The Article Chapter 10, a harry potter fanfic

Part 10

The new year brought increasingly heavy snow to the castle, the peaceful and rather pretty scenery a stark contrast to the unease Harry lived with as each day passed with more news of, as the Daily Prophet put it, 'internal restructuring' happening in the ministry. He wasn't sure if the public could sense the depth of danger they were in, despite the Order's best efforts to denounce the shadowy figures sliding into positions of power throughout the Wizengamot. It was difficult. None of these people so far had any direct connections to the Death Eater circle or the Dark Lord's cause, many came from seemingly reputable families and showed no outright signs of magical interference. But, as Dumbledore gravely informed him the evening before, there were more ways to compel people than magic, and the hard-line, more exclusive agenda that these new characters were subtly pushing certainly spoke to anti-muggle sentiments that would perfectly lay the groundwork for Voldemort's political designs.

It felt wrong to continue to attend lessons and go about a banal schedule amidst the turning tides of power, but there was little choice in the matter. Anywhere outside of Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place posed a higher risk than ever now that Voldemort's reach had crept into the government. Harry was sure that even the castle would be off limits if it weren't for Dumbledore. He hadn't said as much but he had noticed that the headmaster was a steadfast presence these days, visible at more meals, in the corridors, strolling through the grounds – ever-watchful over the students, and undoubtedly Harry himself. In line with this, they had agreed on weekly meetings, every Thursday evening after dinner, to start that very week, and whilst Dumbledore had been reserved in mentioning what they would discuss, Harry hoped it would ease his restlessness.

Mercifully, his time with Dumbledore rolled around quickly and Harry found himself stepping into the headmaster's intricate office just after 7pm on Thursday evening, the man seated at his desk, half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose as he looked up from a thick roll of parchment.

"Ah, good evening, Harry. I trust you had enough time to attend dinner this evening?"

"Eh, yes sir?"

"Good, good. We have a lot to discuss so I fear we shall be here a while."

Despite Harry's confirmation of having eaten, the wave of an aged hand summoned a plate of biscuits and steaming cups of tea to the desk between them.

"Please have a seat."

Stepping over to the desk, Harry slid into the nearest chair, picking up one of the teacups and taking a small sip, the hot liquid, slightly sweet, warming him as it hit his stomach.

"First of all, I have nothing new to inform you of regarding Voldemort's activities. Tom is keeping a low profile amidst his movements within the ministry. However, I am conscious this will not continue, so in the interim I have been taking more time to study Tom's past and gather together further detail on the subject of his horcruxes."

Harry swallowed hard following the end of that sentence. It had been a while since the issue of horcruxes had been openly discussed.

"So, you have been researching them sir?"

Dumbledore bowed his head. "I have. An unpleasant thesis, I assure you. But a necessary one."

"And what have you found, professor? I mean… I know I was one? Or had one in me? But the others, you said, back in Grimmauld Place, that they could be anything. I know there was the diary, but outside of that?"

"Hmm, yes, they could be anything. But I doubt Lord Voldemort would pick just anything to house pieces of his soul. I daresay he will have chosen much more precious and specific items. The diary might have been ordinary in of itself, but it was a treasured item to him, at one point in his life at least, so perhaps the others are treasures too – not only to him, but in the eyes of others."

Harry's head swam with the possibilities.

"What did Tom Riddle, the boy you met in the Chamber of Secrets, value?"

Letting out a low breath, Harry summoned the picture-perfect boy to the forefront of his mind. His neatly combed hair, ironed robes and polished shoes stood out, as did his cruel smile and mocking laughter. But what did he treasure?

"His magic? Hogwarts itself?"

Dumbledore levelled a smile at him. "Precisely those things. Tom Riddle was a boy whose brilliance shone in his innate magical ability and his many talents. Hogwarts was where those talents were nurtured, and where he could distinguish himself as special, away from the muggle world and everything he deemed beneath him."

Harry frowned. "So, he might have picked Horcruxes associated with Hogwarts? But again, those could be anything, couldn't they?"

Hermione's past monologues of 'Hogwarts: A History' echoed in Harry's head, the endless secrets held in these walls and the sheer length of time the walls had stood surely made the search extensive, if not impossible, no?

