For the Boy-Who-Lived, during this part of his life nothing he did was ever forgiven, no crime was ever overlooked, and no matter how many good deeds he did they could not outnumber the few bad. It was during this time that hope seemed to dwindle, and also during this time that it was at its highest.
-from The Boy-Who-Lived, A Biography by George Fiddler
October 1st
Harry shot through the trees of the forest on his Firebolt, taking corners so tightly he felt the bark brush against his skin. He had tried to push the broom faster, but it was at its limit. Finally he found his opening, latched onto the snitch and shot up out of the trees. Breathing heavily, he stopped a dozen feet above the canopy, and looked out at the terrain.
Hogwarts was at his back, and the wild untamed beauty of the world, eerie in the pre-dawn light, left him speechless. The trees beneath him stirred in the wind, the grass beside them swayed. It was Tuesday morning, not even five yet, and Harry had already been flying for more than an hour. It had become usual for him to go flying early since he was in detention almost every night, excused from it only when he had practice. Not that practices ever had a purpose since Ron, Seamus, and Neville refused to practice with him.
He sighed and turned towards the east, waiting for the sun. Despite the fact that it was October, and that he had been at the school for a month, he had yet to locate the Self-updating Book of Laws. The ministry refused to respond to his owls and Severus couldn’t waste the time to find one. Voldemort was holding meetings almost nightly and Harry had begun brewing energy potions around the clock in Myrtle’s bathroom. He still couldn’t get into the Great Hall for meals, and without Severus’ energy potion and the kindness of a certain house-elf, Harry would have collapsed long since. He was thinning though, and had begun to once more resemble the boy who had lived in a cupboard.
Thanks to his obsessed housemates, Harry had not slept in the dorm since the idea was suggested. Instead, he had slept in the Room of Requirement, at least until a late night, impromptu, Gryffindor prefect snog session found him. Lately he had been sleeping in a new location each night, hoping no one found him, and using only his cloak as a bed.
But he had long since stopped sleeping.
Voldemort had become very good at his tortures, and Harry’s only chance for peaceful sleep occurred when the Dark Lord was attacking someone else. Last night, after a dream so bad he woke up with a bleeding scar and self-inflicted cuts on his body, he had quietly stolen the library’s entire section on Occulemency. Out of pity he refused to ask the Potions Professor for help, but knew he would have to eventually.
Another extension of the Traitor by Association Act had been passed, adding stricter punishments for those found guilty. Two days later, the Longbottoms were labeled ‘questionable.’ Subsequently, Harry had broken Neville’s nose in the middle of Herbology, and they were raised back to ‘extremely loyal’ and ‘in need of extra protection.’
Light flashed, and Harry stared forward intently. The gray half-light turned warmer and slowly the tender caresses of the sun’s beams washed over Harry. Pulling his glasses off, he closed his eyes and rested on the broom. “Well Dad, I guess it has to get better eventually. I will one day be lucky, maybe that day will be today, but somehow I doubt that.”
He heard a tiny mew, and unbuttoned his pocket. Cleo scampered out, eventually resting on his shoulder.
When the world was bright, he moved slowly back to the school, shrank his broom and stepped into the greenhouse, waiting for the start of Herbology.
>=====<
TO ALL HOGWART’S STUDENTS ABOVE 4TH YEAR:
Next Saturday, the 19th of October will be this year’s first Hogsmeade weekend. All students who will be visiting the town must register in the Great Hall during meal times before that day. Any name not on the list, and found in Hogsmeade will be placed in detention and questioned under Article 2 section 2 of the Traitor by Association Act.
A list of banned items is located next to the registration sheet, please read it thoroughly.
Deputy-Headmistress Minerva McGonagall
>=====<
October 19th
>=====<
Harry woke up on the top of the Astronomy tower when an owl landed on his arm. He rolled suddenly, wand in hand, and was on his feet before he recognized Cyleen. She dropped a letter and disappeared.
