Master of Death

by deadwoodpecker

It is 1977, and He Who Must Not Be Named is ascendant. Hoping to lure out a mighty foe, he organizes a theft of Nurmengard. But as others have discovered before him, it is unwise to play with Grindelwald's possessions... This fic is H/G, and is set in a slightly-altered from canon reality.

21. chapter sixteen

It was Ron and Hermione who helped him sort it out.

It was a rare dream in which he knew what was happening, from the moment he found himself in the common room, and saw them. A surge of pure happiness swamped him. "When did you two get so young?" he asked, laughing.

Neither one looked at him.

"Ron? Hermione?" And even though Harry knew he was dreaming –for how could his two best friends have grown young? – he was hurt that they didn't even acknowledge he was there. But still, he brooded a bit, lingering on the edges of the warm room. A radio played softly in the background – no, it was an old victrola, and instead of music, Ron and Hermione's tiny, tinny voices came out of it.

"Remember the spiders," said Ron. "Why wasn't it remember the butterflies?"

Harry glanced from one to the other, confused. For the first time, Harry noticed that Hermione had cat ears and whiskers… in fact, she looked very much like Nimue, his mother's cat. "Go 'way," he grunted, sleepily.

But the common room never wavered. The walls were rippling until in the firelight, it looked like a great snake was writhing around them, large enough to swallow all of them whole… it could swallow the entire room, the entire castle, and all of Diagon Alley. "Ron! Hermione!" he shouted desperately. "Look up! There's a basilisk! It's going to eat you!"

Hermione looked at him, finally, with Nimue's eyes. The victrola crackled and popped. And then, from it, Harry heard: "No, Harry. It's you that's in danger. The basilisk is coming for you, coming for everyone…" Her voice echoed hollowly. "The spiders are fleeing before it…"

"But…"

Ron looked at him. There were stars in his eyes. His mouth did not move; still, Harry heard his voice. "Remember the spiders."

"But it's not a basilisk that's swallowing Britain," Harry protested. "It's the pox, it's the–"

"Basilisk pox."

It echoed so loudly in his ears that Harry woke with enough violence that he toppled off of his small bed. Nimue, who had been sitting on his chest, mewled in protest, batting at him.

"Sorry," Harry gasped out. The common room had disappeared with such suddenness that his head was spinning. "It's a basilisk pox," Harry said, stunned. Could it truly be? It had struck him, what Molly Weasley had said, about the spiders. Perhaps they recognized basilisks even when it was in the form of an illness…

And he knew with a certainty that stunned him that he was right: it was no medusa pox that was swallowing up the wizarding world. It was a basilisk pox. And there was Voldemort at the heart of it…

Harry wavered. A part of him wanted to get his mirror and contact Sirius. But Harry did not want to have the argument he knew would come. So instead, he pushed himself off his bed, threw on the spangled dressing robe that had seemed so important to buy from the catalog, and marched out of his room. The silence was jagged-edged. His father was awake somewhere in the tower, being comforted by his mother. Harry paused outside Ginny's door, then knocked firmly.

In less than a minute, she opened her door. Her dressing gown was firmly belted, and thin enough to properly show off her curves. Swallowing, Harry raised his gaze, briefly touching on full lips, before meeting her eyes.

"I – need to tell you something," he said.

Still quiet, she moved aside from the door, opening it further, allowing him entry into her small space. It was no longer spare, but filled with small ornaments and lacy pillows. A pleasant scent of herbs and flowers hung in the air. Harry breathed it in; it seemed like it was his first deep breath since he'd heard about his grandparents. He took one of the pillows in his hands, squeezing it. More of the same scent billowed out from it.

This was the right thing to do.

Ginny murmured an incantation, and the lamp brightened.

"Your mum… she mentioned that spiders have been doing something weird," said Harry.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.

"The spiders… she said they were fleeing from the houses of people ill from the pox," Harry said, swallowing. "That doesn't sound like medusas to me, does it?"

"No," Ginny said slowly, puzzlement suffusing her features. "What do you mean?"

Harry sat on the edge of her bed, sitting on his hands. Her lips seemed to part. "Is this okay?" he asked. When she nodded, he said, "I think… I think they might be wrong about the pox–"

"What?" she said blankly. "What do you mean, Harry? Why would you think that?"

"Well… and I'm not a healer, but…" The back of his neck was growing hot. "People are growing sores – bloody ones – and the sores petrify. But that doesn't just have to be medusas, does it?"

"Harry," said Ginny, sitting beside him and taking his hand. "Is this about your grandparents?"

"No," said Harry, growing frustrated. "Not really. Not entirely. It's about some things just not ringing true… and there's too much – he's benefiting too much from this. You saw the articles; people are starting to hate Muggleborns. There was even — they want to group them into places. This only helps him."

"Yes," said Ginny, "but–"

He squeezed her hand in both of his. When she squeezed back, he said: "Ginny… I had a dream."

"A dream," she repeated, eyes widening. "Like…?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Just like with your dad. It was on Halloween." He glanced away, not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes when she realized how long it had taken him to tell her. "I didn't think it was real at the time – we'd been telling those spooky stories. But I dreamed that he came here, to Hogwarts, during that storm. He went down to the Chamber of Secrets." The dream was hazy and muddy. Harry closed his eyes, trying to remember as much of it as he could. "He brought the basilisk out, Ginny. He took blood from it. I know he did."

