a normal Twenty something. In my past life, I had read the Harry Potter books avidly, So I was rather excited when I figured it out. I remembered the horrors of the HP verse as well: Dementors, Werewolves, Dark Wizards. But it was hard to remain terrified when, you know, MAGIC.

But, if I was to survive in this world, I would need to plan. I would need to learn as much as I could. Unlike the original Ron, I couldn't afford to sit on my ass and do nothing. Voldemort was out there, and he didn't like blood traitor families.

From the moment I woke up, I was known as the book worm of the family. There was a room in the Burrow that stored all of the family's books, including old text books that we had saved in case a younger child would need them. I devoted most of my time to reading them.

The years passed quickly. While my older brothers were at Hogwarts, Mum would home school us. Reading, writing, and arithmetic were things I already knew, so those subjects were boring, but Mum taught us other things like stuff about wizarding culture, upper class protocol, some history, and proper potion ingredient preparation. Those were much more interesting subjects.

When I turned ten I started going to the nearby Ottery St. Catchpole to do small jobs like mowing and/or watering yards. I made about 5 pounds per job and I did about 6/7 jobs per month. When I wasn't working, I was at the library, refreshing my Muggle knowledge, and learning as much as I could.

By the time the Hogwarts letters arrived, I had saved up about 200 pounds, which if I remembered correctly, was worth about 40 Galleons.

OO

"Morning Mum," I said as I stepped into the kitchen. I could smell the food she was preparing. "What's for breakfast?"

The kitchen was small and rather cramped, with a large wooden table in the middle that had chairs all around it. To the right was a large fireplace, with various books on the mantelpiece. To the left was Mum preparing breakfast on the counter-top. Food was sizzling in the pans, but oddly enough there was nothing heating them.

"Good morning, dear. Full English spread," said Mum, who turned to look at me.

"Hmm, sounds good," I said, opening a book I had brought with me. I normally woke up a little bit later than everyone else, as I spent most of my nights reading. The next few minutes passed amicably, me reading and Mum cooking. Then Percy came in from the back door.

"The garden is fully de-gnomed, mother," Percy said pompously. "I inspected it myself."

"Thank you, Percy, dear," said Mum over her shoulder.

"Good Morning, Ronald," said Percy when he spotted me. "I see you haven't washed up properly. How do you expect to make a good impression if you don't?"

"Good Morning to you too," I said sarcastically. "I see you've got a stick up your bum like usual."

Fred and George, who had been silent until this moment, guffawed loudly. Percy turned a shade of red.

"Ronald, dear. Please don't pick on your brother," said Mum, exasperated. "Honestly, the twins are bad enough without you doing it too."

"Wow, Mum," said Fred, who was looking at Mum with fake resentment. "Nice to know what you think of us."

"Too true, brother," said George. "Next thing we know, jokes will be banned!"

"Puns will get us grounded!"

"Witticisms will get us degnoming the garden for life!"

"Gags will-"

"Alright, that's enough, you two," interrupted Mum as she flicked her wand, causing our plates to set themselves on the table. "Sit down and eat up."

We all sat down and made haste to eat Mum's delicious meal. A few moments later Ginny came down and joined us at the table as well.

"When do you expect that we will be going to Diagon Ally, mother?" Percy asked after a few minutes of quiet eating.

"Soon, Percy dear." Mum replied, pausing in-between bites. "I still have to get Ron sorted with his school list."

"And I expect you lot to get ready to leave as soon as you are done eating, am I clear?" She asked to the wider room. Everyone gave murmurs of assent.

"Mum, can I please go to Hogwarts this year? Please please please?" Ginny suddenly asked. I wasn't really surprised; she had been asking the same question every day since the end of the last Hogwarts year.

"For the last time, Ginny, NO! You are not old enough." Mum replied, exasperated. "I am sure that Dumbledore has told you the same in his letter."

"Dumbledore sent Ginny a letter?" I asked, surprised. "When did that happen?"

"Yesterday, when your Hogwarts letters came." Said Ginny, perking up. "I sent a letter to him asking if I could go this year!" She then visibly deflated "He said no too…"

"Oh, don't worry, Ginny!" Said Fred

"Hogwarts isn't all it's cracked up to be!" Said George

"Why, its full of nosy old teachers!"

"And dusty old books!"

"Soon enough they will be handing you detentions!"

"And demerits!"

"And depointments!"

"Wait, is that a real word?"

"All right, that enough you two." said Mum, hiding a smile. She then turned her attention to the rest of the table, and said "Ronald, if you're finished eating, why don't we go up and sort out your school list?"

I looked down at my plate. Sometime between sitting down to eat, and Mum asking that question, the food on my plate had vanished. Frowning, I looked up at Mum's expectant face.

"Okay," I said, wiping my face and getting up. Mum also rose from her seat at the table, and together, we walked out of the kitchen.

"Why don't you go up to Bill and Charley's room?" Mum asked, gesturing at the staircase. "I will be with you shortly."

I shrugged and nodded, then turned and started walking up the staircase. Bill and Charley's room was on the third floor of the Burrow, along with Dad's study, and the second bathroom. Other than the master room, their room had been the largest.

Across from the door, there was a large window that looked out over the front lawn. Under the window there was a big wooden dresser, that had piled atop it various magazines, comic books, two candle-holders full of melted candle wax, and a photo frame that held a photo of a very pretty brown-haired witch.

To the left was a set of bunk-beds. To the right was a large wardrobe, a bookshelf, and Bill and Charley's old trunks stacked on top of each other. I guess Mum must had been in here to clean as the beds were made, and everything on the dresser was in neat stacks and the walls were plastered in posters of the Weird Sisters, Puddlemere United, and the Gryffindor coat of arms.

After looking around, I went and sat on the bottom bunk of the bunk-beds and waited for Mum to show up. I did not have to wait long, as she walked in a moment later bearing a faded red wooden box in her arms.

After entering the room, Mum tapped the box with her wand, and it floated into the air in front of me. Its lid popped open and I saw what looked to be many different wands inside of it. The wands flowed out of the box and arranged themselves in a neat row in front of me. All in all, it looked like there was about 30 of them.

"Mum, wait," I said, waving my hand. "I don't need a hand-me-down, I think I made enough money from my jobs to buy my own wand."

"Really?" Mum asked, a little surprised. "How much money do you have?"

"I have 200 pounds saved up," I replied.

"That's muggle money," I added when I saw the confusion on her face.

"We'll have to see about exchanging that for real money when we get to Gringotts," Mum replied in a huff. "If you don't have enough, you'll get a wand later."

"Okay," I replied.

After putting the wand box away, she turned and waved her wand, and the two trunks jumped into the air from where they had been sitting, coming to a rest in front of me. One was black with steel fastenings and the other was red with brass fastenings. They both had an old, worn look to them, with cracked wood, peeling paint, and rusted fastenings and hinges.

"Which one would you like?" Mum asked. I pointed to the black one. Mum nodded and began to wave her wand in a complex pattern again. Both trunks popped open their lids, and inside each I saw what looked to be a very disorganized mess. After giving a very annoyed huff, Mum began to remove the trunks contents and organize them.

Clothes flowed out of the trunks and folded themselves, stacking neatly on the end of the bed. Various books and boxes also floated out of the trunks and set themselves in pairs. One pair of wide, flat boxes was marked in faded letters was Slug & Jigger's Standard Potions Kit. A pair of cubic boxes was marked Slug & Jigger's Glass Phial Set. Another pair was labeled Slug & Jigger's Scales and Weights.

Two pewter cauldrons were cleaned of soot and what looked like potion residue. Two battered telescopes were cleaned and repaired. Various parchment was stacked and tied up in twine, then placed on the bookshelf. Other bits and pieces of garbage, such as old ink bottles, broken quills, torn and ruined parchment, and old potions ingredients was vanished.

"May I see your book list, Ronald?" Mum asked after carefully inspecting the contents of the Slug & Jigger's boxes. I complied, pulling it out and handing it to her.

"The Defense book is new, we will have to get you a copy" she said as she read it. "But I think I have a copy of the others."

With a wave of her wand, another trunk appeared with a quiet crack. It opened and I saw that it was full of old text books. Mum leaned down to look through them, and pulled out what looked like six copies of the books on my school list. They were stacked neatly in the black trunk, along with one of every pairs of equipment.

"Now, let's see if we can fit some of Bill's old robes on you." Mum said as she turned to me. I gulped at the dangerous glint in her eye.

OO

Diagon Alley was, as always, a very interesting place, and as I followed Mum, Percy, the twins, and Ginny, I continually looked around, fascinated with the curious shops and people. We were on our way to Gringotts, so I could exchange my pounds for Galleons and Mum could withdraw her money.

Eventually we reached the steps into Gringotts and entered. The main antechamber of Gringotts was a vast marble hall, about a hundred goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these.

"Good afternoon," Mum said to a free goblin after we walked up to him, "We've come to take some money out of my vault, and my son here," Mum indicated me "would like to exchange his muggle money for galleons if you please."

"You have your key, ma'am?"

Mum held it up, and the goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order," said the Goblin. "Could your son come forward, please?"

Mum waved me forward and I stepped up to the counter, and put my fold of pounds on it.

"It should be exactly two hundred pounds," I said.

The Goblin carefully counted the money.

"You are correct," He replied. "I believe I can exchange this for forty galleons."

I heard shocked gasps behind me, which I tried to ignore. The goblin drew a bag from behind the counter, and carefully counted out 40 Galleons for me.

"Thank you," I said sincerely when he passed them to me.

"Forty Galleons." said Mum a proud expression when I turned around. "I know you earned them, so I want you to spend them responsibly, ok?"

"Yes, mum." I replied with a smile.

"Figures Ron would make more Galleons than we'd ever had, combined," remarked Fred jealously.

"Ron worked hard for that money, Fred," Mum replied. "Now come along, you lot, we still have to withdraw our money."

"Mum?" I asked. She turned around to look at me. "May I go ahead and do my shopping?"

She blinked, and bit her lip indecisively.

"I will return to the Leaky Cauldron as soon as I'm done," I added hopefully.

"Oh very well," she replied with a sigh, but then said sternly. "But no stepping out of Diagon Alley, you hear?"

"I understand, Mum," I replied thankfully.

OO

The first thing I wanted to get was my wand, so I rushed over to Ollivanders. His shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as I stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that I sat on the wait. There were thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling, and a small counter near the front. A man that I assumed to be Ollivander walk into the room from in-between the stacks.

"Good afternoon," he said in a soft voice.

"Ollivander, I presume?" I asked.

"Yes, and I expect you are a Weasley?" He asked curiously.

"Ron Weasley," I replied, holding up my hand to shake his. "Molly and Arthur are my parents, do you remember them?"

"Yes… It's been a long time since I've had a Weasley here" He replied with a thoughtful frown. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Weasley, and the people who purchased them. It seems only yesterday your mother was in here herself, buying her first wand. Red Oak, unyielding, 12 and a half inches long. Very good for dueling."

He moved closer to me, staring at me and not blinking.

"Your father came when he was much older, after Hogwarts. He preferred a Poplar wand. 13 inches, slightly bendy. Rather versatile. Well, I say your father preferred it - Its really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he was practically hovering over me. I could see myself reflected in those misty eyes. Suddenly he backed away, and withdrew a long tape measure with silver marking out of his pocket.

"But the past is in the past," he said. "Which arm is your wand arm?"

"I'm right-handed." I replied confidently.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He began to measure me from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round me head.

As he measured, he said "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Weasley. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons, No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Ollivander withdrew his hands from the tape measure, but it continued measuring me. He began to flit around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," He said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Weasley. Try this one. Elm and phoenix feather, ten inches, nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

I took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of my hand almost at once.

"Maple and Dragon heartstring, 8 inches, quite firm, try - "

I tried - but I had barely raised the wand when it too was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no - here, Beech wood and phoenix feather, 13 and a half inches, slightly bendy."

I took the wand, and felt a sudden warmth in my fingers. I raised the wand over my head and brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of silvery sparks shot form the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

"Interesting," Ollivander remarked. "I think this wand suits you quiet well, Mr. Weasley."

"Er… thank you?" I said. He chuckled quietly.

"That will be seven Galleons," He said.

OO

The rest of my shopping went by rather quickly. It was at a very homely store called Quills & Sofas that I purchased the other items I needed for the school year. True to its name, it sold stationary and furniture. It also sold second-hand books, so I had gotten the one text book I needed, in addition to stationary.

I had also gotten three other books that had interested me. Their names were A Guide to Grooming for the Dashing Wizard or Beautiful Witch, One Hundred and One Practical Charms for Daily Use, and a very old, very battered copy of Hogwarts, a History.

When I left the shop, I decided to go back to The Leaky Cauldron to buy a butterbeer and wait for the rest of the family to arrive. I spent the next two and a half hours reading my copy of Hogwarts, a History, and sipping my butterbeer.

I wouldn't be going to Hogwarts for over a month, but I was looking forward to it.

Ron: A Different Harry

Despite the fact that we were all wearing Muggle clothing, the Weasleys stood out at the muggle train station of Kings Cross. Maybe it was that fact that we all had red hair, or the fact that we had an owl and rat in tow, or maybe it was the fact that Mum was talking loudly about nonsensical things like "Muggles" or "Hogwarts" or "Platform 9 's".

"I see it's packed with Muggles, of course." She said, as we walked toward the barrier between Platform 9 and Platform 10.

"Now, what's the platform number?" Mum asked as she turned back to look at us. I looked at her incredulously. What other platform did we just come here for?

"Nine and Three-quarters!" piped Ginny, who was holding Mum's hand. "Oh, Mum, can't I go…"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet." Mum replied sternly, before turning to Percy. "All right, Percy, you go first."

Percy aimed his cart at the barrier between platform 9 and platform 10, and started marching towards it. After a minute, I saw him pass thought it like it was not there.

I turned my head, looking around the platforms. Where was Harry? I didn't see anyone matching his description. I blinked. Had I stepped on too many butterflies?

"Fred, you next," Mum said, bringing my attention back to her.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said Fred. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said Fred, and off he went. George had gone on ahead of him, and called back for Fred to hurry up. A moment later, they both had passed through the barrier.

I waited with bated breath, but no Harry appeared.

"Well, it's your turn, Ron," said Mum a moment later. "Off you go."

I nodded, aimed my cart at the barrier, and started walking at a brisk pace toward it. Passing through a moment later, I was greeted by the sight of scarlet steam engine next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, Eleven o'clock.

I moved my cart out of the way for Mum and Ginny, who had just come through the wrought-iron archway that said Platform Nine and Three-quarters on it. After walking down the platform for a bit, we came to a car that was near the end of the train.

"Fred? George? Are you there?" Mum called out.

I heard one of the twins reply from inside the train car. After a moment, the twins hopped out.

"Where's Percy?" asked Mum after looking around the platform.

"He's coming now." said Fred, pointing towards him.

Percy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, with his shiny silver Prefect badge pinned to his chest.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said, all business. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves - "

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" asked Fred, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea!"

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said George. "Once -"

"Or twice -"

"A minute -"

"All summer -"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy with the air of someone who'd had to put up with this for a long time.

"How came Percy gets new robes, anyway?" asked George.

"Because he's a prefect," said Mum fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term - send me an owl when you get there."

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two - this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've - you've blown up a toilet or -"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thinks, Mum."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron.

"Don't worry, mum, he has his nose stuck in a book all the time, it'll be easy," said Fred.

I snorted.

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" said Mum, so the Twins and I clambered onto the train. We leaned out the window for her to kiss us good-bye, and Ginny began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat!"

"George!"

"Only joking, Mum."

The train began to move. Mum was waving, and Ginny, half laughing, half crying, was running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back, and waved.

Then, with the train rounding the corner, Platform Nine and Three Quarters was gone.

The twins said something about finding a compartment to put their trunks in. Pausing at the door to the compartment next to the car entrance, I opened it.

There he was. Harry Potter was sitting next to the window, his wand out. Apparently, he had been practicing spells. Interesting.

"Excuse me," I said politely. "May I sit in here?"

His eyes turned to regard me. "Yes, of course."

I quickly came in and put my trunk away, then sat down across from him.

"Hello," I said, holding out my hand. "My name is Ronald Weasley, but you may call me Ron. How do you do?"

"Fine, thank you," He replied, shaking my hand. "I'm Harry Dursley."

I blinked. What?

"Er… Nice to meet you," I replied slowly.

Suddenly, a trolley rolled by our compartment, covered in all sorts of sweets.

"Anything of the trolley, dears?" said the smiling, dimpled woman pushing the cart.

"Sure," I said.

"Yes, please!" said Harry with a brilliant smile.

After paying for our sweets, we both piled our haul onto our respective seats.

"I guess we're both hungry," I remarked when we sat down.

"Yeah," Harry replied, opening a chocolate frog.

We both spent the next half hour eating through our candy.

"So," I said suddenly, decided to indulge Harry's little fib. "You're Muggleborn, then?"

Harry shook his head. "Halfblood… but it's complicated."

I was prevented from saying more by Malfoy showing up with his goons.

"I heard Harry Potter is on this train," He said imperiously, "Have either of you two seen him?"

I suppressed a snicker as Harry and I shook our heads.

"You know, it's polite to introduce yourself before asking question," Harry commented.

Malfoy straightened out his posture and puffed his chest out a bit.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

I couldn't help it, I let out a full-on belly laugh. It was the way he presented himself, as if introducing himself was Serious Business when he was a small, eleven-year-old boy.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" Malfoy asked, but I interjected before he could continue.

"No, I think you're funny." I said, before putting my hands on my hips and assuming an imitating posture. "My name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Harry snorted, and a pink tinge appeared in Malfoy's pale cheeks.

"Hmmp. Well, no need to ask who you are." He said, irritation coloring his speech. "My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

"Yes, this is Ron Weasley," Harry said before I could comment on Malfoy buffoonery. "My name is Tom Evans. It's a pleasure to meet you."

BLANK*

He held out his hand for Malfoy to shake, but Malfoy just stared at it as though it were some offensively dirty object.

"Evens? That's not a wizard's name, is it? You're a mudblood then?"

He didn't wait for an answer, and settled on a sneer. "Come, Crabbe, Goyle, let's keep looking."

He left with his goons. I stared at Harry.

"Are you alright, Ron?" he asked, turning his attention back to me.

"Tom Evens?" I asked, bemused.

"Yes?"

I smiled knowingly.

"You don't have to fool around with me Harry," I said. "I know who you are."

He blinked.

"Oh? And who do you think I am?" he asked with a low tone.

"You're Harry Potter," I replied.

"What makes you think I'm him?"

"You have all of the characteristics that Harry is said to have in the books." I replied. "Black hair, green eyes, you're eleven, and I noticed the scar when I came in."

He blinked.

"So, I do, but that doesn't mean I'm Harry Potter," He replied.

"Quacks like a duck, walks a like a duck, swims like a duck, it's a duck," I replied shortly, before pausing. "Plus, if that was the case, you wouldn't be lying about your name, now would you?"

"Oh fine, you're right," he sighed. "I was hoping to avoid people noticing me, but I guess you're too smart for that…"

"I guess?" I replied hesitantly. "I mean, it's not like it wasn't obvious. I wont tell any one if you want, but it's not like no one is going to figure it out."

"I guess not," Harry said morosely. "But I appreciate it all the same."

He brightened suddenly. "You know, before you showed up, I was practicing some spells."

"I noticed" I said plainly. "I was planning on doing the same when I got here, Mum's really strict when it comes to practicing spells at home."

"Do you know any?" He asked curiously.

"Well, I spend a lot of my time reading my brother's old Hogwarts texts," I replied thoughtfully. "Not sure if if I can actually cast any, though. Can I try one first?"

"Sure, go ahead," Harry said, leaning forward.

I reached into the small cage beside me, pulling out Scabbers the fat gray rat.

"His name is Scabbers and he's useless, he never wakes up." I remarked. "My brother Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a Prefect, so he gave me Scabbers instead."

I had been careful to be nice to Scabbers so that he wouldn't run. I would need him in the future, after. That didn't mean I let him sleep in my bed, though. Instead I had made him a nest of old clothing in his cage, and left the cage door open so that he could get out and move around if he wanted.

As for why I hadn't reveled him for the traitor he was, well…

I had plans for him.

I set Scabbers down next to me.

"I'm going to try the color change charm." I said to Harry. "Do you know how to do that one?"

"I know the theory, but I haven't tried it," He replied.

I smiled.

Pointing my wand at the rat, I gave it a twirl and said "Mutio Colora!"

The rat turned a very vibrant shade of yellow.

"Oh good, it worked." I remarked.

"Cool," said Harry. "Could I show you some spells I know?"

"Sure," I said.

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "I've found that this spell practicing thing is really a two person affair. I won't know if they're working right if I'm all alone, you see? So what do you say - would you mind helping me out a bit?"

"Um, sure?" I said slowly.

OO

After half an hour of being his test subject, I started to regret my assent. It turned out that he wanted to practice charms, and hexes. He didn't use anything truly painful, but it was still uncomfortable to have him casting spells at me.

Just as Harry was practicing his Silencio charm on me, our compartment door flew open, revealing a stiff bushy-haired girl with rather large front teeth with a small but plump dark-haired boy, who looked terribly nervous, cowering behind her.

"Have either of you seen a toad?" she asked without prelude. "Neville's lost one."

I made to answer her, but no sound came out. Oh, the Silencio.

I kicked Harry in the shins.

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Right. Finite."

The girl's eyes lit up. "You're doing magic?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Just trying a few very basic spells."

I stared at him. Silencio was a fourth year spell.

The girl smiled eagerly, at that. "Well then, go on, let's see!"

Harry shrugged and pointed his wand at me.

" Rictumsempra."

Immediately, I could feel fingers digging in to all of my ticklish spots.

"Ugg!" I grunted, picking up my wand and canceling the spell. I gave Harry a dirty look.

Meanwhile, the girl looked very, very jealous.

"Anyway," Harry said, oblivious. "We haven't seen any toads. Some frogs, but they were chocolate. Perhaps one of the prefects could help?"

The girl blinked, before exclaiming: "Oh, why didn't I think of that? Come on Neville!"

And with that, she disappeared just as quickly as she had come, leaving Harry and I awkwardly staring at the door.

OO

Harry and I quickly stepped out of the train, and followed the rough voice bellowing: "Firs' Years! Firs' Years over here!"

We quickly walked towards the voice, and found out that it was an enormous man.

"C'mon, over here, step in the boats. Careful now. Any more Firs' years?"

I looked behind him and noticed that there appeared to be a dock full of boats right next to the train. I stared. That was different.

Harry and I stepped into one of the boats that still had two seats left, finding ourselves with Hermione and Neville.

"No more'n four to a boat!" I heard the man call.

"You two again!" the girl said as a greeting. "My name is Hermione Granger, who are you?"

"Harry Evens," said Harry. I had to stop myself from snorting at that.

"Ron Weasley," I said.

She smiled, before gesturing to the boy next to him.

"This is Neville Longbottom." She said. "His toad is still missing. You haven't seen it yet by any chance, have you?"

We both shook our heads.

"Everyone in?" we heard the giant shout. When no one protested - "Right then - FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over us as we sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

I stared at it. The castle was massive, far bigger than I had expected. Nothing looked like it had in the movies. There had to be at least a hundred towers, many different wings spread out everywhere, and numerous verandas and parapets here and there. I wondered how anyone could find their way anywhere in that colossal building.

"It's so beautiful…" I heard Harry say next to me.

"I know, right?" I remarked.

"I can't believe it's real, it's so amazing!" Hermione said, nodding.

"Of course it's real." Harry said from behind me. "Amazing things can be real too, you know."

She scowled at him.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said, her cheeks a bit red, "It was an expression, is all."

"Heads down!" yelled the giant as the first boats reached the cliff the castle sat on; we all bent our heads and the little boats carried us through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. we were carried along dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking us right underneath the castle, until we reached a kind of underground harbor, where we clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

We clambered up a passage way in the rock after the giant's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. We walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the enormous, oak front door.

"Everyone here?" called out the giant, who look over the crowd of first year's. The giant then turned and raised his gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and my first was thought that she probably was not the kind of person who liked parties.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," said Professor McGonagall.

She pulled the door wide, and I got my first glimpse of the entrance. My mouth fell open in amazement. The entrance hall was massive. It was so big you could have fit the entire Burrow in it and still have lots of room to spare. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing us led to the upper floors.

We followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. I could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right - the rest of the school must already be here - but Professor McGonagall showed us into a small, empty chamber off the hall. We crowded in, standing rather closer together than I normally would have. I was having a hard time containing my excitement, but everyone else seemed to look nervous.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

I stared at the door, waiting for Professor McGonagall to get back. I was hungry and annoyed that it was taking so long.

A few moments later, several people behind me screamed. I started, then looked back at the people behind me with an annoyed expression on my face. They were all staring at the ghosts that had just popped into the room.

Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they all seemed to be arguing, about Peeves apparently. I stared up at them as they floated around, not paying much attention to what they were saying. Ron had known about ghosts, but had never seen one before.

After a minute of staring at the ghosts, I heard the sharp voice of Professor McGonagall.

"Move along now," she said to the ghosts. "The Sorting Ceremony's about the start."

The ghosts left at her command.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told us. "and follow me."

I could feel my excitement mounting. Finally, they were going to Sort us. I wondered what house I would be in? Hopefully not Gryffindor. I got into line behind Harry, and for the first time I noticed that I was the tallest of the first years, almost a full head taller. We walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Like the Entrance Hall, the Great Hall was enormous. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that we came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind us. The hundreds of faces staring at us looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. I looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. I heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on the heavens.

Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.

The hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry,

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin,

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means,

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

"Well," I remarked. "that seems simple enough."

After the hat sang its song, the whole hall burst into applause. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line, put on the Hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF" shouted the hat.

One of the tables on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. I saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The Sorting went on for several minutes. Hermione and Neville went to Gryffindor, and Malfoy went to Slytherin as expected.

When Harry's name was called, there was a murmur among the students. They seemed to be whispering about Harry. The entire hall moved to get a good look at Harry before the Hat fell over his eyes.

A minute passed. Then another. Whispers began to break out among the hall. Why was it taking so long? I waited nervously. Harry was not the Harry from canon, that much was obvious. He was too smart, too knowledgeable. He seemed to know a lot of spells for one who had just started school, and hadn't even attended a class yet.

So what kind of person was he?

After ten minutes, the brim of the hat tore open and it declared: "SLYTHERIN!"

For some reason, Harry seemed to be very relieved as he pulled off the hat and passed it back to McGonagall, and walked over the Slytherin table.

Now there were only three people left to be sorted. When "Turpin, Lisa." became a Ravenclaw, McGonagall called out "Weasley, Ronald!"

It was time.

It seemed that no-one was paying attention to me as I walked to the stool that the hat was on, picked up the Hat, and sat down. Placing the hat on my head, it fell down over my eyes, and I heard a small voice in my ear.

Interesting, it said. Another unique case.

What is that supposed to mean? I asked.

Sorry, but I can't tell. It replied. It seemed to pause for a moment, as if it were thinking. You have a cunning intellect, a great deal of bravery, and it seems you at least enjoy reading a good book. The only house I don't see you fitting it is Hufflepuff, as it seems that you are loyal only when it benefits you, and you don't like hard work. So where to put you?

Put me somewhere that's not Gryffindor, please.

Oh? replied the Hat. You are brave enough for that house, are you sure?

Yes. I thought simply.

Well, if you're sure, better be SLYTHERIN!

Harry: A Polite Discussion

"Weasley, Ronald!"

Harry had just sat down between Theodore Nott and Tracey Davis, and vaguely registered their gobsmacked expressions at his sorting.

Meanwhile, Malfoy glared at him. "You said your name was Tom Evans!" He hissed.

Harry smiled innocently at him. "I lied."

The Davis girl snickered beside him as they watched his face go red, and Nott stared at him with undisguised fascination.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry's attention was drawn away from his house-mates towards the Weasley boy.

A Weasley in Slytherin? He wondered thoughtfully.

The Weasley boy took the hat off his head and stood up, passing the hat to professor McGonagall. Harry noticed that Ron seemed to have a half nervous/ half self-satisfied expression.

Curious. If Harry remembered correctly, there hadn't been a Weasley in Slytherin for many generations. Tom had over all been dismissive of the family, calling them blood traitors that needed to be exterminated. Harry himself wasn't sure what to think of Ron, and decided not to judge him until he had gotten to know him better.

Lost in thought, Harry only just noticed Weasley sitting next to him.

A few moments later, the sorting ended with "Zabini, Blaise," who was sorted into Slytherin as well.

As soon as Zabini sat down beside Malfoy, Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet, shimmering purple and gold robe billowing out as he opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, beaming brilliantly at the students from behind his glittering half-moon spectacles.

"Welcome," he announced in a happy, warm voice. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few wards. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He clapped his hands, and immediately a scrumptious-looking feast materialized on the long table. It was less than a moment before all the left-over excitement from the sorting morphed into hunger.

Harry's eyes remained fixed on the Headmaster, though. "So that's Albus Dumbledore…"

A boy across the table snickered. "A right nutter, that one."

To his right, Draco sneered. " My father says that every year Albus Dumbledore remains Headmaster, Hogwarts suffers for it."

"That's what your father says," said Weasley, who was sitting to his left. "but what is your opinion, Draco?"

"We are of similar minds," Draco said haughtily.

"Then why don't you say that it's you opinion then, Mr. Malfoy?" Weasley asked politely, but there was a strange edge to his tone. "Instead of your father's?"

For a moment, Draco seemed unsure of himself, but then his smug mask reappeared.

"We share opinions, that is all," he replied.

"Well, I," Weasley said, stressing the word 'I' slowly. "Believe that Dumbledore is a genius, but you know what they say, genius and insanity go hand in hand together."

"Are you making a remark about me, Weasley?" asked Malfoy, a pink tinge in his cheeks.

"No, merely sharing my opinion." Weasley said sweetly.

"Hmph, well, speaking of opinions, what are you doing in Slytherin, Mr. Weasley?" Draco asked sharply. "Doesn't your family normally detest our house?"

"Yes, you are quite right, Mr. Malfoy," Weasley agreed amicably. "The Weasley family does have a history in Gryffindor house, and I could have gone into Gryffindor. But then, I would have been following in the footsteps of my brothers. To be honest, they have pretty much done everything I could possibly do, as we have a Headboy, two Prefects, and a Quidditch captain in the family. My eldest brothers have graduated. One is a cursebreaker and the other works with dragons. The oldest currently in Hogwarts is a Prefect."

"But," Weasley's tone turned serious. "None of them are in Slytherin, and that is one thing I have done that they have not."

"That's the reason why you're in Slytherin?" asked Harry curiously.

"Well, that's part of it," Weasley agreed. "I would rather not disclose my more personal reasons at the moment, though."

"Why not?"

"As I have said, they are personal reasons."

Weasley picked up his fork and started to eat, ignoring any more questions posed to him.

Now why would he go and say something like that? Harry wondered. Was he trying to draw attention to himself? From what little Harry had seen of Weasley on the train, it didn't seem likely. Weasley seemed like an honest and genuine person, not an attention seeker. Harry could respect his right to privacy. After all, Harry had his own secrets to keep.

Harry shook his head mentally, and turned to the task that Tom had set him. He cast a weak disillusionment charm over himself with a whisper in an attempt to eat in peace, and be left to his own musings. Every so often, he would glance at the staff table, working from left to right, scrutinizing the faculty and committing their faces, garb, and demeanor to memory. These were the powerful witches and wizards Tom had warned him about. These were the people who would be watching over him, acknowledging every triumph and every blunder, for the next seven years.

It was interesting, watching them all. The nearly limbless professor, the stern Professor McGonagall, the cheery, grandfatherly Headmaster - they all had their own profiles, their own habits and mannerisms and smiles and frowns. It was a fascinating and enjoyable exercise in observation, or at least it was until he locked eyes with one Professor Severus Snape, and suddenly felt a great deal of guilt. The poor man… Tom really was very cruel to him… making him talk about his mother and then obliviating him after. He didn't seem like a very pleasant person, but Harry knew no one deserved to be treated like that.

His musings soon came to an end, though, because as his gaze traveled further to the right, he was suddenly seized by the overwhelming sensation of a pulsing pain in his scar. Immediately, his hand flew up to his face and he scrunched his eyes shut. Was Tom returning? No, it was too early for that. He had at least another 2 hours. He glanced up at the head table again, eyes resting on the turban-wearing figure beside the Potions Master.

"Harry… are you ok?" he heard Weasley ask.

Harry opened his eyes to see everyone in the immediate vicinity staring at him. Ron was looking at him with some concern. Apparently, his disillusionment charm didn't hold up under the pain.

He steadied his breathing. "Yes, I… say, who is that man sitting beside Professor Severus Snape?"

"Oh, that's Quirrell, our Defense against the Dark Arts teacher," said one of the older students. "He just got back from Albania,"

Harry nodded slowly. "Albania…"

"I heard he used to be the Muggle Studies professor," Parkinson sniffed disdainfully.

"Muggle studies?" Harry wondered aloud, "What's that?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," an older boy across the table said, curling his lip in disgust. "It's a class that studies muggles - a class no self-respecting Slytherin would take."

Harry's eyebrows went up.

"What do you think about muggles, Potter?" Malfoy spoke up with a yet another sneer on his face (indeed, Harry was starting to believe this was his default expression), obviously expecting him to come to the muggles' defense.

He'd have to disappoint him.

"I want nothing to do with them," he said candidly and without malice.

"And why's that?" Malfoy egged him on, obviously not able to take a hint.

Harry sighed. "Because I don't like them."

Malfoy sneered at him once again, but didn't continue the conversation.

Meanwhile, Theodore Nott looked at him curiously, while Ron was looking at him with a strange look.

"You do realize that you mother was Muggle-born, yes?" asked Weasley.

"I don't remember her," Harry said. "It's just me, really. I have no background."

"Uh… ok, just wasn't really expecting that kind of opinion from you, actually," Weasley replied, looking at him sideways.

"What do you think about Muggles, Ron?" Harry asked curiously. The other Slytherins turned to look at him, Malfoy still sneering.

"I don't," Weasley replied honestly. "To me, Muggles are just other people."

"Hmmph, I would have thought that you would be a muggle-lover like the rest of your pathetic family, Weasley" sneered Malfoy.

"I think you will find that my family and I don't always share the same opinions, Mr. Malfoy," Weasley said coldly.

Strangely enough, Malfoy backed down at the cold look on Weasley's face. The rest of the Slytherins got the hint and left Weasley alone.

00

"Over the next seven years, this place will be your home, and the people you see gathered around you, your family. Your allegiance now lies with Slytherin House, and your fellow Slytherins.

"You will endeavor to live up to the ideals of our founder, Salazar Slytherin, and personify Cunning, Ambition, and Fraternity. This is what sets us apart from the other houses. While in Hufflepuff loyalty and friendship is idolized, in Slytherin we are bound by a loyalty born of duty and fellowship. While in Gryffindor boldness and bravery are valued above all, in Slytherin we observe and analyze before we act, and are bold when it is within our power to be bold, and brave when it is demanded of us to be brave. While in Ravenclaw knowledge for the sake of knowledge is exalted, in Slytherin, your knowledge will serve to further your ambitions and the ambitions of your housemates.

"Purity, tradition, and greatness are all words synonymous with Slytherin. Uphold our traditions, value purity, and strive to be great - and you will indeed be the perfect Slytherin.

"Camaraderie is important in this house. You will settle your grievances here, in the common room, and show only solidarity to in the eyes of the rest of Hogwarts. Winning points will put you in good standing with your housemates, and losing them will be to your shame. Remember that the points you gain or lose do not belong to you; they belong to your house.

"Now, we are standing right now in the Slytherin Common Room, which is open for your use at any time. We ask that you behave respectfully and read the atmosphere before starting any games or… lively discussions. Behind you and to your right is the passage to the boys' dorms, and to the left is the girls'. You will share these rooms with your year mates for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts. We ask that you respect the privacy of your fellow Slytherins, and do not engage in obtrusive behavior.

"Finally, should you need anything, seek out one of the prefects in our fifth, sixth, or seventh year dorm rooms, and we will address your needs. For anything we are unable to help you with, you can go to our Head of House, Professor Severus Snape. Although… I would encourage you not to bother him needlessly. He's a… busy man.

"Now, unless you have any questions, you are dismissed."

Immediately after Hortense Rowland had finished her speech, Harry slipped away, down the hall to where his dorm was supposed to be. Once he had disappeared from the common room, he broke into a run, and located the bathroom right away. Finding a toilet stall and locking the door behind him, he quickly cast a Silencio on himself before he fell to his knees, screaming. Tom had returned.

As always it was an excruciating process that took way too long; it felt like his head was being ripped apart and then squeezed back together by a vice, and he could practically feel his nerves on fire with the violent, electric power pulsating beneath his skull. As usual, he was tasting blood in his mouth by the time the pain started to let up. Not pleasant at all.

He panted, trying to regain his breath after all the screaming. Standing up, he wiped the tears from his face, rearranged his hair, and brushed off dust from his rob.

Emerging from the stall and walking into the sink room, he noticed that the Weasley boy was there. He had discarded his robe at some point, and was now standing in front of the mirror on the wall over the sinks. He had his wand in his hand, and was peering into a book he had placed on the counter.

"Oh, hello Harry," Weasley said when he noticed him. Turning around to face him, Weasley added "You were in there for a long time. Did you have some sort of big bowel movement or something?"

"Or something," Harry replied.

"Hmm," Weasley replied, and from the look on his face, Harry could tell he didn't believe him. "Well, if you'd been in there any longer I would have told the Prefects to get the nurse."

"Er… thank you," Harry said slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, just reapplying the Color Change Charm to my face," Ron replied casually, turning back to the mirror. "Had mum apply it this morning, but I don't think she has studied it the same way I did."

"Why would you want to change the color of your face?" Harry asked curiously.

Weasley stilled, before casting a Finite at his face. Almost immediately, what seemed to be a horde of freckles spread across his face from his nose, his hair seemed to turn from dark auburn to bright, flaming red, and his hairdo seemed to fall apart. Harry noticed that Weasley had rather long hair. Before, it had been swept back.

"Hmmph," muttered Weasley. "Can't wait until we learn human transfiguration, then I can deal with this injustice permanently."

"Yeah, me two," Harry agreed, flicking his thumb at his rats nest hairdo. Weasley blinked.

"Oh, I think I can help you with that," Weasley said excitedly. He flicked his book close, and Harry noticed that the book's title was A Guide to Grooming for the Dashing Wizard or Beautiful Witch. Weasley noticed his interest.

"Yes, it's been very helpful," Weasley said. "Would you like to borrow it?"

Harry blinked, a bit surprised.

"Uh, sure, thank you," he said.

Weasley smiled brilliantly. "Your welcome. Good night Harry."

He turned back to the mirror and started reapplying his charms. Harry left.

00

:A Weasley in Slytherin?!:

Harry was now in his bed, holding up his mirror so he could talk to Tom. They were currently conversing in Parseltongue, and Harry had cast a Silencio so that no one could hear them talking.

:I was surprised too. At least at first. But once I got to know him a bit more, I wasn't all that surprised.:

:Oh? Tell me, what transpired in my absence?:

:What do you want to know?:

:Everything:

Fine. Well, I got on the train early, like you said, and I tried all the spells in my diary, the first and some of the second chapter of my charms book:

:And?:

:They all worked if that's what you're wondering:

: Very well, I presume there's a reason you didn't finish the second chapter?:

:Yes. Ron Weasley, the youngest boy in the Weasley family, asked to sit with me. I… lied about my name, and… well, he figured out who I was.:

:Oh?:

:I'm not sure how to put this, but Weasley is… different:

: Different how?:

Harry gave a low sigh. : I'm not sure how to put this, but… he seemed really mature, and smart. When he asked to sit with me, I noticed that he seemed to be well groomed, his face was spotless, and he showed the proper courtesy. When Malfoy came in, he mocked him.:

:The son of Lucius. Was he as pompous as his father?:

:Yes. When he gave me his name, Weasley laughed at him because of his pompous manner, then mocked him for it.:

: Don't keep me in suspense, Harry, what happened next?:

:Well, Malfoy made comment about Weasley's family, so I interrupted before things could get worse. I introduced myself as Tom Evans, then Malfoy thought I was a Mudblood and left.:

Tom sent him a withering look :That was a mistake, Harry. I hope you had you fun, because in a few days you will be regretting it.:

:Why?:

:I have no doubt that Draco Malfoy is a self-righteous, entitled little devil just like his father and grandfather before him.:

Harry grimaced. :… splendid.:

:Indeed. Do enjoy the fruits of your labor. I trust they will be appropriately bitter.:

:Right, well… Anyway, after that, Weasley correctly deduced that I was Harry Potter, and assured me that he would keep my secret.:

:And just how did Ronald Weasley deduce this?:

:I believe his exact words were: "You have all of the characteristics that Harry is said to have in the books. Black hair, green eyes, you're eleven, and I noticed the scar when I came in." When I protested, he said "Quacks like a duck, walks a like a duck, looks like a duck, it's a duck. Plus, if that was the case, you wouldn't be lying about your name, now would you?":

---

:Tom?:

:… He did have a good point, Harry, strange turn of phrase aside.:

:Yes, well. I told him I was hoping to avoid people seeking me out because of my name, and he promised not to tell anyone before the sorting. Anyway, I met Neville Longbottom, in passing, and a girl named Hermione Granger, who I'm 80 percent sure is a Muggleborn, which is odd, with a first name like Hermione… but I spoke to no one else on the train.:

:And after the sorting?:

:Uh… Weasley and Malfoy conversation wherein Weasley subtly mocked Malfoy about him spouting his father's opinions instead of his own, making Malfoy look like an idiot. I don't think Malfoy really understood what he was doing. Then Malfoy asked Weasley why he went into Slytherin. Weasley said that he wanted to do something that his brothers hadn't done, so being sorted into a different house would set him apart from his brothers.:

Tom had a strange look on his face. :Is that it?:

:Well, no. He said something to the effect that he had other reason for being sort here, but he was unwilling to disclose said reasons.:

:So he has something to hide. Interesting. Anything else of note?:

: I had a short conversation with Theodore Nott and Tracey Davis, and spoke in passing with Blaise Zabini, Milicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, and Daphne Greengrass.:

:Thaddeus Nott was one of my original Death Eaters. He was one of the few who managed to stay out of Azkaban without pleading the Imperius Curse… he always was good at covering his tracks.:

: Do you think I should make friends with Nott?:

Tom looked thoughtful. :That is probably the prudent thing to do. If he is anything like his father, he could be useful. Additionally, The Zabinis and the Greengrasses are both very wealthy pureblood families. Remain on amiable terms with those two.:

:I don't need money, Tom.:

: Don't argue. I had little association with the Bulstrode and Davis families, so do what you will with those two.:

Harry nodded slowly . :… right. Oh, and there was one more thing, about the Welcoming Feast… :

:Which is?: Tom hissed impatiently.

: Professor Dumbledore, he specifically asked us not to go up to the third-floor corridor. He told us we might die a most painful death if we did.:

: Did he now?:

Harry nodded. :Right before sending us off.:

:… curious. Very curious indeed.:

:That's what I thought.:

: Did he say anything more?:

:No, I think he fancies being a bit more on the mysterious side.:

:Yes, the old fool was always annoyingly indecipherable.:

:I kind of like it: Harry said thoughtfully, and then yawned . :Can I sleep now? I'm tired.:

Tom sighed . :One more thing, stay on the good side of Weasley. I suspect that there is more to him than what at first he might seem.:

Last edited: Dec 27, 2018

Ron: A Visit to the Kitchens

"Honestly, Harry," I remarked exasperatedly. "I admire your hunger for knowledge, but do you not know how to read and eat at the same time?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly. A lot of the Slytherins sitting around us snickered.

It was Wednesday, the third day of classes. When we had sat down for breakfast on Monday, Harry had gotten out his charms textbook, propped it against a milk jug, and started reading it. I had decided to get out my Defense textbook (as I had already read the charms book), but instead of propping it against a jug, I had levitated it at eye-level.

Unfortunately, it didn't contain anything I didn't already know (In fact, it was rather useless), so I had regretfully put it away, only to notice that Harry had mimicked me, his textbook levitating in front of him. I had shrugged and got on with eating.

Over our next few meals, I had started to notice that Harry didn't eat much when he was reading, so I had started to give him several subtle reminders to eat. He would do so for a few bites, but then he would get engrossed in his book again and stop eating.

As Monday and Tuesday passed and turned into Wednesday, I got more and more annoyed at Harry's disregard for his health, which cumulated in my exasperated comment on it.

"Sorry, Ron," he replied, "I just really, really like reading about magic."

I stared. This morning, instead of his Charms textbook, he was reading an enormous reference book called The Etymology of Greek and Latin Based Charms, which… he had gotten from the library.

"I understand that," I said, "but that's no reason to ignore your food. Here, I will teach you how to do it,"

I picked up my fork to demonstrate. "The first thing is to always have a utensil in your hand, go on."

Harry gave a slight smile, and picked up his fork.

"To get the hang of it," I continued. "after every paragraph you read, check to make sure that you have food in your mouth. If you don't, put more food in it. There, isn't that simple?"

"Er - yes," Harry replied, with a slightly ashamed expression. All of the Slytherins were now openly guffawing.

"Figures you'd need Weasley to teach you how to read and eat properly, Potter," Malfoy said snidely.

"Nobody cares what you think, Mr. Malfoy," I said factually.

Malfoy sneered.

00

On Wednesdays, the first years had Astronomy at 12 am. Because of this, we didn't have any afternoon classes, as we were supposed to get a nap in before class. Therefore, I had a large block of time in which I execute my plans without anyone looking for me. I had decided not to attend lunch, as we weren't required to (I had checked), only expected too, as at all hours before and after curfew, there was food available in the Great Hall.

My plans, such as they were, required the Room of Requirement, but I didn't want to waste too much time looking for it. I knew that it was supposedly across a hall from a painting of Barnabas the Barmy, which was a Wizard trying to teach a bunch of trolls in tutus how to dance the ballerina, and that it was on the seventh floor, but that was basically all that I knew. The castle was massive, it could be anywhere.

Which was why I was on my way to the kitchens this august afternoon.

00

After walking down a flight of stone steps from the Entrance Hall, I came upon a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food. I walked down to a painting of a large fruit bowl, and reached up to tickle the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. I reached up and pulled it, swinging the door open.

I was greeted by the sight of an enormous, high-ceilinged room, as large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end. A herd of house-elfs came toward me. I noticed that they were all wearing tea towels stamped with the Hogwarts crest, in a manner that reminded me of toga's. They all crowded around me with excitable expressions on their faces.

"Hello, sir," said a little elf with a feminine voice. "What can Mixy do for you, sir?"

"Hello, Mixy," I said to the elf in a kind voice. "I'm Ron Weasley and I was just curious about the famed Hogwarts Kitchens. My brothers told me about it, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Mixy smiled up at me, and held up one of her hands. I grabbed it, and she led me to an area at the far side of the room, where I saw a set of tables separate from the four main tables.

"What would Ron Weasley sir like to eat?" asked Mixy after I sat down at one of the tables.

"Oh… surprise me!" I said, looking at the house-elfs that were crowding around my seat. "I sure whatever you prepare will be exquisite, as usual."

I soon regretted those words as the house-elfs took that as an excuse to pile the table in front of me with all sorts of assorted dishes of food. I probably couldn't eat that much in my entire life. I spent the next half hour tasting each dish, making sure to ask which elf prepared it and complementing their fine culinary skills. The elfs were so excited that they kept up a moving train of food in front of me. I was so preoccupied with the food that I didn't notice that someone had come in through the kitchen door.

"Well," came the sound of Fred's voice. "when you said you wanted to know where the Kitchens were…"

"We didn't realize you wanted to be served hand and foot by the house=elfs," teased George.

I swiveled my head to look at them, surprised. They were both looking at me amused smirks on their faces.

"Fred? George?" I asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Same thing as you, ickle Ronniekins -" started Fred.

"The house-elfs sure do love when we come to eat some of their special treats," continued George.

"Would Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley like anything to eat, sirs?" asked Mixy, who appeared to be standing in front of them.

"Sure, I'll have whatever Ron's having," said Fred, who sat down in front of me.

"Me too," said George, who did the same.

The crowd of excitable house elfs soon brought fresh food for Fred and George.

"So, how's life in Slytherin treating you?" asked George.

"It doesn't bother you that I'm in Slytherin?" I asked.

"Naaaa," said Fred. "You're our little brother, Slytherin or not."

"Yeah, we're not gonna give up on you just cause you're Slytherin," said George.

"Well, that is… relieving to know," I said. "as for how life's treating me, there's a git called Malfoy who likes to give me a hard time, but other than that, I think I'm doing fine."

"Just say the word," said Fred.

"And we will prank him for you," said George.

They both gained a conspiring look on their faces. I had to put a stop to that fast.

"No," I said. "You leave my classmate's alone. Pranking them is the first step toward making my life unbearably difficult in Slytherin. Everyone will look to me to stop you."

"All right, keep your pants on, it's just an idea," said George, who had an annoyed look on his face.

"Right little ray of sunshine you are," grumbled Fred.

"Well, I'm sorry if I've ruined your fun," I relied. "Speaking of which, how did Percy react?"

"He fretted about you all night," said Fred honestly.

"Yeah," George agreed. "We tried to cheer him up, but I don't think he appreciated it much."

"He shouted go to bed or something," Fred continued. "then spent the rest of the night pacing around the common room."

I frowned. "Why didn't he try to meet me the next morning or something?"

"You'll have to ask him yourself," said George, "I have no idea."

"Me nether," agreed Fred.

"I guess I'll have to talk to him at some point then," I said, a bit morose.

For the next several minutes, we talked about inane things while the twins started eating their meal. Apparently, we were only a half a week in and Fred and George had already gotten detention, something about stealing toilet seats from various loo's. they had got caught by Filch, who gave them a months' worth. It was when the twins were talking about how glad they were to be back in their Gryffindor dorm beds that an idea occurred to me.

"Say, do you think you could tell Percy to meet me next time you see him?" I asked.

"Sure, where you have in mind?" Fred replied.

"There's an empty classroom just off history," I said. "I have Friday afternoon off, we can meet there after lunch."

"That sounds good," said George, pulling a quill and some parchment from his bag, and writing it down.

"Well, we have Charms to get to," said Fred, getting up along with George.

"I have Astronomy tonight," I said. "No classes for me to get to."

"Right, see you later."

"Later."

I watched as the twins left, waiting until they had disappeared behind the door before turning back to the table. I suddenly felt rather full, as I had eaten at least 5 helpings worth of food.

"Well, thank you very much, everyone," I said the house elves, who were still piling food on the table. "but I think I have had enough."

The elves' ears drooped at my words.

"Don't worry," I added, "I'll always come back for more!"

They perked up at that.

"Does Ronald Weasley sir need anything else?" asked Mixy.

I made a show of blinking, then pausing in thought.

"Actually, yes!" I replied. "Do you know of a place where I can study privately? My housemates tend to get jealous cause I read so many advanced texts."

Mixy and the other house elves gave great cheerful smiles at that.

Snape: Harry Potter, a Slytherin

Harry Potter. James Potter's son. A Slytherin.

He would have laughed at the irony were it not for the fact that he would have to look after the boy for the next seven years. He had counted on keeping an eye on the Boy Who Lived, of course, but from a distance - lending silent aid and keeping him out of harm's way whenever possible; he had hoped to minimize his contact with the Potter brat by any means necessary. But now… it was unavoidable. He was his Head of House - why couldn't Minerva have gotten stuck with the Potter boy? Or Flitwick, or Sprout… anyone but him?

He saw the Headmaster subtly grinning at him with a twinkle in his eyes.

Damn that old man. He'd enjoy this, every second of it.

Seven years as Potter's Head of House; seven years of dealing with the spawn of that wretched Gryffindor, no doubt spoiled by the fame and fortune he was born into. His guardians had no doubt…

Wait, guardians? Who did Albus send the boy to, again? No, it didn't matter. No matter where he'd grown up, what he'd been taught, or how he'd been raised, the Boy Who Lived could not possibly be immune to the fame and fortune his parents had left him with. Like Potter, he was no doubt another wealthy, entitled brat who would stop at nothing to make the next seven years of his life positively miserable. Causing trouble left and right, losing points, blowing up potions - he could see it all, every last debacle. It was going to be painful. So painful.

He took a deep breath. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, he told himself. Yes, he reminded himself, the child was rich and famous, but Potter had had no input into the raising of his son, who had been sorted in not just a different house, but the different house, so to speak. Perhaps he didn't share much more than a face, poor eyesight, and that untamable mop of hair with the late Potter Sr. After all, if the boy was anything like his father, he would have ended up in Gryffindor for sure. Perhaps he took after Lily, more, he dared to hope. Although… Lily would have never ended up in Slytherin either. Ravenclaw, maybe, but definitely not Slytherin. No, the boy was a complete enigma. Any assumptions he planned to make about the boy flew out the window the moment he failed to be sorted into Gryffindor. Only time would tell, he supposed, how wrong those assumptions would have been. For now, he could only watch.

He was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the latest Weasley being sorted into his house. Almost.

OO

"Oh, Severus!"

He groaned inwardly. Professor McGonagall was the last person he wanted to talk to - he could already guess the topic up for discussion.

"Yes, Minerva?"

"How have classes been going thus far?"

He sighed. "Come, Minerva, we both know what you really want to talk about."

A smile crept across her lips.

"Out with it," he said, resigned.

"Now, now, Severus, no need to be so sour. I just wanted to tell you about my first class with our young Mr. Potter."

"Oh did you now?" He didn't even bother feigning surprise.

"And Severus, I do believe he will be a genius at transfiguration, just like his father!"

"And how would you know that, Minerva? It was one class." He could not stop some ire from leaking out of his voice.

But Minerva only smiled at him smugly. "Indeed it was. But he showed a keen interest in learning advanced human transfiguration, and asked some very insightful questions in class. But most significantly - he managed to transfigure the matchstick into a perfect silver needle in seven minutes."

Severus could not help but be surprised at that. "Seven minutes?"

"Yes, and I was counting! I attribute his success to the fact that he took a unique alchemic approach to his understanding of the task. He asked questions about molecules, Severus, molecules!"

"It's not surprising that he'd have heard the word, Minerva, if he was raised with muggles."

"But Severus, he knew about quarks and particle spins!"

Again, Severus's eyes widened. He made a small huffing sound.

"Besides, I would think that the fact that he was raised with muggles wouldn't have much bearing on his knowledge -"

Ah, so he was right; the boy was raised with muggles.

"- after all, I highly doubt that Petunia Dursley put much thought into her nephew's intellectual development."

Petunia Dursley?

"Petunia… who?"

"Dursley, Severus. His Aunt."

The boy was raised by Petunia Evans?

"May I ask how that came to pass?"

Minerva shrugged helplessly. "It was Albus's idea. He said the boy needed to be with his family, away from it all. Something about wards. But I told him, they're the worst sort of muggles."

Severus had to agree.

OO

Every time Harry Potter sat down for lunch, he had a book in his hand. This was a habit Severus had taken notice of, though it was still less than a week since the boy had arrived at Hogwarts. For the first few days it had been what he recognized as the first year Charms text, but as of a couple of days ago, that had been replaced by a massive reference book about twice the size of the boy's head. Either the boy was showing off, or was curious to the point of being obsessive. Neither possibility boded well.

