Living without Danger
Chapter 29: Potions and Pendants (Year 2)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 29: Potions and Pendants
Water dripped persistently nearby, a steady rhythm over which his sobs created syncopation. There wasn’t much light, which suited him fine. And something smelled terrible.
Harry raised his head from his arm long enough to identify his surroundings — Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. He had no very clear idea of how he’d gotten here, but it was as good a place as any, except for the smell, and he could tolerate that.
It smells like the potion. I knew we missed a spot.
But that only reminded him of Siss’ fits of serpentine laughter when he had told her about the prank they planned to play on Snape.
I did know about that smell. I must have forgotten. But I have to have known, if I told Siss...
A great wave of grief broke over him again as he thought her name. He had only time to feel vaguely indignant about it before it stole all his restraint, all his control, and left him flat on the damp floor, shaking. His world consisted of several square feet of cold tile and a very sore throat, and it would never change; he would lie here and cry until he ran out of tears, and then he would just lie here.
"Here you are," said a quiet voice, and someone sat down beside him. Harry lifted his head again and blinked swollen eyes, then realized part of the problem was that his glasses were smudged. He pulled them off and started to wipe them with his robes, but she took them gently from his hand and set them on her other side instead. "You’ll scratch the lenses," she said. "And I don’t think you need them at the moment."
"Can’t see without them," Harry mumbled.
"I know. But you don’t need to see right now. You just need to get this over with."
"I thought I was over it." Harry sniffled hard, then accepted the handkerchief she gave him. "I thought I wasn’t going to cry any more."
"Grief’s not a thing you can put on a timetable, Harry. Remember? There’s no standard for it, no right or wrong way to do it, except to pretend the person never existed and try to escape it that way. That’s wrong. And sometimes the hurt comes back when you’re not expecting it. Is that the first time you’ve spoken Parseltongue since Siss died?"
Harry dried his eyes carefully. "Second," he said. "But this was right in public..." His control crumbled again, this time to anger, and he punched the wall behind him. "Why do I keep on messing up and letting out secrets and telling people things they shouldn’t know?"
"Because you’re human, and twelve years old, and not perfect yet."
The last word made Harry laugh a little.
"And for the same reason, you still cry for Siss. Because you’re human, with all the bad and all the good. And more of the good than the bad, in my admittedly biased opinion. Yes, there will be talk about this. There’s always talk. But you appear to have stopped that snake from attacking — what did you say to it?"
"Told it to back off, Justin didn’t do anything."
"Good work. You stopped what might have been a very bad situation. And Mr. Nott is currently in conference with three professors, including the Headmaster, discussing where he learned that spell, why he felt the need to use it today, and why he chose to cast it before he should have. He’ll have quite a number of detentions, and he won’t be returning to the dueling club."
Harry nodded to show he understood.
"Are you feeling a little more ready to come back now?"
"A little."
"Good." Letha blotted his glasses dry with a piece of soft cloth she conjured and handed them back to him, then frowned, sniffing the air. "What is that smell?"
"Don’t know," Harry lied, moving one hand quickly from his glasses to cross his fingers behind his back.
"It’s someone’s robes," said Moaning Myrtle, rising out of her usual toilet stall. "Someone left their old robes in here. I don’t know who it was, though, I didn’t see them."
"Where are they?" Letha stood up and lit her wand, coming to the end of the bathroom where Myrtle was pointing. "Hmm. Standard black robes, all the students and half the teachers wear these, no help there." She picked them up, wrinkling her nose. "Whoever wore them was tall. And none too careful about their appearance — look here, on the chest, there’s a stain."
Harry looked. There was indeed a darker patch on the chest of the robes, vaguely shield-shaped. Probably where Snape got hit with the potion, he thought, and had to smile. "I think I can make the smell go away," he said.
"Give it a try." Letha held the robes out in front of her.
Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the robes. "Smellius Interruptus," he said.
Letha looked hard at him, dropping the robes to the floor. "Smellius Interruptus?"
"I know, it doesn’t sound real, but it’s the only thing that works."
"That’s not what I was wondering about. Harry, I assume this has something to do with the slugs in Snape’s cauldron before Christmas."
Harry stared at her.
"No, I’m not reading your mind," said Letha, smiling slightly. "It just so happens that I’m familiar with that potion. I knew the inventor."
"You did?" Harry pulled the bathroom door open for Letha. "Thanks, Myrtle," he said over his shoulder.
Letha nodded to the ghost as well, who blushed silver and dived back into her stall. "Yes, I did," she said, turning back to Harry. "Where did you get that recipe?"
"Hermione found it on a piece of parchment in an old book in the library."
"Yes, that makes sense. She was always leaving things around."
"She?"
"Yes, she. Does that surprise you?"
Harry shrugged. "It’s such a great prank. I guess I thought it might have been my dad."