Groaning, he picked it up, checked it for spells and opened it. The handwriting inside was nearly illegible. Cursing in parseltongue, he moved closer to a torch and tried to read it.
HP – I need more potion. Dungeon – SS
“Timlus exactus.” He muttered. 02:19. He pulled his cloak on, scooped Cleo into his pocket, told Hedwig where he was going, and started for the dungeon. Ruddy Git. The one bloody night I’m not screaming, he has to wake me up anyway.
Harry walked into the potions room, headed for the office, and still trying to create an appropriate insult, when he saw Severus. He was standing in the center of the room, seemingly unable to move, one arm cradled against his chest, slowly dripping blood, wearing torn robes, bruised and battered, a cut down the side of his face, with uneven, panting breaths, and shaking from what was clearly mental torture.
Harry failed to think about who the victim was as he helped the man to sit, and began to run through every healing spell he knew. Twenty minutes and half a bottle of energy potion later, Severus woke from his daze and said, “ I need to know the prophecy. All of it. I need to tell it to the Dark Lord.”
“Why?”
“I was given an ultimatum on finding out what the prophecy was. That ultimatum expired yesterday. The Dark Lord was…displeased, shall we say? I need to return before dawn with it.”
“What are the repercussions for failing?”
“Death.”
Harry turned away, and walked to the main desk where he began to write. After a few second he ripped the page messily from a book and handed it to the man. He read it silently, eyebrow’s quirking at the end, then asked, “How did I receive it?”
“I was crying in the hallway, and you levitated my…diary out of my bag. Everything else was drivel, so you replaced it, keeping only that page.”
“What of this ‘power’ you supposedly have?”
Harry shrugged indifferently, feeling a headache begin. Lack of sleep had that effect. “You’re a creative man, come up with something. Maybe my secret power has something to do with chasing the snitch. I doubt Tom was much of a Seeker.” Severus scowled and glared, waiting for a better explanation. “Fine, let me think of something.” He began to comb through his mind, looking for some talent that could be expanded into a power. His headache flared and he collapsed in a chair.
The role of the healer inverted, and Harry felt a spell attempt to calm the throbbing. It only made it worse. “Tell him that I have become an Animagus. I turn into a lion. Also tell him that I am weaker in that form, because the parseltongue fights with the lion in my mind, and that I am not very good at controlling them yet.”
Severus nodded and disappeared, rapidly running out of time. Harry closed his eyes, stroking Cleo absently, and the voices in his head grew louder. He was asked cruelly by Sirius’ tortured tones why he had helped Snivellus. His family members such as he could remember them shouted as well, begging Harry to trust no one. Why? They asked, Why?
Because pathetic as it is, Severus Bloody Snape, man who has made my life hell for years is the only person that I trust, and the only person who hasn’t betrayed me. Voldemort would have found out one way or another and I don’t need another death on my shoulders just because I was scared someone might find out that I’m tougher than they think. So just be quiet Sirius.
Finally he drifted into sleep again.
It would be more than twelve hours before he awoke from his dream-tortured rest. After sixteen years of nightmares and dreamt-horrors, the dreams he saw that night left him scared and shaking more than he had ever thought was possible. His eyes were wide, his breath was short, his mind was lost in fear. What he saw went beyond reckoning, and beyond what he could bear. This time, instead of seeing the Voldemort’s twisted fantasies or scripted agonies, instead of seeing innocents and strangers screaming their distress, he watched a plan, watched the idea, and watched those he knew fill the air with their cries.
Hogsmeade had been attacked.
>=====<
The Slytherin Common room was disturbingly quiet. It was never loud, it was never the rambunctious chaos that the Gryffindor’s were so fond of. The air was stretched tight with the suppressed panic and guilt all of them felt.
A message had been passed that morning by none other than Draco Malfoy. Those who were loyal sat in safety, those who were ignorant were in danger, those who were traitors had been targeted, and those who were trusted were the ones who were causing it all.
Most of the sixth and seventh year students were missing, but they fell into the final category, and were thereby safe.
