The Potter Conspiracy

A/N: Thanks to all those who have read and reviewed!  Feedback is greatly appreciated.

A quick note about Harry’s seemingly hopeless situation, which many of you have commented on: if (a) you were a 15-year-old wizard, (b) Voldemort wanted you dead, and (c) Dumbledore was intent on making that happen, you would be well and truly screwed.  It would be unrealistic for Harry to escape easily from Dumbledore’s machinations.  That said, Harry’s situation is not quite as hopeless at it appears, and it will change quite soon.  I won’t spoil anything, but I can promise that there will be no super!goblins in this story, nor will Harry be an heir to Merlin, Gryffindor, or Jesus.  That is all, and thanks for reading.

Disclaimer:  I don’t own Harry Potter.  JKR and her partners do.

Chapter Seven – The Argument

Sunday, September 28th, 1995 – Malfoy Manor, The Throne Room

Emmanuel Ollivander spat a wad of thick, ropy blood onto the stone floor.  He thought he noticed another tooth in the gore.  He had stopped counting after he lost his third tooth, but he guessed only about half of them were remaining by now.  He stared at the black boot inches from his face, and rose shakily onto his hands.

“Would you like to reconsider your last statement, wandmaker?” a sinister voice above him hissed.

“My…my Lord,” the old man faltered, “I’m doing all that I can.  The basilisk venom is unstable; it destroys the wood and the other cores…it…it has never been done before…”  “My Lord,” he added, as a shivered afterthought.  He had learned that addressing this monster before him with anything but reverence resulted in very bad things.

There was a pause of several seconds while Ollivander braced himself for further torture.  When it came, it was harsh beyond measure.

“Crucccio,” whispered the hated voice, holding the curse for almost thirty seconds before relenting.

Ollivander’s body was twitching and shivering now, his muscles spasming involuntarily in response to the pain.  He wondered hazily if he would be able to use his hands after tonight.

“You have two weeks, wandmaker,” Voldemort threatened.  “If you fail, they shall hear your screams in Scotland.”

Had he not been in a state of such agony, Ollivander might have laughed at the comically sibilant intonations of the Dark Lord.  But his sense of humor had deserted him, and there was truly nothing funny at all about the snake-like creature who owned the voice.

Voldemort gave the broken man one last kick to the ribs and returned to his “throne.”  They were deep beneath the ground, in a part of Malfoy Manor below even the dungeons.  The Dark Lord’s meeting room had been dubbed the “throne room” by the Death Eaters because of the regal manner with which he held court there.  In truth it was little more than a circular room with humble stone walls covered in black and green tapestries.

“Severus,” the Dark Lord spoke.  “You are to give the old man two more ounces of venom.  Remove him from my sight, and return to Hogwarts.  Wormtail, remove the muggle.”

Severus Snape stepped forth from the shadows where he and Peter Pettigrew had been watching the evening’s progress report from Ollivander.

“As you wish, my Lord.”  He bowed respectfully, careful not to meet the red glowing eyes of his Master, then knelt to lift Ollivander from the ground.  The old man could not support his own weight at all, and a levitation spell would probably cause him to vomit.

Groaning under the added weight, he began half-dragging and half-carrying Ollivander back to his “workshop.”

Peter Pettigrew levitated the bloody remains of a young muggle woman and followed in Snape’s direction, trying not to gag on the smell of the girl’s viscera dangling pitifully from her abdomen.

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Snape strode quickly through the corridors of hewn stone deep below Malfoy Manor.  This part of Malfoy’s dungeons always gave him a sense of claustrophobia, despite his comfort with Hogwarts’ dungeons.  The corridors were narrow, the rock walls were slimy and foul-smelling, and the torchlight insufficient to provide real light.  Tonight he ignored those things, intent on ensuring that he knew the twists and turns of this passage by heart.  It led, after a slow uphill climb, to an exit near the edge of the Manor’s wards.  From there it was easy to exit the wards, though virtually impossible to enter through them.

Snape stopped abruptly and peered into the darkness behind him.  Satisfied that he had not been followed, he turned and moved quickly on.

If things went according to plan, his life as a spy would be over six days from now.

If the plan failed, the best he could hope for was a quick and painless death.

