Chapter 6

Harry glanced back over his shoulder while Ginny led him over the dance floor. Kingsley was gesturing animatedly with the Indian-like guy, nearly spilling his champagne in the process. Clearly he was none the wiser.

'Hi Harry!' Eddie Carmichael from Ravenclaw clapped his arm while heading for the drinks. 'Did you know that Rimbly Zanthus is here?'

'Yeah, Slughorn told me,' Harry said absently. He had to be absolutely certain before he went to Dumbledore, he mused. He thought he'd seen all the signs, but what if he were wrong? Harry straightened. He had a theory to test, and Snape would be his test subject.

'Oy!' He felt a punch on his arm.

'You haven't heard a thing I've been saying, have you?'

'What?' Harry turned to see Ginny's deep frown. 'Sorry Gin.' He smiled sheepishly. 'Have a lot on my mind.'

Ginny raised an eyebrow. 'Don't we all.' Coolly she turned her attention towards Zacharias, who was busy regaling everyone with the misadventures his dad and Slughorn had experienced in their time at Hogwarts.

Harry sighed inwardly. 'Ginny?'

'Yes Harry?'

'Would you like to dance?'

Ginny's frosted expression thawed a bit and she said: 'Well, alright.'

It might not be his favourite pastime, but sometimes, a gesture was needed. When the dance ended – a slow English Walsh which Harry barely remembered the paces to – he gave Ginny's hand a kiss, making her blush. He extricated himself and, staying clear of the ever present social niceties that threatened to bear down on him, he hunted for Hermione. He spotter her at a table with Zabini, who did not seem bothered by his Muggle-born companion. It was well known that Zabini shared Malfoy's prejudice against Muggle-borns. He looked bored actually, scanning the crowd and taking constant sips of his butterbeer.

'Potter,' Zabini nodded as Harry approached.

'Zabini,' Harry responded with a raised eyebrow. Hermione gave him a nudge. 'He was getting sick of Astoria tailing him,' she said by way of explanation.

Harry followed her gaze and saw a fourth or fifth year Slytherin girl with brown tresses reaching all the way to her middle. 'Ah'.

'So, Potter,' Zabini began, 'made any interesting new connections over there?'

Harry could feel his eyes narrow. 'Yes, interesting is a word for it.'

Zabini smiled coolly, undisturbed by Harry's attitude. 'Boring, isn't it? It's what we high-ranking purebloods have to go through all the time, shaking the dusty grownups' hands.'

Harry refrained from pointing out he had no such status. A waiter approached with sparkly red glasses which he offered to the table. Harry took one and sipped: an explosion of strawberry filled his senses, making him blink.

'Good, right?' Hermione said, taking a nip from her own red concoction. Harry could see the little strawberry seeds dancing in his glass, freshly pressed; he couldn't get used to the strong burn of alcohol, though.

'Yes, very. You know, I think I know her from somewhere,' Harry muttered while staring thoughtfully at the long-haired girl.

'She's Daphne's younger sister,' Zabini said, also switching to the red stuff. This time Harry could clearly hear a slur in his voice.

'Say Zabini, don't you need to find your buddy Malfoy?'

Zabini scowled. 'He's not my buddy.' He looked surprised at his own tone and amended: 'Well, I mean buddy, that's just so Gryffy.'

'So, where is he?' Harry asked impatiently. He hadn't forgotten about Malfoy's strange behaviour as of late. The blond had thoroughly ignored him. Since their encounter in the halls Harry hadn't gotten drawn with him for any duels or assignments – both Slughorn and Snape loved to pair them and observe the fireworks – probably because Malfoy always managed to sit at the opposite end of the classroom.

Zabini looked sober enough when he tilted his head in annoyance. 'You know he isn't a member of the Slug Club Potter.'

'Didn't stop him last time Slughorn gave a party.'

Zabini took to scanning the crowd again. 'Yeah, well I haven't seen him either, so… ' He looked at Harry suspiciously. 'What's with the obsession, Potter?'

'Just curious,' Harry said offhandedly. Zabini kept staring so perhaps that hadn't worked.