After a long while, she spoke, finally. "You think he's not just benefiting from it, he's guiding it?"

"Not just guiding," said Harry, "but creating it. Who's to say he couldn't? And he wouldn't care that a few purebloods are dying."

Horror was written plain on her face.

"You don't have to believe me," Harry offered. "But I think I'm right."

"I believe you," she said. Then, repeated it, still sounding shocked. "Oh, God, Harry."

"I know," said Harry. "And I could be wrong… but earlier, I couldn't stop thinking of the spiders. I remembered…" But he did not want to bring up her own experience in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Following the spiders into the Forbidden Forest when I was opening the Chamber?" Ginny offered. The light from the lamp made her eyes even brighter than normal. Despite the gravity of the situation, Harry could not help but realize they were sitting rather close together, holding hands, legs and arms touching. A tendril of her hair was caught on the sleeve of his dressing gown, even.

Harry looked away, pushing down certain unbrotherly feelings. He could not think of a worse time for them. "Yeah," he said. "It all fits, Ginny. The dream… the spiders… the turmoil and pain. He's behind it. I know he is."

"What did Sirius say?" she asked. "What does he think?"

Harry shook his head, pulling his hand from hers and swiping his palms on his dressing gown. "I didn't – I haven't told him."

She drew in a swift breath.

"I came to you first," Harry said quietly. Now he was looking at her again, he thought he saw something unsisterly in her eyes. "I knew you'd listen. I knew you'd understand. And I know you won't argue about me taking this to Dumbledore–"

"In fact, I'll urge you to," said Ginny.

"I know," said Harry. "But Sirius wouldn't… he'd fight it. He wasn't there with the basilisk. I have to at least bring all this to Dumbledore. I have to try."

"You wouldn't be the man I think you are if you didn't," she said bluntly.

"I'm afraid I'm already not that person," said Harry, leaning his head back. "I could have said something… I should have, maybe, back on Halloween. I wanted it not to be real."

She took his hand again.

"You're going now," she said, squeezing him.

Her hand was cool and small. For a moment, Harry forgot what he needed to do; they'd never held hands before tonight, not like this, with their fingers twining together. Heat crept up the back of his neck. Then, clarity returned, and he sighed. "I have to go…"

"I'll go with you," said Ginny, standing with him. Their bodies were oriented together, facing each other, and suddenly Harry was holding both of her hands. "If you want me to."

"I do," said Harry, with no small amount of relief. "I'll need your help… there are things you understand about the diary that I don't know… if I'm to tell him about the basilisk, I think–"

"I agree," said Ginny.

Instead of going to his office the direct way, they first went to the Room of Requirement, huddled under the invisibility cloak for the entire walk. Both breathed a sigh of relief when it became apparent that Sirius was not there. And it's not that I don't want to tell him, Harry thought. I just don't want a fight. But whether Sirius was gone from the castle or perhaps staying the night with Marlene McKinnon, he was not there to obstruct them.

"We need to see Dumbledore," Harry muttered to the room. "Professor Dumbledore. We need to see him" And then, just like it had all those months ago, another door appeared. Glancing at Ginny, he dropped her hand and tucked his into the deep pockets of his dressing gown.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Dumbledore half-rose from his chair, spectacles flashing in the dim lamp light, mouth gaped slightly open.

"I've — we've got something to tell you," said Harry, his nerves not allowing him to pause for niceties. He had just barged into Dumbledore's private office after all. But there was Ginny, the brush of her fingers on his arm, steadying him.

"To tell me?" Dumbledore said, having regained his composure. "Is this about where you two went today?"

Harry and Ginny exchanged a quick, guilty look. "No," said Harry. "Not quite, anyway. But we heard something—"

"—we heard that there are rumors that spiders are fleeing from this pox?" Ginny said. "Is that true?"

There was no twinkle of amusement in the eyes that looked back at them. "It is said so, yes," he finally said. "Edgar had been trying to keep that quiet, in order to not stir more fear up among our communities."

"Just like he kept it quiet that he killed a sacriphant?" Harry asked. "You Know Who, I mean."

"Precisely so," said Dumbledore. There was a grave and hollow cast to his face. He looked nearly as old as he did when Harry had first known him. "The blood magic and protection that the sacriphant provides is a powerful reason to hope. To take that away would cause despair."

"Even if," Harry said, "it isn't a medusa pox after all?"

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look. "And what would it be if not that?"

"Medusas don't make spiders flee before them," said Ginny, voice quiet. "Basilisks do."

"Be that as it may, Miss Peverell—"

"We can show you," interrupted Harry. "Vol–You Know Who can control basilisks. He's a Parselmouth… he got it to give him some blood, I know he did. And I can show you." Harry did not want to tell Dumbledore about the dreams, not unless he absolutely had to.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Show me?"

"With the Pensieve," said Harry, jerking his chin toward the locked cabinet to the left of Fawkes's stand. "There's a basilisk here in this school; I've met it. I think … I think it's where the infection came from."

"Met it?"

