INTERVAL 11:

SUFFOCATING

It was during their first weekend that Alma finally got around to meeting Fred and George Weasley properly. She brought Harry along, because when she arranged the meeting, she noted something in their thoughts that was interesting.

Why? Well, during her investigation of Peter Pettigrew's mind, she noted that there were pseudonyms used for his comrades, known collectively as the Marauders. The Marauders were a quartet of pranksters who had terrorised Hogwarts. Sadly, two of them, namely Harry's father and Sirius Black, were unrepentant bullies towards any Slytherins, regardless of whether they were actually related to Death Eaters, with one of the few exceptions being Sirius' cousin Andromeda, due to her marrying a Muggleborn. And when she met up with the Weasley twins again, she heard their thoughts, albeit dimly (they must have practised some small amount of Occlumency), about a Marauders' Map.

They met in a disused classroom near the library, on the Weasley twins' suggestion. "You're the talk of the school, you know," Fred said.

"Alma Wade, the dark-looking girl who got into Hufflepuff," George said.

"And is Harry Potter's friend," Fred added.

"Anyway, you wanted to meet us, so, what can we do for you?"

Alma looked at Harry, before she said, into their minds, I propose an alliance. I have powers beyond magic. I can help you set up pranks discreetly. But I also want you to show Harry something of his heritage.

Harry looked at Alma, frowning. "What do you mean, Alma?"

Alma gazed impassively back at Harry, before saying, Fred, George…how would you like to know the true identities of the Marauders?

The pair of them gaped, before Fred said, "Please, tell us!"

"We beseech you!" George concurred.

Alma actually laughed out loud. Well, it was more of a soft, rasping chuckle. I cannot tell you how I know. But I know their real names. Peter Pettigrew was Wormtail. Remus Lupin was Moony. Sirius Black was Padfoot. And James Potter was Prongs.

The twins stared at each other, and then at Harry. "Could it be that we're in the presence of pranking royalty, Fred?" George asked.

"I think so, George," Fred said, before fishing out a piece of parchment, and handing it to Harry, like it was an offering to a minor deity.

"What is this?" Harry asked, peering at the blank parchment.

Alma gently took the parchment away. This must be the Marauders' Map. Your father and his friends created this at Hogwarts. It shows many of Hogwarts' secret passages, as well as the locations of staff and students. She opened it up, and then, rasped out loud, touching the parchment with her wand, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

She had to admit, even seeing it briefly in Pettigrew's memories, watching the images of the Marauders' Map bloom across the blank parchment was amazing, and she could tell Harry was awed as well. "Wow, this is amazing!" Harry whispered. "My dad made this?"

Yes, along with his friends, Alma said.

"I'm still getting used to you doing that," Fred said.

George nodded. "I mean, we joke about us two being psychic, but, well…"

Alma looked at them. Being psychic…is not pleasant. As I told your younger brother, imagine hearing the thoughts of everyone within a certain distance.

"Bloody hell," Fred murmured.

"We'd go spare," George added.

That's what Ron said, Alma said. It is maddening. Unpleasant. I am getting better at blocking out the morass of thoughts…but it is still a substantial effort. Harry helps me.

Harry, to confirm the point, put his arm around Alma's shoulders. "Alma was my first friend. And I was her first friend too. She could never make friends with anyone her age. They considered her too creepy. I admit, I was nervous, even frightened when I first met Alma…but…she wanted to be friends with me. We haven't been apart since."

Fred and George looked at each other, before they remarked simultaneously, "Ginny's going to be disappointed."

"Ginny?"

"Our little sister. She has a bit of a crush on you," George said.

Harry looked over at Alma, who merely said, He is mine. There was no actual emphasis in the sentence, no tone on the last word. It was no hammy proclamation, just a simple, quiet statement of reality that was all the more chilling for it.

"Alma, don't melt her or give her nightmares, please," Harry pled.

"Melt her?" Fred asked, his eyes wide.

"She can melt people with a thought," Harry said. "All that's left is a skeleton and a puddle of goo. It's pretty nasty. She did it to a group of people who were going to lock us up and experiment on us."

