Two cases of intentional OOC, one probably-impossible case of genetic engineering, a dose of touching loyalty (that's reciprocity is flagging), and a touch of misplaced resolve. Lovely.
BTW, this entire chapter was like pulling teeth. I don't think much of it, but at least it's finally over with. Bigger and better things, folks.
Harry Potter is not mine. If it were, the saintly Golden Trio might be a little less so.
Chapter Four - Sensus
When Harry came to, he had a hard time figuring out exactly what he was doing on the floor. Following that, he had a hard time getting off it, and found that already he was breathing hard.
What is wrong with me?
There was a pause, before Slytherin, voice heavy with something, replied, Think about it.
Harry would have groaned if that hadn't detracted from panting, but still tried his best to do as he'd been bidden. It's like… I'm missing something…. Like… Like there was only half of him. That made sense. How long until this passes?
Slytherin was silent, and Harry felt a sinking feeling in his gut.
It does pass, doesn't it?
Given the proper circumstances.
This time he did groan. What have I done to myself now?
Literally split yourself in two, Slytherin answered candidly. By doing so you have left yourself with only half of the necessary genetic material to make up a human being. A Muggle in your situation would be in dire straits indeed… and you will have to find a replacement for the Mudblood's heritage. Your magic can only handle your current state for a few weeks.
Harry winced, allowing himself to slide down to the floor before his legs gave out and landed him there painfully. The sting of outrage he usually felt at the appellation of the term "Mudblood" to Lily Potter was notably absent, but that didn't mean he liked it, or that he was comfortable with it.
What had he been thinking? In retrospect, this problem was obvious…. Hogwarts didn't cover genetics, but he'd had enough Muggle schooling to know why cloning was such a bad idea. Slytherin had said that interbreeding inside the immediate family was the only danger for magical bloodlines, but by bleeding out Lily and not supplying a replacement, he had broken down his DNA and stripped it into two.
Harry thanked his lucky stars that his genetics took mostly after his father, or he would have been in an even worse condition.
Harry paused, listening to his own rasping breath. It was odd how clearly he was thinking, when one considered his physical condition… but then again, if McGonagall was to be believed, James Potter had been a prodigy…. He shook it off for later.
Bloodline replacement… Slytherin was the ideal choice, the obvious choice, but had one drawback: there were none alive to "donate." Unless…
Harry shook his head slowly as a thought occurred to him. Only immediate family weakened magical bloodlines, Slytherin had said. What if…?
The more he thought about it, the more appealing it was. A cross between a grin and a smirk blossomed on Harry's face, and he made no effort to stop it.
Ambitious, Slytherin remarked finally, and if his mental health wasn't deteriorating with his physical condition then he actually sounded impressed. And how do you intend to accomplish this?
In steps. Harry forced himself to his feet, ignoring the trembling of his limbs. The first of which is to learn as much about the major attributes associated with the bloodlines in Dad's ancestry.
Slytherin's lips curled into a half-smile. Therefore?
I need to find out what bloodlines have intermixed with Dad's. Harry sighed, still smirking slightly. Research he didn't mind, for once.
Harry was rather amazed with himself when he realized that even a week later he hadn't lost his interest in his project. Finding his family tree had taken a bit of blood, parchment, and a short incantation and had led to interesting results: at the bottom, where his name should have been, with James Potter's immediately above, was a twice-written over patch he eventually saw was both names written over each other.
Above the scrawl was the first division, indicating his grandmother and grandfather. From there it continued to split, bringing more and more names spilling onto the parchment, until it ran out of space somewhere a hundred or so years prior the founding of Hogwarts.
The night after the ritual had seen a lesson on many of the prominent families in the wizarding world. Some of them, like the Malfoys, limited procreation and mixing of bloodlines to certain other pureblood familes. This was done to increase the bloodline's capacity to bestow bloodline traits, like the Slytherin family's Parseltongue; but at the same time it prevented the introduction of other bloodline traits.
Muggle-raised, Harry hadn't known that bloodline traits were so widespread… among purebloods at least. Muggle blood served to break down the integrity and destabilize the magical flow. Thus, it was no wonder everyone and their owl had jumped to the conclusion Harry was the Heir of Slytherin that day he had unintentionally revealed he was a Parselmouth.
The Potters had been one of the families that encouraged marriage with any and all pure-blood families. While not necessarily "blood supremacist" relationships beyond friendship with half-bloods and Muggle-borns were highly frowned upon.
