Chapter 10: Unraveling the Future.
"Be welcome, all, to this den-night. We are Pack now, Pack together."
"Pack forever," eleven voices answered.
"All right." Harry sighed deeply. "I called an unscheduled den-night because I know there's a lot we need to talk about, this is the best place to do it, and I have a feeling the one a week ago was rather stilted with two of us unconscious."
"How did you ever guess?" Aletha asked sarcastically.
"Right. Anyway, there's a good bit of stuff we need to talk about—a lot of it is news to me, too—but the most important is this. Right now, Voldemort is immortal."
A few members of the Pack gasped or cringed. "What do you mean?" asked Peter nervously.
"I mean," said Harry, "that if you were to hit him with a Killing Curse, he wouldn't die. He would lose his body, but he could possess things, wreak general havoc . . . one of his followers could get him a new body . . ." He carefully avoided looking at Peter as he said this. He may be different, but still—bad memories.
"So we're doomed, then?" asked Sirius.
"No, not at all!" Hermione huffed. "Honestly, just listen, Sirius! He can be defeated; it's just very, very hard."
Harry grinned a bit. "Hermione's right. As for how he got that way . . . there is a way—really Dark magic, but do you think Voldemort cared about that?—to use a murder to split your soul and imprison half of it in an object of some sort. If you die, it'll act as a 'tether' of sorts and keep your spirit from moving on, unless someone finds and destroys the object. A few Dark wizards in history have made one—it's an almost unspeakable act, from what Dumbledore says, and it's been a banned subject at Hogwarts since before Voldemort went here." He paused for a second, grim. "Voldemort liked to outdo everyone. He wanted a seven-part soul."
"WHAT?" Lily shouted, horrified.
"Voldemort planned to make six Horcruxes—that's what the objects are called," Harry continued, seeing Sirius's eyes light up. "Yes, Sirius, the note you found comes in here somewhere. He's only made five so far; he planned to use Dumbledore's death to make the sixth, I think, until he heard the prophecy—now he wants it to be me."
Silence reigned for a minute as the Pack digested the information.
"Do we know what they are?" Danger asked finally.
Harry smiled widely. "Yes, actually, thanks to this." He tapped his scar. "It gives me a mental connection with Voldemort—unconscious Legilimency—and on the night some Death Eater told him the prophecy, he got excited and started thinking about them, with me accidentally watching. That's why I've been studying Occlumency—because I'm worried it will go the other way. But basically: the Gaunt ring and his wand are destroyed, the Slytherin locket is in a cave I'll be visiting this summer, the diary is with Lucius Malfoy, and the Hufflepuff cup is hidden in the Muggle orphanage he grew up in."
"He grew up in a Muggle orphanage?" Rachel asked, amazed. "I had no idea, he's so pureblood-supremacist—how on Earth did he get to be so evil?"
Harry shruged. "Yep, his pureblood Slytherin-Heir mum died in childbirth, and she had seduced his dad, a rich young Muggle named Tom Riddle, with a love potion—he left her as soon as it wore off."
"Ironic, isn't it?" Ginny laughed. "Lord Voldemort, bastion of the 'terrify-and-purify-the-Wizarding-World' cause at the moment, is one of the people he hates. And I'm sure he'd just love for the Death Eaters to know that."
"He's hiding behind a pseudonym," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "He hated who he was. He thinks he's changed it. Really, though, he hasn't."
"Half-Blood Prince," Ron muttered furiously.
"What?"
"The Half-Blood Prince," he repeated more loudly. "What Snape calls himself. He's a half-blood, and his mum was Eileen Prince, but really, the similarities with old Tommy boy are amazing . . ."
"Don't be so harsh, Ron," Lily chided.
James frowned. "Harsh? Lily, Snape is a Death Eater! He betrayed us all!"
"James, I know Snape. He's a snarky git sometimes—all right, a lot of the time. And I won't deny that he's rather . . . fascinated with Dark magic, but he's not evil."
Sirius snorted. "Lily, people don't join up with Voldemort out of the goodness of their hearts."
Lily eyed him dangerously. "You have always hated Snape, Sirius, James—and I'll admit you're probably right to, with the way he treats you. But there's a large difference between a schoolboy grudge and actual evil. Snape has to live with his Prince grandparents, who he hates—it's quite possible they've forced him into this, they're very big on the whole pureblood superiority thing."
"Or, much more simply, he's just a Dark wizard who happens to be good at potions!" James shot back hotly.
"Dark wizard? Perhaps, in the sense of 'one who uses Dark magic'. Evil wizard? Of course not."
"What's the difference?" Ron blurted.
Lily sighed. "Dark magic just refers to an older type of magic, that tends to be more focused on, well, hurting people, unbreakable bonds, powerful stuff like that. If there was a wizard who went around systematically casting Wingardium Leviosa to float people out their windows and drop them, wouldn't you say he's evil?"
"Well, yeah."
"He's not a Dark wizard, though. Wingardium Leviosa is a perfectly Light spell, and it can still harm, even kill." Ron blinked. "Ultimately, magic is just magic—it's your intent that matters."
"Then why does the Ministry always talk about 'catching Dark wizards'?" Aletha asked.
"Simple. Dark magic is addictive. Unless a Dark wizard has strong self-discipline and people to keep him on the right track, it's very easy for him to start using his magic for harm. That's what the Aurors have to stop."
Most of the Pack was nodding in agreement, but James and Sirius still looked unconvinced.
Remus smiled wryly at them. "James, Sirius, do you think I'm evil?"
"Of course not!" they responded hotly.
"Yet I'm officially a 'Dark Creature'."
That did it.
"Guys," Harry said carryingly, "ultimately we can't know Snape's loyalties at the moment. I agree there's a chance he's not completely evil, but I'm also not going to forget how he duped me—duped all of us, even Dumbledore—in the old timeline. In the mean time, let's not argue about it."
"All right," James said reluctantly. "Let's see . . . Where were you when you were unconscious?"
Harry grinned. "Now that's what I was hoping for. Short answer: A sort of dream-higher-reality thing where the Founders live."
"The Founders?" Ron blurted. "Like, the actual Founders?"
Ginny smiled. "Yep. Godric and his son Paul and daughter Maura. Helga and her son Adam. Rowena and her daughters Brenna, Sophia, and Margaret—the last of which is a Squib, and originally owned that brooch of yours, Aletha. And Slytherin's 'good son', who you already know."
"We already know him? How? He's dead!" Hermione was terribly confused by now.
"Well, he's currently inhabiting the Slytherin bedroom . . ."
"What— oh. Alex."
"Indeed, Hermione," came the portrait's voice.
"And," Ginny continued, "let's just say they managed to nip Harry's hero complex in the bud."
Hermione looked impressed. "How'd they manage that?"
"Offered me the chance to stay there, said it would keep the rest of you safe," Harry said sheepishly. "I'm ashamed to say I was actually about to accept the offer before Ginny arrived and set me straight."
"And I still don't know how I managed to get there," Ginny finished. Would you like to tell them about the gifts, love?
Right after Hermione starts grilling us about it. Which should be in, oh—
"Harry?" Hermione asked quickly. "Why are your eyes doing that? And Ginny's, too."
Both of them burst out laughing.
"The Founders gave us some gifts," Ginny explained. "This one, which was just for us, is a mindlink like Remus and Danger have. We laughed because Harry just told me you would be grilling us about it. The rest are for our pendants."
I have an idea. "Allow me to demonstrate." Harry grabbed his pendant chain and put it over Hermione's head. Can you hear this? he said in her mind.
Hermione jumped. "What— oh— Harry! You can talk with these things?"
It's the Ravenclaw gift.
"He says it's the Ravenclaw gift. Why would that be useful, though?"
"Try it on Neenie," Harry said aloud.
Hermione dutifully transformed after about ten seconds' mental recitation. I think the chain might have slipped off.
"No, it hasn't."
Neenie transformed back. "That's amazing!" she breathed.
"You haven't seen the half of it," Ginny said with a wicked grin. Intangibility?
Of course. Harry gave the chain a tug, and Hermione shrieked as it went through her neck.
"Oh, I must've forgotten to mention they're intangible as you want them to be," Harry said with mock contrition. "Slytherin gift. Hufflepuff's is that the chains can grow and come apart; Gryffindor's is that they heat up when one of us is upset and cool down when we're in mortal peril. The carving glows for whoever it is."
