Snake-Song VI
Last Chapter: Harry deals with the problems public knowledge of his Parseltongue ability brings, finds out Alan is not totally lost to him, and bargains with Daphne Greengrass. She wants him to venture into the Forbidden Forest to find a Poglotoki cube.
Harry dreamt of towering trees, of creatures scuttling in the dark, of vast black cubes spinning just out of reach. Something, he felt distantly, was creeping over him on horrid hairy legs, drawing closer to his fa-
-and then he jolted awake, brushing at his chest for any sign of the creature.
"Lumos!"
He peered down at himself. Just his quilt and, beyond that, the curtains of his four-poster bed. There was no creature. Harry sighed to himself, relieved but weary. It was just a dream. "A bloody nightmare," he told himself.
The Heir; Greengrasses' training; the scared, angry stares of his schoolmates... not even mentioning Herne the Hunter's prophecy, which was stuck at the back of his mind. He had a lot to fear himself. Was it surprising it was getting to him?
"Tempus."
The familiar lilac smoke spelled four minutes past three. Early, even for him; but he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep - and on the off-chance he did, another hour or so would just make him groggy.
Harry grit his teeth and heaved himself out of bed. There was nothing to do but struggle through it. Ever since he'd been introduced to the Wizarding World, he'd had no other choice.
As he completed his morning ablutions, he mused how fortunate he was that Hogwarts itself was so relaxed. If his schedule was as intense as he knew Muggle secondary schools to be, he felt he would've gone insane by now. His lack of friends was also an advantage as well as a source of pain; he had fewer people to please.
His day did not improve at breakfast, when a boy he suspected was Partington chose to 'accidentally' knock into him. He was a lot bigger than Harry, who had to grasp at a bench to stop his descent to the ground. Barely concealed laughter bubbled up around him, and Harry felt his face flush. Susan squeezed his arm and guided him to his usual seat.
It was going to be a long day.
And so it proved. Minutes ticked by like hours, and hours felt like days. Lockhart was characteristically infuriating, while Professor McGonagall struggled to hold his attention. Harry just wanted to fall back into his bed... and yet he knew he couldn't. There was still a late-night Astronomy lesson with Professor Sinastra.
"Just an hour or so," Susan told him as they waited by the Grand Staircase. The stairs were not agreeing with them that day, and it was a long climb from the Hufflepuff Common Room.
Harry grunted back.
Beside them, Wayne smirked. While the rest of the Hufflepuffs had managed to hop on a staircase to the third floor, Harry, Susan and Wayne had been left behind.
"Don't fall asleep while it's moving," he said, "or maybe you'll end up in the real basement."
"What a lovely thought," Harry returned sarcastically. He was too tired to be witty.
Obviously, it was not a lovely thought. He still remembered when Amanda Soothe had taken him and Hercules to the undercroft of Halt End to pick the red fungi. It had been a strange and frightening place, but he hadn't known how frightening until he had learned about the Deep Earth, and the creatures centres of magical power could summon. Who knew what wandered the foundations of Hogwarts?
Maybe one had found its way into the castle, and that was Slytherin's Monster.
Harry paused. That was an interesting thought. Such a... thing definitely couldn't be controlled, but what if it didn't have to be? Any student could pretend to be controlling the Monster, taking advantage of its attacks to spread fear... The more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely. If the Slytherin line had been hunted, how likely was it that any except Voldemort survived? And he couldn't be in Hogwarts now…
"Harry!"
Harry looked up; Susan and Wayne were standing above him, on the landing of the third floor. And the stairs they'd taken were already swinging away. "Oh," he said dumbly. He'd been too deep in thought to notice. He pitched his voice louder. "You go on ahead!" he shouted. "I'll catch up!"
Susan looked worried, but Wayne nodded and, after a moment's indecision, she followed.
It took him a moment to realise that she was worried for him. Fear crept through his veins like an approaching shadow as his thoughts slid inexorably toward his current situation... Slytherin's Monster was loose in the castle... and he was now alone. Harry's hand drifted to his wand, secured in his crossbody holster. He didn't know how much good it would do against a beast of legend… but magic was better than nothing.