There were other things he noticed, as well. The scrawny boy didn't eat much, and typically spent his meals reading rather than eating. He rarely participated in conversations unless addressed directly, or was talking to Weasley, but whenever he did speak, he did so with a very polite, deliberately pleasant look on his face. The boy was… closed off.

And there was the matter of Ronald Weasley, who Potter had taken to following around, oddly enough. They always showed up for meals together, and seemed to share a love for academia, for they often spent their meals reading the same book and conversing about its contents, or rather it seemed that way. For some reason, Weasley seemed to dislike speaking to his housemates, as he always had an annoyed expression when they spoke to him, and often gave very short, terse answers to questions, rarely engaging in conversation of his own initiative.

The only exception was when Draco addressed him, at which point Weasley's face would light up in delight, at which point they would engage in a strange conversational tug of war, were each would try to one up the other in word-play. Malfoy would always lose these contests, which Severus found very strange, as he didn't think that Weasley would have had the opportunity to refine such skills in his home.

Very odd. Very odd indeed.

OO

He stopped to help Professor Flitwick pick up some papers he dropped in the second-floor corridor. In passing he recognized the names of his first year Slytherin students on the papers.

"Assigning the first years essays already, Filius?" he asked as he handed the papers back to the shorter man.

The half-goblin smiled wryly. "Oh no, I'm not you, Severus. I've decided to assign some shorter reports for the first few weeks; this week I asked them to find a charm in this year's curriculum and say a few words on the wand movements and the origins of the incantations. They were very well done, for the most part."

Severus nodded, pleased to hear it.

The smaller man chuckled a bit. "Mr. Potter chose occulus reparo. I think that was a hint - his spectacles seem to be in bad shape. Perhaps I'll teach them that one earlier than I originally intended."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "Indulging the boy already?"

Filius smiled. "Well, he did write an exceptional report. He went so far as to research the relationship between the reparo charm and certain transfiguration spells. Very quick, that one. I would have liked to have him in my house. But then again, I would have liked to have had Lily Evans too."

Severus grimaced at that.

"He certainly reminds me a great deal of her," Professor Flitwick continued obliviously, "Such sweet boy. Very respectful and polite for a boy his age. He thanked me after our first lecture, you know? Quite enthusiastically. She did the same, I remember… had that very same look in her eye."

Yes, Severus could not help but think, that did sound like Lily.

OO

His face was cold and stony as he scanned the dark classroom full of first year students - the bane of his existence. Gryffindors and Slytherins… why they paired those two houses together in his class, he'd never know. Every year, he stood at the front of his dark, dingy classroom, breathing in the same sweet fumes, a medley of a thousand herbs and infusions, and every year he experienced the same vivid sensations of introducing a new generation of Hogwarts students to his beloved science, tainted by the same furious swell of whirling regrets. Every year he was reminded of the same sequence of bad decisions stacked upon bad decisions in his past, the mistakes that, every year, lead him to that same place in front of a crowd of oblivious eleven-year old's.

His voice was unwavering as he called role, robotic as he monotonously read the names off the list. That is, until he reached that one name that seemed to jut out of the page like an ugly scar.

"Ah, yes," he could not help himself, "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity.

At that instant, the boy met his eyes, an unrecognizable shadow falling over his face.

He continued to the bottom of his list, and, after a tenuous silence designed to intimidate, began as he did every year.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in little more than a whisper, but he knew they were hanging on to every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." Not bloody likely.

James Potter's son was still staring him with unreadable eyes, utterly fixated on him. It took everything in him not to react. What was the boy thinking? How could a child that age be so blank? It was maddening. Was he haughty or shy? Polite in an attempt to manipulate or be kind? So many questions, so few answers.

"Potter!" he called harshly. He really couldn't help himself; he needed to see how the boy would react. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

He watched, secretly amused, as the boy's eyes widened in comical shock. His amusement nearly soured when the boy's expression morphed into one of… resignation? Understanding? But the amusement returned and relief washed over him when the boy quickly returned to being puzzled.

"Um…" the boy started, looking a bit shaken up. "Asphodel, powdered, and wormwood… wormwood… worm… a… something that puts you to sleep? Some kind of sleeping potion, sir?"

He stared intently at the bespectacled boy. It had been a cheap shot - that was a NEWT level potion - but the boy, if a little ineloquent, performed well under pressure. "Indeed. Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. Now, let's try again. Where would you look if you told you to find me a bezoar?"

"An apothecary, sir?" the boy replied confusedly.

He narrowed his eyes into a glare, and the boy smiled at him sheepishly.

"Or the stomach of a goat, if the apothecary ran out."

"And what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Clearly, the boy was gaining confidence, because he answered this time without hesitation. "They're different species from the same genus, sir."

He quirked an eyebrow. So the boy had done the reading, and had successfully risen to his challenge. But the child wasn't gloating; no, he was just looking at him.

He felt something stir inside him as the boy stared up at him hopefully, with shimmering green eyes that were so unmistakably Lily's.

"That is correct. 3 points to Slytherin."

OO

He looked at the sheet in front of him, and then back up at Miss Rowland. "This is all… from this week?"

She grimaced a bit, but nodded curtly.

Eyes trailing down the list, he stopped at:

Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter - 5 points each

He raised an eyebrow. "The Potter brat is already causing trouble, then?"

Hortense looked surprised at the question. "No sir, it was actually Malfoy who started it. From what I've gathered, Potter lied about his name when they first met and implied that he was a… muggleborn student.

Oh? What was Potter playing at?

"Ever since the welcoming feast, Malfoy's been baiting him quite avidly. Yesterday, he tossed a hex at Potter on their way back to the Common Room, but Potter dodged and disarmed him quickly, so it could have been a lot worse… to be honest, I expected him to retaliate but…"

"… but?"

"Well, sir, he just… smiled at Malfoy, and gave his wand back to him."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. So… the Potter brat was arrogant… so arrogant that he did not see Draco Malfoy as any kind of threat. And apparently, that arrogance wasn't completely unfounded.

"Anyway, they both cast spells at each other in front of students from other houses, so I had to dock points, but given the choice, I wouldn't have taken any from Potter."

Severus nodded slowly, taking the information in.

Draco was no doubt humiliated, and there was no way Lucius had raised a humble son; while he'd no doubt bide his time, he'd surely retaliate, and probably in a more public way. The Malfoy boy wouldn't stop, of course, until he managed to get the better of Potter, but given how quick Potter's reflexes apparently were, that might take some time. Until then…

"Honestly, Potter doesn't cause trouble at all. Just the opposite, really. He apologized on Malfoy's behalf, you know? Was exceptionally graceful and polite about it."

"Is that so?"

"It is, sir. Although…"

"Yes?"

"He's… very quiet."

He quirked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Well, for a boy his age he's really… withdrawn. He doesn't talk much, and when he thinks no one is looking… there's nothing. Just nothing on his face. He… sort of reminds me of Avery, in his first year, but worse."

Jordan Avery, the son of Julian Avery… a man with a violent temper and a love for for creative punishments. The former Death Eater had never outright abused his son, to the best of his knowledge, but he'd certainly terrified him quite thoroughly, and that was evident during Avery Jr.'s first year at Hogwarts. The boy had been abnormally detached and introverted… and for Miss Rowland (who had keen observational skills and impeccable instincts) to compare anyone to him… well, that was concerning.

And yet… Petunia Evans was a lot of things, but she certainly wasn't terrifying. So apparently something else was making the boy uneasy.

"Worse, you say?"

"Well sir, I wouldn't say he's any quieter than Avery was, and not quite as cautious either, it's just… he always seems fine. Too fine. Too… together for a boy his age. There's something not quite right."

So, he had a potentially psychologically troubled Potter and an angry Malfoy on his hands. Splendid.

"Keep an eye on them."

"Of course, sir."

He continued to scan the sheet, when he noticed:

Ronald Weasley - 5 points.

"What did Weasley do?" He asked.

"On Wednesday, he was missing at lunch," Hortense replied. "So I asked him where he was. Apparently, he was in the kitchens, eating lunch there. He didn't know that it was forbidden."

"Why would he eat lunch in the kitchens?" Severus asked, a bit confused. "Why not in the Great Hall?"

Hortense seemed to be a bit confused herself. "He said he wanted to get to know the house elves, although I have no clue why."

"You questioned the house elves, I presume?"

"Yes, and their story matched up with his. It seems he really just wanted to get to know them."

Severus doubted that was truly the case. Weasley had to be up to something. Severus could only hope that this Weasley wasn't the second coming of the Weasley twins. Speaking of:

"What can you tell me of Weasley?" Severus asked. "how does he interact with his housemates, and such?"

"He doesn't, actually. At least, not very much. He spends most of his time with Potter, and they seem to do all their homework together. He doesn't get along well with his other house-mates, though."

"Is he closed off like Potter?"

"No, he's much more expressive. He's not polite like Potter though. Hes mostly disdainful towards people when they bother him. He does like to pick on Malfoy though, for some reason."

"You mean, hes a bully?"

"Nothing too overt. He prefers subtle wordplay, and most of the time, Malfoy doesn't even realize that Weasley is picking on him. He looks like an idiot around Weasley."

Severus frowned.

"Take Weasley aside, and inform him that that kind of behavior is not appropriate."

"Yes, sir."

Merlin help him. He did not want to deal with this.

OO

"Oh, Severus!"

He turned around to find Poppy Pomfrey hurrying up to him, a worried look on her face.

"Yes, Poppy?"

"It completely slipped my mind the other day, but I had meant to tell you… young Mister Potter was in the hospital wing on Wednesday."

He frowned at her. "Did Draco Malfoy hex him?"

The woman quirked an eyebrow. "No. Is this something I have to look forward to?"

"For both our sakes, let's hope not."

She smiled a bit, but then the worried look returned to her face. "He nearly collapsed in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

Severus could not help the surprise that came over his face. "Collapsed? May I ask why?"

The lines on her face grew deeper. "Headache. Apparently, he was holding his forehead for most of the class. When he stumbled over after they were dismissed, Mr. Nott and Miss Davis brought him to me. He was very pale, Severus, and his eyes were bloodshot. He must have been in a great deal of discomfort. I gave him something mild for the pain, and it seemed to help, but I'm worried. Headaches that severe aren't commonplace for eleven-year-olds. And then there was the fact that…"

"Yes?"

"His scar was inflamed."

Severus nodded slowly. That was… very concerning. "Defense against the Dark Arts?"

The woman nodded.

"I will… inform the Headmaster. In the meantime, should Mr. Potter return to you, feel free to supply him with potions for him to take more regularly."

Poppy nodded again, hesitating before speaking again. "That's not all, Severus."

His eyebrows rose.

"He's… underfed. And by the looks of it, he has been for a long time. After he collapsed, I thought it prudent to do a checkup, and when he took off his shirt, I saw his ribs, Severus. He's a small boy, but he shouldn't be this small."

A frown returned to Severus's face. "Is he ill?"

"I didn't do many tests…"

That wasn't like her.

"Because I think I already have an explanation. His wrist and his arm, and a couple of his ribs… they've been broken, and didn't heal properly. It looks like they weren't set correctly. He has a couple of strange scars too, some of them clearly burn marks. I didn't think it possible, but…"

"He's a young boy, Poppy, and boys have a way of damaging themselves. As for the malnutrition… I have noticed that he makes a habit of reading during his meals, and often gets sidetracked."

"Perhaps, but there's an alternative we do need to consider."

"To the best of my knowledge, he lives with his Aunt. She's not a… pleasant person, but is far to squeamish to lay a hand on a child, I would think. It's more likely the injuries were from other children."

"… you're probably right, and he did deny that his family had had any part in it… but he did so too quickly, in my opinion, without even thinking about it, as though on reflex. There's something not right here, Severus."

"If you insist… I will take this up with the Headmaster as well."

Pursing her lips, she nodded stiffly. "Please do."

OO

"Headmaster… you wished to see me?"

"Indeed, Severus. I do hope the term is treating you well thus far."

He tried not to grimace. "As well as ever, Headmaster."

The old man smiled, clearly amused by his answer. "I'm glad to hear it, Severus! Now, I will get to the point; I called you here to ask about Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley."

Severus sighed. "I… thought as much."

"I admit, I was nearly as surprised as you were, when they were sorted into Slytherin. Did you know, Severus, that both families are descendants of Godric Gryffindor himself?"

"No, but I'm not at all surprised," Severus grumbled.

The Headmaster chuckled at that. "Indeed, indeed. But see, Severus, the fact that they were sorted into Slytherin is just as strange as, for instance, a parselmouth being sorted into Gryffindor. Sortings tend to run in families for a reason, Severus. Many aspects of magic are hereditary, and magic deeply influences our hearts. Cases such as young Harry's, Ronald's, and Sirius Black's, for that matter, are rare in old families like the Blacks and, the Weasleys, and the Potters."

"While this is very fascinating, Headmaster, is there a point you are trying to make?"

"There is. Harry's strange sorting implies that there have been events in the boy's life that have caused his magic and personality to mutate from what it would have been. In other words, Harry Potter seems to have a past that none of us are aware of."

Severus nodded slowly. "Nature versus nurture?"

The elderly man smiled at him. "Quite."

"On the topic of the boy's childhood, Headmaster, I am… curious. Professor McGonagall mentioned to me the other day that the boy was raised by… Petunia."

The Headmaster nodded.

"May I ask why?"

"Simply put, when Lily Potter died, her sacrifice protected Harry from Voldemort's curse, and to this day, her blood and her magic protects him. Petunia's bond with Harry through blood perpetuates Lily's spell, erecting powerful blood wards around their residence in Surrey."

"I see. And you are sure that leaving him there was… wise?"

"Lord Voldemort has been defeated, but not vanquished, Severus, and many of those loyal to him still walk free. It was necessary that the boy be protected, and his mother's sacrifice afforded him a protection that I could not. That none of us could - no wizard or witch that means him harm can enter that home, and I cannot say the same of anywhere else in the world."

"I only ask because there have been… inquiries into his well-being."

"Oh?"

"Poppy believes that he may… be being abused."

The old man frowned. "And how has she come by this belief?"

Severus hesitated. "Apparently, he is underfed, and has several poorly healed injuries."

"There could be many explanations for that, Severus."

"I am aware, and the boy did deny that his family was involved… as would most mistreated children."

"If I didn't know you better, Severus, I'd say you actually care for the boy."

"… I don't. But as his Head of House, it is my responsibility to take into consideration these facts."

The Headmaster tapped his finger on his desk a few times. "If Harry approaches you for help, help him. If proof of his family's alleged mistreatment of him arises, we will look into alternative living arrangements for him. But until such a time… it is crucial that he remain within the reach of those wards when not at Hogwarts, Severus. He must remain there until it is absolutely necessary that he leave. The wards are strong - and there may come a time when they will be his only defense."

"And they are powerful enough that you would condemn a young boy to abuse," Severus stated skeptically.

"Of course not, Severus. But as long as we have no compelling reason to believe Harry is in danger at the hands of his relatives, he will remain with them for his own safety."

Severus nodded very slowly, ignoring the unease coiling in his chest. He scowled. He wasn't worried. Of course not. Certainly not about a Potter.

"Now, Severus, I must ask, how has young Harry been fairing in Slytherin House thus far?"

Severus could not help the sour look that came over his face. "Is there anything… specific you were wondering about, Headmaster?"

"Well, from what I have heard from the other faculty members, Harry Potter is an intelligent, polite young man who is eager to learn. The picture that has been painted for me is that of a model Hogwarts student, filled with curiosity and showing promise in every aspect of magic. He has managed to impress every member of my staff. He's even managed to charm Minerva quite thoroughly, and we both know what a challenge that is."

"You sound… unconvinced."

The Headmaster smiled grimly. "Not at all. I am convinced that Harry Potter is, as they say, a polite and intelligent young man, but like all of us, Harry Potter cannot be reduced to two words. No one can."

"I must confess, the boy is… not what I expected."

"I cannot say I am surprised at that, Severus."

"Whether he is as arrogant and foolish as his father has yet to be determined, but he is neither loud nor crass, and… does not seem to have the makings of a bully."

"High praise, Severus."

He grimaced. "Apparently he actively participates in his classes, but outside of class the Slytherin prefects refer to him as withdrawn and quiet, and… from what I have seen, this is an accurate assessment. He doesn't stand out except within the realm of academics."

"And his friends?"

"… I am not sure. He seems to spend most of his time with Weasley. Which reminds me, how did Weasley get sorted into Slytherin?"

Dumbledore gazed at him for a long moment. "I have spoken to his mother, Molly. Apparently, he has been rather bookish for most of his life, and is mature for his age, but she was as surprised as anyone to learn that he was sorted into Slytherin."

"I rather doubt being bookish is what got him into Slytherin," Severus replied dryly.

"Quite," Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "but after I questioned Molly further about his childhood, I learned a number of interesting things about young Ronald. Apparently, he is not just bookish, but he has read all of the Weasley books, including their old school text books."

"That sounds like a Ravenclaw."

"Perhaps, but after he turned ten, he spent most of his time in the nearby village, were he did chores for money. He made enough money to buy all of his school supplies, including his wand."

"Sounds like a Hufflepuff, get to the point, Albus." Severus said in an exasperated tone. Dumbledore simply smiled, before pulling out something from his desk.

"These are notes that Molly found on his desk when she when in to clean his room," He said, passing them over to Severus. Severus quickly skimmed over them, noticing that Weasley wrote in elegant print.

"The point being?" He asked, passing the notes back to Dumbledore.

"From what I have read of his notes, Ronald Weasley is quite an ambitious young man," Dumbledore replied. "Fortunately, his ambitions are rather simple. He wants to bring his family out of poverty, and learn as much as he can about magic. He is already learning about runes and arithmancy on his own time, and plans to become an Unspeakable when he graduates."

---

"I see." He replied. "Very well, was there anything else?"

"What are your personal thoughts on Harry?"

"My… personal thoughts?"

"What do you think of his behavior?"

"His behavior?"

"You said he is withdrawn and quiet."

"Oh… I would say that it's… not surprising, Headmaster. It's not unusual that a magical child that has been exposed only to muggles would have difficulty making friends. And if his unexplained injuries were dealt on account of bullying, it's would be strange if he was not a little reserved."

"Indeed."

"Summarily, I… think very little of his behavior, Headmaster."

The elderly man nodded.

"He's nothing special, Albus. I don't believe there's any reason to expend energy speculating on a child's behavior."

The Headmaster looked at him sharply. "You must keep an eye on the boy, Severus. He might be an innocent child, but he is the only one who can defeat Lord Voldemort."

"Headmaster, do you really think that…?"

"After the break in at Gringotts, Severus, I have no doubt."

"Which reminds me…"

"Yes?"

"Poppy's interactions with the Potter boy came on account of him nearly collapsing in his first Defense against the Dark Arts class. It would appear that he's been suffering from headaches - apparently, his scar was inflamed."

The elderly man's eyes widened, and he looked rather alarmed at that. "Then, Severus, you must keep a close eye on Quirinius as well."

"Of course, Headmaster."

OO

"I don't want to be a tattle-tale, sir…"

"Out with it, Potter," he snapped.

"It was Malfoy's fault, sir. Neville Longbottom dropped his rememberball in the grass, and Malfoy, upon finding it, decided to hide it instead of return it."

"So you, in your infinite wisdom, decided to cause a scene, humiliate your fellow Slytherin, and nearly get yourself killed."

The boy had the decency to look ashamed at that, but met his eyes nonetheless. "I was under the impression that thievery would not be tolerated at Hogwarts, sir."

Severus stared at him for a long moment, and was, grudgingly, impressed by the fact that the boy did not fidget under his harsh glare.

It was at that moment that Flint chose to knock on his office door.

"Ah, Flint. Good of you to join us."

"Sir? May I ask what this is about?"

"I believe, Flint, that I have found the Slytherin House team a new seeker." He nodded toward a very gabsmacked Harry Potter. As much as he disliked the boy… his skills on a broom, from what he had seen just a few minutes ago, were impeccable. And, it just so happened that Slytherin required a new Seeker this year. As a bonus, this would be a good opportunity to gauge how big the boy's head really was.

Flint stared at the boy appraisingly. "Potter? He's a first year."

Severus smirked a bit. "I'll take care of the technicalities, Flint. Focus on whipping your new seeker into shape before the first game of the season."

Flint smirked back at him. "Of course, sir."

He spared a glance at Potter, who was still gaping at him, and felt some degree of satisfaction at finally getting the better of the boy.

Take that, James Potter. Your son would be winning points for Slytherin at the next Quidditch game.

Ron: The Slytherin Common Room

"So let me get this straight," I said slowly. "for causing a scene, humiliating your housemate, and nearly getting yourself killed, Snape didn't give you a detention, but instead made you seeker of the Quidditch team?"

"Basically," replied Harry, who was reading a book on counter-curses. We were both sitting in a corner of the Slytherin common room. The furniture of the room was a dark colored wood, with silver trimmings and vibrant viridian upholstery. While there were fire places, most of the illumination came from moon-light and star-light. On the east side of the common room, there was window that was made of glass that looked out into the lake. This window curved up to the ceiling as well, like a solarium over a pool. At least 80% of the ceiling was part of the window.

I suspected that the window was enchanted too, for during the day, the light coming through the window was softer, while during the night, the light was brighter. The waves of the lake made the light in the common room look like the light under a pool, with ripples of light and shadow.

"If this is the way that Snape treats you for your transgressions, you should do this more often," I replied avidly. "Maybe next time, he will make you prefect!"

"I doubt it," he replied, turning the page on his book. "I think it was just a one-off thing, cause I'm so good a flying."

"Still," I said. "You got off lightly. Be careful in the future, yeah?"

"Sure," he replied, not really paying attention. I was interrupted from saying more by the arrival of Malfoy.

"So, Potter," he said, a sneer on his face. Harry closed his book and turned to look at him.

"Yes?"

"I suppose you are packing your bags tonight?"

Harry looked at him with a confused expression. "Why would I do that? Is there a field trip?"

"Oh, no Malfoy," I said in a faux sad voice. "Harry's fate is much worse than that."

"Huh?" now Malfoy was confused. "What's worse than expulsion?"

"Oh, it's too terrible!" I said, clutching my hands to my chest and squeezing my eyes such. "I… I can't admit it!"

"Tell me!" Malfoy demanded, a slightly giddy look on his face.

"He's…" I said in a small, faux horrified voice.

Malfoy leaned in. "What."

"He's…" I whispered.

"Yes?" he leaned in closer.

"He's… Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team," I said happily. Malfoy reared back.

"WHAT!" he shouted.

"Keep it down!" said a nearby fifth year.

Malfoy looked over at Harry. "You're Seeker!?"

For some reason, Harry looked at me with annoyance. "Yes, Flint is going to evaluate me tomorrow."

"Wait a moment, did you tell on me to Snape?"

"Yes," replied Harry, who seemed dejected.

"You're a tattletale!" said Malfoy, half haughty, half happy. "Did you forget that one of the qualities of Slytherin is fraternity? We don't tattle on our house mates."

"Well, technically, Professor Snape is a Slytherin," I said, examining my fingernails as if the subject didn't interest me. "So Harry didn't exactly break the rule of fraternity."

"He's a professor!" Malfoy protested.

"Fraternity is all inclusive," said Hortense from nearby. It seemed that she had noticed our altercation, and walked over. "If Professor Snape is Slytherin, that means he's included, even if he's a professor. You of all people should know that, Malfoy."

"Fine," said Malfoy with a huff, and stalked off. Hortense turned to me.

"Weasley, I thought I told you not to pick on Malfoy anymore," She admonished.

"He started it," I protested.

"I don't care. Malfoy is hard enough to deal with as it is," she replied sternly. "Need I remind you that his father is very well connected, and wealthy? He could make your career miserable if he wanted to."

"Right," I sulked. Satisfied, Hortense walked away.

"She's right, you know," said Harry from besides me. "You don't want to make an enemy of Malfoy."

"He's just so… touchy." I sighed. "It's hard not to be around him and not pick on him, you know?"

"No," he replied plainly.

"Right, I forgot, you're a closet psychopath," I said teasingly.

"I am not," he protested. "I just… don't show my emotions as much."

"Mm-hmm, yeah, you keep telling yourself that," I said dryly.

"If I were a psychopath, I wouldn't take your teasing so lightly," he said shortly.

"I didn't say you were a psychopath, I said you're a closet psychopath," I enunciated.

"What's the difference?" He asked, confused.

"A psychopath is accepting of their inner nature," I replied. "a closet psychopath is not."

"I think you're barmy," he replied plainly. "No, wait, you're closet barmy."

"Then I guess we'll have to share the closet together," I said, chuckling at my own little innuendo.

"Oh god, get a room you two," said the nearby fifth year.

"I would, but I think he's too young to understand what that means," I replied cheerily.

"Right," said the fifth year dryly. "could you just be… quieter?"

"Fifth year got your nose to the grindstone?" I asked.

"Yeah,"

"Right, let's find a different table, Harry," I said to him, standing up.

"Um, sure," He replied.

We both picked up our homework and walked to a different part of the common room. Eventually we found a table that had only one other occupant, who happened to be Theodore Nott. Nott appeared to be doing homework.

"Mr. Nott," I said slowly, getting his attention. "Would you mind if we sit at this table?"

"Oh, no not at all," he said slowly, indication the table. We both sat down.

"What are you working on?" asked Harry, who was looking at Nott's parchment, on which he appeared to be writing an essay.

"Snape's essay on rash cures," he replied testily. "It's due next week and I want to get it done so I can enjoy tomorrow."

"Maybe I can help you with that," said Harry earnestly. "I've already finished mine."

"Oh. Ok, I'm on the first draft, but I'm having a hard time understanding what the nettles do," he replied.

They spent the next hour working on Nott's essay, so I spent the time working on my defense homework.

Little did I know that almost overnight, Nott and Harry would become fast friends.

Ron: Holloween: Part One

As much as I liked to accuse him of being a closet psychopath, Harry wasn't one, not really. He was just closed off. For some strange reason, he seemed to lack some basic knowledge of social niceties, was perpetually confused by the quirkiness of his housemates, and was constantly nervous about his perceived inability to make friends, despite his friendship with Nott and myself. He was also a genius, despite his adamant refusal to acknowledge it.

He was frequently at the top of most classes, and was always asking smart questions that seemed to throw his teachers off their game, before they got used to his inquisitiveness. For some reason, this really pissed off Granger, as she was used to being at the top of her class. For this reason, they constantly competed for the top spot, even though Harry didn't know this. As for myself and Nott, I was frequently in third place, while Nott was more of a slightly above average student. Sometimes I would move up to second place in class, which made Hermione mad at me, too.

As for Malfoy, he was just pissed off at Harry and myself in general. Malfoy was very used to getting what he wanted, and was also quite accustomed to certain norms and patterns of behavior, and didn't appreciate deviations from them. Because of this, he was still sore at Harry for lying to him about his name on the train, and so took to hexing me and him in the hallways. He rarely succeeded, as Harry was very good at counter curses, and so would protect me as well as himself. It didn't help that I would constantly needle Malfoy during the first few weeks of term, at least until the prefect girl told me to stop.

I largely tolerantly ignored my other house mates, as I didn't particularly care for them, and they largely tolerantly ignored me in turn, a situation I was quite fond of. Although, when Nott became one of Harry's friends, I made an effort to be more friendlier towards him, and conversed with him more often, which he was surprised and amused by.

OO

It was a month after the start of term, two weeks after Harry had befriend Nott. We were all three in the library, a frequent pass time as Harry loved to conduct research. I didn't enjoy it as much, but I liked to use the time to get my homework done, and research stuff I was personally interested in. Nott just did his homework, then pass the time reading wizarding comic books, as he wasn't as nerdy as we were.

"Say, Ronald," said Nott, looking up from WatchWizards (which was basically the wizard version of Watchmen).

"Yes?" I asked, looking up from Spellman's Syllabary, Third Edition.

"I was wondering," he said, scrutinizing me. "What do you have against everyone in our House?"

I blinked.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," I replied blankly.

"Oh come off it, Weasley," he scoffed. "you wouldn't give me the time of day before I was friends was Harry."

"Oh, right," I said, before folding my book and putting it away. Harry was also observing us. "If you really must know, Its because I value my solitude, and I don't like it when people intrude upon it."

"How did you make friends with Harry, then?"

"I met him on the train. I learned that i enjoy spending time with him, and I value what few friends I have. If he was going to be spending time with you, then I might as well as take to time to get to know you."

"Nice to know you do actually care," Nott replied with a slightly pleased expression. "I almost had you pegged for a sociopath."

"I see" I replied shortly, opening my book, before starting and looking back at him. "Wait, almost?"

OO

" Wingardium Leviosa," the class recited. I tried very hard not to look bored, but I was losing the struggle. I noticed that Harry was a well. Nott looked at us with a frown.

"God, what is it with you two?" he whispered, somewhat begrudgingly. "Not everyone has mastered the subject before they step in the class, least you could do is not look so bored."

Harry smiled at him sheepishly. "It's not purposeful, I promise."

"Speak for yourself," I grumbled.

"Let's get this over with, then," Nott replied, reproachfully. We all pointed our wands at the feathers lying on the desk, and cast the spell. Harry got it immediately, but it took me a second try to do it. Nott's feather didn't move at all.

"Look! Look everyone! Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley have done it! Five points to Slytherin, for each of you!" their diminutive professor cried. I noticed that Harry was blushing.

Theo obviously noticed the blush, because he sneered at him in that subtle, reflexive way he always did. "How you can be a show-off and modest at the same time completely escapes me."

"That's not purposeful either."

Meanwhile, I noticed Granger and Malfoy both glaring at him, as usual.

The rest of the class passed slowly, Granger attempting to assist her fellow Gryffindors after she had quickly mastered the spell as always. I felt a little annoyed at the girl. She obviously thought that assisting her housemates would win her brownie points, while it really only made them begrudge her even more. It was a lesson that she had constantly failed to learn and it was starting to get aggravating.

Unfortunately, as we rose from our seats, I heard Seamus Finnigan chatting with Dean Thomas:

"God, that girl's a nightmare, she thinks she's so smart, it's no wonder she hasn't got any friends."

Unfortunately, Hermione overheard this conversation and ran out of the classroom with tears in her eyes, while Malfoy snickered behind me. Idiot.

OO

"I think that the non pondere jinx might be a good alternative," Michael Corner was saying as he, Terry Boot, Harry, and myself entered the Great Hall, 15 minutes late for the Halloween Feast.

After Charms class the three of them had all approached Professor Flitwick with the same question; were there any levitation spells with shorter incantations? After all, it might not always be practical to enunciate " Wingardium Leviosa" in the middle of, say, a duel. The professor, thrilled with their question, had happily directed them to a number of books in the library, which they had been searching through for the last hour and a half. I had tagged along because I was a little curious about the subject myself.

Boot chewed on his lip a bit. "I don't understand why it's not a charm, though."

Harry and I both started talking at the same time, but stopped when we realized it.

"Go ahead, Harry," I said encouragingly.

Harry nodded. "From the reading I've done, it could be something as simple as the wand movements."

"You think that's it?" Boot said with a frown.

"Really?" I asked at the same time.

"Well, from what we read, it looks like using it's going to be more tiring too. Maybe that has something to do with it."

Corner raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Well, I'm thinking that the complexity of the wand movements might have something to do with the way the magic you put in is used…"

Corner grinned. "And maybe a lot of energy gets wasted somewhere!"

Harry nodded. "I think we'll have to do a little more research on the etymology to be sure."

Boot groaned. "Etymology? My Latin is rubbish."

Corner rolled his eyes. "You're just lazy."

"I'm not lazy. I just like to conserve energy."

"I think you're missing something," I said to Harry.

"Oh?" he replied, quirking an eyebrow.

"Context," I said.

"I don't follow," said Boot.

"Think about it, in what situation would you use a jinx?" I asked.

"A duel, obviously," replied Corner, rolling his eyes.

"Well, yes, of course," I replied condescendingly. "but what kind of purpose would you use this kind of jinx for?"

Harry frowned in thought, but surprisingly, it was Boot that answered first.

"To remove someone from the duel?" he asked.

"Close, but no cigar," I replied. "It's to control your opponent. Think about it. if it's a jinx, you'd be casting it at a person, right? So if your casting it at a person, you want to be sure that it will work. In this case, you wouldn't want your opponent to be able to cast a general counter-curse and nullify it, right? That's probably why it costs more energy."

"Oh, I didn't think of that," said Harry. "That's what you meant by context, right?"

"Yeah, I totally wouldn't have figured that out, thanks Weasley," said Corner, who was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Anyway, we got to get to the feast, see you later."

"Later, then," I replied, turning towards the Slytherin table along with Harry.

"Later, mates,"

"Context, why didn't I think of that?" said Harry thoughtfully as we walked to the table.

"You're always looking at things from academic view point," I replied. "That's why, probably."

"Hmm. Maybe I should ask Hermione about this, she could know more," he said.

"What, you doubt my wisdom?" I asked in a faux hurt way as we sat down at the table.

"No, I just want a second opinion, that's all," he replied crossly. "Speaking of which, do any of you know where Hermione is?"

We had sat down and he gazed around the table hopefully. I face-palmed. Malfoy sneered, and Zabini raised an eyebrow, like they usually did whenever he said anything stupid.

"And what makes you think we'd know a thing like that?" Bulstrode sniffed, making another one of her squeaky sounds.

"She's probably still crying in the bathroom near the Charms classroom," Greengrass interjected, with a bit of a scoff.

Harry frowned as he dished some carrots onto his plate, probably a bit concerned about the muggleborn girl. "Why would she be crying still? And why cry in the bathroom?"

Everyone just looked at him like he was being stupid. I coughed.

"Social niceties, Harry," I said. "She's probably still upset at what Finnigan said during charms class."

"But that was hours ago?" he asked, still confused.

"Never mind," I sighed, face palming again. "Your inability to understand other people continues to amaze me."

"You know nothing about women, Harry," Theo sighed.

Harry blinked. "I don't know any women," he said, oblivious to the glares of the girls around him.

"Never mind where she is," Theo said, trying to diffuse the sudden tension that Harry was still quite oblivious to, "Where have you been?"

"The library."

His friend scoffed at him. "Of course."

"And what were you researching this time?" Zabini asked, the slightest bit of curiosity revealing itself in his voice. Sometimes he would randomly become interested in what we were doing, but I knew he was just nosy cause he like to know what other people around him were up to.

Nevertheless, Harry perked up at the question, so excited that he nearly choked on the piece of ham he'd been chewing. I quickly slapped him on the back, expelling the meat from his windpipe.

"Truncate, Harry," I said in a bored tone. Harry blinked.

"Right, we were looking up levitation spells," he said.

"Don't ask him why unless you really are interested," I said primly while eating some food. "Otherwise he'll talk your ear off."

"Right," said Zabini, who turned back to his food.

For the next few minutes, I tuned out the conversation at the table, deciding to focus on food, but my attention was torn back to my surrounding with the sudden eruption of a dull roar. My head jerked up suddenly, only to realize that everyone around me was shouting, and trying to run out of the hall. They were only silenced by the Headmaster's Sonorous charm:

"Prefects," his voice rumbled across the hall, "Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

For the next several minutes, the prefects formed us up into a line, and we walked began to walk out, but then I realized something. If the troll was in the dungeons, and our common room was in the dungeon…

Without thinking, I ran up to a prefect, a Slytherin seventh year, and tugged on his robe.

"What!?" he shouted, turning towards me.

"The Troll is in the Dungeons!" I shouted back.

"So!?" he replied, a bit softer.

"Our common room is in the - "

"Right!" he shouted, suddenly terrified. He ran up to the teachers table, and conferred with Professor Snape. After a few moments, Snape turned and spoke to Dumbledore. After a few more moments, Dumbledore spoke to the Hall again:

"Halt!" he cried, just barely stopping the prefects from leaving the room. "After conferring with my staff, we had determined that it may be too dangerous for students to be moving through the castle right now. As such, you will remain here until we find the troll and remove it from the castle. No one is to leave this room until then. Prefects, guard the other students. By your leave."

With that, all of the teachers quickly filed out of the room, and the next several minutes were spent waiting in terse silence. It was then that I noticed that Harry was no longer with me.

Ron: Holloween: Part Two

A few moments after the teachers had left, everyone had sat back down at the tables. Nobody felt like eating, however, so eventually, whispers and hushed conversation broke out among the students as we waited.

Harry was gone, probably to find Hermione. I was worried, he couldn't possibly that the troll was waiting for him at his destination. Would he be able to handle it? I wasn't sure, as he did know quite a few curses at this point. But I couldn't count on it, so I waved my hand at the next Prefect that walked nearby.

"Potter is missing," I said.

He frowned. "Missing? What do you mean, hes missing?"

"He is not here, in the Great Hall." I replied in a frustrated tone. "He was right next to me a few moments ago. I'm worried about it. I think he went to girls lavatory off the charms room. There's a girl there who was crying, and she doesn't know about the troll."

"What do you expect me to do? The prefects have to stay here and guard the Hall."

"You could send one prefect to alert the teachers," I retorted. "I'm sure they wouldn't begrudge you that."

"Oh," the prefect said, "That sounds like a good idea, I will go talk to the others."

A few moments later one of the Ravenclaw prefects left, and the next half hour passed slowly. Eventually, Professor McGonagall arrived back in the Great Hall and spoke to the school:

"The troll has been… dealt with," she announced. "and I am pleased to announce that no students were injured. Prefects, you are to lead your Houses to their common rooms, where the Feast will continue. The school wards are currently being checked to make sure that this doesn't happen again. Professor Dumbledore will make any required remarks tomorrow during breakfast. Prefects, I leave you to your duties."

She promptly turned and left the room. That was quick. At least Harry was ok.

OO

I was anxiously awaiting Harry in the common room when he emerged through the entrance. Relieved, I stood up to greet him, but Malfoy got there first:

"Hey Potter," Malfoy sneered at him, barring his way immediately as he entered the common room, no shortage of eyes on him.

Harry sighed, and I noticed that he seemed to be short of breath. "Yes, Malfoy?"

"I heard you went running after that stupid mudblood Gryfindork, Granger."

Harry did his very best to keep his face neutral and raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Malfoy looked at him smugly, as Harry's answer had garnered them some more attention. "That kind of behavior is not appreciated in Slytherin House, Potter. Would you care to share why you'd risk your life for a mudblood?"

"Not really," as he turned away from Malfoy, which made Malfoy angrier.

"Don't walk away from me, Potter!"

The whole common room was staring at them now.

"As you wish, Malfoy."

Harry, what are you doing? I thought, a little freaked out. Normally, Harry knew better than to indulge Malfoy.

"That's what I like to hear. Now, would you like to explain why you no doubt lost us points for a mudblood? Does she remind you of your mother, Potter? She was a mudblood too, wasn't she?"

"Don't talk about my mother," Harry snapped, and suddenly I understood. Something had happened, something that had frayed Harry's nerves, and now…

"Why not? Does it hurt your feelings?" Malfoy mocked.

Malfoy, whatever happens, you brought it on yourself.

Harry visibly gritted his teeth.

"That's it, isn't it? Your mother - are you ashamed of her, Potter? Are you ashamed of the fact that she was a mudblood who-"

"Do not finish that sentence, Malfoy." Anger. Visible, white hot rage.

The boy grinned at him maliciously. "Or what?"

What happened next was shocking. With a sickening snap, Malfoy's leg broke. Malfoy's grin bled off his face, replaced by horrified pain. His face paled drastically, and he fell, moaning and crying out as his leg collapsed at an eerily wrong angle.

It was broken. Harry had broken it.

Suddenly, a panicked expression crossed Harry's face, which evaporated into fear and guilt.

Taking a deep breath, Harry slowly walked over and looked down at the whimpering boy sadly.

"Or," he said with a soft voice, all his previous anger and indignation completely drained from it, "Nothing. I won't threaten you, Malfoy. I trust you are intelligent enough to understand what will happen next time you speak out of turn like that."

Malfoy gasped, doing his best not to cry.

"Next time, I take out my wand."

The other boy looked at him with unconcealed fear in his eyes, as Harry knelt down beside him, drawing his wand and pointing it at the boy's leg.

"Episky."

Luckily, seeing a it was a nice clean break, the simple healing charm did the trick.

He looked up at Malfoy with a remorseful frown. "I'm sorry for hurting you."

And with that, he nearly ran out of the Common Room, while I stared at the Malfoy, who still looked horrified.

OO

That night, I prudently waited a while so that Harry could have some time alone to go to bed, and not be bothered. I forced my other dormmates to do so as well, as I felt that Harry was in a rather fragile state at the moment. I felt it was best to give him a night to cool off. Fortunately, my dormmates agreed. No one wanted to get their bones broken.

The following morning, I took Harry aside to an empty classroom and demanded that he tell me everything that had happened the previous evening. He easily told me all about the troll, but I could tell that it was not what was bothering him. After he resisted a great deal of prodding to tell me what was going on, I finally relented.

"Harry," I said, a little sad that he couldn't find it in himself to trust me. "If you ever want to talk, you can talk to me. You know that, yes?"

"I know." He replied slowly.

OO

The days and weeks that fallowed Harry's little altercation with Malfoy were… strange. For a brief time, Harry had migraines that he tried to hide. After a day they were gone, but it was still very strange. When he thought no one what looking, Nott would stare at Harry, as if trying to figure him out. Malfoy treated Harry like the plague, and so did his grunts, Crabbe and Goyle. Zabini was slightly more interested in Harry. The girls would gossip behind his back. Hermione started studying with our small group. From Harry what told me, the elder Slytherins were taking an increased interest in him. Snape glared daggers at Harry, apparently worse than before. Greengrass was now disturbing obsessed with Harry.

In other words, the world had shifted, but not by much.

And for some strange reason, a week after the altercation, I found myself standing outside the Slytherin common room, late at night, along with Harry and Nott.

"Remind me again what we are doing out late at night," I asked Harry, a little annoyed, and shivering in the chill. "You know, after curfew. When we could be expelled if we are caught. Or at least get in a lot of trouble with our house?"

"Well," Harry began tentatively. "I need to prove someone wrong."

"Well, gee, thanks for clearing that up," I said in a tone so heavy with sarcasm it might as well as have been a black hole.

"Who?" asked Nott practically.

"Hermione," Harry replied.

"Oh jeaze, could you two forget your bloody rivalry for one bloody day?" I asked, deeply annoyed.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," said Harry, who was starting to sound a bit miffed.

"Whoa, hold your hippogriffs," I said, waving my arms in a soothing gesture. "I never said I wouldn't come."

"Why do you need to whine about it, then?" asked Nott in an irritated tone.

"Someone has to be the voice of reason on this trip," I said. "It definitely isn't Harry, and I don't see you protesting, so I have to step up to the plate."

"I see," replied Nott in a disbelieving tone, before turning to Harry. "so, what is she wrong about now?"

"She thinks the troll just wandered in on its own during the Halloween Feast."

"Didn't it?"

Harry nearly pulled his hair out. "No, of course not! Honestly, what's it like to see the world in little papery two-dimensional crayon drawings? Why am I friends with you two again?"

"Because no one else will be friends with you, Harry." It was a joke, but only halfway. Harry had confided in us regarding his anxiety over his friend-making skills, and Theo had taken it upon himself to mock these anxieties until they didn't make Harry anxious anymore. So far, it had worked decently. Harry seemed a lot less nervous, these days.

"True, but not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is that someone let the troll in as a distraction."

"A distraction for what?"

"I don't know yet."

"… right. And how do you know all this?"

Harry shrugged. "I just do."

"… ok. And why am I here?"

"Well, these things are always safer with two or three people instead of just one. Plus, I need someone to verify my findings in case Hermione doesn't believe me."

"And why would she believe me or Weasley?"

"She may not, but I believe that if she interrogates us separately, she'll be able to deduce the truth of our story; she's very intelligent like that."

"And why would I let that mudblood 'interrogate' me?"

"(A), don't call her a mudblood, and (B), because you want to stay on my good side, of course."

"… yes, I do."

Harry smiled.

"So… where exactly are we going?"

"Well, I don't know exactly where we're going, but we're going to check out the third-floor corridor."

Theo's eyes bugged out. "We're going where?"

"The third-floor corridor."

"And why, in the name of Merlin, Morgana, and all things holy, are we going there?"

"Yeah, Harry. I kind of have to agree with him there." I said.

"Well, you see, I believe that there's something hidden in the third-floor corridor, something that's not usually there, or else Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have announced it at the feast. My theory is that whoever let the troll in did so in an attempt to create a distraction while they came up here looking for whatever it is Professor Dumbledore hid here."

"And you, in all your infinite wisdom, decided to go looking for it."

"Quite."

"If I die a painful death, I'm coming back to haunt you."

"That seems fair."

"If I die a painful death," I said, "I'm going to murder you. I don't know how, but I will find a way to do it."

"I suppose that seems fair, too."

Theo sighed. "Maybe Dumbledore was exaggerating… maybe he just didn't want people looking around up here."

"I don't think so, but if you'd prefer it, we can pretend that that's true for the time being."

Theo shot him a deadpan look. "No, you've already ruined it."

"Just being honest."

"Not one of your better traits, Harry."

"So I've been told."

OO

Harry grinned as they reached the corridor. "Here we are. Now let me know if you find it."

"Find what?"

"Something suspicious, I suppose."

Theo and I groaned, but started trying doors nonetheless. "Alohomora… alohomora… alohomora…"

It turned out that a large majority of the rooms that branched out of the third-floor corridor were dusty, unused classrooms that had been cleared out, making their task quite simple… and boring. Whether time was passing quickly as a result, or lagging behind, I had no idea. The affair was monotonous either way.

We were about halfway down the corridor when they heard a shuffling sound down the stairs.

"Harry! Someone's there!" Theo hissed, rather alarmed.

"I know, it's Filch - cast the disillusionment charm and go sit in the corner for a couple of minutes."

"Harry! I can't cast the disillusionment charm!"

"I can't either!"

Harry frowned at him. "But I showed you how just the other day!"

"Well some people can't replicate fourth year spells after being shown only once."

"Yeah, not everyone is a genius like you."

"I'm not a genius."

"Nobody cares!" Nott and I chorused.

Harry sighed. "Fine - alohomora - let's hide in here," he said, pulling Theo and I into the room he'd just opened, feeling the us stiffen as he did. "… what?"

A very pale looking Theo shakily pointed behind him, causing him to spin around. I just stood there, not able to say a word.

"Oh… that looks like a three headed dog."

"Harry, I think that is a three headed dog," Theo whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah, I think you're right."

At that moment, a deep growl sounded through the room, and we all jumped at the sound as the creature opened its gigantic eyes.

"Good doggy," Harry said, smiling hopefully.

Apparently, it did not, in fact, appreciate being called a 'good doggy', however, because it immediately let out a howl, prompting us to scramble out of the room, nearly falling over as we slammed the door behind us, wasting no time before we ducked into the next room that Harry quickly unlocked.

Once we were safe, Theo and i looked over to Harry, who was grinning widely.

"Well, that was… rather cute, wasn't it?"

"You're so weird," said Nott.

"Are you bloody kidding me?" I asked.

"You're both blind. It was adorable. Did you see it's eyes? They were so big and black!"

"They were kind of hard to miss."

Harry sighed. "I suppose we'll just have to agree to disagree. At least we got what we came for."

"You think someone let a troll in so they could come up here and check out the three-headed dog?" Theo asked incredulously.

Harry laughed. "No, of course not! They were looking for whatever's beneath the trap door the dog was standing on."

"… oh."

Harry: Quidditch

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," Madame Hooch said sternly to the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch players gathered around her. "Mount your brooms please."

Harry's head was buzzing with excitement as the 15 brooms rose in the air. This was it. He could do this. He was going to win, and then his housemates were going to like him - and he wasn't going to die in the process, proving Tom wrong. Everything was going to be fine. Excellent, in fact. Everything was going to be excellent.

And with a sharp whistle, the game began.

The part Harry had to play was pretty boring, to be honest. Flint didn't want him messing anything up, so he was supposed to wait for the snitch to show up, and stay put until it did. Luckily, he felt quite content to enjoy the wind in his hair, along with the excellent commentary.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too -"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry Professor."

Harry laughed a little, as he sat on his broom, vigilant and nervous. Lee Jordan was commentating on the match that day, and was an avid Quidditch fan, a friend of the Weasley twins as well, so his opinions promised to be amusing.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve - back to Johnson and - no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes - Flint flying like an eagle up there - he's going to sc - no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle - that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger - Quaffle taken by Slytherin - that's Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger - sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which - nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes - she's really flying - dodges a speeding Bludger - the goalposts are ahead - come on, now, Angelina - Keeper Bletchley dives - misses - GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, mingled with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

The rest of the game continued similarly, with Lee Jordan's commentary changing tones with the flow of the game.

"Slytherin in possession - Flint with the Quaffle - passes Spinnet - passes Bell - hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose - only joking, Professor - Slytherin score - oh no…"

Yes, everything was going just fine until 27 minutes into the game.

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, drastic lurch, and for a split second, he thought he was going to tumble right off. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. What had just happened? Did the broom malfunction? Wait, do brooms malfunction? How does a broom malfunction?

Wait a second. How did the broom work anyway? He was suddenly horrified by himself. He'd never even thought about it. Here he was, flying around dangerously on an enchanted house-cleaning tool, not having a clue how or what kind of enchantment was keeping him in the air. Honestly, how stupid of him! No wonder Tom was so upset! He -

He was startled out of his musings when it happened again, and again, and again. It swerved and jolted and lurched mercilessly, as though it was trying to buck him off. But it was not until he tried to move over to the side of the pitch that he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't even make it move at all, voluntarily. It was zig-zagging through the air and every now and then making violent swishing movements which nearly had him falling to his death. He could feel Tom's panic in the back of his mind.

Meanwhile, no one seemed to have noticed that his broom had apparently decided that it didn't want to play Quidditch anymore. It was carrying him slowly higher and higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went. Why couldn't it dive down lower? Maybe then he could jump off…

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll sideways, and he was barely managing to hang on.

Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

He could hear shouts from his team mates, and was relieved when Chaser Terence Higgs started making his way toward him. Apparently though, he didn't end up needing any help at all, because his broom stopped misbehaving as soon as the commotion was directed somewhere else, and smoke erupted from the spectator stands.

When he finally felt control of the broom return to him, he sighed in relief.

"Alright there, Potter?" Flint shouted over at him.

He gave an uneasy grin. "Yes, I'm… quite well… considering…"

Flint let out a bark of laughter before flying off to continue the game.

The rest of the game went… comparatively smoothly, and Harry was thrilled when, 43 minutes in, he managed to catch sight of the snitch. It gave him quite a chase, but he was determined. He'd chased it around the pitch for a few laps, but finally, when he started gaining on it, it switched course, suddenly diving downward, with Harry hot on its tail. To a lesser Quidditch player, this would have been a smart move on the snitch's part - a good escape tactic; to Harry, however, this was the chance he had been waiting for. The snitch was trapped between him and the ground.

As it turned out, he didn't quite catch the snitch - he nearly swallowed it. It was… an interesting experience. Suffice it to say that the game ended in complete confusion.

As of that afternoon, Harry was the most popular boy in Slytherin (at least for a few hours), and was showered with thank yous and congratulations as he left the Quidditch pitch. However, just as he was heading back to the common room with his team, he saw Hermione and Ron waiting off at the side of the pitch for him.

Telling the Slytherin team that he'd meet them in the common room, he ran over to them.

"I don't suppose you're waiting for me to offer my condolences?" He said teasingly to Hermione.

"Never mind that," She replied quickly. "Harry, your broom was cursed!"

"Well, yes, I gathered as much -"

"It was Professor Snape, Harry, I saw h-"

"What exactly did you see?" Harry interrupted.

"Well, someone was cursing your broom," Ron said with a cross look at Hermione, "I don't agree that it was Snape, though."

"It was definitely him," Hermione insisted, "And it got me thinking about what you said about the third-floor corridor and the Cerberus, and how Snape was limping after Halloween -"

"Stop," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "My Head of House wasn't cursing me. I really do appreciate the concern, but I'm certain there's been a misunderstanding."

"Harry, it's the only explanation…"

"No," Harry corrected, "It's one of many explanations. Listen… I'm guessing it was you who set the fire during the game, and I'm grateful that you'd… set a teacher on fire to save me, but I'm sure Professor Snape wasn't trying to kill me."

"But it stopped after -"

"So it could have been anyone sitting beside him, really. It could have been anyone, Hermione. There's probably no shortage of people who want to mess with me, but I'm 93% sure that Professor Snape isn't one of them."

"Yeah, I have to agree with Harry one this one, Hermione," said Ron.

Hermione sighed. "Well, 93 is a pretty big number."

"It is. Plus, if I died, he'd have one less person to hate."

"That's true. I'm sure he wouldn't want that."

OO

"I'm quite sure it wasn't Professor Snape…"

"And if it wasn't the traitor -" as Tom had taken to calling him "- it must have been Quirrell," Tom finished.

"Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked in surprise.

Tom scowled at him. "Yes, of course. Who else would want to kill you?"

"So my headaches… you really think he's carrying a horcrux?"

"I see no other reasonable explanation."

"And he's definitely working for you, or, um, the other you?"

"It would seem so."

"Well, then, can't I just go talk to him or something?"

Tom sighed. "It never ceases to amaze me how violently you underestimate the truth as a destructive force."

Harry frowned. "What am I supposed to do, then? I can't just let him kill me."

"No, that would be rather counterproductive. We do need to speak with him… but only once we have proof that he is loyal to Lord Voldemort."

"And how do we get that?"

"Consider it an extracurricular project."

Harry grimaced. "What if he kills me first?"

"I have faith in you."

"You only ever have faith in me when it's convenient for you… I thought you trust no one."

"I lied."

"And next time I ask you if you trust me, when you'd usually say that you trust no one, what will you say then?"

"That I trust no one."

"But that's a lie!"

"No, it's the truth."

Harry was so confused that he thought he might burst into tears. "Goodnight Tom!" he exclaimed, stuffing the mirror under his pillow, and ignoring the aching in his skull as he pulled the covers over himself and committed his mind to chasing after the darkness of slumber.

Ron: Christmas

So it was soon that term ended, and Christmas arrived. Harry and I were the only Slytherins to stay for the Holiday, so we had the common room to ourselves. The Holiday was also rather important to me, as I had more time to work on my projects. Currently I had three:

The first project was to learn occlumency, as I was constantly terrified that someone would read my mind and/or modify my memories. I had learned that there were stages of competency in occlumency, as the very first thing you learn is how to clear your mind. To progress further, you had to learn theory of mind, and gain great mental self-control through constant practice. My skill in the field was not progressing as quickly as I had hoped, but it was quicker than I had feared.

The second project was to learn Expecto Patronum, as I was constantly terrified of Dementors. Expecto Patronum was not an easy charm to learn, or even cast, so I basically threw myself into learning the theory behind it. It was rather complex, but two days before Christmas, I finally managed a corporeal Protronus, only to learn that it was a magpie. I was surprised, but I guess it made sense given how poor my family was.

Curious thing about the Expecto Patronum spell, though, it could do more than just guarding, or communication. It had a number of other functional uses that were related to its core purpose. It could guard against deceit, Dark magic (save the unforgivables), and could serve as a type of ward against evil. Only the pure of heart could cast it, and under its light, the caster would know if he was being lied to.

The third project was to find a way to remove or control the Trace. Unfortunately, it was only project in which I had hardly made any progress. The Trace was an incredibly complex branch of magic, and to understand it, I would need to know magical runology and arithmancy at the fifth-year level, so I had decided to put that project on hold for the moment, and now I was studying those subjects with greater interest.