Dad probably would have caused a stir, if his parents hadn't died before he got married, Harry reflected wryly, studying the compiled list of the 50 most common surnames to appear on the chart - excluding Potter, of course. Of them, over thirty were considered to have "died out."
There was Slytherin of course, though Harry's great-great grandmother; and then there was the Blacks, who shared a thick blood relation of one intermarriage every two or three generations. In addition were the Lupins, who, while having less interrelation than the Blacks, were notably prominent in research. Also commons was the Weasleys, up until a couple centuries past.
To Harry's shock, there was even a mention of the surname "Granger" or more correctly "Dagworth-Granger."
You will probably have more luck with the most common bloodlines in the last few hundred years, Slytherin commented. But the ones that have died out would be more useful in your endeavor. How could you solve this?
Strike a balance, Harry answered distractedly, paging through a book for more information on the Whitbyrn family. He had thought about this problem before, long and hard. After all, no proper bloodline was wholly that bloodline; that demanded the type of incest that was forbidden even among the most stalwart of pure-bloods. No, any bloodline was hybrid.
Meaning, if he intended to synthesize an entirely new bloodline, it would have to pay toll to the laws of inheritance as well.
Hermione's mother was going to kill her if she ever found out about this. Jane Granger didn't understand that much of the magical world and only knew what Hermione herself explained to her (which, apparently, was too much), but even she knew that Knockturn Alley was as Dark as a dementor's coven - not that she knew what a dementor was.
Hermione swallowed, and unconsciously scooted closer to Ron. She had hardly recognized the redhead when he'd flown out of the Leaky Cauldron fireplace, powdered with ash and Floo and suffering from one of the twins' pranks.
Instead of red, his hair had been a shockingly bright shade of yellow, a color that wouldn't have looked out of place as a highlighter. A brief splattering of her mother's makeup had hidden most of his Weasley freckles, and his bone structure wasn't anything spectacular enough to stand out.
It was brilliant. And that alone had Hermione spooked, because she'd never before thought of Ron as brilliant at anything but chess. And of all things - subterfuge? What was the world coming to?
She couldn't do anything about her hair color and the dull brown didn't stand out, but the mass of bushy frizz did. She had nearly died when she had concluded she would have to ask her mother to have it straightened… professionally. Home kits didn't work.
"Mi," said Ron quietly, "get off. You're going to look mousy."
Hermione twitched. Mousy! "Don't call me Mi, Bilius." She took some satisfaction at the cringe Ron couldn't quite hide, and shifted her weight nonetheless. Ron was woefully inexperienced in wizarding tradition, being one of the main families behind the movement to put it behind them, but she didn't know the first thing about it. It rankled.
Ron looked around at the shops the lined the streets. There were several arcane-looking bookshop fronts, what must have been a magical creature shop that displayed a large assortment of spiders (Ron flinched and looked away quickly), and no end of nasty, grimy saleswitches and wizards. In the center of the alley, largest of them all was the store Hermione recognized from Harry's misadventures in Knockturn Alley as Borgin and Burkes.
A small detail that had been nagging at her leaped suddenly to the forefront of her mind and she swallowed a horrified gasp.
"Ro- Bilius," she demanded in a desperate whisper, "how are we going to pay? We haven't-"
The redhead (who wasn't, right now) put a hand over her mouth and muttered into her ear, "Do you really think the rich purebloods carry all their gold on them?" He released her, smiling grimly. "Don't worry. There are other ways."
Why did that not reassure her? Why was she suddenly scared…?
It was two weeks - two solid weeks, working with Slytherin's assistance even during his sleep - before he bypassed the first roadblock on his way to… whatever. Bloodline supremacy? He snorted. While he had gotten over the urge to jump Slytherin over his disparaging comments (and was getting better at ignoring them completely) of Muggle-borns, he still fought to quell the irritation.
He had a feeling Slytherin kept insulting them for that express reason. Slytherin's amusement in the back of his mind gave that theory further credence.
"This won't work for long, will it?" he asked aloud, handling the experimental concoction gingerly. "It's not stable yet…."
Correct, it won't. However, it should be effective for several hours.
"Enough time for me to find out what the hell is going on in the magical world."
The founder didn't reply. Neither he nor the patron liked the idea of him leaving, even if only for a few hours. On the other hand, both saw that he had to keep up with the outside world, and he couldn't do that shut up in Familium Callidus.