"The Chamber of Secrets was reopened in my second year," said Harry, after a fleeting look at Ginny. "It will be faster if we just show you."

Slowly, and with what appeared to be a great deal of weighty thought, Dumbledore retrieved the pensieve and placed it upon his desk. It settled there with a hard thud, making the runes around the lip light up briefly in thought. Dumbledore touched it briefly. "It's suspected that this isn't Gryffindor's, but the magical artifact of a seer who saw the creation of Hogwarts school."

"Interesting," said Ginny.

"It's near impossible to hoodwink," Dumbledore cautioned.

"I know," Harry said. He realized, then, that it was a small miracle that Dumbledore was able to track along with him. But there was a shrewd sort of intensity vibrating in the air between them. He's listening to us because we're from the future, thought Harry. A strangled sort of laugh escaped him. "I know… I've seen it before."

"I see," said Dumbledore.

"You told me that if I ever had anything… to share with you, I could come to you," Harry pointed out.

"I did," said Dumbledore. "But I little expected that you would have something like this to share."

"Riddle is not only benefiting from the pox," said Ginny, "but he's created it. We know he has."

Clumsily, Harry emptied his mind of everything except the Chamber of Secrets; his hands shook as he brought his wand to his temple. It was not a spell he'd done before, but still, he managed it. It was an odd sensation, this; there was a ticklish sensation in his mind. Pausing, Harry looked at his wand: the silvery stuff of memories clung to the tip, looking like a great caterpillar. He dropped that into the waiting pensieve, and brought his wand to his temple once more.

"I've a bit to add as well," Ginny murmured.

Harry looked at her, wondering what she wanted to add. It's her right to do it, Harry thought.

Before Dumbledore disappeared into the pensieve, he conjured a pair of purple armchairs.

"What'd you add?" Harry asked, as soon as he settled in the chair.

"Oh," said Ginny, turning toward him. "Just some of the memories I had of the diary… of Tom Riddle. Nothing too particular." Her shoulder lifted in a shrug. "I thought the more detail we gave him… the more likely he is to believe us."

"I wondered if you were showing him… you know, my – er – history with Tom Riddle," said Harry.

"That you're the Boy Who Lived," said Ginny, voice low. "I wouldn't tell him that; not without you knowing."

Harry sank further into the chair, some of the tension seeping from his shoulders. "You know," he said quietly, "I hadn't realized how much I hate everyone thinking of me that way until I came here." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "It's been almost a reprieve, being here, no one knowing my name."

"I know," said Ginny. Her lips quirked into a twisted, melancholy little smile. "And yet… here you are, preparing to take on a similar role."

Astonishment filled him. "What d'you–" But Harry could not quite get the question out fully. Instead, he slumped further. It would be a dishonest question, anyway; there was a bright, knowing little gleam in her brown eyes. A single word existed between them for the moment: sacriphant. His thoughts had skirted it since he'd had the dream. If Dumbledore believed him that it was a basilisk pox, what else could Harry do but offer to take the place of sacriphant for the wizarding community? Long ago, his flesh had been pierced by a basilisk fang; Harry was uniquely positioned to help save his grandparents.

All he had to do was contract the pox.

"I have to try," Harry said finally.

"I know you do," said Ginny. "Dorcas said it, didn't she? Whenever you go, there you are, Harry Potter."

Harry stilled as a warm urge filled him. It would not take much effort to lean forward and kiss her. There she was, two feet away from him, red hair tousled, lips slightly parted, looking pretty in the low lamplight. Harry didn't even much care that the portraits were watching them. It's now or never, isn't it? Harry licked his lips. If all went well, he would soon be experiencing the scourge of the wizarding world for himself. What if he never got another chance to kiss her?

"Harry," Ginny whispered, leaning toward him.

It was an invitation he couldn't resist any longer. Harry was leaning toward her, ready to satisfy several months of longing, when the pensieve shook on its perch and Dumbledore climbed out, stepping lightly onto the floor. Harry was frozen, dismay filling him, having forgotten for a moment where they were, and what they were here to do. Dumbledore was an unwanted figure in his own office.

"Well," Dumbledore said. "Well." Then, he stumbled over to the chair beside his desk and fell into it.

Harry awkwardly extracted himself from the fraught moment with Ginny, somewhat grateful that Dumbledore had not seemed to notice their near kiss. Gradually, the warmth faded. Harry settled in his seat; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny doing the same, somewhat gratified to see the little grimace on her face as she did so.

"A basilisk," murmured Dumbledore.

"Yeah," said Harry. "It was Riddle's pet."

"But how old were you two?"

"I was eleven," said Ginny, "and Harry was twelve."

"Almost thirteen," Harry put in.

"That was… quite the adventure," said Dumbledore, still shaken.

"But now you know that Riddle has access to it," Harry pointed out.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, his brow furrowing. "And I believe I saw him… he was there, in the Chamber, but it seemed almost a dream. He took blood from it?"

Harry squirmed, uncomfortable. He had not meant to share that bit of it; he was not prepared for this younger Dumbledore to know about his dreams, not wanting to prompt the headmaster to avoid him as he had done all through his fifth year. "I think so," Harry said stiffly.

Dumbledore stared through him. Fortunately, he moved on within seconds, pinning his gaze on Ginny. "And he was nearly corporeal?"