Many things depended on whether Potter was capable of some new miracle.  The wretched boy had a habit of defying the laws of magic that baffled even Dumbledore.  But this time the deck would be so heavily stacked against him that a miracle was nearly inconceivable.  Snape wondered briefly what would happen if Potter somehow struck down the Dark Lord like he had all those years ago, but didn’t dwell on it.  That would be Albus’s problem.  The Dark Lord was currently everyone’s problem.  He had recovered from whatever Potter did to him at his resurrection ritual, and was growing more impatient to destroy his enemies with each passing day.

Snape had exited the presence of the Dark Lord not twenty minutes ago.  He had dragged Ollivander back to his cell and administered what little first aid he could.  There was not much to be done for cruciatus exposure.  He had left the man with enough basilisk venom to dissolve a human body, but Snape thought the elderly wandmaker’s chances of success were slim.  His body was too broken for such complex work.  He wondered, in fact, when Ollivander would decide that all hope was lost and use the venom on himself.  That would have both advantages and disadvantages to their cause.

Despite the important service Ollivander had been coerced into performing, Lord Voldemort took great pleasure in torturing him daily.  Apparently he didn’t care that the man’s frailty was only delaying the delivery of the new wand.  Snape was exceedingly grateful that the Dark Lord was not so reckless when torturing his potions master.

Sweating from both nervousness and exertion, Snape eventually reached his destination.  Slowly opening the heavy iron door and peering around cautiously, he decided that he was alone.  He took a few steps out into the darkness and surveyed the area.

Snape stood in the dark for the next five minutes, carefully memorizing the locations of rocks, trees, and greenery.  With any luck this reconnaissance would turn out to be useless, but it might end up saving his life.  Many years of spying had engrained in him the necessity of having multiple escape routes.

Finally satisfied with the intelligence, Snape made his way to a copse of trees just beyond the wards and apparated away.

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September 28th, 1995 – Hogwarts, Room of Requirement

“Enervate.”

Harry Potter opened his eyes woozily and peered up at the grinning, freckled face of Ron Weasley.

“Got ya that time, mate,” Ron said cheerily, chuffed at having successfully stunned The-Boy-Who-Lived.

The last two weeks had been among the best in Ron’s young life.  He had satisfied his lifelong dream of making the Gryffindor Quidditch team, taking the open Keeper position.  He had consequently risen in the esteem of his housemates, who were in the habit of keeping a wary distance between themselves and Harry Potter.  His skills in dueling had improved somewhat during their sessions in the Come-and-Go Room, and he was usually able to take down Harry at least once per session.  On top of all that, Lavender Brown and Romilda Vane had been flirting with him all week.  Sometimes it was good to be Ron Weasley.

Ron wasn’t aware of it, but Harry had almost quit his position as seeker on the quidditch team.  Practices took up too much time, and he had more serious concerns this year.  But if he quit, Harry had decided, Ron would likely never speak to him again.  And the twins would probably leave dead animals in his bed.  Enough people hated him already, so he may as well stay on the team.

“Nice one, mate,” sighed Harry, as Ron pulled him up from the ground.  “I couldn’t get out of the way of the last one in time.”

In the mock duels they held several times per week, Harry had developed a defensive strategy that relied more heavily on dodging than on blocking.  He tired quickly if he tried to cast continuous shield spells, but his superior conditioning and reflexes made him a very difficult target to hit.  His defensive skills usually allowed him to defeat Ron, whose gangly stature was a major weakness.

In short, Harry felt like his “condition” was improving.  He had worked on his patronus every day, and while it still wasn’t as impressive as it had been, it was a marked improvement over this summer.  His confidence with basic offensive spells had improved over the past two weeks as well; the trio could now cast several varieties of blasting hexes, the conjunctivitis curse, and a “light bang” curse that would temporarily blind an opponent.  

Harry desperately wanted to master some more difficult spells, but the truly advanced ones were still beyond them.  One spell in particular—the fire whip—had caught his eye.  He had already attempted it a few times—screaming “aduro flagrum” at the top of his lungs—but was rewarded with only a few sparks.  That one would have to wait.

So too would the use of transfiguration in combat.  Harry had read about using advanced transfiguration to attack opponents and defend oneself, but the importance of the concept eluded him.  A true master of magical combat would have viewed Harry’s training sessions as hopelessly amateurish, but he was doing the best he could under the circumstances.  And he was a 15-year-old amateur, after all.

