Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Ten—Upsetting Revelations

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery mist surges back and forth in front of Harry, and then dissipates. Harry sighs a little and shakes his head.

He's been practicing the Patronus by himself because, frankly, it would be pretty embarrassing to have it fail in front of his followers. Well, no, his followers would probably be fine, but the more casual students in the Defense Association might start worrying about how weak he was.

And Harry has learned the hard way that he can't trust the school's opinion not to change instantly when it comes to him.

"You are hunting hard."

Harry glances curiously at Ahalam, whom he left asleep on a warm rock in the corner of the old Defense classroom no one uses anymore. Ahalam's head is up now, swaying back and forth a little, and he looks so intent that Harry goes over to him.

"What do you mean?"

"You are hunting very hard. You want to look at the sinew-things, and you want to cast spells, and you want to train your hatchlings—"

"Students, Ahalam. They're called students."

"You are teaching them to hunt, they are your hatchlings."

Harry rolls his eyes a little. He reckons he's not going to win that argument, so he just says, "Yes, all right, I've been working. But no harder than Hermione or Ron or the rest of them work, you know."

"You are hunting hard when you have the best and prettiest snake to make things easier."

Harry smiles and reaches out a hand. Ahalam twines up it, but doesn't come up to Harry's shoulder like he usually does, resting on his arm and coiling there instead. He darts his tongue out. "You remember when we broke past the ward on the dangerous man's office."

Harry nods. That's what Ahalam always calls Moody. "Yes. And I wouldn't want to ask you to do something like that now."

"But I added my magic to yours. You can cast in the real language, and that will increase the power of your magic."

Harry blinks. Yes, he's called on Ahalam's magic a few times, but it's never been a consistent thing, and it hasn't happened in the last few months. It's—well, a startling insight to emerge from the mind of someone who's concerned with cheese most of the time.

But then again, Harry is concerned with the protection of his friends most of the time, and defeating Voldemort. It doesn't mean he can't think about other things, like this bloody Patronus.

"Do you want to help me try?"

"I will try! I am the best and prettiest of snakes! I am also the strongest and the smartest! Cast the spell in Parseltongue, and I will add my strength to yours, and we will hunt down the spell together!"

Harry finds himself smiling and lifts his wand. He doesn't try to concentrate on a happy memory, since so far that hasn't worked, but just the joy he feels being around Ahalam. He takes a bracing breath and sighs out the words in Parseltongue. "Expecto Patronum!"

There's a confused and confusing swirl in front of him, of blue and silver smoke. Harry is at least relieved that he doesn't seem to have done any more badly than the other times he's cast the spell today. But Ahalam is swaying back and forth on his shoulder, chanting, "Form, prey, form!" and Harry blinks a little as the smoke takes on a definite form.

He laughs when he sees what it is. It breaks apart in the next moment and turns back into formless drifting stuff, but he knows what he saw.

"Why is your Patronus that?"

"What did you think my Patronus should be?"

"A snake," Ahalam says, in the same small hurt voice that he uses when he's denied cheese. "The best and strongest and smartest snake."

Harry caresses Ahalam and smiles at the place where his Niffler Patronus has just disappeared. "You're still great, Ahalam. And you said the Patronus was prey. So it wouldn't really have been appropriate for the Patronus to be you, right? Because I wouldn't want to eat a snake."

Ahalam sways back and forth cheerfully. "That is right! It is a crime to lie to snakes, and a crime to eat one! Do you know what else is a crime? Keeping snakes from cheese!"

Harry snorts and gives the air one more smile before he walks towards the door of the old classroom. He knew that sooner or later they would get back around to cheese.

Harry stumbles out of the Forbidden Forest, shaking. Hagrid just took him to meet his brother Grawp, and Harry…

Harry never wants to do that again.

He stands and shoves his trembling hands in his pockets, while he tries to smile at Hermione. Hermione's face is pale, and she keeps looking over her shoulder as if she thinks Grawp is about to come after them.

"That's awful," Hermione whispers. "That Hagrid had to go meet with him, and keeping him tied up like that…it's not right…"

Harry takes a deep breath. "Yeah." He wonders for a second if Dumbledore was right, and holding the Tournament last year would have meant they could have established international alliances. Would that mean poor Grawp wouldn't have been taken from his people and tied up?

But then Harry shakes his head impatiently. He couldn't countenance putting students in danger—and creatures like dragons—to save one giant. He hates that he has to think like this, but he thinks he made the right decision to keep the Ministry from bringing in the Tournament.

But that doesn't mean he can't do something for giants now. He glances at Hermione. "Would you be willing to help me look up laws about the treatment of magical creatures?"

"Yes, of course. I built some time free from the study schedule tomorrow evening. We can meet in the library then."

Harry conceals a smile. Hermione didn't try to enforce her insane study schedule on anybody after Ron and Harry talked to her about it, but she's keeping herself to a pretty strict one. "Yeah, that'll work. Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione nods determinedly to him, and then glances over her shoulder at the Forest again. "I feel sorry for Hagrid, but he shouldn't be keeping his half-brother captive like that."

"I totally agree."

"Are you all right, Sirius?"

Sirius asked Harry to visit him, and Harry thought it was going to be about what day and time they would leave for the Easter holiday. As much as Harry likes Hogwarts, he doesn't really want to spend the hols here, now that he has a choice. He'd like to see Grimmauld Place and Remus again.

But now Sirius is sitting in front of him and sipping Firewhisky straight from the bottle, and his face looks ghastly.

Sirius sets down his bottle and reaches across from the squashy couch he's kept in his quarters since last term to clasp Harry's hand. Harry holds on, searching his face. The only thing he can think is that Sirius got bad news about one of their friends, or Remus, or something.

"I cast—I found—"

Harry tightens his hold on Sirius's hand. He doesn't know what the problem is, but Sirius really needs to talk to someone, obviously.

Sirius abruptly lunges forwards and wraps his arms around Harry, dragging him close. Harry makes a muffled sound of surprise against Sirius's shoulder, but hugs him right back.

Sirius breathes, close to Harry's ear, "I found a spell that would let me identify what kind of Dark magic was on the diadem and the locket. I found a horrible book at Grimmauld Place that made sense of them. I think—I think they contain pieces of that bastard's soul."

Harry shivers, but the notion doesn't really surprise him. He remembers what the diary said about being a memory preserved in a book for fifty years. "And you think that's—what? It helps keep him alive?"

"Yes, I think it might. And I found a spell in the book that would identify the objects, although it doesn't do much besides confirm what they are."

Sirius falls silent. Harry holds him closer. He doesn't know if it's just the existence of the Dark magic that has upset Sirius, or delving into books from Grimmauld Place, or something else.

"I tried the spell out in various places in Hogwarts," Sirius whispers. "I thought he might have hidden another of those objects here, since he hid the diadem. And—Harry—"

He begins to shake. Harry pulls back and stares up at Sirius. The only thing he can imagine is that Sirius found the whole school itself is one of these things or something. That seems to be the only conclusion that would cause him this much pain.

But Sirius is pulling back, forcing his shaking back under control, and staring at Harry.

"Harry," he whispers. "You glowed. Your scar—you—you're one of them."

Harry feels as though he's falling.

A second later, harsh and hoarse and horrible, Sirius begins to cry.