Letha chuckled. "No, James was never all that clever with potions. He could brew decently following instructions, but he’d never invent a new one. He left that to other people."
"Like you," said Harry. "Was it you?"
"I’m flattered that you think it might have been, but no, it wasn’t me either. You were closer than you knew when you thought of your father."
Harry shook his head. "I don’t know. My mum?"
"Third time lucky," said Letha. "Well done."
Harry stopped walking. "I was joking," he said.
"You’re still right."
"My mum invented it?"
"Yes. She had a terrible time getting it to respond to that spell, though. She went through six or seven rebrews before she got it right, and she would always test it out on the most annoying people in her year."
Harry felt another smile working its way up to his face, and let it. Siss wouldn’t have wanted him to be sad all the time. "Dad and Padfoot and Moony."
"However did you guess?" Letha sounded entirely innocent. "They spent more of their sixth year smelling horrendous than I think they want to remember. And as far as I know, they never found out why."
Harry actually laughed a little at this.
"You are feeling better. I’m glad."
Harry nodded. "People are going to talk, though," he said as they came to a staircase. "About me being a Parselmouth. Aren’t they?"
"Yes, I’m sure they are. People will talk about anything, if you’ve noticed. But I do think this will create a little more gossip than usual."
Harry stared down at the steps, absently jumping the vanishing one as he came to it. "But there really wasn’t anything else I could have done, was there?" he asked.
"Not really. And I think you’ll manage what’s coming. Your Pride already all knew about this, so they won’t be staring and whispering, and everyone else, you’re used to. No, what I think you should be prepared for..." Letha stopped as a group of sixth years passed them on the stairs, nodding to her and looking curiously at Harry.
"What I think you should be prepared for," she resumed, "is that people may think you’re the Heir of Slytherin."
"What?"
"Don’t shout, please, the last thing we need is Peeves or Filch popping ‘round. Yes, Harry, people are going to jump to conclusions, though honestly, for someone who doesn’t know you, it’s not much of a jump. The Chamber of Secrets is being opened, it can only be opened by the Heir of Slytherin, the line of Slytherin is characterized by Parseltongue, and you are a Parselmouth. Case closed. As I said," she added quickly, seeing Harry’s face, "for someone who doesn’t know you."
Harry couldn’t remember his emotions ever behaving quite like this before. First he’d been so horribly sad, then he’d started to feel better, and now he was blazing mad. "But — I wouldn’t do that! I didn’t!"
"You know that. I know that. The rest of the world doesn’t know that. And I’m afraid telling them, at this point, would just look like you’re trying to get yourself off."
Harry kicked the wall furiously.
"You’re very angry with Hogwarts today," Letha said conversationally. "That’s the second time you’ve hit it."
"What should I hit, then?"
"Are you finished with your homework?"
"Yes, I did it after Quidditch practice."
"Come on, then." Letha set off in a different direction.
Their destination, Harry realized after a few moments, was the Defense teachers’ office. Meghan and Neville looked up from a game of Go Fish as they came in, but half Neville’s matches seized the opportunity to escape, freeing Harry from having to say anything to his friend, since it was difficult to talk with someone who was on the floor chasing cards. Meghan just shrugged.
Letha pulled one of the small targets they had used on the first day of class from her desk drawer as she passed, then opened the door which led into the classroom. Harry followed her.
"Here," instructed Letha, preparing the target with a few waves of her wand. "Fire away."
Harry drew his wand and began shooting sparks at the target, which remained still at first, then started moving, becoming faster and more erratic as time passed. He started having to chase it down — he was barely aware of jumping onto desks and over chairs — all that mattered was that he hit the target with one more spark — one more — one more...
Suddenly the target was gone. Harry turned in a circle, looking for it. Where had it disappeared to?
"I think that’s enough for one night," said Padfoot from behind him. Harry spun, startled. He hadn’t heard anyone come in.
Padfoot, Letha, Meghan, and Neville were all ranged on the small balcony that the door from the office opened onto. All of them looked impressed.
"Feeling better?" continued Padfoot with a smile, displaying Harry’s target, shrunk to hand size. It was almost impossible to see the original pattern, so much of it was covered in scorch marks.
Harry smiled back. "Yes," he said truthfully.
"Excellent. Come on, it’s late and you should be in your dorm. I’ll walk you two back to the Tower so you don’t get in trouble for being out of bounds."
xXxXx
He was not in the best of moods when he got back to his dormitory, and it didn’t improve any when he saw the slip of parchment on his bed waiting for him. He picked it up and read it over, then crumpled it and threw it to the floor. He hated being ordered around, as if he were no more than a house-elf.
Still, at the time stated, he was where the note had instructed him to be.
"There," he said sullenly to the other. "I did it. And I didn’t tell them why. Are you happy now?"