Tears began to slip down the face of Pansy Parkinson’s youngest sister. The first year’s best friend’s family had been found consorting with Albus Dumbledore and his Order. She was therefore a traitor.
Blaise Zabini had been ordered to stay in the common room with Mandy Broklehurst. Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were leading the students—Death Eaters—Blaise reminded himself. Draco Malfoy, despite his father’s slip, and the family’s resulting tainting, was still the leader inside the Slytherin common room. He had given the orders without telling anyone what he would be doing.
Blaise sighed and looked at the clock. 09:36.
In nine minutes it would begin.
Don’t think about her. He hissed inside his mind. “Mandy,” he said aloud, “Do you have anything left from last year’s end of term present?”
She nodded, waved her wand, and handed over a large bottle of Forty Year Napoleon Brandy. Professor Snape had handed them to every rising sixth year student during the post-OWLs party.
The cork came out, and Blaise had no intention of putting it back in.
>=====<
But who did it? Who? Who? WhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWHO?! Someone had to have planned it, but it could only be someone who knew us all, knew how we would react. It had to be someone who knew us.
He knew them. He knew us. He did. He trained us, he would have known. So why didn’t he come himself? Why? WHY? Must have had a reason. Must have. Always a reason. He’s evil, that’s why. He’s evil. Evil. Evil. But we can’t get rid of him yet. We have to wait, and then we can get rid of him. Then, but we have to wait. Evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil…
>=====<
“Ron? Are you alright? My God, Neville help me pick him up!” Hermione rushed to her boyfriend’s side and stared helplessly at the large cut on his side. They carried him to an emergency portkey and returned to the school.
He clapped Hermione’s hand in his and said, “I will have him for this.”
She nodded her agreement, and trusted him.
>=====<
Harry fell to the ground as he woke only to jump up wand in hand, and with a desperate ferocity in the tired lines of his face. He stripped his bag off his shoulder, dropping his belongings to the floor and ran. As he broke into the entrance hall, emerging from the narrow dungeon staircase, and collided with a group of first years. Several of them screamed and all of them scattered from his path.
He grabbed one of them, and hissed, “Go to the common room right now and wait for the prefects. Take all of them with you. You’ll be safe there, I promise.” She whimpered slightly, but nodded and as he continued he heard her; she was moving them away.
Nothing mattered though, except for how quickly he could reach Hogsmeade. He was racing over the road, and his mental voices began to argue with him.
His dominant side, currently an extremist Gryffindor, was helping him come up with an attack plan. His Slytherin side though, ask ed a question that elicited a curse. Why was he helping them when they hated him?
He closed his eyes and continued to run, whispering his answer aloud. “Because I don’t care whether they hate me or not, if there is anything that I can do to help them, I will do it. I know I’m turning green, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve lost what I was. Before I was whatever the hell I am now, I was a Gryffindor, and I can’t give that up. My damned idiotic Gryffindor side is what killed Sirius, is what killed Cedric, and is certainly the reason why everyone I know is at risk, but I can’t stop it. I just need to get to Hogsmeade, help who I can, and leave again. I just need to get to Hogsmeade, and I need to get there now.”
A slight uneasy swell moved through him, and he opened his eyes.
He was in Hogsmeade.
No, He thought as he looked at the city before him, I’m in hell.
The main street was littered with bodies, none of which were masked. The air hung heavy with the putrid scent of death and suffering. Pain was dripping from every surface. A young girl was lying against the wall of Zonko’s breathing shallowly.
For the second time that day, Harry moved to help someone without a thought for who they were.
Her Slytherin tie was stained red, her black hair matted and sticky. She was a first year, but he could not remember her name. Her pale skin was hanging limp, and any movement seemed too painful to attempt. He checked her injuries quickly, and found the one that would kill her all too quickly. Had it been physical, he could have helped, but it was magical, and the countercurse more advanced than what he knew. Millia Frine, turned blood into a slow acting poison. It targeted the extremities first, then moved for the heart and brain.