But Harry was dead-set on going to Diagon Alley, and as far safety was concerned, with half of the British wizarding community at King's Cross, September first was the best all around. Perhaps earlier he could have blended into the crowds, just another boy going to Hogwarts - but as he was still recognizably Harry Potter (in fact, only his eyes had changed) that was out of the question.
From what Slytherin knew of genetics and what they had found out over the last two weeks, truly synthesizing a bloodline would take too long - far longer than he could handle in a body that was deteriorating by the day. What they could do was isolate the specific traits of the bloodlines (something he was fairly sure Muggles couldn't do), isolate them, and put the desired traits back together in a way that formed the full human genetic code.
Complicated. And confusing.
So far, developing a permanent replacement was beyond them. To do that, they still had to formulate over three-quarters of the DNA sequence, varying enough from his own that it didn't emulate incest. All Harry could do in the short-term was to use a temporary fix, utilizing the portion they had plus his own.
Harry stepped back, away from anything that could break or be broken by flailing limbs, and knocked back the potion in one go.
Peeking up from her book at her pale, morose companion as the train began to gather speed from its impromptu stop, Hermione thought she'd never see Ron in the same light again.
It was cold, the compartment was quiet as an empty (or not so empty) casket, she couldn't concentrate on the book in front of her, and her breath escaped her in a cloud of mist.
At least they had learned something. It hadn't been an entirely useless venture. Harry wasn't quite the Harry they knew anymore - both something more and something less. It was paradoxical, but it was true. And Hermione thought it had something to do with the Chamber.
Finally she couldn't handle it and threw the book down. "Ron. Tell me… just why is blood that -that -" She was lost for words. "Valuable" didn't fit, considering they couldn't live without it, but…
Ron looked up at her. "Do you know why the wizarding world places so much emphasis on purity of blood?"
"Well, I always assumed it was just some kind of bigotry," Hermione admitted. In all the books she had read, none had really explained another but the fact that magical bloodlines were "supreme" over Muggle ones.
"It is, sort of," the redhead said tiredly. "You see, almost all wizarding bloodlines have a defining trait. Slytherin's is Parseltongue, Harry's family has something that causes ritual magic to have a bigger effect than it would normally, and Malfoy's is a natural ease at magics affecting the mind…."
"Mind magics?" Hermione interrupted. "Why don't they have a class that covers these things? I never saw anything like that in the library either!"
He actually laughed. Sure it was hollow, but he laughed.
"Really, most families would never even dream of telling a Muggleborn about bloodline traits, Hermione. They're pureblood things, built up and strengthened by the interbreeding…."
"Interbreeding breaks down genetics, Ron, it doesn't build them up!" she interjected, feeling stung. Even Ron believed in that pureblood superiority nonsense? "You yourself said if wizards hadn't married Muggles they would have died out!"
"And we would have," he answered. "There's not enough purebloods to keep the wizarding world alive, not with blood feuds and all that. That's common knowledge."
"So you use Muggleborns as cannon fodder?" she hissed. "What's wrong with you?" This was nothing like the Ron she knew!
Ron gave her an odd look. "You misunderstand-"
"Ron would never say 'you misunderstand'!" Hermione was actually reaching for her trunk as she spoke. "You're acting weirder than Harry was before we left school!"
"And you know why?" Ron snapped, perking up as he grew irritated. She froze. "Wizards don't give up blood, Hermione. It's taboo, because it's dangerous. Anything can be done with blood. Anything! That's the reason why blood is so important. That's why rituals are classified 'dark magic' and why blood pacts actually work - with or without the donor's actual permission!"
He sighed, wilting again. "I was feeling better, but now… I have a bad feeling…."
It was kind of rude to change the subject immediately after a comment like that, but Hermione couldn't help herself, remembering his reluctance to let her… well, donate. "Is that why you wouldn't let them take blood from me?"
He sighed. "Exactly."
Hermione suddenly decided to revise her opinions on vampires. Maybe they were monsters after all.
Harry couldn't believe it. All this time… and the wizarding world thought he had been kidnapped? It was just too ironic. He had run from Privet Drive because he expected to be thought a criminal, but instead they thought him a victim. In doing so, he was nearly as bad off as he had originally thought, because he could hardly pop up with absolutely no knowledge of his so-called kidnapper.
There were upsides, however. He could work with this.
He gave the Slytherin a mental prod. Using the founder's given name was not something he was entirely comfortable with, so poking did wonders when Harry needed the other's attention. If the worst came to worst, could the patron pull me out of Hogwarts?
