Chapter 13: The Basilisk Illusion
Dumbledore's words are a strange companion over the following weeks. Both of them are stuck in the past and neither can truly open up about it. In Dumbledore's eyes, sharing such personal matters with a student surely isn't an option if he even shuts out his closest colleagues, and Harry can hardly reveal all he knows and declare his true intentions. Kinship or not, Dumbledore is too dangerous an enemy to have if the old wizard won't take well to Harry's plans.
The encounter with the mirror leaves him shaken enough not to launch into action instantly, lying low to focus on class and socialise. He spends more time with the other Gryffindors and makes sure to visit his godfather regularly. Always having been a man of few words, Severus brings the bright news of agreeing to Harry's adoption request wrapped in the scarce message of 'Sirius and I are on the same page and shall contact the Ministry. Expect the bureaucracy to grind slower than you want.'
It's enough for now. No-one will take Hermione away at Hogwarts and she can choose to spend at least the Easter holidays wherever she pleases. As his friend is also still in the state of developing her ideas for putting a figurative noose around Lockhart's neck, Harry is happy to leave his own schemes in the realm of theory for now and help concretise Hermione's by recounting all details he can recall of the Basilisk attacks.
At the start, he thought her instant response to his Lockhart problem being 'grand-scale schemes involving monsters and all of Hogwarts' to be a bit excessive. When suggesting Hermione help with Lockhart, he'd expected the solutions to consist of brewing an illegal potion or getting the fraud somewhere alone to obliviate.
He should not have underestimated the vindictive and dramatic streak of someone who'd locked a woman in a glass jar and blackmailed her into writing the truth. Skeeter and Lockhart had both committed the ultimate sin: using the format of published writing to spread lies and boost their own reputation through that. For someone who relies on informative books as the gospel truth, an author blatantly fantasising and selling those works as fact brings forth the worst.
Harry has thus decided to allow it within reason, admittedly also a bit nostalgic now the choice has fallen on an imitation of events in Harry's first life. Now he'll likely only spend a single year at Hogwarts, he wishes to make the most of it. Also, he justified to himself, this chain of events might grow big enough to overshadow his own plot of stealing the Stone, leaving Dumbledore in the dark for long enough.
Their main hurdle remains the necessary spellwork, for a monster that leaves no victims won't be enough of a threat for Lockhart to be bullied into hunting it down.
''You want to do what?'' Quirrell asks once Harry informs the librarian about the events that will unfold within the castle soon. ''Do you not have enough on your plate as is with the Philosopher's stone and these artefacts you wish to find?''
''I have already found those artefacts, gaining ownership is the difficult part – although I did recently succeed in doing just that for the second, I'll have you know. The thing is, one way or the other I'll have a couple of months with nothing concrete to do. As soon as the theft of the Stone is discovered, Dumbledore will start probing around for the culprit. I'm quite certain he'll suspect Voldemort first, but as his Intended I won't be far off on the list regardless of my non-hostility so far. If I steal the Wand before the Stone and make Dumbledore attentive to the fact that someone is gathering the Hallows, I have a feeling that reaching the Stone will become impossible. He'll be far too alert. So, I'd like to try my luck with both of those items no sooner than June, so I can return home without any imminent suspicion hanging over my head during the holidays. Call it selfish if you will-''
''-I will-''
''But I'd like a few more carefree days with my godfathers before heading to war again.''
''It is extremely selfish,'' Quirrell criticizes. ''With your harping about time so often.''
Harry disagrees this once; at their current stage, he would hardly be more useful at the Dark Lord's side. ''Voldemort is still developing ways to fight Muggles using the information I have provided so far. Speaking of which, I assume you passed my message about Muggle-borns and Squibs on?''
Quirrell grimaces slightly. ''I have. My Lord said he 'considers himself informed of your opinion'.''