"Quite," said the other, amusedly. "You’ve done your part now. Just sit back and watch the fun." He leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Potter’s going to have a great deal to explain tomorrow."
xXxXx
Harry was aware of eyes on him and whispers as he passed the next morning in a way he hadn’t been since the start of his first year. People had gotten tired of it quickly then, once they saw that he didn’t have tentacles or seven eyes. He hoped they’d get over this just as quickly.
Classes proceeded more or less normally. Snape was tight-lipped and grim all through Potions, and spent most of the class deducting points from Gryffindor for things like holding their knives incorrectly or breathing too close to their ingredients. He managed to terrorize Neville so much that Neville melted his cauldron, something he hadn’t done all year so far, and earned himself a detention for Saturday, plus twenty points taken from Gryffindor.
"I kept track," said Hermione after class, displaying a bit of parchment with numbers scribbled on it. "Snape took sixty-five points from Gryffindor in just that one lesson."
"What?" said Harry in disbelief. Ron was slightly more vociferous, making Hermione protest faintly, though she seemed to enjoy the vision his words conjured up.
"It would only have been forty-five without me," said Neville sadly.
"It’s not your fault," said Draco. "He was after us all class. What did we do?"
"I don’t know." Then a flash of dark hair caught Harry’s eye. "But I know who we can ask. Professor Black!"
"I still can’t get used to that," said Padfoot, stopping and turning on the lowest step of the marble stairs. "Hello, everyone. You look cheerful. Just had Potions?"
Five heads nodded glumly.
"How many points did he take?"
"Sixty-five," said Hermione, handing Padfoot her calculations.
Padfoot looked over her numbers, then up at the hourglasses recording House points, and frowned. "I make it seventy."
"Oh no, did I add wrong?"
"No, he must just have taken another five," said Ron, watching the ruby-filled glass.
"Or someone else did," said Draco. "Snape’s not the only teacher around, you know."
"Why’s he doing that?" asked Harry.
Padfoot twisted his right hand around his left thumb. I really shouldn’t be telling you this, he was saying silently, but...
"We won’t tell anyone but the girls," Harry promised.
"Dumbledore took fifty points from Slytherin last night," said Padfoot quietly, making sure no one was around to hear him first. "Thirty for that spell Nott used — it’s semi-legal at best, and certainly no second year should know it — and twenty for casting it before he should have."
"So Snape’s trying to even things out," said Neville. "By bringing Gryffindor down."
"That’s right. And I’m sure he’ll be docking the other Houses as well. But we’ll manage somehow." Padfoot looked at the hourglasses and smiled. "For instance. Harry. For averting a crisis last night, I think you deserve, oh, let’s say fifteen points."
Rubies fell with a clatter. Padfoot sighed happily. "I love doing that. Now, Hermione, for having the presence of mind to add this up..."
The Pride grinned at each other as Padfoot found reasons, small but valid, to give their House points making up for what Snape had unfairly taken off.
"I’m not replacing everything," he warned. "That would be a dead giveaway that it was me. Besides, I’m sure you deserve a few of those point losses for some things we didn’t catch you doing."
The Pride assumed a collective expression of great innocence.
"Save it for someone who doesn’t know you like I do," advised Padfoot. "Go on, before I find an excuse to dock you a few just because I can."
Harry turned and put his foot on the first stair.
"Everyone but Harry, I need to talk to you."
"What, again?" said Draco under his breath. Harry kicked his brother’s foot, and Draco poked him with his quill as he went by.
"I think you should go find that Hufflepuff boy," said Padfoot when he and Harry were alone. "What’s his name, Finch-Fletchley. You need to apologize to him."
"Apologize? What for?"
"Not—" Padfoot held up a placating hand. "Not because you actually did anything wrong. But because you scared him. He had no idea what you were saying to the snake. None of us did. Some of us had a better guess than others, of course, but he’s not one of them. He doesn’t know you well, does he?"
Harry shook his head. "I don’t think he likes me," he said. "And he thinks Meghan shouldn’t be here."
Padfoot sighed. "I’m damn glad she was," he said, gripping Harry’s shoulder for a moment. "I don’t know what we would have done..." He didn’t have to finish.
"So, you think I should apologize for scaring Justin," said Harry after a moment.
Padfoot nodded. "Or at least explain, if not apologize. Try to get on better terms with him."
"All right. Do you know where I could find him?"
"Try the library," Padfoot advised. "I was up there a few minutes ago and saw some Hufflepuffs in there. Looked like your year. He might have been with them. I’m going that way, if you’re interested."
They went up two staircases together, then Padfoot tapped his cheek with two fingers, as did Harry, and they shook hands, the quick and public version of a scent-touch. Padfoot went down the corridor, and Harry went up two more staircases and into the library.
