Kindred Spirits

by Tailkinker

This is a work of fan fiction based on the Harry Potter series and the Sailor Moon franchise created respectively by J.K. Rowling and Naoko Takeuchi. The characters and settings belong to their respective owners and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes and should not be considered as part of the official canon of either series.

Freedom

Harry and Ron stood at the base of the stairs that led to the Headmaster's office. Harry still had the sword over his shoulder, and wore the Sorting Hat on his head.

"You know the password?" asked Ron.

"Unless he's changed it, it should be sherbet lemon."

The gargoyle hopped out of their way, revealing the spiral staircase.

"Well, come on," said Harry. He stepped on the staircase, which began turning to bring him upstairs.

"You realize," said Ron, "that this staircase should be impossible. It just goes around in a circle. How can that lift us up?"

"Magic," said Harry absently.

They reached the top. Harry knocked on the massive oaken door.

"Enter."

The doors swung open, and Harry and Ron walked into the Headmaster's office. Professor Dumbledore was seated behind his desk.

"Ah. Mr Potter, Mr Weasley." He smiled. "I understand that you've had a bit of an adventure."

"It wasn't Ginny's fault," said Ron quickly. He dropped the diary on the Headmaster's desk. "She had this diary, only it belonged to Voldemort. And it was making her open the Chamber of Secrets."

"Was it, now?" Dumbledore picked up the diary and examined it. "Well, I think that this warrants a closer look. Do you mind if I hang on to this, Mr Weasley?"

"Of course not, sir."

"Thank you." He turned to Harry. "And I understand, from Professor Snape, that you slew the Monster of Slytherin?"

"Yes, Sir." He pulled the Sorting Hat from his head, and set it on the Headmaster's desk. "Fawkes brought me the Sorting Hat, which gave me this sword."

"Indeed." Dumbledore paused. "I recall, Mr Potter, that the last time you were in this office, you were concerned that you were in the wrong house."

"Yes, Sir." Harry nodded. "The Sorting Hat kept insisting that I'd do well in Slytherin."

"What?" Ron swiveled to look at him. "No way. Not Harry!"

"You labour under a misapprehension, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore. "Not every Slytherin is evil, just as not every Gryffindor is brave. In fact, the traits that Salazar Slytherin valued above all others were ambition and cunning. But do you recall, Mr Potter, what I said to you then?"

"I think you said that I'm in Gryffindor because I chose to be," said Harry.

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "Oh, you would have made a fine Slytherin, no doubt. But I'm rather glad you chose my old House." He indicated the sword. "And if you have any doubts about where you belong, simply examine that sword."

Harry did so, and now that he was in better light—and not terrified for his life—he could read the name etched into the blade.

GODRIC GRYFFINDOR

"I rather doubt that a Slytherin could have pulled that from the Hat," chuckled Dumbledore.

The door to the headmaster's office slammed open. Dumbledore looked up in surprise, and Harry turned.

Lucius Malfoy strode into the office, as though he owned it. And on his heels was a familiar House-Elf.

"Dobby!"

Malfoy looked at Harry, then scowled down at the House-Elf. "We'll discuss this later." His voice dripped malice, and Dobby cringed. Malfoy turned back to Dumbledore. "I had heard that you had returned to the school, but I had to see it with my own eyes."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "When the school governors heard that a girl had been kidnapped by the Monster of Slytherin, they insisted that I be reinstated." He paused. "It seems that they were under the impression that you would curse their families if they did not agree to my suspension."

"Can't imagine where they'd get that idea," muttered Ron.

"Mind yourself, boy," snapped Malfoy.

Harry took a step towards the man, but Dumbledore raised his hand before he could speak.

"I think it would be best if you avoided antagonizing the students," said Dumbledore mildly. He pulled a scroll from his robes. "I think you'll find all eleven signatures there."

Malfoy ignored the scroll. "And have you done anything to resolve the situation?"

"In fact," said Dumbledore, "the culprit has been found."

"And who was it?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to answer, but Harry beat him to it.

"Tom Riddle," said Harry. "A former Prefect of the school, and a half-blood."

"Half-blood?" Malfoy sneered. "It goes to show that breeding will prove out." He glanced at Dumbledore, then back to Harry. "Both of you are half-blood, are you not?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Funny you should mention that."

"And has this Riddle been captured, then?"

"Unfortunately, no," said Dumbledore. "He has proven most elusive. Perhaps if you see him, you could bring him in. After all, his actions put your son in danger."