Which really means Harry isn't going to get concrete answers without speaking to Voldemort directly. Great. He holds up a candle of hope about the Dark Lord not going berserk or outright calling his opinion laughable. ''How illuminating,'' he cynically states. ''Well, as there are no actual plans on the table that he has informed us of, it's unlikely any attacks will be launched in the coming months, so it should not matter whether I am at Hogwarts or not. Should he instruct me to leave the castle earlier, I'll comply,'' he seriously promises. ''Is that a satisfactory compromise?''
Quirrell curtly nods. ''That doesn't mean I am thrilled about the lengths you wish to go with Lockhart. Involving the entire school to make him reveal his fraudulent colours, including affecting the educational track of random peers by stunning them for months sounds excessive.''
''Not random,'' Harry corrects. ''Not many either. That during my time, five people and a cat were petrified before someone was dragged down into the Chamber, doesn't mean it'll take that many to spur everyone into action now. I can practise on the cat this time around– it's not as if Mrs Norris can tell on me if it doesn't work - and then two or three students being petrified will do before we fake a life-threatening situation. I'll specifically pick students who are not in their fifth or last year to not mess with anyone who has to take the Ministry-regulated exams. That's the best I can do.''
''You should use a statue curse,'' Quirrell advises with an irritated little sigh. It doesn't bode well that he sounds so exasperated about helping Harry.
''A statue curse? Promising… I've never heard of a spell that can mimic the effects of complete Petrification. Only those that cause easily reversible effects such as the full body-bind curse.''
''It is human transfiguration of the highest order that turns its victims into stone, incredibly difficult to reverse.''
Harry lightly shakes his head at the explanation. ''Basilisks don't turn humans into stone, though. Because the Chamber was opened almost fifty years ago and three people were petrified back then, the Headmaster is well aware of the exact way this type of magic works. We're currently looking into ways to mimic the effect using a combination of potions and curses in hopes it will fool Madam Pomfrey long enough.''
''If a Basilisk's inherently magical eyes can petrify a target, this effect can be recreated when finding a corresponding spell,'' the Death Eater quietly theorises with a muttering that sounds as if he is speaking to himself more than explaining the concept to Harry. ''The right incantation should be able to capture any magic that occurs in nature without use of elaborate rituals. A principle the Dark Lord taught me.''
That's brilliant and all, but as it so happens, Harry needs to figure this out within the next few months. Having never personally created a spell before, he does not possess the capability to pull off coming up with an incantation from scratch that will work as intended. He hasn't a decade to spare. ''Feel free to try,'' he thus blurts out. ''I'm pretty sure that I can't, so I'll stick with researching tricks.''
The other has the audacity to laugh in his face at that. ''I'm flattered you think I am adept at such a thing,'' Quirrell chuckles. ''I have faith that our Lord could, however.''
Uncomfortable about being even more indebted to his Intended, Harry doesn't jump at that suggestion. ''He must have more important matters on his mind right now than helping me deal with Lockhart,'' he brushes off. ''Besides, I'm still trying to figure out how to repay him for the Christmas present he got me. My own paled in comparison.'' When Quirrell does not react to Harry finally mentioning the egg, he pushes: ''Why did he gift me a dragon egg?''
''Even when hosting our Lord, I was privy to few of his thoughts. Now he gained a body of his own, I receive nought but short, coded letters that convey his wishes.''
''So you don't know,'' Harry concludes with a tinge of disappointment.
''I only have unsubstantiated speculations,'' is the diplomatic answer. ''I do understand your hesitance, Harry, but I doubt he will flay you for wishing to bolster your repertoire of spells. You might not even owe him a favour for it.''
That is very wishful thinking.
''Speaking of owing favours and the Dark Lord's punishment…'' he says in a subtle attempt to shift the topic. A memory had recently drifted to the surface, linked to Quirrell's offering to protect Hermione regardless of Voldemort's wishes. ''I have appreciated you being so forthcoming to me, so I wish to give you a warning about one of our previous talks.'' He tries not to show he nervous he is, how worried that Quirrell might completely go back on his word when the true danger is revealed. The man deserves to know, nonetheless. ''When Voldemort gave you a new hand in exchange for the one you sacrificed for him, he did not only give you a useful tool. It is a weapon.''