"Again, technically yes. But Tom's preference for prizes might betray some of his secrets. I think that his childhood tendency to collect items of value might betray his thinking when it came to creating his horcruxes. And it's exactly those behaviours which I want us both to study this evening."

Harry's eyebrows were high on his forehead. "How? I mean, I only remember him as he was in the diary."

Dumbledore smiled again. "It is very fortunate that I am so very old, Harry, for I remember a great deal. In fact, I met Tom even before he stepped foot in Hogwarts. And it's the memory of that very day that you and I will start with."

Whilst Harry couldn't say he was enjoying the foray into Voldemort's life that Dumbledore provided, it did at least feel like he was doing something. Whilst it was a disturbing storyline, the idea that horcruxes were tangible items was starting to take root in his head. Before, it had all seemed so abstract. But now, it was ever-clearer that these were very real things in the world, things that could be destroyed. The devastating part was trying to identify and find them. Dumbledore had assured him that he was close to sourcing one, but little more had been said on the subject and he felt the headmaster did not wish to openly discuss it. What they did openly conclude, however, was that of the Hogwarts founders being likely targets of Voldemort's prize-driven horcrux selection. The only issue was, what would he have been able to find belonging to them? Godric Gryffindor's sword was an obvious one, but Dumbledore confirmed that there was no dark magic imbued in it and Voldemort wouldn't likely have been able to access it in the first place.

Regardless, Harry had plenty of time to think it through as by the time February rolled around and the snow was receding, Dumbledore informed him that he would be away for just under a week, having found a further lead on the potential horcrux. Harry had wanted to go with him, but the headmaster had insisted that this was only the early stages of the trail, a trail that might go cold soon enough, and that Harry was best to stay put.

So, he continued to attend lessons and make half-hearted attempts at homework, the shoddy research and lacking length of his latest essay earning him a rather exasperated look from Hermione as he scrawled a half-baked conclusion on the bottom at breakfast that Friday.

"Harry, I really think-" she started.

"Leave 'im alone, 'Mione," Ron muttered, mouth full of scrambled egg.

"I'm only trying to help! You know Professor Snape won't accept less than two feet."

"I appreciate the thought, Hermione," Harry offered as he filled the nearest goblet with pumpkin juice and took a hearty gulp, willing the cold juice to wake him up. It was sweeter than normal though and did nothing to dispel the tiredness, only leaving an unpleasant sugary taste on his tongue.

"I just couldn't focus last night. It'll have to do."

She looked torn then, staring at the rolled piece of parchment with unnecessary urgency. "Give it here!" she whispered, eyeing the head table as if a teacher was about to swoop down and eat her. Which was a fair concern considering Snape was present this morning, however he seemed to be distracted by a quiet conversation with McGonagall, who sat to his left. The Transfiguration teacher did not looked pleased, whatever it was that they were discussing.

"Really Hermione, there's no nee-" Harry started, but she leaned over and swiped it off the table, unravelling it and reading at a feverish pace.

"Grab your quill, I have loads of points I didn't even get to include in mine. We might as well make use of the research and at least it might keep Professor Snape's temper at bay today."

Ron suddenly looked thoughtful, glancing up at the man in question for a half-second. "He did look like he was going to murder everyone in the classroom last week over that Boggart essay. Greasy git is never happy, can't believe we have him first thing."

Harry really wasn't bothered about the essay or stoking Snape's ire (what else was new) but seeing his friend's focus and the intense line of her brow, he couldn't find it in himself to protest, giving her a fond smile that she returned immediately.

"Ok, thanks."

By the time the trio sat in Defence Against the Darks Harry had a much healthier essay tucked away in his bag, a full three feet long, even with his small handwriting. And perhaps it was for the best, as Snape was in as foul a mood as ever, a wave of his wand summoning their homework to his desk.

"You are all to spend the next thirty minutes silently reviewing the designated chapter on blood-based curses whilst I grade your latest efforts. We will then break into a practical session on counter-curses, and I want to see that you understand the logic behind the intended curse. Do not just parrot back the counter without intent! Begin."