His eyes swept across the marbled columns, walls and stairs of the Grand Staircase. The ceiling was so high it couldn't be seen; but fortunately, almost everything else could be. It was a very open area. If the Monster did attack, he'd see it... unless it was invisible. And if his Cloak could turn him invisible, surely at least a few creatures could cloak themselves too?
Harry frowned. He didn't have a spell to see invisible things.
It was a tense few minutes, broken only by the rumbling of the nearby staircases. Eventually his staircase slid back into its former position; Harry launched himself up toward the third floor. It was easy going until the seventh, where he had to leave the Grand Staircase behind. The Astronomy Tower was only accessible from a winding little stairwell on the seventh floor.
The corridors along the way were all empty, dark, and cold. So high up, freezing winds blew in from loose windowpanes, extinguishing sconces and pushing chills down the passageways. Harry shivered and picked up his pace. Soon he was almost running; the hairs on the back of his neck were standing, and he could almost imagine the Monster behind him, gaining, gaining…
And then he skidded to a halt, bemused. Illuminated by one of the few remaining sconces was a dark line, like a line of soot, that marked its way across the corridor and up a wall. It ended at an open window. Strangest of all, it was moving.
Harry peered closer… and shuddered. Spiders! Hundreds of tiny spiders, all filing out in rows of two or three…
What was going on?
Shouts took his attention, then a shriek. They came from on ahead – closer to the Astronomy Tower. Harry leapt over the strange line of spiders and ran, full pace, toward the noise.
When he got there, at least six people were surrounding a body.
Harry's stomach dropped. A wave of sickness washed over him; he imagined Susan's eyes staring up at him blankly, her face unmoving…
But then he saw red hair reflected in the light of a Lumos, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Susan was standing by Wayne, watching the…
Watching him. As he grew closer, Harry saw the identity of the figure by the colour of his hair. Justin was laying face down, his arms and legs as rigid as stone. Petrified.
As one, the group seemed to turn to him. One of the Ravenclaws squeaked as they met eyes.
"Harry," Wayne greeted lowly. He was not, for once, smiling that strange smile of his. "We need to go back to the Common Room and tell Professor Sprout. Astronomy is cancelled."
It was almost an hour later when Harry received a summons from the Headmaster. He'd been sitting in the Common Room silently, trying his best to ignore the eyes on him, when Professor Sprout entered through the portal.
"Potter," she said bluntly, "a word."
Harry rose as though he were heading to the gallows. He felt the weight of Hufflepuff House watching him as he followed his Head of House out. Did they think he'd done it? He had been alone when the attack happened. From outside, it looked annoyingly suspicious. Then there was the choice of victim… Justin… Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget the sight of him, inert – frozen – on the cold flagstones.
Only Professor Sprout shattered the image; "Don't worry," she said. Her voice was soothing this time, "I'll call the others in your year out after you. I don't want to give the impression you're being singled out, after all."
Harry nodded stiffly. He could feel a 'but' coming.
"However, they won't be speaking to the Headmaster."
That was the 'but', and it made Harry wince, the pit in his stomach growing deeper. He didn't really know how to feel about that. He'd only met Professor Dumbledore twice; once before the Mirror of Erised, and once after the fight against Quirrell. During both meetings the Headmaster had displayed an… aura. A wisdom – an understanding. Harry hoped he'd be no less understanding in this third, unhappy, meeting.
Professor Sprout led him to the third floor, stopping before a large, ugly gargoyle. Its beady eyes seemed to watch them. "Lemon drop!" she said.
At her command – a password, surely – the gargoyle sprung to life, stepping into a recess as the wall behind it parted in twain. Behind the door a staircase spiralled, and Harry was amazed to see that it was spiralling - in the present sense, like a Muggle escalator.
"There's a door at the top of the stairs," Professor Sprout said. She must've seen his apprehension, because she smiled earthily. "Don't worry lad, you're not in trouble – off you pop now."
No, Harry thought, not yet. Still, he stepped on the lowest flight of stairs and let it take him. He rose up at least three twists, and Harry thought it was rather enjoyable, until it deposited him on a short landing.
A broad oak door was waiting for him. It had a knocker, an intricately gilded knocker in the shape of a griffin. But before he could knock, or consider knocking, it swung open silently.
Harry stepped inside; he peered around in fascination. The room was large and circular, covered in portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses. Some of them were static – those must've been the older ones – while all the others were sleeping.