''A weapon?'' the Death Eater asks, mere curiosity in his voice as Quirrell peels off one of his gloves to reveal the gleaming silver hand.
''His weapon, to be precise. Ready to turn on you if you are to ever commit an act of treason.'' The curiosity wanes, is replaced by profound fear. ''You said you did not mind playing dangerous games, but I hope you have enough self-preservation to never directly oppose him. I doubt it will apply to you breaking his laws to curry favour with me as Voldemort's ally, but if for some reason the Dark Lord and I end up on opposing sides again in the future – one never knows what can happen – I want you to pick the safe option. It's no use to anyone if you try to aid me if you get strangled a second later.''
The other hesitates. ''By telling me, you guaranteed one more person to stand against you in this hypothetical scenario. It would have been more favourable to you to let me die than advise me to fight alongside the Dark Lord.''
Harry chuckles at the careful wording. ''Not to brag, but I have enough faith in my own abilities to know with certainty I can knock you out on the battlefield, Quirrell. Besides, you know my true goal. Having you die… having any mage die, is never the favourable option.''
Leaving Quirrell to his thoughts while still pondering on the best course of action to take with the 'Basilisk', Harry thanks the librarian and makes his way back to the Gryffindor dorms to discuss options with Hermione. When she echoes his hesitance, they decide to try on their own for a bit longer and focus on the spells they can already implement to set the scene: over the next two weeks, spider-repellent charms make obvious lines of the eight-legged animals flee Hogwarts, and every single one of Hagrid's roosters bites the dust.
After being on the fence about spreading rumours regarding strange voices, Harry reluctantly drops the idea. While it might be a good way to put the teachers on edge if he could convince Severus about voices coming from the walls, it would put Harry smack in the middle of scrutiny again. It may be long ago, but he does remember the waves of fear and suspicion that had followed the first whisper of Harry's ability to speak to snakes. It is one skill he's kept from his godfathers all those years. No need to put them more on edge by revealing he is a Parselmouth.
Unfortunately, that leaves only faking the actual attacks to get the gears of their plot going. They're slowly but surely getting steered into a dead end with their research into Petrification as it fails to bear any fruit. One of Harry's spontaneous ideas of striking up a conversation with Myrtle only leads to them being screamed at as the moping ghost is in a worse mood than usual. Not even stepping over his own pride to attempt flirting works. Maybe Myrtle's bar lies at twelve-year-olds.
''Just this once,'' Hermione practically begs when they've seemingly exhausted all options. They're sitting alone on the edge of the lake, enjoying the first day without frost. It isn't often that they can be found outside of the library nowadays. ''Just ask for his help this once to get ahead. You've already proven you're generally independent and it is only wise to use all resources available. You told me yourself there are few people less well-versed in magic than he is.''
Maybe it is the fresh air finally blowing his head free of metaphorical dust. Maybe the smattering of snowdrops and sprouting early crocuses are too stark a reminder of the inevitable pressure of time. A month has passed since returning to Hogwarts for second term, and the only things they have to show for it are a few scared spiders and an upset Hagrid.
''Fine,'' he gives in. ''I'll write. As soon as I receive an answer, we can move onto part two: buttering up to Lockhart.''
For this, too, Hermione needs help, for whereas she certainly quickly built up a reputation of her own with most teachers, Lockhart isn't Slughorn. He cares not for potential, only already existing fame. Harry has much better chances. The biggest flaw of this step is of course that he has to spend more time with Lockhart.
Banning that from his mind for another blissful evening, Harry spends his energy composing a letter. It's shockingly challenging to write a message that comes across as neither too demanding nor too begging, not too familiar and not too distant.
