“Professor, does anyone know what’s wrong with Robert Stobey?” Harry asked Dumbledore. It had been a few days since Ravenclaw’s Robert Stobey collapsed in the middle of Transfiguration. He hadn’t been to class or meals, but none of the professors had said anything about him.

“It is still unclear,” Dumbledore said shortly. “I can say no more on the matter.”

Harry nodded, but was unsatisfied. There was something in him saying Dumbledore knew more than he was letting on, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Besides, Dumbledore always knew more than he seemed to…always had secrets.

“Come, let us get started,” Dumbledore said, pouring the evening’s memory into the Pensieve.

Harry moved to the Pensieve and instantly entered the memory. He landed inside a familiar broken down shack: the Gaunt house. His attention was pulled to the door as it opened. A young man, pale with dark hair and eyes, dressed smartly in a black suit and robes, stepped into the tiny home. Harry recognized the man immediately: Voldemort when he was still Tom Riddle. It was the Voldemort he encountered through the diary and in the Chamber of Secrets.

Voldemort swept over to the lump of a man that was sunken in a moth-eaten armchair. The man’s hair was long and stringy, covering his sunken, white, face with its overgrown beard. A bottle of some dark alcohol hung from his fingers, half empty. The man looked up as Voldemort came to stand in front of him. His face twisted in a sneer and, with a speed Harry’s hadn’t anticipated, lunged at Voldemort.

‘Enough,’ Voldemort said, Harry realizing almost instantly that it was Parseltongue.

The man stopped in his tracks, though the glare on his face never dropped.

‘I am looking for Marvolo Gaunt,’ Voldemort hissed.

‘Dead,’ the man said also in Parseltongue and Harry realized this was likely Morfin Gaunt, Voldemort’s uncle that had cursed Tom Riddle Sr. years earlier. ‘You look like him.’

‘Like who?’

‘The filthy Muggle boy my whore sister ran off with,’ Morfin spat.

Harry saw a flash in Voldemort’s eyes, but that was his only reaction to the comment. Remembering the Muggle boy from Bob Ogden’s memory, Harry had to agree with Morfin. Voldemort was the spitting image of his father.

‘What happened to them?” Voldemort asked.

‘Merope got herself knocked up with his filthy spawn, but he didn’t much care for that since he came back here years ago, all alone,’ Morfin explained. ‘Obviously he left the dumb bitch. Serves her right, dirtying herself with the likes of him, sullying our pure family line.’

Harry saw Voldemort’s eyes flicker to a ring on Morfin’s hand. He recognized it as the ring Marvolo had shoved in Ogden’s face.

‘And your sister?’ Voldemort pushed.

‘She came back, too, a bit after the Muggle did,’ Morfin said. ‘Robbed us, she did. Took the locket as though she were still worthy of the Slytherin blood. Nothing but a Muggle whore. Never seen her since.’

‘So, she and her child were abandoned? By the Muggle father?’ Voldemort confirmed.

‘Sure was,’ Morfin said. ‘Like I said, well deserved.’

Voldemort’s face turned angry and he started towards Morfin. However, the scene went black and Harry was back in Dumbledore’s office before they could see what happened. Harry looked at the headmaster questioningly.

“That was all Morfin could remember of his visit with his nephew,” Dumbledore said as they took their seats. “By the time he awoke, Voldemort was gone and so was the ring he wore.”

“Voldemort stole it?”

Dumbledore nodded. “There was another incident. In the village, Little Hangleton, Tom Riddle Sr. and his parents were found dead, murdered in an unexplainable way.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “He killed them?”

“Yes, though that is not what the Ministry believed,” Dumbledore said, threading his fingers together on his desk. “The Ministry theorized the culprit to be a known Muggle-hater that had had conflict with this particular Muggle in the past.”

Harry sighed. “Morfin.”

Dumbledore nodded again. “It appears Voldemort was prepared for this line of investigation for, when the Ministry went to question Morfin, he immediately admitted to the murders, providing all the details needed. They examined his wand and the Killing Curse was the last spell cast. Naturally, he was sent to Azkaban and that is where he died.”

Harry shook his head, feeling some sympathy for Morfin. He clearly hadn’t been a good person, but he also didn’t deserve to die in Azkaban for something he didn’t do.

“Why did Voldemort take the ring?” Harry asked.

“Voldemort was obsessed with his heritage by this point. While he looked down on the Gaunts, they were still of ‘pure blood’ and were his link to Salazar Slytherin,” Dumbledore said. “The ring was representative of that for him.”

“Do you know what happened to it?” Harry asked.