They were all facing a desk of monolithic proportions which, like the door behind him, gleamed an oaken gleam. Atop its surface many strange contraptions whizzed and whirred and gave off little puffs of smoke. Behind the desk was a chair, and behind the chair another door – that could only be the Headmaster's sleeping quarters.
Something moved in the corner of his eye. Harry jumped, turned to it, and saw a small bird, gold and red, staring back at him. Was that amusement in its eyes? It was sitting on an over-sized perch. The bird's feathers were fluffy, as if it were only an infant. Harry felt it must've been magical.
Then the door behind the desk opened, and Professor Dumbledore walked out. He was wearing robes of midnight blue, beautifully made but subtle compared to his usual garish garb.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," he said lightly, sitting himself spritely – for all his century and some of life – behind the desk. "I see you've met Fawkes. He is, if you have not already guessed, a phoenix. They are wonderful creatures, phoenixes; stronger than their size would assume, as clever as a wise man, with tears of light that can heal the most grievous of wounds."
Harry had read briefly about phoenixes, but wouldn't have recognised Fawkes as one if he hadn't been already told. He smiled awkwardly. "And that's without mentioning the immortality."
The headmaster's lips did not so much as twitch, and Harry suddenly felt very clumsy, very out-of-place. It was not a feeling he desired, especially in front of the greatest duellist of the age – indeed, the greatest wizard of the age.
"Indeed," Professor Dumbledore eventually replied, seeming to measure Harry with his gaze. "And tha-"
The door to the landing burst in, bouncing off the wall with an almighty clang (waking the sleeping portraits with a hundred comically concurrent jumps); Hagrid strode through, filling up the room as he went.
"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid, his voice caught between booming and pleading. "It can't 'ave bin, there's just no way–"
Professor Dumbledore was trying to speak, but Hagrid was rambling on "-not enough time, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to-"
"Hagrid-"
"-yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry'd never-"
"Hagrid!" The Headmaster thundered; and just like in thunder's wake, there was silence.. "I do not believe that Harry attacked those people."
Watching on, feeling very small, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"Oh," said Hagrid limply, "right. I'll, er, wait outside then, Headmaster."
And he stomped out as quickly as he'd entered, his face red behind his bushy beard.
Harry turned back to the Headmaster. He was watching back, his blue eyes glimmering behind his silver-framed spectacles. "You, um, don't think it was me, Professor?"
Professor Dumbledore shook his head sombrely. "No, Harry, I don't; but I must still talk to you." Was it the voices? Harry wondered. Had he somehow figured out what Harry alone had heard? Or maybe he'd gotten word of his conversation with Greengrass, and that'd made him more suspicious…
But the Headmaster didn't immediately take to either subject; in fact, he said nothing at all, but watched him from across the desk, his long, bony fingers steepled together. Harry squirmed nervously under his gaze. He'd read a dozen accounts of Albus Dumbledore's duel against the Dark wizard Grindelwald – commonly known as the Duel of the Century – from analyses of Dumbledore's previous duels to examinations of the wreckage of the state of play they left behind. He'd never felt more vulnerable… not that he believed Professor Dumbledore would attack a student.
Eventually, the Headmaster spoke; "I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me," he said. "Anything at all."
Harry remembered the voice he'd heard … Rip … Tear… He saw Daphne Greengrass watching him impassively, her face cold as the arctic, her eyes masked by her dark spectacles… He knew he should tell him about the voices – about his foolish deal with Greengrass, even. Last year, he'd lost a friend because he hadn't been more open to the teachers about Gabriel and the Philosopher's Stone, and now… Harry opened his mouth, and paused.
For whatever reason, a picture came to mind; a baby, left on a familiar doorstep – a baby with an equally familiar lightning bolt scar across his forehead. Professor Dumbledore had done it, he knew; Dumbledore had left him with the Dursley's…
"No," he said, keeping his voice even. The lie, as usual, came easy. "There isn't anything I can think of, Professor. The only reason I was alone was because of the staircase moving…"
…
…
In that last week before the Christmas holidays, nerves turned to true panic. Susan was worried that the fear would surmount RUNE's censorship. If the Prophet were to print a story about the petrifications…
Well, the more extreme Campbellites would have all the ammunition they needed to shut the school down.
