AN
Too much Harry in this one. Can't be helped, I guess.
1994 to 1995
"He what?"
"Blew up my house," Manea repeated, entirely too cheerful. "With me in it. Can't say I've ever been blown up before. Wasn't sure I'd be able to come back from that at all. Wasn't much left."
"I can see that," Severus said dryly as he wrapped her torn-up limbs in bandages. "Why did you come to me of all people?"
"Who else would I have gone to? The others are all lightweights. Except for Poppy. I can hardly put everything back in order on my own. I tried. Everything keeps falling apart."
It was a miracle she had somehow managed to come here.
"How do you even know where I live?"
Manea tilted her head – it almost fell off with the motion and then her entire body tilted with it. She only regained her balance at the last moment by catching herself with her one good arm.
Severus, who hadn't moved to help her, eyed the patches of missing skin.
Her mostly good arm.
"I always knew. Sometimes. When I didn't forget. I don't always remember everything, you know? It comes and goes. It's all a bit blurry right now, anyway. Fuzzy around the edges."
She smiled. It looked almost natural. If the obviously missing body parts hadn't been any indication that something was very, very wrong, the smile would have given it away.
"You seem a little ... unhinged."
Manea Killgrave was generally not aloof and full of manic glee. If you asked Severus, he would have described her as cold distance hidden behind professionalism and the mirth of someone who always knew more than they were supposed to. Also quite infuriatingly uncaring about the suffering of other people.
"Yeah, I'm still not all there, yet." She blinked rapidly. "Rebuilding a brain from scratch is a bit complicated. Takes some finesse. It's why I didn't go to Poppy – well, not that I know where she lives in the first place – I'd never hear the end of it."
Severus wanted to ask. He really did. But he knew he would either get some ridiculous reply that answered nothing at all or hear something he really shouldn't have. He wouldn't like the answer either way, so he didn't ask.
"Did you know? I didn't actually see the person who did it. But if everything is still on track as it should be, there's only one possibility and he did attempt to capture me before, not that he ever came close to subduing me. I was expecting it to happen, really, although not quite like this. Oh." Manea looked up at Severus. "Someone should tell Gandalf – sorry, Bumblebee – no, Merlin – huh, Merlin was actually a thing here. Odd, that."
Manea mumbled something under her breath that Severus thought sounded like, "Too many wise, old, bearded wizards flying on damn eagles everywhere."
Temporarily unhinged, he reminded himself. (He hoped it was only temporary. He could barely deal with the woman when she wasn't completely out of her mind on a good day.)
"It was Albus, wasn't it?" Manea continued. "Albus Severus. Yes. Someone should tell him there might be an imposter trying to access Hogwarts posing as me. He tried to kill me so he could infiltrate Hogwarts. No, wait. He wouldn't have been able to get enough parts of me, so he probably killed me to pose as whoever would have replaced me."
Severus wasn't sure how much of that he could believe. He chose not to think about it at all.
"And who might 'he' be?"
Manea looked up at him with big eyes. "Barty. Good, old Barty. Young Barty? Barmy Barty."
"Crouch?"
"That one, yes."
"The Ministry Official?"
Manea frowned. "No. Not that one."
Severus stared at her.
The only other 'Barty Crouch' Severus could think of was the son who had died in Azkaban several years ago and a dead person could hardly –
Manea was a dead person walking and talking as if it was nothing.
Still. Chances that Barty Crouch Junior was out and about, blowing up people's houses were very, very slim.
"I think you should lie down and rest. We can talk about this when you're..." Severus gestured at her mangled body, held together for the most part only by the bandages Severus had tied around – well, everything, basically.
"... all there again," he finished.
Manea nodded. "That does sound sensible. "
When Severus entered his living room the next morning, Manea was fast asleep, looking as if she had never been blown up in the first place. When Severus returned several hours later, she was still asleep. It took Severus almost a week to figure out how to wake her. It involved dead things. He really shouldn't have been surprised. (He hoped he would never have to do such a thing again.)