"And I think that's it," Ginny finished. "Any questions?"
Danger spoke up. "Yeah, one. Which carving is which?"
"We honestly don't know," Harry said, shrugging. "Haven't exactly had much time to look at them together. Although we probably will be able to figure them out, and it'd be useful to know . . ."
Hermione's and Danger's eyes light up.
Like sister, like sister.
Ginny laughed mentally as Hermione started chattering away and examining her pendants and Ron's. Now that's one I haven't heard before. Although that reminds me, I've been thinking . . . Ever wonder what would happen if Danger's parents had died in 1981 or so? Her powers would've been awakened and she would've had the dreams—
Which would have showed Sirius's innocence. And from the way Danger described them, they were so persistent she'd have found him or Remus or Aletha or someone eventually.
Or maybe you.
"Danger?" Harry asked.
She looked up from her pendants. "Yes?"
"Where did you live before—well, you know."
Danger laughed. "Oh, I was wondering when you'd ask. Number seventeen, Privet Drive. Opposite side of the street from you."
Harry goggled at her. Okay, definitely me. That's . . . weird, but amazing. Odd to think how close I was to having a real family growing up . . .
You have one still, Ginny said sharply. James. Lily. Sirius. Then, a thought so quiet Harry almost wasn't sure he heard it. Me.
Thanks, he said warmly. You're right. About all of it.
Ginny's grin must have doubled in size.
"Well, I think we've figured out the pendants," Hermione announced.
"Great. What are they?"
"The first one is birth parents, it seems. Danger and I have the same one—book for David, rose for Rose Granger. And Ron's are a battery, for Arthur probably, and a muffin tin for Molly. What are yours, Harry?"
Harry looked. "Stag and tiger."
"That seems to bear out that theory, then. Second one is wolf, lion, rat, and owl on one side, dog, winged horse, stag, and tiger on the other. So all the in-time members of the Pack—the Marauders and their girlfriends." Aletha glared at her. "Sorry, and Aletha."
Harry snickered mentally. Why do I have a feeling the last member of the might-have-been Pack we were discussiong would have been a certain Ms. Freeman?
You're not the only one. The only ones who don't know it are themselves. They remind me of Ron and Hermione, only even more stubborn.
You've got that right, love.
Hermione continued her explanation. "The third one is for us time-travelers. Wolf and lynx on one side, hawk and cat on the other—mine seems to be missing the cat for some reason, I have no idea why . . ."
"Hermione, I think you'll know if you're in mortal peril," Ron said, deadpan.
"Oh. Didn't think of that. Anyway, the fourth pendant—the last one—I have no clue about. Bird with flames, a phoenix maybe; a crow or raven; and on the other side, another cat and a lizard or dragon or something."
Harry thought for a moment. "People who we trust with our secrets—or most of them, at least," he decided. "Pack-friends, let's call them. Phoenix for Dumbledore, cat for McGonagall, dragon for Hagrid. No idea about the crow."
"Well, I think that's it for the serious stuff," Ginny said, grinning. "Have fun, people!"
Harry waved his wand and summoned one of the books on canine Animagi. All right, time to get to work on my transformation . . .
Hey! That doesn't qualify as fun!
It's also something I'd like to get done reasonably soon, and we don't have many chances to work on it—not with N.E.W.T.s coming up.
Oh, all right. A mental smirk. But you'd better not be so serious all night long . . .
Yes, ma'am!
Some time later, Hermione remembered something. "Oh! Harry, you and Ginny missed your career advice sessions with McGonagall. They were scheduled for Tuesday and, well, you were in the hospital wing then."
Harry adopted a pensive look. "Honestly, I don't really know what I want to do next year. I'm planning on joining the Aurors after that; the year off is because I have a feeling at least one of the Marauders has similar plans, and I'd rather fight with people I know." He looked curiously at said Marauders.
Sirius raised his hand. "Auror," he said, unusually serious. "It's what I've wanted to do for as long as I can remember. Especially with Voldemort having so much influence with my dear old family; I guess I want to break away from that, or something . . . It's just always appealed to me, for a lot of reasons."
"Good a reason as any I've heard, if you can articulate it a bit better in an interview," James teased.
Now, Harry, what are you really planning for next year? I can tell there's something you're not saying here.
Harry sighed. Promise you won't laugh?
Of course, Ginny responded sincerely.
Teaching.
Teaching—oh! You want to do Defense next year?
Well, yeah. Harry seemed a bit embarrassed to say it. I mean, you all say I've done such a good job with the D.A., and I really like teaching Defense, and hopefully this would help everyone be better-prepared for the big mean world out there . . .
You're rambling, love.
Sorry. Anyway, I'm thinking I'll ask Dumbledore about it during our next lesson. Which is in three days, I think.
Two, Ginny corrected.
Harry looked at his watch—Remus had given him a new one for Christmas—and saw that it was half midnight.
You're right. I never realized it was so late. Harry looked at the other two seventh-years in their group. "So, Ron, Hermione, what are you planning on doing?"
"I planned to do something with Experimental Charms in the Ministry," Hermione said, looking a bit proud. "McGonagall thought I'd do great with it."
"So do I. You're brilliant, Hermione. And, well," Ron said sheepishly, "I still want to be an Auror. I know I'm not as good as you, Harry—"
"Bollocks, Ron," James snapped. "You were leading us damn well when Harry was out last Saturday. It's like with your Keeping—you just need to trust yourself."
The red-haired boy grinned self-deprecatingly. "I guess you're right. Anyway, I guess I could get a simple job next year—working at Zonko's, maybe. Fred and George taught me more than I said last summer. Because honestly, mate, I'd much rather do Auror training at the same time as you. More fun that way."
"Well, that's that, then," Harry said. "Us outgoing seventh years won't be out in the cold in a couple months."
"As long as you do well on your N.E.W.T.s!" piped Hermione.
Harry groaned softly. N.E.W.T.s. Easily twice or three times as bad as O.W.L.s, I swear. At least there aren't so many of them.
And at least you aren't studying every waking minute like someone else we know.
True, that.
Danger yawned enormously, lay her head against Remus's shoulder, and seemed to fall asleep. Barely three seconds later, she spoke tiredly. "In time, the raven will take his place with honor beside the phoenix, the dragon, and the cat." She blinked a few times, then noticed everyone was staring at her. "What? Did I say something?"
Remus repeated the words of the prophecy to her. "So I guess that means our unidentified bird is a raven, and he's not really our friend yet."
"Interesting," Lily mused. She had a pretty good idea who the corvid was, but it wasn't something she planned to say in front of James and Sirius.
Harry yawned as well. "It's past midnight," he said tiredly. "I bid you good night and fair dreams. May the coming night rest us all, and we rise in the morning stronger for it."
"May it be so," the Pack answered.
It's weird how these odd-seeming formalities just seem to be right; we always know what to say . . .
Harry lay down right where he was, which happened to be right next to Ginny.
Not that I mind.
He fell asleep almost instantly.
Severus Snape walked along moodily, kicking at loose cobblestones as he passed.
I am an idiot.
A complete, utter, stinking, bloody, worse-than-Sirius-Black idiot.
For the umpteenth time, his mind drifted to the traumatic events of the past few days. After Potter (both of them) and his friends had escaped the Dark Lord, he had been furious—and the Dark Lord's fury was something few sane wizards dared brave.
Except Lestrange. I swear, she seemed practically happy to be tortured.
Of course, she's not exactly sane either.
Few of the newer Death Eaters, Snape realized, had ever seen the Dark Lord actually angry. Disappointed, yes, after a failed mission or thwarted spying—and the Dark Lord's "disappointed" was painful indeed—but actually angry? Not before. Never like this, even according to the veterans like Macnair.
It would seem that Potter did a lot more than just escape, with the way he's been ranting.
Barely five minutes after Snape fled in the wake of the calling in of his life debt, his Dark Mark had burned much more fiercely than usual—the Dark Lord wanted them now, consequences be damned.
He had dutifully Apparated mid-run.
Voldemort was in the Death Eaters' meeting room, pacing back and forth as he addressed them angrily. "Can't you fools get anything right?" he had hissed. "Twelve teenagers in warded cells! And they all got away—got through the Mark wards, got their wands, one of them even insulted me! You, my 'loyal servants'—a bigger bunch of fools I could not have hand-picked!"