All of this took place in the Room of Requirement. When I had first found it, I had extensively tested the Room's capabilities, and learned the following things:

The Room was capable of Time Dilation. At max level, it could dilate time at a factor of 60, so for every second that passed outside the room, 60 seconds would pass inside. It was an interesting thing to know, but I never stayed in there for more than 24 hours, as I didn't want to prematurely age.

The Room could only expand to 420 meters in length width and height, and couldn't go beyond that. It could however create the impression of a vastly expansive space, using illusion magics and such, in a way that reminded me of a holo-deck from Star Trek.

The Room couldn't make food or wealth, and you couldn't remove anything from the room unless it had been put there by a student or teacher, but beyond that the Room's capabilities were pretty much unlimited. At least, I hadn't found a limit.

For the first term of the year, I had reserved an hour on Sunday for use of the Room. After breakfast, I would go to the kitchens, get three meals worth of food, make my way to the Room, and then spend 24 hours in there working on my projects. I would eat in the room, sleep in the room, and study in the room. I went in at nine and emerged at ten. Then I would go find Harry, and spend the rest of the day with him.

OO

It was a blustery cold day. I was in the common room, curled up under a blanket on a couch near one of the fire places, reading a muggle novel: Dune, by Frank Herbert. It was one of my favorite novels and I always reread it at Christmas.

Suddenly, the entrance to the Common Room opened and Harry passed through it. He was wrapped up in his winter clothes, and I noticed the remnants of snowballs all over his form.

"Did you win?" I asked.

"Yeah, George and Jordan didn't know what hit them," said Harry with a smile, before frowning. "Why didn't you come?"

"Fred cheats," I said simply. "also, snow doesn't agree with me. I prefer reading. Speaking of which, have you ever read Dune?"

"Dune? What's that?" he asked, walking over and sitting at the end of the couch.

"It's a Muggle Sci Fi novel, I love it," I said, closing the book and handing it over to him. "I can lend it to you when I'm done with my annual reading, if you want."

"Why would I want to read a Muggle book?" asked Harry, who was trying to hide his disgust.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, Harry," I said reproachfully. "Just give it a try, It's a wonderful book."

"Right," he said, setting the book aside. "Anyway, I was wondering if you would like to go with me to see Hagrid?"

"The groundskeeper?" I asked. "Why?"

"I want to ask him about the Cerberus on the third-floor corridor," he replied.

I almost choked. "What!? Why would you want to do that? You could get in trouble if he reports you."

"I'll just say I heard it as a rumor," Harry replied.

"Huh, I guess that would work," I replied thoughtfully. "But why do you want me to come along?"

"I think he would be more inclined to slip up if the two of us tag team him," He replied with a devious little smile.

"How Slytherin of you," I said, getting up. "Alright, give me a moment to get dressed, don't want to freeze to death."

OO

The path to Hagrid's hut (for that's what it was, apparently - a hut) was an uneasy crawl down the snow-covered slopes Hogwarts sat upon. It wasn't too steep, but it was slippery and vaguely treacherous nonetheless… probably because of all the ice. As I wasn't willing to slip and trip my way down, I pulled out my wand and cast incendio, which resulted in a great gout of flame spewing from the tip of my wand, like a flame thrower. The flame melted the ice, so we had an easier time getting there.

"Merlin, I love magic," I said happily.

"You're rather inventive with it," Harry commented as he followed me. "I don't think I would've thought to do that."

"I'll have to teach you that someday," I replied.

A few minutes later, we had arrived at the Hut. With three sharp raps, I knocked on the large door of the hut, and not a few moments later, an enormous man answered, who I recognized as the man that showed them to the boats on September 1st.

"Eh, hello," said Hagrid, looking at us with a kind expression on his face. "Don't 'spect I've met you before. Name's Rubeus Hagrid, call me Hagrid, ev'ryone does."

"Ronald Weasley," I said, holding up my hand. He grasped it in one of his mighty paws and gave it a good shake.

"Harry Potter, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you." said Harry, as he mimicked me, holding up his hand.

Hagrid's eyes went wide.

"Well bless my soul - Harry Potter? I haven' seen yeh since yeh were jus' a little 'un!" he exclaimed, shaking Harry's hand avidly before ushering us into his hut.

Hagrid's hut was… well, it was rustic and rather dull. I could tell immediately that I wouldn't want to live in this place. It was all one room, so I could see a small kitchen to my right, and a quilted bed on my left. The place Hagrid showed us to was a rickety wooden kitchen table, seated dead center in the irksomely cluttered hut.

"You knew me when I was a baby?" Harry inquired curiously as we sat down.

"Well of course I did! I was the one who brought yeh t' Dumbledore the night that… well… yeh know…"

Harry nodded slowly. "I see, well, it's lovely to see you again, then."

Hagrid beamed at him. "Likewise, Harry, likewise!" He went over to the kitchen and brought back a plate. "Cookies?"

Remembering what the cookies had been like in the books, I politely refused, and Harry did the same.

"Well, suit yourself. Now, what brings yeh all the way out here?"

"Harry wanted to meet you," I stated plainly, causing Hagrid's smile to widen even further.

"I was curious as to what exactly you do here, Mr. Hagrid," Harry said.

"Oh, jus' Hagrid, Harry, jus' Hagrid! Anyway, I'm the one who watches o'er the grounds here at Hogwarts, and I take care of all the magical creatures aroun' here too."

Harry tilted his head a bit. "I figured as much, but I was wondering, with the creatures, what's it that you actually do?"

Hagrid looked very pleased by the question. "Well," he began, "It really depends on the sort of creature, yeh see? Some of 'em just go off 'n do their own thing, but some of 'em need some tender lovin' care, if yeh know what I mean. They need feedin', and watchin', and company and all that."

Harry was smiling as he listened. "So what kind of creatures do you take care of, Hagrid?"

"Oh, well there's the creatures that P'fessor Kettleburn works with, yeh know, for the Care of Magical Creatures class. I've got a colony of flobberworms out back that I keep around, and I keep some fire crabs down by the lake. It's always a challenge keepin' them away from the salamanders living nearby… they don' particularly get along, yeh see," Hagrid said, sounding a little distraught about the last part.

Harry nodded solemnly, and I did my best to look interested.

"What about bigger creatures?" Harry asked.

"Oh, well, I'm the one that keeps all the thestrals healthy and clean, and I keep a couple of hippogriffs aroun' here too. Third year magical creatures, they are. Oh, and unicorns too."

"That's a lot of creatures running around," I said. "How do you manage them all?"

"Well, it's not easy, I can tell yer that," he said proudly. "But I've been taking care of them for years."

"What about creatures that aren't used for the Care of Magical Creatures class?" asked Harry.

"Well… there are some who make a home here at Hogwarts, yeh see? And I try to keep 'em comfortable, and safe away from all the students. For instance, I make sure the grindylows are well fed down in the Great Lake, and I keep the bugbears away from the students, deep in the Forbidden Forest."

"Bugbears?" I asked, a bit alarmed.

"Oh, yeah, funny little things they are, once yeh get to know 'em. But not so good around strangers - they can be a bit temperamental… they rather enjoy scaring people, yeh see."

"Do you take care of any fairies, Hagrid?" Harry asked.

"Ah, that, Harry, is quite a challenge. Yeh see, I got me pixies 'n me brownies, and they need lots of attention, those ones - the challenge is keepin' 'em away from the students, so they don't go off causing trouble. Especially gotta watch out for those joint eaters."

"Joint eaters?" I asked. "What are joint eaters?"

"Oh, yeah, yeh want to stay away from those, Ron."

"Right," I sighed. I was starting to regret coming with Harry.

"I sometimes get nomad types to," Hagrid said thoughtfully, "A herd of wild hippogriffs, a kelpie, or a shellycoat here or there. I make sure they enjoy their stay here at Hogwarts."

"So, any magical creatures on the school grounds - you'd know about them?" Harry inquired.

"Oh of course! I take care of all of 'em!"

Harry nodded, a curious look on his face. "Because, you see, I heard this rumor the other day, about a giant three-headed dog chained up in the third-floor corridor."

Hagrid grew alarmed at that. "Fluffy? How did yeh know about Fluffy?"

"Wait, the three-headed dog is called Fluffy!?" I asked, before groaning. "Don't answer that, of course it's called Fluffy. Where the hell did you get a three-headed dog, anyway?"

"Yeah, he's mine - bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the -"

"The?" Harry prompted.

"Now see here, yeh ought not go asking questions about that, yeh hear? That's between Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel -" Hagrid stopped short at that, looking furious with himself. "I shouldn' 'ave said that."

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about it Hagrid. I was just curious, is all. Ronald and I will forget all about it, won't we Ronald?"

I glared at him, before nodding.

"Now," Hagrid said after a moment of staring at us disbelievingly, "Can I get yeh some tea?"

OO

"So, what would you normally be doing around this time?" Harry asked curiously.

Harry and I were sitting in the Great Hall, enjoying treats on Christmas Eve night. It was about a half hour before curfew, and we were alone, seeming very small in that cavernous room. Every time we shifted in our seats, or took a bite and chewed, echoes reverberated off the vast stone walls around them, reminding us that we were present and awake, and quite alone.

"If I was at home, you mean?" I asked. Harry nodded.

"Well," I began contemplatively, "Usually we have a nice dinner, you know, with ham and mashed potatoes and carrots and typical family dinner foods and whatnot… everyone's home then, so it's usually quite loud - everyone wants to know everything about what everyone else's been doing. And after that is desert - only meal of the year where there's more sweets than actual dinner. Mum loves Christmas, and she and Ginny start baking weeks ahead of time. There's usually cookies everywhere by the end of it… lots of gingerbread and shortbread. Honestly, it's a bit ridiculous - by the end of it, none of us want to taste another teaspoon of sugar again! That is, until New Year's…

"Anyway, after eating, we usually just hang about by the tree, take turns telling stories in front of the fire, and everyone gets to open one present, and we all take turns guessing what it is, and whoever gets the most wrong has to run outside with no shoes on, and then…"

I suddenly noticed that Harry was crying.

"Harry?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"It's just, that sounds brilliant, all of it. I hope that… had things been different…" He took a deep breath. "I think I'd have liked to have a Christmas just like that."

I smiled.

"Tomorrow, you will," I said. "I'll make sure that it will be the best Christmas you've ever had."

OO

It was seven O'clock when I rose, only to find that Harry was still asleep. I got dressed in my school robes, and wandered into the Slytherin Common room. As the lake was frozen over, the only light in the room came from a few floating candles like in the Great Hall, and the fireplaces. It was then that I spotted the presents under the only tree in the room.

I had gone to great lengths to inform everyone in my family and social circle that if they didn't send presents to Harry, I would be very disappointed in them. And by disappointed, I of course meant I would hex them into next week. I knew a few nasty ones now.

Fortunately, everyone had complied, and there was a sizable pile there. I spent the time waiting for Harry to wake up by sorting all the presents into separate piles, then spent the rest of the time reading Dune Messiah. I was so engrossed that I almost didn't notice Harry entering the room.

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" I said, getting up from the couch.

"Happy Christmas, Ronald," he replied, looking at the piles of presents.

"That pile is yours," I said, pointing at it.

"I got presents?" He asked, gabsmacked.

"What were you expecting, turnips?" I asked, picking up one of my own. "Well, go on, pick one!"

Harry picked up what seemed to be a rather lumpy package from the top of his pile.

"I think that one's from Mum," I said, while ripping open mine to reveal a green sweater with a silver R emblazoned on the front. "She makes sweaters for us for Christmas."

"That's… really nice of her," commented Harry as he examined his green sweater with a silver H on it.

We both got a box of chocolate frogs from Hermione, and some joke items from Fred and George. Nott had sent a Harry a book on spells that apparently would help with Harry's research. I gazed at it with jealousy, but I couldn't complain, as he had sent me a magic journal that had endless pages, and a self-inking quill. No doubt he had noticed that I tended to run out of parchment all the time, and didn't want me to ask him for more anymore.

Eventually, there was only one parcel left for Harry. When he opened it, something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the ground, where it lay in gleaming folds. I gasped.

"I've heard of those," I said in a whisper. "If that's what I think it is - they're really rare, and really valuable."

"What is it?" Harry asked as he picked it up from the floor.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," I said in a hushed voice. "I know it is. Try it on!"

Harry threw the Cloak around his shoulders, and everything below his head disappeared.

"I knew it! Look down!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone, he dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the Cloak over this and his reflection vanished completely. It was then that I noticed a note that had fallen out of the parcel. I bent down and picked it up.

"It fell out of your parcel," I said.

Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. While he read the note, I picked up the Cloak to admire it.

"I'd give anything for one of these," I said enviously. "Anything."

I turned my attention back to Harry, who was still looking at the note.

"Who sent it?" I asked.

"It doesn't say," Harry replied without looking at me. "Just that it belonged to my father."

"Huh, that's odd," I commented. "you'd think they'd want you to know who sent it."

"Yeah," said Harry slowly.

"Anyway, we should go up for breakfast," I said, putting the cloak down. "Bring your sweater, and you can have a proper Weasley Christmas!"

Harry perked up, and put his sweater on under his over robes. Together, we walked out of the Common Room, towards the first proper Christmas Harry had ever had.

Ron: The Room of Requirement

It was the day after Christmas. I was in the Room of Requirement, practicing the Expecto Patronum spell. Even though I could now create a corporeal Patronus, I still had to constantly practice to make sure that I could cast it consistently. It was when I was maintaining the fourth Patronus that I was pinged by the Room that someone had entered it.

I wasn't overly concerned, as I had instructed the Room to make a separate instance of its self for my own personal use. By instance, I mean that it made a separate version of the room. It had two instances currently; my own, and the one available to other students. An interesting thing I had discovered was that I could actually layer my own instance over the original instance, so I could see what was happening in it, but the other student couldn't see me.

I commanded the Room to do this, and suddenly, I was standing at the entrance to the Room of Hidden Things.

The room itself was the size of one of those old, ornate cathedrals I'd never been into, and it stretched out before me like a miniature city, built from hundreds of years' worth of abandoned trinkets and treasures. Narrow paths wove between treacherously stacked piles of old furniture and massive piles of books, some stretching on and on, meandering through the labyrinth of hidden things, and others coming up short before a wall of wood, stone, parchment, and dust. Hidden in cracks and crevices were chipped bottles of treacherous-looking substances, funny old hats, dulled jewels, cloaks, cracked shells, and other random items.

Then there were the dangerous objects like rusting swords, daggers, and shields, and even more foreboding items like a thick, heavy, blood-stained axe. And then there were things that were just plain odd, like the enormous stuffed troll that could be found cowering in a rickety old wardrobe, and something in a cage that had long-since died, its skeleton having not two, not four, but five legs.

Standing at the entrance of this Room was Harry Potter, who was gazing at the room with awe. After a moment of staring, Harry walked further into the room, exploring, with me as his unknown, silent companion. Harry spent the next hour wandering the room, all the while unaware that I was there with him. Eventually he seemed to get bored, and walked back to the entrance. A moment after he walked out, the room shifted around me, turning into a charming little room with a fireplace, sofa, little coffee table, and what seemed like a giant, white coffee mug that was empty.

Soon enough, Harry reentered the room, and dashed over to the big white coffee mug, only to be disappointed at its emptiness.

Over the next hour, Harry tested the room's capabilities. Unfortunately, he seemed to lack the imagination to test it more thoroughly, as he would always step out to change the room, unaware that he could change it from the inside. Oh well. I was a bit curious on how he had discovered the room, but I supposed that question would have to wait. Eventually, Harry summoned the fireplace room again, but I noticed that this time, there seemed to be a rather large mirror where there wasn't one before. I wondered what prompted the change? I decided that I would ask Harry himself.

I waited until Harry re-entered the room, and just as he had come to a halt in front of the Mirror, I asked the Room to collapse the instance.

"I didn't have you pegged as vain, Harry," I said wryly.

My sudden appearance startled Harry so much that he had instinctively drawn his wand and pointed it at me.

"Whoa, slow down Harry!" I said, raising my hands in a pacifying manner. "It's just me."

"Wha - " Harry said, and I noticed that he seemed to be fearful. "I - how long have you been there?"

"Since you entered the room," I replied.

"How come I didn't see you?" he asked suspiciously.

"The Room kept me hidden," I said. "And by the way, you have a severe lack of imagination. You could have changed the Room from the inside, you know."

Harry stared at me. He still hadn't put his wand down. I also noticed that his scar seemed to be redder than normal.

"How do you know about the Room?" He asked.

"The House Elves told me about it," I replied. "Remember back during the first week of term? I skipped lunch so I could go to the kitchens and get to know them. I asked them if they knew of a place I could study privately, and they told me about the Room."

"Oh," said Harry. "I didn't know the house elves knew about this place."

"Speaking of which, how did you learn of it?" I asked. His wand was still pointing at me. "And mate, you think you could put your wand down? You're starting to make me nervous."

Harry seemed to think for a moment, before lowering his wand.

"Sorry," He replied sheepishly. "You just… really scared me."

"Yeah, If I had known you were going to react like that, I wouldn't have appeared in the first place. Anyway, you haven't answered my question."

"That would be telling," He said with a smile.

"Aw, come on," I protested. "You can trust me Harry, I'm your best mate!"

"I think not," he replied. "at least because you scared me like that."

"Ugg, fine," I pouted. "So, can I show you some cool things about the room?"

"Like what?" Harry asked, curiously.

I gave him a small, knowing smile. "It's better if I show you."

I requested the Room that it layer my instance of it over Harry's room, but this time including Harry. Then the room created a door to our right.

"Shall we," I said, indicating the door. Harry seemed to be a bit surprised at its sudden appearance. I opened the door and we both walked through. Inside, there appeared to be a narrow hallway that was pure white. On each side of the hallway there were doors. Each door had a unique appearance, no two doors looking alike.

"When you create a room in the Room of Requirement," I said as we started walking down the hallway. "the room you create gains a form of permanence, and remains strictly in your control. If you so desire, you can alter the room so that only you and people you choose can summon it. Once a room has been created, the Room of Requirement will always remember that room and will summon that exact room if you stand in front of its door, and ask for that room by its name."

"Ok, but what does that have to do with anything," Harry asked, looking at the doors.

"Object permanence, Harry," I replied. "If the RoR remembers a room by name after it has been made, you as the creator can add or remove anything you want to that room, and it will stay that way."

"Oh," said Harry. "So if I brought Hot Cocoa into the room of Hot Cocoa and left it there when I leave, it will still be there when I come back?"

"You named your room the Room of Hot Cocoa?" I asked incredulously. "Oh, that's what that big mug was for."

"I wanted some hot cocoa," Harry said defensively.

"Right," I said. "But what I really meant was things the RoR can add to your room, like that mirror for example. If you go back to the Room of Hot Cocoa, it will still be there, even though it's an object that is not related to hot cocoa at all."

"I see," Harry replied, but bumped into me when I suddenly stopped.

"We are here," I said. "So, can you guess what this room is called, Harry?"

"Um, the Hall of Doors?" he asked.

"No, it's actually Sê wîcstôw orgilde hlid," I replied, "which is 'The hall of door' in old English. I looked it up."

"Oh," Harry replied. "Where do these doors go?"

"Open this one," I said, indicating the door in front of us, which was made of a dark wood with silver trimming.

Harry opened it to reveal the Slytherin common room.

"A room that looks like the common room?" he asked.

"No," I said. "This is the common room."

"Really?" he asked, amazed.

"Yes," I said. "The Hall of Door leads to all of the doors in Hogwarts. It was created by Rowena Ravenclaw herself, who is, incidentally, the creator of the RoR."

"How do you know that?" He asked.

"I can show you, follow me." I said. We walked back to the entrance of the Hall of Door. We stepped out into the Room of Hot Cocoa. After closing the door to the Room of Door, I opened it again, this time to reveal a different room. Like the Room of Door, this room was all white, and was cubical in shape. In the room was a single table, upon which was a book titled: Creating a Room of Needs by Rowena Ravenclaw.

Harry walked inside, and tried to pick up the book, only to find that he couldn't.

"You can open it, but you can't remove the book from the table," I said. "I should know, I tried."

"Do you know why?" Harry asked.

"No," I replied. "I think it's because she didn't want the book removed from the RoR. It's the original, but the RoR can make copies for you. Just don't try to remove them from the RoR, they disappear if you do."

"Is there anything about the RoR you don't know?" Harry asked. I half smiled.

"Loads," I replied. "but I'm still learning."

Harry: Second Term

Tom was… displeased, and if Harry was being honest with himself, he didn't blame him. If Ronald hadn't interrupted them at that exact moment, their secret would have been out in the open, and they wouldn't even know it. Ronald's control over the Room of Requirement terrified him, and he was almost tempted to never go back in there ever again. Almost. As it was, the room was just too useful to abandon, so he would just have to take extra precautions in the future to make sure his secret wasn't found out.

In the meantime, his Cloak of Invisibility had also allowed Tom and him to further their goal of solving the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone. Or, more specifically, it played a key role in assisting their eliminating of the conundrum that was discerning Professor Quirrell's loyalties. They knew that Quirrell was after the Sorcerer's Stone, and it was likely that he had one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, but they didn't know for sure if the man was actually loyal to the Dark Lord, hence the need to find out.

Tom said there was something called a 'warding spell' that he could perform on the room where Fluffy was chained up. Simply put, the spell would alert him if Professor Quirrell in particular entered the room and opened the trap door. It was not a simple spell, and Tom was quite insistent that he needed to perform it with his own wand. Even then, it would take a couple of hours to properly cast, and would drain Tom of so much energy it would take months for him to recover - indeed, while the ward remained undisturbed, he would need to be constantly feeding it his own magic, because apparently Harry's wasn't quite up to the task.

"Your magic is just about as subtle as a tidal wave. Wards are intricate magical structures, and unfortunately, everything your magic touches tends toward entropy."

Harry'd been nigh heartbroken to hear this, because he really, really wanted to learn this warding thing.

"B-but… no… that can't be - I… I don't know how to deal with this, Tom!"

It had taken several rather pathetic attempts to console him before Tom finally convinced him that a few years of practicing magic with a wand would force his magic to confine itself more readily, allowing him to perform more delicate spells like warding. Suffice it to say, Harry was very relieved, because he didn't know if he could handle hitting a wall so early on in his magical education.

Soon after they'd managed to ward Fluffy's room, students began returning from their holidays, the castle filling itself to the brim once again. Harry was a bit put off by the return of what he could not help but absently think of as 'human clutter' (somewhat less interesting than the clutter in the Room of Requirement), but he was looking forward to seeing his new friends (Other than Ronald) once again.

Naturally, when Hermione and Theo returned, he was eager to show off his new presents. He wasn't quite sure what the protocol for showing off presents was; indeed, he didn't want to seem too smug, or, Merlin forbid, rude. He'd agonized over the matter for about a night before Tom told him to stop sulking and just show them his presents. Apparently, it wasn't a big deal. Harry reluctantly agreed.

To that end, he'd left them both a note separately - Theo's on his pillow and Hermione's in her notebook - telling them to meet him in the seventh-floor corridor at 8 pm on Thursday night. He'd told them separately, of course, because he feared that one of them might not come if they knew the other was also coming. Ronald was already there, but waiting for them in the Room.

Hermione scowled upon seeing Theo. "You!"

He scowled right back at her. "Me."

Hermione pointed at him accusingly. "This was a trick, wasn't it! You sent the note! Wait -"

"Actually, that was me," he spoke from his place in the corner, and relished in their surprise when he unveiled himself.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, "Where on earth did you come from?"

Harry grinned gleefully, holding up the cloak and flourishing it dramatically with a spin.

Meanwhile, Theo's eyes had gone wide. "Is that… an invisibility cloak?"

"An invisibility cloak? What's an invisibility cloak?" Hermione exclaimed, of course not tolerating being out of the loop.

Theo completely ignored her, as usual, so Harry answered for him. "It's a cloak that makes you invisible!"

Hermione scowled at him, apparently completely dissatisfied with the answer.

Meanwhile, Theo was examining the cloak with a deeply fascinated look on his face. "It's very high quality. Where did you get it?"

Harry's grin faltered a bit. "Headmaster Dumbledore gave it to me."

Both of his friends' eyes went wide.

"Dumbledore?" Theo exclaimed. "Why would he give you a Christmas gift, let alone one so expensive?"

Harry shrugged. "Apparently it belonged to my dad. He was just giving it back."

Theo quirked an eyebrow.

Now it was Hermione who was running her hands all over the cloak, exploring the texture. "How does it work?"

"I don't know. Do you know, Theo?"

He made a face that clearly said, "do I look like I know?". Instead of answering, he asked, "Why did you make me come all the way up here to show me? You could have just shown me in our room."

Hermione scowled, realizing she was being ignored once more.

Harry's lips quirked upward again. "Because, I have something else to show you."

And with that, he marched up to the wall in front of them, and thought:

I need the Room of Hidden Things.

Hermione's question was silenced when she saw an enormous doorway slowly morph into existence on the wall Harry had been pacing in front of, rising out of the stone like it was being carved out right in front of their eyes.

Harry looked over his shoulder with an impish grin. "Follow me."

With a flourish, he led them into the enormous room, relishing in the awe on their faces. Ronald was standing there, just in the entrance.

Hermione looked like she was going to faint. "What is this place? And what are you doing here, Ron?"

"Just waiting for you two," he replied. "Harry wanted to be the one to show this to you."

"It's called the Room of Requirement, or the Come and Go Room." Harry explained. "All you have to do is pace in front of that wall three times thinking about what you want, and the room will give it to you."

"And If you know the Name of a specific Room, all you have to do is stand there and request it," Ronald added. "This room is called The Room of Hidden Things."

Hermione gasped. "But that's not possible!"

Harry smiled at her. "It's magic, Hermione, everything's possible."

She was about to argue when Theo spoke up. "Wait, so, you could have summoned anything, and your brain came up with this?" he asked incredulously. "A room full of junk?"

Harry shook his head. "This is the room that's summoned when you want to hide something. This is hundreds of years' worth of objects hidden away by Hogwarts students who never thought to come back for them."

"Brilliant," Hermione breathed.

Harry's grin widened. "I know! See, it might be a room full of junk, but I think it's really fantastic junk."

"Only you would call junk fantastic," Ronald commented, rolling his eyes. "But there is some interesting stuff here."

Theo rolled his eyes. "How did you even find this place?"

Harry's grin turned mischievous in an attempt to hide the apprehensiveness he felt at the question. "That would be telling."

His friends glared at him.

"Actually, I showed him this place," Ronald said carelessly. "He just didn't want to admit he didn't find it first."

For a moment, Harry was surprised, but he recovered quickly. He gave Ron a mock glare, but inside he was relieved… and confused. Why did Ron say that?

"How did you find it, then?" Theo asked.

"The house elves in the kitchen told me," Ronald replied. "I asked them for a private place to study, and they told me about it."

"Oh," said Nott, with a look of understanding.

"What are house elves?" asked Hermione.

"They are small, servile people," Ronald replied carefully. "They need to be bonded to a witch or wizard, as they rely on us for their symbiotic magic. In exchange, they serve their bonded master. There are currently about hundred in the kitchens here at Hogwarts. I can take you to meet them if you want, sometime."

"Nevermind that," said Harry, "I figured we could use this as our own secret room."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Well, for example, I could pace outside the room and ask it for a 'secret library that only Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley and Theodore Nott can find'."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Oh, that would be spectacular!" she exclaimed, the excitement on her face unmistakable.

Harry turned to Theo. "We could also use this room to practice spells that we… don't want to use in public."

Theo smirked darkly at the implication, and Hermione looked concerned.

"Also," Harry said, looking at Hermione again, "We can use this as a place to study occlumency!"

Hermione could not contain a giddy grin, at that, and Theo looked at Harry, curious. Ron mostly looked bored.

"You're learning occlumency?" asked Theo.

Harry shook his head. "I already know how to do it, but I'm going to teach Hermione. You can come too, if you want."

Theo nodded his head slowly. "I think I might take you up on that."

"What about you, Ron?" asked Harry.

"I already know some of it," Ronald replied disinterestedly. "But I wouldn't mind coming too."

"Great," Harry smiled. "Now we can have our own secret study club! We can learn occlumency, do our homework, create our own potions, read all sorts of amazing things, practice our dueling, learn some dark arts -"

Hermione looked at him, alarmed. "Dark arts?"

Ronald also suddenly looking alarmed as he exclaimed: "What!?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I meant really nice, happy, light magic?"

Hermione scowled. "You can't fool me, Harry Potter, you mean to learn the dark arts!"

"Yeah," Theo piped up, "She may be a muggleborn but she's not stupid."

Harry was relieved when her glare turned on Theo.

"Harry," said Ronald in a stern way. "I absolutely forbid you from learning the Dark Arts."

"Listen," he began, unsure of himself. "I just want to learn magic." Which was true.

"Dark magic!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Wait, give me a moment," said Ronald, looking at Hermione, before turning back to Harry.

"Harry," said Ron in a softer tone. "Have you heard of a Curse called The Entrails Expelling Curse? Or the Bone Breaking Curse? Either of those?"

"Er… yes?" Harry replied, uncertain of where this was going.

"Like it implies in the name, the Entrails Expelling Curse forcibly expels your innards," said Ron. "Unlike what it might seem, It will not cause immediate death, as it doesn't remove your heart or lungs. A person who has suffered the Curse can survive for a few minutes. And If this was a normal case of losing your innards, you could possibly survive. But Entrails Expelling Curse is incurable. Once you've suffered it, you've lost your innards forever, and will soon die if you don't get medical attention in less than a minute.

"It's the same with the Bone Breaking Curse, but worse because you can live with a broken bone, and suffer its pain forever. Right now, in St. Mungo's, there are people who live there on a permanent basis because they suffer from the pain of incurable curses. That is what Dark Magic is. Purely evil magic made just to make people suffer. Is that really the kind of magic you want to learn?"

Hermione stared at Ron, absolutely horrified. Ron himself was staring at Harry with a grim expression on his face. Theo glared at Ron. Harry felt uncomfortable.

"I…" Harry started, unsure of what to say. He had never heard anyone give such a convincing argument against Dark magic before. Harry couldn't profess to not knowing of the true nature of Dark Magic, as Tom had been an able teacher in that regard. He mostly had just ignored the unfortunate implications when Tom had told him that the effects of Dark curses were permanent, so he wasn't sure how to respond to the argument. Fortunately, Theo came to his rescue.

"You know, for all that you are the quintessential Slytherin, I sometimes forget that you come from an ignorant Light family," Theo commented. Ronald quirked an eyebrow.

"You think I'm the quintessential Slytherin?" he asked in amusement. "Wow, quite the complement, Nott. But then again, I suppose you do need a model to base your pathetic life on."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Or is there something you're not telling me, Nott?"

"Wow, that really hurt, Weasley," Theo said in a sarcastic tone. "Anyway, Dark Magic isn't all about pain and suffering. It has helpful stuff too."

"Such as?"

"Blood Magic, for one. Blood magic can actually heal cursed wounds. And there's necromancy. They can commune with the dead, and help to hold back death. Besides, the vast majority of so called Dark Magic was just made Illegal because the Ministry was trying to please the muggle government. Not all of it is bad."

"Theo's right," said Harry. "Dark magic can't be all that bad. I just want to learn it."

"But it's still Dark Magic, Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. "Dark, Illegal magic that could have you in prison if you're caught using it."

"It's just magic!" Harry exclaimed. "I want to learn everything I can - I need to learn everything I can."

"Everything? You want to learn about magic that hurts people, permanently hurts people - even though it's against the law!?"

"Of course he does, he's an obsessive bookworm, aren't you, Harry?"

"I like to read just as much as Harry, and I've never gone looking for books on dark magic!"

"Because you're a goody-two-shoes teacher's pet!"

"I am not!"

"You are too!"

This was… quickly getting out of hand. What could he say that would satisfy them both? He couldn't just pass this off as curiosity - Hermione wouldn't allow that. She was far too inquisitive and clever to let that slide. So what could he say? Well… the truth. Or at least, part of it. They were friends with him - as long as he was in danger, they would be too. Perhaps it was time they understood.

"Lord Voldemort isn't dead."

His scar started to burn.

Meanwhile, the bickering ceased and the glare evaporating from Hermione's face, while Theo's smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of unmistakable horror. Strangely, Ronald just looked startled.

"What are you talking about…?" Theo whispered.

Ronald stared at Harry as if he had grown an extra head.

"He never died," Harry said, "He's probably waiting out there somewhere, until he's powerful enough again…"

Theo and Hermione looked very alarmed. Ronald just continued to stare at him, a calculating look appearing in his eye. Harry found he didn't like that look.

"And then he'll come back to finish what he couldn't do ten years ago."

Hermione and Nott looked very pale at that.

"Harry," Hermione began shakily, "How could you possibly know that?"

Yes Harry, how could you possibly know that? You stupid, reckless little boy. Maybe you did belong in Gryffindor.

"Because," Harry began tentatively, "My scar hurts. It burns, sometimes, like fire in my head. I've been doing some reading, and… it's a curse scar, you see… it's got dark magic in it, and it still hurts me. That means the dark magic in it is still active, and that means -"

"That the one who cast it is still alive," Theo finished for him.

Take that, Tom. He had a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Harry nodded. "I don't know how much time I have. So I need to learn, Hermione, everything I can. Light, dark, it doesn't matter. What matters is how you use it. And I just want to protect myself."

Hermione shook her head. "But Harry, what about the teachers? What about Professor Dumbledore? Surely they'll protect you!"

"Hermione," said Ron suddenly. "Professor Dumbledore is just one man. He can only be in so many places at once. What if Voldemort got him alone without Dumbledore there to protect him? Or the other teachers? In the old war, Voldemort had an army. All it would take is for Voldemort to use army to draw Dumbledore's attention elsewhere, then close in on Harry. Plus, Harry will not always be at Hogwarts, and we don't even know how long the next war will be. Harry won't be able to always rely on others to defend himself, and I doubt he will want too, as that would put his friends at risk, a situation that I'm sure Harry would detest."

"But, I thought you were against Dark Magic," she said uncertainly.

"I am, but Harry is going to learn it whether I want him to or not, I understand that now," Ron replied tiredly. "Least I can do is make sure he doesn't get himself killed or locked up in the process."

"How pragmatic of you," said Theo in a cynical tone. Ron smiled. It wasn't a pretty smile.

"Look, Hermione," said Harry. "I want to be able to protect myself, and Lord Voldemort won't try to kill me with a tickling charm. At least, I don't think so. That would actually be pretty cruel, now that I think of it… death by self-imposed suffocation, I guess it would be?"

"Harry! Don't joke like that."

He frowned. "I'm not joking. I'm completely serious."

All his friends grimaced at that.

"But what I mean to say is… I just want to stay alive. So… don't think poorly of me, because of it. Please."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think poorly of you, Harry. But I'm worried about you, and I can't let you practice the dark arts! You could hurt yourself, or someone else. It's wrong, and it's not safe."

"Hermione…"

"And if I catch you doing it, I'll have to tell a teacher."

A very sad look came over Harry's face, but beside him, Theo bristled.

"No you won't, you filthy little mu-!"

Harry's hand shot over to squeeze Theo's arm in warning, silencing the other boy.

"Alright, Hermione, I understand. Either way, we should head back now, it's getting late," he said, eager to escape that particular conversation.

Eager to avoid detention, Hermione had, thankfully, agreed.

Once Harry, Ronald, and Theo had parted ways with her, Ronald spoke up.

"So I take it you're gonna be learning the Dark Arts behind her back?" he asked in a tired tone.

Harry grimaced.

"Yeah," he said reluctantly. "Listen, you don't have to learn them with me if you don't want to, I would understand."

Ronald shot him a rather cross look. "I'm your friend Harry. Besides, someone has to make sure you don't blow yourself up."

Harry grinned sheepishly.

OO

"Expelliarmus!"

"Reducto!"

"Protego!"

"Bombarda!"

"Reducto!"

"Protego!"

Harry's reductor curse was so strong that it threw Theo backwards, allowing Harry to finish the duel with "Expelliarmus!"

He grinned as Theo groaned. "You lasted more than three minutes this time!"

Theo scowled at him. "Yay me."

"My turn," said Ronald excitedly.

It was May, and Harry, Ronald, and Theo had been dueling each other twice a week for the last four months. It was less fun now, because Theo had figured out that they were going easy on him, and had insisted they didn't; so what were once 10-minute duels full of flashing lights, running, dodging, sneaking around, and hiding, were now condensed to under 5 minutes, much to Harry's disappointment. He still dodged a bit more than he had to, but he wasn't about to tell Theo that.

Dueling Ronald was… different. While Theo stuck to traditional jinxes and curses, along with the Protego charm, Ronald was more… subtle. Instead of Curses, Ronald preferred charms. His favorite charm was the Color Change charm that he used to great effect. Once, he had turned the air black and used the distraction that it created to get in a more favorable position. Another time, he had created illusive clones of himself that seemed to cast real curses at Harry. A different time, he had altered the entire room in such a way that it gave Harry vertigo, making it easier for Ron to disarm him.

Ronald also made great use of Incendio, battering Harry's shield charm with great torrents of flame. Harry was sure that some of his hair had gotten singed off that one time. Then there was that other where Ron had used Bombarda on the floor, then levitated the dust so he had a dusty cloud to move around Harry in. So while Harry was a lot better than Theo at Dueling, Ronald just ran circles around Harry with his trickster dueling style.

Tom commented once that Ronald's dueling style reminded him of Dumbledore. Harry wasn't quite sure what to think about that.

Harry found that he enjoyed dueling more than perhaps anything else he'd ever done in his life. It was the perfect balance between school and Quidditch - it was both intellectually and physically stimulating. Theo and Ronald quite enjoyed it as well, and Harry thought their frequent dueling sessions had allowed them to bond a great deal and strengthen their friendship; Harry had never experienced anything quite like collapsing on the floor with Theo and Ron after a long series of duels, laughing at each other as they tried to catch their breath.

Hermione had joined them a few times, but she wasn't quite as keen on getting herself "blown up", as she put it. It was true; Harry and Theo spent most of their time hurling blasting hexes and reductor curses at each other (because, to be honest, they hadn't really mastered anything that didn't involve blowing things up… Tom said that it said a lot about their personalities), much to Hermione's undisguised annoyance. She was much more willing to duel with Ronald, though, as his dueling style wasn't quite as dangerous as Theo and Harry's.

After Hermione had let them teach her a couple of curses, Theo had warmed up to her a little more, and had even started addressing her directly by her surname, and more than that, rather amiably. Harry was pretty sure that it was because the other boy was amused by the fact that they were technically teaching Hermione the dark arts without her realizing it. She took to it quickly and easily, though, and Harry thought it was a shame that she was so against learning dark magic, because she seemed to have a talent for it. The fact that she could keep up at all with Harry (who literally had the Dark Lord in his head) and Theo (who came from a family of dark magic practitioners) said a lot.

Harry felt a bit bad about not making it clear that the spells she was learning from them were technically dark magic, but he didn't want to scare her off. The fact was that most useful offensive magic was technically dark arts, and Harry wanted Hermione to be able to protect herself. It was likely that being friends with him would expose her to a lot of wizards and witches who disliked muggleborns, and who might even want to hurt her… and the best way to protect her was to teach her how to protect herself. He was sure she'd understand one day, she just needed time, and if lying to her a bit would help keep her safe, he'd do so gladly.

Harry, Theo, Ronald, and Hermione also met once a week to practice occlumency. This is where Hermione's skills really showed, because she took to the mind arts very quickly - she mastered meditation within a month (it had taken Harry almost half a year to learn to meditate, so he was very impressed with Hermione's progress), and she was exceptional at organizing her thoughts. Even Tom was impressed with her (not that he said so or anything, but Harry could tell). And that was really saying something.

Thus far, Tom was very pleased with the arrangements Harry had made to supplement his education at Hogwarts, and had been very eager to have Harry learn legillimency. Tom believed legillimency to be the "highest form of torture", an evaluation which made Harry feel very uncomfortable, but he couldn't deny the usefulness of the subject. He'd started practicing on Hermione and Theo in April - he was rather shocked that they let him, to be honest. Apparently they both had a lot of faith in his benevolent nature, which made him really happy… but at the same time somewhat worried about their sanity. Sure, Harry was a very nice person, but nice people do terrible things all the time - like Tom.

Ronald was the only one who adamantly refused to let Harry practice on him, which annoyed both him and Tom, but at least Harry didn't have to worry about Ron's sanity.

All he really did was scan their surface thoughts - legillimency was really hard, so he wasn't able to do much else, and they knew that. Still, he didn't want them to only have his word to go on, so he took a proactive role in putting precautions in place to preserve his friends' privacy. In other words, he'd mentally agonized over it for weeks. Tom said he was being an idiot, but he couldn't bring himself to invade the privacy of his friends… apparently, they trusted him more than he trusted himself.

In the end, Tom had mentioned in passing that he could swear a mild blood oath; intrigued by the concept, Harry had looked up a book in the restricted section on the complex subject of magical oaths. After a week of research he swore a blood oath to Hermione and Theo that he wouldn't go seeking out any of their memories (Ronald still refused). The deal was, should he break his oath, he'd be subjected to pain a little milder than the cruciatus curse while in the process of breaking their agreement. What they didn't know, of course, was that over the past three years, he'd built up quite the pain tolerance, and Tom seemed very certain that he'd hold up better under the curse than most.

Hermione had been very uncomfortable with the whole oath thing - it was pretty dark magic, after all - but Harry had promised her that it wasn't anything unusual (a lie), that many more commonly used oaths had more serious permanent consequences (the truth), and that it wasn't really that dark at all (a lie).

Theo hadn't argued at all. He was very adamant that he didn't want Harry looking at his memories, and Harry completely empathized with him on that point.

Suffice it to say, Tom was not pleased with him. The Dark Lord had insisted on reading over the chapter he got his oath from about 10 times, memorizing each clause and loophole. Harry would later come to understand why Tom was concerned, and why it was, in fact, very foolish to take such an oath without fully understanding the magic behind it.

Anyway, after finding the magical oaths book, Harry had started looking more into the concept of a magical promises and contracts. It wasn't that he didn't trust Hermione, Ronald, and Theo, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood Tom's concerns about their little study club. It really would be for the best if he could find a way to make sure they wouldn't go talking to the wrong people about the wrong things. Tom claimed that the magical basis for his Dark Mark had the potential to do something similar to what Harry was looking for, but Harry wasn't about to start insisting that his friends get skulls tattooed on their arms. Indeed, Harry thought it was rather demeaning to brand people as proof of their loyalty… but knowing Tom, that was his intention when he created the Morsmordre spell.

Besides that, Harry found the concept of magical oaths incredibly fascinating, and was eager to learn as much as he could on the subject. Every question he had about intention and meaning in magic was answered by that obscure branch of spell crafting - because that's exactly what swearing an oath was. It was the art of following a template to craft a unique spell that would tie the magic of the secret-sharer and the secret-keeper together. It was an extraordinarily rich subject, and Harry was surprised at how broad it really was. He'd begun spending every free moment he had researching the topic. He might have been a touch obsessed. Just a bit. Not much. Just a bit.

Other than Harry, Theo, Ronald, and Hermione's thus far unnamed study club and Harry's own research, the term had passed quickly and easily and without event. Thankfully, he hadn't gotten nearly killed in any Quidditch games following the one in November, much to his and Tom's relief. He figured that now that the other professors were aware that someone was trying to hurt him, Quirrell would find it too risky to try anything else. Professor Snape had even insisted on refereeing the Quidditch game following his near-death experience, which Harry found incredibly touching. He'd thanked Professor Snape for his concern, after the game, but the potions professor had just glared at him and swept away briskly, black robes billowing behind him.

Figures.

After that, he'd been left to win Quidditch games in peace. And win he did. Indeed, Harry was now quite well liked in his house. Between the his skill at catching the snitch and the points he won in class, he had become a great asset to Slytherin House, as far as winning points went. People would actually go out of their way to greet him now, and before games everyone he crossed paths with wished him luck.

It so turned out that when all was said and done, Harry's rather agreeable nature had a way of making people forget that he was, in fact, the Boy Who Lived, and that he actually had, beneath his politeness and friendliness, a violent temper.

It was on account of this violent temper that the only person who hadn't warmed up to him at all was Draco Malfoy.

On the bright side, Malfoy wasn't trying to hex him anymore. On the not so bright side, Malfoy had gone from being insulted by him, to being terrified by him, to being angry and resentful toward him, and finally to completely and utterly ignoring him, over the course of the short time they'd known each other. By the time May rolled around, the blonde boy refused to look at him, let alone speak to him.

Harry managed to catch his eye in late April, but that was it.

Other than that special event, nothing had really happened at all until June brought with it exams. As it turned out, Hermione loved exams, but he and Theo didn't at all share her enthusiasm.

The main issue for Harry was the studying. He didn't really see the point in reviewing the material he had already learned, and would much rather focus on getting ahead in his studies. Nevertheless, Hermione insisted that he study with her, as did Theo, in fact. The were both rather worried in the weeks leading up to their exams.

Despite Hermione's constant fretting and ranting, he'd managed to stay fairly relaxed through it all. He knew he passed all his exams - in fact, he'd probably gotten top marks; he imagined that if he didn't, Tom would make his opinion about the matter known. But again, he was so used to the pain Tom frequently unleashed on him that he wasn't particularly upset at the prospect of a few hours of headaches. Tom tended to get bored quickly, after all.

It was the night after their last exam that Harry woke in the middle of the night, feeling a strange pulling sensation in his chest.

He immediately sat up in his bed, very confused. It wasn't a painful sensation, but it was unpleasant, and very annoying.

The wards…

Harry snapped to attention. This was it. It was time.

Finally, off to make yet another new friend.

Ron: Thoughts on Harry

Harry Potter was a dark wizard. That was the inescapable conclusion that I had come to after Harry had let slip his desire to learn Dark Magic. How did I come to this conclusion?

"Lord Voldemort isn't dead."

There was so many things wrong with that statement that I didn't even know where to begin.

First was the flimsy excuse Harry had given Theo, Hermione, and myself for stating that belief. His argument had been: (A) his scar hurt, a curse scar caused by Voldemort, (B) cursed scars hurt when the caster of the curse was still alive, therefore (C) Voldemort must still be alive.

The morning after Harry and I had showed Hermione and Theo the RoR, I had gone back in the room, turned time dilation up to max, and asked for books on cursed scars. After spending a few hours researching the topic, I had learned that Harry had outright Lied about argument (B). Although there were reports of pins and needles in cursed scars when the caster was near, these reports were far and few between, so I suspected that it was a result of the placebo effect.

When it came to curse scars, Harry was a unique case, as in addition to the curse scar, he was also a horcrux. It was the small fragment of Voldemort's soul that caused the pain when Voldemort was near, not the curse scar itself. Harry didn't know this, but I suspected that if he truly thought that it was his scar that was causing the pain, he would have researched it, and came to the same conclusion that I did. Which meant that Harry was lying.

Second was the statement itself, and its context. The statement had come at the end of a long argument for learning the Dark Arts, and was, itself, an argument for the same. Harry had claimed that, since Voldemort would someday return, he would need to learn as much about magic as he could, including the Dark Arts.

Most peculiar was the statement that followed Harry's initial argument:

"And then he will come back to finish what he couldn't ten years ago,"

How did Harry know this? As far as I was aware, Harry didn't know the prophecy yet. At least, I didn't think he did. So if he didn't know the prophecy, he didn't know the initial reason why Voldemort had targeted him as a baby. For all Harry should know, Voldemort was targeting his parents and was just being completionist about killing the whole family.

If Harry did know the prophecy, then the statement was easily explained, but that begged the question of how Harry had learned of it. I could think of multiple explanations for his potential knowledge of it. Perhaps Dumbledore had told him early. Or maybe he had been told directly by the Department of Mysteries. It was even possible that Harry had requested the information from the ministry himself, and they let him view the prophecy.

But that also begged the question, If Harry knew about the Prophecy, why didn't he speak of it? Why use 'Voldemort was going to kill him' if he didn't have a valid clause for that statement? The prophecy could have explained everything, and could even have possibly helped Harry convince Hermione to learn the Dark Arts, but instead he had explained everything away with the statement about his cursed scar. It was possible that Harry was embarrassed about the prophecy or fearful of how his friends would react to it, but that didn't explain why Harry had stated that Voldemort would want to kill him so casually, so easily, as part of an argument for something that was completely unrelated.

Basically, everything Harry had said made no sense. It might have passed as a valid argument for 11 or 12 year old children, but for me, who had the mind of a full grown adult, it was an argument that was full of holes.

It seemed to me that Harry had used the argument as an attempt to give legitimacy to his desire to learn the Dark Arts, and then had to come up with a reasonable justification for the argument on the spot when Hermione questioned it. It was entirely possible that Harry was just talking out of his ass so he could get what he wanted, but if that was the case, what did that say about Harry's character?

While in public, Harry did his very best to appear to be a polite, easygoing, and honest child. The Teachers loved him, he was popular in his house, and most of the occupants of Hogwarts seemed to like him. But if he had lied with a straight face to us, his closest friends, friends that he proclaimed to value more than anything else, did that mean that his entire personality was a facade?

If I was being honest, the idea scared me. If the Harry I knew was nothing more than a mask, then what was the real Harry like? Who was the real Harry? There were a few things that hinted at his true personality:

The first clue should have been the troll incident, where he had killed the troll without a second thought. He probably could have knocked it out, or pushed it away so they could make a break for it, but he didn't. Instead, he killed it. He had seemed sad about it after, but the sort of sad one gets when the book you're looking for has been already taken out of the library, not the sort of sad you'd feel for killing an animal or semi-intelligent magical creature like a troll.

The second clue was the incident with Draco Malfoy. Malfoys taunting had caused Harry to lash out in anger. True, Harry had been remorseful afterwards, and he had tolerated Malfoys taunting for two months beforehand, but if his personality was a façade, then how was I to know if his remorse was genuine?

Those two breaks in his mask, along with his desire to learn the dark arts, hinted at a dark personality that lingered behind the façade. A dark personality that Harry went to great lengths to hide.

This led me to one inescapable conclusion: Harry Potter was a Dark Wizard. And I thought it was possible that Harry didn't just desire to learn the Dark Arts, but he was already learning them, and had wanted to include us in his studies. No, more than that:

He wanted us to become his minions when he finally came out as a Dark Lord.

Ron: Harry's Explaination

It was three days since Dumbledore had emerged with Harry in his arms from the dungeons. Currently, he was in the hospital wing, being tended to by Madam Pomfrey. Rumors spread thought out the school as to what had happened between Quirrell and Harry, and eventually the full story had come out. I didn't really pay that much attention to it, fully intending to ask Harry about it when he woke up.

As it was the Third day of his stay, I had decided to visit him, and was sitting in a chair next to him in the hospital wing, reading Children of Dune. But even though I was looking at the book and turning the pages, my thoughts continued to wander elsewhere.

After the Incident in the RoR, I had continued to act as Harry's friend, despite my apprehension. I couldn't let Harry know that I was on to him. Many times, I nearly spilled to a teacher, but I didn't want to get Nott and Hermione in trouble too. I also couldn't risk trying to draw Hermione and Theo away from Harry, as I was afraid that might spark anger from Harry. Right now, the best thing I could do was preach the gospel of caution, and did my very best to keep Theo and Hermione from learning the more dangerous stuff.

Thankfully, Harry didn't appear to see through my façade, and I was extra careful to keep him from thinking I didn't want to be friends with him anymore.

Regarding the Philosopher's Stone, I had decided not to act in that regard, as I thought that Dumbledore's original protection (The wanting it, not wanting to use it thing) was adequate enough to protect it, so I hadn't gone about trying to foolishly protect the thing from Voldemort. I just hadn't expected Harry to try and do so instead.

I was distracted from my thoughts by the arrival of Dumbledore.

"Oh, hello professor," I said, looking up from my book at him. "How are you today?"

"Quite well, Mr. Weasley," he replied, sitting down on the chair on the other side of Harry's bed. "And you?"

"Worried," I replied simply. "the nurse say he will be fine, but he hasn't woken up in three days. I will admit I'm somewhat concerned."

"Harry is quite lucky to have such a close friend," Dumbledore replied with a slight smile. "I can assure you he will be fine. In fact…"

I noticed that Harry appeared to be waking up.

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

"Hello Professor Dumbledore.," said Harry, blinking. "May I ask where I am?"

The old man laughed at the candidness of the question. "You, my boy, are in the hospital wing."

Harry frowned and looked around. He noticed me and the table piled high with sweets.

"Hi Harry," I said with a slight smile.

"Hi Ron," Harry replied, "are those sweets?"

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Professor Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it."

I snorted.

"Oh, that's… a pity. How long have I been in here?" Harry asked curiously.

"Three days," I replied. "Theo and Hermione were here, but we were shooed out by Pomfrey yesterday. I just came in about an hour ago."

Harry smiled, but then frowned.

"Sir, may I ask what happened to Professor Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone?" he asked Dumbledore.

"Yes," he replied before looking at me. "Mr. Weasley, what Harry and I have to speak of is a sensitive nature. I kindly would request some privacy for he and I."

"Sure," I said, getting up, turning to Harry. "See you later Harry."

Harry nodded.

I quickly turned around and walked out of the hospital wing with a brisk pace.

OO

It was the night after the Leaving Feast. Slytherin house had won, of course, what with Harry winning all those points for his 'heroics'. I was currently in the RoR, the Room of Hot Cocoa, with Harry, Hermione, and Theo. The RoR couldn't make Hot Cocoa, but we could certainly bring our own. Right now, Harry was getting chewed out by Hermione for his actions in the dungeon.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" Hermione had shouted at him, "You could have been killed! Or worse! Expelled."

Theo and I snorted into our hot chocolate.

"Voldemort killed my parents, Hermione. I just… wanted to know why. I grew up alone. I have no memories of being told that I'm loved, or cared for. I just wanted to know why. That's fair, right?"

Neither she nor Theo really knew what to say to that, but I did.

"Wait," I said suddenly. "If you didn't know why Voldemort killed your parents, then then why did you say he wanted to kill you back in January? You couldn't have known his motives back then, could you?"

Harry blinked, completely surprised at my question.

"Merlin, Weasley, could you be any more insensitive?" asked Nott.

"It's just a question," I said defensively. "I mean, yeah, it's horrible that his parents died. I just want to know what made you think Voldemort was coming after you, Harry. For all you know, Voldemort was after your parents and was just being completionist by trying to kill you."

"I…" said Harry uncertainly.

"Oh, and by the way," I continued. "I looked up cursed scars after that little discussion we had about dark magic. It turns out that there are zero reports of cursed scars hurting after being inflicted. So that can't be the reason why your scar hurts, I think."

Both Theo and Hermione where now looking at me, and I knew that I had successfully derailed Harry's sob story.

"Really," asked Hermione curiously. "What books did you look in?"

"You can ask the RoR for them," I said impatiently. "But that's not the point. You haven't answered my question, Harry."

"I'll admit it was an assumption," Harry said in a slow, uncertain way. "But I thought it was reasonable to think that the dark lord would want to kill me. After all, I basically became the symbol of hope for wizarding world when he was defeated."

I stared at him.

"You seemed pretty certain four months ago," I replied, my eyes narrow, before shaking my head. "Nevermind. Does your scar actually hurt?"