"Yes," she said, spreading her hands. "As I showed you, I'd been writing in his old diary my whole first year. He took quite a lot from me. I was nearly gone by the time Harry got there."

"Extraordinary," he said, astonished. His gaze flicked to Fawkes. "And Fawkes…?"

"He saved me," Harry said simply. "I wouldn't have survived the basilisk if he hadn't used his tears."

Dumbledore was silent.

"I can help," said Harry, swallowing, "with the pox."

He understood at once. "This will not be like elevenths," Dumbledore warned. "What you had was a very mild form of a wizarding illness. The pox is different. If you are wrong, you very well could die."

"But if I'm right, my grandparents and a lot of others might be safe," said Harry. "I told you about the basilisk, I told you. It had its fang in me. I nearly did die — I only didn't because of your phoenix." Harry jabbed his finger toward Fawkes, who chirped at him from a pile of ash. "That phoenix right there. I'm telling you, I have the same sort of protection against basilisks as that"—at the moment, the name escaped him—"that man the dementors were after had against medusas."

"The sacriphant," said Dumbledore, though absently. He was much too busy searching Harry. There was quiet then. The portraits behind the old professor were holding their breath.

"You can check again," said Harry, pointing at the pensieve in which his and Ginny's memories still stirred, "You can use the pensieve again. Please. Please believe me."

"As a matter of fact," said Dumbledore, with a faint note of surprise. "I do think I need to… I have so many questions. You truly do not mind if I sift through your memories once more?"

"No," said Ginny. "No, we don't."

This time, when Dumbledore disappeared into the rune-carved pensieve, leaving only ripples on the surface of it, they murmured together in low whispers, under the protection of Muffliato. "He had to have seen the bit with the basilisk's fang in my arm," Harry repeated several times. "I wonder what else he saw in there that he wants another look at?"

"I think it's Tom," Ginny said promptly, each time.

"Maybe," said Harry.

But when Dumbledore emerged once more from the pensieve, having viewed the memories for the second time, his face was impossible to read. All he asked, in a low voice, to Ginny, was: "Tom Riddle had a grip on you through that diary?"

"Yes," she said, flushing to the roots of her hair. "I'd been writing to him all year… at first, all he — he showed me was innocent stuff. How to do the spells we were learning… shortcuts through the castle… even some funny stories about the other people at Hogwarts."

"Showed you?" Dumbledore asked.

"It could create something like the pensieve," said Harry, who had fallen into one of Tom Riddle's memories before.

Dumbledore used his wand to gather a swirl of silvery memory, coaxing it to take the form of the diary as Harry last remembered it: burnt and soggy and with a basilisk fang protruding from it. "Brilliant," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen."

"Professor—"

"But now is not the time for that, is it?" Dumbledore said with genial regret. "Do forgive me." His gaze sharpened. "I did in fact see you impaled in the basilisk fang… what do you wish to do?"

"If we're right, and it's the basilisk pox, I want to be a — a sacriphant, of course," said Harry. I've already said that.

"You truly wish it?" Dumbledore asked, as though in disbelief. "As I said, it isn't like elevenths—"

"I know," Harry said shortly. "You said that."

"Then—"

"My grandparents are dying," Harry said, nettled and exasperated.

"And possibly a lot of wizarding Britain," added Ginny.

"If I can change that, then I have to try."

"I suppose…" Dumbledore let a long pause hang over them. "I ought not to be surprised, not after I have just witnessed you pull Gryffindor's sword from the Sorting Hat." Harry felt rather scrutinized: the blue eyes seemed to stare straight through him. "I think I have a better idea of your measure now, Harry Potter," Dumbledore said, very, very quietly. "And yours, Ginny Weasley."

The use of his real name warmed him to the point that tears formed at the backs of his eyes. Harry sucked in a quiet breath, forcing the sting in his eyes away.

"If you'll allow me," said Dumbledore, standing. "I will have to contact Edgar Bones." His eyes lifted. "And of course, none of you may say anything of the other extraordinary things these two have divulged. No one is to hear of it. No gossiping amongst the other portraits."

The portraits behind the desk muttered their agreement, while Dumbledore bustled to the side and busied himself writing a note to the Head of the Department of Pox and Plague.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

The stars seemed to move slowly across the sky that night. Harry watched them out of the window while Dumbledore performed a great many tasks, not least of which was asking Harry and Ginny to stay well out of the way. That left them huddled together on one seat; Harry had never been more grateful for the warmth of her body along his. In fact, at one point, Dumbledore left long enough that he could not help but remember the physical feelings that had washed over him during their Knight Bus ride.

"Look!" Ginny leaned across him; her breast was left resting against his upper arm as he peered out the window. There, seen for the first time since the Ministry decreed them stuck at Hogwarts, was Old Bones drifting across the sky.

Harry pulled the sash, lifting the window. "Old Bones!" he said, quite happily. "You're alive!"

"Indeed," said the old man. The flying carpet buffered back a couple of feet. "I'm lucky for my friend here."

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"He keeps me from the pox," Old Bones said. "He whisks me away before it can catch on me." There were odd sparks in his eyes. "Even a lockdown is not enough for safety's sake." There was a rather dour cant to the corners of his mouth. The near month without company had not been kind to him.