"My Lord?" one of the Death Eaters had said tentatively. "One of the girls—the bushy-haired one—she's an Animagus, she can transform into a cat. She surprised me, stole my wand—"
"And how, pray tell, did she 'surprise' you? She was polite, too, left your wand in the Entrance Hall—I suppose you shall get it back eventually . . . after I get some use out of it . . ."
The Death Eater looked decidedly nervous. "I picked her up in cat form, my Lord. I thought you would appreciate such a creature, perhaps to experiment on—"
"Fools!" Voldemort had bellowed. "Utter fools! What use could I ever have for a cat? No, you endangered our whole base! You should be punished—and you will. Crucio!"
It was then that Severus Snape had realized, the hard way, that the "you" in that speech was plural. And that Lord Voldemort was more than powerful enough to sustain a Cruciatus Curse on multiple people at once.
In spite of the warm air, Snape shivered in remembrance of the events that had followed. The Dark Lord had sealed the wards around his base, trapping them all in their own rooms, and had called each one privately and individually, over the course of a few days . . . somehow, he had discovered the life debt that had' enabled Potter and his friends to escape, and had tortured him, Snape, on and off for over a day . . .
The Dark Lord's final words still rang in his mind. "I am most displeased, Snape. Most displeased indeed. I am beginning, indeed, to doubt your loyalty to me. So I leave you three days to consider the consequences of your actions, and to provide proof of your trustworthiness. Torture and kill a family of Muggles, perhaps? Imaginatively, of course; I do require some shred of intelligence in my followers. And if you should try to escape . . . I doubt I need even complete that sentence."
And I couldn't do it. I sealed the house—this dingy little place on a dingy little street called Spinner's End—Apparated in in the middle of the night, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Oh, I scared them plenty, but I couldn't do what the Dark Lord asked.
One word had emblazoned itself in Snape's brain over the past day: Why? I've used the spells before, I know how they work, how they feel—that's what made me join the Dark Lord in the first place—I even tortured the werewolf a little, just for fun. He deserved it. They didn't.
That last thought surprised him, and he snorted. Since when did I develop a conscience?
But he already knew why, really. It was the same way his mother had died. The attack in the middle of the night, the jet of green light, and the first, last, and only person who loved him was dead . . .
When I heard what had happened, I swore revenge on Mum's killers. I swore that if I ever met them, I would kill them or worse.
And now I've become one of them.
All for—what was it again? Oh yes. Feeling powerful.
I have never made such a bad decision in my life. Not even Black's telling me about the Willow compares. He could have ruined my life. I would have ruined dozens, or more—and probably my own.
And now I have nowhere to go. This last, sobering thought was what he had been trying to avoid all day—trying to rationalize that he had just panicked momentarily, that he would do better tonight and make the Dark Lord proud. None of it was true. The truth was that he hated what he'd become, and now he would die for it. Painfully.
Because what other choice is there? The Dark Lord would kill me. Dumbledore would turn me over to the Ministry for a life sentence in Azkaban, which is even worse. I used the Cruciatus Curse. The werewolf knows, and he's probably told Dumbledore already. That's an automatic conviction right there.
Snape sighed, agonized. Where do I go from here?
Harry listened tiredly as Professor Johnson droned on about the N.E.W.T.s. "If you have studied the theory thoroughly, you should have no issues with the practical part of the exam, which will consist of a staged duel with the examiner . . ."
I swear, he's worse than Binns, Harry remarked mentally. I think we're going to have another Umbridge-type score fiasco.
All E's and O's for the D.A., A's or failing for everyone else?
Exactly. Applications must be running pretty thin, if Dumbledore let him teach Defense. He may know a bit of what he's talking about, but he can't teach worth a damn.
Well, Harry, you know exactly how to rectify that.
Yeah. Tonight. He smiled slightly; he was looking forward to this particular lesson with Dumbledore, although his excitement was tinged with a bit of apprehension . . .
All other thoughts were rendered moot, though, as Harry's pendants heated almost to the point of pain. He winced, and saw that Ron and Hermione did too. A quick thought brought the pendants through his robes, and Harry spread them out surreptitiously in a hand under his desk, searching for the light. Fine— fine— fine— oh. It's our unidentified raven, he told Ginny. Not really much we can do at the moment.
Sighing, he focused his attention back on the still-droning professor.
Having realized the magnitude of his problem, Snape was feeling quite desperate.
I would do anything I could for you, Dumbledore, if only you'd trust me. Believe it or not, I do trust you. You've helped me out before; if only I hadn't been so stupid as to dig myself a hole too deep to climb out of . . .
A surprising flash of fire heralded the arrival of a very welcome immortal bird.
Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, for the moment unaware of the loyalty he had inspired. He was employing a rather welcome few unoccupied minutes to ponder the Death Eater attack of nine days past.
On the whole, I am glad indeed that all twelve of the captured students escaped unharmed.
If only I could be so confident about the fates of the others missing . . .
Aside from Severus Snape, Patroclus Nott and a few other Slytherin seventh-years had not been seen since leaving for Hogsmeade that day. A small number of Hogsmeade residents had been found dead outside the Three Broomsticks, apparently due to the Avada Kedavra curse, but no Hogwarts students were among them.
No, Lord Voldemort can be as ruthless to his followers as to his enemies. I find I must fear the worst about these students' fates; it may be that no one is irredeemable, but even if they remain alive, I cannot in good conscience allow Death Eaters back into the school . . .
It saddened the wise Headmaster more than he cared to admit that Severus Snape, especially, had chosen the Dark Lord's path. After all the support I tried to give him, he still ultimately made the one decision I truly hoped he would not. Perhaps I am growing incompetent in my old age.
I wonder what Harry would have to say about this twist of Severus's loyalties . . .
Suddenly, Fawkes disappeared in a flash of flame, and reappeared some ten seconds later with a passenger in tow.
"Severus?" Dumbledore asked, not bothering to mask the trace of astonishment from his voice. The boy looked terrible—his robes were dirty, to be sure, but that was nothing compared to the utterly despondent state of his features. With many, many years of experience in the subject, Albus Dumbledore considered himself rather skilled at reading people, and Severus Snape was practically emanating regret.
"Well, I suppose your bloody bird decided to be the arbiter of justice for me," Snape said bitingly. Dumbledore was rather surprised at his tone—he knew quite well how snarky the boy could be with his peers, but in the past that attitude had been mostly left at the door of his office. "Go ahead, throw me in Azkaban—you have enough evidence, don't you? Your poster child for Dark-Is-Not-Evil, despite all your recommendations, still—" He broke off, seemingly unable to complete his sentence.
"I will do no such thing, Severus, certainly not without knowing the circumstances," Dumbledore said calmly. "Please sit." And perhaps one of the foolish may be saved after all . . .
Snape, who had been looking at his feet since arriving in Dumbledore's office, finally met the Headmaster's gaze as he sat in front of his desk. "Circumstances? I'm a Death Eater, Professor. Have been since Easter break. It was the most idiotic decision I've made, and in hindsight I think I might've been influenced by the atmosphere in the Dark Lord's base—it practically reeked of Dark and power—but that doesn't matter, does it? I even failed at being a Death Eater. Didn't have the stomach for what the Dark Lord required of me. Damned if I do, damned if I don't."
"Why would you say that, Severus? Surely you know my belief that no one is irredeemable."
Snape laughed harshly. "I used an Unforgivable Curse, Professor. That's a life sentence in Azkaban, no question. No offense intended, but I don't see what you can do about that."
Dumbledore sighed. "It is as I said before, Severus: no one is irredeemable. Have you used any of these curses on anyone besides Remus?"
"No."
"No law is outside the realm of extenuating circumstances, Severus. Remus is not the sort to hold a grudge. If you could find it in your heart to forgive him, I believe he would do the same for you."
"Forgive him? Professor, he almost killed me!"
"In a form over which he had no control," Dumbledore amended softly but firmly. "If you want to blame anyone—and I would much rather you did not—you should blame Mr. Black; it was he who acted without thought in this matter."
"But he's a danger—"
Dumbledore smiled slightly at the unintentional pun. "Severus, detail-oriented as you are, I am sure you have noticed that Remus has not been absent since the unfortunate incident you speak of. Surely you are capable of understanding what this means."
Snape thought for a second, then gaped. "He's been cured? That's impossible!"
