A/N: A big thank you to all my awesome reviewers! And over a hundred favourites, yeeeeh!

Please keep in mind that though this is a grim story, it will also have lighter parts. I love angst, but this fic is not suddenly going to become this hopeless dark well of despair that some stories tend to turn into. If you have any comments or suggestions, please let me know and click that review button!

Chapter 17

Harry swallowed with difficulty, unsure of what to say. He feared for the easy bond between them. After so many years of steady friendship it was now suddenly, inexplicitly, unravelling at the seams. There were countless of times over the course of the summer when he'd imagined what would become of Hermione, now that Muggle-borns were being discarded to the edges of society like so much trash. Her safety and state of mind were not something he took for granted.

It felt like he was living someone else's nightmare, and the past was but a dream. Danger lurked inside all that had been innocuous before. His emotions, the bonds he'd forged with the wizarding world, which had been the roots of his strength, now seemed to turn against him. This castle, his friends, his enemies – Voldemort's triumph had bent everything awry and out of shape.

He noticed he was pulling at his hair again and forced himself to stop.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I- I'll-"

"Let's continue with what we've come here for," she interrupted him hastily. "I feel much better trying to do something about it." Her voice trembled at the end.

She straightened up and demonstratively flicked her long strands of hair back over her shoulders. She gave his arm a small squeeze, which eased the tightness in his throat a bit, before calling out: "Ron!"

The door opened at once. "Yes," Ron burst out as he stalked in, wringing his hands as if it would expel the grim mood. He pulled a chair close and sat down between them, eyes going back and forth.

Hermione straightened and took a breath. "I would like to start off with my thoughts."

They nodded their agreement.

"You have always been his number one target, Harry, because of the prophecy. It's the only substantial thing to actually threaten his existence. Moreover, aside from Professor Dumbledore you're the only person who has come close to defeating him."

Her voice still sounded hoarse from the pain that had been squeezed through it. She was deep in thought. "He kills all his enemies, without exception. I imagine the only reason he hasn't killed you yet is because you must have something that no one else has. And the only thing you have that the rest don't is your scar of course, your connection with - with Riddle. And that strange bond has grown in the past years, hasn't it, to the point that you can now pick up whatever he's feeling and thinking."

"Not what he's thinking," Harry corrected. Then he wondered whether that was true.

"Just his emotions, then. But you're still having visions, right?"

Harry nodded. Hermione stared at him in silence for a moment. "It really makes no sense to me. Think about it. He knows you can get into his brain, you, Harry Potter of all people, oh not all the time but even one percent of the time should freak him out, and yet you're still alive."

"Oh I have thought about it," Harry said darkly. "Before the battle, Snape said that when the Dark Lord is very distressed or elated about something, it's possible that his Occlusion against me fails without him noticing. Everything that the traitor says could be codswallop of course, but he couldn't have been lying to Dumbledore about this. I'm sure he already told him back in sixth year, though. So I figure Voldemort just doesn't care."

"What was the last one about? I don't think you told us."

Harry repressed a flicker of irritation at her reproachful tone. He felt guilty immediately. "I didn't remember at first, ok? It was only when Voldemort brought Umbridge to the Room, that I recalled he had tortured her at the Ministry." Umbridge had fallen from grace that day, but his recollection was still a bit muddy. This was strange, as he usually remembered the horrid endings to his visions quite well.

They got on his nerves more than usual lately. The visions could be useful, they had prevented Arthur Weasley's death, but it was scary to think where this might be going. Were they getting longer now? He could end up looking out of Voldemort's eyes all the time, for all he knew. And get barking mad as a result, probably. The Dreamless Sleep had worked before to block them – but even if he managed to get access to the stuff somewhere it was no use, since he had gotten immune to its effects.

"You said not to use his name," Ron chastised. He looked around as if expecting Death Eaters to barge in any second.

Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "It doesn't count at Hogwarts, I've seen Neville use the name and nothing happened. But it's better not to, just in case. So. Why did he kill her?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Does he have to have a reason?"

"Yes, she's quite useful to him. She's been managing all his Muggle-born operations; the replacements, the tests, the sentencing… Can you remember anything else, anything that caught Riddle's attention in your dream?"

Harry frowned, shook his head. "But I remember there was a sense of purpose, he was… anticipating something."

Ron abruptly started pacing and muttering: "He wants to manipulate you to the dark, I get that. He wants to use you as an example of his power, his victory, to show everyone that you lost, you've submitted to him-"

"Actually," Hermione cut in, "He should kill you if he wants to set an example. Right now you are the symbol of the resistance. You're still inspiring hope in his enemies."