Hermione had been watching Harry and Ron duel from the sidelines, and now it was her turn to spar with Harry.  She too lacked Harry’s agility, especially with her recent illness, but she knew the most spells of the three.  That advantage was offset by the fact that they had agreed to use no dangerous spells in sparring, and that Hermione simply thought too much during a fight.  She did not have the instincts of a fighter, and Harry was usually able to defeat her easily.

Tonight he wanted to experiment on her with a different sort of attack.

“Ready, Hermione?” he smirked at her.  “I’m not going to pull any punches.”

“Do your worst, Harry Potter,” she responded, with more confidence than she felt.

Harry and Hermione took up positions on opposite sides of the Come-and-Go Room.  The room had provided them with a large open space littered with small chunks of stone and debris; these could be used as cover if one crouched very low.

“Go!” shouted Ron, and Hermione ducked quickly behind one of the small barriers.

Harry stood still, but kept one eye on Hermione’s position as he moved his wand in a slow arc and whispered “serpensortia” three times.  He hissed quickly at his conjured snakes and then moved deftly to the right as a stunner was sent his way.  His snakes spread out across the room and began to approach Hermione from different directions.

Hermione had heard the incantation and the hissing, and knew what was coming.  She rolled hurriedly to her right and fired a stunner at Harry, followed by a blasting curse at one of the snakes.  Her aim with the latter was true, and the conjured snake was destroyed.

“Stupefy!  Stupefy!” yelled Harry, sending two stunners at the now unprotected Hermione.

“Protego horribilis,” she responded, sending one of the stunners directly back at Harry and dodging the other one.

Harry dodged his own spell and sent two more stunners at her, forcing Hermione to dive behind some debris.

By then, however, one of Harry’s snakes had approached her from behind and was coiling to pounce on her.

Hermione was forced to crouch and turn around before she could blast the snake, and Harry saw his opening.

“Stupefy!  Stupefy!” he shouted.

Hermione successfully took out the second snake and blocked the first stunner, but she had no time to dodge the second.  It struck her in the chest and she crumpled bonelessly to the floor.

Harry grinned and wiped the sweat from his brow.  His distractions had worked.  It felt fun to use a spell that Draco Malfoy had introduced him to.  He was a parselmouth, after all; he might as well use it to his advantage.

“Good job, Harry,” Hermione said grudgingly, after Ron had enervated her.  “I couldn’t deal with you and the snakes at the same time.”

“That was the idea, Hermione,” he smiled back at her.

The trio sat down in chairs the room had provided and gulped down the water Dobby delivered to them.  Harry was pleased with his progress tonight.  The trio had practiced their small repertoire of advanced curses for an hour, and then Harry had gone 3-1 in their mock duels.

On top of his slowly strengthening magic, Harry was gratified that Dobby had recently managed to retrieve his vault key from the Headmaster, hiding it in a place only he could find.  He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with his key now, but just possessing it gave him a sense of empowerment that he had been lacking for too long.

If only that sense of empowerment had extended to his classes, Harry’s life might be more than merely bearable.  His weakened magic had initially made transfiguration virtually impossible for him; it was a difficult and precise art, and Harry had felt like a firstie again during McGonagall’s early classes.  He had improved somewhat, but it didn’t help that the severe old woman had very little patience for failure and was still treating him coldly because of his attitude toward the Headmaster.

Still, life could be worse, thought Harry.  Dumbledore had avoided him altogether after chiding him about Dobby’s stunt.  Snape tended to ignore him rather than bully him these days, and consequently his potions grade was improving.  Even Dolores Umbridge had refrained from trying to provoke him again during class.  Their uneasy détente was aided by the fact that there was never any need to speak to her.  She never demonstrated magic and never answered questions during class, insisting that the students read in total silence.  This would have irritated Harry beyond belief had he not had other means to train himself.  And that training finally appeared to be producing some results.

Things are finally getting better, Harry thought.

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Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office

Albus Dumbledore stood over his desk and stared at the objects arrayed before him.  Feelings of both elation and dread warred for supremacy in his stomach.  A locket.  A ring.  A diadem.  And then there was the diary that Harry Potter had destroyed three years ago.  And Harry himself.  Have I gotten them all? Dumbledore wondered vainly.  From Severus’ description of Voldemort’s familiar, it was quite possible that the snake was now a horcrux too.  It would have to be taken care of, just in case, he thought.