After many muttered curses, Harry decides to start it with 'My dear Intended'. Their last personal interaction implied the Dark Lord finds worth in their soul connection and Voldemort sent a highly valuable dragon egg for Christmas. That has got to count for something. Having learnt growing up in this world that ignoring the effects of soul marks is unwise, Harry may as well use it to his advantage and remind the other of their position. A position that hopefully includes getting to ask favours every once in a while.
My dear Intended,
Due to personal issues, I'd like to get rid of the most incompetent professor currently employed at Hogwarts. Last time around, a trip down to the Chamber did the trick to make him snap. I'd rather not release the King of Serpents to trigger the same events now as Slytherin's ideals do not quite line up with my own, which you should be aware of by now.
As I still wish to be the curse that destroys his career before summer starts, I ask for insight in methods to mimic that particular type of Petrification. Are you aware of any spells or potions that have an effect similar enough to fool even the Headmaster into thinking Slytherin's monster got loose once again? I've already taken care to prepare the stage with rooster blood and fleeing spiders.
Harry signs it with a lightning bolt for flair. The chances of this letter falling into the wrong hands should be zero and if the worst luck strikes, the contents itself are already damning enough that he'll have to leave Hogwarts not to get arrested.
A ridiculous thought flashes through Harry's mind as he gives the letter to Quirrell for secure transfer, of Voldemort pressing the parchment to his lips upon receival…
It's just the soul bond, he reprimands himself during the trip back to Gryffindor tower. The soul bond that feels so empty at times when Harry's mind isn't too busy to notice the subtle aching that started when Voldemort left. It must be that: they barely know each other. Despite his own history, this version is vastly different from the man he'd fought and conquered.
But he does encompass all the right sides of that Voldemort, doesn't he? Intelligence without insanity. Decisiveness without cruelty just for the sake of it.
Perhaps that is wishful thinking and he'll be disappointed down the line when walking in on Voldemort casting a round of Cruciatus curses for the sake of entertainment. That Myrtle haunts the girl's bathrooms just the same doesn't bode well to be entirely honest.
On the other hand, that ability and willingness to spill blood is exactly the reason why the man can protect them, why Harry sought Voldemort out in the first place... Does it make Harry any better?
The anticipation about Voldemort's reply makes his thoughts go in similar circles over the course of the next few days, coming back to the Dark Lord again and again. Moral dilemmas and the future he hopes to create with the man's help are at the forefront of his mind during mind-numbingly easy classes… until Lockhart wipes all those worries off the table to replace it with something far worse in the form of heart-shaped confetti and an army of dwarves dressed up as angels with harps.
How did Harry forget about one of the worst days he ever experienced at Hogwarts? And why has he not come prepared to breakfast with his invisibility cloak and map?
Valentine's is even worse than he recalls as he dodges singing dwarfs on instinct alone. Ginny and Colin may not be at Hogwarts yet with their little Potter fan club, but Harry being a celebrity, relatively new student, and instant star of the school, causes such whirling commotion that he almost wishes the worst moment of today was a single badly sung poem.
Quirrell is a life-saver, catching up to Harry in the corridors to whisper an invitation to his office in passing.
The rectangular talking box with air holes in it handed to Harry is a bit of a head-scratcher, but riddles are far more favourable than songs written by children. Nonetheless, he expected to receive his answer in writing, be it in form of a spell or a potion recipe. A box that complains about darkness and chafing was not on the list. The librarian also looks so curious that it's a waste of breath to ask what's in it: Quirrell has as much a clue as Harry does.
As it turns out, asking might actually have helped figure it out, for the thing that talks turns out to be a tiny snake, not of a species Harry ever encountered before. More perplexing is that a strap of cloth is fastened over its eyes.
He plucks out the slip of parchment tucked near the tail end of the sliver of a serpent.
An intriguing game you are playing. Take care not to get unnecessarily distracted.
For swift success, I have sent you a Gorgonophis: a unique serpent that may bond with nymphs to form a Gorgon. It is a lesser cousin of the Basilisk and has similar abilities: its gaze does not kill but petrifies in the same way a Basilisk's indirect one does. Name it so it does your bidding and have it inject a dose of its venom into yourself to gain immunity against its ability.