"Rest assured, if I ever see him, I shall do my best to capture him," said Malfoy. "But as I am not familiar with the name—"

"He's using an alias," said Harry. He picked up the diary, as casually as he could. "He insisted that he wouldn't keep his father's name." He shoved a hand in his pocket, pulling out a glove. "Now he goes by Voldemort."

Lucius stiffened. "You lie. The Dark Lord was a pure-blood—"

Harry flipped open the diary. "Afraid not." He pretended to peruse the diary, then snapped it shut. "This is ruined now, so I can't show you. But his spirit manifested from this book, and he told me he was a half-blood." He glanced down at the diary. "But surely you've heard the name Tom Riddle before." He handed the diary to Malfoy. "After all, it's written on this diary. And you must have seen that, before you stuffed it in Ginny Weasley's cauldron."

Lucius stared at the name embossed on the cover of the diary, then tossed the diary to Dobby. "I've never seen this trash before in my life." He turned and stalked out the door.

"Dobby," said Harry quietly.

The House-Elf paused, and looked back at him. Harry pantomimed opening a book.

Dobby opened the diary, and gasped.

"Master has given Dobby a glove!"

"Mister Potter."

Snape's voice was every bit as silky as usual, but it lacked the malice it normally held. Harry looked up from his breakfast. "Yes, Sir?"

"Madam Pomfrey has requested your presence in the Hospital Wing."

Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione, only to see his own confusion reflected back at him. He shrugged, got to his feet and grabbed his book bag. Snape swept out of the Great Hall, and Harry had to hurry to keep up.

"You are aware, Mr Potter," said Snape, "that Mandrake root is a carefully controlled substance?"

"Yes, Sir," said Harry. "Because it can kill you."

"Many things in the Wizarding world can kill," retorted Snape. "Even more in the Muggle world. But in the Muggle world, restrictions are put on things that can kill accidentally, are there not? Things such as automobiles, firearms and medicine?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Mandrake draught has a shelf life measured in days," said Snape. "And as the root is a controlled substance, our only hope seemed to be to wait for Professor Sprout's crop to reach maturity."

"Sorry, Sir. I don't mean to be rude," said Harry carefully. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"It seems that you have friends in low places." Snape led the way into the Hospital Wing, where Harry saw Madam Pomfrey, and—much to his surprise—

"Dobby!"

"Hello, Harry Potter," said the House-Elf bashfully. "Dobby is hearing that Harry Potter's friend needs Mandrake."

"This little fellow has already procured a fresh root," said Snape. "I'm almost afraid to ask where he got it."

"Dobby is stealing it from the shop where Dobby's master—former master—bought and sold things," said Dobby.

"There's no shop that I'm aware of that carries Mandrake root," objected Pomfrey.

"I doubt that you have significant experience with the shops in Knockturn Alley," pointed out Snape. He waved a hand towards a potions-making bench. "Shall we, Mr Potter?"

"You're asking for my help, Sir?"

"I am."

"But I'm terrible at potions."

Snape smirked at him. "If you and your companions could successfully brew Polyjuice potion in a disused lavatory, then I think you're good enough to hand me things as I ask for them."

As Hotaru was petrified, it was impossible for her to drink the potion. However, Madam Pomfrey had a solution for that; the potion was placed in a glass bottle, and misted over Hotaru's form. Harry watched as the colour slowly seeped back into her skin.

"—Basilisk!" Hotaru sat bolt upright, nearly falling off the bed.

"It's all right, Miss Tomoe," said Madam Pomfrey. "The danger has passed."

"But the monster—I saw it. It's a Basilisk." She paused. "Why am I not dead?" She looked around. "Harry?"

"Hi," he said, suddenly feeling shy.

"How long have I been out?"

"About a month," said Harry. "Dobby got some Mandrake root to cure you."

"And there should be enough to cure Mr Creevey and Mr Finch-Fletchley as well," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Harry, we've got to talk to Professor Flitwick, or maybe Professor Dumbledore. The Monster of Slytherin is a Basilisk."

"I know," said Harry. "A bunch of us went down and killed it."

"Such modesty is unexpected from you, Mr Potter," said Snape. "Professors Flitwick, McGonagall and I were separated from Mr Potter, who slew the Basilisk single-handedly."

"Ron was there, too," muttered Harry.

"Mr Weasley was too busy duelling Voldemort to help fight the Basilisk."

"But I'm not dead," said Hotaru.

"It's an odd thing to be complaining about," said Madam Pomfrey. She began breaking down the misting apparatus.

"I looked a Basilisk in the eye. I should be dead." She looked down at her hands.

"Welcome to the club," said Harry. He tapped his scar. "At least you didn't pick up one of these."