Harry shared a glance with Ron, who nodded almost imperceptibly. The Order was still going strong then, he thought with relief. They had not stopped in their dogged determination to undermine the regime. Then the logic behind her reasoning struck home. It hung around him like smog, suffocating if he thought about it too long.

Ron nodded along while stalking the edges of the room. "It definitely doesn't add up. He transferred some of his powers to you that night, right?" He stopped and whirled to regard Harry. "Parseltongue, Dark Magic as well I guess."

"Might be. What I do know," said Harry, "is that he wants me to learn the Dark Arts. Not to taunt me I think, well perhaps that too, but he genuinely want me to learn them, can you believe it? It would demoralize the public when word gets out I get that, but even he can't believe I'll suddenly start acting all dark wizard-y. I thought it must be to see what I can do… but why, what does he care?"

He knew he was rambling but now that they'd gotten down to the core of his worries of the last weeks, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"And I don't think it's an accident that now my wand feels strange. I got it back just after he used it for all kinds of horrible things this summer. For example when I use curses and hexes, they come out as soon as I think of them now." He pulled out his wand to study it. The red finger stains still hadn't come off, giving the wood a macabre touch. He opened his mouth to tell them about his other strange new skill, but stopped himself just in time.

Hermione held out her hand. He placed the wand in her palm.

"Not only does he not want to kill you," she murmured almost to herself, "he wants to make you stronger."

She took out her own wand to give it a light whack. The stains disappeared. Harry grimaced at himself for not thinking of that; it had worked for Voldemort, after all.

Hermione looked up, her eyes slightly narrowed, making him fidget. "When did your training start, somewhere around Easter holidays right?"

"Right."

"You were captured around that time."

Harry just stared, wishing she got to the point.

"You told me he looked at your magic with a spell. First it was painful, but then it changed and you could feel it… merge, with his, right? And then all of a sudden he let you go."

Ron who retook his chair, added: "Your magics recognized each other, I think you said."

Harry felt his cheeks grow warm for no reason. He hadn't thought about it much. He'd rather just forget the whole weird encounter altogether.

Hermione nodded. "That would be the part of his magic he transferred to you that night."

Ron shook his head. "No, no, he already knew about that. That's not what he was testing. From the way you told me how he acted, I think something surprised him, made him change tactics. After all, he wasn't so eager to let you go before, right? He held you for what, a week, two? No it's something else."

He stood again to pace a zigzag route along the upturned furniture. Wearing his usual chess-playing face, he was probably turning motives over in his head, enemies' next moves. Hermione and Harry watched in silence as he made a second and third round.

"The only thing I can think of that makes sense here, is that he discovered that you're a descendant from Slytherin."

No one spoke for a moment. Then Harry burst out laughing.

Ron looked affronted. "What? It could explain the Parseltongue. Maybe we've overlooked it because we thought it had to do with his transfer of magic all along. But everyone knows the trait is hereditary."

"What are you suggesting?" Harry managed, not quite able to suppress a smile, "that he's my great uncle or something?"

"Or something," Ron spat, which effectively sobered Harry's mood.

Hermione had tilted her head, comparing this new piece of the puzzle to the immense reference chart in her mind.

"The curse of knowledge," she murmured. "Something we think is part of one supposition, is actually evidence of another."

Harry felt bewildered. "Guys, we've known since forever that this is all because of my scar. Dumbledore said so as well, don't you think he would share it with me if he thought otherwise?"

Hermione regarded him thoughtfully. "I don't know if he would, Harry. I don't know him that well."

Harry blinked, then switched tactics. "Alright, but don't you always say that the easiest explanation is always the best? Now you're telling me I have this unique connection, of which we don't actually know the implications, and aside from that oh by the way, I'm also related to the snake face?!"

Hermione put a hand over his palm. "I know it sounds awful, and far-fetched, but it's even more bizarre that he's keeping you alive, Harry. And we both know that scar of yours has always been much more of a hindrance to him than an advantage."

She sat back and made a gesture towards him. "What do you think, has his manner towards you changed?"

Harry stared at the floor, trying to remember if there was something different about Voldemort since that awful week of imprisonment. The next time he'd seen him, the Dark Lord had killed Ginny minutes earlier.

He glanced up. Both his friends stared at him with equally grim looks. "I remember him remarking at the battle that I was taught well." Harry's frown turned into a scowl. "Now I know what that was about."

"It would help if you could tell us more about your summer," Hermione said, which momentarily cut off the churning anger that seemed to be building all day.

"Right. Well, I told you about the manor right?" They nodded. Harry went on to explain about his reckless attempt on Nagini's life and how Voldemort had inexplicably purged the poison in him - no trip to St. Mungo's necessary.