"Remus has not been cured per se; he still transforms on full moon nights, but he keeps his human mind while he does so. It is a remarkable case, probably unique, and ultimately Remus's secret, to tell or not as he chooses. I will echo the words of a dear friend of mind, as I believe they are greatly applicable in this case: Do not be too quick to deal out death and judgement, for even the very wise cannot see all ends. Please, Severus, try to let go of your grudge against Remus, and make your decisions wisely."
Snape was silent for a moment, digesting the advice. "Perhaps. In any case, I'm not sure how this helps me. The Dark Lord will still be able to find me, and since I can't do what he asked, I'm sure he'll kill me. If I'm at Hogwarts, he'll only wait until I'm in Hogsmeade or on the train to do it. And I'm still amazed you're being so Gryffindorish as to trust that my remorse is genuine, Professor. It is, but I rather expected some sort of test."
"Over the years, Severus, I have become quite adept at reading body language, and you certainly seem to be sincere. In general, I find it best to learn all the pertinent facts before making any sort of judgement. But you are right: as much as I wish I could take you on your word, your being a Death Eater throws that into a bit of question. If you are sincere in your regret, we will hopefully arrive at a mutually acceptable situation."
Dumbledore paused for a moment, thinking, then continued. "As for how you could survive, Severus . . . I would hesitate to ask this of anyone, least of all a student, but your situation leaves room for few other alternatives. I shall be blunt. Have you considered being a double agent? A spy, in simpler terms."
Snape blinked. "Of course I've considered it, but I don't think it's possible. The Dark Lord seems to know what people are thinking—I know he ferreted out at least one spy during his interrogations of us, he told me so."
"Indeed, Lord Voldemort is probably the most accomplished Legilimens the world has seen," Dumbledore agreed ruefully. "However, there is an art called Occlumency that allows one to present a false front, and I happen to be quite skilled in it; if it is your wish to follow this path, I would consent to teach you."
"I will, Professor," Snape said in an instant. His voice was firm. "I understand the risks, but this is honestly better than anything I could have hoped for." He paused for a second. "Maybe my life won't be happy, but it will at least be meaningful. Under the circumstances, that suits me fine."
"Thank you, Severus. It is more than I have any right to ask, but it will certainly be appreciated. And now . . . will you consent to swear a loyalty oath? I apologize for asking, but I believe it is necessary for us to trust one another."
"Of course, Professor."
He really does mean this, Dumbledore realized. Perhaps this is one of the changes effected by the presence of our four time-travelers—or perhaps not. I can see now how Harry's perception of events in the future might have been skewed.
And now to decide what oath to use . . . He thought for a few seconds, and finally hit upon the right one. "Perhaps you will take some solace in the fact that it goes both ways; that is, I will be bound to you as surely as you will be to me."
Waving his wand, Dumbledore conjured a napkin and a small knife. "First, we must give of ourselves." He made a cut in his palm with the knife, allowing his blood to drip onto the napkin, then motioned for Severus to do so as well. The latter added his blood without flinching. Two silent spells from the Headmaster healed both their cuts.
Dumbledore snapped his fingers. Kady the house-elf appeared.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, sir, what can I be doing for you?"
"Kady, could you please ask Harry Potter and Remus Lupin to come to my office immediately?" he asked gently. "Tell them to just come in."
"Of course, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir! Kady will be doing that right away, sir!"
"Thank you, Kady."
The house-elf disappeared with a soft pop.
Dumbledore returned his attention to the young man sitting determinedly before him. And a larger burden I doubt any student has had to bear . . .
"We will now swear an oath," he said, recalling the same words he had spoken with his brother over a century ago. "Hear me speak it now, and consider it carefully. If you are not wholly comfortable swearing this oath with me, depart now. For it is binding by magic, and he who breaks it shall not find rest, by day or by night, in life or in death. Hear me now—
"My hand in yours,
"My wand with yours,
"My life for yours,
"Now and always.
"Severus, do you wish to swear?"
"I do," Snape said clearly.
"Then join hands with me and speak the oath with me three times, to make it truly binding upon the both of us."
Solemnly, Headmaster and protégé clasped hands and began to recite.
Kady appeared right in the middle of Defense class.
"What do you want, elf?" Professor Johnson said harshly. Hermione scowled at him.
Kady was undeterred. "I is having a message for Harry Potter, sir, and it is this: Please go to the Headmaster's office immediately. He is asking you to come right in."
Harry smiled. "Thanks, Kady." As Kady disappeared, Harry packed his bag quickly and rose to leave.
"Mr. Potter!" Professor Johnson called. "I would recommend that you get notes from one of your classmates. The Patronus Charm is immensely—"
Oh, just shut up already. Peeved, Harry took out his wand and waved it. Expecto Patronum! A large silver phoenix burst from the tip.
As Johnson worked to regain his composure, Harry left the room and ran toward Dumbledore's office. He wouldn't've called me in the middle of class unless it was urgent . . . maybe they've found Snape . . .
Wouldn't that be nice, Ginny's voice broke in. I'm more curious about your Patronus, though. When did you learn to do it nonverbally?
Harry grinned. I didn't, he responded. I was just so mad at Professor Johnson I couldn't talk.
Ginny laughed just as Harry reached the gargoyle. He belted out the password and forced himself to slow down as he walked up the moving staircase.
The door was closed, and voices were coming from inside. Well, Kady said to come right in . . .
Harry opened the door, stepped inside—and nearly fell over in surprise. Snape was sitting on one side of the Headmaster's desk, Dumbledore on the other, a very familiar-looking red-and-white bundle between them. They were holding hands and saying some words that Harry never expected to fly from Snape's mouth especially:
"—with yours,"
"My life for yours,"
"Now and always!"
The bloody napkin burst into flame for a moment, was consumed, and the fire died off. In its place, Harry saw, was a small golden chain and pendant in the shape of a phoenix. Dumbledore was regarding it curiously. Neither of them seemed to have noticed his entrance.
"What is it, sir?" Snape asked.
"A sign," Dumbledore said absently. He looked up. "It is meant for you, Severus. I care not whether or not you choose to wear it, but I would advise you not to allow anyone else to see it. Being a spy is never easy . . . Consider it, if you will, a reminder of your true loyalties."
"Thank you, Professor." He took the pendant carefully, almost reverently, and put it on under his robes.
Dumbledore suddenly seemed to notice the presence of another person in the room. "Oh, hello, Harry. Are you satisfied that Severus is, indeed, loyal to the Light?" Snape whirled around as soon as Harry's name was mentioned.
Harry blinked. "Yes, more than. Sn– Severus—" he returned the gaze of the slightly greasy-haired boy (no, man—he's spying for Voldemort, more than I could do) determinedly— "it seems I was wrong about you. I believed you loyal to Voldemort, a traitor now and in the future. I apologize."
"How kind of you, Potter." Snape sneered slightly as he spoke, but it still seemed genuine. "How did you recognize that oath from only hearing part of it, anyway? I have never heard of it before. I seriously doubt that such a person as you would have."
Harry smiled slightly. "I took it. Me, the other four new students, the Marauders, Lily Evans, Aletha Freeman, and Rachel Trent." He willed his pendants through his robes and showed them to Snape. "You're on here, you know, next to the phoenix for Dumbledore," he said, indicating the fourth pendant. "The last Pack-friend. I'm glad you came through."
"I have no need for such silly distinctions," Snape said acerbically.
Harry shrugged. "As you wish. I'm not looking for friendship. Lack of enmity works fine." He noticed, though, that Snape looked somewhat impressed against his will; perhaps he had underestimated the maturity of the Pack. We all have some preconceptions to correct.
At that moment, Remus walked in the door. "Sorry I'm so late, Professor, I had to come all the way from Transfiguration—" His sweeping gaze took in Dumbledore, Harry, and Snape, none apparently looking ready to kill another. "I feel like I'm missing something here."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in that inscrutable way of his as he responded. "To put it simply, Severus has recanted his actions, sworn the Founders' Oath with me, and agreed to serve as a spy within Voldemort's ranks. I, in turn, have agreed to support him and teach him Occlumency."
"So it is," Remus said neutrally.
Snape turned to look at him properly. "Er— Lupin— Remus?"
"Yes, Severus?"