There is neither a salutation nor a signature. Is it Harry's own fault for rebuking so much against the idea of being owned? Or did Voldemort consider this writing to be more of an instruction than a letter? He briefly considers whether the day of sending was a deliberate choice, then dismisses the thought. Voldemort would not care about such Muggle celebrations, surely.
''Fascinating,'' Quirrell breathes once Harry allows the Death Eater to read Voldemort's message as well. ''I've heard of gorgons, of course. Know effective ways to fight and negotiate with them, though never put a thought into their creation. A symbiosis of magical serpents and nymphs… truly fascinating. What will you name it?''
Harry's mind instantly blanks at the question. He isn't particularly good at name-giving if he is completely honest, leaning on names from his surroundings that pique his interest, such as 'Hedwig' from a random chapter of A History of Magic. He had adopted a Crup together with Ginny right after the war and insisted on naming it Sirius Remus, also nicknamed 'Mr Snuffles'. As he isn't certain whether Voldemort expects Harry to give this animal back after the whole Lockhart-plot is over with, he doesn't wish to bestow a name upon it that Voldemort will ridicule. He thus dismisses the first one that comes to mind after a silent minute of thinking, as 'Medusa' is a bit on the nose.
''Maybe… Ophis?'' he hesitates, looking at Voldemort's message, the term 'Gorgonophis' jumping out.
''You want to name this snake… the Greek word for snake?''
''Or not,'' he mutters, feeling his face heat up. ''You have any brilliant ideas?''
''I do not wish to risk accidentally bonding with it,'' Quirrell dryly replies. ''I'd prefer to involve myself as little with this as possible. Lockhart may be a menace and a fool, but he does not bother me. So unless you are specifically asking for my assistance, I'd rather not.''
Maybe he'll just call it 'Nagini II' as Voldemort thought that name good enough for his own companion. Nagini I might bite him for it though…
~Hey,~ Harry hisses, deciding he might as well put the snake at ease first. It docilely remained put after opening the box, only swaying its head back and forth a bit as if attempting to see.
~Hello?~ it replies, tongue flicking out to taste him. ~You're strong,~ it happily concludes. ~Good, I don't help the weak.~
~Do you know why you've been sent here?~
~To protect a speaker who is very important to the one who saved my nest. I'm the only one left nameless. We'll bond, now? You give me a name and I'll bite you, yes?~
Okay, this all goes a little bit too fast for Harry's comfort. Letting a magical serpent jab its venomous fangs into him without any sort of antidote on hand is pretty batshit insane. Voldemort's instructions are quite clear and make no mention of negative effects, but considering that venom is meant as a defensive mechanism, Harry remains sceptical. ~What happens after you bite me?~ he asks.
~Don't know. The mice always die.~
Wow, super reassuring.
~Let's talk about this part again after I find a good name for you, okay? I'll see if I can scrounge up some food in the meantime.~
It's a good enough excuse to find the time to consult his own personal human encyclopaedia, also known as his best friend. Unsurprisingly, Hermione almost loses her mind when being shown the magical, elusive serpent she has so far been only familiar with in myths. Hidden away in the Room of Requirement to avoid the constant Valentine's Day harassment, Harry is treated to hours of engaging stories about adventures and deities of ancient times that fill his head with so many names that he ends up with plenty to choose from. One that catches his interest in particular is the tale of the Hydra, and although the events surrounding the creation and life of the beast are tragic, he does find a name in the one that raised it (to kill a hero, but that is beside the point).
~How would you like Hera?~ he asks. There's no answer in the traditional sense of the word, the snake that had been curled up in his arms starting to emit a faint glow and scales heating up for a moment.