Not that Wizards required ammunition in the literal (or metaphorical) sense. Ever since he was reintroduced to the Wizarding World, Harry got the distinct impression that Witches and Wizards were very quarrelsome people. They would argue with themselves if they could. Knowing magic, there was probably a way to make that possible.
And many, many arguments were raging in Hogwarts among the students. Even more of them were now suspicious of him – but of those, fear now seemed to be the overriding emotion. Slytherin's own house was no exception, or so Greengrass had told him.
"They're all sitting in the common room, wondering if you care more about blood purity or revenge against your parents, Potter," said after one training session.
Harry took a long look at her, and she looked back, staring through those dark glasses. She never took them off. "I don't care about either, really."
Greengrass raised a red-black eyebrow. "Blood purity I understand, but revenge? Why else are you training?"
Harry huffed, smiling a slight smile. He glanced at Susan, who had her nose buried in a book about Warding. "Susan (she didn't look up) once asked me something similar. I want to be a duellist because I like duelling. I'm not interested in fame or money, or revenge."
"Really?" She did not sound convinced. "You're too clever by half to only be interested in fighting for the sake of it."
Now it was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Haven't I taught you that there's plenty of subtlety in duelling? Do you think Crabbe or Goyle will be great duellists some day?"
Actually, Harry felt he hadn't taught her very much; he was mostly repeating what he remembered of Gabriel's sessions, including his own ideas here and there. Frankly, he didn't know enough about duelling, or teaching… or teaching duelling. Nonetheless, Greengrass seemed to pick things up quickly, though she was fundamentally uninterested in the topic. Just like Susan, really.
"No," Greengrass replied, "but their fathers fought in a war that killed your parents."
That was no surprise; In his perusal of his history books, Harry had seen his classmates' family names appear more than once. But her words induced only the meanest twinge of hostility; he'd already thought the topic over – even before entering Hogwarts – and come to the conclusion that it was a war… and that was what happened in wars. People die.
He had thought differently until his excursion to Halt End, where the ghost of Quirinus Rosier haunted its decaying halls. It was difficult not to sympathise with the Rosiers of Halt End, though their beloved lord had supported Voldermort. Lord Quirinus had died fighting for him, even; and for all Harry knew, his own father, James, could've killed him.
Either way, Hercules did not deserve to die for the sins of his family. No, there was no point holding old grudges, and he said as much to Greengrass.
"I'll be sure to spread that around," she said archly, "without drawing too much attention, of course. But the rest of my house will be relieved to hear that."
"Yes, I'm sure they will be glad to know I'm not going to set my monster on them in their sleep."
Harry saw just the edge of a smirk flitter across Greengrass' lips. "Almost nobody is staying for Christmas this year, all because of that."
Except the Weasley twins, Harry thought. They'd taken to the panic like a pair of fish in water, loudly – comedically – proclaiming Harry their new dark lord whenever they crossed paths. They were all too eager to make more fun over Christmas.
But that wasn't what she was implying, Harry knew. "Good. It'll be easier to sneak out, so I – we – can try and retrieve your… cube."
"You couldn't dissuade Bones from joining you?"
This time, Harry heard Susan jolt at the speaking of her name. "I'm not letting him go alone," she interjected fiercely, before returning to her book.
Ah. Harry winced. Ever since he'd told Susan, she'd been quietly furious with him… but she also refused to leave his side, lest he were to go galavanting off into the Forbidden Forest alone. "No."
Greengrass shrugged. "It only improves your chances."
"Great, Greengrass, thanks. That really makes me feel better. I suppose you're not coming? It would improve our chances even more."
"... No, otherwise what would be the point in this agreement at all?"
Greengrass bade him goodbye soon after, leaving him and Susan alone in the old Duelling Hall. The Slytherin girl was, Harry thought, a… character. That was how odd people were described in polite conversation, wasn't it?
And Greengrass was certainly odd. She proved to be not as cold as she had appeared in their first meeting, but rather casually stern. Little seemed to surprise her, but when angered her temper burned hot, while her humour simmered dry.
He couldn't help but recall a conversation he'd had with her a few days before. She'd interrupted his reading of Muscular Wizardry – a tome he spent far less time perusing nowadays, preferring De Luna's Battle Transfiguration. She'd looked rather shocked, though her darkened glasses had dampened the effect.