Sighing under his breath, Harry opened his book, flicking through the designated chapter with mild interest before landing on the first page to read it thoroughly. Hermione was already on the second page by the time he started reading, but he would bet anything she knew it all off by heart anyway. Resigned, he delved in, the sound of shifting parchment filling the room for the ten minutes that followed.

Surprisingly absorbed in the history of blood magic, Harry was a little slow to realise that the room was beginning to grow hot, sweat accumulating on his brow. Blinking into awareness, he looked up and around, eyes meeting the empty grate of the large fireplace with confusion. No flames, so where was the heat coming from?

Strangely enough, no one else seemed to notice or be bothered by the rising temperature. His classmates, best friends included, were all staring down at their books (whether reading or pretending to), unmoved. Harry frowned, raising a hand to his brow. But as soon as the pads of his fingers made contact with the damp skin there, a sharp, tingling pain danced across his forehead and through his fingertips and he winced.

"You alright, mate?" came Ron's hushed whisper beside him.

Harry nodded, mouthing back that he was fine. But when the redhead's concerned face finally turned away, he swallowed hard, lightly touching his forehead again and hiding a flinch at the same run of pain that occurred.

Was it his scar? No, it couldn't be. And besides, the tingles were in his fingers too.

Confused and growing hotter still, Harry sat up and pushed the sleeve of his robes up, hoping to cool his body by exposing his forearms. What he didn't expect was the same pins-and-needles-like pain to run up his arm as he pushed the fabric across it, causing his body to shudder and cringe against the feeling, a feverish sensation flushing across his face.

Wishing he had some water, Harry leaned back gently in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment, breathing steadily through his nose in an attempt to curb the soft nausea that was building in his stomach.

After a long moment, feeling it had eased and when the tingles had paused, he opened his eyes. Was it gone?

But then, with a suddenness and intensity that had him biting back a yell, a burst of pain shot through his abdomen. He doubled over on instinct, body attempting to interrupt the agony, flinging his chair back from the desk and shoving his head into his knees.

"Harry?!" Hermione's concern was overruled by another voice, particularly loud in his ears.

"Potter, what are y-"

"Hurts," he bit out, gnashing his teeth together as his body bent further, twisting uncomfortably as searing pain sliced its way through his stomach and up through his chest.

"What exactly is hurting, Potter? Answer me now!"

But Harry didn't have an answer, because right then pain exploded somewhere in his ribcage and he fell forward with the shock, a singular violent cough spewing blood from between his lips onto the stone floor in speckled patterns.

There were screams from somewhere nearby, but Harry kept his eyes scrunched tight. He could feel the cold ground beneath him, but it gave no relief, head now swimming and dizzy with more than just intense heat.

There was a scuffle and some shouting, but immediately Harry felt fingers tugging at his bloodied lips, prying them open. He instinctively tried to shrink away but to no avail, whoever it was seemed determined, and the fight was leaving him as his body uncurled, growing weaker as the pain dulled but unrelented. He only realised a vial of something was at his lips when an ice-cold liquid found its way down his throat with an almost burning sensation in the face of the flaming heat of Harry's core temperature.

He choked slightly, expelling some of it, but enough must have made its way down for soon the cold started to seep into him, overtaking the unbearable burn with a soothing wave, working outwards from his stomach to his chest and legs, numbing the pain and dispelling the biting pins and needles.

"Potter! Look at me."

Dragging his lids open, a shadow loomed above. His glasses must have come off, as he wasn't sure what he was looking at, but there was a sharp breath from above him.

"Can you hear me, Potter?"

Yes, he wanted to say, but found his tongue heavy, a cloying sweetness now discernible in his mouth. He settled for a half nod, which took effort but seemed to appease the person above him, as their questions ceased and silence reigned, paving the way for his vision to darken as he fell out of consciousness.

Poison.

Someone nearby had said it, for the word sat at the forefront of Harry's mind as he awoke, groggy and confused, but assured by the medicinal scent of the hospital wing around him.

Electing to keep his eyes closed as he took slow breaths, he was aware of low conversation somewhere ahead, the words initially unclear but he soon identified Madame Pomfrey's voice amongst them, her fury very obvious.