The group of Hufflepuffs Padfoot had noticed were indeed there, and they didn’t seem to be doing homework. Harry slipped between two bookshelves to listen to what they were saying.
"You’re sure Justin’s all right, Ernie?" asked a girl with blonde pigtails.
"Positive," said a rather stout boy. "He’s in our dorm, and there’s no way Potter could know the password, only teachers and prefects know them. He’ll be safe there, if any of us are safe anywhere," he added darkly. "With Slytherin’s Heir on the loose..."
"You think it is Potter, then?" asked another girl.
"It has to be, Susan," said Ernie surely. "He’s a Parselmouth. There’s never been a decent wizard who could speak to snakes. Besides, look at his family. The last of the Blacks and the last of the Malfoys, for all he calls himself Black now. Those are two of the Darkest families around. Black by name and black by nature, my father always says."
"I say, that hurts," said a quiet voice from between Harry’s hands. He looked down to see that he was gripping a book on a nearby shelf very tightly.
"Sorry," he muttered, releasing it and edging nearer to the Hufflepuffs. Ernie was speaking more quietly now, Harry could barely hear him.
"Of course he seems nice," he was saying impatiently to Hannah, who must have asked a question Harry’d missed. "He can’t go around being mean to people, that’d be a dead giveaway. And think about it this way. You-Know-Who was a really powerful Dark wizard, the most powerful in a long time. Only another wizard just as powerful as him could have survived one of his curses. Just as powerful. And just as Dark. You-Know-Who probably didn’t want the competition..."
Harry turned a guffaw into a loud cough and emerged from between the shelves. The Hufflepuffs all stared at him, frozen in place, as if the very sight of him had Petrified them.
"Hello," he said. "I was hoping you could tell me where to find Justin Finch-Fletchley."
"And what do you want with Justin?" asked Ernie in a voice that shook slightly, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders as if daring Harry to do his worst.
"I was hoping to apologize for scaring him at the dueling club yesterday."
"Apologize?" The word took Ernie by surprise. "You want to apologize?"
"Yes. I didn’t mean to scare anyone, but I didn’t want to see Justin get bitten by that snake."
"Didn’t you?" Ernie pounced on this. "Then why did you chase it toward him?"
"Chase it — I never!" Harry’s momentary amusement vanished. "I told it to leave him alone!"
"You could say you told it London Bridge is falling down, we’d have no way to tell if you were telling the truth," Ernie shot back.
"You were there, weren’t you?"
"Yes, we all were."
"Then you saw what happened. You saw that the snake lay down after I talked to it, that it wasn’t trying to bite Justin any more."
"I know what I saw," said Ernie resolutely, "and I’m warning you, stay away from Justin. He’s got as much right to be here as anybody, just because he’s Muggleborn is no reason to try to scare him away from the school..."
"What are you talking about?"
"We know all about what Slytherin tried to do," said Ernie, indicating himself and the other Hufflepuffs. "Clear the school of Muggleborns. And his Heir would want to do the same, wouldn’t he?"
"I’m not Slytherin’s Heir," said Harry through gritted teeth, "and what possible reason could I have for hating Muggleborns?"
"I’ve heard you hate your Muggle relatives," said Ernie quickly.
"I don’t even know my Muggle relatives. I haven’t seen them since I was two."
"But you hated them then."
Harry felt an intense wish to punch Ernie’s sanctimonious face. "This is stupid," he said instead. "If any of you see Justin, would you mind telling him I’m sorry for scaring him? And I’m also sorry if I scared any of you. Next time I speak Parseltongue in public, I’ll make sure to tell everyone in advance." He spun around and stalked out of the library, clenching his fists by his sides so as not to knock any of the books off the shelves.
This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to explain myself to them. Why won’t they believe me? Do they like being self-contained little idiots who won’t believe anything except what’s under their noses? Maybe they should get attacked...
He was so busy thinking furious thoughts that he didn’t even notice the large blockage in the hall ahead of him, and walked slap into it, falling over backwards. The jolt broke him out of his mood.
"Hello, Hagrid," he said, looking up.
"All righ’, Harry?" asked Hagrid, offering Harry a hand.
"Fine, thanks," said Harry, getting up. "You?"
"None so bad." Hagrid’s hair and beard were flecked with snow. "Yeh look a bit upset — sure yeh’re all righ’?"
"Just some people talking," said Harry unhappily. "You heard what happened last night?"
"Yeah, I heard." Hagrid patted Harry on the back, making him stagger forward a pace. "Don’ worry ‘bout it, Harry, people always talk. All yeh have ter be is a little different, do somethin’ mos’ people can’t, or don’t like, an’ people talk as if yer a criminal bred’n’born. Don’ yeh pay no mind ter it."
"Thanks," said Harry, trying to smile. "Listen, Hagrid, I’ve got to go, I’ve got loads of studying to do..."