"What on Avalon's golden sands are you reading?" she'd said, sounding as shocked as she looked.
Harry had turned the cover to face him. It was, like most Wizarding books, leather-bound and understated. "A book," he'd deadpanned.
Greengrass had almost growled. "Potter," she ground out, "do you have any idea how badly this looks? Do you read that in public?"
Thinking back, he should've really realised it months ago but, at the time, he'd only blinked. "Sometimes? Why? It's just a book about fitness?
"Fitness?" Greengrass had bit back. "If that's just a book about fitness, then Pollux Black's Dark Arts Unchained is about comedy curses!"
That'd made him look back down at the book's cover dumbly. What, he had thought, was she talking about? Had he just revealed his ignorance of the Wizarding World?
"Paraphysiology Potter, Paraphysiology! It's taboo to Muggle-lovers and Mud-Muggleborns alike! If it's true, Paraphysiology is proof Wizardkind is superior to Mugglekind down to the bone."
Greengrass' pale face had been rather flushed; she had then swept out the room, shaking her head and muttering.
Thereafter, Harry had taken time to ruminate on the topic. She had no reason to lie, he'd soon realised, and it did make sense. Strongsong didn't only describe Paraphysiological principles in Muscular Wizardry, he actively advocated for them. He even postulated how Purebloods and Halfbloods – and the degrees thereof – might be differently affected by their relative degrees of magical blood. If that was true then, at least on some level, Purebloods and Halfbloods did have degrees of advantage over Muggleborns.
The thought seemed innately disgusting to Harry… but was it right to dismiss it just because it made him uncomfortable? He'd asked Susan, and she'd pleaded ignorance, and–
– "Thinking about your next lesson ready?"
Harry jumped. He hadn't noticed Susan's approach. She was sitting where Greengrass had just a few minutes before. He focused on her question – and the way she'd said it. Her tone was teasing, though there was… something else. A tension. She and Greengrass didn't really get along. At least Sue didn't seem quite so angry at him anymore.
"Just about… everything."
Susan smiled softly. "I think you enjoy it – you know, teaching."
There was the teasing again. Harry smiled back, hiding his frustration. Perhaps he did; but he didn't enjoy hiding his ignorance of the Wizarding World from Greengrass, and that was getting harder by the day. Eventually she'd find out, and he'd look a fool. He hated looking like a fool.
…
…
Hogwarts' customary decorations were put up rather late that year, and they did not seem to shine so brightly in the gloom of a castle under siege from within. Most of the students had little more than a day to enjoy them before the Hogwarts Express departed, leaving a silent, sombre castle in its wake. The days thereafter were freezing, as though the heat of the students was all that had been keeping winter at bay. Now cool winds blew biting drafts down lonely corridors, and Harry never ventured out without his warmest cloak.
When he did, he was usually making his way to the library, where he and Susan were searching for details about the Forbidden Forest. Unfortunately, a great deal of the accessible information was only general in nature. Studies of the creatures of the forest were popular, primarily regarding their place in the Great Chain of Being*. They ranged from harmless flobberworms munching on the undergrowth, to more troublesome – but ultimately surmountable – creatures like Hinkypunks, to vicious, dangerous beasts like Werewolves and Trolls. Most of the more recent books were certain that a herd of Centaurs roamed the clearings, and only slightly fewer spoke of Acromantulas – great spiders that could grow to the size of men.
Harry didn't much enjoy the thought of meeting them.
Frustratingly, the maps these books supplied were vague at best, or useless at worst. The dramatically named Forest of Darkness, by Elias Eliasson, was the newest tome on the subject. Eliasson claimed to have gained the trust of the Centaurs through the learning of their language, and he relied on their reporting for much of the book's detail. Harry wasn't sure how reliable they could be. Surely they had every reason to exaggerate the dangers of the forest? Eliasson was claiming that Acromantulas had infested almost a third of the entire wood!
For creatures that – if they existed in the forest – were recent additions, that didn't seem very likely. Or at least, he hoped it wasn't likely. The thought of giant spiders was… unsettling, to say the least.
Less unsettling, but still strange, was the presence of Alan and his new friends. He, Granger and Longbottom had all decided to stay over Christmas. The question was: why? Granger, as a Muggleborn, was definitely in danger, and Longbottom seemed afraid of his own shadow on the best of days. Why would any of them voluntarily stay in a semi-deserted castle when a possibly deadly monster could be prowling the corridors? They were definitely up to something.