He placed a charm to her numb her senses giving her a painless if early death, and threw her cloak over her legs. No one needed to see their own bones. A soft hand wiped away the blood on her face and healed the cut beneath. She gave him a trembling smile, and lifted her own hand to his face.
“Harry Potter?” She asked in a voice which crackled like torn paper. He took her hand in his own, and tried not to let his fear show when her fingers shattered to ash. She would never feel it.
“Yes?”
“Are you a traitor?”
She stared at him, begging for the truth before she died, and desperate to hear a certain answer. Even if Harry had been a traitor, he would not have told her anything else. “No,” he breathed, “I’m not a traitor, I never will be. I promise.”
A tiny movement, meant to be a smile was all she could show before the poison made its final step. She collapsed, and when her hand fell to her lap in was nothing more than grayed ash. He gently closed her eyes, just before they to became nothing, and stood up, eyes closed once more.
Bile was rising in his throat, and he turned away, looking for anyone else he could help. Instead, behind him, he heard a voice scream his name in anger.
Parvati and Lavender were glaring daggers at him, and he waited for them to continue. By the time he did, he had hardened the walls around his heart and mind, and allowed his Slytherin mask to surface. “Traitorous Bastard! How could you side with them?! You murderous, deceitful, God-be—”
Harry didn’t bother to hear the rest, just apparated away. It was only a few streets, but it was enough. When he had appeared he saw what he had needed; everyone that could be helped had been, and there was nothing else he could do but be the brunt for his fellows’ anger.
He apparated again, and found himself inside the Shrieking Shack. He collapsed on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. For more than an hour he held back tears and screams, listening instead to the crescendo of mob mentality that was taking hold of the Hogsmeade inhabitants. They were screaming for blood, and seemed ready to attack anything that moved when a new voice bellowed for their attention. Silence fell, and Harry used a projected periscope charm to watch as none other than Ronald Weasley stood on a crate and addressed the crowd.
“Are you going to stand here and let this happen to you? Are you going to just let the perpetrator of this crime walk unhindered? Are you going to let a murder walk free?” The crowd screamed again, the angry rage beginning to find a focus. “You know who did this! You saw him here, are you going to let him walk free?”
“No!”
“We’ve seen what he can do! We know him! He attacked his enemies! He attacked me and my friends! You deserve to know what he did to his own class mates!”
The crowd cheered terrifically, and Harry watched two girls replace Ron on the crate. Parvati began. “We saw him talking to a first-year! She was alive, and when we went to help her, she was just a pile of ash, there was nothing left! He killed her!”
Roaring, the crowd was already prepared to kill him, but Lavender fanned the flames higher. “Padma Patil was with us today! Just this morning we walked down these streets, innocently shopping, and just this morning she was cold-heartedly killed! Her twin had to watch her die! We watched and there was nothing we could do! Are you going to let that happen to your friends? To your sisters? To your brothers? To your children?”
The swelling roar washed over him, and he cut off the spell. Limply, he fell back on the bed, and dropped into sleep rather than give in to the tears that threatened to drown him.
>=====<
“HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!”
He was pointing at Black – at Sirius – who shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly over bright.
“Harry…I as good as killed them,” he croaked. “I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me…I’m to blame, I know it…The night they did, I’d arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he’d gone. Yet there was no sign of struggle. It didn’t feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents’ house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies…I realized what Peter must’ve doe…what I’d done…” Harry watched as Sirius’ eyes looked into his and saw the snarl curl his Godfather’s lip, “And when I see what you’ve become, I can’t believe I ever felt sorry for you. Traitor.”
Harry jumped and flung himself sideways, he tripped….
And woke alone on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.
He looked at the shadows and realized it was almost dark. It had now been more than a day since he had eaten anything, and combined with the emotional and physical exhaustion of the day, his body was shaking.