"And there was another time that he saved my life, basically. I've been meaning to tell you about that, the great summer I've had…" Harry shifted to the edge of his chair, elbows on his knees, gazing at the far wall. "Voldemort had 'requested' my presence at the Celebratory Ball. When I came there, I kept a low profile. That went fine. But at the end of the evening, the place was packed with Death Eaters. You know Armando Moore, the one who said all that crap about my being responsible for the war or something, in the papers? He was there.

"So he's coming at me, and I could tell he's just looking for an excuse. He starts harassing me, I insult his dear master – well I was just telling the truth actually-"

"Wait, you insulted You-Know-Who? In front of his servants?" Ron exclaimed, delighted. Hermione's deadpan look clearly conveyed she thought that Harry had gone round the bend.

"Yeah, I called Voldemort a half-blood."

Ron whistled. Harry felt his face stretch into something between a smile and a grimace. "Not one of my smartest moves. Anyway, Moore sends a curse at me, and it kind of - ripped the skin off my head, I think, I'm not sure. But it hurt like hell."

He tried to suppress the feeling of all those stares, the awful silence. He managed to unclench his teeth after a moment. "The funny thing was, Voldemort came to see what the noise was all about - shit I really have to practice at that name for when I ever get out of here. He started to torture Moore, maybe a Crucio. And then, he killed him."

Ron's eyes had reached their maximum size. Hermione looked to be frozen to her chair. Harry continued into the tense stillness: "And then he said, 'Potter is mine. He's not to be touched.'"

"Well, you have the fatherly concern right there," Hermione commented. This made Harry cough hard several times.

She didn't appear to notice, becoming thoughtful. "I think you're right Ron. There's something more here than sharing traits – Riddle is never one for sharing, he's too narcissistic for that. He would rather kill you so he could be the only Parselmouth in existence. But not so when it comes to his own blood."

"He killed all his other descendants," Harry felt compelled to point out.

"Yes but the Gaunts were mentally unstable, they had squandered their fortune and their name in pure-blood society."

"And yet I'm a Gaunt, you're saying?"

"No of course not." She looked annoyed with him, again. "The Slytherin line had many descendants. The history books are murky on this though, especially after the sixteen hundred's. So it's unlikely, but not impossible."

"But the Potters go back all the way to Ignotus Peverell."

"The name is passed through the male line. There have been plenty of female lines entering into it in the last few centuries actually, but they are impossible to trace back."

Harry took that in. Tried to imagine it.

"That would be… ironic," Ron muttered.

"How do we find out?" Harry asked sharply.

"We can't," Hermione sounded sad, as always in the rare case that knowledge could not be granted to her.

"Well, then I don't think that's it. I already told you, he needs me for propaganda purposes. If any pissed-off Death Eater were allowed to torture the Boy-Who-Lived, there wouldn't be much of me left to pick up, would there?"

"Well, but-"

"Simplest explanation, 'Mione." Harry squeezed her arm and briskly stood, thinking curfew must be long past by now.

He was annoyed by their fantastical ideas. If he was an heir of Salazar Slytherin, than surely Slytherin would have minded one of his heirs trying to off the other in his very own secret chamber.

Besides, he thought, turning the doorknob, they didn't know Voldemort, not like he did. They couldn't know what drove Voldemort to kill someone or not – they couldn't even take a wild guess at what went on in that sick mind of his, while Harry had front-row seats. He knew only too well.

888

Ginny's wide smile met him as he sank down next to her against the old tree not far from the great lake. Her hair shimmered in the sunlight as if made from fire.

He stroked it. It was long, falling all the way to the small of her back.

He felt along her arm. At once pleasant magic pulsed against his fingers. He sighed, drawing her closer still.

Her Dark Mark was a lovely rose, and he told her so.

"Thank you Harry, I'm glad you like it. I got it to smell like a rose too." She giggled as if she'd just said something very suggestive.

"Smells wonderful," Harry said even though there were no scents in the air. Her magic made a soft roar against his skin, like her hair, stirring something inside him. He bent his head to kiss her. Touching her lips increased the warm buzzy feeling in his stomach. Now it started to spread to his nether regions as well…

An alarm sounded, waking him roughly from the idyllic scene. After a few beats he realized it was his own. Giving his wand a shake to silence it, he closed his eyes, delaying facing the outside world and the morning rituals of his Slytherin roommates.

Self-disgust made him curl onto his side, away from the light of the wall-torch. He had not just dreamed of Ginny and Dark Marks together, and got excited about it. He missed her. And his healthy seventeen-year-old body wouldn't make him forget anytime soon.