Go to Hogwarts, and the patron will be forced to, he replied slowly, a warning in his tone. For it is obvious they will not allow you to leave once you arrive.
True, Harry admitted, paying for his paper and reluctantly bypassing Quality Quidditch Supplies with Flourish and Blotts in mind. And it can't be common for students to be able to vanish out from the Hogwarts wards…
It isn't. Only the patrons of the founding families can do so.
Something I bet you kept secret. He didn't reply, and that was answer enough. Could I go to the Burrow then?
That…could be arranged.
Harry slipped into the shop, heading for the back. And if I made sure not to be seen? Just to look around?
The founder was amused by his wheedling, he could tell, but there was a undercurrent of thoughtfulness as he weighted his own pros and cons. Then there was a slight odd smile. Why not.
"So….," Hermione started uncomfortably, shifting on the plush seat of the horseless carriages that pulled all years second and up to Hogwarts while the first years crossed the lake. "What are we going to do now? Harry's not here and we know nothing but that he's still alive, just not the same."
"Whatever that's supposed to mean," Ron muttered, looking distracted. "I dunno."
"I think we should train ourselves." That got the redhead's attention, and she rushed to explain herself at his expression. "I mean, Harry will be back sometime - and you know the way he is. The Death Eater activity's been getting worse and worse, and when he gets back he'll somehow manage to fall right into it. If we can't help him now, then maybe we can help him then…."
Ron smiled distantly and returned to his examination of the window. "Why don't we do that…."
At first Harry thought it odd that he'd landed out in the moor where the Weasleys played Quidditch, until he inhaled too sharply and choked on the smoke in the air. Alarmed, he didn't need Slytherin's subtle prodding to slide into the brush around the moor, and he took great care in his footing in order to cause as little noise as possible.
Crack.
Something he needed to practice more often, he thought sheepishly, looking at the twig he stepped directly on. Discarding that thought for later, he slipped through the brush, until the Burrow came into view.
What the…?
He couldn't withhold a startled gasp at the sight of the Weasley household wreathed in flames, sending plumes of smoke into the air. Mrs. Weasley lay prone in the yard, deathly still - Harry's stomach twisted - and Ginny was sobbing over her, while several other black-cloaked figures milled about the scene, occasionally shooting off a spell, blowing things to bits or setting them of fire as well.
One of the figures leaned down over Ginny, and in a voice Harry had to strain to hear whispered almost kindly, "Tell them. Tell Dumbledore. Tell them Harry Potter's as good as dead. Tell them the Dark Lord has returned."
Ginny sobbed again and tried to slap the other (a male), only to have her hand caught by another spell, and she screamed out in pain, cradling it to her chest.
The wizard patted her on the head. "Tell them." At that he turned away, letting Harry see the bone-white skull-like mask he wore as he gestured to his follows, who began to disappear each with a separate, loud crack. Raising his wand into the air, he shouted one last incantation before disapparating himself: "Morsmordre!"
Well… Slytherin remarked, sounding insulted. The Dark Mark…
The Dark Mark…? Harry stared up at the cloud of green magic as it rose into the air, swallowing a wave of disgust that wasn't entirely his own at the great nebulous, snake-tongued skull. Serpent-tongue?
It was… a symbol used to signify the Slytherin family by its enemies, the founder replied distastefully. To think that it is used to claim an atrocity… that murdering a pureblood, even a blood-traitor, would be condoned….
Harry blinked at the sound of Slytherin very nearly losing his composure, and looked back down at the sobbing Ginny, clutching her hand and repeating the wizard's message under her breath.
A decision forming in his mind and resolve steeling, he stepped away from his cover, ran to the redhead girl's side, and knelt down beside her in an unconscious imitation of the masked wizard, taking her shoulder gently.
"Ginny," he started, grip tightening so she couldn't turn around and look at him. He still sounded the same, even if his eyes were an odd gray-brown and his hair had tamed. "I've gotten another message for you, okay?"
She didn't answer.
"Right now, I am just a little boy," he breathed into her ear, "but when I get back, there'll be a few things I'll have to… fix."
"Wh - what…?"
Salazar…?
Yes...?
Let's go home. Harry looked up at the Dark Mark, face set. And this time… we're not leaving until I have the strength to fix this. The strength -
- to restore the name. Slytherin gave him a proud smile. Finally, you understand.
END NOTES: Neither Harry nor Slytherin know that Voldemort is behind the Dark Mark (Slytherin'd be a bit more upset if he did), and neirther have heard of the "Death Eaters."