Stumbling, he made his way down the passage to the Whomping Willow. He didn’t bother to freeze it. His reaction speed was always greatest when he was tired, but the tree had come to fear him, ever since an unfortunately directed temper tantrum on Harry’s part.
Harry entered the building and quickly summoned his things from the dungeon. A vial of energy potion was located and drunk.
The shaking subsided, and he was able to carry his chin a little higher.
What he did next ranked highly in the list of stupid things he had done in his life.
He pushed open both doors to the Great Hall and strode between the two center tables. The Ravenclaws were sobbing, the Hufflepuffs were consoling each other, the Slytherins were disturbingly silent, and the Gryffindor’s were screaming for his blood.
If he hadn’t been so tired, he would have remembered to remove the girl’s blood from his hands and cloak. If he hadn’t been so tired he might have relaxed before confronting anyone. Maybe he would have thrown a fit in private, and maybe he would have spoken to Severus first. But he had been that tired, his temper had been that thin, and his mind had been that clouded.
Halfway to the Professor’s table, he shouted his question, “There were two first year girls added to Slytherin house this year, what were their names?”
“And why should we tell you? So you can kill the only one that’s left?” Ron had stood up.
Harry snapped, and Ron was silently pinned to the wall. Sadistically, he tightened the invisible holds pressing against his former friend’s throat, not enough to kill, but enough to terrify the room.
If he hadn’t been so tired, he might have remembered to use a wand.
“What were their names, Professor Dumbledore?”
The brave old man said nothing.
Harry hissed and tried a new source, “Slytherin House, there were two girls added to you this year. What were their names?”
Pansy was the one to answer. One of the laws Harry had identified in life was proven true once more. Always trust a Slytherin to be dramatic. “Lydia Parkinson, my younger sister, who is sitting with us now. And Allison Lane, who is dead.”
Allison Lane.
Harry nodded and spoke again, “Ms Parkinson, do you know the final count?”
“Sixteen.”
“Thank you.” He gestured and a rose bud appeared before her.
Without another word he left, pausing at the doors only long enough to hear the thud and the cursing as Ron was released.
>=====<
Half an hour later, Harry stood in the Chamber of Secrets, quietly hissing a conversation with the stone snakes and leaning against the corpse of the basilisk.
Quiet footsteps could be heard behind him, and he glanced at who it was.
Draco Malfoy stood with his arms away from his wand, clearly in a neutral position, and waiting for Harry to react first.
The boy-who-lived rose, Slytherin side higher than ever and the slightest mocking bow. “And what did I do to be honored with your presence?” The sarcasm oozed in the tone of his voice.
For a few moments, nothing was said. Harry prepared to stun his companion, and repeatedly silenced the voices that recommended a Veritaserum questioning. No good had ever come of Veritaserum in his life.
Finally, with a pained sort of quality, Draco responded, “There is no honor in my presence.”
Well, that was the last possible thing I was expecting.
“Would you like to sit, perhaps? I have the strange feeling we may be here for a time.” Harry conjured two chairs and small table.
“You’ll listen to me?”
“So long as you aren’t threatening my life or insulting my loyalties.”
They sat uncomfortably, until the blonde finally drew a bottle of brandy from his cloak, along with two shot glasses. It was poured, and Harry drained his immediately.
“You aren’t going to check it for poison?”
“First of all Malfoy, if you had wanted to kill me, I would never have heard you walk in, and second, at the moment, death has its appeal.”
“How very…un-Gryffindor of you.”
“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but Gryffindor house is less than pleased with me for the time being.”
“I had. I also noticed that you have become rather talented.” Harry arched an eyebrow. “Not overly so, but small things. You learn faster than before. Your potion making has greatly improved. You can do wandless magic.”
“I am truly touched by your compliments Malfoy.” He simpered.
“Draco.”
“Yes that would be your name.”
“So why don’t you ever use it?”
“It has something to do with being arch-enemies, although my being the Boy-Who-Lived, and your being a Death-Eater likely have something to do with our enmity.”
“What makes you think I’m a Death Eater?”