Among the other second years, only Greengrass, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were staying over the holidays. In fact, Slytherins outnumbered all the other students combined, such was their confidence of their invulnerability to Slytherin's Monster. Harry would rather stay in Hogwarts than return to the Dursley's even if the castle were on fire, or if it had been shaken by an earthquake.
Not that Scotland had earthquakes.
And then, one day, a package arrived. Harry and Susan had been taking a walk on the gallery bridge, puffing little whispers of smoke with every breath, when a large eagle owl dived down beside them. It dropped off a palm-sized, neatly-wrapped parcel, and flew off immediately.
Harry looked pointedly at Susan. It could only be one thing.
It was Susan who first picked it up and pulled apart the elegant bow that tied the strings together. The wrapping unravelled by magic, revealing a… marble? No, not a marble. Densely packed runes spiralled around its surface, which was gleaming a dull steel-silver in the weak winter sun. Susan palmed it. "It's heavy," she said.
Then she paused, and looked suddenly toward the forest. "And it's… talking to me?"
Harry bent down and looked for a note within the remains of the wrapping. It took only a few moments to recognise Greengrass' curving handwriting.
A Songstone tuned to the aura of Poglotki cubes, DG, it said.
Harry returned the note to the wrapping, then took a long look around. "Incendio!" he cast, satisfied they were alone..
The paper burned easily – and smokelessly. "What's a Songstone?"
Susan held the marble-thing between her fingers. "This. They're for finding strong magical distortions in the generalis aura. People use them to find magical ingredients, but I've never seen one that's so… decorated. These runes… and usually they just buzz when you're moving in the right direction. This Songstone, it – well, it actually sings."
Harry looked at it curiously. Was it a good singer?
"We've got no more excuses then. I don't think we'll find anything more in the library, not anything useful anyway. We've got those pads to walk over the snow, I've got some wood chippings to try and Transfigure (that hadn't been going too well), and we've got this Songstone to guide us… so we'll go tonight. Let's get it over with."
Susan bit her lip, nodding jerkily. "Y-yes, of course. Tonight."
She was nervous. Terribly, terribly nervous. She only ever stuttered nowadays when she was nervous. "You don't have to come, you know?"
"I'm going! I'm not letting you go out there alone, not again!"
Harry sighed. He'd feel so much better if he was only risking himself… but still, he couldn't help but smile. He could always, he knew, rely on Susan.
…
…
The Invisibility Cloak seemed a little smaller than it was before, now it did not drape quite so generously across the floor. Harry was glad; it meant he and Susan were getting taller, despite remaining some of the shortest of their classmates. Even so, they needn't have bothered squeezing beneath the Cloak, constantly stepping on each other's toes. At midnight, Hogwarts seemed empty. A vast, still silence hung around the corridors, where the air was so cold they could see their breath. Only the staircases continued to move, rumbling their eternal conversation through the nights without end.
Perhaps, Harry thought, as he stepped out onto the snow-blanketed grounds, some of the paintings were still awake. The thought evaporated like vapour on a cold night as he beheld the expanse of Hogwarts' midnight estate.
Endless white stretched out before him, glimmering with a dusting of frost; until, at least, the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, roofed too with a white shroud of snow. Below the canopy, a great black maw stared out at them, an expanse of endless shadow – a place even snowfall couldn't reach.
"T-this is a terrible idea," Susan whispered beside him.
Harry did not take his eyes off the forest. "I know."
He beckoned that Susan join him under the Invisibility Cloak once more and, together, they set off across the snow. Below they left no footprints, nor did they sink into the soft ground; attached to the bottom of their shoes were Snowstride Soles, which pushed with equal force against the snow. Harry could only thank the Weasley twins for that idea – not that they had given it knowingly.
Soon they arrived at the edge of the wood. By then, the maw looked less like a maw, and more like a forest should. The canopy was so dense that little snow reached the floor, where dead leaves matted in damp, uneven layers, creating a brown and red patchwork beneath the towering trunks.
Susan took the Songstone from her pocket and held it before her, almost lifting the Cloak.. She seemed to pause, and shudder; then she turned left. "This way," she said.