The headmaster gazed at him for a moment before opening a drawer on his desk and pulling out the ring from the memories. Harry’s eyes opened in surprise, reaching out to grab the ring and examining it closer. He wasn’t sure he believed Voldemort would want something for sentimental reasons considering how much he clearly despised all sides of his family, but there didn’t seem to be anything particularly special about the ring. He returned the ring to the desk.

“So, by sixteen, he was a murderer?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said. “He also had a group of fellow students willing to do whatever he asked, no matter how harmful. The precursor to the group you know as Death Eaters.”

Harry let out a breath, astounded that all of it with Voldemort had started when Voldemort was so young.

“I think that is enough for tonight,” Dumbledore said, placing the ring back in the drawer.

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said and headed to the door. With his hand on the handle, his mind travelled back to Robert Stobey and the still paintings. Surely the teachers had noticed the paintings and the cracks in the stone as well. “Sir?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Have you noticed the paintings? The ones that’ve stopped moving and there’s a few empty ones?” Harry said. “Do you know what’s causing it?”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “Yes, I’ve noticed. It is nothing to worry about. It is simply a matter of strengthening the magic that sustains the school. An easy fix, but time consuming.”

“Sure,” Harry said, frowning slightly at the strange pit he felt in his stomach. The headmaster seemed perfectly comforting and optimistic, but, meeting the blue eyes, he couldn’t help but see something hidden behind the genial sparkle. What it was, though, he had no idea.

“Off you go, my boy.”

“Right. G’night, Professor.”

Harry and Ron looked up from their books in slight surprise when Hermione suddenly slipped into the other chair at their table in the common room. They thought she had been in the library. She also appeared alarmed.

“Have you heard?” Hermione whispered, leaning forward slightly across the table. Both Harry and Ron copied her, shaking their heads in denial of having heard anything worth whispering about. “Zacharias Smith and Colin Creevey are in the Hospital Wing. They’re both in comas, and so is Robert Stobey.”

Harry frowned. “Is that a common thing in the wizarding world?”

“Not really,” Ron said, his eyebrows furrowed in his own confusion. “There’s something about the way our magic works inside our bodies that helps prevent comas except in extreme cases.”

“Any idea what happened?” Harry asked Hermione who shook her head.

“Not really. I think they collapsed like Robert. I only know because I overheard some Hufflepuffs in the library.”

Harry looked at Ron. “What can cause comas?”

“There’s really only two ways that I know of,” Ron said. “The first is from Memory Charms, either when too many are used on one person or when they’re used wrong. A Memory Charm can break the mind rather than erase it. When that happens, a person’s magic tries to fix it, but causes a coma because the magic creates a sort of barrier to prevent further damage while simultaneously locking the mind to prevent the charm from progressing further. The coma is the magic’s form of protection.”

“So, like what Lockhart did to himself and what you thought may have been done to us,” Harry said, pointing at Hermione. Ron nodded. “What’s the other way?”

“Mind Magic,” Ron said. “If it’s failing, a person can fall into a coma for essentially the same reason. Their magic is trying to fix and protect the mind.”

“What’s the difference between Memory Charms and Mind Magic?” Harry asked, thinking they sounded like they would do the same thing.

“Well, Memory Charms effect just the memory. Mostly they’re used to erase memories, like Lockhart, though there are some that hide memories, like Hermione told us. What memories or how much memory is erased depends on power and intent,” Ron explained. “Mind Magic, though, effects more than just memory. Mind Magic can completely change reality or perception, and even emotions. Mind Magic can even be used to control someone if the caster is strong enough. Thoughts, memories, and emotions can be essentially implanted into a person using Mind Magic. It’s heavy magic, powerful and dangerous. People have tried for decades to get it and Memory Charms put on restricted lists or even named Unforgiveables.”

“So, what?” Harry said with a frown, trying to understand what could have happened to the afflicted students. “They were all hit with bad Memory Charms or were under Mind Magic that failed?”

Both Ron and Hermione just shrugged, clueless. Harry’s frown deepened. He thought about everything he had been noticing that year and furrowed his eyebrows as some connections were made to what Ron had told them.

“Have you noticed all the weirdness this year?” Harry asked and they both looked at him questioningly. “The fighting, the anger. Doesn’t it seem more…intense this year?”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Ron said, obviously thinking about their Quidditch practices and their match against Slytherin.

“Yes, but surely it’s just because of You-Know-Who’s return,” Hermione said.

“Maybe that’s exactly what it is. Maybe he’s found a way to do something to the school,” Harry said and he looked at Ron. “How would we know if we were under Mind Magic?”

“We wouldn’t, not unless it started failing or we found a way to break it over ourselves,” Ron said.