On top of that, as always when he was not quite awake yet, his sleepy mind easily made out the undercurrent of passive energy exuded by the Dark Marks around him.

One evening in the common room, Harry realized that even among upper-year Slytherin only few had been chosen to serve the Dark Lord. One of the Marks in the dormitory was Malfoy's. The other he had discerned over the last days to be Zabini, and unexpectedly powerful. Recent too, since Harry couldn't remember sensing anything during summer school.

Being Voldemort's radar was the last thing he wanted to be reminded about this early in the morning. He couldn't shut it off though – once he sensed a Dark Mark nearby, he stayed aware of it.

He stood to cast off the layers of cotton behind his eyelids. His bad mood from yesterday was back, and not the least bit assuaged by the sight of a perfectly dressed Malfoy combing his gelled-up hair on the bed next to his.

Malfoy noticed his scowl and smirked. "Had a bad night?"

Harry's cheeks coloured. At this he cursed silently but soundly. "Ah," Malfoy went on, "that kind of night. Who's the lucky girl?"

Harry threw a pillow at him, which managed to ruffle his now-perfect coiffure. "Shut up Malfoy," he growled.

Malfoy's smirk slipped a bit. He hastily touched the damage. "Moved on from the Weasel already? I have to say I approve, Potter."

Tiredness combined with frustration, triggering in Harry the need to maim the git's perfect appearance. He felt along the invisible magical bond and gave it a twist.

It was nothing like he had done to Snape, but still Draco bent over his arm with a hiss, his comb meeting the floor with a loud clattering sound.

All movement froze around them.

"Draco?" Nott whispered fearfully from one bed over. "Is it… is he calling you?"

Harry's heartbeat jumped in his throat as he waited for Draco's answer. Malfoy straightened. A few strands of hair had slipped out from under his slicked-back hairdo. His face was expressionless as he studied Harry for a moment. "Yes," he said quietly, never taking his eyes off Harry's wide stare. "I have to go."

And he slipped out before anyone could say another word.

Harry mechanically turned to pick up his wand, trying to keep it steady in his grasp. He… shouldn't have done that. Snape had mentioned in several non-subtle hints what could happen if Voldemort found out that he was messing with his servants. Harry had assumed Draco was watching him on Snape's orders, but what if they came directly from Voldemort? Was Draco off to report on him right now?

As with the visions though, Harry couldn't imagine the Dark Lord not knowing all along: he was the center, the creator of this web of Dark Marks. He must know when someone else was using it in his place.

Unless – just like with the visions – he just didn't care.

'Enough.' Harry remembered him saying in the great hall, cancelling Harry's hold on all the Dark Marks in the vicinity. Harry had been able to catch all of them with just one determent push, fueled by desperation.

His friends' theory was starting to sound significantly less implausible.

888

"Here you go Harry."

Harry stared at the expensive-looking creamy white card the size of a Muggle credit card, which Neville held out over a basket of eggs at breakfast.

Wand License, it said at the top with fancy curling letters in Bordeaux red. Neville offered a similar card to Ron, along with a wand.

Hermione would not be attending breakfast, she explained last night, because she had to go to Madame Pomfrey for a check-up of her bandages. He was not fooled by her casual manner as she had said this.

"We all got our wands and licences at the first class of the year, the one you both skipped," Neville explained at Harry's questioning glance. "I asked professor Flitwick for them so I could pass them to you."

"Finally," Ron breathed, holding the piece of wood with reverence. "Thanks, Neville."

Harry had completely forgotten about the wand papers they were all getting. Probably because unlike everyone else, he already had his wand. But then…

"Hermione had her wand two days ago."

Neville frowned. "That can't be right. I gave her the wand yesterday, in the hospital wing." His brows raised as he thought that over. "She found a spare then. Nice…"

Harry and Ron shared a look before Harry turned back to his card. Below his name it said: Clearance level: B.

"What do the clearance levels stand for?"

"Seems pretty clear to me," Ron grumbled. "'Transfiguration, Elementary magic and Dark Arts use prohibited.' Damn I was so looking forward to that vampire-guy."

Harry snatched his card from the table where Ron had thrown it in disgust. Ron's had a level C clearance.

"I don't understand," Ron went on. "Why they need to kick me out? I didn't do that badly."

"You're a rebel risk," Neville said quietly, making Harry's head snap up. "They were talking about it in the common room last night, you weren't in yet. A lot of us have been kicked out of the advanced magical education – me as well. It's fine by me as long as I can practice Herbology, at least. Do you have Potions in your schedule?"