Dumbledore felt certain that the time of reckoning was upon them.  In less than a week this long struggle would be decided once and for all.  Hopefully.  He, Severus, Kingsley, and Alastor had put together the best plan they could under the circumstances.  It was imperative that Voldemort be defeated as soon as possible; if they waited any longer, it would put the entire wizarding world at risk.  Severus was certain that the Dark Lord wanted to slaughter most of wizarding Britain, and was being delayed only by Lucius Malfoy’s machinations within the Ministry.

That meant it was high time for Harry Potter to do his duty.

They had eliminated as many unknowns as possible, and now it was time to move forward during the first Hogsmeade visit.  He, Kingsley, and Severus would be in the thickest of the fighting, and Remus, Alastor, Nymphadora, and the others would lie in wait beyond the wards, ready for anything.  Only Alastor, Severus, and Kingsley knew of Harry’s role in their plans, and they had each sworn binding oaths never to reveal it to anyone, even on pain of death.

The two biggest uncertainties were now his own familiar and that former Malfoy house elf who had befriended Harry Potter.  Fawkes had intervened during Harry’s last encounter with Voldemort, and Dumbledore wasn’t sure how he could prevent him from doing so again.  There were many varieties of binding spells at his disposal, but he knew of nothing that could restrain a phoenix.  And that blasted elf.  Could it still pop inside the Malfoy wards?  Dumbledore wasn’t certain, but he thought it likely.  He was quite sure his group could dispose of a defiant elf, but there was simply no way to predict what Fawkes would do.

Turning to his familiar, Dumbledore raised his hand and gently stroked Fawkes’ deep red feathers.  If only he were close to a burning day, he thought.  Fawkes preened a little at the affection, then looked up and stared directly into Dumbledore’s eyes.  He could sense the grave mood of his human.

“You must not interfere this time, old friend,” Dumbledore spoke softly.  “We must end this war, and this is the only way.  We cannot fight against fate, Fawkes.  We must accept it.  I hope you understand me.”

Fawkes made no movement, so Dumbledore continued.

“If you rescue Harry, Fawkes, many good people will die.  I will die.  It will doom Britain to darkness.  You must not aid Harry, Fawkes.  You must not.  Do you understand?”

Fawkes did nothing to indicate his understanding, but broke eye contact to pick at one of his feathers.  Dumbledore was unsure about the meaning of that response, but there was no turning back now.  They would have to risk it.

All that was left was to ensure Harry Potter’s presence in the castle for the next six days.  That is not necessarily guaranteed, thought Dumbledore, given the boy’s present state of mind.  Two weeks ago the boy’s elf had taken back his vault key, right from under his nose.  Dumbledore had considered demanding it back, but he didn’t want to risk pushing Harry too far at this crucial juncture.  The path of least resistance was simply to let the boy have his little victory.  As far as he could tell, Harry hadn’t attempted to spend any of his money anyway.

Dumbledore had considered simply locking Harry away somewhere until the proper time came, but too many people would question his absence.  Plus, he didn’t want to deny Harry any pleasure he might find in his remaining days.  He seemed to be getting along well with Ginny Weasley, even if a romantic relationship had not transpired.  Dumbledore was mildly surprised at this, and wondered if Molly’s potion making skills had declined.  He had forbade absolutely the use of amortentia, but in Harry’s weakened state he should have been susceptible to lesser love potions.  Truthfully, his mind should have been so befuddled with feelings of affection by now that his outbursts of temper ought to be impossible.

Dumbledore turned away from Fawkes’ grooming and seated himself at his desk.  He pulled an old, weathered locket from within his robes and opened it.  The young girl in the picture smiled shyly at him, just as she had always done.

Men who know they could be spending their last week on Earth are prone to reminiscence, and Albus Dumbledore was no different.

He had done so many things in his long life, almost all of them for the betterment of the wizarding world.  Even those cruel acts Dumbledore was most ashamed of had been unavoidable in his eyes.  All but one.

Though there was no hint of accusation in the girl’s youthful visage, Albus felt it nonetheless.  So much of his life had been determined by his neglect of Ariana and his love of Gellert.  Cause and effect.  If he were destined to be reunited with her next week, Albus hoped against hope that she would be whole again, that she would understand and forgive him.

If the worst did come to pass in six days, Dumbledore truly believed that the world would be destined for darkness.  Nevertheless, he had prepared letters for the three people who would be most in need of the information he possessed: Minerva McGonagall, Amelia Bones, and Algernon Croaker.  Minerva would have to take over the school, probably locking it down, and Amelia and Algernon would at least have some warning before hell broke loose in wizarding Britain.