Harry waved his hand in nonchalance. 'Archenemies you know.'

'Didn't peg you for the gay type,' Zabini drawled.

'What?' Harry felt his cheeks grow warm. 'Why would you think that?' he asked, honestly bewildered.

Hermione giggled. Zabini's black eyes held fleeting confusion before they were blank once again. 'Something he said…' he murmured.

Harry put his drink down. 'What did he say?'

Zabini looked like he regretted speaking. 'Nothing Potter,' he said in a cool tone. 'Well, as much as I appreciate the inter-house loving, I have to be off.' Before Harry could get a word in, Zabini made his way through the dancing pairs. Harry tried to follow him to see whether Zabini had seen Malfoy in the hallway but Hermione grasped his dress robes.

'Don't. You know it won't end well if you're going after Malfoy again.' She raised her eyebrows to emphasize her point. Harry was reminded again of their all-out attack in front of Luna and ducked his head.

'Yeah you're probably right.' Harry grasped his glass tighter as another jolt of remembrance brought a burning to his stomach that had nothing to do with the effects of his drink.

888

April came around and brought with it milder weather. With the O.W.L. examinations next week the fifth years were holed up in the common room and the library, revising. The sixth years did not have end of year exams, but they were expected to turn in an in-depth literature study or experiment of their choosing for each of their upcoming N.E.W.T. subjects. Teamwork was allowed, although solo projects would be rewarded with relatively higher grades: unsurprisingly, Hermione worked alone.

Harry and Ron were becoming increasingly pessimistic about their chances of receiving a passing grade for Transfigurations. They had been working on a spell that transfigured objects inside-out and reversed the order of the layers of materials present in the object. Earlier in term the class had tried the spell out on bonbons and apples, which were respectively defined as two- and three-layered transfigurative objects. Harry had come up with the idea of turning a tree trunk inside out. Their working hypothesis was that although the trunk consisted of many layers, these layers were only different through time and not material, and so the only layers that the spell would detect were the xylem and phloem layer of the outer and inner wood. They therefore expected that the spell would only transfigure the bark layer inside-out and that it would not reverse the order of temporal layers of the wood itself.

That was the project in theory. In reality, the tree trunk in front of them had not changed one way or another since they had begun testing two lessons earlier. It didn't help that Ron was shooting not-so-subtle glances towards Hermione sitting on his left, and that Harry was deep in thought about the dark tidings of the heading article of the Prophet that morning: the Minister of Magic, Scrimgeour, had been killed in his office along with several high-placed politicians and assistants, who'd all been present for a meeting. There had been a shocked silence in the Great Hall after the owls had flown in and dropped the news.

But that wasn't all. A certain Mr. Moore had told the reporters that Mr. Potter was now 'needed more than ever as a model of hope and resistance against the dark', and that he should 'take his responsibility as their saviour seriously' and help in the fight against the Dark Lord. The Slytherins of course had a field day taunting him whenever possible, although Malfoy hadn't talked to him once. This bothered Harry somehow, although he didn't let it show. He got some raised eyebrows from the other Houses, but they mostly worried about an impending take-over of the Ministry, and kept their thoughts to themselves.

Harry for his part was bewildered by Moore's reminder of his 'duty'. He could only guess this was some kind of revenge for him inadvertently touching his Mark. He went cold at the thought that Voldemort must know of his little trick by now.

He was jolted from his musings by a voice coming from behind him:

'So Potter, what are you still doing here?' the person whispered. 'Aren't you supposed to save us all?'

Harry turned around and saw a grim-faced Zacharias. He had been working on an exotic-looking bird, but now had his hands under the table: Harry could guess where his wand was pointed at.

'You know what I think Potter?' Harry's heart rate increased at the sudden dark tone. 'I think that you're the reason that You-Know-Who killed my brother, is what I think.'

'What are you on about?' Harry tried to put calm in his voice.

'You've seen the Prophet article.'

'Yes.' Harry remembered hearing Zacharias proudly telling Ernie Macmillan about his brother's career at the Ministry, as assistant to some prominent figure.

'If you're supposed to vanquish the bastard, why haven't you done so already? I guess nobody important enough was murdered, huh?'