"Remember all those migraines I got in defense back at the start of term?" He asked. "That was my scar hurting. That's how I figured out Quirrell was Voldemort. Listen…"

BLANK*

Harry then started to explain about what he had encountered down in the dungeons, the Philosopher's Stone, and Dumbledore's intended trap. As he spoke, Hermione and Theo seemed to forget about the little spat I just had with Harry, and I found myself thinking about the conclusions I had come to earlier in the year, about Harry's true nature.

I still believed that Harry was a Dark Wizard, but I found myself regretting that I had judged him so harshly. Harry was just an eleven-year-old child, still learning about the world, and figuring out his place in it. I was sure that Harry had secrets, but then again, I had secrets too.

"You mean to say," said Theo, "That you've known all this all this time, and you never said anything!?"

Harry had looked a bit sheepish at that. "I didn't really know how to broach the subject."

"Well you're doing just fine right now."

"Harry… I think I owe you an apology," Hermione had said after a long moment of silence, punctuated by the sounds of sipping hot chocolate.

He blinked. "For what?"

"I… I understand now," she said slowly, carefully, "I understand what you said about protecting ourselves. Back in January, I mean, when you were talking about practicing the… the dark arts."

I stared at her. What ever it was she was going to say, I wouldn't have expected her to say that in a million years.

"If Professor Dumbledore let all this happen - on purpose! - then we really can't trust anyone, can we? I mean, how could he let this happen!?" she cried out suddenly, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, "You were almost killed, Harry - we almost lost you!"

From the corner of my eye, I could see Theo nodding in agreement.

"And I can't bear to think… something like this could happen again, and I'd be helpless, I couldn't protect you even if I tried," she said shamefully, looking at her hands as tears started to trickle down her cheeks. "But I don't want that. I want to be able to help. I want to be a good friend, to protect you, if I can. But I can't do that, like I am now. I'm too weak."

I noticed that Harry was holding his breath now.

"I want to learn everything you can teach me. You're my friend, and I won't lose you. Not if there's something I can do about it."

"Hermione…" was all he could whisper.

Meanwhile, Theo had managed to get a hold of himself. "Are you saying that… you want to learn dark magic?"

Hermione blushed a bit. "If you'll teach me."

Then Theo did something none of them expected him to - he held out his hand for her to shake.

"Very well then. I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine."

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, and then wiped her tears away as she smiled brilliantly and grasped his hand, and before they could part, Harry reached out with his right hand and placed it on theirs.

"It can be a pledge," he said, "Between all of us, as friends. I'll keep your secrets if you'll keep mine."

"I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine," Hermione gladly agreed.

They all turned to look at me.

"Ok, then," I said, standing up and placing my hand on Harry's. I looked into Harry's brilliant green eyes, and solemnly pledged "I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine."

Harry grinned at that. "This is perfect! We can be like a secret society. You know, exchange knowledge and practice magic together an all that."

Hermione nodded avidly. "Oh, yes! We should have a name, too! What should we call ourselves?"

"It can't be something stupid," Theo said, "It can't be easy to make fun of."

"Like Death Eaters?" Harry said, grinning.

We gave uneasy smiles at that.

"Well," Harry said, "Until we come up with a name for ourselves, we can call it the 'You-Know-What', and the Room of Requirement the 'You-Know-Where'. Kind of funny, isn't it?"

"I'll say," I said with a smirk. "let's go to the You-Know-Where for a meeting of You-Know-What at You-Know-When by a method called You-Know-How. I was going to mention You-Know-Who, but I think that would have killed the mood."

Hermione giggled nervously. "I like it."

"Me too," said Theo.

"Alright, then it's decided! This is the first official meeting of You-Know-What!"

Ron: End of Term

After the first meeting of You-Know-What, we had only five days left until we would leave Hogwarts. Exam results would be give out on the day before, and we pretty much had the time to do with as we willed. I told Harry that I would be spending most of the rest of my time left in the You-Know-Where, finishing up some personal stuff that I wanted to get done, and he waved me off and went to spend time with Hermione and Theo.

OO

It was a bright, white room. In the center of the room was a brilliantly ornate chair that I was sitting in. In front of me was a raised dais, circular in shape that was white as well.

"Non-Cursed Trunk with extended compartment or multiple compartments," I enunciated clearly.

A trunk made of sandy wood and golden filigree appeared on the dais. It had a curved lid, and a combination lock on the front. The trunk had come from the Room of Hidden Things, and the room that I was in now was called The Room of Requested Real Items, a room that I myself had created so that I didn't have to go look through piles of junk.

On the table to my right, a scroll of parchment appeared. I picked up it up and opened it. Apparently, the trunk had belonged to a student called Tomas Underwood. He had hidden it in 1924 after he found out that there was going to be a castle wide search for Dark Items in the student dormitories, as it was full of stuff that Underwood had been selling on the schools underground black market. I was surprised to learn that there even was a black market. I would have to check on that later.

The scroll listed all of the combinations for each compartment, and I spent the next hour opening each one, examining its contents, and then telling the Room to send the contents back to the Room of Hidden Things. The trunk itself was sent to a separate storage room.

"All Non-Cursed Books, Cleaned, only the most valuable of them," I enunciated clearly.

A huge stack of books appeared, and I could immediately tell that all of them concerned the Dark Arts in some form or fashion. Nestled at the very top was Magick Moste Evil, an enormous book that I knew was probably the most valuable book of all .

"Send them all to storage," I said. They disappeared. I would sort through them later. "All Non-Cursed Wands, Cleaned, Non-broken. Place them in a row."

About a hundred wands appeared, neatly placed in a row. I walked up to the dais, closed my eyes, and hovered my hand over each wand in turn, until I felt a response, a tingling. I picked up the wand, and It felt, well not quite as good as my beach wood wand, but it was responding to me. I opened my eyes, and waved the wand. A stream of yellow sparks came out. All the other wands were gone.

"Details," I said after I sat back in the chair. The words on the scroll changed.

Apparently, the wandwood was Yew, with a core of dragon heartstring, and was 13 inches. It had belonged to Finris Black, a Ravenclaw who had attended Hogwarts in the 1890's. The wand had been his mother's, and he had diched it in here because he wanted his own wand.

It would do.

OO

I spent the next four real time days in the room sorting through the books, only emerging to get more food. The Hall of Door helped a lot with this, as I could access the kitchens with it directly, instead of having the walk there. Inside the room, I spent 20 days working on sorting the books, and sometimes I would take a break to read.

Magick Moste Evil turned out to be a Dark Arts reference book that had some really horrible stuff in it, but I was fascinated. Not in the gruesome stuff, I assure you, but in the basic principles of Dark Magic and how it differed from normal magic. It was interesting stuff. I was particularly interested in the section on sacrifice. Apparently, even small sacrifices such as a small sacrifice of blood could make magic a lot more potent, and could enable feats of magic that was not normally possible.

Eventually, it was time for me to emerge for the last day that I would be spending at Hogwarts. Apparently, in the time I was gone, Hermione had been fretting terribly that she had failed all her classes, so Harry and Theo were quite aggravated with her by now.

Exam results arrived, and it turned out that Hermione had nothing to worry about. she'd gotten top marks in nearly all her exams, as had Harry and I. We had managed to beat her in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Transfiguration, and she'd come in first for History of Magic and Herbology, but we had tied in everything else. Malfoy had beaten both of us at Potions, however.

Theo did quite well in all his classes… except History of Magic, but that was to be expected. No one liked Professor Binns much, and Hermione was the only one who paid attention in that class; even Harry and I preferred to daydream and do our own reading later.

I spent the rest of the day in on my bed, reading Magick Moste Evil behind the curtains of my four-poster.

OO

"Honestly, Granger, I don't know what's wrong with you. I'm quite happy with my Exceeds Expectations in Potions."

"That's not the point, Nott! Professor Snape likes you perfectly well - you've no excuse not to come out of it with an O!"

"Who needs an O when an EE is a perfectly reasonable alternative?"

"Reasonable!" The girl huffed. "Nothing but your very best is reasonable!"

"I agree," I cut in. "But not everyone has our work ethic, Hermione."

"Hey, I have a good work ethic!" protested Theo. "I just chose to direct it to more important things than exams and homework."

"What could possibly be more important than exams?" asked Hermione.

"Quidditch, Dueling, Dark Arts, stuff like that," said Theo offhandedly. Hermione stared at him with a sour face.

I noticed Harry sigh and close his book.

"Now, see, I think you both are being entirely unreasonable," He started. "and here's why -"

Ron: Meeting with Aunt Muriel

It was the morning after my brothers and I had returned to The Burrow. The whole Weasley family had just had breakfast and now it was just me and mum in the Kitchen. She was cleaning up, and I was reading a book.

"Oh, Ronald," she said suddenly, putting down the plate she was holding. "I almost forgot. Aunt Muriel has requested you to join her at her home on Friday."

I almost choked.

"What? Why?" I asked, putting down my book. Muriel was a nasty character. 102 years old, she thought her age entitled her to anything she wanted. She was bitter and mean, and nobody seemed to be able to please her. She loved to gossip, and spent most of her days with other old women from rich, pureblood circles.

Mum looked at me with a slightly sad expression, one that I knew well. Mum had lost a lot of people in the War, and for years after, she would sometime randomly burst into tears or sob uncontrollably. Only dad seemed to be able to console her. As the years had passed, it had happened more and more rarely, and was replaced with sadness that would crop up randomly.

With a steady breath, she said "She wants to examine you for the heir-ship."

I knew immediately what she was talking about. Muriel was the last Prewett. Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Mum's brothers, had been the scions of the Prewett family before they had died in the war, along with their parents. Muriel was technically a Black who had married into the Prewett family, and she held the Prewett seat in the Wizengamot. While none of the Heads of Noble houses had gone so far as to call themselves lords or ladies, that is what they essentially were.

As Mum was technically a Prewett, Muriel had been considering Percy for the heir-ship, as she basically didn't like any of my other brothers, but she had been 'considering' Percy for a long time, and it seemed that she was reluctant to actually name him the Hair, as he 'lacked certain essential traits that an Heir would need'. Speaking of which:

"What changed?" I asked. "Why would she consider me now, of all times?"

For a moment, Mum just frowned, looking at me.

"I think it's because of your… sorting," she said eventually. "We were really worried about you when we heard - What if you were bullied? - but Dumbledore assured us he would keep an eye on you, and you seemed to be doing fine from what he told us - top marks in all your classes! - we were really proud of you, you know."

I blushed. "Thanks."

"Any way, when I spoke to Muriel about it, she demanded we send you to be examined during the summer," Mum suddenly looked cross. "She was really rude about it too - not even a by-your-leave! - but you know how important this is, so I thought it would be a good idea."

"I… see," I said slowly. "So, Friday then?"

She nodded. "I've been working on your blue robe - it's a bit old, but should look brand new when I'm done with it. It's a good thing you requested all those old high society lessons or we'd have a lot of work before us."

"Yeah, I guess so," I said uneasily, going back to my book.

OO

It was Friday morning. I was standing in the Floo room with Mum. Mum had just given me a haircut, I had bathed, and now I was wearing my blue robe. Mum was currently doing up my hair, and was charming my face to be freckleless.

"Alright Ronald, dear," said Mum when she was done. "Her home is Number 15, Summer-hill Street."

"You're not coming with me?" I asked, a bit scared.

"She wants to see you alone," Mum replied, a bit miffed. "Her house elf will be there to greet you."

"Er… ok," I said, stepping up to grab some Floo powder from the pot. Throwing it into the fireplace, and it turned green. Stepping in, I said: "Number 15, Summer-hill Street."

A few moments later, I appeared in the fireplace at Muriel's home. Quickly stepping out, I spotted the house elf that was waiting for me. It appeared to be male, and was wearing a white towel like a toga, with Prewett house seal emblazoned on it. It was rather old.

"Mr. Weasley sir?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. I suddenly realized that I was rather covered in ash. "Er… could you do something about…?"

I waved at my body. The elf snapped his fingers and I was suddenly ashless.

"Would Mr. Weasley sir please follow me?" the elf asked, holding up a hand. I took it, and it began to lead me through Muriel's home, which was technically a house, not one of those big, expensive manors that most wealthy pure-bloods seemed to love.

The walls were painted a sandy white color, and were covered in portraits of old Prewetts that gazed at me as the elf lead me through the halls. Eventually we arrived in the Tea room, were Muriel was sitting, a large china tea pot, sugar bowl, milk jar, and tea cups sitting on the table in front of her. She was wearing what looked like a lavish pink robe and a bonnet, and was reading the morning Daily Prophet.

"Mrs. Prewett ma'am, Mr. Weasley sir has arrived," said the elf.

"Good, Drolly, you can leave," said Muriel, folding and putting down her newspaper.

"So you're the Weasley that was sorted into Slytherin," She barked, examining me. "I was surprised when I heard. there hasn't been a Weasley in Slytherin in seven generations, and for good reason. I'd feared that I would have to give the heir-ship to a gormless idiot! Well, boy, cat got your tongue? You haven't greeted me properly and I don't have all day!"

She said all of this rather quickly.

For a moment, I stared at her as if she had grown a second head. Then I straightened up and gave her a proper bow.

"I thank you for the invitation into your home, Aunt Muriel," I said in as polite a tone I could manage. "I shall treat your home with the due dignity it deserves."

"Good!" she said, then indicated the seat across from me. "You may sit."

"Tea?" she asked after I had sat.

"Please," I said.

There was a curious thing to know about tea in the Wizarding World, or at least in pureblood circles. It was called Proper Tea Technique, and it was all about how you prepared your tea. Generally speaking, the host was always the one who would pour your tea for you. The next step was how you prepared your tea for drinking. To show politeness, you always waited until your host was finished preparing his or her tea. To show restraint, you only poured a single spoonful of sugar in your tea, and a single dollop of milk. To show elegance, you held the spoon with only two fingers at the end of the spoon, and the same with the bottom part of the milk jar handle.

It was considered an insult if you knew of these things and didn't do them. It was also a way for pure-bloods to tell if someone was faking being a pureblood, or from a pureblood family, as generally only pure-bloods did this kind of thing. I thought it was stupid, but in this case, I was willing to observe pureblood protocol if it meant I would impress Muriel.

"Not as gormless as Ignatius it seems," said Muriel with a satisfied smirk as she drank her tea. "Your technique is not as bad as his, but it could use some work."

For the next several minutes, Muriel observed me with a considering look as we sipped our tea. I tried my best to not let my nervousness appear on my face. But strangely, the nervousness seemed to bleed away as I sipped, and I found myself feeling more angry than anything.

"You know," I said, lowering my tea cup. "I don't appreciate your insults at my family. Percy does his best, and he not an idiot like you seem to think he is. If this is the way to are going to treat me, I don't think I'm going to be staying here for much longer."

For some reason, Muriel smiled.

"Good," she said. "Someone who is not willing to defend his family is not worthy of being Hair to Prewett house."

I blinked, then looked down at my tea.

"You spiked my tea with something, didn't you," I accused her.

"Well, yes," she replied. "Otherwise you wouldn't have shown who you truly are to me."

"Who I truly am?" I asked.

"Ignatius is ambitious, but he is also weak," Muriel said with a sniff. "He is too eager to please, and will even overlook an insult if it means he will gain power or status. Someone like that in charge will lead the House to ruin. I would have thought he'd be a Hufflepuff, but he got into Gryffindor, so he must have some courage. You on the other hand…"

She looked at me with a smirk.

"You were brave enough to go into Slytherin against what your family would have wanted you to do," she said. "She would never say so to your face, but Molly wasn't too pleased when she heard. I expect Arthur had to restrain her from sending you a Howler at first."

"That explains why I didn't get any letters until Christmas," I muttered.

"Quite," Muriel agreed. "That is why I wanted to test you, to see how far your bravery would go. The candidness potion was just there to help things along."

"I never imagined that any would see bravery in a Slytherin," I said candidly.

"Gryffindor may be the house of the brave," said Muriel. "but in Slytherin, in the house of snakes, you have to be brave. No one is able to realize their ambitions without at least a little bit of bravery.

"But enough about that, I have some other questions for you, Ronald. You've passed the first test, but there are many more to come before I am will to say you are worthy."

"Very well," I said. "What do you want to know?"

Muriel spent the rest of the day asking me many different questions about my life in Slytherin. She mostly asked about my political status, my grades, my friends, and any kinds of extracurricular activities I had been up to. When I told her in passing I knew occlumency and Expecto Patronum, she had nearly choked on her tea and demanded that I demonstrate, giving me permission to perform magic. When there was a silvery magpie flying around the room, she looked at me with a shocked expression.

"That's very rare magic, that is," she said, a little shell shocked. "only a few people can cast that. And you know occlumency, you said? How did you learn that?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not really willing to say. Sorry, Aunt Muriel."

She gave me a rather long and considering stare.

"Keep your secrets then," she said eventually. "I won't question you on this matter, for now. But I think it's fair to say, if you have learned as rare and powerful Magic as this, then you are more worthy than Ignatius or anyone other of our… relations, to be the Heir."

"Really," I asked, surprised. "I thought it would take longer."

"Ronald," Muriel said with a surprisingly serious tone. "You are the brightest, bravest, and most brilliant young man I have ever known. Well maybe not, but currently, you are better than all your brothers combined in my book. Especially those twins. You are worthy of being the Prewett Heir."

"Oh," I said. "I… does that mean I'll have to change my name?"

"Yes," she said. "You don't have to decide now if you - "

"I'll do it," I said quickly. "Thank you, Aunt Muriel."

"Don't thank me yet, boy," she said sharply. "if you're going to be the heir, then we have a lot of work to do this summer."

But then she smiled.

"But thank you," she said. "you have lifted a great weight off this old woman's shoulders."

Ron: At the Gala

The next day, Muriel, Mum, and I had gone to the Department of Familial Affairs to have me registered as Heir of Prewett. The affair had gone quickly, and I was soon Ronald Bilius Weasley Prewett. After discussing it with Mum and Muriel, I had decided to keep Weasley in my name, but any children I would have would be named Prewett. Additionally, when I turned seventeen and graduated from Hogwarts, Muriel would retire from the position of Head of the Prewett family, as she was required to do since she was married into the family, not an actual scion.

Mum had been a bit cross with me for agreeing to be Heir without consulting with her first, but in the end, she had agreed it was best. Percy had been angry that I had somehow 'stolen' the heir-ship from him and hadn't spoken to me since. It would probably take a while for him to come around.

When we returned to the Burrow, Mum and Muriel had made arrangements for me to visit Muriel three times a week for 'Lessons'. Apparently, Muriel thought I would need to learn more about high society. Also, she would need to teach me about how to manage the family affairs; such as finances, alliances, and politics.

Additionally, Muriel had stipulated that I would need to attend the annual Summer Gala that the Malfoy's were hosting this year so that she could show off the new Heir. Mum had been a bit cross with her at that, but she agreed in the end.

OO

It was the 20th of June, a week after I had become the Heir. I had spent most of that time at Muriel's, as she needed to prepare me for the Gala, which was today. The Gala wasn't to start until 5 o'clock in the evening, so Muriel and I were in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to get me some proper dress robes.

We were currently inspecting fabrics for the robes.

"What about blue?" asked Madam Malkin. "Blue's in fashion this year, plus I really think I would bring out young Prewetts eyes."

"It'd clash horribly with his hair," Muriel said with a stink eye.

"Ok then, black," said Malkin, undeterred. "Black is very traditional, and it works for everyone."

Muriel examined it critically.

"What do you think, Ronald?" she asked.

"I think that no matter what I try on, it's going to clash with my hair," I said. "But I normally color change it to auburn, cause, you know, flaming red hair is atrocious. May I demonstrate?"

Muriel nodded her assent, and I turned to the mirror on the wall to cast the spell. Seconds later, my hair changed from flaming red to dark auburn.

"Hmm, that could work," said Muriel thoughtfully. "You're rather good with those grooming spells."

"I'd be mocked ruthlessly in Slytherin if I wasn't," I replied matter-of-factly.

"We will try this," Muriel said to Malkin. "Do a conservative cut, hold the frills. The buttons will need a Prewett seal on them, so make them bronze colored."

"Very well," Malkin replied, before indicating a stool. "Stand here, Mr. Prewett."

I did so, and Malkin quickly got to work. About half an hour later, I was now the owner of a set of very fashionable dress robes.

OO

"Grip my hand, Ronald," said Muriel. I did so, and she pulled me into a Side-Along-Apparition. After a brief and unpleasant transport, we appeared in Malfoy Manor's entrance hall, where Narcissa Malfoy and her son was waiting for us.

"Aunt Muriel!" cried Narcissa when she spotted us. She quickly walked up to her and Muriel hugged her warmly.

"Narcissa," said Muriel, "How have you been? I've - "

"Weasley!? What are you doing here!?"

Apparently, Malfoy (I'm speaking of Draco Malfoy here) had noticed me.

"It's Prewett, Mr. Malfoy," I replied in an icy tone, before turning to Narcissa.

"I thank you for the invitation into your home, Mrs. Malfoy," I said respectfully. "I shall treat your home with the due dignity it deserves."

For a moment, Narcissa was startled, but then she recovered her composure.

"You are welcome, Mr. Prewett," she said graciously. "My home is your home."

She then turned back to Muriel. "So does this mean -"

"Yes," said Muriel. "Young Ronald here is now my Heir."

"That's wonderful, Aunt Muriel!" she said happily. "You've been searching for an Heir for so long, I was afraid you never find one you really liked."

"Yes, well, young Ronald here has proven himself worthy," Muriel replied. "that's actually part of the reason why we are attending this year, I need to present him to our society."

"Oh, yes. Forgive me, I've forgot my manners," said Narcissa, before turning to Malfoy. "Draco, show Ronald to the children's room."

"But Mother, he's a -" Malfoy started to whine.

"Draco, do as I tell you," Narcissa said sternly. "and don't speak such crude language in front of the guests, understand me?"

Draco grumbled, before waving at me to follow him. For a few minutes, we just walked silently. But then, Malfoy turned around.

"Listen, I don't care what Mother says," he said in an angry tone. "You're a Weasley and a blood-traitor in my book, and that will never change."

I stared at him appraisingly for a few moments. "Muriel pass you over for Heir-ship?"

Malfoy's face gained a slight pink tinge.

"No, I didn't want it," he said stubbornly, turning around and walking away.

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," I said in a patronizing tone.

A few minutes later, we arrived in what seemed like a small dining room. I noticed that most of the Slytherins from our year were there, as well as a few second and third years. They were all sitting at the table, eating and talking.

"Hem," said Malfoy in a gritted voice. "May I present…"

He then paused, and looked at me.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley Prewett" I said in a whisper.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley Prewett," said Malfoy in a louder voice.

There was a sudden clattering at the table as everyone stopped what they were doing to look over at me in shock.

"Hello, everyone," I said with a little wave.

"Weasley?" asked Nott, who was sitting closest to me. "What are you doing here."

"Is actually Prewett, now," I said in an austere tone. "My Dear Aunt Muriel chose me to be the Prewett Heir."

Everyone gasped, then started talking all at once.

"A Weasley, the Prewett heir?"

"The world is really going to the dogs these days -"

"Why would Mrs. Prewett chose a Weasley?"

"He must be lying, no one would choose a Weasley -"

"Goodness me, that's quite a shock -"

"I'm standing right here," I nearly shouted. Everyone stopped talking.

"Right," I said, walking down the side of the table. "I know it might seem unbelievable, but it's true. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

I sat down in an empty seat across from Nott.

"I'm a Prewett, now," I said. "And I request that you give me the respect that I am due."

"Why should we do anything of the sort?" sniffed Parkinson.

I smiled.

"I'm the Heir of the Prewett Family," I empathized. "and as the Heir, I have a Seat in the Wizengamot waiting for me when I leave Hogwarts. I will get to vote on policy. And I will get to do it right out of Hogwarts, unlike so many of you."

That gave them pause, as they considered the implications. I would be a peer to many of their parents. I would be meeting with their parents, dining with their parents, and commenting on the children of those parents. And that would probably be happening before I left Hogwarts, as their parents would want to get to know the new Head of the Prewett family. That meant that, suddenly, I had a lot more power in Slytherin house.

"I see," said Parkinson gradually. "Thank you for clarifying that."

"You're evil," said Theo to me in awe.

"I try," I replied with a smirk.

Ron: Francis Weasley

While I was sitting down, Malfoy had left to retrieve the last guest, who turned out to be Susan Bones, a girl from Hufflepuff. As it turned out, the last available seat was next to me, to my right. To my left was James Davis, Tracey Davis's elder brother who was in third year. Directly across from me was Theo. To his right was Pansy Parkinson, and to his left was Blaise Zabini. On James left side was Tracey and Daphne Greengrass. Malfoy sat at the head of the table, and on either side of him Crabbe and Goyle. Millicent Bulstrode sat next to Pansy. It seemed that the only one missing from our year was Harry.

We all sat up when Malfoy went to sit down, as he was the host and we were guests.

"You may be seated," he said casually. We sat back down. "Let the feast begin."

Food appeared on our plates, and for the next hour we ate. It was mainly a hundred small meals, a few bites apiece, each meal being a different kind. When we were done with one meal, our plates would clear and a new meal would appear.

"So I'm rather curious," said Susan after a few minutes of eating. "Why are you here, Mr. Weasley?"

"Ah, my Aunt Muriel made me her Heir," I replied, turning to look at her. "My surname is 'Prewett', now, Ms. Bones. May I ask the same of you? I've never been to a posh party like this one before, So I don't really know the who's who of who's here."

"My aunty always comes to the summer gala, but nevermind that," she replied with a slightly surprised expression. "Do you mean to say that THE Muriel Prewett chose you as her heir?"

"Why is everyone so surprised when I tell them that?" I wondered in exasperation.

"Muriel Prewett has been looking for an Heir for over a decade," replied Susan. "Aunty Amelia told me it was quite the scandal when everyone realized that the last Prewett wasn't one by blood. Everyone's been trying for years to woo her, and then she goes and picks a Weasley."

"Do you have something against my family, Ms. Bones?" I asked icily. She looked appropriately abashed.

"Forgive me, Mr. W - Mr. Prewett, I forgot whom I was talking to," Susan apologized.

"All is forgiven," I said easily. "I understand that the Weasley family doesn't have the best reputation in pureblood circles, but I would kindly ask that you don't speak of me and mine as such in my presence."

"Of course," Susan replied, smiling.

"Does this mean you plan to maintain ties to the Weasley family?" asked Theo curiously.

I stared at him with an annoyed look.

"I meant politically,"

"Oh," I replied. "That remains to be seen."

The Weasley Family was traditionally a member of the Whigs, a progressive political party that championed muggle and muggleborn rights. On the other side of the spectrum were the Tories, who were a conservative political party that valued tradition and didn't like muggles and muggleborns that much. The Prewett family was traditionally considered to be neutral, and I was heavily considering keeping to that tradition.

"It depends upon how my meeting with Grandfather goes," I continued.

"You mean Septimus Weasley, yes?" asked Nott. When I nodded, he continued: "I don't envy you there, I've heard he can be quite bullish when it comes to politics."

"Yeah, I'm not looking forward to it either," I replied. "We might be family first in blood, but I'm a bit concerned he'll disown me if I don't conform to his wishes."

"Hes nothing compared to his bull, Taurus, though," said James from beside me. "I heard he killed a lot of You-Know-Who's supporters in the War. He's a beast."

"Yeah, Grandfather is scary, but Uncle Taurus is bl - is terrifying," I agreed, shuddering. "I'm his family and even I wouldn't want to be alone in a room with him."

"Could we please not discuss such unpleasant things right now?" asked Pansy. "This is supposed to be a Gala, you know. I don't want to throw up dinner."

"I was of the opinion that we were invited to talk about our families, Ms. Parkinson," I replied in a dry tone. "Is that not what pure-bloods do when they socialize?"

"Of course, Mr. Prewett" said Pansy in a saccharine sweet voice, the voice that told me I wouldn't like what she said next. "Fortunately, Prewetts are invited to the Galas, parties, and actually have some influence in magical society. But I suppose Ms. Prewett is taking a big risk, choosing you as her heir."

"Ms. Parkinson," I said in a warning tone, but she ignored me.

"After all, who wants another Francis incident on their hands?"

"Oh no you didn't," I whispered.

"She did," said Nott in an unbelieving tone.

OO

Francis Weasley was Septimus Weasley's great uncle, which made him my four times great uncle. He had been betrothed to Annabelle Malfoy, back when the Weasley Family was smaller, wealthier, and much more influential. Unfortunately during their engagement, Francis had cheated on her several times, and had even showed up to the wedding covered in kiss marks that weren't Annabelle's.

It had been a major scandal that had cost the Weasley family most of their money and influence, which the Malfoy Family's declared feud for seven generations had not helped. Francis Weasley had been disowned, but the stigma of the scandal had remained and it took generations for the family to regain even an iota of the wealth and Influence they once had.

The sandal had since become a bedtime horror story called the Francis incident that Pureblood parents told their children so that they would never make the same mistake that Francis Weasley had made.

OO

How dare she. How dare she! My magic seemed to explode in response to my fury, knocking over stuff and creating a wind that swirled around the room.

I stood up.

"Ms. Parkinson," I said in barely controlled rage, my magic making my voice boom. "If you ever, ever compare me to Francis Weasley again, I will make you regret it."

Pansy nodded at me in mute fear, surprised at the display of power my magic was making. Everyone else seemed to be a little stunned at what had just happened.

With a sigh, I pulled my magic back under my control.

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy, I seemed to have lost my appetite," I said, glaring at Pansy, throwing down my towel and turning to walk out the room. "I will be in the ball room, if anyone needs me."

"Er, I'll show you there," said Malfoy hastily getting up and following me.

While we walked towards the ball room for the next several minutes, I found myself thinking about what had just happened. The Francis scandal had hung over the Weasley Family for generations, so in an effort to mend relations with the other families of Magical Britain, most Weasley's were taught to be apologetic about the whole thing when it was mentioned in front of them. I suspected that this had further brought them down in the eyes of the other pureblood families, as they weren't even willing to defend their honor.

Perhaps that was why Pansy had thought it was safe to bring it up, as a way to push me down into the dirt where she thought I belonged. She hadn't expected rage. She hadn't expected me to retaliate. Even I had been surprised at how I had reacted. But I wasn't sorry. The other Weasley's may have been willing to apologetic, but I wasn't.

There was a new Weasley in town, and he wasn't going to back down. Not if I could help it.

Ron: Reparations

As I had left dinner 15 minutes early, I had to wait for the adults to arrive from their dinner. Eventually, they began to file in, and when I spotted Aunt Muriel walking in hand in hand with Narcissa, I walked up to them immediately.

"Aunt Muriel," I said as I walked up to them. "Something has happened."

She suddenly shot me with a glare and spat: "Out with it, boy. What did you do?"

I was surprised at her hostility.

"I did nothing!" I said. "It was Ms. Parkinson who insulted me!"

"What?" she responded, startled. "What do you mean Parkinson insulted you?"

"I… this is not something that should be spoken of in polite company," I replied hurriedly, indicating the people around us. Muriel responded by pulling out her wand and casting privacy spell.

"There. Now speak, boy," she said.

"Ms. Parkinson compared me to Francis Weasley," I replied, a bit angry. " The Francis Weasley."

"Oh," said Muriel, a bit shocked. "How did you respond?"

"I… I will admit I got a bit angry," I replied. "It caused my magic to respond. No one got hurt, it just made some wind and knocked over stuff."

"Did you say anything to her?" she asked, her tone softer now.

"I said that if she ever compared me to Francis Weasley again, I would make her regret it," I replied. "and then I walked out of the room."

"You didn't harm her in anyway?" she questioned.

"I may have frightened her, but nothing else," I confirmed.

"Good, you responded appropriately," Muriel said approvingly. "There is no place for the Weasley softness in the Prewett Family. Wait here, I will go take care of this."

"Wait, Muriel," I asked, holding her back. "If she apologizes, how do I respond?"

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch, Ronald," she said reprovingly. "But in this case, I would say; don't accept it. Demand recompense. If they won't give it, cut off all ties with them. That is all, now do as I told you and wait here."

She walked off.

For the next few minutes, I stood by the door to the Ball room and watched at the adults streamed into the room. I knew some of them, and a few of them asked me what I was doing there, but I just said I was waiting for my aunt to arrive. Eventually, Aunt Muriel came back with Pansy and what seem to be a Mr. Parkinson in tow. Pansy looked rather surly, while her father looked angry.

"Pansy, do what I told you," commanded Mr. Parkinson when they arrived.

"I humbly give you my most sincere apologies, Mr. Prewett," said Pansy to me in the most sarcastic voice she could muster.

"I must decline your apologies, Ms. Parkinson," I said in as most a non-patronizing tone I could manage. "The insult you payed me was most severe. I'm afraid I must demand recompense."

"Very well, Mr. Prewett," Pansy replied. "I hereby delegate the negotiations for recompense to my father, Patrick Parkinson."

"Very well, Ms. Parkinson," I said. "I hereby delegate the negotiations for recompense to my Aunt, Muriel Prewett."

"That's good enough," said Muriel. "You can leave now, Ronald."

"Can I go too, Father?" asked Pansy hopefully.

"No, we're going home early tonight," said Mr. Parkinson sternly. "We need to have a long talk about appropriate behavior."

"But… but Dad!" she cried.

"Enough," he said, before turning to Muriel, who seemed to be enjoying herself. "Can we move this to another date? Someone needs to go to bed early."

"I hope that is not the only punishment you are handing her," asked Muriel.

"No, but that is none of your business, Mrs. Prewett," said Mr. Parkinson curtly.

"Very well," replied Muriel. "Will tomorrow at noon work for you?"

"Yes," said Mr. Parkinson, turning away while pulling Pansy by her arm. Muriel turned towards me with an approving eye.

"You did well, Ronald," she said with a smile. "You treated her with dignity, and acted with honor. You are proving more and more that I was right to choose you."

"Thank you, Aunt Muriel," I replied honestly.

"Come, we have much to do tonight and not much time left to do it," she said, walking into the crowd of Pure-bloods with me trailing after her.

For the next hour, she introduced me as her heir to what seemed like the entirety of Pureblood society. There were even a few ministry personnel there, such as Chief of the Department of Law Enforcement Amelia Bones, Ludo Bagman from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and even the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge.

"Minister Fudge," said Muriel as we walked up to him. I noticed that he seemed to be speaking to Lucius Malfoy and a certain Thaddeus Nott.

"Ah, Muriel," he replied. "How are you this fine evening?"

"Quite well, actually," She said, before waving at me. "Have you met my Heir, Ronald Bilius Weasley Prewett?"

"Hello, Minister," I said shyly, holding up my hand.

"Heir? So you've finally found an Heir, did you?" He said to Muriel while shaking my hand.

"Yes, and he's quite a good one, if I do say so myself," replied Muriel with a grin. "Just handled his first major insult as if he'd been doing it for years."

"Really, who insulted him?" asked Mr. Nott.

"Parkinson's girl, what was her name again, boy?" she asked me.

"Pansy," I said simply.

"Pansy Parkinson," she said, turning back to Fudge. "She called him Francis, can you believe that girl?"

"Yes, yes, quite deplorable," said Fudge disinterestedly. "I'm curious though, why did you choose a Weasley?"

"He was closest related to the Prewetts through his mother," said Muriel. "He showed promise when we met a week ago. He has all of the hallmark traits of a true Prewett, and he's powerful magically."

"Really?" asked Lucius. "How magically powerful is he?"

"He can cast a corporeal Patronus!" raved Muriel.

The three of them stared at her.

"Impossible," scoffed Lucius.

"I understand that you think he's a good heir, but you don't need to pull my leg, Muriel," said Fudge.

"Ronald, I give you permission to cast the Patronus Charm," said Muriel smugly.

I pulled out my wand, and Fudge, Lucius, and Nott turned to look at me.

"Expecto Patronum," I said, spinning my wand in the right pattern. In a few moments, there was a gleaming silver Magpie flying around the adults. The three of them looked flabbergasted.

"A corporeal Patronus… at his age?" whispered Lucius.

"I apologize, Muriel," said Fudge. "I just… it seemed so farfetched."

Thaddeus Nott was staring at me.

"I accept your apology, Minister," said Muriel happily. "I assume this means your investigation is over?"

Fudge seemed to be brought back to reality quite suddenly.

"Ah… yes," he said, wiping off the sweat from his brows. "I acknowledge your choice as being for the best. The Investigation team will be called off tomorrow when I get back to the office."

Muriel gave him a sweet smile.

"I'm glad we understand each other," she replied, before turning to me. "We're done here, Ronald. Come."

We began to walk out the Ball room.

"Aunt Muriel, what was he talking about. What investigation?" I asked when we arrived in the entrance hall. I could infer a few things, but I wanted the full story.

"Never you mind," she said. "Now grip my hand."

I held her hand, and as we apparated to her home, I resolved to investigate what they had been talking about.

Ron: At Borgen and Burkes

I wasn't looking forward to the expected meeting with Grandfather Weasley, but fortunately that wasn't until two weeks from now, as he was rather busy. In the meantime, I finally had enough time to myself to put my plans into action.

I had long ago secured Mum's permission to Floo to the Grand Library of Magical Britain anytime I wanted, so long told her first and was home in time for dinner. Remember that this was 1992, a time when most parents weren't as hyper conscious about things like kidnapping or human trafficking, so they let their kids go where they wanted to.

The Grand Library of Magical Britain was on Horizon Alley, one of the four main alleys of Magical London. Horizon Ally was mostly an Office district, but there were a few posh restaurants and such. The office of the Daily Prophet was there, as was an entrance to the ministry. But the Library dominated the Alley, as it was so big.

I wasn't there to read books today, though. I had other plans.

OO

After I popped out of the Floo, I quickly made my way to the nearest loo. Stepping into the loo, I locked the door behind me, set down the trunk I had gotten from the Room of Requirement, and unshrunk it. The trunk's combination lock had 32 digit spaces. For each possible combination, there was a different compartment. That meant that this trunk had a number that comprised 32 nines worth of compartments. I rather thought that this would make it a good trunk for smuggling, which made me wonder why Thomas Underwood had ditched it. I didn't care to speculate though.

After making the right combination, I opened the trunk to reveal a change of clothes that had come from the RoR, and the Yew wand. When I had researched the Trace last year, I had found out that the Trace was linked to wands, so so long as I used a different wand, I wouldn't be detected.

I quickly changed into the new clothes, and picked up the wand. The clothes were mostly a simple black over-robe over jeans and a red tee-shirt. There was also a brown cloak to hide my face. Never the less, I had to alter my appearance.

Walking over to the Mirror, I changed my hair to black, my eyes to dark brown, covered my freckles and tied my long hair into a man-bun. There, now anyone looking at me wouldn't connect me to Ronald Prewett.

I loved calling myself that. Too bad it had cost me any friendship with Percy.

Everything in place, I closed the trunk and reshrunk it, then walked out of the loo, out of the library, and into the sunny day.

OO

Given that the Library was at the end of Horizon Ally, I had a long walk before me, but eventually I made it to the other side of Gringotts, and now I was standing at the entrance to Knock-Turn Alley. It was strange, if mum saw me now, she would have me cleaning the Burrow from top to bottom without a thought. But she wasn't here now. No one was, no one that could stop me.

Still, I was a bit fearful. Mum had told me horrible stories about stuff that happens to people in Knock-Turn Alley, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation. Focusing on stilling my rapid breaths, I made my first step into Knock-Turn Alley, and after that first step, it got easier. Much easier.

OO

It was almost as if someone had layered some sort of darkness spell over the Alley, as it seemed perpetually gloomy. The shops seemed of a rundown sort, the people who eyed me as I passed by were dressed in dark clothing and seem like a lower sort. I noticed what seemed to be a few beggars out of the corner of my eye as I passed them. For the most part, people left me alone, probably because I was already of adult height, but not quite as tall as my brothers. I did my best to keep my face hidden.

Eventually, I arrived at my destination: Borgin and Burkes.

A faint bell seemed to ring when I entered. It was dimly lit, and as I walked in, I noticed that there was no one at the counter, but there was a bell I could ring. Quickly walking across the small floor space (Everywhere else was covered in artifacts), I rang the bell, then took a quick look around. A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cars, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, and assortment of what looked like human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling.

"Like what you see, young man?" said an oily voice from behind me. startled, I quickly turned around to see Mr. Borgin standing there behind me. He was a tall man that was stooped over, had hair as oily as his voice, and a rather stout, ugly face.

"To whom am I speaking to?" I asked.

"Mr. Borgin, at your service," he replied, holding out a hand. After I stared at it for a moment, before I reached for it and shook it. Thank Merlin I had thought to bring gloves.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Borgin," I said. "I am not here to buy, but to sell. I have a number of books of a… disreputable sort that I need to get rid of, and I was informed that you would be willing to purchase them."

"Who told you that I would buy such books?" he asked suspiciously.

"A Seventh year at Hogwarts, sir," I replied. "I'm a student."

"What's your name?" he asked, still suspicious.

"I would like to remain anonymous, if you please, Mr. Borgin," I replied patiently. "Needless to say, I can't afford to have it known that I visited your shop. For now, you can call me Gary Grayjoy. Would you at least like to see the books?"

Mr. Borgin stared at me inscrutably for several minutes, before saying: "Very well, I shall at least look at them. Come with me."

"Thank you, Mr. Borgin," I said earnestly. He grumbled.

I followed him deeper into his shop, until eventually we arrived into a rather spare room.

"Well, show me what you've got," said Borgin impatiently.

In response, I pulled my trunk out from my pocket, placed it down on the ground, and unshrunk it. The correct combination revealed a compartment full of books. With a 'Locomotor Books' and twirl of my wand, the books flew out and arranged themselves in front of Borgin, who started to inspect them. As the minutes passed by, he seemed to grow more and more shocked at what he saw.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked.

"Where did you get these?" he asked in a low whisper.

"The 'Where' does not matter," I replied in a sharp tone. "What matters is that these books are for sale, and that if you buy them, there are more were they came from. I haven't brought them with me, of course, but I can return in three weeks' time with them. Are you interested?"

"It could take weeks for me to evaluate the value of these -,"

"Already taken care of," I said, pulling a scroll from my robe and passing it to him. "You will find a list of all the books in front of you, their value, and their combined value at the bottom. If you are unprepared to believe my estimates, I am prepared to accept half now and half later of our agreed upon price upon my return in three weeks' time. Do we have a deal?"

Borgin stared at me, and I could see the gears grinding in his head.

"We still have to negotiate the price, but I believe we have a deal," he said eventually, and we shook hands. We spent the next few minutes haggling over the price, but when I finally left the shop half an hour after I had entered, my trunk was many galleons heavier.

Ron: Out for Ice Cream

Despite the fact that it was supposed to be perpetually gloomy with fog in London, it was always sunny in Diagon Alley. I was currently sitting at one of the tables on the podium just next to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Stand. There were a lot of people there, enjoying the sunshine, and eating all things related to ice cream, while various wizards and witches bustled pass on their business. I sat back, enjoying my mint chocolate chip ice cream, and began to read Harry's latest letter while I waited:

Dear Ronald,

I hope you are doing well - it may have only been a week since your letter, but a lot can change in that time. I am glad that you know how to use the muggle post, as it saves us the time of finding alternate means of communicating.

Now, about your last letter: Congratulations on receiving the Prewett Heirship. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I went and looked it up - thank you for telling me about that library, by the way - and it got me interested in reading about politics, and I was surprised to discover that I have a seat on the Wizengamot, too. I can't currently use it, but it's something to consider for when I leave Hogwarts.

As for politics, I've gotten a subscription for MP magazine, and MP International. From what I've read, I think I would join the Tories, as I agree with most of their policies. Not the oppression of muggleborns, of course. I would never do that to Hermione. But I think that isolating us from the muggle world is a good idea as they are bound to find us eventually if we don't do something.

Hermione and I have been talking a lot about doing some research for You-Know-What. We think that we as a whole should set some goals for research, maybe make a list of spells to learn and potions to brew, to start with. We are already working on one, and I wanted to get your take. I've set up Post Office box in Horizon Alley, and I've sent the address to him, you should find it enclosed with this letter. Then we can exchange ideas, provide inspiration, and combine the lists on the Hogwarts Express in September.

As for your proposal, I would love to join you for ice cream in Diagon Alley at some point in the next two weeks. Just send me a place and time. I rather like the idea of going out for ice cream, actually, as I've never had ice cream before.

Anyway, as I said, I hope this letter finds you well.

Sincerely,

Harry James Potter

PS. Thank you for telling me about the Knight Bus, and the Post Office.

The most amicable letter I had ever read. It was almost as if it wasn't written by a dark wizard, who had…

I blinked. Wait, what was I thinking about? No, it didn't matter.

Anyway, I had gone to great lengths to stay on the good side of Harry Potter, and steer him on the right path. The problem was that it was hard to tell if anything I was doing was having an effect on him. At school, I had preached the gospel of caution, insisting that Harry and Theo never use the more dangerous spells in a duel, and making sure that Harry understood the true implications of any of the spells we learned. For example:

'You cast that defingering spell on anyone, they've lost their fingers forever!! Wooooo!'

And stuff like that. The problem was that Harry was so amiable that I couldn't tell if my words were having an effect on him. I could tell it was getting through to Theo, as he looked appropriately afraid. But Harry… Harry was inscrutable. That was the advantage of being so agreeable, so amicable. Sooner or later you began to forget what kind of person he was. Despite his fame, his personality had allowed him to fade into the background at Hogwarts.

Everyone liked him, everyone thought he was an upstanding member of society, so everyone assumed that he didn't need keeping an eye on. I thought that it was kind of funny that one of the darkest wizards in decades was attending the school, and no one realized it. Not even Albus Dumbledore suspected a thing. It was made even more hilarious when you considered that -

I sometimes regretted that I had showed Harry the more useful functions of the RoR, just so I had an advantage. I often wondered to this dangerous information that I held, this knowledge of Harry's true nature. Given that Harry was a Dark Wizard, It was likely that he would want to join Voldemort at some point, as Harry's views aligned with his. Given Theo's and Hermione's absolute trust in Harry, he would likely to drag them alone with him. I could see Theo going along, but I suspected that Hermione would resist. Which meant that I had a possible ally in Hermione.

As far as I could see, I had five options:

Option One. Go to Dumbledore, and tell him everything. I had one problem with this option: I didn't trust Dumbledore. The man was just simply too powerful, powerful enough that he could correct any situation that he didn't like if he wanted to. He could kidnap us and brainwash us to do as he wanted, a prospect I wasn't too keen on. No, Dumbledore was out as an option.

Option Two. Distance myself from Harry. This was out as Harry would want to know why I didn't like him anymore, and I couldn't risk him learning that I knew about him and Vol-

A sudden sharp pain rippled through my head, and I couldn't help but to squeeze shut my eyes and rub my temples. Was it brain freeze? No, it was too sharp to be that. I've been getting a lot of headaches lately, maybe I should get mum -

"Are you alright, Ronald?" I heard Harry ask. I opened my eyes to see him standing on the other side of the table, looking at me in concern. He was dressed in what seemed to be casual wizard wear.

"Oh, hello Harry," I replied, still rubbing my temples. "It's just a little headache. I'll get mum to look at me when I get home. Shall we go get your ice cream now?"

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Harry with a look of concern.

"I'm fine," I replied testily. "It's gone now."

"Alright then," he replied.

We walked over to the ice cream stand, and we spent the next 15 minutes looking over the different flavours of ice cream. Harry was surprised to see so many different flavours, and had a hard time deciding what flavour he wanted. Eventually I managed to convince him to buy five small bowls of different flavoured ice cream; coffee, mint chocolate chip, rocky road, French vanilla, and butter pecan.

We sat back down at the table, and for the next several minutes I watched as Harry tried the different flavours.

"I can't decide which one I like best," Harry said eventually. "they're all so good!"

"I know," I replied with a slight smile. "I like mint chocolate chip the most, but I don't mind a French vanilla every now and then. Butter Pecan isn't really my speed, though."

"More for me then," said Harry as he ate another spoonful. "Thank you so much, Ron. If I had known ice cream was this good, I would have had some earlier."

"My pleasure," I said. "When you're done, we can go to this tea shop on Horizon Alley that I know of, and talk a bit more about the You-Know-What."

"Sure," He replied. "I went to a tea shop with Hermione just the other day, actually."

"How is she doing?" I asked.

"Quite well, as far as I can tell," Harry replied, "we talked about what we had been reading and such."

"Oh? Such as?" I asked.

"Well, I started by reading a book on the Vietnam War," Harry replied. "It was rather upsetting, but I managed to pull through. Then I read some mathematics. It's very fascinating. In Year 10 they study these things called functions - they're actually really clever, and I like them a lot."

"You mean algebraic functions?" I asked. "Have you already studied polynomial equations and inequalities and such?"

"Yeah - wait, you know algebra?" asked Harry in surprise.

"I've read all my brother's text books, remember?" I asked. "Plus, I have studied math books from the muggle library in Ottery St Catchpole, the village next to our house. They don't teach us enough about math at Hogwarts, unfortunately."

"Yeah, that's a real shame," Harry agreed. "Anyway, how far are you in your math studies?"

"I'm currently studying differential calculus," I replied. "I've found it to be really fascinating thus far."

"Wow, you're far ahead of me, then," said Harry. "Do you think you could tutor me when we get back to Hogwarts?"

"Sure," I replied. I noticed that his bowls were empty. "Shall we get going, then?"

"Ok," he agreed.

OO

VIgretto's tea shop was a rather homely place if I say so myself. It had a flagged stone floor, many windows with dark red drapes, and dark wood tables and chairs, the chairs upholstery being dark red too. It was the sort of place you might expect British academics to hang out in.

Harry and I chose a table close to a window.

"So, I'm curious," I said. "Why did you read a book on the Vietnam War?"

"Well, history is important, don't you think?" he asked. "After all, they say you should learn from history, or you will find yourself repeating it."

"Well, yeah," I replied. "But why Vietnam? Don't tell me you just picked a book at random and read it."

Harry looked sheepish.

"Oh, jeez, Harry," I groaned. "That is not how you learn from history."

"Well, what books would you suggest I read, then?" he asked.

"I believe that there are three books you should read to get started," I said. "The Prince, The Discourses, and The Art of War. Those will give you a basic over view of the lessons you can learn from history. The first two were written by Niccolo Machiavelli. The third was written by Sun Tzu."

Harry proceeded to get out his journal to write those down. The waitress came by and we gave our orders, which happened to be earl gray for both of us.

"Have you read all of those?" Harry asked.

"Well of course," I said in a haughty tone. "I plan to go into politics."

"Oh," said Harry thoughtfully. "Ron, can I ask you something."

"You just did," I replied. "But yes, go ahead."

Harry smiled a bit.

"I was wondering what political party you are planning to join when you took your seat in the Wizengamot," he asked.

"Interesting question, Harry," I replied, sipping my tea. "But while it is a simple question, it has a rather complex answer."

I sighed for a moment, stirring my tea.

"Right now, at this very moment, the Ministry is trampling over the old traditions of the old pureblood families, because it is trying very desperately to make the Wizarding World attractive to Muggleborns, because of what happened during the war.

"During the War, forty percent of Magical Britain was killed," I continued. "which makes sense when you consider that there were only about ten thousand magicals before the war. Out of ten thousand witches and wizards, three thousand were killed. Most of them were muggleborns and half-bloods, but quite a few purebloods died too. Before the war, the Black family was the largest Magical family in Britain, second only to the Weasley's. After the war, only one man bearing the name Black was left and he is currently in Azkaban."

"This is all very interesting," said Harry, who was stirring his tea. "But was does this have to do with what political party you'd choose?

"I'm getting to that, Harry," I replied with annoyance. "Anyway, this happened over the course of a few years. Three thousand people, dead, in a few years. This reduced the gene pool, and the already inbred Purebloods and half-bloods left weren't enough to sustain a viable population. This caused the Ministry to realize that they needed the Muggleborns, as they could introduce new blood into our world.

"However, most of the muggleborns were leaving Britain almost as soon as they left Hogwarts, as their prospects here were so bad that it wasn't worth staying. There were no anti-discrimination laws that protected them, they had no say in politics, and they had few of the rights and privileges that Pure-bloods enjoyed. Most of them were going to Australia, as they had better prospects there.

"When the Ministry realized this, there was immediate action to correct this, and in the process started banning anything that they thought would give the Muggleborns pause, such as dark magic or mind magic. Basically, anything that might make the Muggleborns feel unsafe. This is what the Tories are fighting against, and the Whigs are fighting for."

"Of course, it's a bit more complicated than that," I said. "and both sides tend to go to the extreme when fighting for what they believe in. The Tories want to go back to the old days, when they could oppress the muggleborns with impunity, while the Whigs basically want the Wizarding World to become the Muggle world. I, personally, think that both sides have good ideas, but I don't agree with their extremism, which is why I consider myself to be neutral. Does that answer your question, Harry?"

"It does," Harry replied thoughtfully. "You've really thought about this, haven't you, Ron?"

"Like I said, I plan to go into politics," I replied casually. "What about you? Do you plan to join a political party?"

"I… well, yes," Harry replied. "I agree that they both have good ideas, but I still think I would join the Tories. After all, wouldn't it be better to have a whole Party at your back, instead of standing on your own?"

"Ah, now that's the question, isn't it?" I said. "If you do join a Party, they would support you, yes. But they would also expect you to support them in turn, and they would want you to toe the Party's line, so you wouldn't be able to support legislation that was contrary to the Party's aims. So the question you must ask yourself is: Am I willing to toe the line just so that I have the Party's support? In my mind, it's not worth it.

"However, as a neutral I would have more influence, as neutral parties tend to hold the deciding vote in the Wizengamot. Wizards from both sides of the aisle would want to woo me and other like me to vote in their favor, so I would have more say in which legislation is passed, and which is canned."

"I see," said Harry thoughtfully as he stirred his tea. "But if that's the case, why isn't everyone neutral in this regard?"

"Because politics is messy," I replied. "You'd think it would be about solving problems, but most of the people who are interested in Politics are only interested in power, and how they can obtain it. Oh, sure they proclaim that they are working for the best interest of their constituents, but propaganda is a thing, Harry. So for most politicians, joining a party is a quick path to power. If they join a party, all they have to do is toe the party line, and work their way up the party hierarchy to a leadership position. Plus, parties can help with campaign money, as most people will donate only to their parties. So, a lot of reasons, but not enough for me to want to join one."

"Wow, you really seem to know your politics," commented Harry. "Were do you learn all of this stuff?"

"My Aunt Muriel taught me," I said. "I can ask to include you in those lessons, if you want."

"I think that would be wonderful," Harry replied. "I can see now that my knowledge of the subject is seriously lacking."

"I will ask her tomorrow," I said with a smile. "I think politics is a vital subject to learn. A wise person once said: 'the first step to learning anything is to acknowledge your ignorance'."

"Who said that?" He asked.

"I did, just now," I replied.

He laughed.

Ron: A Meeting with Grandfather

It was the day that I would meet with Grandfather Weasley. I had taken a shower, donned my dress robes, and done all my usual grooming charms (Mum had given me permission). There was only one last thing to do.

"Hey, Mum?" I asked as I entered the kitchen. We had just finished an early lunch, so she was doing the dishes. My appointment with Grandfather was at one o'clock, and there was fifteen minutes to go before I was to Floo to his house.

"Oh, hello Ronald, dear," she said, turning to me. I suddenly noticed that there were tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong, Mum," I asked, concerned.