The twins looked at each other. "Because you were magical?" George asked.

Because I was psychic, Alma said. Not all Muggles are like that…but there was a particularly nasty Squib who wanted to find a way to use magic. She also wanted to create psychic soldiers.

"Dumbledore and McGonagall already know," Harry said. "Keep it to yourselves, though."

Fred and George nodded. "Most Squibs are harmless, even good people, but some are pretty mean," George said.

Fred concurred, "We think Filch, the caretaker, is a Squib. He's a pretty vicious guy."

Alma remembered the sour-faced old man. His thoughts had been foggy, suggesting a certain amount of Occlumency, or at least mental defence. Not actually opaque, but enough that Alma would have to make more of an effort to discern his thoughts. Well, beyond what she saw in his expression: she could tell he viewed the students with contempt and envy, and being a Squib certainly explained this.

"We have a relative who's a Squib. He's an accountant," George added. "He's a nice guy."

"They can't all be bad, next to Filch and Genevieve Aristide," Harry muttered.

"Who?" George asked. "Is that the Squib you were talking about?"

"Yeah, she's the boss of a Muggle company called Armacham," Harry said. "But we don't want to talk about it."

And do not talk about it either, Alma cautioned them.

"We swear, Marauders' honour," the twins chorused.

It was not long afterwards that Harry and Alma, while coming out, met Hermione and Ron again. It was in the library, and Alma and Harry had decided to do some quiet reading. As it turned out, Hermione had wanted to do the same thing, while Ron was futilely trying to find an interesting book. Sadly, there were few fiction books in the Hogwarts library, and upon seeing Harry and Alma, opted to talk to him, albeit quietly, as to avoid arousing the wrath of Madam Pince.

Ron was a little annoyed that Harry hadn't gone into Gryffindor, but he supposed Hufflepuff wasn't too bad. And his opinion of Alma had gone up a little since she was in Hufflepuff as opposed to Slytherin.

Alma had given him one of her patented stares at that, before saying, There is nothing wrong with ambition or cunning, Ronald Weasley. It is only thanks to idiots like Malfoy and Voldemort that Slytherin has the reputation it does.

"I'm still getting used to you having psychic powers," Hermione said to Alma as she lowered her book on basic Arithmancy to look at them.

Alma shot her a slight smirk. She had been getting better and better at showing some basic human expression beyond her usual impassive mask or a disturbing glare.

"How do they actually work, anyway?" Hermione continued.

Alma frowned. Even her father only knew so much about psychic ability, and he had been one of the top researchers in the world. He had to be, given what his daughter was capable of. I could give you the knowledge my father had, Alma said.

"What, tell me about it?"

"Alma," Harry said gently, knowing what Alma was more likely to do, "Hermione might not like you shoving memories into her mind."

"Would she do that?" Hermione asked, both disturbed and curious.

"If it's quicker than explaining, yes," Harry said. "I'm used to it, but to people who aren't…well…"

After a moment, Hermione said, "Look, I'm not afraid of new things. As long as Alma doesn't hurt me, I don't mind."

"Better you than me," Ron muttered.

Hermione steeled herself, closing her eyes. "I'm ready. Just don't fill my head up too much, please."

Alma didn't respond, merely closing her eyes. She needed to edit the memories of what she got from her father anyway, partly to remove what she had personally done to some researchers, keeping it more to the scientific studies. She then gently entered Hermione's mind, and began transferring the information.

The only outward sign that anything was happening was that Hermione's eyelids were twitching slightly, and her body had become rigid, as if paralysed by a poison. The process took all of a few seconds, and Hermione, once Alma withdrew, shook her head. "Well, that was…interesting. Still not much information, though. Thanks for being gentle, Alma."

Alma nodded in acceptance. Hermione could be annoyingly pedantic and bossy, but she was at least nice enough. And her mind was filled with some interesting knowledge, though out of a courtesy (for Harry's sake more than anything else), Alma didn't touch it. My father only learned so much about how my powers work before he was murdered, Alma said.