"No," Ron said petulantly, as if daring Neville to continue. Neville held up his hands in a calming gesture. "Hey, like I said, almost everyone from Dumbledore's Army back in fifth year now has been barred from most classes. The Muggle-borns too."

"But I'm a pureblood! Don't I get more privileges or something?"

"Not quite. Dumbledore supporter counts first, blood level second."

"What about me then?" Harry said, amused despite himself. "I'm a level B." Neville's expression turned grim. "That means you can use any spell taught in the Hogwarts curriculum, in and outside of Hogwarts, at any time. I haven't seen a lot of B's yet. They're probably all reserved for the pro-Riddles."

Even though the taboo didn't work inside of Hogwarts, everyone agreed it was better to be safe than sorry. But Harry had a feeling that if Voldemort knew what they had replaced the ban with, they'd soon find themselves with a second ban.

"I don't know what their plans are for you Harry," Neville went on in an unusually serious tone, "but it gives me a bad feeling. Especially since you're the only person getting Dark Arts training. I don't think even Malfoy gets that."

Ron poked him in the side. "I want to see his face when you tell him!" He nodded to where Malfoy was munching on a piece of toast at the Slytherin table.

"Nah, the less I see of him the better, I think."

"I agree," Neville said. "Don't tell anyone. It might give you an edge when you most need it."

"One that all the people who matter know about."

Neville shrugged. "You never know."

"What would the A clearance be?" Ron mused. "Probably unlimited use of magic, right?"

"I think so. Something linked to working in high-up places."
"The ministry, his Inner Circle," Harry chimed in.

"You know, we're definitely going to get around this somehow," Ron fumed. Harry didn't know what he meant until Neville hissed: "Be quiet!" and Ron slunk down in his seat, chastised.

"So, how do you like the new Herbology professor, Neville?" Harry hastily asked to reduce the tension in the air. What followed was an informed discussion of Herbology, in which Neville compared the pros and cons of their old and new professor. The level of detail went way over Harry's head, but that had been his intention; the less time spent on dangerous subjects, the less likely they were to be picked up during Legilimency.

888

"You owe me twice now, Potter," Malfoy hissed as the Gryffindors and Slytherins settled down for Potions class – that is to say, the rare Gryffindors like Hermione who were allowed in. It was as always a double period and, oh the joy, a Gryffindor-Slytherin combination.

At the very last moment Malfoy chose to take the seat right next to his, to Harry's immense frustration. Hermione raised a brow at Malfoy, but took a seat on Harry's other side without a word.

"Why did you do it?" Harry hissed back in a whisper, not referring to the seating arrangement.

"Not now," Draco murmured, glancing around while picking imaginary dust from his robes.

Harry rolled his eyes. If he didn't want to talk about it, why did he say anything? "Is that all? Then if you don't mind please fuck off, Malfoy."

Malfoy blinked at him. Slughorn, who had decided he'd spent enough time reminiscing, chose that moment to start the lesson. It was quite boring, a long lecture about the most important topics learned last year. Something Snape would never have done, but Harry had to admit this was the best way to remove all the hay that had stuffed itself into the students' sun-drained minds. And it was much better than doing actual potion work.

After class Harry quickly made his way to the back, not wanting to get snatched up by Slughorn again. Hermione, saw him waiting at the door, but waved him off. Harry rolled his eyes. Of course she was going to be discussing this year's new topics with the teacher, as she always did.

As he reached the upper levels of the dungeons, a fist descended out of nowhere on the cloth of his arm and slammed him into the shade of an alcove.

His wand was out in a beat, but Malfoy ignored it.

"You're going to tell me about your summer, Potter," he said in a low voice that wouldn't carry. "And as to your second debt, I will call upon it whenever I see fit."

Harry pushed at his chest and the boy was forced to take a step back. "Come off it Malfoy, we both know that little act in the dormitory was to advance your position in Slytherin." Voldemort calling someone so young must have been unheard of in Slytherin.

"True, but if I hadn't…." Malfoy tilted his head as if to let Harry's imagination fill in the rest.

Surreptitiously mirroring Malfoy's casual arrogance, Harry folded his arms and leaned into the stone ridge. He raised an eyebrow. A few meters away students passed the two boys on their way to the great hall, oblivious.

"Yes? If I hadn't, what? You imagine he would punish me?"

Malfoy scoffed. "You imagine he wouldn't? You're dangerously optimistic, Potter."

"More like realistic. He doesn't care."

Now it was Malfoy's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

"As long as I don't cause anything permanent to happen."

"How does it work, exactly?" Malfoy asked offhandedly, but Harry could read the agitation in his Mark.