She gave a little wave of her wand, and the dishes sat down on the counter top, then turned and walked towards me, a teary, sad smile on her face.

"You're growing up so fast, Ronald," she said as she hugged me. "I've always known you were an old soul, but you've accomplished so much in such a short time! Full marks on your exams, you're the Prewett heir, and you're already working on a new spell! I'm so proud - so proud of you."

"Er, thanks," I hugged her back. "Wait, you know - you've been reading my papers again."

"You leave them out on your desk, dear," Mum replied, patting my head. "I can't help but be curious when I go in to clean."

"I see," I sighed. "Anyway, I wanted to ask something of you."

"Oh? What is it?" she asked, pulling away from the hug and looking up at me. That's right, I was taller than her.

"I was wondering if you could give me a bit of your Draught of Peace," I asked. "I - I have to admit that I'm a bit concerned about what PopPop will say. Or do."

"Of course, dear," she said, walking back into the kitchen. "I will have to dilute it a bit - it's gotten rather potent - but I will have it ready for you in a jiffy."

"Thank, mum," I replied, sitting down at the kitchen table to wait.

Draught of Peace was a potion that was prescribed to people who had chronic grief or similar emotional problems, like mum. After the war, mum hadn't been able to get over her grief for her brothers and parents, so dad had taken her to St. Mungo's to get treated. They had given her a quart of it, and told her to use it whenever she felt too sad, which was basically all the time. It worked like a charm, and she was finally able to get over her grief, but she was still sad every now and then.

Draught of Peace got more potent as it aged, so now she had to dilute it in a potion called Draline, which was made from powdered unicorn horn, pixie dust, and a drop of dragon blood. Draline was used to dilute most really potent potions.

"Here you go, Ronald," She said after she had mixed a bottle of the stuff.

"You're giving me the whole bottle?" I asked incredulously. "Why?"

"You're going to need it," she replied simply. "I know you have problems with people yelling at you, especially family members, so if you're going into politics, you will have to deal with people yelling at you all the time."

"Oh," I replied, suddenly very grateful towards her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome!" she beamed.

I took a small sip of the stuff. The Draught of Peace had pretty much permeated the Draline, so it tasted like minty ice water. As the sip of Draught of Peace slipped down my throat, it was as if I had swallowed an ice cube. The cold seemed to spread from my stomach to the rest of my body, from the top of my head, to the tip of my toes. It felt as if the chill lasted forever, but it faded eventually, along with all of my negative emotions.

I had taken DoP once before, when the twins had turned my teddy bear into a giant hairy spider, but it was still a novel feeling. The stress was gone, along with the fear, the anger, the bitterness. It was all gone, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I was at peace. The negative emotions would return, I knew, but they would be faded, somewhat.

"How are you feeling, Ronald?" asked Mum.

"Peaceful," I joked.

OO

Septimus Weasley was by no means a wealthy man. The Head of House Weasley, he like his father and grandfather before him was still dealing with the fallout of the Francis affair. Over the years and decades, the Weasley wealth had evaporated, consumed in the effort to restore the Weasley family's good name. Progress was being made, and the Weasley wealth and influence was growing again, but it was slow going.

Grandfather's lack of wealth was demonstrated in his home: it was an old Victorian house, with faded yellow and white paint, roof made of gray shingles, and a porch that went all the way around the house. While it did look well maintained, you could tell that it was old. It was surrounded by a neatly trimmed lawn, with tall hedges at the borders.

Grandfather had made it perfectly clear that Muriel was not invited, and would be turned away if she came with me, so I was alone when I popped out of the fireplace, only to see Grandfather there in the entrance room, waiting for me.

Curious man, Septimus. His face reminded me of Geoffrey Rush, but with faded red hair, and he had a kind and gentlemanly disposition, most of the time. But said disposition hid a cold temper, not the kind that explodes, but the kind where he would stare at you and make you feel mildly uncomfortable, all the while plotting ways to kill you in a gruesome manner.

Maybe that last bit was just in my head.

"Ah, Ronald," he said with a soft smile when I appeared. "It's wonderful to see you again. How have you been?"

Grandfather wasn't one for hugging, save in certain rare instances, so we just shook hands.

"It's wonderful to see you again as well, PopPop," I replied, "I've been quite well, I should say. Hogwarts was… interesting."

"Ah yes," he replied with a slight twinkle in his eye that reminded uncomfortably of Dumbledore. "I heard you were sorted into Slytherin house. What was that like?"

"Ugg, it's all bloody politics and one-upmanship in Slytherin," I replied with an exaggerated gesture. "There are a few people there that are descent, but most of them wouldn't give me the time of day."

"I suppose I'm lucky that I was in Gryffindor, then," Grandfather remarked with a slight chuckle. "I don't think I could have survived in that house. Politics is interesting, but I do like to get away from it sometimes."

"I know what you mean," I replied. "Still, I wouldn't trade it for any other house in the world. You should see the common room. It's under the lake and you can see it through the big window there. It's beautiful."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Grandfather said with a slightly strained smile, "Shall we go up for tea?"

"Sure," I replied casually, fallowing him as he led me out of the room. "Is Uncle Taurus here?"

"No, he is away on business," Grandfather replied. "I know that he can make you uncomfortable sometimes, so I thought it would be better if he wasn't here while you were visiting."

"Oh, thank you," I replied, a bit relieved. "I hope he didn't take offense."

"He is well aware of how the family reacts to him," replied Grandfather in a sad tone. "But he understands."

We fell into an uncomfortable silence as I followed him to what appeared to be a private drawing room. It was a rather small and cramped place, which I thought could host at most six or seven people. The walls were painted a bright cheery yellow, there was a large wide window to the north side of the door, which itself was in the east side of the room, and the walls were covered in what seemed to be pictures of a beach party, that I suspected had happened years ago, as the pictures were in black and white. In the middle was a small table that I thought may have been made of maple wood, with five chairs around it, each also made of maple, with white upholstery. There were a side tables and small cabinets on which were things you might find in a beach house, such as sea shells and white baskets full of stuff.

The only thing that didn't seem to conform to this them was an enormous painting, on which was a young man, who had red hair and sideburns, and was wearing a rather frilly frock coat. I could help but stare at the painting, at the man's blue eyes, which turned to stare at me with a pompous expression that reminded me of Percy.

"Ronald, please take a seat," said Grandfather, who I noticed had sat down himself. I made haste to do as he said.

"Tea?" he asked, indicating a tea cup on the table.

"Please," I replied, and he poured some tea for me. He frowned a bit when I prepared it the Pureblood way.

"So, Ronald," said Grandfather after we had sipped our tea for a few moments. "I suppose you are wondering why you are here?"

"Yes," I replied in a smooth tone. "I could think of a number of reasons."

"Hmm," he murmured, putting down his tea. "Have you ever been in this room before?"

I blinked at the non-sequitur.

"No," I replied slowly. "Might I enquire as to how that is relevant?"

"If you were older, you would know to fear this room," he replied, Ignoring my request. "It is shameful that I must show it to you before you are of age."

I remained silent, letting him continue.

"Look at the pictures," He said after a few minutes. "and tell me what you see."

I did as he commanded. They were moving pictures of course, and all of them seemed to be of that same beach party, aside from the painting.

"A beach party," I replied, frowning in thought. "Other than the painting, it's all about some beach party."

"The 'Beach Party', as you put it," He said, his cold temper surfacing, "occurred on September 24th, 1894."

September 24th of 1894? What did that have to do with any - oh.

"I see," I said with understanding. "Then I presume that the Painting is a portrait of Francis Weasley?"

"You are quick on the uptake," he replied, and I could see his cold temper starting to boil. "This room is meant to be a reminder of Francis Weasley, and the damage he did to this family."

"I see," I replied. It seemed that the DoP was working, I was calm when normally I would have been angry. "Well, PopPop. What is it you think I have done?"

He stared at me, his face red. It was extremely rare for him to let his temper get out of his control.

"You negotiated the Prewett Heir-ship for yourself without my knowledge or consent," Grandfather replied in a furious whisper. "You went behind my back, Ronald. You backstabbed me. Why?"

For several moments, I simply stared at him in mute surprise, before saying: "I apologize if I have committed a faux pas -"

"I don't want an apology, I want in explanation!" Grandfather interrupted, furiously, "I want to know why you had done this!"

I stared at him for several moments more, taking the time to gather my thoughts.

"The morning after I arrived home from school," I began, taking care to enunciate properly. "I was informed by my mother that Muriel Prewett wanted me to visit her at her home the following Friday. I asked why, and my mother speculated that it had something to do with the Prewett heir-ship. You may or may not know this, but Muriel Prewett is technically a Black, so she can't marry, have children, and claim they are Prewetts, because she is not a Prewett by blood."

"I did know that," said Grandfather. "Go on."

"Right," I replied. "Anyways, it turned out that she did want to examine me for the Heir-ship, and during our meeting, I impressed her enough that she offered me the Heir-ship on the spot. I took the offer. The following day, It was made official."

"You haven't answered my question, though," Grandfather replied harshly. "Why did you go behind my back on this matter?"

I sighed with a facepalm.

"PopPop, I can't explain because there's no explaining to do," I said. "I didn't know that I would to be going behind your back if I didn't consult you on this matter. I'm sorry if I have caused you any sort of problem, or if I committed a faux pas, or something. Could you please forgive me?"

He stared at me for several moments, scrutinizing my face for any falsehood.

"Very well," he said eventually. "I forgot that you are a child who does not know of these things. Come with me, I want to get out of this horrid room."

I followed him down to his study. It was a room that was immaculately kept, with a warm scarlet carpet, a rich mahogany desk with a finely polished granite top, and bookshelves on all walls. The chairs themselves were mahogany with scarlet upholstery, and grandfather sat in one behind the desk, which had a stack of papers and two pens on it.

"So, Ronald," said Grandfather when I had sat down in front of him. "Do you believe that Muriel would be willing to switch her party affiliation to the Whigs party?"

"No," I replied simply. "I think that's very unlikely. Even if you were to exert political pressure upon her, she would rather disown me as an Heir than to give in."

"That's a shame," said Grandfather, who had pulled out some paper and a folder from his desk, and was now writing something on it. "I suppose we will have to wait until your graduation, then, in the summer session of 1997, I believe."

"Yes, of course," I said. "Muriel has informed me that she plans to introduce me to the Wizengamot in the summer session of 1994. You can use the opportunity to make some political capital."

"Good thinking," said Grandfather, who seemed to have finished writing, before looking up at me. "Now. I have two more things to tell you before you can go."

"Yes?" I asked.

"First, Muriel will want you to remain neutral," said Grandfather. "I want you to get her the impression that that is your intent."

"Of course," I replied easily.

"Second," said Grandfather, his voice gaining an edge to it. "If you betray me, I will dissolve your parent's marriage. Do you understand?"

Ah, and there it was. The question was, was I willing to sacrifice my parents' marriage for my political ambition?

"Of course, PopPop," I said with an understanding smile.

Ron: The Fourth Time

I had returned to Borgin and Burkes in three weeks' time, as I promised, but it turned out that Mr. Borgin was still in the process of evaluating the books value, and had informed me that he would be done a week after the end of July. Of course, it was a major hassle, as I wanted to get rid of all of the books before I returned to Hogwarts, but he assured me that it seemed that my own evaluation of their value was correct, which was a great relief.

It did raise questions on how the Room of Requirement was able to get the value of the books accurately in the first place. Food for thought, I resolved to question the RoR when I got back to Hogwarts.

OO

It was now the Seventh of August, and I was in the back room with Mr. Borgin in Borgin and Burkes.

"Well, it seems that your evaluation was accurate," said Borgin, who was peering at a bit of parchment. "I think we can make a deal, Mr. Greyjoy."

"Good," I replied, pulling out my trunk, putting it down, and unshrinking it. "Are you willing to pay for the next set of books up front? As I only have three weeks to go until I return to Hogwarts, I can't afford to wait another long evaluation period. I have a third set I would like to sell to you next summer."

Borgin scrutinized my face for a few moments, before looking between his bit of parchment, and the list I had given him the last time I was here. After what seemed like a minute, he responded: "Yes, I think I will. You have proven your trustworthiness."

But then his face gained an ugly expression: "But listen here, boy. If I find out that you have swindled me, no mask of yours will hide you from the bounty I will put on you, understand?"

"Yes, of course," I replied. "I value our business relationship."

"Good," he replied. "I assume you-"

The bell tone suddenly rang.

"What-" Borgin looked at his watch, before a look of fear shot over his face. He turned to me: "Can we conclude this later? I have an appointment with a… special client."

I frowned. Who was this special client?

"Very well," I said, packing up my trunk. "We can resume after you conclude your business with this other client."

"Thank you," said Borgin horridly, before leading me up to the store front. We emerged to find a woman who had strawberry blonde hair and freckles dotting her face. She was wearing a rather garish polka-dotted dress and red pea coat, a small red hand bag, and a polka-dotted umbrella. But her most immediately noticeable trait was her glowing, scarlet eyes, eye's that seemed to bore into me the moment I emerged.

"My lo- lady," said Borgin. "I forgot our appointment, please forgive-"

"Yes, yes," said Blondie in an irritated voice, before turning to me. "Who are you?"

"Gary Greyjoy," I replied hesitantly. Something about this woman was putting me on edge. "I am a client of Mr. Borgin."

"He knows noth-" Borgin started, but Blondie held up her hand, silencing him.

"We have business to do," said Blondie, before indicating someone to her side. I turned to look and realized to my shock that it was Harry Potter. What? What was he doing here? Why was he with Blondie?

"The boy is with me. He is under my protection and will be treated as such," said Blondie authoritatively to Borgin, before turning to Harry. "Now, I have business to attend to, Those -" she pointed to a chest in the corner "- are bones of various magical creatures, those -" she pointed to a case close by "- are human skulls of varying ages, and those -" she pointed to a pile of books beside the counter "- are uncursed dark magic tomes. You may touch and examine those things, but nothing else. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded mutely.

"Good. I will be back. Wait here, and don't talk to anyone who comes in. If possible, stay out of sight."

She then turned to me. "Were you leaving?"

"Er, no," I replied hesitantly. "Mr. Borgin and I were in the middle of a business deal when he remembered his appointment with you. When you are done, we will conclude our business."

"It would be best if you left," said Blondie, before turning to stride purposefully behind the front counter and disappear into the room beyond, with Mr. Borgin following behind her.

Sighing, Harry went over to look at the human skulls, while I stood in the corner in mute shock. Who was that woman to tell me what to do? Why did Mr. Borgin call her his lady? I knew that they weren't in a relationship because Borgin seemed afraid of her. A thousand questions plagued my mind. I was brought out of my fugue when I spotted Malfoy and his father out of the corner of my eye.

Oh, this was going to be awkward when they saw Harry, who I noticed had jumped into a black cabinet right behind him. Convenient.

Seconds later, a bell clanged, and the Malfoys stepped in. Looking as though he was very familiar with the shop's layout, Mr. Malfoy briskly crossed the shop floor, stepping over the objects covering the ground with expert ease, glancing lazily at the items on display; once he crossed the shop, he rang the bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying,

"Touch nothing, Draco."

Meanwhile, Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye sitting beside the case of skulls, pouted indignantly and said, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," his father corrected him, drumming his fingers on the counter impatiently, while looking around. He noticed me, but payed me no mind. He probably thought I was beneath him.

"What's the good of that if I'm not in the house team?" Malfoy groused, his voice sulky and annoyed. "Harry Potter got on the team last year. Special permission from Professor Snape and Dumbledore so he could play for the Slytherin team. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous… famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead…"

Malfoy bent down to examine the case full of skulls that Harry himself had been looking at a moment ago. "… everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick and his perfect grades. Bloody teacher's pet, if only they knew what their precious Potter was like when he was angry…"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," Mr. Malfoy drawled, sending a quelling look at his son, "And I would remind you that it is not… prudent… to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear. As for Mr. Potter's temper, I've told you already - ah, Mr. Borgin."

Mr. Borgin had reappeared, and was now standing behind the counter.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," the elderly man half mumbled, his voice even oilier than before. "Delighted - and young Master Malfoy, too - charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced -"

"I'm not buying today, Borgin, but selling."

Interesting.

"Ah, I see. You'd be the second today." The man withered a bit at the answer, before turning to me. "I think it would be best if we concluded our business tomorrow."

"Of course," I nodded. "I will be here at ten o'clock sharp, then."

"Yes, yes," said Borgin who was looking around.

"Boy?" he called. "Where have you gone off to?"

Sheepishly, Harry stepped out of the cabinet.

"Potter?" Malfoy blurted out, and Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Borgin both raised an eyebrow, the latter looking pointedly at him in question.

"Well, I was told to stay out of sight, if possible," he said by way of explanation, "If you could not say anything about me ducking into a possibly cursed cabinet, I'd really, really appreciate it."

Mr. Borgin looked at him with amusement, while Malfoy continued to gape and Mr. Malfoy stared at him with undisguised curiosity.

Harry awkwardly nodded toward Malfoy and approached his father, sticking his hand out. "Harry Potter, pleased to meet you, sir." Malfoy had already 'blown his cover' so to speak, so there was no point in being rude.

Mr. Malfoy tentatively shook his hand, and Borgin spoke up again.

"Your… friend will be occupied for some time still. She is dealing with a… mutual business partner."

Harry nodded.

"She asked that you wait for her at Flourish and Blotts."

Harry nodded. This he understood. "Alright, I'll be going then -"

"But before you leave," said Borgin, "I was asked to give you this, with a message - Happy Belated Birthday." The man picked up an enormous tome from underneath the counter and placed it in Harry's hands.

Magic Moste Evile

Harry's eyes went wide: "Is this… a pre 1857 version?"

Really? Those were rare. I had my own copy of course, but still.

Borgin raised an eyebrow. "You know about the 1857 censorship, then?"

Harry nodded avidly, eyes glimmering with glee. "I was very disappointed to find that the one at Hogwarts is from 1912. But this is… splendid!" he exclaimed, his voice almost trembling with excitement, "The best birthday present ever!"

Yeah, I was starting to get a headache.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Borgin," I said, stepping out of the store and making my way to Flourish and Blotts, were I had promised to meet my family.

OO

"Are you alright, Ronald?" asked Mum in concern, looking at me.

I had found my family to already be at the bookstore, so I had pushed pass the crowd of witches who were there to see Gilderoy Lockhart, to empty loo in the back so I could change back into Ron Prewett.

"No," I said with a grimace. It seemed that every time I tried to think about what I had seen and heard at Borgin and Burkes, a huge migraine would flare up. But I couldn't help it, as something was wrong. Harry shouldn't have been there, and who the hell was that fucking Blondie? Why were they together? What was their relationship? Why would a blond who wore Polka-Dotted Dresses be teaching Harry the Fucking Dark Arts? I had a million questions and no answers, and the migraine wasn't helping much.

"I don't feel that good," I continued. "Can I go home?"

Mum looked at me, putting her hand on my head.

"Merlin, you're burning up!" she exclaimed, before turning to Dad, who was nearby. "Arthur, Ron is sick, I'm taking him home."

Dad turned to look at us. "Very well, Molly, I will take care of the boys, you get him home."

And with that, Mum bustled me out of Flourish and Blotts, and back home.

OO

"Would you like some soup, dear," asked Mum when we emerged out of the fireplace.

"I'm not hungry," I said tiredly. "I just want to go lay down."

"Very well, dear," said Mum. "I'll come wake you up when its time for dinner."

"Thanks, mum," I said with a yawn, before trundling up the stairs.

I emerged into my bed room, laid down on my bed, and went to sleep.

And I dreamed.

OO

"Yes, this is Ron Weasley," Harry said before I could comment on Malfoy buffoonery. "My name is Tom Evans. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Tom Evans? Why would he call himself Tom Evans? That's a strange name to pick at random. Particularly Tom. Does he somehow know something about Tom Riddle? About Voldemort?

OO

I had spent the last hour packing away my things for the year, when I noticed that Harry's stuff was still sitting there. What he still in the loo?

I walked into the loo, and noticed that only one stall was closed. Walking up to it, I gave it a sharp rap.

" Harry, you ok in there?" I asked. There was no answer.

" Harry?" Come to think of it, I couldn't hear anything from inside the stall, but when I tried to open it, it was locked. Hmm.

I pulled out my wand and cast the color change charm on the door, just a small bit of it so that I would only see his head, not his private bits. What I saw would scar me mentally forever.

Harry had his eyes screwed shut, and was screaming silently. He was holding his hands to his head, and sucked in short ragged gasps in-between screams.

But the most horrible thing was his scar: it was terribly inflamed, and there were what looked like darkened veins that led into it.

With a quick finite, I dismissed the charm, turned to run to the stall across from me, and vomited up my dinner.

OO

"Oh, hello Harry," I said when I noticed him coming out of the stall. I had gotten my grooming book, and had waited for him to come out. "You were in there for a long time. Did you have some sort of big bowel movement or something?"

"Or something," Harry replied, looking away. He didn't look no worse for wear than usual. It was almost as if what happened in the stall hadn't happened at all. So he was hiding something.

OO

I had noticed that Harry had taken his wand and what looked like a small hand-held mirror with him to bed. Everyone else was asleep. Once he had thrown the drapes around his bed, I had taken my wand, cast a Silencio on myself, and proceeded to cast Silencio's the other boy's beds. Once I was done, I whispered a Finite on Harry's bed to hear Harry talking in Parseltongue.

That was enough for me. I reapplied the Silencio to his bed, and removed them from the other boys beds.

As I laid down to go to sleep, I could reach only one conclusion:

Voldemort was awake in Harry's head.

OO

"Lord Voldemort isn't dead."

What?! How could he know that? How is that possible?

"What are you talking about…?" Theo whispered.

"He never died," Harry said, "He's probably waiting out there somewhere, until he's powerful enough again…"

How could he possibly know that? Is it conjecturing? No, he… seems really confidant in what he's saying.

"And then he'll come back to finish what he couldn't do ten years ago."

"Harry," Hermione began shakily, "How could you possibly know that?"

I would like to know that too. I stared at Harry, as if I had been blind and was just now understanding him for the first time. Harry wanted to learn the Dark Arts. No, Harry already knew some of the Dark Arts. This is just him comeing out about it, because we are his friends. He wants to learn the Dark Arts because he doesn't want to do it alone. But why now? And why would he use the fact that Voldemort was still alive as a justification for learning the Dark Arts?

"Because," Harry began tentatively, "My scar hurts. It burns, sometimes, like fire in my head. I've been doing some reading, and… it's a curse scar, you see… it's got dark magic in it, and it still hurts me. That means the dark magic in it is still active, and that means -"

"That the one who cast it is still alive," Theo finished for him.

Really? Do other curse scars hurt when the caster is still alive? I thought that it was because there's a bit of Voldemort's soul in-no, that not true.

That can't be true. Could it?

Could it be possible that Voldemort was awake inside Harry's head?

OO

" Wait," I said suddenly. "If you didn't know why Voldemort killed your parents, then then why did you say he wanted to kill you back in January? You couldn't have known his motives back then, could you?"

Harry blinked, completely surprised at my question.

" Merlin, Weasley, could you be any more insensitive?" asked Nott.

" It's just a question," I said defensively. "I mean, yeah, it's horrible that his parents died. I just want to know what made you think Voldemort was coming after you, Harry. For all you know, Voldemort was after your parents and was just being completionist by trying to kill you."

" I…" said Harry uncertainly.

" Oh, and by the way," I continued. "I looked up cursed scars after that little discussion we had about dark magic. It turns out that there are zero reports of cursed scars hurting after being inflicted. So that can't be the reason why your scar hurts, I think."

Both Theo and Hermione where now looking at me, and I knew that I had successfully derailed Harry's sob story.

" Really," asked Hermione curiously. "What books did you look in?"

" You can ask the RoR for them," I said impatiently. "But that's not the point. You haven't answered my question, Harry."

" I'll admit it was an assumption," Harry said in a slow, uncertain way. "But I thought it was reasonable to think that the dark lord would want to kill me. After all, I basically became the symbol of hope for wizarding world when he was defeated."

I stared at him.

" You seemed pretty certain four months ago," I said in disbelief, before shaking my head. "Nevermind. Does your scar actually hurt?"

" Remember all those migraines I got in defense back at the start of term?" He asked. "That was my scar hurting. That's how I figured out Quirrell was Voldemort. Listen…"

Wait, what? That doesn't logically follow. If I've done the research then its plausible that Harry has done the research, so he would know that he a unique case when it comes to curse scars. How could his scar hurting in defense class lead him to the idea that Quirrell was Voldemort? He is a dark Wizard, but he couldn't possibly know that the reason why his scar hurts when Voldemort is nearby is because he has a bit of his soul in his head-

Wait, Harry is a dark wizard, and he started teaching us Dark Magic less than 5 months into the year. How long has he been studying Dark magic? Because it doesn't seem plausible that he could have started teaching us the kind Dark Magic he did if he's only been studying it since he started attending Hogwarts. But if that's the case, who taught him? He said he's been living at the Dursley's, but if he is, then who taught him Dark Magic? Who?

I turned to look at Harry, wondering who could have taught him Dark magic, when I happened to glance at his scar, and noticed that it was mildly inflamed.

---

That made way too much sense.

After all, who better to teach the Boy Who Lived the Dark Arts than the Voldemort inside Harry's head?

OO

I woke with a start, before sitting up. The migraine was gone, thankfully, but it was replaced by a cold clamminess that seemed to grip my body. Where it had been the afternoon when I had gone to sleep, it was now dark.

A single candle lit my room from my desk, where a steaming bowl of soup sat next to it. I wasn't hungry, though. Instead, I felt a strange compulsion to do something, but I wasn't sure what. I decided the follow the compulsion, which led me to open my combination trunk. Imputing a combination that was a string of 42's, I opened it to find a pensieve, which seemed to contain a memory. Pulling the pensieve out of my trunk, I put in on my bed, and stuck a finger into it. With an almighty lurch, I fell into it, only to arrive in what looked like the Room of Hot Cocoa in the Room of Requirement, but with only two chairs and nothing else.

Standing next to a chair was a memory of myself, which spoke in a calm voice: "Hello, Future Ron, please have a seat."

I made has to do so, and he sat across from me. It was very weird to stare at myself.

"I will assume you are seated," said Past Ron. "You are probably wondering what's going on…"

"That's true," I said.

"So, I will get straight to the point," said Past Ron. "You are here because you have discovered for the fourth time that Lord Voldemort is Awake inside Harry Potter's head."

Ron: The Second Meeting of The You Know What

"Have a good year, dear," said Mum as she hugged me hard enough to break bones. It was September 1st, 1991, and the Weasley family had arrived at Platform 9 in the usual fashion, which was late and making a lot of noise.

"Thanks, Mum," I replied between short gasps when she released me, one hand on my trunk and the other holding a case that held my new sooty owl from Aunt Muriel, who I had named Darth Vader. I turned to get on the train. "See you next year!"

"Don't forget to write," she said sternly. "You have your own owl now, I expect letters at least once a week,"

The train started to move. "Yes, Mum! See you later!"

I moved into the train. Harry had reserved a compartment for the You-Know-What, so that was where I was heading.

It had been a hectic summer. So much stuff had happened. I was now the heir of Prewett. I had made 10k gold from selling those books, most of was sitting in an investment account I had set up under an alias. I had attended a high society gala for the first time in either of my lives. And finally, I had discovered, apparently the fourth time, that Voldemort was awake inside Harry's head.

Well, that was an interesting experience.

I arrived at the compartment to find that Harry, Hermione, and Theo were already there.

The moment he spotted me, Harry jumped up, held up his hand, and exclaimed: "Good you see you again, Ronald! I missed you."

I blinked in slight surprise, before grasping Harry's hand warmly and stating: "I missed you too, Harry. How was your summer?"

"It was fine," he replied. "The Dursleys didn't give me too much trouble."

I smiled and nodded, before turned to say: "Hello Hermione, Theo."

"Ronald," They both replied.

After we sat down, I sitting next to Harry, he spoke up. "I'd like to call the second official meeting of You-Know-What."

Well, that was quick. I flicked out my wand and cast a quick locking charm on the door, before we all put our hands together, one on top of the other.

"I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine."

"I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine."

"I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine."

"I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine."

"Right," I said after that was over. "I suppose this is the point where we will talk about projects we would like to do?"

"Yes," said Harry. ""I suppose you both know that I've been researching magical oaths all summer…"

"Yes," Theo drawled, "That and potions. You've done little else, or at least, that's what your letters would have me believe."

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Yes, well, I've rather enjoyed it… and potions are a necessity, really. Anyway, I would like us to conduct an experiment."

Theo and Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"You've mastered one of the spells already?" Hermione exclaimed, unable to completely keep the envy out of her voice.

"Well, that's what we're about to find out. There's not really anything to master, though; it's really quite a simple spell, provided you have the correct… instruments," He paused. " Muffliato."

Responding to their puzzled looks as he stood up to close the curtains of the compartment, he said by way of explanation, "Privacy charm."

Theo frowned. "You cast that every night before you go to sleep."

"Yes, well, I do like my privacy while I'm unconscious."

"Hehe, yeah, I'll bet you do," I said, snickering. Theo snickered too.

Meanwhile, Hermione looked very excited. "Will you teach me?"

Harry smiled. "Sure, but another time. Right now… Theo, do you have it?"

Reluctantly, Theo nodded, and reached into his bag, pulling out a small black box. " Lynea," he said, and it snapped open, revealing a small black quill.

Hermione looked on in puzzlement. "A quill?"

Theo nodded. "It's called a Blood Quill."

"It's an illegal dark artifact," Harry put in.

Hermione's eyes snapped open wide. "Harry James Potter! I -!"

"Hermione, it's just for an experiment," Harry interrupted firmly, "All it does is use some of your blood to write something. That's literally all it does. And yes, I'm sure that's all it does. I've done my research."

"Then… why is it illegal?" she asked, frowning, "It doesn't sound all too horrible to me - it's not like you need a magical object to write in blood. A knife and regular quill could do the same, right? Is writing in blood illegal in the wizarding world or something? That's rather silly, if you ask me."

"It has to do with the fact that if someone has a bit of your fresh blood, they can remotely cast curses on you," I replied. "If you sign something with a blood quill, the magic of the quill will keep the blood fresh for a long time. That's why."

"Oh, I guess that makes sense. If someone can use your blood to curse you, I mean," said Hermione, before turned to Harry. "Harry, even if the quill itself is safe to use, are you really sure it a good idea to have some of our fresh blood laying around?"

"Not to worry, Hermione," I said before Harry could respond, "When I learned that Harry planned to experiment with some written oaths, I got a special box that we can put them into for safety."

Tapping my wand on my trunk, it opened, and a wooden box floated out of it. The box was made of a mahogany wood that was completely smooth with no blemishes.

"It's called an oath-keeper's chest," I said. "I imagine you heard of them, Theo?"

"Yeah, I've heard of them," he replied, looking at it pensively. "But I thought they were really expensive? How did you afford it, Ronald?"

"Let's just say that being the Prewett heir comes with a few perks," I said simply, before turning to Harry and Hermione. "An oath-keepers chest is a box that can only open when all parties keyed to it are present and touching it. It is enchanted to be indestructible, with only a few things capable of destroying it. In the event that someone manages to break into to it, it will self-destruct, destroying all of its contents."

"That sounds perfect," said Hermione happily.

"Yeah, thank you, Ron," said Harry, who sounded relieved.

"Your welcome!" I said. "I just need to key it to us, then we can open it. Place your hands on it."

The box was still floating in the center of the compartment, so they did as I asked.

Placing my hand on it, I pulled out my wand and gave it a quick tap, with the incantation Salutem ex nobis.

The box split open, with the top half floating a foot higher than the bottom half.

"There, now its keyed to us," I said. "Now, we can safely us a blood quill without the risk of someone else getting our blood."

"Thank you, Ron," said Harry. "I didn't even know that you could use blood to remotely cast curses on someone."

"I read about it in my 1834 edition of Magic Moste Evile," I replied. "It's not in the post 1857 versions. I can lend it to you, if you want."

"Wow, you have a pre-1857 version of Magic Moste Evile?" asked Theo in awe. "My Dad don't even have one of those. Where did you get it?"

"The Room of Hidden Things," I replied wryly.

"Of course," said Theo, facepalming.

"Well, thank you, Ronald," said Harry, smiling. "But I already have my own copy."

"Ugg, sometimes I get the feeling that you two are going to be the death of me," groaned Theo.

"Wait, I thought it was illegal to own a personal copy of it," said Hermione uncertainly. "Isn't it?"

"Well, yeah," I said. "But we're not going to let silly things like legality get in our way, are we, Hermione?"

"Fine, but I want to see it when we get to Hogwarts, ok?" said Hermione.

"Of course, Hermione," I replied.

"Right, anyway," Harry said, "Having a Blood Quill really simplifies the whole magical oath process. This way we don't need to waste time and magic on long incantations and complicated wand movements… foolish wand-waving, as Professor Snape might say."

Hermione nodded slowly. "That makes sense."

"And Theo was kind enough to let us borrow this."

"You can keep it," Theo offered, "Think of it as a late birthday present."

Harry's eyes widened, and he threw his arms around Theo, who went stiff. "Thank you so much!"

Theo awkwardly patted Harry on the back.

"It's no problem, really. It was just collecting dust in my father's study."

"Does he know you took it?" Harry asked curiously.

"… no."

"Huh."

"Indeed."

"Anyway," Harry began, "If you're all up for it -" seeing their nods, he continued, "- I'd like to try something called a Penned Promise. Apparently, it's the basis for some anti-cheating spells and the like. The idea is that someone writes down a secret on a piece of paper, and the secret keepers sign their names underneath, and after the secret sharer says an incantation, the secret keepers are prevented from being able to write that sentence or a grammatical variation of it… like, changed around prepositions, or change in tense, introduction of adjectives and adverbs, stuff like that."

"How does it prevent you from writing something?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "Like with most similar oaths, apparently you're physically incapable of it. I figure that can be part of the experiment. Anyway, if we use the Blood Quill, the incantation is pretty simple, and we can cast it right here."

Hermione, Theo, and I all nodded slowly.

"So," Theo said, "What, do we all just think of a secret to share, and take turns?"

"That sounds like a fun idea," I said, getting a bit of parchment and a clipboard from my trunk.

"Wait, Ron," said Harry, who was looked at my parchment. "I was thinking we could use paper from my diary."

"Is there something wrong with parchment?" I asked questioningly.

"Well, no," said Harry, who had ripped a page from said diary. "but my diary has something called a Protean Charm on it… I can rip out pages, and what I write on the ripped-out pages appears in the diary."

Hermione gasped. "That's brilliant! When did you learn to cast that?"

"Um, well, I actually got the diary with it already cast on it… apparently it's a NEWT level charm, so a bit above my skill level…"

Hermione deflated at that. "Oh."

"I'm working on it though."

Hermione smiled hopefully.

"Anyway, we can write the secrets on this paper, and it will be transferred to my diary for safekeeping. To nullify the spell, I just have to find the right page in my diary and burn it out."

"That would be a great idea, Harry, if we didn't have other options," I said, before indicating the box that was still floating in the middle of the compartment. "But that's what the box is for. I would rather use parchment."

"Yeah, I have to agree with Ronald on this one, Harry," said Theo.

"Well… yeah, I suppose you're right, Ronald," said Harry dejectedly.

"Hey, you're idea had merit," I said. "I'm not putting you down, Harry."

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry with a smile. "So… shall I go first?"

When we all nodded eagerly, he picked up the Blood Quill and wrote something out of my sight.

Trying not to wince from the sharp pain in his skull, he handed the page over to Hermione, whose jaw dropped. "You are?"

Harry nodded.

Curiously, Theo looked over at the page, and gasped. "Wow, really?"

Harry nodded again.

"Let me see," I said, holding up my hand. He passed it to me.

Harry Potter is a parselmouth.

"Interesting," I said in response, before turning to Harry. "How long have you known?"

"Since I was really young," said Harry. "I had a pet snake once."

"But how, Harry?" asked Hermione. "I thought only the descendants of Salazar Slytherin can speak Parseltongue! Or, are you -?"

"Maybe," Harry said, "It's kind of hard to know, what with the time lapse, and everything. But yes, I can speak to snakes. And it's a secret, so don't go telling people… I could be in a lot of trouble if you do."

Hermione frowned. "Why?"

"Just… a lot of people would get the wrong idea, Hermione. Voldemort -"

Theo flinched.

"- was a parselmouth too, and a lot of people make incorrect assumptions about the skill. The oath will keep you from writing anything, but you have to swear you won't say anything about it either."

Her face softened. "Of course, Harry." Without hesitation, she signed her name below the page, wincing a bit at the pain.

She handed the paper and quill to Theo, who did the same and handed it to me. I also wrote my name down, before passing it to Harry.

Harry drew his wand. " Nonscribere." The blood seemed to blacken.

"Right, who's next," said Harry, looking around.

"Me," I said, taking the parchment and blood quill.

Very carefully, I wrote down:

Ronald Bilius Weasley Prewett has a copy of Magic Moste Evile, 1834th Edition.

Handing it to Theo, he raised an eyebrow and said: "I already knew that."

"Well, yes," I said, "But I couldn't really think of anything else."

Huffing, he signed his name, and passed it to Hermione, who smiled, and wrote down her name.

"I suppose that is a secret worth keeping," said Harry as he signed his name. " Nonscribere. Your turn, Theo."

Theo hesitated before taking the paper and the quill, but steeling himself, he resolutely wrote down his secret.

Theo Nott's father, Thaddeus Nott, was a Death Eater.

Upon seeing it, Hermione gasped.

"Malfoy's father was too," Theo said defensively. "Besides, it's not like I agree with him or anything. I'm friends with the bloody Boy Who Lived, after all."

Hermione seemed satisfied with that, but seemed uneasy when it came to her turn. "I don't really have any secrets…"

Theo scowled at her. "You can't back out now, Granger."

"We won't judge," Harry said softly. "This is an exercise in trust, all of this is. If we can't trust each other, who can we trust? That's the point of all this. That's the point of our pledge."

Hermione nodded, resolved, and took a deep breath as she scribbled down,

Hermione Granger has a crush on Cayla Martins

Harry's eyebrows went up when he saw the statement. "The waitress? Oh, I suppose that explains… right. She's pretty… I guess."

Meanwhile, Theo scowled. "That's a muggle, isn't it? You have a crush on a muggle?"

Hermione looked at him, outraged. "That's what you're upset over!?"

"Look, Granger, I don't care if you fancy girls. I happen to fancy girls too, and unless Harry and Ron over here's queer, then we've all got that in common. But muggles," he scoffed.

Hermione was gaping as he signed his name.

"Oh, I know what I should have written down," I said as I signed my name. "Ronald Bilius Weasley Prewett is Queer."

Theo gaped, Harry laughed, and Hermione stared.

"Really?" asked Hermione.

"Well, yeah," I said, a bit uncomfortable.

"How come you never said anything?" she asked.

"It's not a big deal, Hermione," I said, as I passed the parchment to Harry. "That's why I didn't think of it."

"Oh," said Hermione.

" Nonscribere," said Harry, before putting the parchment into the Box. "Er, how do you close it?"

"Just tap it with your finger," I replied. He did so.

"Right, can I keep this?" asked Harry.

"No," I replied. "I think we should put a vote up for who gets to keep it. I vote for Hermione."

"Wait, what?" said Theo. "Why? Harry is the most trust worthy person out of all of us, he should be the one to keep it."

"I disagree," I replied. "Harry may be the most affable out of all of us, but he is still a Slytherin. Hermione is a Gryffindor, and that automatically makes the most trustworthy person in this room."

Meanwhile, Hermione's eyes had started to water. "Do you really mean that, Ron?"

"Of course, Hermione," I said, before turning to Harry, who had a betrayed look on his face. "Oh, Harry, I do like you, but I'm a Slytherin and I wouldn't trust myself with the box."

"But you don't trust me," He said dejectedly.

"I do trust you," I said consolingly. "But I think that Hermione is more trustworthy in this regard. I'm sorry if I have hurt you with my words. Can you forgive me?"

"Ron is just looking out for us, Harry," said Hermione. "I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you."

"Ok," said Harry. "I forgive you, Ron. And I think you are right, Hermione is the most trustworthy out of all of us. I vote for her too."

"Thank you, Harry," I said sincerely.

"I guess that means Hermione gets the box," said Theo.

"Here you go, then, Hermione," I said, pushing the box towards her.

"Thank you, Ron," said Hermione gratefully.

Meanwhile, Harry took the Blood Quill back and placed it in its little black box.

"Can I change the password?" he asked curiously.

Theo nodded, and tapped the box twice. "When you're ready."

Grinning, Harry hissed something in Parseltongue.

The box clicked, and he looked up to see his friends staring at him with undisguised fascination.

"Oh, it sounds brilliant!" squealed Hermione. "Go on, then, say something else!"

Harry hissed something in Parseltongue again.

She was grinning stupidly at this point, and Theo, despite looking slightly uneasy, seemed to be quite excited by the sound as well.

"How does it work? Do the snakes just understand you?"

Harry nodded. "I don't really know how it works, though."

"Do you have to learn new words?"

Harry shook his head. "I just… know it. It's hard to explain. But it's more natural than speaking English, even. It just kind of flows."

Hermione looked incredibly happy. "Oh, you'll have to show me so much more! I want to see you talk to a real snake! Ooh, can you cast spells in Parseltongue?"

"I don't know, actually. I'll have to try sometime."

Hermione nodded avidly.

"Now, who wants to try breaking the oath?" asked Harry.

Hermione and Theo looked at each other reluctantly. I coughed and gazed elsewhere.

"Right," Harry said a moment later, "I guess that leaves me."

He retrieved a regular quill from his bag, and a plain piece of parchment and began to write Hermione's secret:

'H- '

"Well?" Hermione asked excitedly.

"I can't do it," Harry said, amazed, "I try to move my hand to write the words, and it doesn't work - my hand just goes stiff and feels a bit numb."

Hermione's eyes were sparkling with an excitement. "Excellent!"

Theo nodded with her. "I'm impressed."

"That's really cool," I said.

Harry nodded, satisfied. "Now, onto our second order of business - shall we finalize our plans for the year?"

We nodded in agreement, and Hermione spoke up first.

"I certainly think we should focus on finishing the occlumency training."

Harry smiled. "Finishing what we started - I like the sound of that. I trust you both have been practicing over the summer?"

Hermione and I nodded avidly, but Theo looked at us sheepishly. "Sporadically."

"It's ok, Theo, we'll be patient," Harry said kindly, "Even if you need to catch up a bit, though, by my estimates, we really only need another month or two of practicing together. As long as you keep practicing on your own, I think you'll both be able to say that you occlude quite effectively."

His two friends looked very pleased, and Hermione had retrieved a notebook and was beginning to write things down.

"So, by November, you think?"

Harry nodded.

"And on the subject of meditating," Theo spoke up, "I was thinking it might be worthwhile to look at researching human transfiguration."

Hermione looked excited at that. "You mean, to become animagi?"

"Precisely. From what I know, meditation is a big part of the early stages. And I've heard it can take years, so why not start early?"

"That could be fun," Harry said thoughtfully. "We should start that right after we finish working on our occlumency together. Hermione, do you think you could do a bit of research ahead of time?"

She grinned. "Of course!"

"Also," Harry said, "I have a list of spells I want to teach you, and… we should continue dueling practice… at least once a week, I should think."

The other two nodded.

"I'll join you," Hermione said, "But on the condition that you do more than blow each other up. Honestly, it's ridiculous. You say you want to learn dark magic, but practically all you've done is learn how to make things explode!"

Theo grinned, and Harry looked bashful, yet thoughtful.

"I was thinking we should look up battle transfiguration and charms, along with some Light Magic to even out the Dark Magic we've been learning," I said. "I was thinking I could teach you expecto patronum, and some related spells-"

"Wait, you know the Patronus Charm?" asked Theo excitedly. "Can you cast a corporeal Patronus?"

"Yes," I said. "Would you like for me to demonstrate?"

"Yes, please!" said Theo. "I've never seen a Patronus before!"

"What's a Patronus?" asked Harry, confused.

"It's a really powerful Light spell," said Theo. "It makes this powerful guardian that protects you from dark creatures, like Dementors, for example. Go on, Ron! Show him!"

With a slight smile, I flicked out my wand and said " Expecto Patronum"

A silvery Magpie shot out of my wand, flew around the compartment once, and came to a rest on my shoulder.

"That looks wonderful, Ron!" said Hermione.

"Yeah, I never expected that," said Theo. "What kind of bird is it?"

"A Magpie," I replied, before dismissing the Patronus.

"Wow, I'm really looking forward to learning that spell," said Harry. "And I have a couple of bone-breaking curses -"

"Not that you need those," Theo snarked.

"- and slashing curses on my list, a couple of de-fingering curses too," he said contemplatively.

His friends looked a bit green at that.

"But," he amended, "We probably shouldn't use those in duels."

"That's probably for the best," Theo said with a slight shiver.

"Where did you even get spells like that?" Hermione asked with a frown, "That's definitely not in any of our school books."

"You'd think they'd teach us those kinds of curses, Hermione?" I asked.

"No, of course not," Hermione replied crossly. "I meant in the Restricted Section."

"I learned of them from my copy of Magic Moste Evile," said Harry.

"Yeah, how did you manage to get your own copy, by the way, Harry?" asked Theo.

"I got it at Borgin and Burkes."

Theo gaped at him. "You've been to Borgin and Burkes?"

"Well, yes. It's quite an exciting place. I rather liked it. I hope I can return next summer."

Hermione glanced rapidly between them. "What's Borgin and Burkes?"

"Magical black-market store front," Theo said casually, leaving Hermione to gape.

Meanwhile, Harry blinked. "Oh, so that's what it is."

Theo looked at him in amusement. "You didn't even know what it was?"

"Nope."

"Merlin, Harry. You really do have a deathwish."

Hermione scowled. "I agree, Harry! You shouldn't go wandering into shady places like that! It's not good for your health. We worry about you enough as it is.

Harry waved them off. "I was perfectly safe, it's fine. Oh! And I got something else too!" He reached into his bag and pulled out the skull he had purchased. "It's kind of cute, right? I named it Billy."

Theo stared at him in pure bewilderment, and something between incredulity and disgust had crawled onto Hermione's face. I was nonplussed.

"Is that a… skull?"

Harry nodded avidly. "With mysterious markings all over it. I found it in a display case at Borgin and Burkes!"

"A human skull."

"Yep!"

"A… baby skull."

"Probably, given the size."

"And… why would you buy something like that?" Hermione asked very slowly.

"Well, it's rather neat, I think. Besides, I've always wanted to meet someone named Billy - now I have!"

Hermione grimaced. "Well, yes, you can put it away now."

Harry obeyed contritely.

Theo cleared his throat, trying to dispel the awkwardness. "So, you've started reading Magick Moste Evile, then?"

A look of excitement came over Harry's face. "Oh yes, and I discovered these two curses that have mysteriously similar wand movements but drastically different incantations - I'd have though it would be the opposite, because one pulls out your fingernails, and the other dissolves them. And the incantations are polar opposite! Completely different grammatical structure! Isn't that interesting?"

"Maybe," I said. "I could do without the fingernails bit, but the grammatical structure bit sounded interesting."

"I know, right?" said Harry avidly. "I'm really interested in the interaction between wand movements and incantations in spell crafting."

"You want to craft your own Dark Spells?" I asked.

"Well, it doesn't necessarily have to be Dark, but I am interested in spell crafting, yes," Harry replied.

Hermione was gaping at us both at this point, but Theo just shook his head. "You're both so weird."

"… we know."

Poor Hermione looked like she might burst into tears.

"Now," Theo said abruptly, coming to Hermione's rescue, "What's this about house elves?"

Harry started. "Oh, yes, Dobby, the Malfoys' house elf, came to visit me this summer. He claimed that terrible things are going to happen at Hogwarts this year."

"You, mean, more terrible than last year," Theo said humorously.

"Apparently," Harry said, causing Theo's mouth to fall open. "You did say Malfoy visited you a few times this summer - and that means your fathers were visiting, right? So I was wondering, maybe they had something to talk about. I think this might be part of it… maybe?"

"Or it could be completely unrelated."

"That too."

"Well, what sort of things are going to happen?" Hermione interjected.

"Well that's the thing… he didn't really say. I just figure he overheard something. The Malfoys might have nothing to do with it, but they know someone who does, and Dobby thought it sounded dangerous enough that he needed to warn me."

Hermione scowled. "You just can't stay out of trouble, can you Harry?"

"Apparently not."

Hermione's scowl deepened.

"Now, last order of business," Harry said, eagerly changing the topic, "Names."

"Names?"

"Yes, names. Don't you think it's high time you two started calling each other by your proper names, now? What with all the covert operations and secret society and everything."

I chuckled.

Both Hermione and Theo looked thoughtful at that.

"Theo?" Hermione tried.

"Hermione," Theo agreed.

"Harry!" Harry chirped, earning exasperated eye-rolls.

They all looked at me.

"Um, Ronald?" I said.

There was a brief pause, then we all laughed together.

Harry: Secrets and Lies

Harry smiled brightly at Hortense Rowland, who was walking past him as he sat down at the Slytherin table beside Theo and Ronald.

"Congratulations on making Head Girl!" he said happily.

The brunette came to a halt and smiled back at him. "Why, thank you Harry. How was your summer?"

"Oh, terribly dull," he said, "I'm glad it's over."

The prefect looked amused at that. "You might be missing it in a few weeks' time."

Harry's smile tightened. "I doubt it."

The older girl rolled her eyes. "You stay out of trouble."

"Yes ma'am."

"Terribly dull, eh?" Terence Higgs spoke up from the other side of the table, "I hope you didn't slack off, because the rest of us were practicing all summer."

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I don't own a broom, Higgs."

The other boy gaped at him. "You don't own a broom? You're the bloody Boy Who Lived! How can the Boy Who Lived, youngest seeker in a century, not have his own broom?"

Harry's smile turned wry. "My guardians aren't too keen on them."

"Ooh, your mysterious guardians," Davis said as she also sat down on his left side. "Who did you say they were again?"

"I didn't."

Parkinson scoffed at him. "Come on, Potter, don't you think this 'mysterious' act is getting a bit old?"

"It's not an act," Harry said earnestly, "I just don't want to talk about it. It's really quite simple."

"Well I think mysterious works for you," Greengrass put in.

Parkinson scowled. "You would."

"Maybe you should come clean, Potter," Davis said, "People might get the wrong impression. Like you have something to hide -"

"Oh lay off him, will you?" Theo spoke up with a scowl. "If he's hiding something he has a good reason for it."

Davis's eyebrows went up. "You know something we don't, Theo?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would."

"Well -"

"I, personally, would rather know where Potter spends his leisure time, in the summer."

It was Draco Malfoy who spoke, drawing everyone's immensely surprised stares to him. This was the first time they'd seen him engage Harry in conversation (even if only indirectly) since last October.

"I wonder what kind of company he keeps, what kind of places he visits…" Malfoy drawled with a glint in his eye.

Harry looked him in the eye, his face blank. "Oh yes, and while we're at it, we can talk about where your father's been running his errands. Selling, did he say?"

Malfoy went white at that, and he looked away, clearly realizing his mistake.

On the other hand, Ron suddenly guffawed loudly.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"What?" He said awkwardly after a few moments. "I thought it was funny. It's not every day that you see someone masterfully blackmail a Malfoy."

"You're right, Prewett," said Davis, who sighed dramatically. "Perhaps we owe Harry an applause."

Malfoy glared at them.

Harry laughed uneasily. "You owe me nothing of the sort. No blackmail going on here, just trying to stay out of trouble, is all."

Parkinson scoffed at him. "You? Stay out of trouble?"

Harry frowned, recalling Hermione's words. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Says the youngest seeker in a century," Davis pointed out, "How did that happen, again? Catching Longbottom's rememberball, was it?"

"Let's not forget the mudblood and the troll incident," Zabini said under his breath.

Parkinson scowled darkly. "Who could forget that?"

"And then," Davis said with a grin, "There was the Philosopher's Stone."

With that, Parkinson set her infamously prissy glare on Harry. "What was, that anyway, Potter? You never did explain yourself! Why in Merlin's name would you care if a stupid stone got stolen? Awfully Gryffindorish, if you ask me."

"I didn't," Harry said quietly.

"What?"

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't go after the Stone," he said, "That's the cover story Professor Dumbledore made up."

Everyone's eyes went wide.

"Cover story?" Greengrass said with relish.

Davis rose an eyebrow. "Then what were you up to?"

"Professor Quirrell," Harry said simply. "I wanted to speak with Professor Quirrell."

Everyone went silent at that, suddenly understanding the implication.

"So you weren't being brave," Parkinson finally said, "You were being stupid."

Harry smiled. "Perhaps."

"You really are an idiot, Potter," the girl continued derisively.

"You'd think that, but you didn't ask what Harry's motives were," said Ron, who was quietly eating his peas. "I would advise that you don't make presumptive opinions like the one you just made without knowing the full story."

"Oh really?" said Parkinson snidely. "What do you know about Harry's motives?"

"Oh yes, a great deal," said Ronald with a slight smile. "But whether or not Harry chooses to share them with you is up to him. He told me in confidence, after all."

On his face, Harry bore a blank face, but on the inside, his thoughts were in turmoil. What was Ron doing? Why was Ron saying this?

"Oh?" said Davis curiously, turning to Harry. "Well, Harry? Care to tell us what these so called motives were?"

Harry gave her a slightly strained smile, casting his mind about for an explanation. He didn't want to give them the same explanation that he had given his friends and Dumbledore, as that was much more… personal, not something that he wanted to share with the majority of Slytherin house, who he felt wouldn't be as appreciative of that explanation as his friends were.

"I wanted to know why Professor Quirrell wanted to kill me," said Harry grimly.

There was a sudden short gasp around Harry.

"What?" asked Greengrass in a whisper.

"You remember the Troll?" said Harry. "Professor Quirrell set the troll lose in the dungeons. The only reason that it was near the charms room was because it had wandered up there. If it had stayed in the dungeons, the whole of Slytherin house could have been killed."

"But we stayed in the Great Hall," Davis pointed out.

"That was because I told a prefect of that possibility just in time," said Ron grimly. "Otherwise, we could have been troll food."

"There was also the time that he cursed my broom during Quidditch," said Harry. "That was him, he told me."

"So what you're really saying is that you're still an idiot," said Parkinson prissily. "What else do you call going after the man who tried to kill you twice?"

"I never said it was a good plan," said Harry with a wry smile. A few people chuckled, but Harry noticed that Ron had a slightly grim look on his face.

OO

"Ron, can I talk to you privately?" asked Harry as they entered the Second-Year dorms.

"What about?" asked Ron as he pulled off his over robe and Slytherin tie.

"About what you said at the Welcome Feast," said Harry, "about why you had to talk about my motives."

Ron looked at him for a long moment, the light from a nearby candle flickering across his face, casting it in a ghostly shadow. For some reason, he seemed slightly sad.

"Room of Hot Cocoa?" he asked.

"Ok," said Harry, who was rather unnerved by Ron's face.

Ron led him into the boy's lavatory, where he walked up to a stall, pressed his hand onto it, and then spoke a short string of words in old English. The stall door opened to reveal the Room Of Door, which they then stepped into, closing the door behind them. Once the door closed behind them, the hallway seemed to speed past them, until they reached it end. Opening the door revealed the Room of Hot Cocoa.

"Ok, so… your question?" said Ron once he and Harry had sat down.

