It wasn’t until almost midnight that the hawks and owl managed to shake off the werewolves. Twice Freedom and Warrior had attacked the one werewolf that was leading the hunt, leaving vicious talon scores on the wolf’s shoulders and head, but nothing the beast wouldn’t recover from. A werewolf’s hide was magically tough and very hard to penetrate, even with a hawk’s talons. But they could not spare the effort it took to attack the werewolf repeatedly, they were outnumbered and weary from flying and the most important thing right now was to evade pursuit and reach Hogwarts. So they contented themselves with brief sorties and harassment, and saved the bulk of their energy to fly.

Severus was almost certain that the dagger’s influence was the reason the werewolves kept finding them. But he needed to find a safe place to rest before casting any kind of strong concealment ward over the blade. Such things were delicate and took much time, especially trying to veil an object that was so ancient and strong in dark magic. It would require all of his skill as a master spy.

Finally, they reached a lonely heath very close to the border between Northern England and Scotland, very few settlements were there, it was mostly kept wild as part of an act of conservation by the British Parliament. The hawks discovered an ancient cairn of stones and decide to camp near it, though not too near, even though Snape was sure the place was not haunted.

Hedwig volunteered to play cat and owl with the werewolves, keeping them busy long enough for Severus to veil the dagger more tightly. The Potions Master thanked the snowy avian and then made camp. “Eat something and then rest, Harry.” He told his exhausted apprentice, who had been sullen and uncommunicative all day. “And don’t forget to Occlude your mind. Would you also set up wards as well? This veil and masking might well take me all night.”

Harry fixed them some soup and sandwiches, blessing the foresight of Twixie in giving them food and drink that could be prepared easily, almost without thought, and yet was nutritious, filling, and tasted good. Although, Harry hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, he put it down to the stress of the flight and lack of sleep, he always got that way when he was stressed.

After eating, Harry went to set the wards about the camp, grumbling a bit because he was out of practice and tired. He glanced over at where his mentor was sitting cross-legged on the ground near the small fire, the Dagger of Discord resting wrapped in cloth on his knees. Severus was muttering spells and making passes with his wand, and magic was drifting over the blade in small whorls and sparks, like diamond dust glittering in the darkness.

Harry felt his gut clench in longing as he saw the dagger. I wish it were mine. It wants me. It needs me.

A terrible need pulsed through him then, and for one awful instant he was tempted to dash across the clearing, snatch up the dagger, and fly away with it. He stared at Severus with a mixture of awe and hate on his features. A moment later he blinked and rubbed his eyes, unsure what had just happened.

Must have zoned out for a moment. Ah well, it happens and I’m almost too tired to walk straight. He waved his wand one more time and then felt the last ward snap into place. Done. Now I can rest. Right then his bedroll on the hard ground was looking like Nirvana.

He closed his eyes and tried to find his center, but for some reason tonight the peace of meditation eluded him and he gave up after a few moments, watched his mentor through bleary eyes for a brief time, and then put his head down and slept.

* * * * * *

Once again, Harry was in the beautiful garden, listening to the fountain splashing and whispering its sweet song as he sat on the stone bench. The air was redolent with the scent of tropical blossoms, the heady perfume made him cough and when he breathed it in, he felt slightly dizzy and muddleheaded. But the blossoms were so sweet that he really didn’t mind. He leaned back against the bench, the stone back felt as comfortable as the soft leather couch back in Gryffindor Tower. This time he could hear the distant sound of birds twittering, though he felt too lazy to try and understand what they were saying. He dozed briefly in the sun, content and happy.

“Harry! Harry!”

He jerked awake to see the little princess come running towards him, her little ruby tiara askew, her cloth of gold dress a bit muddy about the hem, but her eyes were as bright and her smile as sweet as ever. She catapulted into his arms without hesitation. “Did you miss me?”

“Lots,” he replied, and discovered that it was so. Holding her made him feel . . .complete, as if he had an itch and had scratched it. “How are you today?”

She made a face. “Not good. I feel all smothered. I hate this dress,” she gestured to her gown. “And these shoes. They’re too tight.” She kicked one small foot against the bench, it had a tiny golden shoe on it. “Help me take ‘em off.”

Harry hesitated, something told him that wouldn’t be such a bright idea. “Uh . . .maybe you’d better keep them on. Your parents won’t like you walking without shoes.”

“Who cares? It’s just my garden. Please, Harry? Please?”

Her eyes gazed entreatingly into his and he felt himself melting, unable to resist the beautiful child. “Okay.”

He bent and tugged off first one shoe and the other.

“Thanks!”

An odd cold wind began to blow through the garden. Harry frowned. “Looks like a storm is coming.”

The princess shrugged. “Looks like.” She clung to Harry, looking down the path and her smile was one of triumphant wickedness.