"We're safe enough here," said Ginny.

"Nowhere is safe," Old Bones muttered. "They — it is everywhere. I'd rather not die with my blood turned to gravel while I still live." Each word took him farther from the open window until he was little more than a silhouette. By the time Dumbledore returned to the office, even Old Bone's silhouette was gone; in replacement, he brought three familiar figures: Edgar Bones, Mad-Eye Moody, and Frank Longbottom.

"I have reason to believe—"

"What are they doing here?" Frank Longbottom's voice was openly astonished; he was gaping at Harry and Ginny. "They're here again! Why?"

"They brought something rather important to my attention. Sometimes," Dumbledore said in a heavily censorious tone — they must have been arguing along the way from where they had been retrieved. "Sometimes it is the youngest and inexperienced of us who see the truth."

"Which is wha', exactly," grumbled Moody, stumping forward.

"That this pox is highly irregular to the Medusa pox," said Dumbledore.

Edgar slammed his hands on the nearest table. "We know that!" he roared, looking near to ripping out his own hair. "Damn it, even my kids know that. It's nothing at all like any of the other strains. Which is why it's hitting us so hard this year. And You Know Who isn't helping."

"Because he orchestrated all of this," said Harry, edging into a flicker of silence. "He did it. And he didn't use medusas. Too easy. He used a basilisk."

Edgar Bones, Mad-Eye Moody, and Frank Longbottom all turned to Harry with incredulous looks. His grip tightened on Ginny's hand; she squeezed him back, offering him comfort through the warmth that was between them.

"A basilisk," said Edgar in a hard voice.

"It is the truth, Edgar," Dumbledore said wearily.

"But a basilisk pox?" Horror saturated his tone. "That's why — we haven't seen — our potions don't have as much success?"

"Indeed," said Dumbledore.

Pale-faced, Edgar Bones looked up, appearing to be doing some swift calculations in his head. "We've had decreasing success with our potions since the sacriphant died; however, even before that, our success has been minimal, especially among certain populations—"

"—the Muggleborns," interjected Moody, gruffly. His staff thumped on the ground. A little bit of lightning went through it. "The purebloods have been having a riot of a time; they're acting like everything they've said for years is true—"

"—which it isn't," said Harry, fiercely. Frank Longbottom looked over at him, but none of the other men did. They continued their loud, upset discussion.

"That explains the spiders," Frank said quietly.

"The spiders?" asked Dumbledore.

"Spider population acting odd whenever we find an outbreak," said Moody. "We've kept it from the press — and we've had a time of it, let me tell you."

"Spiders flee before it," said Harry, impatient.

This time it was Moody who gave him a fleeting, incredulous look.

"Basilisk," Edgar Bones kept repeating. "But what are we to do? Alves was the sacriphant for the medusa pox." A disbelieving laugh escaped him. "How're we ever to find someone who has survived its poison? They're lethal!"

"It would take a miracle," agreed Dumbledore. "It is very fortunate we have been presented with that exact thing: a young man who has survived a basilisk's fanged bite, lived to tell the tale, and is now standing in this room, willing to help."

Silence swelled. One by one, each of them turned to stare at Harry, who scratched at the back of his neck.

"Dumbledore, how can this be true?" asked Frank Longbottom. "It sounds like a tall tale to me… no one can survive a basilisk."

"It was a phoenix's tears that saved my life," agreed Harry. "But otherwise…" The weight of their disbelief pressed down on him; he gulped.

"You seem like a nice kid," said Moody, dismissing him with another thump of his staff. "But—"

"I beg your pardon, Alastor," Dumbledore said, genially enough, "but the young man is telling the truth. I have witnessed his memories of the event." He held up both hands, to forestall an impending argument. "No, you may not view them. You must only trust me on my word, or not."

"They can—"

Dumbledore shot him a quelling look. "This young man is willing to place himself at risk in order to act as sacriphant. It would be foolish to waste this opportunity."

Edgar Bones lips were pressed so tightly together that they made a buzzing, fizzing sort of sound.

"If I am wrong, there will be no harm caused, will there?" Dumbledore asked.

"Very well," said Edgar Bones, slumping into a chair, his cloak coming perilously close to the crackling fire in the grate. "Very well. I'll take a bit of his blood. Fine! But he's clearly a student. If he's under seventeen, I'll need agreement from his parents." His nostrils flared. "It's not my policy," he added. "Merlin's sake, we'll have to give him this pox. Give it to him! His parents will have to give approval."

"You will have to leave that to me," said Dumbledore.

The others left soon after that, stomping out. Ginny hummed a little when the last of them left. "I think it'll be a right row, getting Sol to agree to this. He'll fight it. He'd never agree; he'd be too—"

"Worried about the changes," said Harry. As though their words had summoned his attention, the mirror he used to communicate with Sirius the elder vibrated against his chest. Harry ignored it, shoving his fists against his hips. "He'd never let us do anything like it."

"I see that his absence this evening was no accident," said Dumbledore. "Unfortunately, Edgar is right. We will have to convince Sol. There is… so much that we could keep, that we would not lose. We have to convince him."