He would have liked to say it was unlikely that Manea would get herself into such a situation again and then seek him out for help – or that he would ever meet another undead abomination like her – but he didn't want to risk jinxing it, so he avoided thinking about it entirely.
When she did finally wake up, Manea didn't remember a single thing she had said during that first night. Severus wasn't surprised. Manea also did not give him any straight answers to his many questions – neither about the person who had blown up her house, nor the message she had wanted him to send to Dumbledore. Though Severus noticed she didn't deny any of it, either.
He wasn't sure what to make of it. Better not involve himself any more than absolutely necessary. He had enough problems of his own to worry about.
†
Zhang Qiu was among the fittest of her classmates, having been part of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team for several years now, and she was certainly no pushover when it came to combative magic. Yet she still found herself struggling almost as much as her classmates in Professor Killgrave's outdoor classes.
They had started this type of field training in their fourth year, when Professor Killgrave had begun introducing the more advanced curses, hexes and jinxes they might encounter one day and how to defend against them with a small preview of what was to come in the NEWT-level courses. (Which apparently would include a demonstration of the three Unforgivable Curses. Zhang Qiu liked Professor Killgrave, but the thought of their odd, sometimes outright scary teacher demonstrating those spells made her shudder in apprehension and almost reconsider continuing the class next year.)
After having built up a modicum of stamina and speed and knowledge on how to use their environment to their advantage, Professor Killgrave had started them on so-called 'multi-opponent sparring sessions' this year.
Zhang Qiu, even struggling for breath, covered in sweat and dirt and some minor cuts earned by grazing a shrub earlier, couldn't help but feel exhilarated. The adrenaline coursing through her veins, the excitement of being allowed to freely cast spells and block and dodge, the triumph at besting her opponents – it felt almost as good as being on the Quidditch pitch, playing a good game.
Zhang Qiu loved it.
"Well, there is hope for you, yet," Professor Killgrave told them at the end of the lesson. "You're shaping up to be adequate at least, compared to your seniors. Perhaps because I had more time to prepare you … It does make me worry about the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff class, though, but when do I ever not worry about them?"
From her friend Katie, Zhang Qiu had heard that Professor Killgrave frequently made such comments and the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs never liked to hear them, yet no one could deny that they always made everyone put more effort into catching up with their Slytherin-Ravenclaw counterpart.
"For those interested, I offer additional duelling classes. They have been a great success with your seniors already. I'm keeping up hopes to re-establish a proper Duelling Club at one point, but such a thing takes more preparation and proper handling and supervision than mere additional classes and with the –" Professor Killgrave paused to take a breath, as if the words she was going to say next were giving her great pain, "Triwizard Tournament having been reinstated this year, a Duelling Club would have been simply impossible to maintain."
†
"Mr Potter," Professor Killgrave called and Ernie slowed down, glancing back. Hannah gave him a funny look, but didn't comment.
"Considering the unfortunate situation you have found yourself in, I thought you might greatly benefit from participating in the additional duelling lessons I am offering my fifth year and NEWT-level classes."
Ernie grimaced. Special treatment for Harry Potter. Again. As if taking away Hufflepuff's hard-earned and well-deserved glory wasn't enough already! Chosen as the fourth champion, really!
"Really, Professor? Do you think I would do well?"
The earnest brightening of Potter's tone rubbed Ernie the wrong way, but then Professor Killgrave's dry answer made him suddenly reevaluate all of his previous thoughts.
"We shall see. Your field training has only just begun this year, after all, and even my fifth years now have the advantage of having benefited from both the regular and the additional classes for two months already. But, at the very least, it might better your chances of survival. We can't have an unwilling participant die because of something he didn't want in the first place, can we? That would be truly unfortunate."
Ernie gulped. He saw the same unease he felt at their teacher's nonchalant tone reflected on Hannah's face. Perhaps, Ernie contemplated, if their Defence Professor did not think Potter had actually put his name in the Goblet of Fire and that his chances of survival were – Ernie didn't dare to even think about the possibility of – of someone d– dying …
Perhaps giving Potter the cold shoulder had been unfair, after all. But he would have to see what his fellow Hufflepuffs thought about this, first.