"At school, someone poisoned the boy at school! Under our very noses. Dumbledore cannot expect-"

"I know Poppy, I am as alarmed as you are, believe me." That was McGonagall, her tone tight. "Potter has been through enough, but for this to happen, here where he should be safe. Thank Merlin for Severus."

A weary sigh. "Yes, he was quick. As always. I dread to think what would-"

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to hear the rest of that sentence, so he blinked his eyes open, dragging himself into a half-seated position which only served to make his body ache and caused Madam Pomfrey to swoop down on him with kind admonishment.

"Easy Mr Potter, no getting up just yet. Lie back down, there you go."

Manoeuvred back into his soft pillows, Harry felt his glasses being pushed into his hand and he gratefully slid them on, the world coming into view with sharp, almost headache-inducing clarity. Instead of the open ward, he found himself in the private room off the matron's office, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey flanking his centred bed.

"What happened?" he asked, swallowing to relax his rather stiff throat.

There was a moment's pause, McGonagall looking rather torn. But she didn't get a chance to respond, for a fourth voice sounded from the doorway.

"Someone tried to kill you, Potter. That's what happened."

"Severus!" McGonagall rebuked.

Snape's billowing robes crawled across the doorframe as he swept toward the occupied bed. He didn't seem concerned by his colleague's outrage, but there was a very serious line to his mouth as he stared down at Harry.

If he was to side-step the horror of that statement, Harry found himself grateful for the frankness.

"Poison?" he questioned, echoing the word his subconscious had clutched at upon awakening.

Snape inclined his head, his gaze sharpening as he considered Harry's leap to the correct conclusion.

With the confirmation, Harry let out a low breath, slumping slightly. Someone had tried to poison him, at school.

He wasn't sure how to feel, it wasn't a surprise that there was a target on his back, even here. But there was a betrayal of sorts that stung, knowing that a student – even the most Death Eater-driven kind – had cowardly put poison in his food or drink, content for him to keel over and die just like that, with no way of defending himself.

A shiver crept through him then, but he chased it away. His tolerance for trauma was starting to worry even himself.

Wracking his brains, he thought back to what he had eaten that day. His breakfast of scrambled eggs had tasted normal enough…

"Wait! Did anyone else get poisoned?" Panic surged through him, thinking of the shared platter from which he and Ron had filled their plates.

"Relax, Potter," McGonagall said, not unkindly. "No one else has been harmed."

"But the only thing I ate was-" he paused, the ghost of something unpleasant staining his palette. The awful sweetness he had tasted on his tongue whist on the floor of the Defence classroom was reminiscent of an equally, unusually sweet goblet of pumpkin juice – which he had taken a hearty sip from toward the end of breakfast.

"It was in my pumpkin juice," he whispered, to himself, but loud enough for all to hear.

"How do you know that?" Snape asked sharply.

"Er, it was overly sweet. I thought it was just made with too much sugar or something. But the sweetness came back to me when I started to feel sick."

The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor nodded slightly, a jerky movement of the head. "Surprisingly observant for you, Potter."

"Severus, really?"

Snape ignored the matron. "You ingested a venom-based poison, one blended with copious amounts of honey to disguise the bitter base."

"Venom?" Harry breathed, his mind flashing back to the Chamber of Secrets for an unpleasant moment. "Like, from a snake?"

Snape sneered then. "Not necessarily, venom can come from a variety of creatures. But potentially. I would need more information on the effects you felt than I could glean at the time or discern from the traces left in your blood. There are many venoms and poisons that bring on overheating, internal pain and bleeding."

'Glean at the time'.

With a start Harry realised that Snape has been the one who saved him. Of course, he had collapsed in his lesson after all, and who else would be confidently shoving potions down his throat two seconds later.

An uncomfortable flush crept across his face under the man's scrutiny, oddly embarrassed that someone who disliked him so had once more saved his life.

"Er, thanks Professor. For, you know."

The sneering expression vanished at the gratitude, leaving behind a flat and unimpressed look before Snape moved aside to allow Madam Pomfrey through to check Harry's vitals.

"Harry, oh my god. You're ok!"

Hermione rushed into the room, descending on him and pulling him into a careful hug, her wild hair obscuring his vision for a moment.

"We were so worried," she cried, clutching him a little tighter. "Weren't we Ron?"