"Or," said Harry, thinking of Fleamont, and his kindly smile, and the way he'd given him a bit of spending money, "I could convince my actual parents."

Dumbledore's eyebrows winged upward.

"He wouldn't tell them who he is," Ginny said in a rush, with a tiny roll of her eyes. "But he can — he has enough finesse that he could secure their agreement. I'm certain of it."

"Well, it's certainly the least risky aspect of Harry's proposed adventure. But… I fear James Potter and Lily Evans may perhaps wonder at the line of questioning. They may suspect something amiss."

"And I think I can find the words," said Harry, "the right ones. I… know them now. Just a little. But I think I can do it."

Fearless Ginny grabbed his hand right in front of the headmaster and squeezed it.

"I believe you," said Dumbledore.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next morning, nearly everything was in place. Dumbledore had charmed a bit of parchment to catch his parents' permission for him to become the sacriphant. It sat in Harry's bedside table, just next to the mirror he used to communicate with Sirius. It was quiet, now, but his godfather had been attempting to speak to him all morning.

He'll just fight me, thought Harry, frowning. Flipping the mirror over onto its face, he grabbed the charmed parchment, his wand, and his watch and shoved them in the deep pockets of his cloak.

It took a couple hours of wandering before Harry found his parents. It was early enough in spring that he had not expected to find them outside. But when he finally began to skirt the Black Lake, he spotted them. While Lily's hair was a deeper, darker red than Ginny's, it still stood out. Harry did not hurry toward them; rather, his strides shortened and his hand went into his pocket, where he clutched the parchment Dumbledore had given him.

The two of them sat on a rock, wrapped up in each other. One of them had conjured a thick purple blanket. Harry ambled toward them, hunched against the wind that came off the lake. A tentacle breached as Harry walked passed the shore: the Giant Squid dashed him with cold spray.

"Hi," said Harry, once he was close enough for them to hear him.

"Peverell," James murmured.

"Hi," said Lily.

Harry kept his eyes focused on his dad. "How… how are they?"

The two exchanged a long look.

James sighed.

"They're… not good," said Lily.

"They're progressing through the stages," James said in a hollow tone. "Nothing's halted it. They're still writing letters, but…"

"I wonder why this version of the medusa pox is so resistant to the sacriphant potions," Lily said, biting her lip.

"They're…?"

"Yeah," said James. "They aren't going to make it."

Harry stared at them. There was no hint of laughter in his expression, no humor lurking in hazel eyes. There was little but grief and waiting sorrow coming from either one of them. In this instant, they looked not like Hogwarts students, young and freshly in love; instead, they might have been older… already married and told they had to go into hiding with their son.

"Don't you wish you could do something about it?" Harry asked, without thinking. Immediately, he winced, wishing he could call the words back.

Despite his grief and pain, James did not lash out at Harry. Instead, he made a swipe of a shrug. Lily seemed to cling to him tighter.

"You lost your parents, too." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah." There was a lump in Harry's throat that he could not quite swallow. "Yeah. I did." Sweat stung the back of his neck and dripped down. Then, rushing on, he said: "They were the best… they died trying to protect me."

James sighed, scrubbing at his eyes. "I keep sending owls… they won't let me see them. They're so sick, and they won't even… they're trying to protect me." He ducked his head, then shook it fiercely. "I'm not so afraid of the pox, I'm younger than they are. They… they're older."

"Parents try to protect their kids," Harry said, gaze sliding to his mother. "I wish they'd let us help." Palms sweating, he wiped them on his robes. "Y'know, their sons." Slightly too loudly, he added: "If I had a son, I'd want him to be someone who helps protect people. Wouldn't you?"

"Well, yeah…"

Dumbledore had told him that if the parchment in his robes began to burn, he would have the permission he needed. Had it warmed just now? Or was that Harry's nerves?

"Sure," said Lily, after Harry had stared at her rather intently.

Harry stared down at his hands, thoughts swirling swiftly.

"I do wish I could do something," said James, rather loudly. His eyes were wide, rimmed in red, and slightly mad. "I wish I could — I wish I could — I don't know — anything."

"I know exactly how you feel," said Harry.

"We both do," said Lily, softly, rubbing her thumb along James's jaw. "It's terrible, love."

"I wish I could fight." James stood and began to pace, kicking up wet sand and tiny rocks. "I wish it were a Death Eater. I wish it were — were You Know Who. Something I could fight."

"I know, love," said Lily, standing with him. "I know you'd fight anyone for them. You'd — you'd be a sacriphant for them, wouldn't you? That's who you are, James."

Thank you, Mum! Harry cheered.

"Maybe I should throw myself into a pit of medusas and — and—"

His voice trailed away.

"You'd do that for them, wouldn't you?" Harry asked. "I would've done that for my parents, too."

James looked at him. "I would."

"Parents don't really let their kids make the sacrifices, though," said Harry, pursing his lips.

"If I tried that, if I risked myself like that, my dad would try to take my broom away until I was forty," said James, with a watery little chuckle. "And my mum would be even worse."

"But you wouldn't be like that, would you?" Harry asked slyly, heart thudding in his chest. "If you had a kid — a son — you'd want him to be like you, yeah?"

James flicked him a glance, but didn't reply.