He could hardly explain his peculiar effect on the Mark to himself, let alone someone else. He wasn't about to admit that to Malfoy of course. Working to keep his features blank, he whispered: "Didn't you hear? I'm the Dark Lord's pet project."

Malfoy just watched him.

"I'm to be the living example of his merciful rule. He's ironic like that."

He hoped to stir him away from any more questions to do with that morning, but Malfoy apparently drew his own conclusions.

"So the papers are actually halfway right. You really are the Dark Lord's protégé. He wants the Parseltongue trait to continue. And, it's more than that. You serve as a… back-up, let's say, his magical heir. That's why he granted you access to his Death Eaters, right? To practice?"

He pinned Harry with an intense look. The Slytherin had put one and one together and to be fair, it did sound like the most logical explanation. He could see now why the blond was so interested in his summer. Harry felt a jolt as he imagined how fast this would go through the Hogwarts rumour mill, and what that would mean for his well-being.

The papers' speculation sat uncomfortably close to the scenario they had come up with yesterday evening. It was far-fetched but it was the only thing anyone could think of to explain Harry's bizarre situation, including Harry himself. Still, the suggestion that he could be the Dark Lord's descendant was making him sick to his stomach.

On the other hand, if he played along with this, life in Slytherin might become a bit easier. One thing was for sure, he thought with a twinge: if Dumbledore had still been around, he wouldn't have told Harry the truth about his scar, even if he knew.

He realized he'd waited too long to answer. Malfoy nodded slowly, taking his silence for confirmation. "Let's make a deal," Draco drawled. "You don't mess with my Mark again, and I won't tell everyone that you can, or that you're the Dark Lord's heir. Personally, if it were me well, I couldn't imagine anything better. But I understand your reluctance here."

"The papers don't actually say that, right?" Harry asked.

Malfoy waved one delicate hand. "Ill-informed as always. They think he keeps you alive to breed with a pureblood and pass on the Parseltongue."

Harry felt disgust and relieved at the same time for this explanation. He considered his old school rival for a moment. Malfoy, who had grown over the summer and was now slightly taller than Harry, returned a bored look. He wouldn't trust Malfoy if his life depended on it. If the little opportunist ever did talk, however, there was no harm done since Voldemort didn't mind (he drew a blank trying to imagine Voldemort not minding, something he didn't want to think about too closely).

"Agreed, provided you don't annoy me any further, or I might be tempted to let my control… slip, sometimes."

Harry hardly recognized the words that came out of his own mouth. The result of being around Slytherins all the time, he supposed. It was bound to rub off.

Perhaps thinking along those same lines, Malfoy's eyes sparkled as he extended his hand. It came to Harry in a burst of insight that Malfoy enjoyed Harry's half-bantered threat.

He couldn't decide if he would ever really understand Slytherins at this point, or understood too well already. Harry looked at the outstretched hand which was held quite steady, and was reminded of that long-ago day on the Hogwarts Express. This time, their palms touched in a firm handshake.

888

A grim feeling had settled over the student body of Hogwarts. More often than not corridor fights ended with a visit to the hospital wing nowadays, and the hostile atmosphere in the castle was getting ready to burst. The new discrimination of clearance levels and classes put everyone on edge. Hermione was one of those who appeared to be brimming on the edge of something. She was mostly quiet, tuned inwards.

In light of his illuminating conversation with Malfoy, he understood now why the hostility he sensed was so widespread among the houses. Where Ravenclaw had blessedly decided to wait for the facts before making judgements about the Boy-Who-Was-Kept-Alive, plenty Hufflepuffs considered him a disappointment. He supposedly had an affinity for casting pain curses (a rumour no doubt started by Zacharius) and entirely too much in common with the Dark Lord.

Moreover, while many Gryffindors were part of the underground resistance (Ron's occasional offhand remarks on the subject sent Hermione scowling and Harry wincing at his carelessness), his competence in the Dark Arts still rubbed them the wrong way, as well as the complete absence of his previous heroic defiance towards authority figures. The Slytherins just looked at him like they had swallowed a lemon. They felt betrayed by their Lord's mercy towards his former enemy, Dumbledore's golden boy, but mostly they were jealous.

The attitude of his old House annoyed him the most. The mutterings and angry looks usually came from lower year Gryffindors. Their sanctimonious attitude was wearing. He was like a sweet kitten to them who had grown out of its fur, ripped off by the vicious monster underneath.

And so it was with some tolerance that he withstood Zacharius' harsh push to his ribs as they met in the hallways between classes. He straightened his tie, which had come loose when he'd been slammed into the wall, and resumed his pace like nothing was amiss.