The seriousness of what had happened was summed up in Ron's pale and drawn face as he came forward and grabbed desperately at Harry's hand, clutching it between two of his own, squeezing, as if trying to assure himself that the thump under his palms and steady warmth was very real.

"I'm sorry for scaring you. Again…" Harry said guiltily as she pulled away and took a good long look at him.

"Don't be silly, we're just so happy you're ok."

"Yeah mate. You even had Snape freaking out," Ron admitted, tone serious growing very quiet on his next words. "Poison though, really?

Harry nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, it was probably the pumpkin juice. It's lucky no one else was hurt."

Hermione's small gasp was loud in the quiet. "At breakfast?" she whispered.

"We think so. But it must have just laced the cup I was using. There was no trace of anything in the jugs apparently. They're just not sure who would have had the opportunity to do it."

"Bloody hell, Harry. Maybe one of the house elves was imperio'd or confounded to do it? I mean, no one else gets near the cups and things, at least not when no one is watching."

He nodded at Ron. "Yeah they're looking into that too."

Hermione was biting her lip now, anxiety written in her eyes. "But, what now? If someone managed to do this at school…"

"Then Hogwarts isn't safe, not that it ever was I suppose. But it definitely isn't now."

This is what was killing Harry the most. Yes, an attempt on his life was terrifying, yes, the pain had been bad, but what haunted him the most was what this meant going forward. He had elected to be a ward of the school, but was that possible now, considering attempted murder had happened so easily? Whoever had tried could try again, and this time in a not-so-subtle way as poison.

He instinctively knew that this wasn't done on Voldemort's orders. Something about it didn't feel like him. It was too impersonal. Yes, he wanted him dead at all costs now, but Harry knew that he still wanted to be the one to do it.

Poison didn't fit. But he could easily see this being the actions of someone desperate to win favour, though they certainly wouldn't get the reward they expected from their desired master.

Regardless of intent, did this mean he would have to leave? And stay away indefinitely? He didn't want to end up like Malfoy, cut off from the world and tucked away in a safe house. That had been Sirius' fate too, until he had died. The very idea of being trapped there until either the war forced him out of hiding or Voldemort broke through the wards was a stomach-turning one.

How much more could the monster take from him, even indirectly?

Yet the alternative, if allowed, was to stay at Hogwarts and be on his guard at all times. Even at the best of times he had his defences up, but this would be a new level of caution that he wasn't confident in maintaining. And it had the nasty side-effect of impacting his friends and his classmates. Who was to say that this person wouldn't accidentally, or purposefully, hurt someone near him.

That goblet, though carefully placed in front of him, could easily have ended up in other hands. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Seamus… anyone at that table.

And maybe they wouldn't have been in Snape's classroom at the right moment. What if he himself had decided to skip class, or had gone to the bathroom when he started to feel unwell, and simply died because no one could reach him in time?

His lack of options stood out to him in sharp relief, as did his vulnerability.

His life at the Dursleys (thankfully) was over, but his existence at Hogwarts, the heart of the wizarding world and his natural retreat when in danger, was now threatened.

Glancing between his best friends, he wondered would he have to leave them.

Recovering from a poisoning of this kind was surprisingly ok in Harry's opinion. A steady flow of potions in various colours, ranging from electric blue to murky green, were passed to him every few hours, but there was little-to-no-pain as his stomach was healed and his blood neutralised. Rest, Madam Pomfrey assured him, was essential and he mostly stayed in bed, tiredness descending on him early in the evening.

He hadn't failed to notice that the matron had taken up an almost permanent post outside his door, only going as far as her office when required. But when he woke later that night, startled by something unknown and grabbing his glasses immediately, he found at last that Madam Pomfrey had finally retired to bed, but not before Dumbledore had seen fit to take a seat by his bedside.

Blinking owlishly, he knew the hour to be late judging from the soft lighting both in his room and coming from the hospital wing beyond.

"Professor?" he questioned. He hadn't expected the man back so soon, even with the extenuating circumstances.

"Good evening, Harry, I apologise for disturbing your sleep, but I came as soon as I could."

"You didn't need to do that, sir."

Dumbledore gave him a knowing look, the corners of his eyes crinkled with tiredness and something a little sad.