Harry felt a grimace take over his face.

'He killed my godfather!' he whispered back, loud enough for some heads to start turning their way.

'Yeah well, he kind of asked for it with going after Bellatrix. My brother didn't do anything, he was only-'

'He asked for it, did he?'

'Well the man did have you for family,' Zacharias sneered.

Harry's limbs were tingling strangely. His fingers grasped the narrow wooden handle of his wand. There was a loud buzzing in his ears, drowning out all other sound. A nasty hex from Snape's sessions was on his tongue and before he knew it, Zacharias yelped at the impact and twisted to protect his crotch. Zacharias' own curse was cancelled by the shield Harry quickly threw up.

'What in Merlin's name!' McGonagall was at Harry's table in a second. They stopped to look at her, Zacharias still twitching with the pain from the hex.

'Mr. Potter, cancel that at once!' and Harry did. Zacharias straightened, panting harshly.

'Detention for the both of you. And 50 points from Gryffindor for the use of such a spell.' Harry looked away from her stare. He wondered why anyone could still care about points now.

'Mr. Smith, do you need the hospital wing?'

'No ma'am,' Zacharias said, obviously still in pain.

'Suit yourself. Back to work everyone,' McGonagall glanced around in disapproval before heading to the front of the class.

Zacharias remained quite throughout class, but Harry could feel his gaze burning a hole in his back the whole time.

888

Harry was on the ground, gazing through a hallucinatory haze. The spell responsible was used by Aurors in the field to demoralize and confuse their opponents. Snape had helpfully supplied this information before subjecting him to it with clear relish.

Harry was a little bit more than confused at the moment, however: the jagged pieces of towering ceiling which were slowly coming down, would certainly squash him before he could reach the shadowy figure possessing his wand. As he burst into a sprint the creature raised its head and two glowing red eyes became visible. He screamed but his speed propelled him forward and both solid boy and otherworldly being toppled to the ground.

Harry fought to escape the shadow's weight, but the creature pushed his shoulders down, demonstrating huge black claws like dinosaur teeth. Harry was startled when the wraith touched it's forehead to his own. This close Harry could discern no nose or mouth from the floating black mass, but most shocking where the eyes consuming all of his vision. Millimetres away from Harry's own, they burned his pupils until he felt a wet slimy substance glide down his cheeks and he couldn't see anything, he was blind…

'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!'

The wraith was gone and he was on the ground, trampling thin air. He touched his face with shaking hands. He wasn't quite sure if he'd find empty sockets for eyeballs, no matter the evidence to the contrary. Relieved to find the two appendages still there he scrambled up as Snape strode towards him, the corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval.

So far, Harry hadn't managed to find an excuse to touch the man's robes, let alone slip a hand up his sleeve. Today's subject was neurological curses, so he couldn't realistically start a physical fight either. Unless…

'What about hand combat, sir. Will we be doing that at some point?' Harry asked flippantly as if continuing an interrupted conversation.

Snape's head tilted at the change of subject. 'No Potter, why do you ask?'

'Well,' Harry swept the cold sweat of moments before away from his forehead. 'If I lose my wand, I don't want to be completely helpless, right sir?'

'If you think a fist-fight is going to help you in such a situation, you are deluded Potter,' Snape said, bored.

Harry gritted his teeth. 'But you yourself have also fought the muggle way, when you were…younger,' Harry finished lamely as he saw Snape's features tighten.

'You will address me as sir, Potter. And do not mention your atrocious violation of my pensieve!' Snape hissed, taking a menacing step closer. Harry realised this wasn't going anywhere.

'If that was your worst memory sir, I would happily trade it for mine.' He almost couldn't believe his own daring. But what was at stake was more important than Snape's already hopeless opinion of him. 'At least you had two parents growing up, so excuse me for broaching that touchy subject-'

'Why, you…' Snape whispered, never a good thing. Snape raised a hand as if to hit him, or strangle him, but then he chuckled once and lowered it again. 'What are you playing at Potter? Itching for a fight, is that it? Man to man, hm?'

Harry fidgeted, hoping Snape would be irritated enough to humour him.