A growl sounded close behind. Then he lost balance and once again his forehead was pressed against cold stone. Note to self, he thought, don't ignore Smith.

"Think you're such a hot-shot huh?" Smith breathed into his ear. A clenched fist pulled on his tie, crinkling the fabric, curling it tight until it cut painfully into his neck. Harry saw Ernie standing behind Zacharius' shoulder, looking uncertain.

"How dare you show your face back here," the Hufflepuff continued harshly. "You've ruined it for all of us. Instead of doing the proper thing, like running away or better yet killing yourself, you kiss the Dark Lord's feet like the phony turncoat you are. It doesn't matter which camp he's in, the Golden Boy can always count on special treatment, isn't that right? I bet it was easy huh, a nice painless welcome in return for Dumbledore's secrets."

Harry couldn't speak for a moment, he was so angry.

"Oh you're going to tell me the 'true' reason why he hasn't killed you yet?" Zacharius gloated. "To 'preserve the Parseltongue', isn't that right?" He smiled in a very unpleasant way.

By now Harry's blood circulation was seriously starting to become a problem. He roughly shoved Zacharius off him and with a look of disgust spat: "Says the one who's been attending the Dark Lord's own summer school."

Zacharius glanced over his shoulder at the gathering crowd. Whatever this thing was, it was clearly personal because Smith drew close again before whispering:

"You might want to know, my brother's become a ghost. I'll ask him to come to Hogwarts and say hi, sometime."

Then he walked away. Ernie sent Harry a glare before hurrying to catch up with his classmate. The crowd was standing on their toes. They watched him with wide eyes, glancing back and forth to the retreating figure of Zacharius. They did not understand the abrupt ending to what had started out as a promising altercation.

Furious with everyone Harry wrestled off his mangled tie and stalked to class.

888

Their first Transfiguration class came after lunch that day. He smiled as he saw Hermione enter the classroom. She smiled back and slid into the seat next to him, to his relief.

The class was surprisingly small for having all four Houses attending. The gaping absence of more than half of his year mates was painfully obvious. Slytherin made up the biggest part of the class, and Muggle-borns from all other Houses the smallest (possibly only Hermione had made it, but he wasn't sure). He could only hope now that the new configuration would aid in some much needed commiseration among the Houses.

On his way up from the great hall he'd realized he had again forgotten to tell Hermione about the House Elf's rotten working conditions. The classroom was getting too crowded to discuss it now, however, so he resolved to tell her later that day.

There was a collective sigh as McGonagall announced a surprise start of term test. A sheet of questions floated down on each desk, and McGonagall switched the hour glass.

Harry looked down. Twenty questions, to be done in an hour. Stifling another sigh, he bent over his desk and started in on the first question.

The scribbling of quills was the only sound to be heard for the next ten minutes.

"Mister Potter, no exchanging of notes in my class, I think I have been very clear on this!"

Harry's head snapped up. "What?"

He was in the middle of scratching out an answer to a question explaining the gains in solidity when Transfiguring lifeless over sentient objects. Feeling thoroughly bewildered, he glanced around but saw no evidence of anything being exchanged below the table tops. He opened his mouth to say as much, then jumped when McGonagall slammed her hand on the table's surface angrily.

"Are you purposefully ignoring my instructions of two seconds ago?"

Muffled sniggers sounded behind him. He felt his cheeks start to burn when he realised his error.

"No Professor. I wasn't exchanging any notes."

McGonagall's eyebrows touched her hairline. "Oh? That will be detention Mr. Potter, for wilful disobedience, to be served on Saturday at one o'clock in the afternoon."

Harry looked at her for a moment in disbelief. Then, seeing the minute quirking of her lips, he realised she was just acting. He glanced at Hermione but she was busy pouring over her answering sheet. McGonagall gestured for everyone to continue with their examination.

When the bell rang, Harry made sure he was stalking out looking properly grim and annoyed.

888

The horrid first week made Harry yearn for the quiet of Saturday morning. But even that was ruined, by the morning owl.

It was not the news this time, but a letter to Ron from his dad. Harry wondered how it had passed the wards since, outside of newspapers and journals, only the privileged few were allowed to have correspondence. Ron had frozen in his seat and after reading with clear horror, passed the parchment on to Harry and Hermione.

Mr. Weasley ensured his son that he was as well as could be expected, and hoped Ron was also. After some general remarks on how the Weasleys were faring, it said:

"An important matter has come to my attention. I wanted to spare you this, but I think you'd want to know, and Hermione as well. As you're probably aware there has been a mass departure of Muggleborns from the country in the last months. We reckoned no news was good news, but it was only by accident that I discovered the latest shocking developments.