"Murdered?" Hermione asked, only the need for quiet in the library preventing her from shrieking it indignantly. Ron's eyes widened.

"It's a long story. Alma's dad died saving our lives," Harry said. His face fell. "Just like my parents did," he added solemnly.

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured. Alma could tell where his thoughts were. He was thinking about how much Harry was idolised, including by Ron himself, but he was reminded at what cost Harry got his fame. Ron was a bit of an idiot, so it took him a while, or at least a reminder, as to what reality was like.

On the way out from the library, Harry and Alma came across Mrs Norris, Filch's infamous cat. Alma had already encountered the notoriously ornery moggy before, and had outstared the cat. Indeed, while many an animal was frightened of Alma Wade, Mrs Norris was one she actually deliberately put the fear of God…well, Alma, into.

So, all Alma had to do was glare at Mrs Norris for a few seconds. The cat lasted surprisingly long, before turning tail and fleeing with a yowl.

The elation Harry and Alma felt lasted for all of a few seconds before they heard a rasping voice say, "Being cruel to my sweet, are you?"

They whirled to find the bent form of Filch, his face twisted in a cruel mirth. "Well, I think I can think something up for that."

"She didn't do anything, all she did was stare at your cat!" Harry protested, even as Filch reached forward and began frogmarching them down the corridors.

"Animals can tell when someone's up to no good," Filch sneered.

We have done nothing wrong, Alma said.

"Ones like you have always done somethin' wrong," Filch retorted. "You're serving detention with me."

Alma was panicking, inwardly. While Filch was a notoriously harsh disciplinarian, even he didn't hand out detentions for such a flimsy excuse. Did he have something in for Harry or her? As he pushed her and Harry down the corridor, she decided to actually make an effort to read his mind.

"Hey, whaddya doing, girl?!" Filch snarled. "You doing that creepy psychic trick on me?"

Alma ignored him, though she had to wonder why he called it psychic rather than Legilimency. Most of those who knew about her powers didn't call it psychic ability, and she wasn't sure Dumbledore had talked to Filch about the particulars of her powers.

She pushed harder and harder into his mind. It was difficult enough, but she knew that, even with those who had practised Occlumency, she had the power to bypass those barriers. And Argus Filch had practised Occlumency. The thing was, he hadn't practised it enough. Compared to people like Dumbledore or Snape, who were masters of the art and had practised it for years, Filch, who had been practising it for months at most, was a rank amateur.

And what she saw there shook her to the core. This bastard had been in contact with Genevieve Aristide.

During their time on the run, Alma, because of Harry's requests, had restricted the use of her powers significantly. She rarely invaded the mind of another unless she felt their safety was in peril, and she didn't control or tamper with minds unless it was needed, usually for self-defence (though once they needed to get to England, they did need to do some judicious mind-control to get on a boat across to England). But with the knowledge that Argus Filch had sold them out to the woman who had ruined their lives, Alma Wade had had enough.

She could have knocked Filch out and gone to get a teacher with Harry. That would have caused less comment later. But Alma Wade had a dark streak, a vengeful streak, and knowing what Filch and Aristide had in store for them meant that she intended to kill two birds with one stone.

Her eyes glowed even more than they usually did. Filch let go of the two, emitting a brief, strangled cry, before he stiffened, and began striding down the corridor almost spamodically.

"Alma, what did you do to him?" Harry asked. "Not that I mind, but…"

Harry, he sold us out to Genevieve Aristide, Alma said, her eyes narrowed, an orange aura flickering intermittently into existence around her. He was going to take us via Portkey to Armacham.

Harry quietened at that. "Didn't McGonagall claim that this school was one of the safest places in Magical Britain?"

Between what Dumbledore has hidden in this school and what Filch intended, that may not be true, Alma said. That being said, I have eliminated Filch as a danger. I am sending him to Genevieve Aristide. She looked at Harry. If this works, neither will be a threat to us anymore.

Over their mental link, Harry asked, horrified, You're going to use Filch to kill Genevieve Aristide?