Before he can repeat the question, Hera sinks her fangs into his wrist. Harry cries out in shock more than in pain – the pricks are nothing compared to other injuries he's sustained – and gets hit with a bout of dizziness as the same warmth travels under his skin. ''Don't worry,'' he tells Hermione, who's flown up from her seat and points her wand at the animal. ''Must have been instinct. Here's to hoping this really wasn't all some scheme from Voldemort to get rid of me after all, that would really have made my entire second life useless,'' he chuckles, feeling more light-headed by the second even as Hera retreats and the puncture wounds seal up.
He is vaguely aware of Hermione's scared voice in the eternity that follows. The room turns into a blur of flashing lights and only the dry rasp of scales against hair feels real as Hera slithers around his head. He's never been this out of it. It feels oddly nice, like drifting in pleasant dreams…
The dream sadly ends with a killer headache that makes Hharry swear this is the last time he'll ever let his guard down around anything Voldemort sends over. At least he's still alive, what a bonus.
~Master~ Hera affectionately hisses in his ear, and Harry realises she's all tangled up in his hair now. Which, considering that these creatures literally act as living hair of nymphs, isn't too shocking. Here's to convincing her to hide someplace else, for he does not want to look like an idiot by wearing the official school hats when not absolutely required to.
''Harry Potter!'' a furious voice calls out, and he winces when sitting up to face Hermione. ''You're reckless and careless, for not warning me or telling me what to do! I was about to rush to the Hospital wing to bring the matron here if not for the fact that you'd probably rather die than get expelled!''
''Yeah well, you helped me set priorities early in life,'' he mumbles in answer. Now is probably not a good time to admit he also didn't know this would happen. ''Was banking on my Boy-Who-Lived status, you know?''
That half-hearted non-apology doesn't do Harry any favours, for his friend pretends he's air for a week that exhaustingly reminds of the typical way she and Ron always used to fight. Banking on the fact that those two usually got tired of it eventually, he tries to make up for being a bonehead by moving their plans forward now he possesses all cards to play.
Hera's gaze is indeed perfect, as Harry satisfyingly concludes after having led Mrs Norris down an abandoned corridor after midnight. To avoid Dumbledore thinking the incident might be related to the Stone and at the same time not wishing to allude to the true location of the Chamber of Secrets, the wall Harry leaves a bloody message on next to the petrified cat is far away from the Forbidden Corridor or Myrtle's lavatory. To kill three birds with one stone, he picks the one opposite Lockhart's office.
Missing sleep to linger in front of the office door until morning is absolutely worth seeing the usually so smug face become white as a sheet. It's less fun when Lockhart actually tries to vanish the writing on the wall before anyone else has a chance to see it. Of course, he hasn't earned the title of Hogwarts' least competent professor for nothing, as the blood only turns a sickly green after many attempts of garbled charms. Looks like memory modification is truly the only spell the man ever got down to perfection.
It all goes very fast, then: a wave of whispered speculations about Slytherin's Heir floods the halls of Hogwarts, Hermione indeed does come around as soon as she gets more annoyed by being left out of the loop of her own scheme than by Harry's rashness, and Lockhart is pulled into the spotlight due to where the first victim was found. In a hilarious turn of events, Filch stalks the Defence Professor, convinced he must have been the last person to see Mrs Norris and thus be guilty of the deed.
''He simply cannot fathom anyone else than such a capable wizard as yourself to pull off as advanced a spell as petrification, Professor,'' Harry lies through his teeth and sweetest smile after class.
''We're so alike, Harry,'' Lockhart jovially chortles back. ''Everyone is convinced that fame corrupts but-'' he wags his finger and gives a fat wink, ''It all depends on the person who carries that fame. If it's seen as a burden, not a gift-''
Harry is very good at tuning the blathering out, humming and nodding along while his mind is completely elsewhere. It's entirely safe with Lockhart, who is far too caught up in his own voice to notice whether the audience listens. Maybe it's not even that. The man may truly be so deluded that he can no longer fathom anyone wouldn't wish to hear what comes out of his mouth.
''I bet you could figure out who the Heir really is,'' Harry says when Lockhart gasps for air. ''Everyone in class says so.''