"On the contrary, you were attacked in your home whilst I was absent. Forgive me for desiring to assuage a little of my guilt by seeing you in person to ensure you were alright."

Harry pulled himself up in the bed, resting his back against the high pillows. He sensed a serious conversation incoming.

"It's not your fault," he assured the headmaster. "Even if you were here, it would have happened. And I'm ok now."

Dumbledore did not argue, simply dipping his head in agreement.

"Be that as it may, I am very sorry that you have had to endure yet another hardship."

A slightly uncomfortable silence descended then, leading Harry to look around awkwardly. He took in Dumbledore's deep maroon robes, a little less bright than the colours he usually favoured, looking nearly black in the darkness. As his gaze travelled down one of the embroidered sleeves, his mouth fell open, and a harsh gasp tore from his lips.

"Sir, your hand!"

Visible just under the long cuff, the top of the headmaster's worn knuckles and the extending fingers betrayed bruised and burnt skin, almost purple in appearance. It looked excruciatingly painful.

"Ah," Dumbledore exhaled softly, lifting up the injured appendage slightly and considering it carefully.

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice so soon."

Notice? How could he not. The hand looked half dead.

"What happened, sir?"

Dumbledore regarded him carefully, as if weighing up his options, quiet for at least a minute before he spoke.

"As we discussed previously, I was following the trail of one of the items we discussed. A successful path indeed, but a perilous one. And unfortunately, I was not careful enough in proceeding."

Harry's head raced to catch up. "So, you found one?" he gasped. "But it did that to you?"

A noncommittal 'hmm' left the headmaster's lips as he tucked the hand away under a length of fabric.

"Can you fix it?"

Dumbledore smiled then, a kind and wonderful thing.

"I hear tell that you have been poisoned and return to see you only for you to address my own wellbeing. You truly are a kind young man, Harry. It's a quality not nearly prized as much in people as it should be."

Harry didn't know what to say. "Thank you, sir, but you didn't answer my question."

An amused eyebrow lifted above half-moon spectacles. "No, I didn't, did I?"

However, this deflect of humour only served to fuel the desire in Harry to get an answer. "Is everything ok professor? Really?"

The eyebrow fell and seriousness reigned once more.

"Ah, the curse upon my hand is proving difficult Harry. Tom's magic certainly has potency, but Professor Snape and I are looking into it."

That did not sound good. Snape had saved Harry with one potion just yesterday. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive. If together they couldn't immediately do something to help, it was very serious. His dismay must have shown on his face, for the headmaster held up his uninjured hand in a calming gesture.

"Please do not concern yourself with this for the moment, Harry. Severus and I will delve deeply into the magic over the coming days. My main concern right now is you."

"I'm fine, sir. I am. Madam Pomfrey said I'll be ok to leave the hospital in two days. No lasting damage." 'Unlike you,' he wanted to say.

"Injury doesn't only concern the body," Dumbledore added seriously. "Hogwarts was supposed to be a place of safety for you. Particularly after the events of a few months ago."

Harry didn't respond. He didn't have to.

"Alas, the times we live in prove ever more difficult. Which is why we must hold close that which is important and never forget what we strive for."

Harry nodded glumly, feeling the strain of that sentiment.

"I should let you return to sleep, my boy. Apologies for disturbing you, I should have waited until morning."

Harry shook his head. "I'm glad you came."

He was graced with a slight twinkle in blue eyes.

"Thank you for indulging me, and for your concern. Rest up and well, you are protected in here."

The older wizard stood gracefully, gathering the heavy folds of his dark cloak, and made his way to the door, but before he could disappear through it, Harry sat up straighter.

"Professor?"

The elderly wizard turned back to face him, the age and exhaustion in his face pronounced by the shadows of the doorway.

"Your hand, the poison, the ministry. Everything is coming out into the open now, even if it's not all directly linked. I don't think I can pretend that things are normal and just go through day-to-day stuff anymore, it was enough of a struggle after… what happened. We need to do something soon. I know the Order is doing all it can, but me… I need to do something other than wait."

He paused, considering his words carefully.

"Otherwise, if I don't find a way to fight back, for myself, I'm not sure how I'll survive for much longer."