Snape gulped. "I apologize for using the Cruciatus Curse on you. It was wrong of me to do, rather connected to the larger wrong of agreeing to join the Dark Lord in the first place. I will admit I have hated you quite a lot since learning of your—condition—and I will also admit, now, that I was wrong to do so. You were not at fault for the incident in October." He smirked slightly. "That dubious honor belongs to Sirius Black."
Remus was silent for a long moment. "For what it's worth, I forgive you, Severus," he said somberly. "None of us are without are mistakes; you're doing more than most people ever would to atone for them. And thank you for your understanding."
This—any of it—is not even remotely close to what I expected, Harry mused.
Snape managed a grunt of "You're welcome" before turning back to face the Headmaster. "Professor, where do you want me to stay while you're teaching me Occlumency? The Slytherin dungeons might not be the best option, considering the affiliation of some of the sixth- and seventh-years; they are sure to know of my reputation with the Dark Lord by now."
"That is a good point, Severus, and one which I did not think of. You should be able to stay in my quarters; I have a good deal of extra rooms. Just say 'Sanctuary' to the portrait of that red-robed man over there. Feel free to take a look now."
Snape evidently saw the portrait Dumbledore was referring to, because he walked over to it and was heard to do as recommended, but Fawkes's stand obscured Harry's view.
Harry's eyes fell on the fireplace and an idea formed. We never managed to activate the last entrance, and this certainly seems a fitting spot for it . . . "Excuse me, Professor? Could I try something?"
"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore responded twinklingly.
I have no idea if this is even right, but it's worth a try. "Thank you, Helga."
And—
A chunk of stone slid out from beside the fireplace. Remus whistled appreciatively.
"Great, it worked. Thank you, Helga." The passageway closed back off.
"Harry—may I inquire as to what that was?"
Harry smiled. "Of course. There's a set of hidden rooms inside the school—four bedrooms in the House colors, a kitchen, a library, a Quidditch pitch, and a bathroom, branching out from a center room that changes itself to however you want it. Each of the rooms has an entrance somewhere in the school."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled more strongly than Harry had ever seen them. "I have heard rumors of such a place; perhaps 'legends' would be a better term. The place I believe you have discovered was once known as the Heart of Hogwarts."
"Yeah, Kady called it that," Harry said absently, wondering where Dumbledore was going with this.
"Amazing. Simply amazing." Dumbledore sighed happily. "It was crafted by the four Founders working together, as a place of rest and tranquility. One of the most ancient stories of the school's founding claims that after the castle was finished, as a private finale to the ceremonies which marked its opening, the Founders entered the Heart of Hogwarts with their grown children and swore again to one another the oath the original four had sworn before beginning to build the castle."
"They swore it in blood?" Remus asked. "'My hand in yours' and all that?"
"So it is said. And it is said as well that the stones of that place recall both that ancient oath and its breaking, and that the Heart of Hogwarts rose up in rebellion and sealed itself away until such time as true Heirs to the Founders, both in blood and in heart, should come to Hogwarts again."
"And that's us?" Harry breathed.
"There can be no question," Dumbledore said. "We already know both you and James are Heirs of Gryffindor, and there may be other Heirs among you as well—these things have a tendency to remain hidden until they are needed. Regardless, all twelve of the Pack, as I believe you have taken to calling yourselves, are most certainly Heirs in heart to the noblest traditions of the Founders: the qualities upon which the Houses are based. You may consider the Heart of Hogwarts your sanctuary, after a fashion; none may harm you while you are within its walls. It is yours by right."
"Amazing," Remus said softly. Harry was inclined to agree.
The castle was waiting for me? Waiting for us?
I have a good feeling about this future.
That night, Harry finished a Transfiguration essay just as seven o'clock rolled around.
"All right, guys, I have to go see Dumbledore," he said as he rolled up his essay and stood up. "You know the drill."
Hermione looked at her watch, then back at him. "Harry, it's barely a minute before seven o'clock! You're going to be late!"
Harry smiled and shook his head. "Nope, I've got an ace or two up my sleeve. Stealth mode. Thank you, Godric."
And with that, to all outward appearances, he disappeared, leaving a laughing Ginny to tell Hermione about his latest discovery.
Harry landed on the bed in the Gryffindor bedroom, and quickly moved from it, through the Den room, to Helga's bathroom.
I tried 'Thank you, Helga' in here before and it didn't work, must have missed something . . .
His eyes fell on the bathtub. A-ha.
Stepping into the very ancient-looking porcelain fixture, he jumped slightly and said the words.
It worked. Dumbledore blinked as Harry seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Hello, Professor," the latter said slightly cheekily. "The Founders were quite remarkable in their magic, weren't they?"
"Indeed they were." Dumbledore was clearly amused. "Lemon drop, Harry?" he asked as his student sat down.
Harry smiled slightly. "No, thank you, Professor. What did you have planned for tonight?"
"In truth, nothing earth-shattering; I simply wished to discuss further some of the intricacies of removing curses. Am I correct in saying you had the chance to do a bit of ward-breaking while captured by Lord Voldemort?"
"Yeah, and it was really different, a lot more brute-force than the curses we had practiced on."
"All magic has a weak point, Harry," the aged Headmaster explained. "In a manner a bit like that of a keystone in an arch, a ward can be brought down simply by attacking it with the appropriate spells; curses, on the other hand, tend to be effectively threaded around their weak point, so that one must 'unravel' them carefully to defuse them . . . But first, I wished to discuss something else with you. I understand that your stay with Madam Pomfrey forced you to miss your career advice meeting with Professor McGonagall?"
"That's right, sir," Harry responded. "I'm planning to be an Auror, but not for another year; Sirius wanted to be one too, and I, well—" It sounded lame, even for him.
Dumbledore didn't seem to mind, though. "Perhaps you will be a good influence on young Mr. Black," he said, his expression inscrutable. "In any event, your choice leaves a convenient yearlong gap in your schedule. What is your opinion of Professor Johnson, Harry?"
The abrupt change of subject surprised Harry into telling the truth. "He's— well, a bit of an idiot, really. I don't think he's taught us anything practical all year . . ." Then he realized what he was saying, and to whom, and he covered his mouth in embarrassment.
"And for this reason, you founded the D.A.," Dumbledore concluded, not reacting to Harry's frank assessment of his Professor. "Which has been a great success by any account, I might add. You are a skilled teacher."
"Well, yeah. Thanks, sir." Harry blushed slightly under the praise, though he did wonder how the Headmaster knew about the club.
Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Surely you can tell my train of thought here, Harry?"
You don't think—
I do.
"You want me to teach Defense next year?" Harry asked, wide-eyed.
"Indeed, assuming of course that you are willing to accept the position. You would do a good deal better than Professor Johnson, to be sure, and at the rate rumors have been spreading I would count myself lucky to receive any other applications for the position."
Harry grinned widely. He fought the urge to shout "YES!" at the top of his lungs and said instead, "I'd be honored, Professor." He was proud of how composed his voice sounded. "Are you sure—"
Dumbledore answered the question before it could even be fully voiced. "Of course, Harry. I am confident you will thrive in the position, or I would not have suggested it to you."
"Then— thank you, Professor. I'll do my best to live up to your expectations."
"Indeed." Dumbledore extended his hand, smiling genially. "Welcome to the staff, Professor Potter."
Harry took it, feeling more than slightly surreal.
So does this mean I have to call you Professor? Ginny purred.
Harry laughed mentally. Only in class. And you can be the one to tell Hermione the news; I have a feeling her reaction could shatter eardrums.
Dimly, he heard Ginny doing so, and winced slightly at the result. Apparently, an intervening mind did little to muffle Hermione's delighted shriek.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "After the N.E.W.T. exams, seventh-year students have a week of classes in some of the more practical elements of magic—household charms and the like. It is my wish . . ."
Harry listened to Dumbledore's plan, and he found he liked it immensely.
One last chance to be a positive influence while I'm still in school . . .
Merlin knows some of the kids here need it.
Severus Snape returned quietly to class mid-May; in truth, few had even noticed his absence. Harry and Remus's account of his loyalty oath had spread quickly among the Pack, to the degree that the return of "the greasy git" caused only mild grumbling among James and Sirius. Evidently, since said "git" was still alive, he had managed to convince Voldemort that he remained loyal. Harry had no idea how Snape had managed this, and upon a bit of thought he decided he really didn't want to know.