"Why did you have to talk about my motives in talking to Quirrell?" asked Harry. "You could have left things alone and they wouldn't have bothered."

Again, Ron stared at him for a long moment, with a scrutinizing gaze that made Harry feel mildly uncomfortable.

"I took advantage of an existing situation to make an evaluation of you," he said slowly, carefully enunciating syllable. "By implicating that there was more information to be found to our peers, I wanted to see how you would react when they inevitably questioned you about this information."

"Why?" asked Harry, who was a bit wary. Something wasn't right, something about Ron's tone felt wrong.

"There were three potential outcomes," said Ron, ignoring his question. "Option one: you could have told the truth, you could have told them what you told me, Theo, and Hermione. Option two: You could have declined to comment. Option three: You could have lied, which you ultimately did."

"But the Slytherins wouldn't have accepted my real reasons!" protested Harry.

"True, but you still could have declined to comment," said Ron, who was giving him a sad smile. "You could have told them that you would prefer to keep your motives to yourself, only sharing them with your closest friends.

"Harry, what I did was not right, I understand that. Testing a relationship one has like I did is not conducive to the health of that relationship, but I felt I needed to do it, because I have suspected, for a long time now, that you have been lying to me about certain things. I had no proof of course, which was why I felt I had to test you. After all, if you were willing to lie about something so trivial as that, when you could have declined to comment, how can I trust you when it comes to the big stuff?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He could feel Tom's anger in his forehead, but all he could feel right now was that he had lost a friend without even noticing. How could he have not noticed? It seemed so obvious in hindsight. The questioning, the guarded looks, the subterfuge. How could he have not noticed?

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Ron, who stood up. "I'm still willing to be your friend, but it will take a long time before I ever trust you again."

He began to walk out, but just before he walked past Harry, Harry spoke up: "When did you start to suspect?"

Ron gave him a slight smile.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said sadly. "But I'm not ready to tell you that yet."

And then he reached down and gave Harry's head a little pat, then walked out of the room.

Harry: Memories

Having spent most of his life with few friends and even fewer close relationships, Harry had learned to value what few close friends he had, so Ronald's declaration of his distrust of him had left Harry shaken to the core, enough that as soon as Ron was gone, Harry started to cry.

Stop this, you foolish child whispered Tom from inside his head. The Weasley is simply showing his true colors as a disloyal brat. You have no need of him.

Good old Tom, always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. If anything, his words caused Harry to cry even harder.

Tom grumbled, but didn't say anything more.

For several minutes Harry just cried, unable to stop the flow of tears. But eventually, his sobs petered out into sniffles.

He remembered Lisa, who he had befriended in class once. She had been scared away by Dudley.

He remembered Sam, who had a fondness for magic tricks. That one time Harry had shown him real magic by making a toy disappear, Sam had gotten scared and ran off, never to speak to Harry again.

He remembered his snakes, who would leave when the summer came.

None of his friends ever stayed. Why should he have expected Ron to be any different?

Talk to me, you foolish child! snarled Tom in his head, causing him a bit of pain.

Good old Tom, Harry's one friend that will never leave him. But in that moment, Harry realized that that wasn't exactly true. Harry was on a mission, a mission to make Tom the main fragment of his soul, and give Tom a new body. Then Tom could leave him.

Unbidden, a mirror formed in front of him.

"Are you quite finished with your sobbing?" asked Tom irritably.

"You won't… you won't leave me, will you, Tom?" asked Harry in a hesitant voice.

"Oh, is that what you were crying about?" said Tom. When Harry flinched, he gave a sigh. "No, Harry. I won't leave you. You are my student, my prodigy, my equal. I will never leave you. Now. Are you quite finished?"

Relief surged through Harry's veins, and he gave a shuddering nod.

"Good, because we have work to do," Tom replied. "Ask the room for max time dilation, we don't want you to be missed for too long."

As the room changed around Harry, he asked. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see soon," said Tom. "ask the room for a pensieve."

"What's a pensieve?" asked Harry.

Suddenly, what looked like a wide and shallow stone basin appeared in front of Harry, floating in empty space. Harry noticed what seemed to be runes running around the brim of the basin.

"That," said Tom. "It's a tool used for the viewing of memories."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Now, put the tip of your wand to your temple," instructed Tom. Harry did so. "Think carefully and clearly of the memory of you introducing Nott, Weasley, and the mudblood to the Room of Requirement. Include the moment you told them about Voldemort."

Harry did so.

"Now, draw your wand from your temple," said Tom. "and put the memory in the pensieve."

When Harry drew his wand from his temple, what seemed like silvery strands came with it, sticking to the tip of his wand. Carefully, he led the strands of memory to the pensieve, where they detached from his wand, and seemed to dissolve into a strange fluid.

"Give it a stir with your wand," said Tom. When Harry did so, the fluid seemed to crystalize, creating what seemed like a window. Harry noticed that the window seemed to look into a hallway, the hallway outside of the Room of Requirement, in fact.

Harry looked up to Tom. "What do I do next?"

"Touch the memory with your hand," said Tom.

When Harry did so, the floor beneath him suddenly lurched, and he seemingly fell into the pensieve, coming to a landing next the painting of Barnabas the Barmy. Picking himself up, Harry looked around. Was this a memory?

"Tom, what-" He was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Hermione and Theo.

Hermione scowled upon seeing Theo. "You!"

He scowled right back at her. "Me."

Hermione pointed at him accusingly. "This was a trick, wasn't it! You sent the note! Wait -"

"Actually, that was me," and suddenly, Harry saw himself emerging from under the invisibility cloak.

"So that's what he meant by memory," Harry said to himself.

For the next several moments, Harry watched his past-self show off the invisibility cloak, and then the Room of Requirement. Harry was a bit surprised when he saw Ronald, as Ron was a lot shorter. He was also reminded of their confrontation earlier, which caused Harry to be a bit depressed again.

Harry watched as he talked to his friends, until:

"Great," Memory-Harry smiled. "Now we can have our own secret study club! We can learn occlumency, do our homework, create our own potions, read all sorts of amazing things, practice our dueling, learn some dark arts -"

Hermione looked at him, alarmed. "Dark arts?"

Ronald also suddenly looking alarmed as he exclaimed: "What!?"

Memory-Harry smiled sheepishly. "I meant really nice, happy, light magic?"

Hermione scowled. "You can't fool me, Harry Potter, you mean to learn the dark arts!"

"Yeah," Theo piped up, "She may be a muggleborn but she's not stupid."

Memory-Harry looked relieved when her glare turned on Theo.

"Harry," said Ronald in a stern way. "I absolutely forbid you from learning the Dark Arts."

Real Harry stared. He had completely forgotten that Ron was opposed to learning the Dark Arts at first.

"Listen," Memory-Harry began, looking unsure of himself. "I just want to learn magic." Which was true.

"Dark magic!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Wait, give me a moment," said Ronald, looking at Hermione, before turning back to Harry.

"Harry," said Ron in a softer tone. "Have you heard of a Curse called The Entrails Expelling Curse? Or the Bone Breaking Curse? Either of those?"

"Er… yes?" Memory-Harry replied, uncertain of where this was going.

"Like it implies in the name, the Entrails Expelling Curse forcibly expels your innards," said Ron. "Unlike what it might seem, it will not cause immediate death, as it doesn't remove your heart or lungs. A person who has suffered the Curse can survive for a few minutes. And If this was a normal case of losing your innards, you could possibly survive. But Entrails Expelling Curse is incurable. Once you've suffered it, you've lost your innards forever, and will soon die if you don't get medical attention in less than a minute.

"It's the same with the Bone Breaking Curse, but worse because you can live with a broken bone, and suffer its pain forever. Right now, in St. Mungo's, there are people who live there on a permanent basis because they suffer from the pain of incurable curses. That is what Dark Magic is. Purely evil magic made just to make people suffer. Is that really the kind of magic you want to learn?"

Hermione stared at Ron, absolutely horrified. Ron himself was staring at Memory-Harry with a grim expression on his face. Theo glared at Ron. Memory-Harry looked uncomfortable.

Real Harry felt conflicted. It was shocking just how much Ron has opposed learning the Dark Arts in the beginning.

The signs are there whispered Tom in Real Harry's head.

"I…" Memory-Harry started, who seemed unsure of what to say.

"You know, for all that you are the quintessential Slytherin, I sometimes forget that you come from an ignorant Light family," Theo commented. Ronald quirked an eyebrow.

"You think I'm the quintessential Slytherin?" he asked in amusement. "Wow, quite the complement, Nott. But then again, I suppose you do need a model to base your pathetic life on."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Or is there something you're not telling me, Nott?"

"Wow, that really hurt, Weasley," Theo said in a sarcastic tone. "Anyway, Dark Magic isn't all about pain and suffering. It has helpful stuff too."

"Such as?"

"Blood Magic, for one. Blood magic can actually heal cursed wounds. And there's necromancy. They can commune with the dead, and help to hold back death. Besides, the vast majority of so called Dark Magic was just made Illegal because the Ministry was trying to please the muggle government. Not all of it is bad." "

"Theo's right," said Harry. "Dark magic can't be all that bad. I just want to learn it."

"But it's still Dark Magic, Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. "Dark, Illegal magic that could have you in prison if you're caught using it."

"It's just magic!" Harry exclaimed. "I want to learn everything I can - I need to learn everything I can."

"Everything? You want to learn about magic that hurts people, permanent hurts people - even though it's against the law!?"

"Of course he does, he's an obsessive bookworm, aren't you, Harry?"

"I like to read just as much as Harry, and I've never gone looking for books on dark magic!"

"Because you're a goody-two-shoes teacher's pet!"

"I am not!"

"You are too!"

For a moment, Memory Harry just watched the two argue, indecisive of say, before his face hardened.

Observe Weasley Tom whispered in Real Harry's head. Observe his reaction.

Real Harry moved in front of Ron, looking directly into his face.

"Lord Voldemort isn't dead," Memory-Harry said.

Meanwhile, the bickering ceased and the glare evaporating from Hermione's face, while Theo's smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of unmistakable horror.

But Ron's reaction, Ron's reaction was one of mere startlement .

"What are you talking about…?" Theo whispered.

Ron face shifted to look at Memory-Harry in disbelief. Not shock, not horror, just simple disbelief.

"He never died," Memory-Harry said, "He's probably waiting out there somewhere, until he's powerful enough again…"

And then Ron's face shifted again, into a look that Real Harry new well, that calculating look. Harry had seen it many times before, when dueling Ron, or playing chess with Ron. It was the look Ron made when he was considering his next move.

And suddenly, Harry understood.

Ron had already known that Voldemort was still alive.

Harry: What Ron Knows

"How could he have known?" Harry asked Tom once he emerged from the pensieve.

"I don't know," Tom admitted, which was a rare thing, as Tom almost never admitted that he didn't know something. "I believe that there are many who suspected that I was still alive before last June. But for Weasley to be so sure of himself… It's peculiar."

Harry frowned, before a horrible thought occurred to him. "Do you think he knows about-"

"No," said Tom. "Knowledge of Horcruxes is difficult to come by, even for the most able researchers. I doubt that he knows about them, and even if he did I believe that he would think I only made one, and he wouldn't know how to find them anyway, so we don't need to worry about that."

"Oh," said Harry, who felt relived.

"Regardless, it is not that Weasley knew that I was alive that interests me at the moment," said Tom thoughtfully. "but the implications of his gesture."

Harry blinked, trying to understand. "What?"

"Do keep up, Harry," Tom replied. "I'm am referring to his statement of distrust of you, and his belief that you are, to quote him: 'Lying to him about certain things'. It was a gesture he did in the hopes that you would figure out its implications."

"Oh," said Harry, not entirely sure what Tom was on about. "So what you're saying is… Ron doesn't actually hate me?"

Tom heaved a great sigh. "For someone who is believed to be the smartest wizard of his year, you are remarkably slow at times. No, Weasley does not hate you. In fact, I distinctly recall him saying 'I'm still willing to be friends with you.'"

Harry smiled, remembering. Yes, Ron had said that. "Thank you, Tom."

"Hmmph," said Tom. "Anyway, I believe that Weasley knows, or rather, suspects that we are working together."

The happiness that had followed the realization that Ron didn't hate him vanished, followed by a sudden streak of fear.

"WHAT!?" Harry spluttered in shock. "I thought you said that he didn't know about Horcruxes!"

"That's not what I meant," said Tom, facepalming. "by 'we', I mean you and my main soul."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Yes," Tom replied. "You have been rather lax in holding your secrets, Harry. You gave Weasley just information to deduce the truth. Fortunately, it appears that he is on our side."

"I'm not sure I understand," said Harry confusedly. "Could you explain, please?"

"Very well," said Tom tiredly. "Weasley gained a small hint of the truth when you told him that I wasn't dead. The excuse you gave for brandying about that information was flimsy and he knew it, but just to make sure, he researched curse scars just in case you were actually telling the truth, which you weren't. He knew by then that you were lying to him, because if you had done your homework, you would know that the fact that your scar was a curse scar wasn't the reason why it hurt, and therefore, wouldn't have any reason to connect your scar hurting to me still being alive. To someone as 'intelligent' as Weasley, your excuse never held any weight."

"Oh," said Harry, only just starting to realize how badly he had messed up.

"Indeed," Tom replied crossly. "Additionally, you taught Weasley along with Nott some very advanced Dark magic, the kind of magic you wouldn't have come across with only a few months tuition. If Weasley had done his research, he would realize that fact and come to the conclusion that you had a teacher outside of Hogwarts."

Yep, Harry had really screwed it up.

"Finally, you followed Quirrell pass the forbidden corridor, with no one to accompany you, and there were no witnesses to what had truly happened there. In other words, you were alone with Quirrell, who you later told Weasley was a servant of my main soul, for who knows how long, and you came out relatively unharmed."

"Now, Harry. Tell me what picture that paints to you?"

"Ron could think I was working with Voldemort, and that Voldemort was my teacher," said Harry in a low voice.

"Exactly," said Tom in an angry voice. "It is only due to luck that it was Weasley and no one else who figured it out."

"But why, though?" asked Harry. "I thought the Weasley family were close friends with Dumbledore? Why didn't Ron go to him?"

"Because he wants to join me," said Tom smugly. "That's what his gesture was about this night. He couldn't be sure that he was correct, so the only thing he could do was tell you that he knew you were lying to him and hope that you could figure out what he truly meant. He wants to become a Death Eater."

"Oh," said Harry, suddenly feeling warmth. "So what do we do next? Do you want me to tell him about you?"

"No," said Tom. "It's too soon to make our move. For now, all we can do is wait and watch. Time will tell if I've deduced his gesture correctly. In the meantime, it's time for you to go to bed."

Harry suddenly realized how tired he was tired he was.

"Good night, Tom," he said, standing up and yawning.

"Good night, Harry."

Ron: Every Plan That Fails

I wasn't the plans within plans sort of guy. When I made a plan, I always kept in mind the quote No plan survives first contact with the enemy, so when I made a plan, I generally kept in mind all the players and relevant information, then told myself what I wanted to accomplish, then figured out how I might do that, then and then broke down the idea to its base components and then asking myself what could go wrong. I repeated this process until I was sure that I had all the contingencies necessary with any problems that came up.

Of course, I was aware of the fact that there might have been some variable that I didn't account for, but there was only so many times I could worry over this without collapsing into a blubbering pile of stress.

The Draught of Peace helped a lot with my though process, helping me to analyze things from a detached point of view so that I wouldn't let my prejudices and assumptions color my thoughts, but I will still worried that I had forgotten about something, or that there was something that I was missing.

My Goal was simple: Indirectly reveal that Voldemort was awake inside Harry's head to Dumbledore, without directly implicating myself. And the best way to do this was for Harry himself to do it, either by accident, or directly.

I wasn't willing to just send Dumbledore letter, as Dumbledore would suspect that it was someone close to Harry that sent it, which would put too much attention on me. Attention I did not want.

It was clear to me that Harry valued his friends above all else, and that he probably considered Voldemort to be his first friend, one that he wouldn't give up easily, So the best option was to make Harry realize that Voldemort was his mortal enemy, he would go to Dumbledore, as that would be the only option to fix this problem.

To do this, I had to show Harry what the consequences of working for Voldemort, that his closest friends could figure him out, that they could realize he was lying and lose their trust completely.

By showing him the consequences, I would hopefully sow the smallest seed of doubt, one that, with continuous effort, would blossom into a wedge that would drive Harry and Voldemort apart.

After that, I had a number of ideas that would wedge deeper, involving Compulsion Charms and misdirection, but I would have to wait and see how things would go first, before moving to the next stage of the plan.

Hopefully, the following morning after I had sown the seed of doubt, Harry would be sad and miserable that he had lost the trust of a friend. There would be questions by the others, but I would just say that it was between Harry and me, a private matter, which would make Harry appreciate me all the more.

OO

I realized that I had fucked up when the following morning, Harry was in fact, Not sad, but rather, happy and… cheerful.

"Hello, Ron!" he said with a bright, cheery expression, when I got up that morning, before suddenly hugging me.

What?

I did my best not to show an adverse reaction and hugged him back.

"Good morning, Harry," I said with my best winning smile once we broke apart, one that I hoped reached my eyes. "Are you excited for classes?"

"Am I ever!" Harry agreed.

I noticed that Harry seemed tired. Had he stayed up late last night, talking to Voldemort? What had Voldemort said to Harry that would make him greet me so cheerfully. And hug me?!

I followed Harry up to the Great Hall, all the while trying not to freak, trying not to let my mind wander as I fully involved myself in the situation in order to make sure that I didn't give my self away.

I needed to figure out what had gone wrong, but I couldn't do it when Harry was right there, watching me, judging me, Voldemort probably looking out through his eyes. The whole situation was incredibly stressful, and I was thankful that the dungeons were cool enough that I didn't start to sweat.

Harry and I made idle talk as we walked, eventually exiting the dungeons and entering the Great Hall, were we sat next to Theo who was already there. We weren't there one minute before-

Harry stared at Luna, who was standing behind him, in front of the Slytherin table.

"You're… remarkably wrackspurt-free," she said soft, sparrow-like voice.

"Is that… a good thing?" asked Harry after a moment, frowning.

"Oh, yes, quite."

Harry seemed relieved.

"Oh, alright then. Thank you very much."

"You're very welcome. I'm Luna, by the way, Luna Lovegood."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Luna. I'm Harry Potter."

"Oh, I know."

He blinked. "Oh."

I couldn't help it, I snorted. It was something about the stress and the bizarreness of the situation, that I couldn't help laughing.

"Hello, Ronald," said Luna in a slightly less mellifluous tone.

"Sorry," I said, abashed. "How are you doing, Luna?"

"Quite well, thank you," She replied simply before turning to go.

"Wait," I said. She turned back to me. "If you ever have any problems with bullies, or if any of your stuff goes missing, please let me know. I'll help you."

"Thank you, Ronald, that is kind of you," She said, and I let her go.

"You know her?" asked Harry, who looked puzzled.

"She's a neighbor, my sister Ginny is a friend of hers," I replied. "or rather, they are friendly acquaintances, I guess."

"Well, she makes you both look sane by comparison," said Theo, while swallowing a piece of bacon.

Harry frowned. "I am sane."

In response, Theo patted him on the back. "You keep telling yourself that."

Harry sighed as he placed some apple slices on his plate. That reminded me, I had to eat too. It was funny in a way: I felt like my world was falling around my ears, but I still had to eat. For the next two minutes, we eat silently. Then:

"Er, Harry?" Theo said, "You've got another one."

Curiously, I turned around and saw a tiny, mousy-haired boy who I'd seen trying on the Sorting Hat the night before. The boy was staring at Harry as though transfixed by his very presence. He was clutching what looked to be a muggle camera in his trembling hands, and the moment Harry looked at him, his face went bright red.

It was obviously Colin Creevey. Ugg.

"A-all right, Harry? I'm - I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. "I'm in Gryffindor - it's my first year. D'you think - would it be alright if - can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" Harry echoed blankly.

"So I can prove I've met you," Creevey eagerly explained, edging further forwards as he gained some confidence from Harry's acknowledgment of his presence. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You Know Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead -" his eyes shamelessly swept across Harry's hairline "- and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll move."

Creevy then drew a shuddering breath of excitement as a shiver racked his frame, and kept on going, "It's brilliant here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you -" he looked imploringly at Harry, "- maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

Harry glanced at me, and I sighed. "No, I don't think so."

Harry looked a bit disappointed, before turning to Theo, who stuck his nose up in the air. "Not a chance."

Meanwhile, the girls were doing a very poor job of covertly scoffing at the boy. Parkinson might have coughed "mudblood" under her breath.

Harry sighed. "I'm afraid, Creevy, that there's been a misunderstanding. There's nothing particularly special about me. Not yet, anyway."

"Your scar -"

"Was given to me when my parents were murdered. I don't particularly like it."

Creevy's face fell, at that.

"If you want a picture of someone, why don't you try Professor Dumbledore? He's got his own chocolate frog card, you know."

Creevy's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Or…" Harry smiled mischievously, "You know… Professor Snape has actually invented quite a few potions. He's rather famous in his own right."

Creevy's eyes went even wider. "Really?"

Harry nodded with a smile. "Don't tell him I said that, though. I'm afraid he'll be very embarrassed."

"Ok, thanks Harry!"

He made to run off, but I grabbed his arm before he was out of reach, sending a dirty look to Harry, who look appropriately abashed.

"Professor Snape does not want to be bothered," I said, more harshly than I intended. "You can try Professor Dumbledore, though, I think he will be flattered. And if you really want to get on his good side, give him a pair of woolen socks as a gift, ok?"

"Oh," said Creevy. "Thanks, um…"

"Ronald," I said.

"Thanks, Ronald!" and with that, he ran off.

I turned back to the table to see a bunch of sour looks. "What?"

"Why did you sabotage Harry like that?" asked Greengrass. "It was perfect, what he did to that little twerp. We would have gotten a bit of nice entertainment out of that."

"It was wrong, that's why," I said simply, returning to my meal.

"Yeah, Ronald's right, I shouldn't have done that," said Harry morosely.

"Good grief, you're going to get lumped in with the Gryffindors with an attitude like that," said Pansy.

"Yeah, he had it coming to him, the little twerp," said Greengrass. "but now that you've interfered, he will never get his just rewards."

"Well if you're so cut up about it, maybe you should do something about it, ever think of that?" I said in irritation.

They both fell silent, and I returned to ignoring them.

"We should get going, or we'll be late for Herbology," said Harry after a few minutes.

Greengrass scowled darkly as she rose to her feet. "I swear, if I break a nail my first day again…"

Harry frowned. "If you don't want them to break then you should trim them shorter, Greengrass."

"Or you could cast an unbreakable charm on them," I commented idlily, getting up and grabbing my back.

"You can do that?" asked Greengrass, a bit surprised. "I thought you could only cast the charm on things that aren't alive?"

"Your nails are technically bits of dead protein that your finger extrudes," I said factually. "which means that non-living rule doesn't apply."

"Oh,"

"Wow, how did you find that out?" asked Harry, who was deeply curious.

"It's simple biology," I said, a bit unsure of myself. "So I tested it, and it worked."

"Oh," Harry replied. I suspected that he thought there would be a more technical explanation. "Sometimes I wish I had your brain, you're always thinking of new ways to apply old spells."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I said as we walked thought the Entrance Hall. Meanwhile, Greengrass had been busy attempting to cast the unbreaking spell on her nails but wasn't having much luck.

"Harry, could you cast the spell for me?" she asked him.

"I think Ron would do it better, Greengrass," said Harry.

"Call me Daphne, Harry," she replied sweetly.

Oh right, she was deeply infatuated with Harry now, I had forgotten. She declined to ask me to help her.

Daphne Greengrass hated Herbology and was very vocal about it. I hated it too, as I hated gardening with a fiery passion. Professor Sprout was a lovely woman, of course, but I would drop the subject in an instant if I could.

I was just my luck that we were dealing with mandrakes today.

OO

"… the theory behind this exercise is exceedingly complex - I will not be testing you on it, but I do expect you to do the readings. And speaking of complex theory, I trust you have all had the chance to look over the readings I assigned at the beginning of the summer. The first spell we are learning is a direct consequence of Thrivver's Theory of Base Animate Transfiguration and the related methods outlined in section for 4 of chapter 1. This spell, simply put, transforms beetles into buttons. Now, perhaps a demonstration is in order. Mr. Potter, I trust you have already attempted this spell?"

Harry stifled a grin. "Yes professor."

"Excellent. Why don't you demonstrate for the class?"

Great, another chance for Harry to show off. I didn't mind, of course, but when Harry was called in almost every class, every day, it started to get kind of annoying.

We were in transfiguration, thankfully, and while the subject demanded my full attention, it also demanded the full attention of Harry as well, so I was free to let off some stress by fugitively looking at Harry and wondering where the hell things had gone so wrong.

"Impeccable as always, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall once Harry had done the spell. "Well done. Five points to Slytherin. Now, wands out everyone. We will practice the wand movements first."

"I can't believe I'm friends with a teacher's pet," Theo whispered to him when he sat down.

"He's only the teacher's pet instead of me cause he's better at reading than me, which I didn't believe was a thing possible before I met him," I whispered to Theo. "Seriously, when I say I read all my brother's books, I mean I really read all of their books."

"I think you both are terrible," said Theo matter-of-factly.

"If so, why are you friends with us again?" I asked.

"Mr. Weasley," called McGonagall before Theo could answer. "Since you feel the need to waste classroom time by talking instead of practicing, you clearly already know how to cast the spell. Why don't you demonstrate for the class?"

I gulped, a bit started to be put on the spot. "Uh, ok."

I easily cast the spell, turning my beetle into a button.

"Five points to Slytherin," said McGonagall. "but I expect you to focus on practicing instead of gossiping. Understand?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall."

OO

"So, what do we have next?" Theo asked Harry, who was looking over the day's schedule.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"With Professor Lockhart," Bulstrode said dreamily from beside us.

I heard Zabini scoff at her from the other side of the table.

Parkinson glared at him. "Do you have something to say, Zabini?"

Instead of answering her, he turned to Harry. "I assume you've already done the readings, Potter?"

Harry looked up from his timetable. "Yes, a couple of weeks ago."

The other boy raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Harry folded his timetable and placed it in his lap. "I read all the assigned books, so I feel like I have a fairly solid impression of the material."

"And?" Zabini said impatiently.

"And it's, well, rubbish, I suppose you could say."

I laughed.

"Rubbish?" Parkinson nearly shrieked.

Harry swallowed the apple slice in his mouth. "Yeah, you know, rubbish - claptrap, codswallop, hogwash, nonsense…"

Zabini pointedly ignored the girls' sounds of protest and looked smugly at Harry. "What makes you say that?"

"They're children's books, not textbooks. I read them, of course, but they really weren't worth my time. I don't plan on looking at them again," he concluded simply.

Zabini looked at me. "And what do you think, Prewett?"

"I didn't even get pass the first chapter before giving it up as a bad job," I replied. "I concur with Harry."

Zabini smirked at us, seemingly pleased by his answer. I suddenly got the feeling that we'd just been used to prove a point.

Meanwhile, Bulstrode was staring at us, face stricken. "How can you say something like that?"

Harry shrugged. "Quite easily, I assure you."

"It's our best judgment," I added.

"Self-important blood traitors," Parkinson was muttering under her breath.

Harry sighed. "Just you wait. You'll agree. I give it a week, tops."

"Not bloody likely."

Malfoy, who was sitting beside her, was looking at her in annoyance.

"Anyway," Davis said beside us, sounding a little bit irritated herself, "Class is in five minutes - let's go."

OO

Professor Lockhart was waiting for us when we arrived at the classroom, and once the whole class was seated, the blonde man, who was dressed in silk, periwinkle blue robes, cleared his throat loudly and yet delicately, and the entire classroom was hushed at once. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. He paused for a moment. Wait, were we supposed to be impressed by this? If so, he was doing a poor job.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," he eventually continued. "Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League and five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award - but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly. I wanted to laugh, as the poof was ridiculous, but I held my mirth, as I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of reacting to his buffoonery.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books - well done."

What, really? You drove my parents broke just so you could say 'Well done'? All mirth fled from me at that moment. Now I was angry. I scowled at him.

"I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about - just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in…"

While he spoke, he made his way along the columns of desks, placing test papers on everyone's desks as he did. Once he finished, he returned to the front of the class and said with a flourish, "You have thirty minutes. Start - now!"

I looked down at my paper and started to read.

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Well, this would be easy.

1. The color of his own face.

2. To sell another seven books to Hogwarts students who have no choice but to buy them to make more money.

3. Selling seven books to Hogwarts students who had no choice but to buy them, even poor families, just so that he could make a lot of money.

Down I when, giving what I thought were the real answers to his questions, save the last.

54. Fuck if I know.

Half an hour later, Professor Lockhart collected in the papers and sat down at his desk, crossing his legs as he began to rifle through the written tests.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with a Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully - I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples -"

I snorted at that. More likely it was hard alcohol.

"- though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!" The blonde man gave them another roguish wink.

So that was confirmed.

I glanced around the classroom, and saw that Harry was doing the same. I noticed that he had a rather annoyed expression on his face, an expression that I only recognized because I knew him.

Theo was staring at the Professor with a glint in his eye that could only be interpreted as horror by one who knew him well. In fact, all the male Slytherins were staring at Lockhart with some degree of disgust, though most of them were doing a good job of tempering it. The girls, however, seemed unfazed. The Gryffindors were not doing so well, though. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in the front of the classroom, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention, and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

"… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions - good girl! In fact -" he flipped her paper over, "- full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

Oh right, she had been a fan girl in the books.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so, to business…"

Finally.

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. "Now - be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

Despite myself, I leaned forward to get a good look at the cage. I knew what was coming, but I was very interested in what the Cornish pixies looked like in real life. I grabbed hold of my wand, drawing it out surreptitiously, and holding it under my desk.

Professor Lockhart placed a hand on the cover.

Thomas and Finnigan had stopped laughing now, and Neville was cowering in his front-row seat. My fellow Slytherin boys looked mildly amused and somewhat interested at this point.

"I must ask you not to scream," their professor whispered in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class (well, half the class) held its breath, Professor Lockhart whipped off the cover with a flourish.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

Malfoy looked like he was having a lot of trouble not making a sound, but Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter which even Professor Lockhart couldn't mistake for a shriek of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at the boy, his smile looking somewhat strained.

"Well, they're not - they're not very - dangerous, are they?" Finnigan choked out.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Finnigan. "Devilishly tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were a bright blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a crowd of angry mice arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and pulling bizarre faces at the people nearest to them. They looked a bit different than they had in the movies.

"Right then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!'

The moment he opened the cage, I leapt up, pointed my wand at it and yelled:

" IMMOBULUS MAXIMUS!"

What looked like a blue light issued from my wand, quickly immobilizing the pixies, but also immobilizing Lockhart himself.

"Idiot!" I said under my breath, before walking around my desk and up to Lockhart. " Finite."

"Er, thank you, Mr. Prewett," said Lockhart, standing up and giving me a winning smile. "And I must say, you were quick on the uptake, 20 points to Slytherin!"

"Thank you, Sir," I said viciously. "May I leave, sir?"

"Yes, you may," said Lockhart. "but first, could you unfreeze the pixies so that the other students can have a try?"

"I'm sure that as a professor you are quite capable of doing that yourself, sir," I said, turning away, picking up my stuff, and then walking out without saying another word.

OO

"That was amazing!" said Theo when the class had caught up to me a few minute later. Apparently Lockhart didn't know how to undo a freezing charm, even though I had show him how right in front of him, so he had dismissed the class for the day.

"Can you believe that poof?" I said. "unleashing a horde of pixies on an unsuspecting group of 12 year old's? That man should be locked up."

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione snippily. I heard Harry gasp from beside me.

"Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing," Harry tried.

"Rubbish," Hermione retorted. "You've read his books - look at all those amazing things he's done…"

Harry nearly gaped - Pansy Parkinson was nodding in agreement.

"He says he's done," I muttered. "There's no proof. All we know is that he's sold 7 books full of unsubstantiated claims. There is no evidence, proof that what he said in his books actually happened."

Hermione glared at me, along with the other girls in the group.

"You're just jealous that you're not as good looking as him," she sniped.

I stopped and stared at her. "Is that really what you think of me, Hermione?"

Her face softened. "I'm sorry, Ron, its just… I read about all the great things he's done and… it just doesn't seem like he's the kind of person who'd lie."

I snorted. "He's no hero, Hermione. If you want an example of a real hero, just look at Harry. He vanquished Voldemort-" a few people around us gasped "but do you hear him carrying on about his fame and fortune? Hmm? Do you?"

"No," she admitted. Harry looked strangely uncomfortable. "But-"

"Hermione, People lie," I said. "People lie all the time. They lie about big things and little things. They lie about their social life, about their possessions, about their homework, about their boyfriends or girlfriends. Many people lie all the time, and just because some of them lie in a book, doesn't mean that the lie isn't real, or that the person didn't lie. Behind every word, every sentence, every paragraph in a book is a person who wrote that word, that sentence, that paragraph."

I walked closer to her and held a hand up to her face. She was crying, as if everything she knew was being torn down or ripped away from her, as if her entire world was collapsing around her ears. In many ways I understood why; she had grown up with books as her only friends, as she didn't have any human ones. She may have believed that her books were her only friends that didn't lie, didn't exploit her, or behave in a human fashion.

I brushed away one of her tears. She jerked back, and then turned, running off.

"Ugg, that's what I get for trying to help her," I said, mostly to myself, before turning to Harry.

That's when I noticed that Harry had teary eyes himself. Uh oh. I was not ready to deal with this.

"Harry?" I asked, despite myself?

"I-can we talk in private for a moment?" he asked.

Oh sure, lets talk in private, talk before I had time to refine my plans, talk while I was unprepared.

"Sure," I said. Looking around, I noticed that everyone else had left, even Theo. God damn it. "Room of Hot Cocoa?"

"Yes, please," Harry replied, smiling.

I turned to the nearest door, and a few moments later, we were in the Room of Hot Cocoa. After we had sat down, I turn to Harry with a feeling of trepidation. I noticed that Harry's scar was rather inflamed. Oh boy.

"What do you think of Voldemort?" Harry asked suddenly.

Well, that was straight to the point.

"Um… you meant, in general? Or are you talking about his politics?" I asked, nervously.

"Both," said Harry, who seemed a bit trepidatous himself.

"Ok, well. In general I think he was a brilliant man who had great ambitions but used the wrong methods to achieve them," I said in a hasty voice. "As for his politics, well you know I'm neutral in that regard. I take issues as they come. I think Voldemort had a number of great ideas but used the wrong methods to implement them."

"What methods are you referring to?" asked Harry.

"The War." I said bluntly. "There are simply a great number of ways that he could have quietly infiltrated and supplanted the ministry without causing bloodshed on the scale that he did. And unfortunately, if he goes to war again, it will mean the end of Magical Britain as we know it, for reasons I've told you about before."

"The genepool," said Harry knowingly.

"Exactly," I replied.

"What would you do to stop him from going to war?" asked Harry. "Hypnotically speaking, that is."

"Well, that depends on whether he listens to advice," I replied. "If he would listen to my advice, then I would join him in an effort to steer him away from war. For my family."

It was a great admission, but it was an admission I couldn't afford to not make, if I wanted live to see the next hour.

"Even if that would put us on opposite sides?" asked Harry. His voice was low.

"I'm sorry Harry, but if it means I can save my family, I would do anything to protect them, even joining Voldemort," I replied with finality.

For a long moment, Harry scrutinized me, as if to check for lies. Then he muttered something under his breath, something I couldn't quite catch.

With a suddenness, Harry look up, and were his eyes were once green, they were now a gleaming red, and slitted like a cats.

"Hello Mr. Prewett," he said in a voice that seemed to slither out of his throat with a spin chilling coldness. "It's time we finally got acquainted."

Voldemort: A New Ally

"What do you think of Voldemort?"

Lord Voldemort had to remind himself that he had given up trying to understand Harry Potter long ago, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand why Harry was going against his explicit orders to watch and wait, instead of acting, instead of doing… this. Revealing the true relationship between himself and Harry Potter.

He knew it had something to do with that speech that the Weasley Child (He refused to call him Prewett, at least in his mind) had made to the mudblood. For some reason, Harry had gotten emotional during the speech (something to do about lies).

Lord Voldemort was not ready for this. He wanted to reveal himself at the time and place of his own choosing, but it seemed his host had other plans. Damn him.

"Um… you mean, in general? Or are you talking about his politics?" Weasley stalled. It was clear that he was nervous.

Wait, nervous? Something about the situation caught his attention. Weasley was talking to his closest friend, and yet he was nervous. Why? Was it the subject they were discussing? Something about Harry's tone? The private nature of their interaction?

"Both," said Harry.

"Ok, well. In general, I think he is a brilliant man who had great ambitions but used the wrong methods to achieve them," Weasley responded in a hasty voice. He shifted in his seat. "As for his politics, well you know I'm neutral in that regard. I take issues as they come. I think Voldemort had a number of great ideas but used the wrong methods to implement them."

Oh, so he was a critic, was he? Wait until he had lead a war effort, then he could talk. Still, Weasley had complimented him in a roundabout way.

"What methods are you referring to?" asked Harry.

"The War." Weasley said bluntly. "There are simply a great number of ways that he could have quietly infiltrated and supplanted the ministry without causing bloodshed on the scale that he did. And unfortunately, if he goes to war again, it will mean the end of Magical Britain as we know it, for reasons I've told you about before."

"The genepool," said Harry knowingly.

"Exactly," Weasley agreed.

Voldemort did remember Weasley talking about the genepool the previous summer. Voldemort had asked Harry to research the topic, and they had learned that Weasley was actually correct in that matter. It had irritated him, to learn that the war he had waged had had undesirable costs that he could have avoided, if only he had put more thought into the way he waged his war.

If only he hadn't been stupid enough to believe that prophecy in the first place- but it was too late for that, and now he had to deal with consequences. Still, the fact that Weasley thought, or rather, believed that there were other ways to supplant the Ministry showed promise for his potential loyalty.

"What would you do to stop him from going to war?" asked Harry. "Hypnotically speaking, that is."

"Well, that depends on whether he listens to advice," Weasley replied. "If he would listen to my advice, then I would join him in an effort to steer him away from war. For my family."

"Even if that would put us on opposite sides?" asked Harry. His voice was low.

"I'm sorry Harry, but if it means I can save my family, I would do anything to protect them, even joining Voldemort," Weasley replied with finality.

And Lord Voldemort realized what a great gift that Weasley had given him: a lever in the form of his family. A way to insure his loyalty. If Weasley was disobedient, all Lord Voldemort had to do was threaten his family, or even take one hostage if he needed to.

And at any rate, he had been right, in the end. Although not for the reasons he had thought, Weasley still wanted to join him, to work for him. To be a servant for him.

And suddenly, Weasley seemed to freeze in time. Harry stood up, and a mirror form beside them. Harry looked back at his seat, and to Voldemort's surprise, he could see an image of Harry still sitting there.

Harry turned towards the mirror.

" You foolish, foolish child!" Lord Voldemort snarled in Parseltongue as he looked at Harry though Harry's eye. " Why on earth did you do that? If I had been wrong- "

" You're never wrong, Tom," Harry replied confidently. " Isn't that want you always tell me?"

" It was still foolish, Harry," Tom replied. " in the future we're going to have a talk about Following Orders. Now, Why in Morgana's name did you do something so foolish as that?"

" Foolish? All I did was ask him what he thought about you, and he gave his honest answer," Harry replied sharply. " Which basically confirmed your deductions. He wants to be your servant, Tom. He can be loyal to you."

" Be that as it may, we still can't reveal ourselves to him, it would mean telling him about the Hor-"

" I don't think so," said Harry, rubbing his chin in though. " All we have to say is that you are a part of your main soul that got ripped off after I vanquished you, and then possessed the closest living thing, which was me. We don't have to tell him about Horcruxes, we don't have to tell him anything other than that."

He stared at Harry in suspicion. " Why do you want to tell him so much, anyway? We've been just fine operating on our own in the past. Why did that suddenly change?"

"Because I'm tired of lying, Tom," Harry said in a voice that suddenly sounded world-weary. "I'm tired of the lies, of the deception. I would like to have at least one other person that I can confide in."

"You have me," Tom pointed out.

"I meant other than you," Harry replied, sweeping his hand though his hair. "You will always be my first friend, but you are also my mentor, my guide. My guardian in more ways than one. I would like to have at least one person around my own age that I can relate to, to talk to about my worries and troubles."

---

Lord Voldemort rarely forgot that Harry was, in fact, a child, as Harry kept reminding him of this every time he did something foolish. But what he had not really understood was the implications of it. As a child, Harry had certain needs, needs that it was Lord Voldemort's duty to provide for as Harry's Guardian.

As it were.

At any rate, he had not really understood this until this moment, as while Harry was cared for and well fed, he was still acting as an agent for him, still walking the shadows to execute his orders for their plan, still searching out the bits of illegal information the need to make him his main soul, still having to keep secrets and telling lies as to prevent them from being discovered.

It occurred to Tom that he was asking much and giving little.

He thought about the Weasley Child, well, he supposed he should start calling him the Prewett child if they were to start working together. He thought about his loyalty.

To Lord Voldemort, the surest sign that Weas- that Prewett was loyal to him was that he had not gone to Dumbledore with his suspicions. Oh, he was not completely sure that Prewett had not yet gone to Dumbledore, but if he knew the man, Lord Voldemort knew that he would have immediately acted on the information, and Harry wouldn't be alive and well to this day.

No, he was relatively sure of Prewett's loyalty, and even if the boy wasn't loyal, he still had the leverage that was his family, and could steer Prewett away from betraying him.

"Fine," he said eventually. "But I will tell him, understand?"

"Yes," Harry replied happily. Harry then turned and sat back down in the chair. Time sped up to its normal pace.

"Ready," Harry whispered, looking down.

Voldemort emerged, assuming direct control over Harry's body. He bent up and looked at Prewett.

Prewett jump, slightly.

"Hello Mr. Prewett," Lord Voldemort said. "It's time we finally got acquainted."

"Ha… Harry?" he asked, visibly disturbed.

"I am Lord Voldemort," the man said clearly. "Harry has given me temporary possession of his body, so that we might have a little talk."

"What?" he said in a small, squeaky voice. He was white as a ghost, and his eyes bore a look of unadulterated fear.

Good.

"There is no need to be afraid, Mr. Prewett," said Voldemort. "After all, you are loyal to me, are you not?"

For a moment, he didn't move. Then the fear evaporated as suddenly as it had come, and he held up a hand. "Of course, sir. I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Ronald Bilius Weasley Prewett, at your service, er… my lord."

Although he sounded all business, Voldemort could detect an undercurrent of tension in his voice.

"Lord Voldemort," he replied, declining to shake his hand. Prewett put it down almost instantly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"So, how long have you known that Harry was working with me?" asked Voldemort.

"Since last year, sir. I figured it out after our little meeting at the end of the year," He replied. "When he showed us a lot of advance dark magic that he couldn't have learned here at school, I figured that he must have had a teacher outside of the school. And when he went into the third-floor corridor alone, and later said that he had met you in the room, I figured that the most likely explanation was that he was working with you, and that you were his teacher. It would make the most sense, for I felt that the scar hurting explanation for how he knew you were still alive was… flimsy, for lack of a better word."

He then fell quiet, waiting for the next question.

"How did you know that I was still alive before Harry told you?" Voldemort asked bluntly.

For a brief moment, Prewett's mask broke, betraying his surprise, before it fell back into place. "My family were big supporters of Dumbledore during the war, and my father is a member of the political party that Dumbledore leads, so Dumbledore visits him a few times though out the year. One time I was eaves-dropping on them through the door, and I heard Dumbledore tell dad that he was certain that you were still out there. I figured if Dumbledore was sure of it, then it's probably true."

Slick recovery, but Voldemort was sure that Prewett wasn't telling the whole truth. And while Voldemort would love nothing more than legilimens Prewett and get the full story, he couldn't afford to risk breaking the child's mind, the consequences would be too steep for that. It would have to do for now.

"Why haven't you gone to Dumbledore with your suspicions?" he asked his final question.

"I don't trust Dumbledore," Prewett replied.

"And yet you trust me?" asked Voldemort.

"No, I don't trust you either," said Prewett honestly. "I don't trust powerful men - powerful people."

"Then why would you be loyal to me?" asked Voldemort in confusion.

"My family is important to me," he replied. "I don't want them to die in another p- in another war. If preventing their deaths means being loyal to you, then I'll do it."

Oh, that's what he said earlier, yes? He was in it to save his family.

"You don't believe Dumbledore can protect them?" he asked eventually.

"No. Dumbledore will just let them get involved, which will place them at risk."

"I see. Since you were honest in answering my questions, Lord Voldemort shall be honest in turn," He replied eventually. "I did not wish to confide to you, but Harry was insistent that I do. If you become my servant, I will charge you with Harry's protection, above all else, until I give you the order to cease."

"I would do that willingly," Prewett replied. "Harry is my friend."

"Good. Bare your arm," Voldemort replied, as he drew his wand.

"You intend to give me the Dark Mark?" asked Prewett in shock.

"Having second thoughts?" asked Voldemort in amusement. Did the child seriously think he could get out of this.

"No, its just, wouldn't the Dark Mark identify me as a servant of yours? If someone saw it?" he asked. "I thought you didn't want to be revealed."

"A valid concern," Voldemort admitted. "But The Dark Mark will only be visible if you will it to be. How else do you think my followers have stayed out of Azkaban?"

"Oh," he said, nonplussed. "Very well then."

He bore his left arm as Voldemort had commanded. Voldemort poked it with his wand and muttered Morsmordre. Prewetts face winced as the mark started to form on his arm, then the wince turned into rapid breathing and then screams as the pain grew in intensity. His arm jerked, but the point of Voldemort's wand never left it, as if it were glued to the skin. Eventually, the pain subsided.

And on his arm was a jet black Dark Mark.

Ron: The Dark Mark and The Crow

Getting the Dark Mark was like getting the tattoo from hell. More painful than you could imagine. I felt like my soul was on fire.

Apparently, doing the Dark Mark spell had taken a lot out of Voldemort, for after wards he made one more comment, one that chilled me to the bone:

"Normally, granting you the Dark Mark requires that you kill a Muggle, Mudblood, or blood traitor beforehand. However, given that we can't afford to reveal ourselves, we will have to save that for later."

With a stuttering breath, I replied: "Yes, My Lord."

I didn't want to kill anyone.

Voldemort smirked, before dipping Harry's head down. When Harry lifted his head up a moment later, I noticed that the red eyes were gone, and I was relieved.

The whole event had been terrifying. I had never felt so afraid in my entire life - in either of my lives. It had taken using occlumency to deaden my emotions to survive the interrogation, so that I could react to things thoughtfully and logically.

And now I had the Dark Mark, the surest sign that I was Voldemort's servant until the day he died.

"Is he still there," I asked a few seconds later.

"Tom is asleep. The Dark Mark took too much magic," Harry replied in an unsure tone. "I - how are you doing?"

"I was just interrogated by a Dark Lord that's killed thousands," I snapped. "How do you think I'm doing?"

When Harry shrunk in on himself, I remembered who I was talking to. "Oh, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to snap like that. It's just… it was an ordeal."

"He was too hard on you," said Harry, who seemed a bit miffed. "He is not normally like that."

I stared at Harry. "The man who's thousands is not normally like that… Right, well. So, you're letting him share your body now? I thought you said that his face was on the back of Quirrell's head. Why isn't he on yours?"

"It's not the same," said Harry. "The Tom that was on Quirrell's head and the Tom that's in my head share the same soul, but are two different people. When Tom was… 'vanquished' the night my parents died, a bit of his soul got torn off his main soul and attached itself to me."

I stared at him. was he about to tell me about horcruxes? I couldn't tell, as he had fallen silent.

"So… your Voldemort and the other Voldemort are different people, but are working together?" I asked.

"No, we actually have different plans," Harry said. "we are not working together. In fact, if the other Tom found out about us, he would lock us up and throw away the key."

"Why?" I asked in faux confusion. "surely missing a bit of your soul is not a good thing."

"I can't tell you," said Harry in an apologetic tone. "There are some things that I can tell you, and somethings that I can't."

"Oh," I said. So no inclusion on the Horcruxes thing for me. Got it. "Well that's better than lying about it."

Harry gave me a watery smile.

We didn't speak for several moments, before I decide to take out my wand.

"Expecto Patronum," I said softly. I was still jittery the ordeal, and I longed for the comforting presence of my Patronus. But when my Patronus emerged, what I saw shocked me to the core. My Patronus was no longer a Magpie. It was now a Crow.

I stared at it as it flew around the room for a brief moment, before it came to a rest on my shoulder. It was not as bright as an average Patronus was. it had dimmed somewhat, and I noticed that there was what seemed to be a dark, silvery streak of feathers on its chest.

"It seems different, somehow," said Harry, who was looking at my Patronus in wonder.

"It is different," I said. "when a person experiences a significant emotional change in their life, the Patronus can change to reflect that."

"Really?" asked Harry, who glanced at me. "What is it now?"

"A crow," I replied, looking down at my wand. "The magpie and the crow come from the same genetic family, the Corvidae family. Maybe that's why it's the crow and not something else."

Although I knew the real reason why it was the crow:

The crow was an omen of death. I just hoped it wasn't mine.

OO

I wanted to ask some more questions, but Harry pointed out that we had homework to do and that Theo was probably waiting for us in the library, I decided the shelve the questions for later. As Harry expected, Theo was waiting for us when we arrived a few minutes later. He was sitting at our usual table in one of the back rooms, and I noticed that he had a book open in front of him, even though we hadn't been assigned any homework yet.

"Where have you been?" he asked when we arrived.

"We were plotting way to get rid of Lockhart in the RoR," I said casually. I had just taken some Draught of Peace as we walked to the library, so I was feeling considerably better. Then I leaned forward in for a conspiratorial whisper: "Now we have… plans."

"Why didn't you include me?" he asked, put out. "I would have helped."

"You left, remember?" I replied. "if you had stayed… but it's too late now, Harry and I had sworn a blood oath never to tell anyone."

"Knock it off, Ron," Harry scowled, before turning to Theo. "Ron was actually just showing me a book of light magic. Illegal light magic. We didn't want anyone to see."

"There's light magic that's illegal?" asked Theo in surprise.

"What, did you think it was all sunshine and daises?" I replied. "Light magic can be dangerous too, you know. There's a spell that can heal all your wounds, even wounds from dark magic, but in the process it burns away all your emotions and memories. There's a spell call The Mercy of Empathy that Forces you to experience the last memories of everyone you've ever killed. A spell call the Purification that somehow 'purifies' your body, but causes pain on the level of the Cruciatus. And there is a spell that- "

"Please stop," said Theo, who looked a bit… disturbed.

"Your loss," I said, sitting down. "so what are you up to?"

"Well, I spent a while waiting for you two, but when you didn't show up, I decided to read a book on potions," he replied. "as we have potions tomorrow."

"Well, I think I'm going to read about something other than potions," said Harry. "I've read enough about them over the summer."

"Fair enough. Any ideas?"

"Well… next year we choose electives… perhaps we should do some research concerning what we plan on taking…?"

"I've heard Divination is an easy O," Theo commented as he followed Harry into the stacks.

"And definitely I won't be taking it."

"What? Why?"

"I heard that the teacher, Trelawney, is a fraud," I said. "and at any rate, the subject is complete rubbish. You won't learn a thing that is valuable."

Theo's eyebrows rose. "Alright then. I take it you're both planning on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy?"

"You should at the very least take Ancient Runes as well," said Harry. "It's a crucial ingredient in studying fields like warding or spell crafting -"

He paused, and then chuckled a bit. "Ingredients… I really have been reading too much Potions."

"Alright, let's go find some books then," I said as we stood up.

OO

It was later that night. I was back in the RoR, in a room I called The Room of Mirrors. It was basically just room where there were five mirrors attached to each other, so that I could stare at myself, at the Dark Mark. In front of me was a pensieve, which held memories of all my interactions with Harry. And Voldemort.

What I had done last night was a stupid mistake. I had thought that I could manipulate Harry and Voldemort but had instead found myself press-ganged into Voldemort's service. It smarted. Voldemort was simply smarter than me. Or rather, had more information than I did.

Even after a few sessions with pensieve, I hadn't been able to figure out exactly what it was that lead Voldemort to the conclusion that I wanted to join him. The information was there, I knew it, but I just couldn't figure it out.

Oh well. Like I said, no plan survives first contact with the enemy, but I wasn't out of the game yet. The parameters of the mission are what had changed, that's all. And now I had to figure out how to out think one of the smartest wizards alive.

I stared at the Dark Mark on my arm. It was a symbol of my servitude, a chain that now held me down, denying me any option of choice, or so Voldemort though. Now, if I wanted to live, if I wanted my family to live, I would have to do as Voldemort ordered, no matter how immoral or depraved those orders might be.

The game had changed, but I was still playing the game.

And It was my move.

Harry: Mudblood is a Terrible Word

Harry stared on awkwardly as Wood and Flint argued.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin team captain. "This is our practice time! We booked the pitch specially! You can clear off now!"

"Plenty of room for all of us on this fine Saturday afternoon, Wood."

Harry sighed. This was the part of Quidditch that he hated. The competitiveness; the testosterone. It was just so… tedious. He had to feel a bit bad for the three girls on the Gryffindor team, what with all the male bravado they had to put up with. The Slytherin girls were constantly scoffing at the boys (well, the boys they didn't fancy, anyway), as though they were offended by their very existence - Harry couldn't imagine what Pansy Parkinson would be like if she had to participate in Quidditch practice. He shivered at the thought.

"I booked it!"

"Ah," Flint said smugly, "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape." He held up the note, flourishing it dramatically. "'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new Chaser'."

"You've got a new Chaser?" Wood asked, frowning. "Where?"

In response, Draco Malfoy sauntered pompously up to the much larger Gryffindor captain with his chin up and a smug smirk on his face.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" Fred Weasley said warily, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint, as he and Malfoy grinned at each other conspiratorially. Several other players smirked along with them. Harry didn't smile. He resisted groaning out loud, though. This was going to turn out so well.

"Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

Flint proudly held out his broomstick and gestured to the others. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words 'Nimbus Two Thousand and One' graced the hands of the Slytherin team. Harry was honestly surprised that Mr. Malfoy had bought him a broom too, considering that he'd broken his son's leg last year. Actually, a year ago to date. It was Halloween, and the three o'clock air was crisp and tasting just a little bit bitter, perhaps owing to present company.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," Flint was drawling carelessly, flicking a nonexistent speck of dust from the end of his broom. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps," he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives, "Sweeps the board with them."

It was getting really hard to not smother his face in his hands shamefully, and the more uncomfortable Harry got, the more Malfoy smirked. At this point he was smirking so broadly his grey eyes were reduced to slits.

"Oh look," Flint commented suddenly, glancing to their right. "A pitch invasion."

Sure enough, Ron and Hermione (who'd likely followed them so they could watch Harry practice) were traipsing over the field to see what was going on.

Harry shifted in his feet. He was still feeling a bit guilty for introducing Ron to Tom one day into the second year. He'd been rather upset with Tom after he had given Ron the Dark Mark, so Harry had refused to speak to him since.

"What's going on?" asked Ron when they arrived, glancing at both teams, who were standing a few feet from each other. "I thought you would be practicing by now. And what's Malfoy doing here?"