"Take care, Harry."
"I will."
Harry walked away, not sure if he felt better or not. Hagrid didn’t think ill of him, but Hagrid didn’t think ill of anyone Dumbledore liked, and Dumbledore still liked him, he thought...
But what about the rest of the school?
Ernie’s words kept coming back to him.
"There’s never been a decent wizard who could speak to snakes..."
He climbed a staircase and turned down a dark corridor, where the torches had been put out by a freezing draft blowing through a cracked windowpane. Have to tell someone about that, he thought vaguely, just before he tripped over something and went sprawling.
What the...
He rolled over to see what he’d tripped on and felt his body chill.
Justin Finch-Fletchley lay flat on his back, utterly rigid, with an expression of shock frozen on his features and his eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling. Next to him, hovering six inches from the floor, was Nearly Headless Nick, but not upright and silvery-white and cheerfully talkative, as he usually was. No, this Nick was horizontal, a smoky black, and completely unresponsive, as if he’d been hit with whatever had hit Justin.
But what kind of magic can affect a ghost like that?
Harry got up slowly, his breath coming quickly, his heart thumping against his ribs as if it wanted out. The only living creatures in the hallway, as far as he could see, were a bunch of spiders, scuttling up the wall towards the windowpane which was letting in the draft. But someone was bound to come along, someone would find him here, and think the worst... he could run away, and no one ever had to know he’d been here, he could tell Padfoot or Letha secretly, but Justin and Nick needed help, he couldn’t just leave them...
A horrendous cackle sounded from around the corner, and Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting past Harry, knocking his glasses off. "Lurking about in dark corridors, Potty?" he chortled. "Lurking about talking to snakes?" He spun three times in midair and froze halfway through a fourth. He’d just seen Justin and Nearly Headless Nick.
"Peeves, please don’t—" Harry began, but he was too late. Peeves was already screaming in a voice that resembled an air-raid siren.
"ATTACK! ATTACK! ATTACK ON THE FIFTH FLOOR! GHOSTS AND MORTALS ALIKE BEWARE! ATTAAAACK!"
Harry had never wanted so much to drop through the floor and disappear. Doors slammed open all along the corridors, people swarmed out, students shoving to get a better look, teachers shouting for silence. Justin was several times in danger of being trampled, and people kept running through Nearly Headless Nick.
"Caught in the act!" yelled a voice Harry knew, and he turned with a sick feeling to face Ernie, the Hufflepuff boy from the library, pointing at him dramatically. "Harry Potter did this!"
"Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.
Peeves was swinging by his knees from an invisible bar above everything, snickering and humming to himself. "Potter’s a rotter," he crooned. "Oh, Potter, you rotter..."
Harry gulped, hoping he wasn’t about to be ill in front of everyone.
"Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done," sang Peeves, horribly off-key. "You’re killing off students, you think it’s good fun..."
Professor McGonagall straightened from examining Justin and gave Peeves a look. "Shoo," she said curtly, and Peeves shooed, but not before smacking Harry’s glasses off once more, and Harry heard the song echoing down the hallway Peeves had just turned into as he picked them up. People were staring at him and whispering as the teachers cleared the hallway, but he didn’t pay attention to much of anything else until Professor McGonagall said, "Potter."
He looked up. The hallway was empty in front of him. Dully he wondered how they’d moved Nearly Headless Nick — how did one move an unconscious ghost? — but he wasn’t really terribly interested. "Professor, I swear I never—"
"I am not accusing you of anything, Potter," said Professor McGonagall firmly. "Come along."
They walked a short way and turned a corner, and Harry stopped in surprise. He hadn’t realized they were so close to the entrance to Dumbledore’s office.
"Sherbet lemon," said Professor McGonagall, and drew her wand as the gargoyle moved aside. A pair of small silver cats sprang from the tip and dashed away down the hall in opposite directions. "Professor Dumbledore will be along in a few moments," she said. "Up you go."
Harry nodded and stepped onto the spiral staircase.
The office at the top looked much the same as it usually did, with the snoozing portraits on the walls, the shelves full of books and interesting artifacts, the large desk with the chairs in front of it. Harry sat in one of these to wait, before an odd, choking noise made him whirl.
"Fawkes," he said in relief, looking at the phoenix, sitting on its golden perch behind the door. "You scared me." He took a closer look. "You look terrible. Is it a Burning Day?"
Fawkes made his noise again, then shivered, puffed himself up, and burst into flames. Harry jumped a little, even though he was expecting it. It was one of those things he’d never quite get used to, he thought, much like Padfoot’s habit of waking him with a cold nose to the back of his knee when he wouldn’t get up in the morning.