†
"So you asked her, then?"
Harry nodded.
"What did she say?" Hermione asked, curious about their teacher's response.
"That, unless one has received proper training – which apparently takes years – one does not fight a dragon."
"That's it?" Ron asked, incredulous.
Harry ducked his head. "I, uh, must have looked rather disappointed, because Professor Killgrave then added that it is often more advisable to avoid fighting altogether and to try to work around a problem – a dragon, in this case – from a different angle. And then she asked 'Do you have to fight the dragon to achieve your goal or are you actually after something else?'"
"Huh," Ron said.
Hermione thought about it for a moment.
"Perhaps," she said eventually, "that was Professor Killgrave's way of giving you a hint without being too obvious and going against the rules."
"What do you mean?"
"Perhaps," Hermione stressed, "you won't actually have to fight a dragon. Perhaps you will have to go around a dragon."
"Oh," said Harry. "But how do I do that?"
"Well, that's what we need to figure out, isn't it?"
†
"So you asked her, then?"
Harry plopped down on the sofa, right between Ginny and Hermione.
"What did she say?" Hermione asked.
Harry shrugged, jostling Ginny in the process. Trying not to blush, she scooted to the side to give him more room.
"She just asked me whether I had already forgotten last year's lessons."
"That's it?" Ron asked, incredulous.
Harry shrugged again.
"Is this about the second task?" Ginny asked curiously. "Perhaps I can help? I am currently receiving those lessons, after all."
Harry brightened at that. "What are you currently doing?"
"Learning about common, mildly dangerous creatures that live in shallow waters like lakes and rivers."
"Could it be …" Hermione muttered.
"What?" Harry asked. "Could what be?"
"Your clue for the second task is an egg …"
"An egg that screeches horribly."
"What kind of creatures did we learn about last year that lay eggs …"
"Hermione?"
"Give her a minute," Ron said.
Ginny, meanwhile, grabbed a piece of parchment from the table and began writing down the creatures they had already learned about. When she was done with that and Hermione was still muttering to herself, Harry and Ron watching her curiously, Ginny added notes about the topics Professor Killgrave had gone over for each creature and then notes of what creatures Ginny could remember were yet to be covered.
When she was done, Ginny wordlessly handed the list to Hermione.
It was fascinating to watch her figure it out all on her own. All Ginny could contribute were elaborations on her own notes whenever Hermione asked. Which was still better than Harry and her brother, who were just sitting around uselessly, watching the girls do all the work.
How Harry was supposed to survive this tournament without any help at all, Ginny couldn't fathom. Harry was useless without his friends.
(It was kind of endearing, in a way, the way he relied on them and trusted in them.)
†
"It's fine, Severus. It will be healed in no time."
Adrian froze. That was Professor Killgrave's voice.
"Then there was no need to bother me, was there?"
And that was definitely his Head of House.
"You make the best salves. And you know how Poppy fusses."
Adrian wasn't doing anything he shouldn't be doing. There was no need for him to hide. He could just walk past the apparently open door to Snape's office and continue on his way to the Slytherin Common Room.
"How many attempts has it been, now?"
"So you do care. My dear Severus, I never would have thought it possible."
Adrian knew his Head of House well enough to know exactly what kind of expression he must have been making.
"I didn't care to count," Killgrave continued. "And he only succeeded the one time. Two times, if you count the one where he blew up my house."
"Two times, so far," came Snape's drawl.
"So far," Killgrave agreed. "Not that it would matter much, if he killed me a second time."
"A third time."
"Yes."
Adrian slowly released his breath and nodded to himself. So that theory of theirs was indeed correct. He should have been more surprised, he reflected, but he had seen a lot of shit in his time at Hogwarts. A witch that walked around wearing skulls with eyes that were the colour of the Killing Curse she had demonstrated to her students, herself, could very well die a few times and simply not stay dead.
"I wonder why he's specifically going only after me, when he could go after literally anyone here. Maybe it is the Jinx's interference, but perhaps there are other reasons."