"I'm the new Slytherin Chaser, Wea- Prewett," Malfoy returned self-importantly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron stared at him. Harry noticed a glint in his eye, the glint that he only ever got when he was trying to restrain himself from making fun of Malfoy.

"Good, aren't they?" Malfoy said. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them."

Flint, Pucey, and Bole chuckled quite loudly at that.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," Hermione retorted sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

The self-satisfied smirk on Malfoy's face flickered away. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat at her nastily.

Excellent, just excellent. Just what they needed.

Predictably, there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, while one of the Gryffindor girls shrieked, "How dare you!"

Meanwhile, the look on Ron's face had turned from humorous to murderous in an instant, and he reached for his wand, no doubt to curse Malfoy within an inch of his life.

Immediately, Harry moved, panic fluttering in his chest as he rushed over to Ron and seized his wrist tightly with his hand.

The red-head looked at him with annoyance.

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was just looking rather puzzled and worried. Good, he thought to himself, she didn't know.

"Cursing him won't help anything, Ron," Harry said. "You're just going to start a fight - someone could get hurt… like Hermione." He narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, who had paled a few shades. "You don't have to worry about it," he said lowly, "I'll talk to Malfoy later. We'll have a nice long chat."

The Slytherin team, who still remembered Harry's display in the Common Room a year ago, was silent, and Higgs sent a pitying look Malfoy's way, while the blonde boy all but cowered behind Flint.

The Gryffindors obviously didn't know what was happening, but reading the atmosphere, they stayed silent as well.

Ron stared at Harry with an unreadable expression for a moment, before nodding curtly.

Pleased that he had successfully diffused the situation, Harry let go of Ron's wrist and walked over to Hermione, pulling her into an embrace.

"Mudblood," he said loudly, "Means dirty blood. It's a vile, unkind term for muggleborn witches and wizards; a word that's tossed around far too much in my House. Malfoy was wrong to call you that, especially to your face. It was uncouth, cruel, and in poor taste, and I apologize on his behalf."

With that, he abruptly turned on his heel. "Flint, I don't need to be here for Malfoy's training, so I'm going to head back to the dungeons… and wait for you there."

Flint quirked an eyebrow, looking very amused. "Whatever you say, Potter."

Harry nodded curtly and walked off, face pulled into a dark scowl.

Stupid, cruel Malfoy, running his stupid, cruel mouth off. He-

"Harry! Harry!" he heard Hermione calling from behind him.

He slowed his pace so that she could catch up with him.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly. "Thanks for stopping Ron, from doing something stupid."

Since their argument on the first day of classes, they'd made up, and agreed to disagree on the subject of Gilderoy Lockhart.

In the beginning, Harry had been worried that their unpleasant exchange outside the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom would put a damper on their plans. After all, Hermione really hadn't seemed too pleased with him and Ron, and he had been rather disappointed in her. However, after several days of curt, distant greetings and glares mingled with pleading looks, Ron had dragged him to the Room of Requirement, where they had met Theo dragging Hermione there, too.

"Right, I'm getting sick and tired of this effen disagreement," Ron had said without ceremony once they had arrived. "So we need to talk this out and get this over with, so we can get on with our lives."

"I concur," Theo had said, who was glaring at all three of them. "So as this doesn't involve me, I'm going to the kitchens to fetch some hot chocolate. By the time I get back, this -" he made a disgusted gesture toward them "- had better be fixed."

"Right, so," Ron had said the moment Theo was gone. "Obviously, Harry and I aren't sorry for what we said, and-"

"He's our professor," Hermione had hissed out in response.

"Like Quirrell?" Harry retorted. "Remember him?"

Hermione had faltered at that. "This is different, Harry! You've read the books, you know all the amazing things he'd done -"

"I don't believe the books," Harry had interrupted. "Like Ron said, books can lie."

Hermione had looked aghast at the prospect.

"Look… we're clearly not going to agree on this. You like Professor Lockhart, I don't. Can that just be the end of it?"

"Yeah, I really don't want our friendship to end over something so silly," Ron had said.

She had hesitated, but had eventually offered them a small smile. "Maybe that's for the best."

And that was the end of it; when all was said and done, the three best friends weren't able to stay upset at each other, and the third official meeting of You-Know-What went exactly as planned. They'd successfully compiled a list of spells to learn and established a schedule for weekly meetings - one for occlumency, one for 'experimental spell use' (Ron was teaching that one), and one for dueling. There was even some talk of putting together some potions recipes to experiment with. All in all, things were going well.

"Harry?"

Drawn out of his musings by the concerned tone of Hermione's voice, he looked at her sharply. "I would have let him do it, if I thought it wouldn't have started a full-on fight."

Hermione frowned at him. "Was it really so bad? What Malfoy said?"

Harry nodded jerkily. "It's one of the most unkind things a witch or wizard can say to another witch or wizard."

"… oh."

"Blood matters in our world, Hermione, especially to people like the Malfoys. Him saying your blood is tainted is one of the greatest disrespects he could pay you," Harry said harshly.

Hermione sighed shakily. "I think I understand… I think."

Harry doubted it, but nodded absently nonetheless, his eyes far away.

"But Harry," Hermione began, "You can't hurt him."

He started. "Who?"

"Malfoy."

Harry could feel his entire face twitch.

"I know you're angry, I can tell. I…" She paused. "Well, I've never seen you like this, Harry," she said, "And I figure this must be you, angry… but I can't let you hurt him, because of me."

"He's not allowed to say things like that, Hermione. He's not allowed to insult you to your face, especially not in front of me. It was incredibly stupid of him, incredibly…" He drew a shuddering breath. "If you understood what he said, Hermione, you'd be hurt by it. You're my friend. I can't just let you be hurt, right in front of me."

"Harry, I'm not hurt," she said unconvincingly, "I know that people like Malfoy look down on me, because I'm muggleborn. I already knew that…"

"That doesn't make it ok!" he hissed. "You're one of the most brilliant witches he'll ever meet, and he owes you his respect."

Hermione didn't really know what to say to that. "Just promise me you won't hurt him. Please Harry, please."

"… fine."

Hurt was such a vague term, after all. He could do a lot of things to Draco Malfoy without hurting him.

"Maybe you should go for a walk, or read a book - cool off a bit before you see him again."

Harry sighed, knowing that, about that, she was right.

"I know… I'll go do that. I'll talk to you later."

He turned and began to walk down to the Slytherin Common Room. It was but a few minutes later that he heard Ron's voice from behind him. "So. What are you going to do with Malfoy?"

He turned around to see Ron leaning against the wall of a hallway that he had just passed.

"Oh," Harry muttered in a dull tone, before turning back around to continue walking. "I don't have anything planned."

"Oh please, I heard you talking to Hermione," Ron replied with a wave of his hand after he fell into step besides Harry. "' I would have let him do it, if I thought it wouldn't have started a full-on fight.' Only an angry person says things like that. I'm glad you have so much faith in me, by the way. I wouldn't have started a fight. I would have just strung him up by his entrails and hung him out to dry. Then everyone would have been too scared to start fighting."

"That's not funny," said Harry, looking at Ron with a frown.

"Who said I was laughing," said Ron with a grin, before his face turned serious. "Honestly, though. What do you plan to do to him? I can help."

"I promised Hermione that I wouldn't hurt him," Harry replied crossly.

"Oh, and you always keep your promises, don't you?" Ron replied sarcastically.

Harry cringed. Ron sighed.

"Sorry, that was going too far," he said a moment later. "Tell you what: let me take care of him."

Harry stared at him with a blank face. "What?"

"Well, he still needs to be punished for his transgression, right?" said Ron in a conspiratorial tone. "But you can't do it, because Hermione made you promise not to do it. I, on the other hand, am beholden to no such promise, therefore I can act with impunity."

"But what if she asks you?"

"Well then I'll tell her the truth, but I'm not the one who made a promise to her, and I can just point that out," he replied. "besides, you're the Boss. It's usually the minions who get their hands dirty."

"Ron, you're my friend, not my minion," said Harry exasperatedly.

"That might be so, but I'm still 'his' minion," he replied, and Harry noticed that his posture stiffened. "My earlier point still stands."

"Fine," said Harry, pinching his nose. "Just… just don't cause noticeable damage, or hurt him too much on the inside. Keep it light."

"You got it, boss," he said in a winning tone.

" Don't call me boss!"

Ron: Setting Malfoy Straight

Stupefy

I pointed my beech wand at Malfoy and wordlessly cast the stunning curse on him as soon as the blonde boy entered our dorm room, listening with no small sense of satisfaction to the thud of Malfoy's body hitting the stone floor. I hadn't enjoyed having to wait the whole day for him to return from practice.

Putting down my book and hopping off my chair, I went to close the door behind Malfoy, and I caught Marcus Flint's eye down the hall as he did. The older boy looked very amused.

"Let me know if you need help hiding the body," the older boy called cheerfully down the hall.

I smiled. "Sure!".

I turned my attention back to Malfoy, who was still laying on the floor, his body splayed out on the floor.

" Locomotor mortis."

Thankfully there was no-one else in the room, as they all were on their way to the feast.

Malfoy's body levitated behind me as I walked into the Hall of Door, before speeding my way into the Room of Requirement. I had decided to go with something simple for this Room.

It was a big, white expanse, similar to the training room from the Matrix movie. There were two objects in front of us: one was an ornately crafted, golden chair with red upholstery, the other was a bit of square, gray fabric, that floated a few feet in the air, and was pulled taut.

I placed Malfoy on the fabric, and it sank in, like a trampoline. It still maintained it's square shape.

I sat on the chair and said loudly and clearly "Observe subject Malfoy for life signs. Alert me with a loud sound if he is close to death, close to asphyxiation, or has suffered clinical death. Revive if he has suffered clinical death.

"Create hologramic representation of his lungs, heart, and brain. Highlight areas that have suffered Oxygen Suffocation. Highlight areas of brain that have been damaged from oxygen suffocation. Alert me if he has suffered any form of brain damage. Alert me if he has suffered memory affecting brain damage. Alert me if he has suffered any form of brain damage that could prevent normal bodily functions. Alert me if he cannot be revived from clinical death. Create Hologramic signals for each kind of brain damage."

All of the holograms appeared next to me.

"Place subjects wand on a table next to me." Malfoy's wand appeared on a table next to me.

I stared at Malfoy. I didn't expect any of the conditions that I had laid out to actually happen, but fortune favors the prepared. What I was about to do was kind of risky, so I wanted to make sure that Malfoy wouldn't actually die or be seriously harmed.

I put away my beech wand and pulled out my yew wand

Pointing it at him, I said " Rennervate".

His eyes opened, and he shot up. Jerking around, he turned and saw me. "You!"

I smiled. "Yes, me."

"Weasley, I'll have you expelled for th-" he tried to take a step towards me, but the fabric he stood on adjusted itself, reorienting him to the center, and he fell over.

"Expelled?" I asked softly. "Probably not."

"Wha-" he said, standing up and looked down at the gray fabric. He tried to take a step, only for the fabric to adjust itself again.

"You are trapped," I said. "As long as you stand on the fabric, it will keep you in the center."

"I can still-" he tried to pull out his wand, only to realize that he didn't have it.

"Looking for this?" I asked, indicating his wand on the table next to me.

"Give me back my wand or I'll-"

"You'll what? Fall at me?" I asked with a smirk. "In case you hadn't noticed, Malfoy, I am in complete control of this situation. I can do whatever I want to you, and you are powerless to stop me."

"Give me back my wand and I'll show you how powerless I am," He snarled.

"You're confusing me for a Gryffindor," I replied.

Malfoy frowned, and looked around him. It seemed that it was starting to dawn on him just how out of control of the situation he was.

"Is Potter so weak that he has to send you to do his dirty work?" Malfoy asked in a bitter tone.

"Oh, he wanted to be here himself," I said fondly. "But dear Hermione made him promise not to hurt you, so he sent me in his stead."

"So, this because of the mu- the muggleborn?" he asked, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Have you ever heard of Rictusempra?" I asked instead of answering.

"The Tickling Charm? I don't-"

"Rictusempra was designed to make you laugh," I inturruped. "if you don't laugh, it will tickle you harder, until you have no choice but to laugh, even if you are out of breath."

I noticed the first trace of fear cover Malfoy's face.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"You are not to call Hermione Mudblood," I replied. "you are not to call any muggleborn Mudblood, in front of Hermione, Harry, or I. You will be courteous to Hermione at all times while in her presence. Do you understand?"

"Damn you, Weasley," Malfoy retorted angrily. "I'll tell my father about-"

"Wrong answer," I replied, pointing my yew wand at him: " Rictusempra!"

Malfoy fell over, laughing as invisible fingers tickled him all over. As the seconds passed, I noticed that his laughs became more hoarse. After a minute, he started gasping for breath in-between laughs. After another minute, his breathing became difficult.

" Finite," I said, and the charm was done.

He spent several seconds gasping for breath, before regaining control of his breathing.

" Episky." I overpowered the Healing spell a bit, fixing the minor damage in his throat, windpipe and lungs.

"Do you agree to my terms, Malfoy?" I asked, frowning down at him.

"If I tell the teachers about this, you'll be expelled," Malfoy hissed.

"And you will prove that… how, exactly?" I asked in a faux quizzical tone.

"Your wand," He smiled in victory. "You can't erase what your wand has done."

I smiled back at him. "You think I haven't thought of that?"

I held up my wand. "This is a yew wand; my normal wand is beech."

His face fell. "I… the wards. My father told me that the wards tracks every spell ever cast in Hogwarts."

My smile grew larger. Spells couldn't be detected by the wards if you were in the RoR, but Malfoy didn't need to know that.

"Where are we, exactly?" I asked, looking around. "Look around you, Malfoy. Where do you think we are?"

"You… you took us off the school grounds?" asked Malfoy in shock.

"Maybe. Or maybe I know how to block ward detection," I replied. "But let's be honest here, Malfoy. You have no idea where we are, you have no idea of the kind of situation you are in, and you have no way of proving that what has happened here, actually happened. And if you do have some way of proving this place actually exists, do you think I will sit idle? There is much that I could do to you, where ever you happen to be, and your father won't be able to protect you forever. I advise that you think long and hard about just what kind of situation you've found yourself in. Rictusempra."

After a few seconds, Malfoy thumped his left hand in my direction and nodded to me as much as he could between the laughs. I canceled the charm.

"Do you agree to my terms?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, I agree," he stuttered out between halting breaths.

"Good," I replied. " Stupefy"

OO

"How did it go?" asked Harry when I sat down at the feast a few minutes later.

"He agreed to the terms," I replied, setting my plate with some food. "He won't be calling Hermione the M-word ever again, at least, not when we are around."

"You didn't hurt him too much, did you?" he asked anxiously.

"I used Rictusempra," I replied. "He'll survive."

"Oh," Harry said, nonplussed, before a satisfied expression fell over his face. "Good."

Ron: The Next Move

The Halloween Feast was, as with every other meal at Hogwarts, delicious and enjoyable. As far as anyone knew, what had happened in the RoR had not actually happened, as I had had time dilation at max while in there, so while it had taken me a few minutes to convince Malfoy to comply with my wishes, less than a minute had passed in the outside world, giving me plenty of time to get to the feast.

As far as anyone knew, all I had done was stun Malfoy, then levitated him onto his bed. Enough to get me into detention if reported, but nothing else, as I would have an alibi, as many people would report that I had arrived at the feast a minute after Harry. Besides, if Malfoy did report me, he would make no friends in Slytherin, as he would have broken the fraternity rule.

And there was the matter of Tom Riddle's diary…

Harry and I were the first of the second year Slytherins to arrive to the feast, and the other Slytherins eventually trickled in as the feast went on.

"Say, does anyone know where Draco is?" asked Parkinson a few minutes after she sat down.

"He's taking a nap in the dorms," I replied. "I imagine he's tired after spending the day at Quidditch practice."

"What would you know about it, Prewett?" Parkinson sniffed.

"I noticed him falling asleep on his bed, still in his Quidditch Robes," I commented idly.

Parkinson scoffed, before returning to her meal.

The feast passed rather quietly, the other Slytherins talking rather animatedly to each other, Harry talking to Theo, while I remained silent. The Second years had gotten used to the idea that I wasn't a conversationalist, and so they mostly ignored me.

"Well, I'm finished," I said after about half an hour. "how about you, Harry? I was thinking of going to the library."

It was only around six o'clock.

"Alright," Harry agreed, before turning to Nott: "How about you, Theo?"

"I'm still eating," He replied, indicating his half full plate. "I'll join you later."

"See you, then," I waved.

We both stood up, walked out of the Hall, and began to make our way to the library.

"So, you left Malfoy on his bed?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, for my alibi," I replied. "We spent like maybe 10 minutes in the Room, but it was at max time dilation, so it was only 10 seconds, real time."

"Good idea," Harry agreed. "We don't want the teachers to get-"

But then he started, suddenly standing stock still. He looked around.

"Harry?" I asked.

He looked at me. "Didn't you hear -?"

His jaw clicked shut before finishing the question.

"Harry, what's-"

Ignoring me, he suddenly turned and took off, running down the hall.

"Harry, wait!" I yelled, running after him.

I chased him as he ran though the Halls, and up several flights of stairs. He ran quickly, sometimes going up several steps of stairs at a time.

We sped across the second floor, and Harry didn't stop until he'd nearly made a full circle, and we'd found ourselves in the deserted passage branching out from the one he was apparently looking around.

What we found there I swear would have stopped the hearts of any 12-year-old, but not mine.

We approached, slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering an ominous crimson in the flickering golden light cast by the fire dancing in the surrounding torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

I smirked inwardly. So poor little Malfoy had been writing in the diary, Voldemort's diary that I had planted on him, plus a few compulsions not to show or talk about it. Good. My move had been made.

"The Chamber of Secrets…" I said, in an unsure tone which I hoped didn't sound fake. "Someone actually found it, then?"

Harry turned around and stared at me blankly.

"Wait, what's that thing?" I asked, pointing at what was clearly Mrs. Norris, Argus Filch's cat, which was hanging by her tail from the nearest torch bracket. She was stiff as though frozen, her eyes wide and staring. For a few moments, Harry stood as though frozen.

Then Harry whispered, "Let's get out of here."

I nodded.

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told us that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs and the loud, happy chattering of their classmates; in just a moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends. The clamor, in my ears, was like raging static, and nearly deafening. However, the chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the cat hanging there, and the words ominously painted on the walls.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Argus Filch suddenly came shouldering his way through the crowd, his signature scowl plastered across his face. But then he saw Mrs. Norris and stumbled backwards, clutching his face in horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked. And his wide, frightened eyes fell on Harry and I. "You!" he screeched, "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll -"

"Argus!"

Now Professor Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by the other teachers, who were no doubt leaving the feast as well. Upon seeing the wall, the elderly Headmaster stopped short - though only for a moment.

I didn't think I'd been able to imagine a shocked look on Albus Dumbledore's face before then.

Immediately, he swept past Harry and I and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Mr. Filch. "You too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Prewett.'

Professor Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free -"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Professor Dumbledore briskly, brushing past the babbling man at once and paying no attention to the silent crowd which parted to let them pass. Professor Lockhart, looking proud and like Christmas had come early, hurried after the Headmaster; so too did Professors McGonagall and Snape, Harry and I following meekly behind.

As we entered Professor Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; I saw several of the Lockhart's in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. I found it funny that the ponce's paintings used hair rollers.

The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back as the Headmaster laid Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her. The tip of Professor Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris's fur as he scrutinized her closely through his half-moon spectacles, his weathered fingers gently prodding and poking the bristled fur in front of him. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed, whilst Professor Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression on his face: it was as though he was trying hard not to smile; he was probably quite amused by the whole thing. To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Filch had been the caretaker for the last 30 years, which meant that he was around when Professor Snape went to school too… which meant the Potions Professor probably shared in most of the students' ambient dislike for the bad-tempered man.

In the meantime, Lockhart was hovering around all of them, buzzing like a bee, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her…"

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by the unfortunate Mr. Filch's dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands.

Despite the fact that I would be sad if my pet had died too, I couldn't find it in myself to feel sorry for the man, after having suffered his wrath one too many times. He was, especially now, incredibly pathetic.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore was muttering strange words under his breath which were not quite Latin, and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand, but nothing happened.

"I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou," Professor Lockhart was saying absently, still talking, "A series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography," he said, grinning to himself, a bit, "I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets which cleared the matter up at once…"

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hairnet.

After what seemed like an eternity of listening to Lockhart's chatter, the Headmaster straightened up. "She's not dead, Argus," he said softly, .

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" Filch choked out, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. "But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been petrified."

"Ah! I thought so!" said Lockhart.

I had to muffle a scoff, disguising it as a bad cough. Harry slapping me on the back.

"But how, I cannot say…"

"Ask them!" Filch shrieked, turning his blotched and tear-stained face to Harry and I. We were still standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"No second-year could have done this," Professor Dumbledore concluded firmly; and I felt a bit relieved, even though he was dead wrong. "It would take dark magic of the most advanced -"

"They did it, they did it!" Filch spat obliviously, his patchy face purpling. "You saw what they wrote on the wall!"

"Professor," Harry said softly, glancing at Professor Dumbledore. "I didn't touch her. We found her, Ron and I, seconds before the others showed up," he said, and he shrinked in a bit, probably because everyone was looking at him.

"If I might speak, Headmaster," Professor Snape commented from the shadows, and I suddenly felt very annoyed - would Snape help us, or screw us over?

"Potter and Prewett may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he really doubted it.

Harry nearly gaped at his Professor's charitable answer.

"But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"

"We were at the Halloween feast," I said before Harry could react. "We were there before anyone else, so we finished early, and decided to go the library. That's when we found Mrs. Norris."

Professor Snape quirked an eyebrow at me. "I suggest, Headmaster, that Prewett is not being entirely truthful."

"It is true, sir," Harry said. "Ask any of our housemates."

And just as well, because Professor Dumbledore was giving Harry and I a searching look. He looked at Harry for several moments, before turning his attention to me. His twinkling light-blue gaze was boring into my own, and I was suddenly aware of a slight tugging sensation in my mind. Carefully I pushed thoughts to the forefront of my mind - well-ordered thoughts of annoyance, indignation, and anxiety. I then thought of Harry, of how Harry had suddenly run off without telling me what was going on, and how we had found the message on the wall.

The elderly man's eyes rose only slightly, and he glanced between us.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," the Headmaster said suddenly, and Harry gave a start.

In the meantime, Mr. Filch looked absolutely furious.

"My cat has been petrified!" he shrieked, eyes wild. "I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus," Professor Dumbledore replied patiently. "Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in, "I must have done it a hundred times, I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep -"

"Excuse me," Professor Snape cut in, voice frigid, "but I believe I am the Potions Master at this school."

There was a very awkward pause.

"You may go," Dumbledore said to Harry and I.

The we were silent as they left Professor Lockhart's office; neither of us said a word on the way back to the Common Room, where they were greeted with great enthusiasm.

"We didn't do anything," Harry said immediately, pushing through the crowd.

Everyone looked quite skeptical but let us pass nonetheless. Harry quickly undressed, changed into his pajamas and went to bed. I decided to do the same.

Lying in bed, I stared up at the covers of my fourposter, and felt the Dark Mark burn briefly on my arm.

I smiled and thought: Your move, Voldemort.

Harry: The Heir of Slytherin

It was Sunday, November 1st, and Harry was waiting for his friends in their designated club-room - the Room of Requirement. It was Sunday, so they would be meeting to practice occlumency at 10 am in the Room of Hot Chocolate - but Harry had arrived a little after dawn, eager to avoid the questions that would have no doubt followed him to the breakfast table. A few strawberries and apple slices and some jam and toast were a small price to pay for a few hours of peace and quiet. Now - seated on a plush couch before a warmly fluttering fire - he was quite content to sit, read, and forget the suspicious stares that were no doubt going to follow him around for the next few weeks.

Back to square one. Again.

"Harry, are you the Heir of Slytherin?"

He hadn't even heard the door open.

When he heard Hermione's concerned voice, he froze, his book snapping shut. He looked at her with wide, startled eyes for a moment, before saying slowly, "Hermione… where is this coming from?"

"You can speak to snakes, Harry - Slytherin could too. I did some research last month, and it's something that's passed down in the same family. Genetics. People in Gryffindor think Malfoy's the one who did it, that he's the heir. But I know better - I know what you're the one descended from Slytherin. So, tell me the truth, did you attack Filch's cat?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "Of course I didn't! I don't know who did it. Ron and I just stumbled across it on our way to the library."

She frowned. "Why were you going to the Library?"

"We were done with the Feast, and on the way there I… heard a voice," he said honestly, "Saying something about blood. It was in the walls, I think…"

Hermione looked uneasy about that.

"So we followed it and found Mrs. Norris. She was already hanging there - the words were already on the wall. Whoever did it… it wasn't me, and it wasn't Ron, I'm sure. You're right… I guess I am technically the Heir of Slytherin, but it's not me who's done this. I don't know who it was - we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," he concluded, quoting Professor Snape.

She nodded. "I just had to be sure, you understand. You can speak to snakes, so…"

She frowned. "Why was Malfoy not at the feast, anyway? I didn't see him."

"You'll have to ask Ron," Harry replied, and he shifted uneasily on his feet.

"Ron?" Hermione asked curiously. "What does he have to do with it?"

"I… might have asked him to deal with Malfoy, since I promised you I wouldn't hurt him," Harry replied awkwardly.

"Harry!"

"He was wrong to call you a mudblood!" Harry all but growled at her. "He deserved to be punished!"

"By a teacher, maybe, but not you!"

"Look, Hermione… what's done is done. I'm sorry. I didn't even think to go to a teacher. I…" he paused, here, trying to think of the most diplomatic thing to say. "I trust Ron to do the right thing. He… used Rictusempra on him, nothing harmful."

Hermione's face softened. "Oh, Harry… I know you meant well… but don't go around setting Ron on people because of me… especially not now."

Harry smiled weakly. "I'll do my best."

Hermione sniffed. "That's all I ask."

Harry smiled at her and nodded.

"Now," Hermione said, "Where's Theo and Ron?"

At that moment, the doors opened once again, Theo and Ron entering together.

"You skipped breakfast," Theo greeted disapprovingly, then paused, reading the atmosphere.

"Cut him some slack, Theo," Ron said reprovingly. "I know I wouldn't want to there if I was him."

Theo frowned at Ron.

"We were just talking about what happened last night," Harry said by way of explanation.

Theo nodded slowly, while Ron stared at Harry with a calculating eye.

"Do you know anything about what happened last night?" Hermione asked.

"Nope, I'm just as confused as everyone else," Theo said. He sat down across from them and Ron followed suit. "Although, were you telling the truth, Harry? Do you really not know anything? I mean, you're technically the Heir of Slytherin aren't you?"

"That's what I was just telling Hermione - I have no idea who was behind it. Whoever it was had already gone by the time Ron and I got there."

"I asked the House Elves," Ron said. "None of them were near the place last night."

"I see," Theo replied. "On a different topic, Malfoy wasn't there last night. He wasn't in the dorm either when I came in."

"When did you go in?" Ron asked curiously.

"Right after the feast, and the… ah, incident," Theo replied. "He wasn't in the common room or the bathroom either. I was about to tell one of the prefects, but he came in just after you two."

"Really?" Harry asked. "What was he doing outside the common room?"

"He didn't say," Theo replied. "He just went to bed. He did look dead on his feet, though. And he was still wearing his Quidditch robes."

"What did you do to him, Ron?" Hermione demanded with a scow.

"Why are you asking me?" Ron asked in a confused tone of voice.

"Harry told me about what you did to him," she replied curtly.

"He did, did he?" Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged sheepishly. "Well. I'll have you know that that was before the feast, not after, and all I did was use Rictusempra on him, nothing more."

"You shouldn't have done it at all!"

Ron sighed. "Hermione, I wasn't just going to let that one go. Malfoy had to pay for what he said. He had to be punished."

"By a teacher, maybe, but not you!"

"Ugg, you're such a Gryffindor," Ron said in an exasperated tone. "In Slytherin, we deal with our private matters internally. Snitching is frowned upon."

"That's not an excuse for you to curse him!" Hermione almost shouted.

"Rictusempra is technically a charm," Ron pointed out.

"That doesn't make it better!"

"Hermione, please," Harry interrupted. "Ron was just looking out for you."

Hermione scowled. "Just… just promise you won't do it again."

"I promise," Ron replied.

"What exactly did Malfoy say, anyway?" asked Theo curiously.

"He called her a filthy mudblood," Harry all but spat out. "Right to her face, in front of the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams."

Theo froze, no doubt recalling how close he'd been to calling Hermione a mudblood in front of Harry less than a year ago. Harry knew he'd never consider now, but he looked pointedly at Theo nonetheless.

"Oh… uh, sorry to hear that," he stumbled over his words a bit.

Hermione smiled weakly. "I'm over it."

Theo nodded, looking pleased with her answer. "Anyway, what's the plan for today?"

Harry glanced over at Hermione briefly. "I think we planned on finishing our occlumency studies at the beginning of November. Seeing as it's November 1st, I figured I could test you."

Hermione looked thrilled at the idea of a test, and Theo just shrugged. Ron stared at Harry.

"Harry," he said softly. "I think I'm ready for you to test my shields."

Harry stared at him wide eyed. When Harry had first offered to test their occlumency shields, Ron had refused point blank. For him to offer to let Harry test him showed that Ron trusted him a lot more. That, or he was scared of what Tom would think.

"Um, ok Ron," Harry said kindly. "would you like to go first?"

"No, I think I need to psych myself up some first," Ron replied in an unsure tone.

"Alright, then, who else wants to go first?"

Hermione's hand immediately shot up into the air, but a moment later she realized where she was, and sheepishly placed it back on her lap as Theo and Ron snickered at her, causing her to glare at them.

"Well, I suppose you're going first, Hermione. Are you ready?"

He looked searchingly in her eyes.

Hermione nodded, a determined look on her face.

He pointed his wand at her

"Legilimens."

Immediately, Harry felt his awareness being sucked into the dark hues of Hermione's eyes. A moment later, he found himself, as always, standing at the edge of one of the many moving stairwells that zig-zagged across Hogwarts castle. This was Hermione's entrance a chamber - the reflexive defense system she had put in place that separated the suggestible part of the mind that could be invaded easily and the parts that actually contained information of value. The defense itself was a security measure that snapped into place at the earliest sign of intrusion, and was an obfuscation of surface thoughts, given stable form by hours of long practice, and it was not unless this mini-world was broken through that the intruder could access memories or deeper thoughts of any kind.

Hermione had been very keen on building herself a unique, challenging defense; she'd settled on organizing her surface thoughts according to the path up to Gryffindor tower. Although, this mental version was much more treacherous than the actual thing. Every time Harry thought he was getting somewhere, the stairs would change direction, and every time he tried to run, the foundations of the castle would tremble violently.

After arriving, he walked around a bit, and patted some of his surroundings lightly. A few railings buckled slightly under the pressure he was applying, most of it was very sturdy. Satisfied, he reluctantly distanced himself from Hermione's incredible mind palace, and slowly and carefully withdrew from her mind.

She was staring at him expectantly.

"It's great, like always," he said.

She scowled. "But?"

"But I think you still need to strengthen your foundations a bit - I'm still nervous when I enter and exit, I don't want to knock anything around too much, but other people who enter your mind won't be so careful."

She nodded, satisfied with his answer.

He turned to look at Theo, who seemed a bit nervous.

"Don't worry," Harry said with a smile. "You'll do fine."

Theo nodded curtly.

"Legilimens."

Theo's defenses were much more typical - an enormous stone wall that Harry was too afraid to try to break down, lest he shatter his friend's mind. He went along, poking and prodding and kicking, looking for any cracks or weaknesses. When he was satisfied that there were no obvious structural issues, he withdrew.

"See? It was fine. Just keep practising so that they stay strong."

Harry turned to Ron, who had a steely look on his face. "Ron?"

He nodded.

"Legilimens."

Having never been in Ron's head before, Harry wasn't sure what to expect, but what ever it was, it wasn't this. He found himself in a vast, white expanse. In front of him were four objects, three of which appeared to be black statues with glowing white eyes, and the fourth object was a golden, ornate chair with tartan patterned red upholstery. The chair was facing him.

The statues appeared to be arranged into a triangle, with the chair in the center. The statue to the left of the chair appeared to be a blob, with lots of eyes, and tentacles. Harry wasn't sure what the statue behind the chair was, but it seemed to be composed of a lot of sharp angles, five glowing white eyes, five fore-legs, and six hind-legs.

The statue to the right of the chair was simpler; it was a bust of a person, although who that person was, Harry couldn't say. It seemed to a woman, with a cowl that covered her eyes. She had two pony tails that came down from her head and rested on her chest.

Harry walked to each of the statues, and lightly touched them. They seemed very hard to the touch, not bending or buckling at all. After he touched the last statue of the woman, he walked to the chair, and sat in it.

As soon as his bum touched the chair, big black words appeared in front of him.

NAME THE STATUE TO YOUR LEFT.

Harry frowned, looking to the blob. He had no idea what possible name the statue could have. In fact, he had no idea what any of the statues could be named.

He stood up, and the words disappeared.

Harry pulled out of Ron's mind.

"What do you think?" Ron asked a moment later.

"Very solid," said Harry. "Where did you hide your mind?"

"That would be telling," Ron said with a smirk.

"What did you see?" asked Hermione curiously.

"A big white room, three statues, and a chair," Harry replied. "When I sat in the chair, words appeared asking me the name of the statues. I didn't know the name of any of them, so I just left."

"Any advice on how to improve it?" Ron asked.

"Just work on keeping it solid," Harry replied.

Harry really couldn't give much better advice than that, because his own shields were so different from theirs. If an attacker was to enter Harry's mind, catching him off guard, they'd find themselves in darkness. Nothing but black formlessness. Harry's trick was to wrap the attacker in a ball of blackness that behaved a lot like how most people would imagine nothingness, and follow them around, shrouding the attacker's path until he was able to lead the attacker out of his mind. However, he felt this wouldn't be necessary anymore - not very often at least. After starting to practice legilimency, Harry got a better idea of how the mind worked, and what sorts of things you see when you scan someone's mind - as a result, he was starting to teach himself the skill of tricking an intruder into believing they had successfully penetrated his mind, which he'd attempted to employ when Professor Dumbledore scanned his mind the night before.

"Well?" Hermione said, startling him out of his musings, "What do you think of mine?"

Harry nodded. "I'll test you again sometime next term, but I don't think I need to teach you anything else - I think you'll do just fine on your own."

Theo and Hermione looked quite proud of themselves. Ron simply looked pleased.

"And… that's it, really. Now, weren't we going to look into becoming animagi next?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione expectantly.

She started when she noticed them staring at her.

"Oh, yes!" She pulled out of the bag she had with her a small book entitled The Art of the Animagus and four small leaves. "These -" she pointed down at the leaves in her hand "- are mandrake leaves. I stole them from Greenhouse 3 a couple of nights ago. Apparently the first step to becoming an animagus is keeping these in your mouth for a month."

Harry's eyes widened. "A month?"

"Ew," said Ron distastefully.

Hermione nodded. "Strange, I know. Apparently, they secrete some kind of chemical that slowly gives you the ability to find your spirit animal."

"Your spirit animal?" Theo said with a laugh.

Hermione glared at him. "In many ancient pagan traditions every witch and wizard has an animal counterpart - becoming an animagus is supposed to entail becoming one with this counterpart. The first step is to dream about it. That's where the mandrake leaves come in."

Harry nodded, plucking a leaf out of her hand. He plopped it in his mouth and then grimaced. "Not exactly a culinary delight," he commented.

Hermione rolled her eyes and did the same, grimacing as well a moment later.

Theo took a leaf and placed it in his mouth. "Ugh! Merlin! It tastes like hippogriff piss!"

Harry's eyes widened. "You know what hippogriff piss tastes like?"

His friends rolled their eyes. "It's an expression," they said simultaneously.

"Theo, I agree with you, I can't imagine keeping this in my mouth for a month," Ron said after taking his.

"What next, then?"

Hermione shook her head. "We just have to wait. There's nothing else we can do, for now. In about a month we should start dreaming about our animal forms, but if it takes too long for us to figure out what we are, there's a potion we can brew to speed along the process."

"Speaking of potions," Harry said, "We should brew some."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think we get enough of Potions every week with Professor Snape?"

"No, I agree with Harry," Hermione said, "Practical potion-making is an important skill, and it really wouldn't hurt to have our own ready supply of pepper-up potions or healing salves, especially with all the dangerous spell-work and dueling we do."

"That," Harry added, "And I've come across some really interesting potions that we probably won't get to make in class for quite some time still, if at all."

Hermione's eyes glimmered. "Oh? Like what?"

"Well, I was reading about this potion called Polyjuice potion…"

Theo frowned. "That sounds kind of familiar."

"Yeah, Dad told me about that," said Ron with a grin. "That was a big deal in the war."

"What does it do?"

Harry grinned. "It lets you turn into someone else for a short amount of time."

His friends gaped at him.

"What do you mean lets you turn into someone else?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Well," Harry replied, "It literally changes your body into someone else's. You just brew the potion, and mix a few hairs or toenails or whatnot in, and poof! Instant transformation into anyone you want."

"That could be incredibly useful," Hermione said thoughtfully.

Theo smirked. "Yeah, we could cause all sorts of trouble."

Hermione smacked him on the arm. "Honestly, Theo."

"Honestly, Hermione."

"Shall I get us a list of ingredients to gather, then?"

"Yes!"

"I'll get us an ingredient catalog," said Ron. "We can order directly from the potion's shop in Diagon."

"Excellent. It looks hard… really hard, but I think if we start practicing with smaller things, we'll be able to do it. It'll make a good long-term project. Now… how about a duel to celebrate your graduation?"

Hermione frowned. "Graduation?"

"From the esteemed Harry Potter Institute of the Mind Arts," Harry said cheekily.

His friends rolled their eyes.

"A good idea, Harry," said Ron. "But I had something else in mind."

"Oh, such as?" asked Harry curiously.

"I thought I could teach you guys some light magic," Ron replied. "We haven't had the chance to yet."

Hermione's face lit up. "Oh, like the Patronus?"

"Exactly," said Ron with a smirk. "and some basic theory, too."

"Sounds good."

"May I have control of the Room, Harry?"

"You may,"

The Room transformed. They were still seated on the plush couches, but now the fire was gone, and the room was a bit brighter. A chalk board appeared across from them, and Ron stood up. He walked across the room to it. Harry noticed that Hermione had gotten out one of her notebooks.

"So," Ron began. "The thing to know about light magic is that all light magic is powered by the three non-replicable emotions. I assume you know what they are, Hermione?"

"The three non-replicable emotions are, in no particular order: Happiness, Love, and Empathy," Hermione replied in her quoting voice.

"Exactly," said Ron with a smile. "I'd say Ten points to Gryffindor, but I'm not a teacher."

They all chuckled at that.

"It is impossible to replicate these emotions with magic," Ron continued. "and no light spell can be cast without being powered by one of these emotions."

"What about love potions?" asked Theo.

"Ah," said Ron, tapping the side of his head with his index finger. "Love potions are mis-named. They do not create love, instead they create infatuation, which is not the same thing."

"Anyway, the first spell I'm going to attempt to teach you is the Patronus spell, as you know," Ron continued. "It is the simplest light magic spell there is, and is probably the only light spell that most people learn. It is powered by happiness.

"Now, think very carefully and fully of a Happy memory, and let the Happiness of that memory fill you up, to the brim."

Harry tried to think of a happy memory. Perhaps the memory of when he made his first real friend, the snake he had befriended, the snake named Khasa. He closed his eyes and immersed himself into the memory as Ron had instructed.

"The incantation is Expecto Patronum," Ron said softly a moment later. "There are no wand motions. Raise your wand and repeat after me: Expecto Patronum!"

" Expecto Patronum!" they chorused.

Harry opened his eyes to see a white mist flowing out of his wand tip. It was the same for Hermione and Theo.

"For a first try, that was very good," said Ron approvingly. "Try to think of other memories, but the most important thing is the feeling of happiness. Focus on that feeling when thinking of a Happy Memory. From now forward, you practice on your own."

"Thank you, Ron," said Harry, smiling.

"That was amazing," said Hermione.

Theo just smiled up at his mist.

"Good, now why don't we try that duel," Ron asked.

"You're on," they chorused.

Harry: Hermione Makes Binns Interesting for Once

Hermione's hand was raised high in the air, disturbing Professor Binn's very boring lecture on the formation of Wizengamot.

The elderly ghost stopped short when he saw her, staring at Hermione in wonderment.

"Miss - er -?"

"Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione requested in a loud, firm voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Crabbe and Goyle, who'd been asleep a minute ago, blinked awake; and Neville's elbow slipped off his desk.

Meanwhile, Harry sighed. He'd been quite happy to forget the whole thing, but his schoolmates weren't making it easy. There had been a lot of speculation on who exactly was the heir. Given that Harry was the Boy Who Lived, and Ron was from a light family, very few people believed that they were responsible. Which just lead to a lot of finger pointing and rumors. Let it never be said that Quidditch was the only sport played at Hogwarts - rumor-mongering was quite popular as well.

Professor Binns blinked. "My subject is History of Magic," he said in his dry, wheezy voice. "I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends." He cleared his throat raspily and continued, "In September of that year, a sub-committee of Sardinian sorcerers -"

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione's hand was waving in the air again.

"Miss Grant?"

Malfoy was snickering slightly, causing Ron to look over and glare at him.

"Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Professor Binns was looking at her in utter amazement.

"Well," said elderly ghost said slowly, "Yes, one could argue that, I suppose." He peered at Hermione as though he was looking at her for the first time. "However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale…"

He looked like he wanted to leave it at that, but now the whole class was hanging on Professor his every word. He looked dully around the classroom, eyes twitching as he did. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest in what he had to say. Hermione was probably the only one in at least twenty years who cared what Professor Binns had to say in general, and this was probably the first time he'd ever held a whole class's attention.

"Oh, very well," he said slowly, giving in. "Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets… you all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago - the precise date is uncertain - by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

He paused, gazing blearily around the room, before he continued, "For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But eventually, disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school." Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise. "Reliable historical sources tell us this much," he said, "But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

"Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic."

There was a bated silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn't the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns's classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more.

Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed. "The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he remarked with a scowl. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible."

Hermione's hand was back in the air. "Sir - what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the heir of Slytherin alone can control," Professor Binns wheezed out.

The entire class exchanged nervous looks… except Harry, who was trying to avoid eye contact with everyone, deep in thought, curiously mulling over Professor Binns's story in his mind.

"I tell you, the thing does not exist," huffed Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. "There is no Chamber and no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan suddenly, "If the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?"

Exactly, he wanted to point out.

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. "If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing -"

"But, Professor," Parvati Patil piped up, "You'd probably have to use dark magic to open it -"

Harry scowled at her openly. Just because it was built by Slytherin, they thought it had to be dark magic. Harry knew for a fact that that wasn't the case.

"Just because a wizard doesn't use dark magic, doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather," Professor Binns snapped at her. "I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore -"

"But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't -" began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

"That will do," he said sharply. "It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!"

Harry then put up his hand, a little surprised at himself as he did. Maybe this would be a good time to make a point.

Professor Binns sighed wearily. "Yes, Mr. -" he squinted "- Potter?"

"Sir, I could not help but notice a discrepancy between the history and the legend."

The professor looked somewhat more interested now. "Oh?"

"You mentioned that Slytherin was suspicious of muggleborns, that he didn't trust students with muggle parents, which lines up with the history of the period - lynchings of alleged witches and wizards were common enough that the subject of witch-burning was discussed as an issue during several Councils held by the Catholic Church, where laws were put in place to minimize the damage done to wizarding families by the common folk, who blamed them for sickness, draught, and famine.

"However, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, the Church had little influence in England, and secular rulers made the persecution of witches and wizards even worse by creating laws that allowed those suspected of doing magic to be held and tortured for information."

Professor Binns was looking absolutely gabsmacked at this point. "Yes, go on."

"Then it makes sense why Slytherin would have been mistrustful of students with muggle families. Perhaps his suspicions were misplaced, but they made sense. So why is it that the legend tells us that Slytherin left a monster here to eradicate those unworthy of studying magic, when the history you told us about says nothing about unworthiness at all? Worthiness doesn't necessarily have anything to do with trustworthiness, after all."

The whole class was staring at him now with bewildered looks on their faces. He wasn't sure why. It was a very reasonable question - he was surprised no one had asked it yet.

In the meantime, Professor Binns looked quite pleased. "Too right you are, Mr. Potter. There is no evidence that Salazar Slytherin believed in blood purity at all - he simply mistrusted witches and wizards that had too much contact with muggles. This, see, is why the entire legend is nonsense, filled with hundreds of years' worth of prejudices and sensationalism. Now! As I was saying before Miss Grant's interruption…"

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor, though Harry could sense puzzled looks still being thrown his way by Slytherins, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs alike.

The class passed quickly, and as always, people were quick to leave after. Harry slipped away before his housemates could start questioning him, and tried to find Hermione.

"Hermione!" he called, running up to her.

She looked at him strangely. "What was that about?"

He blinked. "What was what about?"

"Your question, about Slytherin's views on blood purity."

"It was a valid question. Slytherin might have been misguided, but the history makes it sound like his heart was in the right place."

Hermione was opening her mouth to argue, so he continued.

"Besides, it doesn't really matter anymore. There hasn't been a witch burning in centuries, so his concerns are obsolete…" Well, maybe not, but he wasn't about to start that conversation. "That's not what I wanted to talk to you about though. I want to talk about what you said."

She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You shouldn't be looking into the Chamber, Hermione."

She looked outraged. "Why!?"

Harry huffed. Honestly, Hermione could be a bit dense, sometimes. "No matter what Slytherin's views were, whoever's claimed to open the Chamber probably hates muggleborns - and if they think you're getting to inquisitive… what if you were next?"

Hermione looked upset. "But Harry! Someone has to look into it -"

"The teachers can do it. Besides, this might be a one-off thing. Maybe someone's bad idea of a Halloween prank."

The determined look on her face faltered. "I guess so…"

Harry smiled slightly. "Just focus on your classes… and keeping these nasty mandrake leaves in our mouths."

She giggled a bit. "Did you see Theo the other day during lunch, when we had tomato soup? He looked like he was going to be sick."

"Harry!"

He turned around to see Michael Corner and Terry Boot heading toward them.

"Hermione," Michael greeted, while Terry just blushed.

"Hi," Harry said confusedly, "What's up?"

"We were just wondering where you learnt all that about the witch-burnings in the eleventh century," Michael explained as they caught up to them.

Hermione frowned. "I'm curious about that too. I didn't realize that the Catholic church was actually against witch-burnings at any point."

"Actually," Harry commented, "The Catholic Church worked with the Council of Upsalla during the Dark Ages."

Terry's eyes went wide. "Seriously?"

Harry nodded happily. "Pope Alexander the Fourth actually decreed that the Church wasn't supposed to investigate accusations of witchcraft - there were periods when Rome actively helped sweep incidents with muggles under the rug."

His friends were gaping at him.

"No way!"

"Yeah, it wasn't really until the beginnings of the Protestant Reformation that things really started to fall apart… I can recommend some books from the library, if you like."

"Oh, you simply must, now," Michael said with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, the best one is probably A History of Magical and Muggle Cooperation, Volume II. There's only one copy though -"

He blinked, and suddenly they were gone.

He sighed. They didn't even let him finish. He could have easily recommended a book to each of them, but no, they had to run off at the words 'only one copy' - true words of doom when associating with Ravenclaws, as it turned out.

He turned to find Ron, standing there and watching him.

"So Slytherin wasn't all that keen on pureblood views?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," said Harry uncertainly.

"Hmm, You learn new things everyday," He commented, walking past Harry without another word.

OO

"Now boys, look sharp - shake hands," Madame Hooch said sternly.

Flint and Wood obeyed, giving each other threatening stares and haphazardly trying to break the other's hand as they exchanged a tense greeting.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch, "Three… two… one…'

As Harry's broom rose into the air like everyone else's, nervousness fluttered in his chest. Last year, his first Quidditch match of the year hadn't gone very well. In fact, he'd nearly died. He felt Tom's apprehension in the back of his mind and couldn't help but feel a little of his own.

Keep an eye out, Tom was saying in his head.

Harry was about to mumble a reply when a heavy black Bludger came pelting towards him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

"Close one, Harry!" Lucian Bole crowed humorously as he swooshed past him, club in hand.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when Bole gave the Bludger powerful whack in the direction of Angelina Johnson, but the Bludger changed direction in mid-air and shot straight for Harry again. Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and Bole managed to hit it away again, this time in the direction of one of the Weasley twins. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry's head.

Eye's widening, Harry burst forward and zoomed towards the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible…

Derrick waited for him at the other end of the pitch, and once Harry swooshed past him, he hit the Bludger with all his might in the opposite direction.

"That's done it!" he shouted with a smirk, but he was wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted towards Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed.

Left, right, and down hadn't worked, so he decided to try up.

Higher and higher Harry climbed. He looped and swooped, spiralled, zig-zagged and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open. Rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must look very silly, whirling and spinning in the air, but he wasn't about to get hit by a Bludger because he was too embarrassed to dodge.

It followed him relentlessly, never veering too far off course; but thankfully it was heavy and couldn't change direction as quickly as he could, allowing him to dodge quite effectively. He began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through raindrops at the Slytherin goalposts, where Adrian Pucey was… then he caught sight of it - the Snitch! He changed course, but he took just a bit too long; the Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. He let out a small shout, but didn't allow himself to be unseated. Not yet. Not when the Snitch was so close by.

Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side. The Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at his face.

He barely dodged, and came to a decision - damn the Bludger, he needed to get the Snitch and end the game. Ducking down close to his broom, he sped forward, toward the Bludger, which was careening over to him once again. He picked up speed, and at the last moment, dodged it, grabbing for the Snitch seconds after he did; he took his remaining good hand off his broom and made a wild snatching motion, and a moment later he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch… but he was now only gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as he flipped over and was thrown straight for the ground.

Blinking, he tried hard not to pass out as, with a splattering thud, he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. Completely overcome with pain (which was a completely different kind of pain from the pain Tom released on him), he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand, and breathed a sigh of relief that the game was finally over. It had only been 15 minutes, but it felt like an eternity to him.

Exhausted, he blacked out for a moment, and when he next came round, rain was stinging his face, and he was still lying on the pitch, with someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of perfect white teeth.

"Oh no, not you," he moaned, unable to help himself.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly, to the anxious crowd of students pressing in around them.

"I know exactly what I'm saying," he hissed through his teeth.

"Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."

"No! That's quite alright, it's fine, it's fine," Harry sputtered. He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.

"Creevy," he moaned, "Go take pictures of raindrops or something."

"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times."

"Yes, and that's lovely sir…" he winced "But Madame Pomfrey likes to take care of these things herself," he said through clenched teeth.

"He's right," Flint put in firmly, pushing through the crowd with a grin. "Good work Potter. Made a bloody good spectacle of yourself, but we sure won."

Harry nodded weakly.

Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and George Weasley, wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.

"Stand back," said Lockhart grandly, rolling up his jade-green sleeves.

"No… no… please…" Harry whimpered, not caring how undignified he sounded at this point.

Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.

" Brackium Emendo!"

A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated; he couldn't say for sure what was happening, though, because he didn't dare sneak a peek at what was going on. He had shut his eyes, his face turned desperately away from his arm, but his worst fears were realized as the people above him gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly… Harry didn't think it was at the raindrops.

His arm didn't hurt any more, but it didn't feel remotely like an arm either.

"Ah," Lockhart said uneasily, "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the Hospital Wing - ah, Mr. Flint, Mr. Higgs, would you escort him? - and Madam Pomfrey will be able to - er - tidy you up a bit."

As Harry got to his feet, he felt strangely lopsided. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at his right side. What he saw nearly made him pass out again. Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers. Nothing happened. Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.

Why did these things always happen to him?

OO

Predictably, Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a perfectly functioning arm. "I can mend bones in a second - but growing them back -"

"That is something you can do though, right?" Harry asked with no small amount of panic in his voice.

"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. "You'll have to stay the night…"

This was ok, though - sleepless, pain filled nights were not that unfamiliar to him, after all.

Once he'd changed into his pyjamas, he removed the curtain to find Hermione, Ron and Theo standing there in front of him. Hermione looked outraged and Theo had a great scowl upon his face. Ron simply looked amused

"Bloody Lockhart!"

"How could he!" Hermione was basically screeching. "He vanished your bones! Of all the incompetent -"

"… Hermione…?"

The three boys were gaping at her.

"What?" she spat out.

"You're… not going to defend him?" Theo asked, bewildered.

"He vanished Harry's bones," Hermione hissed out in response.

Harry lay back in his bed, a relieved smile on his face. "Finally…"

At least something good had come from the whole debacle.

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain, holding a large bottle of something labelled 'Skele-Gro'.

"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming beaker full and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."

So was taking the Skele-Gro, as it turned out. It burned Harry's mouth and throat as it went down, the same way Fire Whiskey did in Tom's memories (although the taste was even more unpleasant), making him cough and splutter.

Still ranting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving Ron, Theo and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water.

"We won, though," Theo commented, a grin breaking across his face. "Flint was thrilled."

Hermione scowled at him, and Harry looked unimpressed. "I'm sure he was."

Soon after, Higgs and Pucey showed up with a pile of chocolate.

"Figured you deserved it," Higgs said, "Having broken your arm so we could win the game."

Harry smiled wryly. "I suppose I'll have to do it more often, then."

"Oh no you won't!" Madame Pomfrey said, scurrying back into the room to place several potions near Harry's bedside. "This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!"

And Harry was left alone, with nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm.

OO

Hours later - he wasn't sure when - Harry woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness of midnight and gave a small yelp of pain: his arm now felt like it was full of large splinters. For a second, he thought it was that sensation which had woken him. Then, with the stabbing sensation of utter horror, he realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

"No!" he hissed a panicked voice, waving his good arm. "Get off! Get off me!" he hissed, panicking frantically. But as his eyes adjusted, he paused and gasped. "Dobby!"

The house-elf's goggling tennis-ball eyes were peering at Harry through the darkness. A single tear was running down his long, pointed nose.

"Harry Potter came back to school," he whispered miserably.

"Well, yes, what did you expect me to do?" he asked frankly.

"Dobby warned Harry Potter. Ah sir, why didn't you heed Dobby?" He looked very distraught, and was rocking backwards and forwards, shaking his oversized head. "Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master's dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir…"

Harry felt horrible at that, and shrank back under his covers, feeling rather guilty.

Meanwhile, Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, "Harry Potter must go home! Harry Potter is in grave, grave danger…"

Harry grimaced. "You know, you might be right - just today I almost got killed by this mad Bludger."

Dobby's goggling eyes grew even wider, and he let out a sob, looking incredibly guilty, before he whispered, "Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make -"

"Your Bludger?" Harry exclaimed incredulously, "What do you mean, 'your Bludger'? You made that Bludger try and kill me?"

Tom was hissing something furiously in the back of his mind.

"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" said Dobby, seemingly shocked to the core. "Dobby wants to save Harry Potter's life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!"

Harry chuckled darkly. "Oh, is that all? And I suppose you still won't tell me why you want me sent home in pieces?"

"Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!" Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase-dress. "If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, us dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He Who Must Not Be Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir," he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. "But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He Who Must Not Be Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord's power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the dark days would never end, sir… and now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more -"

Dobby froze, horror-struck, then grabbed Harry's water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, "Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby…"

Harry frowned. "You know about the Chamber? But I'm not a muggleborn - how can I be in danger from the Chamber?"

"Ah, sir, ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby," stammered the elf, his eyes huge and tearing in the dark. "Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen. Go home, Harry Potter. Go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, 'tis too dangerous -"

"Dobby," Harry said sternly, "Is it your masters? Is it your master that's opened up the Chamber of Secrets?"

Lucius Malfoy originally had the diary. Harry and Tom initially thought he'd lost it, but… if once again, Lucius Malfoy's house-elf was warning him about the opening of the Chamber, could this all be… on purpose? Some convoluted plot conjured up by Lucius Malfoy to accomplish… well, he didn't know what the man was trying to accomplish.

"Dobby can't, sir, Dobby can't, Dobby mustn't tell!" the elf squealed. "Go home, Harry Potter, go home!"

Harry grit his teeth. "You want me to leave while my friends are in danger? Run away?"

"Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!" moaned Dobby, in a kind of miserable ecstasy. "So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not -" Dobby suddenly froze, his pointed ears quivering.

Harry heard it, too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

"Dobby must go!" breathed the elf, terrified; there was a loud crack as the elf popped away.

Harry slumped back into his bed, his eyes on the dark doorway to the hospital wing as the footsteps drew nearer.

In a moment's time, Professor Dumbledore was backing into the hospital wing, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

"Get Madame Pomfrey," Professor Dumbledore whispered, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed and out of sight.

Harry pretended to be asleep; his eyes were half closed, but still fixed on the bed across the room.

A moment later he heard urgent voices, and then Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madame Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. He heard her sharp intake of breath.

"What happened?" the matron whispered to Professor Dumbledore, bending over the statue on the bed.

"Another attack. Minerva found him on the stairs."

"There were a bunch of grapes next to him. We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter."

Harry blinked, squinting.

Sure enough, it was Colin Creevy, a camera in his frozen hands, lying in the hospital bed across the room.

"Petrified?" whispered Madame Pomfrey.

"Yes. But I shudder to think… if Albus hadn't been on his way downstairs for hot chocolate, who knows what might have…"

He saw Professor Dumbledore slowly and carefully trying to pry the camera out of Creevy's hands.

"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?"

"That would be fortuitous indeed," the elderly man said

A moment later, there was a loud pop before a jet of steam hissed out of the camera. Harry caught the smell of burnt plastic.

"Good gracious!"

"Melted," Madame Pomfrey said in amazement, "All melted."

"What does this mean, Albus?"

There was an uneasy pause.

"It means that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open once again."

Ron: The Dueling Club

I felt as though I was flying, though the water. I moved, my body slithering though the water, carefully and deliberately, around the rocks and corals, hunting, sliding into holes to look for pray. My tongue flickered out, tasting the water. I could feel the heat of the prey, my jaws opening to snatched up the brightly colored fish with raised fangs, and-

I woke up.

It was a dream.

I sighed and pushed over the covers. It was the second dream I'd had in two months. It appeared that my spirit animal was a snake. A sea snake at that.

I smirked. The irony of that was not lost on me.

I got up and went to the bathroom, only to find Harry there. spitting out his mandrake leaf.

"Good morning, Harry," I said sleepily, and proceeded to spit out my own mandrake leaf. "Did you have any dreams?"

"Yeah," he mumbled as he washed out his mouth. "I was in a tree somewhere. I think I might either be something that can fly or climb."

"Probably fly, with your broom skills," I replied.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I'm a water animal, it seems," I replied. "I think I'm a snake, as my body felt really elongated, and I didn't have any limbs. I also felt fangs in my mouth."

"Really?" Harry asked in surprise.

"I could be an eel," I replied defensively, before raising my hand to grasp my chin thoughtfully. "although that's hardly a promising prospect."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "That's really ironic, though. "A Slytherin being a snake animagus."

"Think of the bright side," I replied with a smile. "If I am a snake animagus, that means we can talk to each other in Parseltongue."

Harry perked up.

"That is something to look forward to," he agreed.

OO

I was reading a book next to Theo, who was playing exploding snap on the floor near the fireplace with Tracey Davis and Daphne, when Harry came into the common room and walked straight to us.

He smiled as he plopped down beside Theo.

"Daphne, Davis," he greeted.

Davis scowled at him. "How come you call her Daphne but I'm still Davis?"

Harry blinked. "Um, well, you've never corrected me, I guess."

The girl huffed. "Fine, then call me Tracey."

Harry smiled brightly. "Alright Tracey!"

She rolled her eyes. "Now is there a reason you're interrupting our game?"

"Harry can interrupt whatever he wants!" Daphne said passionately.

Tracey rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, sure."

Meanwhile, Harry smiled bashfully. "Yeah, sorry about that - there's dueling club tonight, though."

Theo dropped his cards. "There's what?"

I put down my book. "A dueling club? Who's running it?"

"I don't know?" Harry replied, perplexed. "Anyway, we should go, it could be fun."

"I'd love to watch you duel, Harry," Daphne purred.

"Well, you should probably duel too," Harry corrected.

"Oh, yes, of course."

"When does it start?" Theo asked.

"About fourty minutes."

"Enough time to finish our game," Tracey said with a shrug. "You can help out Theo, Harry. He needs all the help he can get."

"Hey!"

When we reached the Great Hall, we found that the long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had been erected, and was stretched out along wall, glittering in the light of the thousands of candles floating far above their heads. The ceiling was velvety black once more, reflecting the tranquil night far above, and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all holding their wands in their hands and looking very eager and excited.

Harry waved at Hermione when we saw her, and she came running over.

"Harry! Ron! Theo! And, er, Greengrass and Davis, right?"

Tracey gave her a half smile. "That's right."

"I'm -"

"Oh, we know who you are," Daphne said with a scowl. "Harry talks about you all the time."

"You do?"

Harry smiled bashfully. "Not all the time."

"I wonder who'll be teaching us," Hermione wondered, ignoring the unproductive turn that conversation was taking, standing on the tips of her toes to peer over the crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young. Maybe it will be him."

"It hardly matters," Harry said, "As long as it's not -"

At that moment, Gilderoy Lockhart burst into the room, bright purple robes flowing behind him, with his signature self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Theo purposefully stepped on his foot. "You bloody jinxed it."

Harry hung his head ashamedly. "I'm sorry."

"Did you just step on his foot?" Daphne hissed.

"If I did, he deserved it."

Hermione and Tracey were wearing identical expressions of annoyance.

"I'd rather it be the ponce and not Snape," I said snidely.

Lockhart dramatically waved an arm to call for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Dueling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions - for full details, see my published works."

"See my published works," I mimicked mockingly.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape -"

"Aw Merlin!" I swore. Snape still hates Harry and by extension me for daring to be friends with him.

The man waked up to stand next to Lockhart. I noticed that looked silently furious, as he usually did while being forced to look at Lockhart.

"He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry - you'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" I whispered.

Theo quirked an eyebrow and Tracey and Daphne glared at me. Hermione rolled her eyes and tutted scoldingly.

Meanwhile, Professor Snape's upper lip was curling in disgust.

Lockhart, of course, was completely oblivious.

"As you can see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart explained, "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course -" The man winked.

I smirked. Lockhart didn't know what was coming.

"One, two, three!"

Both of them swung their wands up and over their shoulders.

Immediately, Professor Snape cried out, "Expelliarmus!"

The spell was so forceful that Lockhart was blasted off his feet; he flew backwards of the stage, smashing into the wall and sliding down it to sprawl on the floor.

Harry smiled broadly, and Theo was cackling quietly beside him. Hermione was staring on with cold satisfaction.

I smiled in satisfaction.

Meanwhile, Tracey was trying to look over the crowd of students. "Do you think he's alright?" she asked casually.

"Who cares!" I exclaimed.

She rolled her eyes.

In the meantime, Lockhart rose unsteadily to his feet. "Well, there you have it!" he shouted, tottering back onto the platform. "That was the Disarming Charm - as you see, I've lost my wand - thank you Miss Brown -"

"Wouldn't it have been great if someone accidentally stepped on it?" Theo said under his breath.

I grinned at that.

"Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind me saying so -"

I was pretty sure Snape minded everything Lockhart said.

"- it was pretty obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you, it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see."

Snape was looking at him murderously, and evidently Lockhart finally noticed, because he sobered a bit, and said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put all of you who don't have partners yet into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me."

Hermione, Theo, and I instantly turned towards each other.

"Dibs," We said simultaneously.

"On what?" the others asked confusedly.

"Harry," Hermione said by way of explanation.

Harry frowned. "Yes, I suppose pairs are two people, not three."

"By definition," Theo said blandly.

"Dibs," I said again, before smiling. "Ha, I win!"

"Wait, Ron," Harry said, turning to me. "I think we are both about equally skilled duelists, why don't you take Theo? He could use your instruction."

Theo scowled. I did too, but I could understand his reasoning. Out of all of us, Theo was the poorest dueler. He could use some catching up.

"Ugg, fine," I replied. "Come on, Theo."

We walked away from the group, and Theo turned towards me.

I turned to looked at Theo with a small smirk. "Do you think you can manage a couple of spells wordlessly?"

Theo grinned smugly. "Well, as long as you don't throw anything at me too fast, Protego, probably."

"Good enough." I put some distance between us as Lockhart called, "Face your partners!"

I looked at Theo, who seemed quite excited.

"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart shouted. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent - only to disarm them - we wouldn't want any accidents. One… two… three…"

Theo immediately cast with a shout, " Expelliarmus!"

I dodged, before casting a wordless tripping jinx at his feet, and Theo, who was used to silent spells by now, blocked easily. Neither of us were trying very hard - our usual dueling techniques could get a bit… destructive, and something told me that accidentally killing someone cause I used a lethal curse wasn't a good idea.

Theo cast " Stupefy" and I blocked, wordlessly responding with a wordless Flipendo.

"I said disarm only!" I heard Lockhart call in alarm over the crowd of students.

I held up his hand to signal to Theo that we were stopping, and then looked around, observing the chaos around us.

Neville and Finch-Fletchly were lying on the floor panting, Harry and Hermione had stopped too, several other students had fallen over; some of the duels looked like they had actually devolved into brawls. Meanwhile, several people had abandoned their duels altogether to ogle at our group in wonderment.

Michael and Terry were grinning and giving Harry and Hermione a thumbs-up.

"Dear, dear," Lockhart said, skittering through the crowd, "Up you get, Macmillan… careful there, Miss Fawcett… pinch it hard, it will stop bleeding in a second…"

He sighed. "I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," he said, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Professor Snape, whose black eyes glinted menacingly, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair - Longbottom and Flinch-Fletchley, how about you?"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," Professor Snape cut in, gliding over. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox."

Finch-Fletchley went pale as Neville went rather red in the face.

"How about Malfoy and Potter?" he concluded with a twisted smile.

I sighed in aggravation. Of course, Snape wouldn't pass up the chance to make Harry look like a fool, even though Harry was a good duelist.

Theo snickered. "This will be entertaining."

"I'll bet," I replied. "or it will over faster than it started."

"Excellent idea!" Lockhart exclaimed, gesturing to Harry and Malfoy.

"Now Harry," I strained to hear Lockhart say when they were on the stage, "When Draco points his wand at you, do this."

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action and dropped it as Professor Snape smirked.

"Whoops - my wand is a little over excited -"

"Actually, Professor," Harry said in a firmer tone, "I already know the shielding charm. I'm quite alright."

Lockhart blinked. "Oh, alright then."

I looked over at Malfoy, who I noticed was listening to something Professor Snape was saying, too low for me to hear, as he glanced covertly Harry's way with a terrified look on his face.

Cautiously, Malfoy approached Harry.

"One, two, three - go!" Lockhart cried out.

Harry did nothing. He just watched Malfoy, perhaps curious about what the other boy would do.

Malfoy froze at first, but a moment later, a strange look came over his face, as though he was resolved, and he cried out, "Expelliarmus!"

"Protego," Harry said quietly.

Professor Snape looked a bit disappointed but nodded curtly.

But before he could step in to end the duel, Malfoy exclaimed, "Serpensortia!"

The end of his wand exploded, and I watched as a long black snake shot out of it, falling heavily onto the floor with a thud between them, ready to strike.

Fearful screams filled the air, and the crowd backed off.

Harry paused, a frightened look on his face, before he walked forwards, and reached out to pet the snake while it hissed and spit at him.

After a moment, the snake leaned into his touch, and it seemed to calm down.

He looked around at the crowd and said: "What? Animals love me."

Several girls were looked at him with adoring faces. Daphne was blushing something fierce.

Seemingly stirring from the shock, Professor Snape stepped forward, waving his wand so that the snake vanished in a small puff of smoke.

A disappointed look that came over Harry's face as he looked up to Professor Snape, who had a very strange look in his eye, before he turned to glare at Malfoy, who had stepped back nervously.

"Well then," Lockhart exclaimed, "Another pair, perhaps?"

Harry rushed off the stage, and I decided to follow him. He didn't seem to notice me as I followed him all the way up to the seventh floor, where he stepped in front of the normal entrance to the RoR. As if to summon the door, he turned around, and finally noticed me.

"Ron!" he said in startlement. "I… didn't see you."

"It's fine, I can tell you are angry," I said, "Why don't we go in so that you can let off some steam, hmm?"

The Door appeared, and we walked in to see a terraced room full of big, empty pots.

"Bombarda MAXIMA!" Harry screamed violently and without warning, voice cracking and breaking under the weight of his words, "REDUCTO! EXPULSO! CONFRINGO! CONFRINGO! CONFRINGO!"

Many Pots broke that night, and a few moments later I joined Harry in screaming curses.

Harry was angry because of what Malfoy had done, but I was angry for a different reason. I was angry because I had discovered, for the first time, that I could now understand Parseltongue.

I was angry, because I was scared.

Ron: Conscripting the Slytherins

When Harry and I returned that evening (after we cleaned ourselves up), the other boys were already in the dorm room, Crabbe and Goyle playing exploding snap with Malfoy on the floor, and Zabini and Theo both on their beds reading.

When we entered the room, all eyes fell on us, and everyone froze, for they seemed to sense the anger that Harry still had.

Harry took a few steps forward, eyes resting on Malfoy, who had gotten to his feet defensively.

"Ron, lock the door,"

I complied, casting a powerful locking charm on it.

Harry eyes narrowed and trained on Malfoy, who was starting to look very uneasy. Meanwhile, Theo had stood up, and Crabbe and Goyle backed up against the wall at the other side of the room, eyes wide and gazes unsure.

"Take out your wand," Harry hissed.

"Potter, I don't know what you -"

"Take out your wand, Malfoy."

Gritting his teeth angrily, indignance written all over his face, the boy did just that.

"What, aren't you going to draw yours, Potter?"

"I don't need it," Harry said, and Malfoy bristled.

"Now, cast the spell."

Malfoy's eyes flashed, and suddenly he started to look afraid.

"What, aren't you curious anymore, Malfoy?" Harry asked sweetly, "We'd hate to have that. After all, Draco Malfoy gets what Draco Malfoy wants, isn't that right? So cast the spell."

Malfoy didn't move.

"Cast the spell!" Harry snarled.

"S-serpensortia…"

Nothing happened.

Harry smirked coldly. "You have to mean it, Draco."

The Malfoy heir did his best to steel himself, drawing up all the shaky confidence he had left in him.

"Serpensortia!"

And with that, a medium-sized black snake burst forth from his wand, landing on the floor with an ominous thud. Furious, it recoiled as it stared at Harry, and was poised to strike, when -

: I mean you no harm, please, don't attack me.:

The snake froze, as did everyone else in the room. Crabbe and Goyle were standing slack-jawed in the back of the room, and Zabini's book had clapped shut. And as Theo stared on, eyes alight with fascination, Draco Malfoy went white as a ghost.

I merely stared, curious as to what the snake would do. Or say.

: You speak?: the snake said curiously, tilting his head to the side.

: I do. And I apologise that you have been brought here so rudely.:

: Not at all, if the speaker summoned me -:

: I didn't summon you. That boy behind you did.:

The snake turned around to look at Malfoy, who was vibrating with nervous energy, now, something akin to pure terror on his face.

: Why don't you scare him a bit: Harry suggested, and the snake lunged forward, causing Malfoy to give a shout and stumble backward and fall against his bed. I hid a smile.

: That's enough: Harry said, with a small smirk, : I think he's learned his lesson.:

: Of course, speaker.:

: Now, come to me, and hide under my robe. I must attend to things here, but I will find a way to get you outside and set you free soon.:

: Can I not stay?:

: We will both be in danger, if you do. It's best that you leave.:

: As you wish.: Bowing slightly in acquiescence, the snake slithered toward Harry, up his arm and under his robes.

I smiled a bit. It was an interesting show, and reminded me of a scene from the last Harry Potter movie, where Nagini slithers up Voldemort's arm before they apperate.

"Now," Harry said softly, "I believe that this will do away with any need for idle speculation and rumor spreading."

Zabini had risen to his feet. "Do you mean to say… that you're the Heir of Slytherin?"

Harry pursed his lips. "I am…"

Wait, really? I had to be honest, I wasn't expecting that.

Draco was still gaping at him. "Then you are the one behind the attacks!"

Theo scowled at him. "No Draco, you stupid, presumptuous little twit! He -"

"Theo, it's alright," Harry said, "No, I'm not the one behind the attacks. Someone's using my name to attack people at Hogwarts."

Zabini looked a little disappointed. "Then you're not the one trying to rid the school of mudbloods?"

In an instant, I had drawn my wand and pointed at him. "I advice you don't say that word in front of me again, Zabini, if you want to go unharmed."

"Put your wand down, Ron," Harry said, putting his hand on my shoulder. I complied, and he turn to Zabini, scowling. "No, of course not. Hermione Granger is one of my best friends - why would I want to rid Hogwarts of muggleborns like her?" he snapped.

Zabini looked appropriately chastised, and gave me a scared glance.

"No," Harry continued, "Somebody is randomly attacking people, and, er, cats, using my name. And I need to find out who that is before they accidentally expose me. That's where you four come in."

They all looked confused at that.

"You don't really think I told you my secret to assuage your curiosity, did you?"

No one said a word, and Harry burst out laughing, making four of the seven people in the room very uneasy.

Theo and I did not react, as we were used to Harry's mood swings by now.

"You did! Oh no, I'm sorry, I truly am, but my intentions weren't so benevolent."

The boys looked even more uneasy, now.

"I've done some research, and the Chamber was opened back in 1943… I have reason to believe a dark artifact was behind it."

Oh, he was talking about the diary, the Diary that I had planted on Malfoy back on the second day of school. Good thing I had compelled him not to tell anyone about it, then, otherwise I might be in trouble.

Theo gaped at him, and I made sure to do something similar to the same.

Zabini frowned. "A dark artifact?"

Harry nodded. "A small book. A diary, with the year 1942 printed on it. I believe there's a spirit inside that's possessing people and making them open the chamber. This is why I need your help. I can't go looking for it… I can't be drawing attention to myself right now. But you four… no one would suspect anything of me. You barely ever talk to me."

Crabbe and Goyle still looked completely confused and dumbstruck, but Zabini and Malfoy were now scowling at him.

"And why should we help you, Potter?" Malfoy said shakily.

"Because," Theo spoke up from behind him, "He's the Heir of Slytherin, Malfoy. You're Slytherins - would you really abandon Salazar Slytherin's heir when he needs your assistance?"

"Plus, Harry and I know a great deal of curses," I said, looking at Malfoy. "If you thought the Tickling charm was bad, you haven't seen everything."

If it was possible, Malfoy paled even more.

"The Tickling Charm?" asked Zabini. "How is that bad?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," said Malfoy, shuddering.

"So, have we reached an accord?" asked Harry.

Slowly, the four other boys nodded.

"Now… I can't let any of you leave this room until you swear not to tell anyone what I've said to you."

Four frantic nods.

"Well, I'm glad you agree, but that's not good enough." He reached into the bag sitting on his bed and withdrew a piece of parchment. He drew his wand, performing a set of complex wand movements before placing the tip of his wand on the page.

"The events that have taken place in this room are not to be spoken of, written about, or symbolically portrayed in any way, shape, or form in the presence of a person not among Harry Potter, Theodore Nott, Ron Prewett, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe. Seal thy lips lest they be sealed, stay thy hands lest they be stayed, from birth of unfaithfulness to death of shame."

With that, he withdrew his wand, and handed the parchment to me with the Blood Quill he had withdrawn from his trunk.

I immediately signed it, before passing it to Theo, who did the same, and passed it to Zabini.

"Make sure you keep that safe, Harry," I said warningly to him.

"Of course," Harry replied.

"What will it do?" asked Zabini, as he was still holding the parchment and blood quill, and looking at them with great reluctance.

Harry smiled. "It's rather ingenious magic, actually. It binds a sequence of events in a specific time interval - fifteen minutes to be precise. Should you attempt to reproduce them in any way, you will literally be unable to talk or move until I explicitly perform the counter-curse and forgive you. Really, you have nothing to fear if you keep your word. Besides, if you don't take the oath, I'll just obliviate you… and I've never actually obliviated anyone before, and you can imagine how that might go over. So… it's probably best to just sign your name."

Zabini grimaced and signed his name, before passing it to Malfoy, who also reluctantly signed, after which Crabbe and Goyle did the same.

Harry smiled as he took the page from Goyle and placed it back in his trunk.

"Now," he said, "Firstly, the oath has now been transferred to a secure location, so don't bother trying to burn the page - it won't do anything. Secondly, you obviously can't go talking to people about what was said here - what you can do is keep an eye out for anyone writing in a black diary. I don't know who has it, but it must be a student, probably a younger one, so keep an eye out. Zabini, Malfoy… I trust you might be able to find a way to subtly inquire about it… but Crabbe and Goyle, I think you'd better just keep an eye out. So… have we reached an understanding?"

There were several unsteady nods.

Harry beamed at them. "Brilliant! Now, I'm going to go take my lovely new friend outside where she'll be safe. Thank you all for your patience."

And with that, he turned on his heel and left.

I smiled. So that was your move, Harry? Asking a bunch of twelve-year-olds to try and find the book for you?

Well, now that you've made your move, it was my turn.

Draco was in a daze. "Did that… really just happen?"

"Yup," Theo said, popping the p as he sat down on his bed, opening his transfiguration book again. I went and sat down on my own bed, resting with my hands behind my head.

"Harry Potter… is the Heir of Slytherin."

"Yup."

"You knew?"

Theo smirked. "That my best friend is a powerful dark wizard in training who can speak to snakes? Yeah, I knew. I'm a Slytherin, Draco. I choose my friends wisely. I'd suggest you do the same."

I chuckled. "Yeah, if you hadn't been so offended by Harry lying about his name, you might have known the same, Malfoy."

Malfoy scowled.

Snape: Every Move He Makes

He stared down his nose at Neville Longbottom - a Gryffindor so pathetic he almost felt bad about tormenting him… almost - lips curling into a sort of terrible grimace-laden smirk, reflecting the mixture of disgust and amusement coiling inside him.

"Longbottom," he said slowly, relishing the way the boy's face paled several shades as soon as he opened his mouth, "Did I not say to dice the toad eyes?"

"Y-y-yes s-sir…"

"And what are you doing?"

"I… I d-don't know sir."

"Well then, Longbottom, since you clearly don't have the mental capacity to grasp your own actions, let me enlighten you - you are mincing the toad eyes."

The boy let out a whimper. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Draco Malfoy snickering and whispering something to Vincent Crabbe.

"Now, Longbottom, since you are clearly not able to grasp the very actions you take, I suppose I am right in assuming that you cannot possibly even begin to conceive of their consequences."

"… y-yes sir…"

His gaze snapped instantly from the quivering boy in front of him to his least favorite Slytherin to have ever existed.

"Potter!" he barked out, enjoying the way the boy started and went a little stiff. That never got old. "What would have happened had Longbottom added his minced toad eyes to an infusion of peppermint oil and shredded adder's fang?"

The boy's eyes widened, and he could almost see the rapidly turning cogs of the boy's tangled mess of a brain gearing into overdrive.

"They would have instantly reacted with the excess acid left over from the reaction between the peppermint oil and the adder's fang, sir." The boy's voice was mechanical, grating to his ears.

"And?" he drawled.

"And best-case scenario the compound would have doubled its acidity, expanded, and boiled over."

"And worst case?"

"It would have… exploded, sir," the boy said stiffly, sparing a hopeful glance at him. He almost scoffed. The boy seemed intent on winning his approval, despite the utter disdain he showed towards him on a regular basis. He knew for a fact that Harry Potter was reading at least two years ahead of everyone else, and not out of interest - no, the Potter boy was determined to answer every single rigged, trick, unfair question he launched at him. Usually, the boy was quite successful in catching whatever he threw at him - which made his own victories all the sweeter.

"And what would have happened, Potter, had the toad eyes been added after the essence of oregano was mixed in?"

The cogs turned even faster, and the boy's eyes widened with every half-second he failed to supply an answer. His mouth opened and closed, words forming on his lips before dying away a moment later. "I… don't know…"

The boy, while still composed, had a faint look of devastation in his eyes.

There it was. Jackpot.

He allowed himself a small sneer. "Absolutely nothing."

The boy's mouth slowly formed an "oh" shape. "Yes, thank you sir."

Sneering again, he turned back to Longbottom, who was shaking in his seat, now. "Suffice it to say, Longbottom, that you have just been spared a trip to the hospital wing. Pity for the rest of us."

He scanned the classroom. "Well, what are you all waiting for? You have twenty-four minutes left to brew."

He swept back to his desk and stood behind it, folding his arms as his eyes traveled from student to student. The first thing he observed was Nott patting Potter on the shoulder consolingly, whispering in his ear. It was rather ironic - Theodore Nott, a Death Eater's son, was nearly inseparable from the Boy Who Lived, and made a habit of following Potter around and policing his eating habits at times, which were still appalling; the child subsisted mostly of fruit and small sandwiches, and still never showed up to meals without a book. Indeed, Nott and Potter seemed to be the best of friends. Sometimes he could not help but wonder what Nott Senior thought of this - he was, after all, a very… opinionated man. Suffice it to say he'd been relieved when Theodore Nott arrived at Hogwarts as a relatively sane, normal, eleven-year-old boy, as he had been with the Rosier girl and the Carrow twins; the four of them, despite having sadistic blood-purists as parents, seemed generally well adjusted, unlike muggle-raised Harry Potter, who was, frankly, a piece of work.

The boy was unusually polite; unnaturally consistent. Every day he showed up to breakfast looking exactly the same; every time he greeted his housemates and 'friends' his face remained constant, and it had occurred to him many times now that it might all be practiced. Through his interactions with Potter and his casual observations of the boy's interactions with others, he'd come to the realization that the boy was utterly socially inept, which he was only somewhat successful at hiding. But hide it he did, and he was successful where it counted. His colleagues still loved the boy, and like his father before him, Harry Potter was confident in the knowledge that he had the entirety of the Hogwarts faculty under his thumb. When they looked at him, they saw a model Hogwarts student - a kind, polite boy with an eagerness to learn and talent on top of that; when he looked at Potter, however, he saw who he really was. Potter had a carefully crafted persona which no one seemed to see through, save him. The boy had perfect control of his reputation - top of his class, star quidditch player, friendly face - and clearly valued that control; hence the masked aloofness and the measured amicability so prominent in his behaviour; he knew he was in control, and he liked it. Clearly, his father's arrogance was starting to shine through; unlike his father, however, Potter was smart. He knew better than to make a spectacle of himself; he knew how to maintain control. He was truly a Slytherin, which, despite the boy's uniform, virtually everyone seemed to forget - yes, everyone conveniently overlooked the fact that Potter had all the makings of a perfect little sociopath. Whether he actually was one, was another question.

Oh well. It was too easy to get caught up in over-analyzing Harry Potter's behaviour; because loth as he was to admit it, he had yet to figure the boy out.

His eyes next travelled to Davis and Greengrass, who was, as usual, casting longing glances at Potter every two minutes, which the boy seemed oblivious to, as always. In front of them, Granger and Weasley were working quietly on their potion, with no obvious mistakes so far. Malfoy was, as usual, successfully going through the motions of his current assignment, while Crabbe sat back and did nothing, much like Goyle was doing beside Bulstrode, who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there. Finnigan and Thomas sat behind them, chattering constantly - actually, they looked much too satisfied with themselves, he thought as he swept over to them, to smack them over their heads with the textbook in his hands.

"Focus!"

Properly chastised, the boys attempted to do just that.

Slowly stalking back to the head of the classroom, he observed with no small amount of smugness as students cowered in his wake. He hated children. He hated teaching. But he could not deny it - it was satisfying.

OO

"Headmaster," Severus said as he and Minerva followed the elderly man from Lockhart's office, "Those boys are lying."

The old man chuckled. "Oh, I know Severus, I know."

"Then what is it you think happened, Albus?" Minerva asked, concern evident in her voice. "Surely they couldn't have been behind the petrification."

"That is, Minerva, a mystery to me. All that is for certain is that Mr. Prewett and Mr. Potter did indeed arrive at the scene of the crime after the perpetrator had escaped."

"And yet, Headmaster, we have yet to explain why the boys were so far from both the Great Hall and the Slytherin Common Room."

"Ah, well, that is quite simple. Harry heard a voice and went running after it."

"Albus!" Minerva exclaimed reproachfully, "You didn't!"

"Only briefly, Minerva, to ascertain their innocence."

"Then you learned nothing?" Severus interjected.

"I did not say that," the Headmaster said with a slight smile, "I did indeed learn something I did not expect to learn."

"Which is?" Minerva asked impatiently.

"Young Harry and young Ronald are quite accomplished occlumens."

Severus had to keep himself from gaping. Both of them, an occlumens? How was that even possible?

"Headmaster," he said sharply, "Are you saying… that you encountered a mental shield when you examined their minds?"

"Oh, no - I found something far more interesting," the old man replied, sounding quite pleased, "You see, when I said that they are accomplished occlumens, I meant just that. When I took a peek inside both of their minds, I met not a shield, but rather a barrage of false memories and emotions. It was a fair bit obvious, but still, impressive."

Severus could not help it - he was gaping at this point. Minerva wasn't doing much better.

"But how's that possible, Albus?" the old woman said frantically, "They've only been at Hogwarts for a year!"

"Ah, but you forget, Minerva, that Harry and Ronald are, in fact, very clever boys. With the right motivation, I have no doubt they would find themselves most adept at the mind arts."

"But what motivation could twelve-year-old boys possibly have to learn occlumency in such a short amount of time!?"

Severus said nothing, but he was thinking the same thing. His interest in occlumency did not make itself known until he was in his fourth year, and he was not at the level Potter and Weasley had apparently reached until the summer before his NEWT year - and all this was because of his fervent desire to protect his mind from his… associates at the time. So why would Potter and Weasley have become so obviously interested in the complex subject at the young age of eleven? Did the children have something to hide? Some shocking secret? But then again, knowing the quirky Potter and the reclusive Weasley, that might not be it at all.

The Headmaster smiled grimly. "We all have things to hide, Minerva. Some of us more than others."

"But Albus! What could boys of twelve years have to hide?!"

"Well, Minerva, I daresay young Harry and Ronald have done a good enough job of hiding that that will remain a mystery until they wish otherwise."

"But this could be important, Albus!"

"It could… but perhaps not."

"Potter's… personality does suggest the possibility for obsessive or paranoid behavior, Headmaster," he spoke up. It was true. The boy was socially inept, and yet clearly intent on controlling his interactions with others, suggesting he valued order and control to an unnatural extent. Again, budding sociopath, he couldn't help but think. But he daren't express his opinion with Minerva standing there.

"And Mister Prewett?" Albus asked.

"I… admit I don't why Weas- why Prewett would seek to protect his mind," Snape replied with a scowl. "He's reclusive, and doesn't interact much with his housemates, other than Potter and Nott."

"Perhaps you should pay more attention to him," Albus replied with a wry smile. Snape's face flushed.

OO

"A boy was petrified last night," Minerva commented as she sat down beside him at the staff table. "One of my Gryffindors. Colin Creevy."

"I heard," Severus said neutrally. He wasn't particularly fond of the timid Gryffindor, especially after he came asking for a picture on the first day of classes. Honestly, the nerve of these Gryffindors.

"And Mr. Potter," the woman continued looking very troubled, "Almost killed at the first Quidditch game of the season - again!"

He raised an eyebrow. "I would think you'd be relieved. After all, Gryffindor might start winning Quidditch games if Potter had been seriously maimed or killed."

Minerva gasped. "Severus! Don't joke like that - this is a student's life we're talking about. A Slytherin, no less!"

He huffed. "Potter's life."

She scowled at him. "I don't know why you're still so antagonistic toward the boy, Severus. He's studious, quiet, and polite - a model student. Nothing like his father!"

"Word has it, Minerva, that you are biased. I have heard that he does exceptionally well in your class… like his father."

"Just like he does exceptionally well in Charms, like his mother," the woman said pointedly.

Severus grimaced. "Only because he studies obsessively. The boy has no sense of moderation… like his father."

"And keen mind and sweet demeanor, like his mother."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Not as…'sweet' as he might seem, Minerva. I assure you that at least half of it's feigned."

"And how could you possibly know something like that?"

"I do my job. I watch the boy. And I don't like what I see."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Of course, you wouldn't."

OO

"Headmaster," he said slowly as he entered his employer's cluttered office. "You wished to see me."

"Yes, Severus come. The dueling club last night, what happened?"

He blinked, caught off guard by the man's abruptness. Gathering himself, he sneered. "It was a disaster, as I expected it to be. Lockhart was completely incompetent, as usual, and -"

"But were there any fights?" the Headmaster interrupted, leaving him a little stunned again. "Between the older students."

"… no. Aside from some mulish brawling, there was nothing of note."

The man frowned. "And did anything else happen? Anything at all."

He paused. "There was one incident. Draco Malfoy cast Serpensortia at Potter."

The Headmaster's gaze snapped toward him. "Was he bitten?"

"… no. He…"

"Yes, Severus?"

"He tamed the creature."

The Headmaster narrowed his eyes. "Elaborate."

Severus grimaced, recalling the tenseness of the atmosphere when the large snake had shot out of Draco Malfoy's wand, belligerently slithering forward to glare at the students. "At first he looked… frightened, aghast, even… but then he went to his knees, and… held his hand out."

"And?"

"And the snake allowed him to pet it."

The Headmaster's gaze pierced him relentlessly. "He was able to calm the snake? Did he explain the creature's behaviour? At all?"

Severus's grimace grew. "He… claimed that, and I quote, 'animals love him'."

The elderly man's face had gone a shade lighter.

" I can make animals do what I want without training them…" the man whispered.

"Headmaster?"

He snapped out of his reverie. "Yes, Severus, that is curious indeed. Very curious."

"Headmaster," he said with a frown, "Why? Why did you believe there had been an… altercation between older students?"

The old man's face was grim. "I felt… dark magic, last night, Severus. A burst of crude, powerful dark magic."

His eyes widened. "You believe it was a student?"

The man's eyebrows rose. "Who else could it be? It was surely none of the staff." He quirked an eyebrow. "Unless you have something to tell me, Severus."

He could not help it; he scoffed. "I dare say my magic has not been 'crude' in quite some time."

"Indeed, indeed. But that still leaves the question of whose magic it was.

He nodded. "Do you believe… it was the Heir of Slytherin, perhaps?"

"I fear that that may be the case. I had hoped you might have noticed something at the dueling club, but if there were not any incidences…"

"We still have no suspects."

"We do not. The Heir of Slytherin, whoever it might be, has successfully covered their tracks yet again."

"And have you at all been enlightened, Headmaster, of how we should… approach this problem?"

"I'm afraid not, Severus. I can only hope that some evidence may turn up before another attack occurs."

Severus grimaced. "A futile hope, most likely."

"Indeed, but there is not much we can do besides wait."

So wait they would.

Ron: Peter Pettigrew, Test Subject

The day after Harry had conscripted the other Slytherin Second years into helping him find the diary, Justin Finch-Fletchley was petrified, along with Nearly-Headless-Nick, indicating to me that perhaps it was time to take the diary back from Malfoy.

It had been a risk, planting it on him, as I couldn't be sure that Diary-Voldemort wouldn't actually kill someone, but it was a risk I had to take, if I wanted to survive.

The plan was simple: Plant the Diary on Malfoy, let it stew there for a few months, then take it back, write in it, and be the one that Diary-Voldemort took down to the chamber. Once Harry realize exactly who had been taken bay Diary-Voldemort, the seed of doubt that I had planted on the first day of term would start to bloom, making Harry realize that, even though he had confided in me, there were still consequences for being friends with Voldemort.

Such thoughts may be unconscious, but the doubt would be there, ready to fanned into flames of conflict between Harry and Voldemort. After all, it was his precious who had put me at risk to began with.

I was willing to admit that there were a lot risks in this plan. There was a good chance that I might actually die. I might be permanently scarred. Harry himself might die, which might have been a plus now that I think about it, but I would rather that Dumbledore just find some way to remove Voldemort.

I wasn't afraid of dying. After all, I had died once before. But I really wanted to survive, and this was the only way I could see that happening. After all, the moment that Voldemort got his body back, he was going to legilimens me, and then he would know what I knew. It was likely that once he did that, he would kill me on the spot, because I knew too much.

Of course, plan B was to get so good at occlumency that he couldn't see my true memories. But I couldn't bank on that. I had no idea how long it would take for Voldemort to get his body back, but it was likely to be soon, and I didn't feel that I could get good enough at occlumency in the time I had.

But that didn't mean I wouldn't try.

Which was why I was glad to have Peter Pettigrew as test subject.

OO

September 5th, 1990. Day 2:

"You might as well turn back into a human, Pettigrew," I said from my chair as I sat in front of his prison. "I've practiced the wand motions of the Homorphus Charm, and read the theory on it, but I've never cast it before. You might want to save yourself some pain."

The rat sat there for a minute, regarding me, before suddenly a man appeared, trapped in his prison. We were in the RoR, and his prison was basically a raised white platform with invisible walls. Ambient light shown from inside his prison, with no source, but outside of the prison was nothing but darkness. At least to him. From my perspective, everything was lit up. I did it this way so that he wouldn't know who I was.

"Who are you?" he said frantically, scrabbling around his prison like a rat. "How do you know about me?"

"It hardly matters," I murmured. "I advise you remain still. You wouldn't want me to have to immobilize you, would you?"

He flinched at the sound of my voice, for I had asked the room to make me sound like James Potter. I didn't know how the room did this, just that it had.

I paused briefly. I was I really willing to damn my soul by casting the Imperius Curse on a human being, even if that human being was the scum of the earth? My survival, and the survival of my family, was on the line, but it would be stripping the free will from another being.

After a moments consideration, I decided that yes, I was willing to strip the will of a person, if it was me or them.

I raised my wand. " Imperio"

I felt a connection form, and I mentally ordered Pettigrew to stand up, but to my surprise, the connection snapped.

Pettigrew stiffened momentarily, before letting a jittering laugh. "Who ever you are, Imperio wont work on me."

He smiled. "I'm an occlumens! You might as well give up now, Imperio will never work on me."

Well.

This was awkward.

September 5th, 1990. Day 3:

It had taken me five tries, looking up a lot of books and figuring out where I had gone wrong, but I had finally managed to brew a proper Will Weakening potion. Getting the ingredients for this potion had been difficult, involving actually walking out of Hogwarts, and visiting the Hogsmead potion shop. I had used the Hall of door to get out, exiting via a door that apparently led to an abandoned shack close to the town.

I had used the Color-Changing Charm to disguise myself, and no one had questioned me. After all, who would believe that a student could so easily sneak out?

Now I just had to figure out how to get him to drink it.

September 5th, 1990. Day 3, 2 hours later:

Pettigrew was immobilized, his mouth open.

" Coatuso," I incanted. The Compulsion charm would force him to swallow if I put something in his mouth. I didn't know how long it would last, so I was quick to tip a few mouthfuls of the potion into his mouth.

Thankfully he swallowed quickly. I moved out of his prison, and waited a few moments for the potion to take effect. By the blank look on his face I could tell it had.

" Imperio," I said, removing the immobilization. I felt the connection form, and mentally ordered him to stand up, which he did. I smiled. If I had brewed the potion correctly, the effect should last for several days. I wasn't going to take risks in this, however, and wouldn't let Pettigrew out of his prison until I was sure that he truly was under my spell.

September 6th, 1990. Day 37:

"Read the board aloud," I said.

"1, 5, 3, 7, 4," Pettigrew read. The board disappeared.

"Recite," I instructed.

"1, 5, 3, 7, 4." Pettigrew recited.

"Good," I replied. " Obliviate. Recite for me again."

"4, 6, 3, 6, 1." Pettigrew recited.

That was from four recitation's ago. I smiled. I was getting more fine tuned with the Obliviate Spell.

September 6th, 1990. Day 45:

" Coatuso," I said, compelling Pettigrew to not think about the color red.

September 6th, 1990. Day 51:

"What color is this cube?" I asked, picking it up.

Pettigrew winced, rubbing his head, before looking at the cube. "Um…"

He squinted his eyes. "Red?"

That was the first time in six days he had managed to say Red, and that was with me deliberately trying to break his compulsion.

A different compulsion that I had not deliberately tried to break was still going strong.

"Eye contact," I said, before pointing my wand at him. " Legilimens."

I pored through his mind. Pettigrew was a gold mine of information, and when I was finished with my current project, I planned to get to know him very intimately.

The compulsion was still holding up, but I could tell that it was starting to decay. All compulsion did, It was simply a matter of how much you resisted them.

September 7th, 1990. Day 68:

Where… was I? I was standing in the RoR, but… I didn't remember what I was doing here. There was a board in front of me, but it was blank now. I had the feeling that there had been writing on it a few moments ago.

I realize suddenly that I was holding my wand up to my head. What? I lowered my wand, my wand-arm hanging limply at my side. What was going on? Why was I here?

I had the vague feeling that I had somehow been practicing something, but what, I couldn't' remember.

"Are you alright?" said a voice from besides me. I started. It was Pettigrew, in his prison. Oh, that's right. I had been using him for… something. What was that something? For the life of me, I couldn't remember, and I had the strangest feeling that I shouldn't remember, that I should forget about it.

" Imperio," I said, pointing my wand at Pettigrew. "Turn back into a rat."

He did so, and I let him out of the prison, picking him up and putting him on my shoulder. I looked at my wand, only to realize that it wasn't my beech wand. Who's wand was it? But I didn't feel the need to question it further.

I dropped the wand, and walked out of the room.

OO

AN: in case you didn't realize, this was in first year.

Ron: Morpheus

It was the day before most of the students were to leave Hogwarts for the holidays, and I was in the Room of Requirement, reading the mind of a muggle serial killer. This was the 22nd muggle mind I had read, most of them being criminals that were either murderers or rapists. I wasn't willing to kidnap an innocent person and mind rape them just because it might have helped me learn how to be a better occlumens, beneficial though it may have been. There might be a day were I was forced to immoral things to innocent people, but I didn't want that day to arrive anytime soon.

When it came to finding and kidnapping someone who had either killed or raped, or both, Pettigrew was a great help. Near the start of the year, I had experimented with an advanced occlumency technique called False Mind, placing one that was servile to me in Pettigrew's head. As it's name implies, False Mind creates a false mind that sits on top of the true mind, serving as a buffer between the two. A perfectly created False Mind was indistinguishable from a true mind, and if you had a good enough knowledge of how the mind works, you could get really good at creating them.

However, if a False Mind was made poorly, it tended to be fragile, not only to legilimency, but also to itself. The reason why was because of the way that minds work. Every mind has an innate world view and expectation of how reality should behave that came from experience and memory. When creating a False mind, it was possible to create it with the world view or expectation of reality without the experience or memory to back it up, or the reverse, memories and experience that didn't fundamentally change the mind's world view or expectation of reality.

This was often the result of the false mind being artificial, not something that grew from a single cell, because the creator could forget to include these important details. When such a thing happened, the False mind would question itself, making it unstable, liable to fall apart or rip itself apart. Obviously, such a thing was not really suitable for mental defense.

That was, unless you were willing to do something immoral, such as experiment on the minds of unwilling test subjects, which were usually kidnapped.

When I had first started experimenting with false minds, it took me a few failures to realize that my experiments were causing a great deal of mental strain to Pettigrew, and I was at risk of breaking him.

Unwilling to break his mind because I would need him mentally intact later on, I decided to simply Imperio him and send him out to find muggle murderers and rapists for me to experiment on. It didn't take him long to find them. After all, Pettigrew didn't need a warrant to search people's houses.

When he brought a murderer or rapist back, I would first legilimens them so that I would know their history, and to gain a greater understanding of the human mind, then I would begin my experiments, usually up until the point where their minds might break if I did anymore. When that happened, I would obliviate them, then place a compulsion on them to confess to their crime, and then had Pettigrew dump them near a police station.

With each new criminal, my mastery grew, and by the time I was at crinimal number 16, my False Minds were quite stable, even able to withstand the wear and tear of a basic but painful legilimency attack. Of course, it still crumbled under a more powerful legilimency attack, so I still had a long way to go, but I now felt comfortable enough to place a False Mind on Pettigrew, and a few layered compulsions too, so that I didn't have to rely on Imperio anymore.

Of course, there was still the risk that the False Mind might destabilize somehow, but I had figured out how to make the False Mind recognize that it was destabilizing, and return to Hogwarts immediately if that ever happened. So far it had only happened once, and it was a simple fix.

As for Pettigrew's True Mind, I had used a mental compression spell to compress it and store it in his subconscious. It wouldn't wake up unless I let it, or so I thought.

I finished up reading the mind of the serial killer. It was the fourth serial killer I had read the mind of, and I made a mental note to compel him to list his victims, as well as where they were hidden, as he had hidden them quite well.

I wasn't feeling up for experimenting today, however, so I put the man back in his prison cell and stunned him. The prison cell walls immediately turned a translucent white, indicating that time inside the prison had slowed to a crawl. For every second that passed in the outside world, 0.000001 seconds passed in the cell. It was the slowed I could slow time, unfortunately, I couldn't make it any slower.

I stepped out of that particular instance of the Room of Requirement, entering my own personal instance, where Pettigrew was cooking his own food.

"You're back," I said in surprise. "You weren't supposed to be back until tonight. What happened?"

Pettigrew turned around. He had changed a lot in the last year and a half. No longer pudgy, he was now rather buff, as I had ordered him to exercise. He now sported a neatly trimmed handlebar mustache and beard, and was rather well dressed. I doubted anyone who spotted him now would mistake him for Pettigrew.

"I was doing the mission as you ordered, Master," said Pettigrew in an monotone. "But it seems that my personality matrix has started to destabilize. I felt I should return early."

"When did this start?" I asked with a frown. "Also, get in the chair, we need to act fast."

"Breakfast is almost finished," Pettigrew replied. "I will finish it first. We have time."

"You aren't concerned about your possible death?" I asked curiously, in spite of myself.

"The destabilization is fairly minor, it should be a quick fix," said Pettigrew in the same monotone. He turned around and continued to fix his breakfast.

"Well, while we wait, you could answer my question," I said as I sat down at a table that had just appeared.

Pettigrew was quiet for a long moment, and he continued to work on his breakfast, apparently thinking.

"It started when I asked myself: how long will I be useful to you?" He said eventually. "I recall you stating once: for as long as I am useful to you, I will remain alive. As far as I know, you are the only one who can maintain my state of being, but you are only willing to do so for so long as I am useful to you. Therefor, I must remain useful to you, if I want to survive. However, I know you have plans for my host body, my host's true mind. I would like to know, what do you plan to do with me once my presence in my host is no longer congruent with your plans? I am concerned that you may simply delete me once that is the case. I would prefer to not be deleted."

I frowned. Pettigrew raised valid concerns. Or rather, the False Mind did. I had designed it to be aware of what it truly was, as doing so actually made it more stable somehow, it was something I had stumbled upon during one of my experiments. When I had discovered this, I had done this with every False Mind I implanted in Pettigrew.

I couldn't do this for myself, obviously, cause if my False Mind was aware that it was a False Mind, then who ever read that False Mind would also be aware that it was a False Mind. I had found other ways to stabilize a false mind, but it was still a work in progress.

When I had created Pettigrew's latest False Mind, I had made it with the intent to see how long it could last without destabilizing. Thus far, it had lasted two months.

Somehow, leaving the False Mind alone for two months without tweaking it had caused it to develop self awareness, and it may even resist my orders, as it had done just now. It could even try to escape. Which was not ideal.

However, there were advantages to working with a self aware False Mind, as self aware False Minds tended to be meta-stable, that is, as stable as a true mind, which meant that only a strong legilimency attack could break his mind now.

"You have developed self awareness," I said plainly. "You are aware that you are alive, and that you could die at any moment. Which means you should be meta-stable, unable to destabilize the same way that normal False Minds can. Your mind is as strong as a True Mind. Were you simply a normal False Mind, I wouldn't have any problem deleting you. However, because you are self aware, deleting you would be the same as murder, and I don't do murder of my own free will. I hope you realize this."

"That is relieving," said Pettigrew. "But I would still like to know what you plan to do with me when my mind occupying this host is no longer congruent with your plans."

"We will try and figure something out," I replied. "I will probably have to find a new host for you, someone who doesn't already have a mind in their head."

"Do you think that is possible?" asked Pettigrew.

"To be honest, I had no idea," I admitted. "I would like to think it's possible, but if it isn't, then I guess I will have to change my plans. And we will have to find you some place far away from here. You don't want to be in hiding forever, do you?"

"No," Pettigrew agreed as he finished working on his breakfast. "But my host is still a murderer and a traitor. I do not feel comfortable occupying such a host. I would prefer my host be met with the proper justice."

"You are still young," I replied with a smile. "But it's a good thing that you have developed a conscience. And I guess I can't call you Pettigrew anymore. Is there any name in particular you would like?"

Pettigrew sat down at the table with his breakfast. "I have actually thought of that. I think I would like to be called Morpheus, after the Greek god of dreams. After all, what am I but a dream?"

"Then Morpheus you shall be," I replied. "Morph for short."

Pettigrew- er, Morph now, gave a slight nod before he began to eat.

"So, why do you think your personality matrix is destabilizing?" I asked. "As a self aware being, you should be meta-stable."

Morph paused briefly. "Pettigrew has been waking up. He often wakes up for at least a minute, then he would go back to sleep."

"How long has this been happening, and why didn't you tell me before now?" I asked.

"It has been happening for two weeks, and I was reluctant to tell you, because I was afraid you might delete me," Morph replied candidly. "I believed I could fix the problem myself, but it has gotten worse and worse. Then I realized that if I didn't tell you, I was going to die either way. I believed it was better to risk dying than to actually die."

"An astute observation," I replied. "Well, as I've said, you can rest assured that I won't delete you. However, we have to fix this before you destabilize to much. We should operate as soon as you are done eating."

"I understand," Morph replied. "Will you create a back up of me before you operate?"

"Most likely, yes," I replied. "I will have to render you unconscious before I operate, though. You will risk deletion if you are conscious."

"I understand," Morph replied, and he ate the last scrap of egg. "My mind and body is ready."

We both got up. The table and chairs disappeared and a chair that looked something like you would find in a dentists office appeared, but with cuffs for both the hands and feet. Morph sat in the chair and the cuffs automatically clasped into place.

"When ever you are ready," I said simply, and Morph gave me a nod. I cast a stunner on him, and he was unconscious.

I willed the Room to open his eyes, and slipped into his mind without a whisper. I was very good at legilimency now, so good that I didn't even have to utter the spell to enter a person's mind.

Carefully checking over Morph's memories, I did detect some destabilization in his personality matrix, but now that he was meta-stable his personality matrix should automatically stabilize over time, like a true personality would. I did detect this, but the damage was a bit severe, it would need to be helped along. I spent the next hour or so working to repair his personality, before packing it up into a memory packet, making a copy, and storing both of them deep in Pettigrew's subconscious.

With that out of the way, I decompressed Pettigrew's personality and drew it to the surface.

"Enervate," I said with my yew wand pointing at him after I had withdrawn from his mind.

It took him a moment to wake up. He fluttered his eyes, before jerking his whole body and sitting ram rod straight, his head moving around wildly.

" III'm I'mmm m a aa a awakeee, awaaakeee," he said with an enormous stutter, tilting his head to the left with a strain. His whole body shuddered. "III I'm wake, awake, I'm awake! I'm awake! I'M AWAKE! I'M AWAKE! I'M AWAKE! I'mmm mm mmm."

"Yes, you're awake," I said in a bored voice. "You can stop yelling now. Please."

His head jerked towards me so sharply, I was surprised he hadn't broken his neck.

"You? Yoou? Youuu! III'tsss you! You!" he cried, his face struggling to make an expression.

"You gonna keep repeating yourself, Pettigrew?" I asked, starting to get annoyed with him. There was something about his behavior that was starting to disturb me. "If you have something substantial to say, hurry up and say it."

Pettigrew grew silent, staring at me. His body continued to jerk around, and he struggled to keep control of himself. I was starting to regret waking him up, but it was necessary. In order to see how healthy his mind was, I had to let it out for a while, to make sure he hadn't cracked.

I decided to go and do something else while I waited for Pettigrew to regain control of his body. I sat down at a table that appeared and began to read a copy of Magick Moste Evile. Even though I had read it cover to cover, it was still an interesting read, and I felt I learned something new every time I read it.

I had silenced Pettigrew while I was reading, so that if he decided to scream, it wouldn't bother me.

Half an hour later, I put down the book and turned back to Pettigrew. He was no longer twitching, instead just staring at me with a blank expression. It seemed he had gotten himself back under control.

Removing the silencing effect, I spoke. "So, do you have anything substantial to say?"

"Don't put me back," he said in an almost pleading voice. Almost, because it seemed he had forgotten how to make his voice change. "Please, don't make me go back, I don't want to go back to that place. Please, please, please, please, don't make me go back there! That place is terrible, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, don't make me go back there, don't don't don't don't don't make me go back there please don't, please don't-"

"Enough!" I said, raising my hand. He quieted. "Put you back where, Pettigrew?"

"That… under that.. THING'S control, I hate that thing," he cried. "That thing is terrible, I hate it, I hate it so much. Please, don't put me back, don't-"

"Alright, alright, stop," I forestalled him before he could get into another rant. "Does it cause you physical pain to be in the False Mind's control? Don't lie now, I shall know if you are lying."

Pettigrew's whole face twitched. Clearly he wanted to lie, but he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere if he did.

"You don't need to answer, your face tells me enough," I sighed. "The truth is, Pettigrew, you weren't supposed to be waking up. If you didn't wake up, you wouldn't have to experience being under the False Mind's control, now would you?"

"I want to be awake," said Pettigrew fearfully.

"Well you should have thought of that before you went and murdered 13 muggles, or allowed two magicals to be murdered, now shouldn't you?" I replied condescendingly. "To be quite frank, Pettigrew, you deserve everything you get."

"Then kill me," said Pettigrew quietly. "I would rather be dead than experience this."

"Well, I'm afraid to say this, Pettigrew, but I still need you," I replied. "You have been so useful so far, it would be a waste to kill you now. And besides, it's not my job to kill you, you will face justice before the Wizengamot in due time. But until that day comes, I still need you."

Pettigrew stared at me with horror. "No, no, no no no no no nononononono, don't put me back, please, don't do it, don't put me back, I'm begging you, please-"

" Imperio"