The door opened and Harry looked around, then smiled. Thinking of his godfather seemed to have summoned him, and he was followed by Dumbledore and Hagrid. "It can’t’ve bin Harry, sir," Hagrid was saying fervently as they came in. "We were talkin’ seconds before, he couldn’t’ve had time, I’d swear it at the Ministry o’ Magic if I had ter..."
"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "Ah, Harry, there you are."
Padfoot looked down his nose at Harry. "This wasn’t what I had in mind when I said apologize," he said.
"But..." Harry had time for the one word before he realized he was being teased. In the presence of the Headmaster, he contented himself with a quick hand-signed threat for later before turning to Dumbledore. "I was just walking, sir, and I tripped over Justin," he said. "The hallway was dark, I couldn’t see where I was going."
"I understand completely. May I ask why Mr. Macmillan chose to accuse you in such a public manner? Had you had words on this subject previously?"
"We were talking in the library a few minutes ago," said Harry. "I had asked him where Justin was, because I wanted to apologize for scaring him at the dueling club, and he as good as accused me of being Slytherin’s Heir."
Dumbledore nodded somberly. "It was to be expected, I am afraid, with the public revelation of your unusual gift. I must ask you, Harry, not to judge people too harshly. They are frightened and worried, and seeking someone to blame, and you seem a likely candidate. I must also ask you if there is anything you wish to tell me."
A silence descended on the office. The only sounds were the snoring of the portraits, the soft whirring of the silver instruments on their tables, and the quiet cheeping of the baby Fawkes in his nest of ashes.
Harry shook his head. "No, sir," he said. "Nothing."
xXxXx
All in all, Harry had never been so glad for a den-night in his life. The common room was packed with people yammering about Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, but opening the entrance to the Hogwarts Den in stealth mode solved this, and the warriors of the Pride were soon dropping onto the red bed one after another. Even Meghan was present, having persuaded Padfoot and Letha that she was well enough to return to her sleeping quarters in Gryffindor Tower, if not to her duties in the hospital wing.
"Aunt Andy’s coming to talk with me when I’m all better again," she announced after Draco had inaugurated the den-night, as was traditional for the beta male, and Hermione, as alpha female, had asked who had a story to tell. "She wants to see me do my Healing. But Mama Letha and Madam Pomfrey don’t think it’s a good idea for me to try it until after I’m strong again."
"How did it feel, when you Healed Harry?" asked Luna, scooting closer to Meghan.
"It was like being somewhere else. A dark room, with a door that Harry wanted to go through…"
Harry moved away from this conversation, having heard it before, not to mention lived through it. "Hermione," he said instead. "Did you ever figure out who invented that potion we used on Snape?"
Hermione shook her head. "It was just signed L.C."
"Elsie?" repeated Harry. "Like short for Elizabeth?"
"No, initials. A letter L, and then a letter C."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. I’ll show you tomorrow."
"All right."
"Where’d you go yesterday?" asked Ron. "When you ran out of the Great Hall?"
"Just off somewhere," said Harry dismissively. Then he smiled. "But I think I found Snape’s old robes. The ones he got that potion on. They smelled right for it. And they had a dark stain right here." He drew the location with his finger. "It looked like a shield."
Ginny grinned. "What did you do with them?"
"Left them there," said Harry.
"Where’s there?"
"Myrtle’s bathroom."
Ginny stood up. "Where’re you going?" asked Ron.
"I’m going to go get them."
"Why?"
"For a trophy. Fred and George keep trophies from their really good pranks, so why shouldn’t we?"
Harry hid his smile behind his mug of hot chocolate (they had put in a standing order at the beginning of the year for snacks at den-night, so that the house-elves supplied them without having to be asked). He liked Ginny a lot better than he’d thought he would when they’d first met. Of course, then, he’d had his secret to hide, and she had been oddly sure that he was lying about something. But that was in the past now, and he was free to be friends and Pridemates with her.
Ginny disappeared into the red bedroom. "You know, if she’s going to do that, I’ll go get that recipe," said Hermione, standing up. "Do you know who invented it, Harry?"
"Not exactly," Harry temporized. "I might, but I want to have a look at it first."
"How’d you find out?" asked Draco.
"Would you believe Letha told me?"
"Probably not."
"Good."
Hermione returned a few minutes later with the piece of parchment. "Here it is," she said, handing it to Harry. "It was in between the leaves of one of the copies of Hogwarts, a History."
Harry smiled. He could see his mother, as he knew her from the stories, reading the book Hermione loved so. Leaving a recipe for a prank potion in it was a bit more of a stretch, but he was willing to believe Letha.
The handwriting on the paper was well-rounded and easily legible, and there at the bottom was the signature, two initials. L.C.
But Mum’s last name was Evans…
Harry had an idea. "Wait here," he said, and now it was his turn to run into the red bedroom and jump on the bed, being sure to invoke stealth mode as he opened the ceiling, so that no one would see him climbing out of a hole in the wall.