He was going to send us back there, knowing we would be experimented upon, Alma said coldly. Any substantial threat to us must be eliminated. She hugged Harry to assure him. I know you don't like this Harry. But I want to keep us safe.

Harry reluctantly acceded to this. He knew Alma would do whatever it took to keep him safe. And while he was troubled about it…Genevieve Aristide had intended to inflict a fate worse than death on them both. And Filch had sold them out. He said nothing, though. The two just hugged for a time, comforting each other, before moving off…

At Armacham, Genevieve was woken from her sleep with notification that Filch had arrived in the reception chamber the Portkey had been keyed to…but he had arrived alone. Frowning, she made her way down, to find Filch sitting there on a chair, his posture oddly slumped. They hadn't used the sleeping gas, as they hadn't seen either Alma or Harry appear.

"Filch!" Genevieve snapped. Disgusting, shabby little man. She should have ordered her people to shove him into the incinerator already, she felt like she had fleas just by being near him. "Where the hell are Alma and Potter?"

He looked up at her, his face curiously impassive, impassive in an eerily familiar way. His eyes narrowed. "Still at Hogwarts," Filch said.

"Idiot! How the hell did you manage to not bring them with you?!" Genevieve had more of a diatribe to unleash, but suddenly, with a jerky movement, Filch had leapt off the chair and had borne her to the floor, his fingers wrapped around her throat in a vice-like grip.

As the guards stared, stunned at this, unable to act, Filch hissed, "You tried to put us into the Vault again, Genevieve. I'm going to make sure you don't hurt us or anyone ever again!" His eyes briefly glowed orange, and Genevieve knew, even as her vision began to tunnel, that he was under Alma's control.

Suddenly, there was the loud report of a gun, and the side of Filch's head exploded as a bullet exited it. But Filch continued to throttle her, and it took several more shots before she could, with the last of her strength, kick the corpse off her. Even then, it tried to grasp at her, and the guards kept shooting until all that was left was a twitching pile of meat.

She snarled in anger, even as she tried to get oxygen back into her lungs, kicking the corpse of Filch. After a moment, she wheeled on the guards. "Next time, don't let him nearly kill me before shooting!" she yelled hoarsely, before degenerating into a fit of coughing.

Massaging her throat, she felt the flames of the initial anger dying away, to be replaced by something colder and more lethal. Alma Wade had just declared war. What was more, that stupid little girl had just handed her the means to get her on a platter. After all, the wizarding world took a very dim view of mind control: the Imperius Curse was a one-way ticket to Azkaban.

Of course, if Alma had told any of the authorities about what Genevieve intended, it might be trickier. But Genevieve knew how to play the political game well, and certainly far better than a prepubescent brat. Alma Wade would rue the day that she thought she could defy Genevieve Aristide. Nobody would be able to protect her, not even Albus Dumbledore…

INTERVAL 11 ANNOTATIONS:

Holy crap. I'm surprised I managed to write this chapter. I actually had this horrified thought that I would have to abandon this version too. Instead, I managed to squeeze this chapter out. Sorry about the wait, and it may be a long wait before the next one too.

Part of the reason this took so long was that I didn't know how to get Harry and Alma out of being kidnapped by Filch. I eventually plumped for this, but while it may seem like a copout for Alma to be able to breach Filch so easily, I think Alma is actually capable of breaching the barriers of Snape, Voldemort, and even Dumbledore, if she put a concerted effort into it. Alma Wade is a deity in human form, and the only thing holding her back is Harry.

That being said, it occurred to me as I wrote the scene at the end that Alma, in her attempt to send Genevieve a message, may have handed her an opportunity as well. Which means that Genevieve Aristide may yet still be a threat. And given that Alma dealt with Filch in a somewhat lethal manner (albeit indirectly lethal), Dumbledore and Alma are going to be opposed for some time…

Incidentally, if you're a fan of the original story, I'm archiving the existing chapters in The Cauldron. It will be deleted at the end of this month (September), so update your favourites.

No numbered annotations this time.