Hope for the best, but plan for the worst, Dumbledore thought, sighing mentally and returning the locket to its home.

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September 30, 1995 – Hogwarts, Gryffindor Boy’s Dorm

Two days later Harry Potter entered his dorm room in a state of pleasant fatigue.  Quidditch practice earlier that afternoon had been glorious because of the crisp autumn weather, and he had followed it up with a long, hot shower and a huge meal at dinner.  He had already finished most of his homework, and felt he deserved a night off from training and worrying.  Lately he had found it increasingly difficult to remain focused on his goals.  So tonight he would take a break.

Ron had challenged some third-year to a game of chess downstairs, and Harry had no idea what Seamus and Dean were doing.  They seemed to be doing their best to stay out of his way this year.  Only Neville was in the room, and he was occupied with a small wooden chest on his bed.

“What’re you up to, Nev?”  Harry asked, more amiably than usual.

Neville blushed slightly then moved to close the chest.  Before he did Harry saw him drop several photographs onto what looked to be a collection of bubble gum wrappers.  Drooble’s Best.  Harry didn’t know what to make of the wrappers, but he assumed Neville had been looking at pictures of his parents.  He often did the same thing when he was alone.

“Oh, um, nothing, Harry,” Neville stammered.  “Just looking through some things from home.”

Harry nodded in understanding.  “No worries, Neville, I won’t pry.  What are you doing tonight?”

“Oh.  Well, I’ve got to finish my transfiguration essay.  McGonagall gave me a D on the last one.”

“Right,” said Harry.  “Well, I’ll leave you to it.  I’m just trying to find something to do.”

“No problem, Harry.  See you.”

Harry exited his room and traipsed back downstairs, wondering what Hermione and Ginny were doing.  The two girls had grown closer this year, as Hermione seemed to have taken Ginny under her wing.

When he reached the common room, he discovered Ron still playing chess.  Parvati and Lavender were laughing in a corner over something, and Colin Creevey was taking apart his camera for reasons only he knew.  It looked like there was no amusement to be had here tonight.

Harry had no sooner resigned himself to boredom when fate deigned to send some entertainment his way.  A muffled explosion and a small scream from just outside the common room entrance caught his attention, and then the door suddenly burst open to admit Fred and George Weasley, followed by the acrid stench of dungbombs.

“Right, you lot didn’t see us,” Fred announced to the room, and they both took off up the stairs to the dorms.

Harry shook his head and followed, wondering who the twins had just victimized.

He opened the door to their room to find them sitting on separate beds and feigning study.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” smiled Harry, leaning against the door frame, “but was that perchance Draco Malfoy screaming in the hallway?”

“Lord Potter!” George cried.  “You’re looking less stroppy this fine evening.  What hath brought you to the humble dwelling of your servants?”

“George,” responded Fred for Harry, “I think his majesty is here seeking a report on our progress.”

“Indeed, brother mine, I think you might be right.”  

Fred hopped off his bed and knelt in deference to Harry.  “My Lord, it is my sad duty to report that we have not yet been able to capture the dread ferret Malfoy.  His lovely platinum locks are protected at all times by great hulking ogres.”

George echoed his twin, smirking: “The pillock seems to be right scared of walking around alone after you introduced him to your knee, Lord Potter.”

Harry snickered in remembrance, and then was struck by a brilliant idea.  He smiled at them.  “I think I may have a solution to our dilemma, gentlemen.”

“Dobby!”

Dobby popped into the twins’ dorm room and looked around curiously.

“Harry Potter Sir is calling his Dobby?”

“Hi, Dobby.  I’d like to introduce you to my loyal servants, and the two most dangerous wizards in Hogwarts, Fred and George Weasley.”

Dobby bowed in the twins’ direction.

“Dobby is happy to be meeting Harry Potter Sir’s Wheezies.”

Fred and George could not contain their mirth at this comment, and bowed in return to Dobby.

“Fred, George—this is Dobby, a good friend of mine who repeatedly saved my arse this summer.  Dobby was the Malfoy family house elf until I freed him, and I think he just might be willing to, er, help us manage our mischief.”

After Harry explained who their target was, Dobby was more than happy to aid them.  He could pop in and out of any location in the castle, so dear Draco would no longer be safe even in his own dorm room.