Harry followed, wand at the ready. They tracked around the edge of the forest, keeping Hogwarts to their left and always within sight. There was no need to venture further within without need. So close to the castle, the Forbidden Forest appeared now less foreboding. True it was silent, and eerie, but they saw nothing, heard nothing. After a while of walking Harry almost forgot where he was.
And then Susan stopped, and Harry almost ran into her. "I-it's that w-way." She was gesturing into the wood, where the darkness grew only deeper.
Harry swallowed heavily. He'd colour-charmed some of his spruce wood chippings; he was hoping to leave a trail of them to lead back to Hogwarts. It seemed like a stupid idea now.
"Okay," he said, regardless. "Let's go."
After a dozen steps, the world seemed darker. After a dozen more, it was like walking through a nightmare. The canopy blotted out the moonlight, leaving a great wastescape behind, scarred by the skeletons of stark grey trees rooted in a bleak grey soil. Nothing moved. The Forbidden Forest seemed to swallow sound.
All Harry could hear was the sound of his and Susan's movements. And in front of him, Susan was practically hyperventilating. She was definitely shaking slightly; her trembling was palpable through the Cloak.
He couldn't blame her. Hogwarts was long out of sight. They were in terrible danger. They had made a mistake.
Then Susan stopped. He thought she was going to ask to turn back, but instead she whispered something almost worse; "It's here."
It took Harry a long moment to realise she was talking about the Poglotki cube.
She nodded forth, where a distant shaft of silver moonlight implied a clearing. Harry made sure to drop another wood chip, this one bright orange against the endless grey.
"Nearly there," he whispered to Susan. "We can make it."
Susan stuck a trembling leg forward… and set off once more.
Slowly, the shaft of light grew larger, clearer; then they saw another, then another. Then they were upon the edge of the clearing, where the grey wood turned silver and sleek. The clearing almost seemed to glow.
But there was something at its centre. Something black, blacker than black, like a dark void at the centre of the world. Harry's stomach turned; for a moment he thought he was going to be sick… and he didn't even know why.
What… what was it?
Whatever it was, it had to be connected to the cube, somehow. He could feel it…
Susan crept forward, almost leaving Harry behind. Together they drew toward the mass, like foolish moths to a dark flame, two invisible spectres inching toward… it.
And then it moved.
They stilled at once. Harry felt himself holding his breath. He didn't dare move a muscle. There had been something unnatural about the way it had moved, something… something awful.
After what felt like five minutes, he allowed himself to breathe. After what felt like five more, they began to move again.
They made it about six steps.
"WhO gOeS tHeRe?"
The voice came from the… thing. Harry froze like a mouse before the shadow of an eagle. He felt Susan shaking terribly; her breath came in terrified pants.
And then the thing unfurled.
One by one, its long, spear-like limbs popped away from its bulbous, horse-sized body until it was standing on eight horrible legs.
Harry felt his own legs quiver.
It was an Acromantula, exactly what he'd feared and, as its eight evil eyes swept across the clearing, Harry knew it wasn't a normal member of its species. Something had twisted it. Its limbs were all misshapen – lumpy and uneven, and streaked with strange patterns, while a black... substance leaked off its body like oil, vanishing before it hit the forest floor.
That drew his eyes downwards, and there he saw it. The Poglotki cube, a sharp square box small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Harry steadied himself, forcing his panicking mind to think. The cube, he knew, would dampen magic within a five yard radius – but it could be summoned from afar. But if he did that, he'd have the cube. And if he had the cube, he couldn't cast…
Dammit.
At least he didn't see any web; Acromantula webbing was what he feared most about giant spiders; it was, pound for pound, of the strongest materials known to Wizardkind. Now he was more worried about its eight luminescent eyes and its great claw pincers, large enough to crush him in a single bite.
Could he summon the cube and run? Surely his Cloak would fail the moment the cube neared? He eyed its long, disgusting legs, then its vast, drooping body. Just how fast was it?
The Acromantula clicked hungrily. "MoRnGtH… fEeLs You. MoRnGtH… kNoWs YoUr PrESeNcE. FaThEr tOlD mE oF yOuR kInD. hUmAn. MoRnGtH wIsHeS tO pLaY wItH a HuMaN, nO oNe tO pLaY wItH iN sO lOnG…"
Susan was shaking so terribly Harry feared she'd collapse. And then he knew it was over; and he somehow felt it happening before he heard it. Susan whimpered.