'Oh I know, it's those tedious teenage affairs. That Weasley girl dancing with McLaggen.'

Harry said nothing.

'More muscles I suppose,' Snape idly mused, eyes gleaming sadistically.

He later wondered about his own sense of self-preservation. As Snape turned to go Harry whacked him on the head with a fist, something he hadn't planned to have gone quite as well as it did. Snape's head bent and he lost his balance for a moment. Rage took over Snape's face as he spun back and swung an uppercut, but Harry had learned from his uncles worse moods and stepped to the side just in time. The Potion's Masters' next blow was so fast Harry only felt the impact. He bent over from the pain burning in his stomach. Snape tried to hit him again but Harry managed to block it, and the next one.

Snape withdrew then but Harry managed to twist one arm to the side and then to Snape's back, a move he'd seen Dudley use before with his gang. Snape tried to wrench away and Harry stumbled, off balance, before he was able to tighten his grasp. As he did so his hand snaked a few centimeters further up the trapped arm.

Snape went rigid at the same time that Harry was caught in a malevolent, icy magic. It spread from his hand through his whole body. It was a gut-clenching feeling, robbing him of breath. He used to think he had some idea of how capable a wizard Snape was, but here was magic that dwarfed his own. Though it did not consume him like Voldemort's, it was a formidable presence.

Knees wobbling, he carefully let go of Snape's arms and took a step back. And another. He became aware of his trembling fingers and wrapped his arms around himself tightly. He kept his head averted, afraid of what expression Snape was wearing now.

Suddenly his uniform pulled taught as he was bodily wrenched upwards by Snape's left fist. Snape's face up close held an unhealthy pallor, lips trembling with rage.

With a growl Snape threw him and he landed on his back, all oxygen wrung from his lungs. His stomach complained some more. He drew himself up with a shaky breath.

Snape said nothing as he observed Harry's struggle. Harry's eyes were drawn to Snape's wand hand, which was trembling wildly in a tight fist. Snape abruptly spun on his heel and walked, fast-paced, to the great wooden doors of the Room, which opened at his approach and closed behind him with a resounding boom.

888

Harry had managed the painful trek up to the 7th floor when Hermione met him halfway to the portrait hole.

'Harry!' she exclaimed upon his slow movements. She took in his state with a worried expression. 'You need the hospital wing.'

Harry shook his head and grimaced at the twings he felt everywhere it seemed. Hermione lend her arm for support as Harry stirred them back towards the portrait hole. 'Just another session with Snape,' he said, and a hoarse laugh escaped him.

'Still Harry, I think you should-' but Harry held up a hand to stall her anxious babbling. 'Leave it Hermione.'

They silently made their way through the common room and up the boys dormitories, with Harry trying to not be obvious about needing her help. He sank slowly onto his bed as Hermione fidgeted nearby.

'I think you should tell Dumbledore,' Hermione went on.

'Why is everyone always going on about Dumbledore?' Harry growled, but he was more annoyed with himself for not thinking things through.

Hermione looked hurt at his outburst. He sighed and rubbed his hair back viciously. 'Sorry Hermione, it's been a long evening and I'm taking it out on you. I just need some rest, please.' Hermione appeared to understand as she quietly closed the door behind her. Throwing off his shoes he burrowed under the covers, hoping to settle in for a long sleep and determined to think of nothing at all.

888

The following morning at breakfast he still felt twinges in his back and stomach. As Ginny took a seat beside him she said to him: 'Dumbledore said to tell you he wants to see you after breakfast, at your convenience.'

Ron gave him a suspiciously soft punch. 'So you can skip the Growling Gispigus this morning! Lucky you mate.' He said this with an exaggerated shudder at the prospect of their next Herbology class. Hermione had probably informed him of last night, although he hadn't mentioned anything.

As everyone took their leave to their respective classes Harry walked up to the Headmaster's tower. He started rambling of sweets to the gargoyle, and was let in on Lemon Drops (someone really ought to tell Dumbledore to change his system of passwords). As Harry took the offered seat Dumbledore regarded him with a light frown. Luckily Snape was nowhere to be seen. Harry then saw the sword of Gryffindor resting in marvellous splendour on the Headmaster's desk, which took his thoughts back to the end of second year.