“Maybe that’s what’s happening,” Harry said. “Maybe he used Mind Magic on the school to make everyone fight so we couldn’t work together against him, but now it’s failing because he’s not strong enough. Plus, it’s got to take a lot of power to try and mess with Dumbledore like that.”

“Maybe, but what about the things we’ve been seeing,” Hermione asked, referring to their strange memory-like visions.

“That could be him, too, maybe trying to give us fake memories to throw us off,” Harry said, but he wasn’t confident in the idea. For one thing, why would Voldemort try to mess with Hermione’s memories and not just Harry’s? And, for another, why would Voldemort want Harry to think Snape cared about him?

Harry pulled off his invisibility cloak as the door was opened, revealing Snape who was in the process of tying a robe closed over his pajamas. The man stared down at Harry with a raised eyebrow. 

“Potter, what have I told you about wandering the castle at night?” Snape said, crossing his arms. 

“Technically, I didn’t wander. I came straight here,” Harry said cheekily and Snape gave him a pointed look. “Fine, not to, but you also said I could come here whenever I needed.” 

“I didn’t mean in the middle of the night.” 

“But that’s when I’m more likely to need it.” 

“Potter, it is dangerous.” 

“Then wouldn’t it be best if I were here so you can protect me from Black?” Harry gave a small grin. 

Snape sighed in exasperation as he stepped aside. Harry hurried into the room, instantly sitting on the sofa. He watched Snape sit in an armchair before waving his wand and summoning a tea tray. 

“Tea?” 

“Always,” Harry said and took a cup. 

Snape pushed a small tin to him. “Your mint.” 

“You know me so well.” 

“Not wholly by choice,” Snape said, leaning back in his chair with his own tea. 

Harry wasn’t fazed by the comment, curling up and sipping his tea with a satisfied sigh. 

“So, what has caused you to grace my rooms with your presence at two a.m.?” Snape asked casually and no hint of anger or annoyance. 

“I had a nightmare,” Harry said. “I tried to get back to sleep, but I just couldn’t.” 

“What was it about?” 

“Mm, a mix of things,” Harry said, holding his cup in his hands, letting it warm him up. “Seemed to touch on everything.” 

“I see.” 

“I just…I didn’t really want to be alone,” Harry said, staring into his tea. 

“Understandable,” Snape said. “Never concern yourself with that. You are not alone.” 

As Harry looked up at Snape with a small smile, the scene faded away and a woman walked towards him from nowhere. It was the same woman he had seen in dreams before. Everything about her was the same, including the fact that she didn’t speak. She just stood with a sad smile and a feeling of familiarity emanating from her. Before he knew it, she had faded away once again.

Harry sat up, his head aching and his mind utterly confused. He needed to tell Ron and Hermione about the woman now that he was actually remembering her, but that wasn’t what he was focused on. This was the second dream involving Snape and he was left with emotions he never would have attributed to the man. He bit his lip, contemplating if he should do what he had considered doing for the last several days. It had been more than a couple weeks since Snape found out about the Dursleys. Nothing had been said between them about it in their interactions since then. However, something very small had changed. He didn’t feel an encompassing rage towards the man and Snape seemed to be a fraction more pleasant in class. It was also the fact that the vague feelings from visions and dreams had remained behind.

Quickly making up his mind, he dug out his invisibility cloak, threw it on, and hurried out of Gryffindor Tower. He ran down the stairs as quick, but also as quiet as possible. He wasn’t sure how he knew where to go once in the dungeons, but he did and was soon outside a dark-coloured door with snakes carved into it.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door and pulled off the cloak. He forced himself not to move when the door was flung open and he was greeted by an enraged Snape.

“Potter!” Snape spat. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“I need to talk to you, sir,” Harry said.

Snape sneered. “Just like your father, Potter, think—”

“I know, I know,” Harry interrupted. “I’m an arrogant brat that thinks I can go gallivanting around the school doing whatever I want. I get it, but I still need to talk to you.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he had ever received such a deep glare from Snape before, but he stood his ground and held eye contact. There was a sort of sizzle in his head and, by the minute twitch in Snape’s eye, he felt it too.

“Sir, please,” Harry said. “You said you could help me. I need your help now.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what it is you are thinking, Potter.”

“Neither do I, quite frankly, but I’m here and you haven’t cursed me yet,” Harry said with a shrug.

Snape stared at him for a long while before eventually stepping aside and letting Harry into his rooms. Inside, Harry was overcome by a feeling of familiarity and comfort. He had been here before. Why didn’t he remember? He turned to Snape who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. The man looked irritated, understandable since it was three in the morning, but he didn’t look angry as Harry would have expected.

“Well?” Snape said impatiently.