The seventh-years received their N.E.W.T. schedules in Transfiguration class on June 1. Much groaning ensued, especially on the part of a certain Weasley. "We have Potions first? That shouldn't be legal!"
"Oh, cheer up, Ron," Hermione said, exasperated. "That means it'll be over with first too. And there's only five exams this time, not ten."
"Half as many exams, maybe, but they're at least four times as hard," Harry grumbled. The three Gryffindors had been reviewing almost constantly for a week—there had come a point at which it was easier to follow Hermione's suggestions than ignore them—and they would be following a similar schedule right up to the N.E.W.T.s themselves.
"What do you need to get to be an Auror again?" Ron asked.
"At least E in Defense, Transfiguration, and Potions, A in Charms and one other subject of your choice," Harry said glumly, looking up from Advanced Potion-Making (an undoctored copy, this time). "Which it will be a miracle if I score. You know how it is for me and Potions."
"Well, you know the solution to that," Hermione chirped. "Keep studying!"
Harry sighed and resumed his scouring of the text.
On the morning of June 6, the fifth- and seventh-years filed anxiously into the Entrance Hall. They were met by Griselda Marchbanks, who had apparently aged not at all in twenty years. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels and Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests commence today with an examination in Potions," the elderly witch said monotonously. "The theory examination is first; after my explanation is complete, please enter the Great Hall. Seventh-years, be sure to sit towards the back, it makes things easier for us. All right, in you go."
As the horde of students walked in, Harry sought eye contact with Hermione, Ron, Aletha, and Danger. The latter's eyes were swirling with blue, which reminded Harry of something . . .
Ginny, don't say anything while I'm taking the test.
Oh, I know. Her mental tone was light. If I made you think you even might have cheated, you would never forgive me. Don't worry, Harry, I know how noble you are.
The papers were handed out, and soon Professor Marchbanks was standing next to a huge hourglass, saying, "You have three hours to complete the examination. You may begin."
A furious rustling noise filled the Hall as some five dozen students flipped over their papers. Harry looked down at his and smiled as he read the first question.
Describe, in detail, the effects of one of the following: Felix Felicis, Veritaserum, or Amortentia.
He circled the first option, recalling a night spent wheedling a particular memory out of Professor Slughorn, and began to write.
Maybe this won't be my downfall after all . . .
Overall, Harry thought, the test went as well as could be expected. Maybe I won't get my E, but hey—I tried my best. Sure enough, Hermione still felt compelled to run through the test after she had taken it, but she seemed much less tense than two years previously, and Ron wasn't as irritable either.
Getting together really did them a world of good.
The same could be said of us, you know.
Harry just grinned at the slight intrusion; he knew from experience that Ginny sometimes listened to his louder thoughts when she was bored. At one point, he supposed it might have bothered him, but that point was long past; ever since the fiasco with the Founders, he doubted he'd ever decry any aspect of this bond. It was, he decided, one of the best things that had happened to him. True enough.
After lunch, the Potions practical proved remarkably unproblematic; the seventh-years were required to brew one potion from memory and one from instructions. For his memorized one, Harry used the Draught of Living Death, complete with the Prince's modifications. The examiner looked slightly impressed when he handed it in. Snape may have been a git, but there's no reason I can't learn from him. I wonder whether he's done the same thing with his book in this time period . . .
Transfiguration, the next day, went well enough—Hermione said after the practical that the Animagus transformation had given her a new perspective on complex Transfigurations, and Harry was inclined to agree. With the amount of reading we've done on it, it had better!
The true highlight of the exam period, though, was Defense on Friday. For one, it came after two completely free days for the N.E.W.T. students—days which Harry put to great effect, studying in the library of the Den and practicing in the Room of Requirement, preparing for both the exam and his job next year. Second, it was without a doubt Harry's best subject. He did spend enough time relaxing to satisfy Ron, and he got Danger's opinion of the O.W.L.s at one point—"tough, but manageable," though she looked a bit frazzled as she said it. She's managing, at least.
The practical Defense N.E.W.T. was similar to the O.W.L. Harry remembered from his fifth year, but it was a bit more dangerous, as the examiner (Professor Tofty for Harry) threw mild curses that the student was expected to block or counteract. At first, Tofty verbalized the spells he was using—Furnunculus, Locomotor Mortis, etc.; Harry earned a few extra points by using specific blocks, which were stronger than the average Protego but only protected against one class of spell. Then they progressed to using nonverbal spells, and finally a mock duel.
"Just try to disarm me," Professor Tofty said. "Please, nothing that will kill me or send me to the Hospital Wing, and don't be discouraged if I win—you're being graded on your technique, not your success. Tarantallegra!"
Harry dodged the Tickling Jinx and countered with a nonverbal Stunner, and the duel was on.
It was maddening. Everything the examiner threw at him, he dodged or blocked, but he couldn't land a single hit; Professor Tofty was apparently very skilled at Shield Charms, and he was testing him quite well. Time to shake things up a bit. Waving his wand in a wide vertical arc, Harry conjured his Patronus, hoping for a moment's distraction, and sent a Stunner immediately in its wake.
It worked—well, almost. Professor Tofty dropped his shield for a second to launch an offensive spell, not seeing what possible harm a Patronus could cause, and was almost hit by the Stunning Spell that came right through it. He raised his shield again not an instant too soon, although he seemed rather off-balanced by the near miss.
Harry took advantage of that as best he could with the skills he had. Flicking his wand for emphasis, he conjured a small flame momentarily on the back of Professor Tofty's right hand—through his Shield Charm. Tofty dropped his wand in a reflexive reaction to the heat; Harry quickly Summoned it before the examiner could react. He had won.
"Amazing," Tofty said as Harry tossed him back his wand. "I haven't had any N.E.W.T. student defeat me in over twenty-five years—what was his name? Oh yes, Tom Riddle, promising boy, wonder what became of him—"
Harry gulped. "Um, Professor Tofty? Tom Riddle is still alive, and rather—er, infamous—he goes by another name now—" He demonstrated the anagram of Tom Marvolo Riddle as I am Lord Voldemort, the same way he had seen Tom do it in the Chamber of Secrets.
"Oh, my," Tofty squeaked. "Oh, my, indeed. I had no idea. Well, congratulations, Mr. Potter. You've done quite well indeed."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said as he walked toward the exit of the Entrance Hall.
Three down, just the two least important ones to go, and I've got a WEEKEND—
Harry couldn't suppress a delighted grin.
The trio's remaining two N.E.W.T.s were worrying for Hermione, but no one else; she needed an O in Charms, while Harry and Ron only needed As. Thus, the latter two took good advantage of the weekend, retreating to the Den to avoid bothering the furious fifth-years. They played a few games of three-a-side Quidditch with Ginny, Sirius, Aletha, and James, and Harry even finally—finally—had a chance to spend some time alone with Ginny.
Sunday morning at breakfast, Professor McGonagall passed out schedules for the last week of term. "After your N.E.W.T. examinations are complete," she explained, "you will have a week of classes regarding the more practical aspects of magic. You will not be graded on these classes, and you will receive no homework, but all the same it is highly recommended that you attend. The lessons you will learn are important and useful ones."
Ron took the proferred schedule and eyed it briefly. "Well, could be worse," he said. "Five sections of Charms with Flitwick, three of Transfiguration, one of Defense—Merlin!"
"What is it, Ron?" asked Hermione, who was reading her own schedule more slowly and had not yet seen anything amiss.
"Look at Friday night," was all Ron would say.
"Seven o'clock, Great Hall, Defense . . . Potter? Congratulations, Harry!" she enthused a bit loudly, causing heads to turn, especially among the seventh-years. Various mutterings of "What's a kid doing teaching us?" and "What does he know?" could be heard.
Harry shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "Dumbledore asked me to," he said. "Thought I could teach something useful—and I've got a pretty good idea of what I'm going to do." His expression became much more somber. "Things they need to know."
Can I come? Ginny asked.
"Actually, let's expand it to all D.A. members fifth year and above, in addition to the seventh-years. Could you guys spread the word?"
"Sure." "Yeah." "We'll be there."
"Thanks, guys." Harry sighed. God, Gin, I feel like Mad-Eye Moody. Some of the stuff I'm planning to talk about . . . we need to be prepared for it, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant. I'm destroying people's innocence, it feels like.