“Call it an educated guess.”
“Then allow me to clarify your assumption.”
For a fleeting second Harry thought he had been wrong. Draco was rolling up his sleeve, with no appearance of apprehension on his face, but when it was high enough, Harry saw it.
The dark mark was still black from a recent calling, much like Severus’ had been for the last month.
“I was marked at the end of my fourth year. The day I got home from Hogwarts.”
“Am I supposed to pity you for being a fool?”
“No, but if you will allow me, I would like to tell you my entire story so that you might be able to make a better informed choice about my character.”
Harry hesitated. Well Prongs, Padfoot, I spent years thinking the wrong thing about Severus…and about my friends. I have a chance for more information, and I’m not letting those pass me by anymore.
“Go ahead.”
“For generations the Malfoy family has held themselves in limbo between the two magical forces for the sole reason, of that it is the safest option. From there, we will never be considered truly good wizards, but never considered completely dark. Half of our number follows one group exclusively, and the other faces the other way. Therefore, no matter the outcome of this debacle, the Malfoy family will survive.
“My father has attached himself to the Dark Lord, and I have done so in part, as is evident by my mark. It is impossible to take the mark unwillingly. Death Eaters literally take the mark. All of us did it because we wanted to, and no Imperius curse can change that. That does not mean that we wanted to serve the Dark Lord though. I wanted to survive, the mark was my only option, and so I was close enough to wanting the mark. Since then I have served the Dark Lord’s beck and call, and that is why I am speaking to you now.
“However it may appear, and I cannot deny that I have a slightly sadistic side, I do not want to spend my life the way I have spent the last two years. I don’t want to have to kill innocents and children and friends. I don’t want to spend my nights being tortured and used. I don’t want to be a sexual plaything for those above me. I don’t want to have to spend half my free time wishing I was free, and the other half burying those thoughts so that when my mind was next picked apart, they would never be found. I want to actually be free. I want to wake up in the morning content with my life. I want to wake up with hope however twisted it may be.”
“So why did you come to me?” Harry asked softly.
“Because I want to see you win. And because I think you have a chance.”
“Is this because of the duel with your father?”
“No, no. Its…forgive the poetry for a moment, but, ever since last year. Ever since the Department of Mysteries, there has been something in your eyes, and yes, it does scare most people, but not all. Slytherin house knows what that is. We know that for the first time in your life you understand why you have to fight. You understand the consequences if you don’t. You understand, and you aren’t going to give up. Every line of your body, every beat of your heart screams it to us. We know that you’re going to fight. You spent most of your life naïve and sheltered, but you aren’t going to take it anymore, and when the time comes, you just might win.”
“What about the Ministry? What about my Traitor status?”
“According to them, you work for the Dark Lord. Since I know that I work for the Dark Lord, and since he would have killed you before accepting you, I, along with all the Death-Eaters know that it’s a lie.”
Harry refilled the cups and toasted, “Then here’s to the Death Eaters, for managing to be smarter than the rest of the world.” They drank and Harry continued, “How can you help me, and what do you ask in return?”
“I’ll get to payment in a moment, but first I’d like to answer the questions that I know have been eating at you for weeks.”
“The Traitor by Association Act?” Harry asked calmly even as he wrestled his excitement under control.
“Yes, I could explain it to you, but this will be faster and more reliable.” Draco reached into his cloak again and removed a thick book. THE SELF-UPDATING BOOK OF LAWS: Hogwarts Copy.
“You had it?”
“Of course, the Gryffindor’s might have worked out how to goad you into crimes had Granger ever gotten a hold of it. Besides, I have to keep up to date. Read all of the Traitor Act. I’ll explain what you don’t understand. Now, any other questions for me? That was the one I knew you wanted.”
Harry stared at the blonde for a moment. He was sick of being fooled, and sick to death of being betrayed, but he needed to know. The question had been stabbing at him, straight into his heart, and the only way to stop it would be to answer it.