* * * * * *

In his sleep, Harry stirred and rose, his eyes were open, but he was not awake. His consciousness had been subverted by an ancient evil and he was almost wholly under the influence of the Dagger of Discord. The dagger was wrapped in spelled cloth, Severus had just finished enchanting the cloth so it would hide the ancient blade and had fallen asleep right after. It rested in the bottom of the Potions Master’s pack.

It was furious at being bound and it sought to free itself from the smothering veils the professor had cast, using the most readily available tool it had to hand, the apprentice it had seduced in dreams the previous night. It sent out its tendrils again, weaving its way into the boy’s subconscious, subtly encouraging the boy to rebel and deceive his mentor.

Harry walked, silent as a shadow, across the camp and knelt beside the slumbering Severus. Almost unconsciously, he opened Severus’s back and rummaged through it, searching frantically for the dagger. Once he had found it, he clasped to him, hugging it tightly. At last. You are mine! He began to unwrap it, freeing it from the magically binding cloth that held it.

The wards about the dagger did not react to him because he was not a dark practitioner, which was what Severus had set them for. Bewitched though he was, still his aura was not stained with blood and death, and so the wards permitted him to take the dagger and unwind the cloth.

* * * * * *

“What have you done, you idiot boy?” thundered the man in black, his robes swirling menacingly about his ankles.

The princess shrank into Harry’s chest, shaking. “Don’t let him take me, Harry! I want to stay with you. I belong with you. Only with you.”

“Shhh, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Keep her safe?” sneered the dark sorcerer. “You have no notion what you’re dealing with. That’s what she wants. You clasp a viper to your breast, boy.”

“Shut up! I won’t let you hurt her! Now get out!”

The black sorcerer laughed mirthlessly. “Not until I have done what I was sent to do. The . . .girl dies or you do. Make your choice.” His wand was pointed directly at Harry’s heart.

There was something that nagged Harry about the other man. Where had he seen that face, heard that voice, before? It was awfully familiar.

The princess began to wail. “I don’t wanna die! Help me, Harry! Don’t let him kill me like he killed your mother.”

“My mother?” Harry repeated in confusion.

“Yes, he killed her!” the princess cried. “He promised to protect her and then he betrayed her to his dark master. She died trying to save you, but for him that would never have been necessary.”

“You lie!”

“Do I?” the princess asked innocently. “Harry, who do you believe, that dark twisted man or me?”

Again, Harry hesitated. A part of him wanted very much to trust the little child, the innocent one he had vowed to protect, and yet another part was urging him to trust the black sorcerer.

But the child’s accusing words echoed in his head.

He killed your mother!

The mother he barely remembered, who he had always longed for.

He felt his eyes blur with tears.

A little hand came up and patted his face.

“Poor Harry!” the princess crooned. “Don’t be sad. You’ll always have me. Never let me go.”

“Stop! Don’t you see what she’s doing to you?” cried the dark wizard.

“She told me the truth! You’re a traitor. You killed my mother.”

“Listen to me—”

But then the princess started crying, and her loud wails drowned out the rest of the wizard’s words.

“He wants to kill me, Harry. You have to stop him.”

“How?”

“By killing him first,” answered the princess, still wiping tears from her eyes.

“Kill? I was just going to . . .err . . .drive him off.”

“No, that won’t work. I’m sorry, but you have to kill him. Only then will I be free.” She gazed up at him and once again he became ensnared. “Set me free, Harry. Kill him, the wicked old bat, and set me free.”

Harry gulped, but he found he could not help but obey. He set the princess on the ground next to him and drew his wand.

* * * * * *

Back in the real world, the wrappings fell away from the Dagger of Discord and Harry clasped it in his hands. As soon as his fingers closed about the hilt, the magic in the ruby flared, covering his hands and the blade with a deep red glow, like that of old blood.

At last! You have come! Child of prophecy, you belong to me! the Dagger sang, its voice the high wild tone of the mad and damned. Take me. Use me. I hunger. I need blood to sate my appetite.

Slowly, Harry stood and holding the dagger in one hand, turned to the sleeping Potions Master. Still unseeing, he walked silently to Severus, who was sleeping on his back, relaxed and unaware of the mortal peril that hovered over him.

Give me blood! Sweet, hot, and filled with magic! Ah, yes! I am parched and wasted. Strike, boy! He is the enemy, he wishes you harm and wishes to keep me for himself, the dagger purred.

Harry shook his head. “No! You belong to me.”

Just so, there was immense satisfaction in the dagger’s tone. Now . . .kill him and learn the meaning of true power, Harry James Potter. Do it! KILL HIM!

The command sent Harry lunging forward, the dagger gripped so tightly in his hand it might have been welded there, as the will of the ancient evil artifact possessed him utterly.

He lifted his arm, the dagger aimed directly at the rising and falling chest of his mentor.

Severus stirred, some instinct calling for him to wake. He opened his eyes.

Saw Harry standing over him, opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, and then there came a flash of gold as Harry, his face a mask of hate and rage, drove the dagger into his chest.