After a brief discussion of potential pranks, Fred presented Dobby with a half-empty container of Zonko’s Extra-Strength Itching Powder.  As soon as Malfoy’s dorm room was empty, Dobby was planning to sprinkle liberal amounts of the powder on the inside of Draco’s garments.  Life would soon become very unpleasant for Draco Malfoy.

Harry paused for a moment over the wisdom of provoking Malfoy, given that he had not yet attempted to retaliate for his beating.  But this was an opportunity too good to pass up.  What the hell, thought Harry.  He’ll blame me for this, but it will be worth it.

“Um, Harry old chap…” George interjected into Harry’s thoughts.

“Master and benefactor…” added Fred.

“Do you suppose we could…”

“…borrow Dobby’s services from time to time?”

Harry should have known that the twins would now want to use Dobby for all their pranks.  He wasn’t against it in principle, but he didn’t want to risk Dobby’s position at Hogwarts.  To his surprise, Dumbledore had not protested too greatly about Dobby’s surprise attack to regain Harry’s key.  But Dumbledore knew about Dobby’s presence in the castle now, and there was no point in provoking the old man into some kind of action.

“Er, maybe,” Harry hedged.  “Only in special cases, and you have to let me know me why you want to use him.  It’s nothing personal, but I don’t want the Headmaster or McGonagall punishing Dobby.”

The twins reluctantly accepted this, but Harry could tell they would soon have a long list of potential pranks that required the use of house elves.

Harry decided to leave the twins to their scheming and return to the common room.  It was still two hours until curfew, and he was at loose ends again.

He arrived there to discover Hermione examining Ron’s homework while Ron absently tossed a fanged frisbee into the air.

“Anybody up for some exploding snap?” asked Harry, approaching them.

Hermione didn’t break concentration, but shook her head absentmindedly.  She could not carry on conversations while thinking hard.

“Sorry, mate,” Ron responded for the both of them.  “I’ve got to finish my essay for Snape, and then we’re on prefect patrol.  I’m sure you could get Colin to play,” he grinned.

Colin Creevey was still sitting at one of the common room tables, playing with his camera.

Harry shuddered.

“Er, no, I think I’ll pass on that,” he said.

“I know,” Ron said suddenly.  “Ginny is in the library working on her transfiguration essay for McGonagall.  It was giving her some trouble, and she probably wouldn’t mind your help.”

This did catch Hermione’s attention, but she did nothing save narrow her eyes at Ron.

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Harry decided he would take Ron’s advice.  He wasn’t the world’s best tutor of transfiguration, but he wouldn’t mind spending more time with Ginny.  She had taken to sitting with Hermione in the stands during quidditch practice, and seemed to be slowly coming out of her shell when he was around.

The more time he spent around her, the more his resolve to ignore his feelings for Ginny faltered.  He still felt awkward in her presence, and frequently didn’t know what to say, but thinking of her helped calm his nerves.

I’m entitled to a little fun, aren’t I?  Harry thought, trying to overcome his reluctance.

For the last week he had contemplated whether to ask Ginny to accompany him during the approaching Hogsmeade weekend, but the decision was a complicated one.

Rita Skeeter’s article two weeks earlier had done his reputation no favors among his classmates, and Ginny’s own reputation would surely suffer if everyone saw them together in Hogsmeade.  Plus it could make her a target for Malfoy’s ire, and Harry didn’t want any of his friends put in greater danger.

Then again, Harry thought, Ron seemed to approve of his spending time with Ginny, going so far as to find things for them to do together, and might she not be safer with him there to protect her?  It was all so complicated.

He passed Parvati and Padma in the hallway as he exited Gryffindor Tower and nodded politely to them.  They both nodded back, and Parvati giggled a little.  Why do girls do that?  Harry wondered.

At least the Patil twins don’t hate me, he thought, continuing on in the direction of the library.  Harry could now count Ginny, Luna, Neville, Lee Jordan, the Patils, Colin Creevey, and the Gryffindor chasers among those who bore him no ill will.  Though several of these ‘allies’ left something to be desired in Harry’s eyes.

Luna Lovegood was foremost among them.  The girl was absolutely mystifying to him.  Luna will probably be sitting with Ginny in the library, Harry thought.  That should be interesting.  Luna was just as quiet as Ginny, but she had a discomfiting gaze and seemed to have no tact whatsoever.  Whatever popped into her head came out her mouth, and oftentimes it was to the bafflement of those who heard her.  What the hell is a crumple-horned snorkack, anyway?  Harry wondered.