Blue eyes lose a bit of their twinkle, smile faltering before it's back to its usual fake brilliance. ''Oh. That is… very flattering Harry. I'm sure I could, of course. However, I'm sure the Headmaster wouldn't want me to get in the way and solve this mystery all by myself. I've enough credit to my name, wouldn't dream of taking it from others.''
Those words especially ignite another flame of hatred in Harry's heart. It had already been personal, but to have this blatant lie thrown in his face is just… ''-Besides,'' Lockhart drones on before Harry can decide what degree of heat his anger burns at. ''All that fuss about enemies of the Heir and whatnot may just as well be an elaborate prank. The only 'victim' so far has just been a cat.''
It's not a cat next time.
'Sorry Justin' Harry thinks before rolling up the sleeve that Hera has taken to hiding in since Harry only allows her to curl up in his hair when lying in bed with the hangings shut tight. She slithers down onto the stone tiles and slips from under the hem of the invisibility cloak Harry is hiding under, making her way towards the Hufflepuff. Justin is still looking around the empty corridor in confusion, a crumpled note in hand that Hermione wrote, mimicking the handwriting of Justin's crush as she fabricated a letter asking to meet in a quieter part of the school.
He takes care to vanish the letter when leaving a petrified Justin on the cold stone – just in time for a certain Defence professor to stumble across since Hermione sent him a note too about an infatuated fan hoping to get an exclusive photo.
''Will Dumbledore rest before finding a culprit?'' his friend speculates as they spend the next Saturday afternoon in the Room of Requirement. Her worried gaze does not stray from Hera's blindfolded face. ''We can expose Lockhart through this plot but… we have no-one to pin the actual blame on in the end.''
''Of course we do,'' Harry retorts as he lightly scratches his pet's scales. For a snake, Hera is incredibly affectionate, wishing to be handled even during shedding and after feeding. Harry too feels better when she's curled up with him. He dreads the possibility of having to give her back to his Intended…
''We do?''
''I thought that was obvious: Voldemort,'' he simply says. ''As a distraction to steal the Stone. The Headmaster always suspected that he released the basilisk forty-nine years ago, and also believes Voldemort will attempt to steal the Philosopher Stone this year. We won't even need to do anything to make Dumbledore assume this to have been the case when he finds out that the stone is gone with no other obvious culprit.''
Hermione's frown deepens. ''That was indeed obvious, thank you very much,'' she huffs. ''I thought you'd prefer to keep your own soul mate out of the line of fire and blame another. I surely would wish to protect them.''
''Bit late for that,'' Harry laughs disbelievingly. ''Mione, he's a murderer who's broken at least as many laws as there are days in a year. Plus, I am asking him to slaughter a few billion people more on top of his already significant body count. Ergo, Dumbledore suspecting him of petrifying a couple of students at Hogwarts will be a drop of water on a hot plate. It's not going to damage Voldemort' non-existent reputation of being some upstanding citizen. The main reason why I want to wait till late in the school year is so that Dumbledore won't have time for thorough enough investigations to shift that initial suspicion on me as Voldemort's soulmate.''
''Harry…'' For the first time since meeting Hermione, there's true fear. Odd, considering she knows of the Dark Lord's violent nature and Harry's acceptance of it.
''Yes?''
''You… I thought you said you only asked him to protect us from Muggles.''
He blinks slowly. ''Yes…?''
''Where… when did that turn into killing?''
He stares at Hermione in silence for a good minute. ''What did you think it meant? Why do you think I went to him and didn't plead my case to Dumbledore or the Ministry? Hermione… they slaughtered us. There was no mercy, no exceptions, no justice. Any who attempted to negotiate died, either their life or their magic ripped away.'' Flashes of a horrifying past in which he'd clung to every drop of magic makes it lash out now, the tea set rattling on the table. ''Voldemort is my last hope-'' he dangerously whispers, leaning forward to look the girl dead in wide, brown eyes. ''-because of how far he's willing to go. Because he was right in the belief that killing them first is the only way to protect ourselves.''