He sped up to his dorm, dug through his things, and hurried back down again with what he was looking for under his arm, grateful that most of the Gryffindors thought the idea of him being Slytherin’s Heir was poppycock, so they weren’t watching him terribly closely, doubly grateful that Percy Weasley was nowhere to be seen. If Percy should realize that he, Harry, plus two of Percy’s siblings, all three of Harry’s own, and their two closest friends, were missing from the dorms, they would have a lot of explaining to do.
"What’ve you got there?" asked Ron as Harry returned.
"Photo album." Harry flipped it open and started paging through it, looking for a particular one… "There."
He’d chosen a picture of his mother working at her desk, candlelight shimmering off her dark red hair. He peered at the letter she was writing, trying to compare the writing in the picture with the writing on the parchment in his hand.
"You think your mum invented this?" said Hermione, sounding totally disbelieving.
"That’s what Letha said when she heard the spell." The two examples of handwriting were similar, but not the same… he needed something else…
He flipped through the pages, then stopped suddenly as something came to him. Mum was too smart to get herself into trouble. So she wouldn’t have signed her prank work with anything that could be easily traced back to her. But she still would have wanted to take credit for it…
He turned back three pages and found a photo of his parents, inscribed in his father’s spiky handwriting.
JTP + LCE, it read.
"There," said Harry, stabbing his finger down on the initials. "L.C. Lily... whatever her middle name was. I don’t know it. But it was her. She invented it."
"Cool," said Draco, looking at the parchment in Harry’s hand with new respect.
I’ll have to ask Letha what Mum’s middle name was someday, Harry thought as he set the album aside. It was possible that he had known once and simply forgotten, since he knew his father’s quite well. There was just something memorable about the name Tiberius.
A loud bounce a few minutes later signaled Ginny’s arrival in the red bedroom, but she didn’t have anyone’s robes with her when she opened the door. "I couldn’t find them," she said. "And Myrtle was no help. She’s flooded the whole place, I practically had to wade in. She said someone threw a book at her."
"Why would anyone want to throw a book at her?" asked Ron. "I mean, other than the obvious, anything that gets her to shut up is all to the good, but throwing things at her just makes her mad, and then she cries more than usual."
"Circular logic," remarked Draco. "You dazzle me, Ron."
"Shut up," grumbled Ron.
"I found the book," said Ginny, displaying a small, black-covered book. "Dried it with my wand, it was soaking. It looks like a diary."
"Why would someone throw away their diary?" asked Hermione.
"Maybe if they didn’t want anyone to read it," said Draco. "Whose is it, Ginny? Any way to tell?"
"There’s no name on it," said Ginny. "And it looks old. Look at this date." She handed it to Harry.
"That’s fifty years ago," said Harry after some brief mental arithmetic.
Ron guffawed. "So someone left a diary sitting around for fifty years, then threw it at a ghost?"
"I’m going to see if there’s a name or anything inside it," said Harry.
"Don’t!" said Ron and Ginny together.
Harry looked up, startled.
"Don’t what?" asked Luna, drawn from Meghan’s story by the noise.
"Harry’s going to open a book," explained Ron.
"I knew you didn’t like to read, but that’s no reason to stop other people doing it, is it, Ronald?" asked Luna reasonably.
"No, it’s not that," said Ron, ears going faintly pink. "But Dad’s told some weird stories about books. One that made you speak in bad poetry for the rest of your life, and one that you couldn’t stop reading, so you had to try to do everything with one hand and without looking at it…"
"But no one would keep a dangerous book at Hogwarts," said Hermione.
"Maybe it’s just turned dangerous," suggested Meghan. "So that’s why someone tried to get rid of it."
"Whose side are you on?" demanded Harry. "Look, I’m going to open it. If something bad happens to me, shut it up and go get Padfoot or Letha, all right?"
He flipped the cover of the book open.
Nothing happened. Ginny sighed in relief. Ron shrugged. "Well, it could have been," he said to no one in particular.
"There’s a name in here," said Harry. "T. M. Riddle." He flipped through it. "But all the rest of it is blank."
"Can I see?" asked Neville. Harry handed it over. Neville held the diary in his hands for a moment, opened it once, then handed it quickly back. "Thanks," he said.
"What’s wrong?" asked Ron. "Did it hurt you or something?"
"No. I just don’t like it much."
"Neville, it’s a blank diary," said Harry, laughing a little. "Bought in Vauxhall Road." He displayed the name of the shop, inside the back cover. "What’s wrong with it?"
"I don’t know. I just don’t like it."
"Pearl, do you want to see it?"
Meghan shook her head. "If Neville doesn’t like it, I don’t either," she said loyally.
"Anyone else?" asked Harry.