This meant, Adrian realised, not even really listening to the conversation anymore, that the rumours about Slytherins Monster getting her had likely been true. And the ones about the Dementors. And there were quite possibly more instances the rumour mill hadn't picked up on.
Adrian nodded to himself again. He would have to tell Cassius and the others. They would be thrilled to hear about this.
"Perhaps – Mr Pucey."
"Sir." Adrian gave his Head of House a respectful nod. "Ma'am."
Professor Killgrave gave him a smile.
Adrian suppressed the involuntary shiver that threatened to overcome him, took note of the jar she was holding out of the corner of his eyes, and continued on his way.
He hadn't broken any rules, there was no need to feel like he had been caught doing something naughty.
†
Cormac looked around in confusion when he heard the shriek, but relaxed when he saw who it was. Granger had been receiving hate mail for several days – something about an article, if he'd heard the girls right. Some of those letters were apparently cursed or contained awful potions. Cormac would have done something immediately if it were him, but if Granger didn't want to take action or go to a teacher that was up to her, Cormac thought.
"Miss Granger," came the voice of Cormac's nightmares. (He had heard the rumours. He had furiously ignored them, then. He hadn't wanted to hear that the theory going around among the senior students had apparently been confirmed somehow. He really hadn't.)
"It's nothing, Professor," came Granger's reply.
"That is clearly a lie, Miss Granger. One point from Gryffindor."
Several heads turned at that.
"I will have a word with the headmaster about the lack of security. Next time, Miss Granger, you should go to a teacher immediately."
Granger stopped receiving cursed mail after that. Only the harmless hate mail came through and those were always promptly set on fire somewhere the teachers couldn't see. Cormac almost wondered about the specifics of that, but then remembered that it was better not to think about anything Professor Killgrave was involved in too much.
†
Harry felt numb. His head was spinning. Professor Killgrave's harsh grip on his arm was all that was holding him up. He barely registered the questions she was asking, answering without really thinking about it.
It was strange, he thought. But he didn't know what it was that he found strange.
"Voldemort's back? You're sure he's back? How did he do it?"
"He took stuff from his father's grave, and from Wormtail, and me," Harry replied. His head was starting to feel clearer. His scar wasn't hurting so badly, anymore. He could now see Professor Killgrave's face distinctly, even though the office – when had they reached her office? – was dark. He could still hear screaming and shouting from the distant Quidditch pitch.
"What did the Dark Lord take from you?" Professor Killgrave asked.
Harry was about to raise his arm, where Wormtail's dagger had ripped through his sleeve and cut into his flesh, when, suddenly, Professor Killgrave's eyes rolled up in her head and she fell over like a stone.
"Blood, I imagine," said Professor Killgrave, standing over her double.
Harry stared at her with large eyes that widened further when he heard the ominous cracking noises coming from this second Professor Killgrave, who was stretching her neck. He should have run, but his body was frozen in fear.
"How disappointing," the second Professor Killgrave said, looking down at her double. "He was doing so well all year, I was expecting him to get me a third time, but he didn't even stop to check whether I was actually dead." She tsked. "I expected him to be smarter and more cautious, especially after his seemingly successful attempts turned out to be unsuccessful after all – not that they truly were unsuccessful."
The second Professor Killgrave crouched down and touched the first one's cheek.
"Oh, dear. I think I killed him." A gleam entered her eyes and Harry, still staring, shivered. He couldn't stop shivering.
Oh, Harry realised. This was what Harry had found so strange earlier – the other one hadn't gotten the smile right. It had not been as bone-chilling as this one. The realisation didn't make him feel any safer.
"It should be fine," the second Professor Killgrave, the real one, murmured. Harry had to strain his ears to understand what she was saying. "The Minister would have had him kissed by Dementors and not believed a word about the Dark Lord's return, anyway."
Harry did not understand what was going on, but the meaning of those last words soon became clear to him when, several confusing hours later, while being fussed over by Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing, he overheard an argument between Dumbledore and Minister Fudge.