The thing that called itself Morngth snapped to them, and it chuckled. Actually chuckled.
"HiDdEn HuMaN."
The creature reared back in preparation.
Oh Merlin…
His decision made for him, Harry threw the Cloak off, stuffing it in his pocket as he shouted; "Protego!"
Ugly white venom splashed against the wobbling shield, hissing as it hit the ground. Protego was a poor barrier for physical projectiles; another hit and the shield would break.
Harry broke the spell himself, leaving himself face-to-face with… It. Morngth stared back, its strange, glowing eyes peering with alien understanding, a dull arachnid curiosity. Who knew what it was thinking behind those terrible eyes?
"PLaY!"
The creature staggered forward on its ill-formed legs, the earth rumbling in its wake.
Harry raised his wand. "Susan!" he shouted, never taking his eyes off the advancing threat, "summon the cube-thing and run!"
There was no time to be afraid now.
But he didn't hear Susan move. She was likely frozen in fear. "SUSAN! ACCIO THE CUBE AND GO!"
He heard her stutter something and took that as an affirmative while he cast; "Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!"
Three stunning spells would've been enough to knock out an elephant, but the red lights just bounced off the rampaging spider.
Morngth was getting closer. Harry heard Susan running, but knew that he'd never make it to the trees himself.
Then the cube whizzed by, sending an awful numbing sensation through him. Still, the sight gave him heart; he fished for the wood chippings in his pocket, threw them in the air, and said; "Trasmutans!"
The wood chippings, stubbornly, remained wood chippings. His spell had failed. Harry didn't even bother launching them.
Morngth's horrible, eager chittering was drawing closer. The creature's vast bulk was beginning to fill his vision as it scuttled across the clearing, growing larger and larger and larger with deathly rapidity…
This was it.
Harry raised his wand once more.
"Diffindo!" The cutting charm sailed toward the Acromantula's left leg… and splashed against it harmlessly.
He could see his own face reflected in its massive eyes now, and his own death in its clicking mandibles.
"Incendio!"
With a whoosh a torrent of fire bucked out of his wand, bathing everything within twenty feet in heat. But Harry did not release the spell; he forced it under his control, rekindling the flame, which he wielded like a Muggle flamethrower. The air smouldered, and grass charred. The world turned orange and red.
And the giant spider squealed, an awful sound like the shriek of a rusty hinge as flames lucked hungrily across its body. Harry poured all his will, all his anger, all his fury into the spell. He wanted to live. He would live. Damn the spider, damn Slytherin, and damn Greengrass for getting him into this mess!
Then the creature began to waver in its charge, and for a moment it looked like it would fall… but it simply kept coming. Burning, smoking, shrieking, its bulbous, hairy body yet propelled itself through the smouldering Incendio and straight at its source.
Harry didn't even have time to close his eyes…
And then a glass blur arched over his shoulder and hit the Acromantula right in the eyes. The bottle smashed on impact, turning the fire puce green for a flickering moment.
What?
Harry watched, stunned, as the creature staggered to his left – as if by instinct retreating from whatever concoction the bottle had contained. It roared and raged and cried, spitting out strange curses as it fled to the distant trees, crashing into several in its blind flight.
"Well!" he heard a familiar voice shout. "Don't just stand there!"
He turned, dazed, his heart raging, to see Daphne Greengrass looking at him like he was an utter fool.
She had – despite her indifference, despite her scheming, despite… everything – saved him.
Why?
FIND OUT IN THE NEXT CHAPTERS OF THE DUELLIST,
TITLED L.O.S.T
GLOSSARY:
The Great Chain of Being refers to a conception of the hierarchical structure of all life, which was developed through the Middle Ages.
A/N: That was explosive, wasn't it? This won't be the last time we hear of the enigmatic anti-magic cubes. After all, why does Greengrass want them so badly?
NEXT CHAPTER: Daphne Greengrass returns the favour, delving into Harry's family history…
PS. As usual, if you want to read ahead, or support me, here is a link to The Duellist's Discord: /mw2vyjM45m (it's copyable from the description of this story at the top of the page). Sorry it took so long to post this by the way; work and life in general has been busy.