Hard to be innocent when there's a war on, Ginny responded. Look, I know you're worried about this, but it's better for us to be prepared. The things you're planning might save people's lives.
"Has anyone told you it's really freaky when you do that?" Sirius asked.
He wants freaky? I'll show him freaky . . . "Yes," Ginny said out Harry's mouth. "Many times."
Damn, I didn't know we could do that.
Neither did I. Learn something new every day.
The Pack broke down laughing.
Harry stood behind a podium on the teachers' dais in the Great Hall. Seventy-five faces stood before him, some eager, some neutral, some (Slytherin, he thought) sneering. Snape was mercifully absent.
Harry cleared his throat. "Welcome to your last post-N.E.W.T. informational class," he said carryingly. "Dumbledore has asked me to teach this on account of some of my experiences. I don't much like some of the things I'm about to say, but they need to be said."
He paused for a second and took a breath. Every eye was upon him. Even the skeptics had lost most of their sneers.
"We are at war," Harry said simply. "As much as you may try to avoid it, every one of you will have some part to play in this conflict. Voldemort—" gasps and jumps at the name— "yes, I'm using his name, he's not going to come attack me for it, Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort—he doesn't care about neutrality. According to him, either you're with him or you're against him. And if you're with him, you're probably going to wind up dead."
"That's not true!" one of the Slytherins shouted—Nott, Harry remembered. "The Dark Lord rewards his followers!"
"One, I've only ever heard Death Eaters call Voldemort the 'Dark Lord'. It's a term of twisted respect, and you can bet it'll make me look very closely at you. I do not respond well to Death Eaters." Nott shrank back slightly. "Two, Voldemort is loyal to his followers only so long as they are useful to him. He can be as ruthless to those who support as he is to those who dissent. You would do well to remember that.
"I'm not asking you to risk your life to fight him—yes, there are those of us who do that, and we're not all Aurors. I am asking you to be prepared if Tom or his minions come calling."
It was a calculated use of Voldemort's real name, and it paid off. "Tom?" one of the Ravenclaws asked.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Harry said with a grim smile. "Rearrange the letters and you get 'I am Lord Voldemort'. He hates the name. Prefect, Head Boy, left Hogwarts in 1943 I think. There's quite a lot of interesting tidbits in his background, but I'll leave the investigation to those of you who are so inclined." He decided not to mention that Voldemort was a half-blood; most would not believe him, and he wanted this lecture to seem credible.
"Anyway," Harry continued, "Voldemort— oh, come on, people— has certain techniques he likes to use, and it would do you well to know how to counteract them. First, Inferi. Does anyone know what an Inferius is?"
Several people raised their hands, including all the time-travelers and Lily. "Miss Evans?"
"A dead body reanimated by a Dark wizard," Lily said. Several people shuddered.
"That's right." Harry's expression was grim. "Inferi are extraordinarily creepy and extraordinarily dangerous, and Voldemort has killed enough people to make practically an army of them. They can't be killed because they're already dead, but they can be driven off. Does anyone know how?"
No one spoke. No one moved. Even Ron, Hermione, and Ginny kept their hands down, probably to remain inconspicuous.
"Fire," Harry said shortly. "'Like many creatures of the darkness, they detest light and warmth . . .'"
"You sound like you're quoting someone," one of the Ravenclaws said.
"I am. Our esteemed Headmaster, in fact." Silence pervaded for a few moments as Harry was seemingly lost in memory. He shook his head and got back to teaching. "Okay, next thing. Voldemort specializes in spying. He uses secrecy and deceit to gather followers and information. He wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. You all know what Polyjuice Potion is, right?" Everyone nodded. "How easy do you think it would be for a Death Eater to get one of your hairs? Or a hair of one of your loved ones? Very."
"How do you tell if someone's under it, then?" asked one of the Gryffindors.
"You have them prove they're who they say they are. Ask them something only the two of you would know, for instance. Of course, a Death Eater might have forced that out of them before impersonating them. On the other hand, the form of a Patronus, for instance, is unique and unforgeable—yet another reason to learn the charm."
"What do you mean?" someone asked.
"The form of your Patronus is based on personality, connections with loved ones, and so on. A Death Eater won't have the same connections, and he certainly won't have the same personality. Take a look." Harry waved his wand and produced his shining silvery phoenix Patronus.
The class made appreciative noises. Harry held up a hand for silence as his Patronus disappeared. "Now, they're not completely unique; Dumbledore's Patronus is a phoenix too, and I'm sure there have been others in history. But a Death Eater is probably going to have a different kind of Patronus—a snake, maybe, or a vulture, or something befitting his personality. And he's definitely not going to have the same form as the person he's imitating. Animagus forms can't be forged either, if you've studied that. Any questions?"
There were none.
"One last thing, then." Harry took a small jar of spiders out of his pocket and enlarged it; this was the part of his demonstration he was least sure about, and his hand shook so that he almost dropped the jar.
Ginny sent feelings of reassurance over their bond. They need to know, love. They're seventh-years, and going out into the world. Moody showed it to you in fourth, and he said you were supposed to see them in sixth. Remember?
Harry took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. All right. I know. They just seem so innocent sometimes, worrying about girls and grades and all that normal stuff . . .
We're none of us innocent. Not with Voldemort around.
Composing himself, Harry addressed the class. "Does anyone know the three curses most heavily punishable by Wizarding law?"
Several students raised their hands, including all the Pack. Harry called on Peter. He could use the boost.
"They're called the Unforgivable Curses," Peter said softly. "Imperius, Cruciatus, and the Killing Curse."
"That's correct. They're not all that difficult for a Dark wizard to use, they have quite devastating effects, and they're immensely difficult to avoid. For these reasons, Voldemort and his Death Eaters are rather fond of them." Stepping aside from the podium to stand behind a table next to it, Harry took a spider out of the jar, held it against the table, and pointed his wand in silence. He concentrated his will and shouted, "Imperio!"
A hush fell over the Hall as the spider began to scuttle around madly in clear patterns. When it started to spin a web and jump through the air like a trapeeze artist, several students started snickering.
Harry, who had retained a somber, almost regretful expression as he held the curse, dropped it as he heard this result. He summoned the spider with a wave of his wand, placed it carefully back in the jar, and turned the full force of his glare upon the unfortunate laughers. "Would you think it so funny if it was being done to you?" he asked softly.
The seventh-year, who Harry remembered had developed a bit of a reputation for laziness, shook his head wildly.
"Didn't think so. I'm not going to be putting it on you, obviously, but Voldemort won't be so kind."
He proceeded to demenstrate the Cruciatus Curse and Avada Kedavra on the other two spiders. No one moved a muscle as they watched the effects in horror.
"Evanesco," Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the jar when all was done. He looked up at the class, his expression rather worn.
"These are not nice curses," he said in a tone implying far more experience than he would have wished. "The use of any of them against a human will earn you an automatic life sentence in Azkaban. No matter how righteously angry you are, no matter if a Death Eater just killed the last family member you have—" Harry said venomously, breaking off. "Don't use them," he repeated more calmly. "If you're decent, even if you're not punished for it, you will wind up regretting it."
"Now, does anyone know how you can avoid the effects of these curses?"
Shocked, the students fell silent for several seconds. Then Sirius asked, "But aren't they unblockable?"
"Correct, you can't block them. You can, however, dodge them. Also, the Imperius curse can be fought—it takes tremendous strength of will, but it is possible. If you see someone acting very oddly, they may have partially fought off an Imperius. Be on your guard."
Harry stepped back to the podium and looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each and every student. "I didn't like showing you this stuff. I don't particularly like talking about it. Ultimately, most of you are going to leave Hogwarts in a few days and just start living your lives. If I thought shielding you from this would ultimately help you, I would do it.
"The truth is, though, it won't. We. Are. At. War. Voldemort's followers are merciless, and the sad likelihood is that most of you will probably have some experience with these curses during your life, either on someone in your family or on you personally. If you know what you're facing, you can take steps to avoid it.
"I'm not asking you to be Mad-Eye Moody. I'm not asking you to be paranoid. I'm not asking you to shout 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' and scare the living daylights out of everyone you meet." Most of the students laughed; the old Auror's paranoia was very well known.
"I'm asking you to be prepared.
"If you want to fight, of course we have a place for you. A war has two sides, after all, and the Aurors aren't the only fighters in magical Britain. Talk to Professor Dumbledore. If your plans are for the other side . . . Merlin help you, because no one else will."