They all took turns holding the diary, flipping through it, looking at it. Hermione tried a couple of spells on it, to see if there might be secret messages written in it, but nothing happened. Finally it came back to Ginny.
"I’ll just hold onto it for a while," she said, tucking it away in a pocket of her day robes, which she hadn’t yet changed for her nightdress. "It’s obvious no one wants it, if they tried to flush it down a toilet."
The conversation turned to other topics, and no one noticed Draco slipping away to the green bedroom.
xXxXx
"Alex, you around?"
"No, I’m in Antarctica." Alex emerged from behind his chair. "What can I do for The-Boy-Who-Isn’t-A-Malfoy?"
"The first thing you can do is stop calling me that. I wanted to show you something."
"Show away."
Draco hiked up his robes. Alex yelped and hid his face. "My virgin eyes!"
"Cut that out," said Draco. "Here, look." He held out his hand, his dagger lying across the palm.
Alex looked, and looked again. "Wow. Where did you get that? Goblin-made, isn’t it?"
Draco nodded. "They’re from Aunt Amy. Christmas gifts."
"Gee, I wish I had an Aunt Amy who could give me a goblin-wrought dagger for Christmas," sing-songed Alex. "Did you all get one?"
"All four of us."
"Four? Oh, just you cubs. Right?"
"Right."
Alex scratched his nose, thinking. "Might have to do something about that," he said to himself. "But not for a while yet… all right, so what do you want from me?"
"What makes you think I want something from you?"
"Do you want the full list, or just a partial?"
"Partial’s fine."
"You never come in here unless you want something. You’re an Heir of the House of Slytherin, which means you always want something. And you have that look on your face which means you want something. Enough?"
"Yes."
"So what do you want?"
"Just to ask a couple of questions." Draco lounged on the bed. "These are very nice to have around," he said casually, rubbing a finger across the green pommel stone. "They might save our lives someday. If we can hang onto them."
"True."
"Though I suppose the same could be said of our pendants. That they could save our lives. But we don’t have to worry about hanging onto them. They go intangible when we want them to, so no one can take them away from us."
Alex nodded suspiciously.
"Wouldn’t it be nice," Draco finished, "if there was some way to turn our daggers intangible when we wanted? So we’d always have at least one weapon on us, one no one could take away?"
"Yes, that would be nice."
"Is there some way to do that?"
"Are you asking if I can do it?"
"That’ll do to start."
"Yes, I can."
"Will you?"
Alex shook his head. "That would be direct interference," he said. "Prohibited except in very special circumstances. Which these aren’t."
Draco nodded. "Is there any other way it could be done?"
Alex grinned. "That’s my boy."
"There is?"
"There is. But it requires a sacrifice from you."
"Sacrifice?" Draco looked apprehensively at the painting. "Like what?"
"Oh, not a pound of flesh or anything stupid like that," said Alex. "Have you ever wondered what those pretty jewels on your pendants are for?"
"They’re for telling us what House we’re Heirs to. Right?"
"Yes."
Draco sensed that he was being prompted. "What else do they do?"
"Well…" Alex seemed to be pondering how to put it. "They can either temporarily confer upon other things the property of your pendants that was contributed by that particular House," he said finally, "or they can temporarily enhance and augment your pendants’ existing qualities from that House."
Draco sorted through this. "You gave the pendants intangibility. So my green jewels could turn our daggers intangible, couldn’t they?"
"Yes. For a while."
"That’s right, you said temporarily. What if I want it to be permanent?"
Alex frowned. "Well… I suppose if you were willing to use two of them. They’re one use only, you understand, so if you do this, you’ll only have one left. Plus the Gryffindor one."
"Whatever good that is," said Draco dryly. "All right. That seems fair. Two Slytherin jewels to make all four of our daggers, and the belts and sheaths, permanently intangible to anyone we want them to be intangible to, the same way our pendants are. Am I forgetting anything?"
"I don’t think so." Alex grinned. "Just say the magic words."
"So I speak, so I intend," said Draco, lifting his right hand.
"And so let it be done," answered Alex.
Draco pulled out his pendants. Two of the green gems were glowing with a fierce light, pulsing, getting brighter and brighter, until he had to look away. A final flash seemed to etch his shadow on the opposite wall.
"Is that it?" he asked, looking back at Alex.
"Give it a try."
Draco willed himself not to be able to touch his dagger and made a grab for it.
His hand passed through.
"Fall through the bed," he told it.
The dagger disappeared, and he heard it clatter on the floor underneath.
"Cool." Draco ducked under the bed to retrieve his weapon and sheathed it, then stood up and looked at the portrait again. "Thanks, Alex."
"Anytime, Draco."
"Wow, you actually know my name. I’m so impressed."
"Smarmy brat," said Alex. "Your parents have my sympathies."
Draco stuck out his tongue and returned to the main room.