''Surely not all of them deserve to die.''
For the first time in years, a very unpleasant image flashes in Harry's mind. Teddy. Harry's godson had been one of the first they'd lost. He'd also only been ten years old. Harry tastes blood when biting his tongue, willing the image of the first person he'd failed to go away. He succeeds only partially, managing to ban scared eyes and reaching hands, but not the way Teddy had begged for death when the core of his person, the inherent magical ability that was as natural to the boy as breathing and which he'd used to connect to his dead parents for all of his life had been ripped away by the cancellation fields. By Muggles who'd claimed to neutralise a danger. What danger? Teddy hadn't even carried a wand yet.
He feels like throwing up and his voice trembles more than he wants when saying: ''No. But I cannot afford to risk leaving alive one too many of those who do. Mione, are there any Muggles you care for?''
''Well… no, not particularly… Still, the teachers I've had, the staff and some of the children I grew up with aren't evil. My parents-''
''-You were bullied, were you not?'' he interrupts before she can finish that thought. ''Some of the other children hurt you to the point of bruising for being different.''
She clamps down, refusing to answer until he calmly repeats the questions twice more.
''Yes!'' she finally snaps. ''And? There were only five of them and I got my revenge!''
''There weren't only five,'' he says, attempting to clarify why the situation had grown as dire as it had. ''There were five who hurt you and a dozen more who watched in complacency, adults explicitly responsible for your care included. How many were actively on your side, Hermione? How many shielded you? Took a stand so you'd be left alone?''
It hurts how her face falls, crumples up like a paper ball. Harry takes mercy and gently places Hera down on the seat next to him so he can go over to Hermione. ''It is always the silent masses that do most damage,'' he whispers after drawing her into a tight hug. ''Even if only a handful carry the weapons. It's the ones who allow them to do as they please who enabled the system that picked off my friends one by one. I know it isn't fair. I know I'm not even in the right, seeking vengeance for actions that haven't yet taken place. What I do know is that I made a promise to protect my people, and I will hold onto it like a torch that lights the path of my friends and burns my enemies alike. A safe world for us can only be achieved in one way.''
''Through murder,'' she thickly answers. ''Genocide.''
''That's what I brought a Dark Lord back to life for, yes,'' he answers, too hardened for remorse. ''I wish I could see another way. Merlin, if Voldemort does miraculously come up with a different solution to protect us and - I don't know -, shoots us all to a grand new planet to start over, I'm all for it. However, it's unrealistic at best and will get us all killed again at worst.'' He hesitates, carefully mulling over the next few words before they leave his lips, filled with loathing. ''There's already a world in which they won, Hermione. One that I have on my conscience. That will not happen again. I will not let it happen again.''
At long last, she returns the previously one-sided hug. ''Okay,'' she whispers back. ''I'm with you. You know I'll always be with you.''
Harry blinks away the blur in his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. ''You're the only one I can fully count on,'' he admits. ''More than Voldemort. More than myself.''
Hermione's smile is a sad thing when he moves back over to his own armchair, picking up the snake that restlessly slithered all across the seat in search for Harry.
''Your timing will need to be good. Really good,'' Hermione warns, expertly picking up their previous topic, quickly looking away just in case when Harry carefully lifts Hera's blindfold so he can gaze into yellow eyes that are so similar to those of an eager puppy.
Astonishing that such a tiny creature can cause so much fuss. A nice analogy for Harry's presence in this world, perhaps…
''My timing will be perfect, Hermione,'' he assures. ''I may not always know what I'm doing, but when it comes to influencing events I've witnessed before… leave it to me.''
AN: At last, Hermione has realised what she is truly in for, they've got a semblance of a plan to deal with Lockhart and I've introduced my fav OC character: Hera ^^
So much went into this chapter somehow.
Next up is the start of the Easter holidays. And guess who drops by for a visit... ;)
Please let me know your thoughts!
xx GeMerope