“Why?” Harry asked. Such a simple word and such a deep question.
Draco knew what he was asking, and looked down, “Because they needed someone to blame. They were angry, they were scared, and they needed someone to blame. There was a pool in Slytherin between you, Dumbledore and Fudge. I won a hundred Galleons. They were terrified of what was happening, and knew it was their fault, but they couldn’t accept that. They needed to push the guilt to someone else and they needed to do it fast. You were just the first available target. In all honesty, had I not been a Death-Eater, I would have believed it.
“You have a bad habit of saving the day. And it starts to look false after a while. You are almost perfect, and that annoys them. You never seem to die. You’ve survived several times over attacks by a wizard who killed hundreds. If you were a traitor, then it would have been the perfect mask. No matter what, they would always forgive you because of how many you’d saved. I identified that at the end of second year. The only oddity is that non-Slytherins shouldn’t have noticed.”
“So a Slytherin gave the Ministry the idea then?”
“I believe so.”
“Do you know who?”
“Not yet.”
Harry sighed softly, and changed the subject, “Have you ever heard of a spell called Frean Coriathal?”
Draco paused, as though flipping through notes in his mind then said, “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know why.”
“It’s rumored to cure lycanthropes.”
“And you want to help Lupin. How very Gryffindoric of you. He betrays you, insults you, denounces you, and you still try to help him.”
The dark-haired boy smirked and said, “Yes, well, my Gryffindor nobility is the reason I didn’t kill you when you walked in here so, you would do well not to insult it. I want you to research the spell. I would also like to know what it is that you want in return.”
“I need to move back into the Dark Lord’s favor.”
“And how does talking to the boy-who-lived help him in that?” Harry mused.
Draco ignored his comment. “At some point next week, during dinner, I want you to challenge me to a full wizard’s duel. I will name my second, you will state that you do not need one. The duel will be short, only a few spells, at which point you will be defeated.”
“Cocky much?”
He continued as though nothing had been said. “I will report to the Dark Lord that you are a poor duelist, hurting my father’s standing but raising my own, and also helping you.”
“How?”
“If he thinks that you are beneath his trouble, he will spare you little notice save as sport.”
Harry had barely started to think about the Slytherin brilliance of the plan when he was hit with a headache that was reminiscent of being slammed in the face with a frying pan. By now though, they were so common that he ignored it.
Draco’s eyes flickered for a moment, then he continued, “You will know the entirety of the plan, however, you will perform a memory charm on this conversation. A specialized one. Here, read about it before you try, I don’t feel like having my brain melted today.” Harry scanned the page and found the subtle differences between a memory charm and this, the subtefaerian spell, namely the use of a code to unlock the memories.
It was cast successfully, and a code was assigned.
Harry waited while Draco swayed, stunned as he was from the impact of the spell. “Don’t worry, I added something so that when you are in my presence, you automatically remember. I’ll see you in class, for now I need to check the status of a few Gryffindor first-years I terrified earlier. One last thing Draco, how did you get in here?”
“Did you really think that I could work for the heir of Slytherin for two years without picking up a few useful phrases, Harry?”
Harry nodded and walked away.
>=====<
THE SELF-UPDATING BOOK OF LAWS
Chapter Eighty-Nine: The Traitor By Association Act
Article OneSection One: Pertaining to Physical Dark Activities
Section Two: Pertaining to the Possession of Dark Belongings
Section Three: Pertaining to Dark Languages and Intentions
Article TwoSection One: Pertaining to Association with Traitors
Section Two: Pertaining to Sympathy for and Aid Given to Traitors
Section Three: Pertaining to the Pursuit of Heretics
Section Four: Pertaining to the Ranking of Position Towards Known Traitors
Section Five: Pertaining to Prosecution and Seizure
Article ThreeSection One: Pertaining to the Report of Traitorous Activities
Section Two: Pertaining to the Containment of Traitorous Ideas
Section Three: Pertaining to Immunity
Section Four: Pertaining to Removal of Crimes from Records