Sweat now gathering at the back of his neck, Harry pressed harder. "If he was an adult or even almost an adult, wouldn't you want him to help the family?"

"Yeah," said James. "Yeah, I would. I wouldn't be as restrictive as my parents. I'd let my kids help. I'd let them come visit." His voice went stark. "I'd let them come say goodbye to me, even if it was risky. And if they wanted to — to, I dunno—"

"Act as sacriphant?" Harry prodded.

"Sure. Yeah. Good for them. I wouldn't want cowardly little kids."

"James!" Lily said with half a laugh and a swat on his chest.

There was a definite heat coming from within Harry's cloak, and it was a struggle to keep the smile off his face. Still, he managed to continue on with the conversation, somehow, though he was distracted. He'd gotten permission! And it hadn't been all that difficult; James had thought it a hypothetical, but now Harry was going to be given the chance to save his grandparents from the pox.

If there was further conversation after that, Harry scarcely paid attention. The Giant Squid sent a torrent of icy lake water at him, drenching the back of his cloak, and Harry seized the opportunity to excuse himself. The exuberance he was feeling now was incongruous with the mourning atmosphere… it made him buoyant, his steps light, and this lightness carried him back to the castle, up the seven different sets of moving staircases, and nearly all the way to where the gargoyles that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's private offices.

It did not disappear, in fact, until with one fluid move, Sirius Black stepped out of the shadows and directly into Harry's path.

"There you are," he said, face unreadable.

Harry stopped, wary.

"I've been trying to reach you with the mirror," Sirius added.

"Oh?" Harry asked, then cleared his throat.

"Yes, 'oh'," said Sirius.

Harry's eyes were caught by a glint in Sirius's dark hair. A moment later, he dragged his gaze back to Sirius's face. "I didn't hear it," he lied.

Sirius snorted. "Try another one," he said dryly. "I had a feeling I'd find you up here…"

"My grandparents are dying," Harry said flatly.

"I know," said Sirius, gaze never moving off his. "And I am so sorry. I felt terrible when it happened… I still feel terrible."

"Careful, Sol," Harry warned.

Sirius's eyes narrowed. "I am sorry, Harry, but—"

His words dried up.

Harry's heart picked up its pace.

"You don't look nearly as upset as I thought you would be," said Sirius, suspicion blooming on his features. "At first I thought I'd find you here because you go to Dumbledore when you're upset—"

"—you're right, I do," Harry said quickly.

"—but I think you're planning something." The accusation hung in the air between them, abrasive and ugly. "What are you doing, Harry?"

"I'm not doing anything," said Harry.

Sirius took half a step forward. "You're lying to me," he said in disbelief. "Harry, what are you doing?"

Anger flashed through him, swift and hard. "I can save them," Harry flung at him. "They don't have to die—"

"What are you talking about—"

"It isn't the medusa pox like you think it is," said Harry, "Ginny and I figured that out…"

Sirius's eyes were wide. "Don't tell me," he said.

Harry jabbed his finger at him. "It's a basilisk pox," he said in an angry whisper. "And since it's a basilisk pox, I can do something about it."

Harry knew he didn't have to explain more than that. Sirius was a swift thinker: Harry watched him realize what that meant and what Harry was going to have to do. Sirius's face flushed, then went white.

"What," Sirius said, voice hard, "the fuck are you thinking, Harry?"

"I'm thinking that I'm not going to just sit back and let them die," Harry said in the same tone.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Sirius hissed.

"Neither do you," said Harry, voice rising. "You don't know any better than I do, Sirius! I know what you're going to say, but I'm not going to just sit back and let people I — I care about—"

"You don't even know them!" Sirius roared.

"But I could, and that's what matters!" Harry roared back.

"I don't know what the fuck you're thinking—"

"And I don't know who the fuck you are," said Harry. Sirius went as still as though flung into a brick wall. "The Sirius I first met would never have let people he cared about die."

Time seemed to still. Sirius's haggard face seemed to sink in on itself and harden. And there, within sharp gray eyes, Harry thought he saw a glint of—

The gargoyles grated apart and Dumbledore stepped in between them. Harry sagged backward, relief pouring into him. Dumbledore was here.

"Gentlemen," he said, tone even. There was a flinty warning underneath the courtesy. Sirius seemed to stiffen. "You were having a very loud argument."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

Sirius seethed out, "I suppose you're allowing him to do this?"

"I am allowing him to make up his own mind," said Dumbledore.

"Funny," Sirius said with great scorn, "that you choose now to let him decide things on his own."

Dumbledore's brows winged upward.

For a moment, Harry thought Sirius was going to unleash on Dumbledore. He straightened; his hand moved toward his pocket. But to Harry's relief, Sirius merely made a sound like a boiling kettle, turned on his heel, and stalked off. The air split with his swears as he did so. Harry watched him go, unsettled, his godfather's angry words echoing around in his ears.

"Did you get what you needed to get?" Dumbledore finally asked.

Harry looked at him. "Yeah," he said. Then, in a low whisper, he added, "from them."

"I assumed as much," said Dumbledore, gaze following the trail Sirius had left behind in his anger. Then, blue eyes came back to Harry. "Shall we alert Edgar Bones?"