Over the past few weeks at least, they have not been walking towards their freedom but into traps set by his followers. Based on what I overheard at work I believe that many of them have been detained without trial, I don't know where. Some are tortured – something about the use of 'wheels', I'm not sure what it means – and afterwards they are send back to their families in a terrible state, as a warning against any further acts of rebellion.

I am currently tracking those I overheard to get more information and hopefully to warn people off from any further traps. Anything relevant to us I will let you know immediately. In the meantime I ask you not to talk about this to anyone outside of your two closest friends. It is a state secret, covered up, so you will not find it in the Prophet.

This letter will self-destruct after one minute. Please know that we

The letter burst into ashes on the table. Hermione's head jerked up. "Know that we what? What did it say?"

Ron jerked from his reverie of the sausage cooling on his plate. "Know that we are doing everything we can to get to the bottom of this. And, it said, greetings to both of you, stay watchful and something about keep doing fun things."

She grimaced. "Wheels. Really. How positively Muggle." Seeing their puzzled faces she went on to explain: "Breaking wheels, they were torture devices used from the Muggle Middle Ages up until the nineteenth century. It was a form of public execution by placing the convicted on a wheel and breaking their bones."

Harry glanced at his friend sitting next to him. Feeling their contemplative stares, she answered their unspoken question. "They're fine, they're already in Australia. They sent me a note over the summer."

"You got a note here?"

"Some Death Eater had looked it through first, but…" She shrugged as if to say: it doesn't matter, they're safe.

Harry felt the content of his stomach turn sour and rise up in his throat. He swallowed a couple of times, wanting to keep the little he had eaten down. The new regime, even crueller in secret than it demonstrated to the public, had escalated already to the point that it deemed Muggleborns worthy of the most heinous, non-magical forms of torture. Just for trying to escape.

It was too horrible to process. And all done in the name of the evil called Tom Riddle, who also happened to kindly grant Harry a life among friends, his wand, education and even extra training.

He suddenly realised that right now, the absolute last thing he wanted to know was why.

888

Standing before McGonagall's door, he wondered what this meeting in disguise could be about.

When she opened the door he smiled at her, which she returned before waving him inside.

"I really wanted to keep a straight face," she said, amused. "Why do I get the feeling that all of you are far too competent schemers?" She sat down behind her large desk and gestured him towards a chair, which he took with a puzzled frown.

"You probably want to know why all this circumspection? I'm being monitored. We both are, for that matter. I wanted you to stop by without raising suspicions with our resident imposters."

"Alright," Harry said slowly.

She folded her hands in front of her, unlike Dumbledore with one palm folded over the other. "How are you doing, Potter? I know that Riddle has paid you a visit the other day. Thank Merlin that you managed to save Ms. Granger in time. That witless monster," she ended in a low voice.

Her words rubbed like sandpaper against his guilt, tugging at the wounds.

"You actually went to school with him, right?" he said to avoid answering.

"Yes. He was already a petty boy back then."

"I wonder what he most wants now that he has Britain."

"He won't stop, that's for sure. He wants absolute control over everything, but without needing to bother to maintain himself all that he has seized. He wants the old wizarding families and their traditions to set the standard and govern the way of life throughout the world. And apparently he wants to keep you alive."

She fell silent, surveying him with a kind look.

Harry shook his head at her inquiry. "I really don't know."

"Could it have anything to do with your mission from Albus?"

"I don't think so. That would rather be a reason not to keep me alive, I should think."

McGonagall's eyes were narrowed. "I would like to know if there is anything I can assist you with on that account."

"No, Professor. But thank you." Dumbledore had told him not to confide in anyone else outside of Ron and Hermione.

"Are you sure?"

"How is Professor Dumbledore?" Harry returned.

"I don't know." She gave him an intense look, though. He nodded that he understood. She could not say anything important in his presence, when her words could possibly be forced from him into another, very dangerous mind. He wondered why she thought it was safe to mention Dumbledore's mission, in that case.

"Do let me know if I can help. You can call on my assistance at any time," she stressed, her expression serious and a bit pained. She then pulled close one of the huge piles of paperwork on her desk with the air of settling in for the long haul.

He stood, hearing a dismissal. He turned to go but looked back when she spoke, her eyes twinkling:

"I mean it Potter, do stop by. If you don't I'm going to have to wrestle myself down into Slytherin territory. You know how I hate to have to do that."

He quirked a smile, the light humour dispelling some of his somberness. "I will. Thank you Professor."

"Not at all, not at all," she said, waving him out the door.

A/N: Much thanks to my beta for straightening out all the quirks in this chapter. More action coming up!