As Harry approached the corridor that led to the library, he decided he might just find the courage to ask Luna what the things were supposed to look like.

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Hogwarts, Fourth Floor Corridor

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley walked somewhat aimlessly along the main corridor on the fourth floor.  It was now thirty minutes until curfew, and until then their only real duty as prefects was to remind people that it was time to return their common rooms.  Hermione had been waiting to yell at Ron ever since he sent Harry after Ginny in the library.  Now she had her chance.

Hermione dragged an indignant Ron into an empty classroom near Ravenclaw Tower and slammed the door; she cast a silencing spell at the door so that noise would not be able to escape the room.

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” said Ron, rubbing his arm where she had grabbed him.  “What’re you on about?”

Hermione took a moment to gather her thoughts before lashing out in a low, threatening voice.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, what is the matter with you?  You are setting up your sister for heartbreak.”

Hermione’s face was flushed and her hair was even more wild than usual, giving her an almost spectral appearance in the poor light of the room.

Ron just shrugged.  “She’ll get over it, Hermione.  We’re just giving her what she wants for a little while.”

“That is heartless, Ron,” Hermione snapped at him.  “And what about Harry?!  You should be spending time with him, not foisting him off on Ginny!”

“Well, he’ll be enjoying himself too, won’t he?”  Ron retorted angrily.  “And what do you care?  It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?  You heard Dumbledore.”

Hermione’s eyes bulged a little at Ron’s response.

“What does it…Ron, Harry is going to DIE soon!  How can you be so…ugh!  He’s supposed to be your friend!”  

Ron’s face was growing red at her tone, and Hermione could tell he was almost at the end of his fuse.

“Not….my…fault….Hermione!” he growled at her.  “I’d rather he didn’t die, but I’m sick of everyone looking at me like I rape ickle firsties for fun.  Things will be better for both of us when he’s gone.”

Hermione stared at him in horror, and could not withhold the tears.

“You BASTARD,” she spat thickly at Ron.  It was the first time that Ron had ever heard her swear, and he was stunned speechless for a moment.

“He saved Ginny’s life, Ron!  And he’s about to save the whole bloody world!  Again!”

Hermione’s voice had risen to the point that she was practically shouting at the top of her lungs.  She took a second to regain her composure.

“And don’t think I don’t know you’re feeding him love potions,” she said fiercely.  “It’s the only thing that explains it.  How can you be such a selfish, loathsome....”

“How did you…” Ron interrupted her, but then stopped.  “It’s none of your bloody business, Hermione.  And don’t even think of telling him.  Remember the oaths.”

Hermione shook her head violently.

“You disgust me, Ronald Weasley.  Harry’s life has been miserable, and you should be ashamed that—,”

But Ron cut her off, practically shaking with rage at her accusations.

“His life?!  His life?!  What about my life?  What about your life?  This is how his life is supposed to be, but why do I have to give up mine?  I’m fucking tired of babysitting him!  I’m not allowed to do anything!  I’m not allowed to have real friends! And I’m sick of it!  You may like having books for friends, but I bloody well don’t!”

Ron had slowly advanced on her as he ranted, and was now standing only inches away.  He stopped and stared at her, as if daring her to contradict him.

“So I’m not really your friend, is that what you’re saying, Ronald?”

Hermione was no longer crying, just glaring spitefully at the redhead in front of her.

When Ron didn’t respond right away, Hermione just nodded.

“Right, then.  As soon as this over, you will stay away from me.  I will not answer your questions; I will not do your homework; I will not help your pathetic, lazy arse at all.  Good day, Ronald.”

Hermione released her silencing spell with a muttered “finite incantatem” and marched out the door, leaving a silent Ron in her wake.

Ron stared out the door she had just exited for a while, as if contemplating her words.  Then he too left.

Unbeknownst to either of them, their conversation had been overheard.

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A/N: Oops, bit of a cliffhanger there.  Sorry about that.  Next chapter, Harry gets a rude awakening and has some crucial decisions to make.  Oh, and be sure to wave goodbye to canon as she leaves the building.

A/N 2: I’m reposting the first chapter for readability issues.  The changes are cosmetic, so there’s no need to read it again.  Ignore the alerts.