'Harry,' Dumbledore began, sounding tired. 'You know why you are here?'

Harry nodded, still staring at the gem-encrusted sword.

'How did you discover this effect you have on Voldemort's followers?'

Harry proceeded to explain about the events at the Equinox Ball and his mission t to prove his suspicion by touching Snape's mark. He decided to leave out Snape's reaction to his impudence for now, feeling uncomfortable mentioning it.

'We are aware that Mr. Moore is a Death Eater, Harry,' Dumbledore answered his question. Harry sat back in surprise. He hadn't thought of the possibility that the Order knew there was a spy in the Auror division. 'Oh,' he breathed.

'I understand how strenuous these training sessions are. The years of animosity between you can't be shrugged of easily,' Dumbledore said in earnest sympathy, 'but it is important that you understand that you cannot, should not, instigate a fight with a Professor, whatever your feelings towards him. Professor Snape is a teacher at this school, and he should be respected for that.'

Dumbledore shook his head. 'Now is the time to grasp firm our alliances, not alienate them, Harry. They are our most important advantage over Voldemort.'

Harry gritted his teeth. 'He started this, back in first year, when he didn't even know me.' He then grimaced at how childish he sounded.

'Nevertheless, this does not excuse your behaviour. I ask that you apologize to Professor Snape for your actions, Harry.'

And what about Snape? Harry thought. He put on a properly chastised expression and murmured: 'I understand, Professor.'

'Furthermore,' Dumbledore went on, 'I want you to give me your word that you are not going to attempt to activate a Dark Mark again. Voldemort may have already caught on to this connection. If he does, he will find a way to use it to his advantage.'

'Professor, how does the Dark Mark work?'

Professor Dumbledore studied him a moment. Harry thought perhaps he'd been too forward and hastened to explain: 'I mean, if I accidentally brush against a Death Eater in a fight, I need to know what is happening, right?'

Dumbledore seemed to agree with this, as he answered: 'The Dark Marks are a network of interconnected mind-links, forged through a powerful neurological curse. As the creator of this curse, Voldemort commands the network. He is the spider at the centre of the web, as it were. All links tie back to him under conditions of his choosing. As you know, his touch causes the Mark's to burn and summons his minions to him. It also allows them to pass any magical wards he has put in place. His minions however, can only use the system in order to contact him, if he wishes it.

'In the past, the spells on which the curse is based were used by witch and wizard covens, located far away from the magical communities. The coven network could be used to warn all within of impending danger, for example. It also symbolised the loyalty to the coven. All members of the network held equal rights; all users were 'servants' as well as commanders of it. Voldemort has come across this old magic in his travels, and has warped it into a terrible new form.'

'So… somehow I've been tapping into this network, because of my connection to him?'

'Yes. And as with all things with regards to your scar, I am not sure how this came about. It may simply be an already existing part of your connection, that you were as of yet unaware of.'

Harry nodded: he had gathered as much himself. It was daunting how little even Dumbledore knew about the nature of Harry's connection to his most feared enemy.

'Well then.' Dumbledore brought his hands together in renewed spirits. 'On to the next issue of concern, which I wanted to discuss in our session this week, but why wait for time to pass. As you can see, I have brought the Sword of Gryffindor out of its retirement, as it were. It plays an important role in our effort to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes. Can you guess what this role is?'

'To destroy them, sir?'

'Correct,' Dumbledore nodded. 'I have come to realise ever since you pulled the sword out of the hat, that it has the ability to absorb into it only that which makes it stronger.' Dumbledore waited for Harry to catch on.

'The basilisk poison! It can destroy Horcruxes,' Harry exclaimed, sitting upright with renewed energy. Dumbledore smiled at his enthusiasm. 'Indeed, indeed. So here we have the perfect weapon to take with us on our quest. I want you to have it Harry. I want you to train with it, get a feel for its balance and strength.'

Harry blinked in surprise. 'You mean, practice sword fighting?' He did not like to think how his next training was going to go when Snape was allowed to attack him with a sword.