"Yeah," said Harry, wanting nothing more than to forget this ugly scene. "Yeah. Let's tell him."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

When everything was in place, Edgar Bones was alerted, and an emergency Portkey was created, Harry went to look for Ginny. Fittingly, somehow, he found her in the empty stands that looked out over the Quidditch pitch. It was empty of everyone but her. Long grass grew around the goal posts and weeds created uneven color in the center: It had the look of a place left alone longer than a couple of months. It might have been years since the students played here. Harry tucked his hands in his pockets and continued toward her.

She watched him steadily as he approached.

"You got what you needed?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Harry.

As had often happened over the last few months, once his attraction to her had grown to the point that it could no longer be ignored, there was an entire conversation of unsaid things flowing between them. His body reacted as though she spoke aloud: his heartbeat grew louder in his ears, and he was glad to hide suddenly sweaty hands out of sight.

"I do have to do this," he said.

She looked away from him for the first time, a tiny grimace fleeting across her face. Then, facing him again, she sighed and said: "I know." There was a hard sort of cast to her features, sharpening them. "I know you do."

"It's my grandparents," he said quietly. "They…"

"I know," she said again. Her hands were twisted in her lap and she glared down at them. A huff of a laugh escaped her. "I could never have imagined, when I found that horrible little diary mixed in with my other books, that it would still be… well. You know what I mean. If I had never… none of this would even be an option."

If she had never written to Tom Riddle, Harry would never have been bitten by the basilisk, and would not have the opportunity now, to possibly use that to save Fleamont and Euphemia Potter.

"When?" she asked, coming to her feet and brushing dust off the back of her robes.

"Today," admitted Harry. "In just a minute, actually. But first, I wanted to find you and…" His throat seemed to close up.

"And what?" she demanded, giving him a fierce look. She came close to him, poking her finger into his chest. "It better not have been to say goodbye," she threatened. "You'll be sick a – a bit, but you'll be fine. You'll come through; you've already got protection from it."

She was repeating all of his arguments. Despite what was coming next, lightness bubbled up in him. His chest tightened. Giddiness made it, for the moment, a bit difficult to breathe.

"And," she said with triumph, touching his chest again, "I know you wouldn't just abandon me here. So you wouldn't have come out here to–"

Harry caught her hand in his, pulled her closer, and interrupted her with a kiss. There was a stunning, shocking moment in which the entire world – Voldemort, time travel, his parents, Sirius, the pox, prophecies – vanished all together, only to be replaced by the feeling of Ginny's lips against his. The air around them warmed as Ginny threw her arms around him and held him as tightly as he was holding her. The unsaid things that had been plaguing him for months no longer needed to be spoken: they had found another way to communicate. There was no need for words when they had this.

After several sunlit days, they broke apart, Ginny looking quite as stunned as he felt.

"I think… I came out here to do that," said Harry.

She blinked at him.

"If that's okay," he added.

"Of course it's okay," she said, a little laugh escaping her. The brightness in her brown eyes matched the giddiness he'd felt just before he'd kissed her. And because he understood why she'd laughed, he laughed too. Then, because he could, he kissed her again, tasting humor on her lips.

Once they broke apart again, Harry dropped his arms and took a step back, putting a little distance between them otherwise he might forget that he had an appointment with the basilisk pox to keep. Bit by bit, reality returned. A wind tugged at his robes, chilly for May. Heaving a sigh, he said, "I do have to go… the sooner it starts, the sooner it'll be over."

"I wish I could be there," said Ginny.

"I don't," Harry said shortly. "The last thing I want is for you to get the pox." A shudder went through him.

"I don't particularly want you to get it, either," she said. "I understand why, but…"

"I know," said Harry. "I know."

And because if he'd stayed much longer – with her looking pretty and windswept, and him knowing what it felt like to kiss her – he would not be able to leave, Harry forced himself to start taking large, backward steps in the right direction of the castle. Their eyes stayed tangled together; Harry realized there was a promise in them. It was easily read; Ginny did not need to say it out loud for him to know that those kisses were not a singular event. When he recovered from the pox, he would get to kiss her again. A knot in his stomach that he had not entirely realized was there eased. Tension in his shoulders relaxed. And when he finally turned away, it was with a much lighter step than was entirely warranted that he began to run up the hill and toward Dumbledore's office and the portkey that would take him to the pox.

But it was not truly the pox that he was running toward; it was for what came after, once he had done what he could to save his grandparents and to save his father from losing them. Even though he was leaving her behind on the Quidditch pitch, he was running toward Ginny.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

Author's Note: lilyevansjan30 has been an alpha reader, a beta reader, and someone who lets me throw half-formed idea spaghetti at her for about fifteen years now. This chapter – this whole pox arc – in particular was difficult for me, and she is the reason why I didn't give up. Thank you, Lily!

Also, thank you to my guest reviewer, hafbuckeye. You made my day. In general, I don't like coming up with OCs; they lack that certain magic, from their names to their backstories, that JKR's original creations have. But with a Marauder Era fic, it was impossible not to create a few, though none as prominent as Old Bones. I've spent about fifteen years writing fic, and your review was a real highlight. Thank you!

Next chapter ends this arc, and is pretty much ready to post.

Thank you so much for reading.