Harry took a deep breath and finished his speech. This was his most important point, and he truly wanted to make sure it was understood. "Above all, live your lives. Don't live in fear. If you do, Voldemort has already won. Be decent people, and the rest will take care of itself.
"Dismissed."
He stepped down from the teachers' dais, exhausted, and met back up with the Pack. The room still seemed quiet; people were talking, to be sure, but the conversations were rather subdued.
Before Harry knew it, Ron was giving him a pat on the back. "Amazing job, mate," he said, smiling. "You really know what you're talking about, and it shows."
"You don't think it was too much?" Harry asked hesitantly.
"Not at all." Hermione was emphatic. "Like you said, it needed to be said."
Ginny gave him a hug and a kiss, expressing through their link much the same things Ron and Hermione were saying aloud.
Maybe, just maybe, Harry figured, I helped one prospective Death Eater to reconsider. Or gave one normal person the information that will someday save his life.
It's worth it. Better to be alive and slightly scared than clueless and dead.
"Be welcome, all, to this den-night. We are Pack now, Pack together."
"Pack forever." Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione put just a bit of extra stress on the word.
Harry took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, this is it," he said. "Our last night at Hogwarts." The Pack was gathered in the Den for the last time of the year; the date was June 30, a full moon night, and the Leaving Ceremony tomorrow would see them all to the train. He felt an odd sense of nostalgia; it may not have been this Hogwarts that witnessed all the escapades of his seven years' schooling, but it was certainly Hogwarts, and though he would be returning next year, it wouldn't be the same, not really . . .
Look at me, thinking about Hogwarts as if it's a person.
Which, for all I know, it may very well be. Or the magical equivalent.
"Not your last," James said with a smile. "I'm going to be taught Defense by my own son. I doubt there's any other Hogwarts students who can claim that. Or that they actually learned something while being so taught."
"It won't be the same, though." Harry smiled wanly. "Hogwarts really is the only place I've ever felt at home. Number Four was just a house, and the Burrow was a wonderful home, but it wasn't really mine. Well, I'm still staying here next year; Professors have to live at the castle. What are you and Hermione planning, Ron?"
Ron grinned and looked at Hermione. Apparently, she was the one who had done all the planning. Somehow, I expected as much.
"We're planning on getting a house in Ottery St. Catchpole," Hermione said, beaming. "I did a bit of research the past week, and apparently there's a nice place there that's just gone on the market. It's actually quite reasonably priced. I think with what I should be making next year, we'll be able to handle it."
"Hold on, 'we'?" Harry gave a teasing grin. "Is there something you and Ron aren't telling me?" He very pointedly looked at their hands, searching for something that evidently wasn't there.
Both Ron and Hermione blushed furiously. "Er— no, nothing like that, but I—" Hermione stammered.
Ron gulped, opened his mouth, then closed it. He gulped again. Finally seeming to find his resolve, he got off the couch and moved to stand—no, kneel—in front of Hermione.
Oh my God, Harry and Ginny said simultaneously. The comfortable level of chatter in the Den died out instantly. Hermione's expression changed from embarrassment to very surprised happiness.
Ron swallowed again and took Hermione's hands in his. "Hermione," he said tentatively. "I've never been all that great at this stuff—you know me, emotional range of hopefully a bit more than a teaspoon by now—and you know I don't have any money in this time, just what I happened to have in my trunk—" His ears were quite the same color as his hair by now.
"Go on," Hermione said encouragingly.
"Well, I know I've been a bit of a git to you sometimes," Ron continued. "All right, third year, sixth year, I was a lot of a git to you, and I'm sorry. I think I've grown up since then. Dumbledore's funeral, this year when we were captured—we were really there for each other, and I've realized what I have with you is really—special, I guess. Unique. You're really one of the best things in my life right now, Hermione, and I want that to continue."
Hermione's smile grew, giving Ron a bit of much-needed reassurance. "You know—" he said, "you keep me on track, and I keep you having fun every so often. I love that. I love you, Hermione." Ron seemed to search anxiously for anything else to say, but his mind wasn't much cooperating at the moment. "Bloody hell," he whispered.
Ron shifted slightly and looked Hermione even more directly in the eyes. He smiled nervously as he spoke. "Hermione Jane Granger, would you—will you marry me?"
Hermione jumped up, beaming, and hugged Ron tightly. She took only enough time to shout, "Yes! Yes! Oh, yes!" before kissing him soundly.
After this had been going on for a few minutes, even the males of the Pack wearing broad grins, Sirius started clapping. Ron and Hermione broke apart quickly—they seemed to have forgotten the presence of everyone else—but nothing could hide their enormous smiles.
"Congratulations, mate," Harry said sincerely. "I know you two will do great together."
"Thanks, Harry," was Ron's response. He and Hermione looked at each other and found that they just had to kiss again.
From then on, it was something of a normal den-night, with stories, games, and laughter. Hermione and Ron remained absurdly happy, and they disappeared a few times and returned looking even happier; overall, Harry thought this was one of the best of all possible worlds. We need all the happiness we can get, honestly. And I think we have it.
Finally, past midnight, everyone had finally tired and was lying in the main room of the Den, the couples next to each other. (Sirius and Aletha very pointedly slept at opposite corners of the group.) The lights had already been turned off. The members of the Pack lay there, awake but silent and content, for a few minutes, until Harry spoke.
"I think our little twist of time has finally unraveled itself," he mused quietly.
"What do you mean?" Danger asked.
"When we first got here, Dumbledore told us we probably couldn't go back. On the first day of school, he told us we definitely couldn't. But still, I never really felt like I belonged to this time period. Now I do. I feel, well . . . hopeful about my future. And for the first time, I'm thinking of it as that. As my future. As ours."
"I feel the same way, I guess," Ginny said from beside him. "This is the end of an era for three of us—for all of us, really. We're not innocent anymore. We're choosing what's right over what's easy. It won't be easy—" her voice hardened slightly— "but we'll all face it together."
"Pack together," Harry agreed.
"Pack forever," the eleven others chorused.
"I bid you good night and fair dreams," Ginny murmured, on the edge of sleep herself. "May the coming night rest us all, and we rise in the morning stronger for it."
"May it be so."
As Harry drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard Aletha start singing softly, something about doors; it sounded moving, and somehow apt for the Pack. Oddly, he had a strange sense of having heard it even though he knew he hadn't.
But maybe I'm just imagining it. I'm certainly tired enough.
Harry's thoughts turned to the future. Here I come, Voldemort. I'm not yours to toy with anymore. I have friends, and you only have servants. We have happiness. We have love. You don't. The Light will always win.
And meanwhile, I can forge myself a new life, with the people I'd most want in it beside me every step of the way. You, Tom, will not control my life. By living, I defy you. And I'm going to live.
Harry didn't know where he was going, what this future would bring . . .
. . . but he felt sure it would be even better than the life he was leaving behind.
As long as we face it together.
THE END
(for now)
(A/N: And it's done! Eight weeks exactly—I finished the first scene of Chapter 1 at 12:30 A.M. PDT on Wednesday, August 16, 2006.
The explanation of the Heart of Hogwarts is from "Dealing with Danger," Chapter 39, by whydoyouneedtoknow.
A few of the theories in this fic—Voldemort's wand being a Horcrux, Snape's family situation, the addictiveness of Dark magic—are based on essays by Red Hen. I recommend reading them, as they're very well thought-out.
This is my first fic, and writing it has been immensely educational (and fun!) for me. Thank you, J.K. Rowing, for creating the universe we're playing in. Thank you, Anne Walsh, for being so gracious in allowing me to use your wonderful ideas, for writing the AU universe those wonderful ideas are presented in, and for helping me with the story when I stumbled. And thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially those of you who took the time to give me some details of what you liked and what you didn't. It really helps.
This universe is not over; I said at the end of Chapter 1 that it would go through Halloween 1981, and I still mean it. A sequel will be beginning in a few weeks, after I have a chance to brainstorm and outline. (I haven't even decided on a title yet.) Don't worry; I've still got more than a few tricks up my sleeve, and I'll still fix errors in "The Twist of Time" if you point them out to me.
So, through all 103436 words, 141 reviews, 18309 hits (and counting) . . . thanks.
Joshua Oreman
October 11, 2006)