Dumbledore gave a nod and explained: 'You see Harry, in no circumstances must this weapon fall into the wrong hands. Although Voldemort will not guess as to its actual worth, it is still best that you carry it with you at all times.'

'It seems a bit large to carry with me all the time,' Harry remarked.

Dumbledore chuckled. 'Its size will be reduced by a spell. It is a very complicated one, considering I had to manoeuvre through the Goblin magic in which the sword is saturated. Only recently I managed it, through a connection of mine, which is why I could not give it to you earlier.'

Harry nodded, pleased that the Headmaster was not holding out on any information this year.

'Here we go,' Dumbledore stood and positioned both hands over the sword. He weaved his wand into intricate loops, murmuring strings of Latin. Sure enough, the sword started shrinking until it was the size of a sickle.

'If you agree Harry, I have taken the liberty of making a special pouch for you. I have placed some wards on it, protective ones which I also use myself.' The Headmaster's gnarled hands put into his a small arrow-shaped black leather pouch on a metal string. In it, he placed the tiny sword. The pouch remained as flat as if it were empty, about two inches in size.

'Now in order to use it, you only need to pull it out and it will grow to normal size. If you touch the pouch again with the sword it will shrink back. Only you can use the sword, Harry.'

'Thank you sir,' Harry said, awed by this cool gift.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed with mirth. 'You're welcome my boy. Now off to the next class you go, or I will be in for a stern lecture from Professor Flitwick.'

888

Transfigurations continued to be as challenging as ever. He and Ron had now managed to make some of the bark on the trunk disappear. Although they didn't know whether it had actually gone into the trunk or just vanished, Professor McGonagall took it as a good sign of their progress, which she told Ron in a reassuring tone. Whenever she needed to address Harry she did so with a cool edge to her voice, not having forgotten Harry's pain-inducing hex on Zacharius.

The rumour of their fight had gone through the school in no time at all. Harry knew that if he'd been in his right mind, he would never have used something so obviously harmful: a skin rash would have been just as satisfying. As it was, he had seen Zacharius along with Ernie Macmillan throwing hateful glares his way. This disturbed Harry: Ernie always greeted him warmly since last year's D.A. meetings.

After enduring their passive-aggressive regard in Transfigurations, Harry felt famished as he sat down with Ron, Hermione and Ginny for the evening meal. He'd just reached for a plate of green beans when the big doors of the hall slammed into the walls with two resounding bangs and his hand froze in midway.

Everyone fell into a fearful silence as black-robed figures, their wands aimed, spread out towards the walls and proceeded to walk along the length of the hall. So many of them came through the doors, that they encompassed the four House tables as well as the high table in mere moments.

Harry stood with his wand ready. Death Eaters regarded them from all sides and many teachers had risen from their seats. Hermione gave a vicious tug on his robe, which surprised him into sitting back down again.

A quick glance showed him that all Gryffindors had their wands out at least, although they seemed frozen in shock. Then his sight narrowed as a red-hot bolt of iron wedged itself into his forehead - at least, that was how it felt like. He forced his hands to hold still and not touch the inflamed skin – they'd surely be watching for that. A low moan escaped him nevertheless. He heard Hermione next to him whisper a notice-me-not charm.

The soft click-clack of boots sounded loud in the vast silence of the great hall. Harry looked up and was witness to a horrible sight: Voldemort strode leisurely along the tables towards the teachers. His narrowed red eyes slid down the rows of terrified students for a moment, then he focused his attention on the figure moving in front of the teacher's table. Professor Dumbledore regarded Voldemort calmly, as if his arrival was no more than expected. Harry could feel Voldemort's revulsion as a different, duller pain through their connection.

'Tom,' Dumbledore said. Harry couldn't make out Voldemort's expression as his back was to Harry. The painful grip on Harry's scar tightened however, and his eyes watered.

Voldemort took on a dueling stance and spoke: 'Time for old relics to step aside, Dumbledore.'

A/N: I changed one scene and Harry's thoughts after: Snape now reacts differently to Harry's daring test of the Mark.