Harry hesitated for a minute. Why was he there? “You’ve noticed everything going on, right? The fighting, the paintings, now the comas? None of the professors are saying anything but you must have noticed, especially you. You notice everything.”

Snape just continued to stare at him, his eyebrow raised higher.

Harry huffed slightly. “Look, I’ve been seeing things, feeling things, and now I’m having dreams. They keep involving you, things that seem like memories but I don’t remember ever happening, things that seem impossible for us.”

Snape’s eyebrow dropped, joining the other in a light frown, but he still didn’t respond.

“We have a theory,” Harry said.

“’We’?” Snape repeated.

“Me, Ron, and Hermione,” Harry said. “We think the school has been under Mind Magic. We need a way to prove it, find who cast it, and break it. We need a way to break its hold on us so we can see everything and everyone clearly, without the magic.”

“Potter, messing with and breaking Mind Magic is extremely dangerous, far beyond the skill of sixth years,” Snape said with a touch of derision.

“I know,” Harry said. “That’s why I came to you.”

Snape stared at him, clearly taken aback but not showing it.

“Don’t you want to know why the castle is falling apart?” Harry said. “Or how we can even be having this conversation?”

Snape didn’t respond.

“Or why you didn’t hurt me when I broke half the storeroom. We know you’ve had no qualms about it before, considering last year,” Harry continued. “Or why you offered to help me and why it felt like this was not the first time you had learned about the Dursleys and my back.”

Snape still didn’t speak, but his expression had changed to one of intense contemplation.

“Something is wrong and I know you’ve seen and felt it, too,” Harry said. “No one else is going to help us. I’m asking you to be the one that will.”

“I…will consider it,” Snape said, seemingly uncomfortable. “It is time for you to go.”

Harry sighed, feeling slightly disappointed. He didn’t know what he had expected, but this clearly wasn’t it.

“Leave now, Potter, and do not let me catch you out of bed after curfew again,” Snape said, some of his normal anger making a return.

Harry nodded and allowed himself to be roughly pushed out of the room, the door slamming behind him. He sighed again, put on his cloak, and returned to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry glanced at Malfoy out the corner of his eye as the blonde joined him in the library aisle. He felt a pulse of irritation at being near the Slytherin, but he ignored it and resumed his search. He had finally told Ron and Hermione that he had seen and remembered the woman from his dreams. Hermione had instantly dragged them to the library to see if they could find who she was in a book.

They hadn’t had any luck yet and he had been sent to find another book from Hermione’s list. He could feel the tension in the aisle between him and Malfoy, and he shifted uncomfortably. He had gotten closer to Malfoy as he examined the shelves, but lit up slightly when he spotted the book he needed. He reached out for the book only to have Malfoy reach for the same one, causing them to bump each other. They recoiled as though burned and turned to glower at each other.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Malfoy snapped.

“Getting a book obviously,” Harry said angrily.

Malfoy sneered. “Finally grew a brain cell to use on a book, did you?”

Harry’s glare deepened.

Malfoy smirked at Harry’s silence, accepting victory as he pulled the book down.

“If you’re looking for Nicholas Flamel, you’ll find him in here,” a young Malfoy said, pulling down a book and handing it to a young Harry. “But it’s simple. He’s the most famous alchemist of all time. Why are you looking for him?”

“We need to know about the philosopher’s stone,” Harry said.

“Why?” 

“Because it’s here in the school and Voldemort’s after it.”

Harry blinked as the vision dissipated and managed to see Malfoy do the same thing. His brain jumped to a realization.

“It’s happening to you too,” Harry said.

“What the hell are you talking about, idiot?” Malfoy snapped.

“You’ve been seeing things, haven’t you?” Harry said.

It took a second for Malfoy to respond. “So, you really are crazy. And Dumbledore thinks you’re going to save us all?” He scoffed.

Harry shot him a glare again, feeling his hatred try to rise to the surface and take over. He shook his head and was going to walk away when he realized something else, glancing at the book they had both wanted.

“Have you seen her too?”

Malfoy’s eyebrows came together.

“Do you know who she is?”

Malfoy twisted his face back into one of rage and hatred. “Get lost, Potter, you don’t know anything.”

Harry sighed as Malfoy stalked off, dropping the book on the floor with a heavy thud. He picked up the book and returned to his friends. Maybe he was a little crazy, assuming everyone was experiencing the same things he was. Even if they were all under Mind Magic, it didn’t mean they were all breaking through it. Ron hadn’t had any visions or bursts of random emotions. Additionally, Malfoy going for that particular book didn’t mean anything. It could’ve been for an assignment.

He pushed it all to the back of his mind and opened the book, beginning to slowly flip through the most famous witches and wizards in history.