Cosa Nostra

07. A Serpent's Strike. 

Shadows, fogs, smoke and mirrors. Illusion that cloud thought and reality until there's nothing familiar left. That's what it felt like, a sharp pain acting as the only precursor to the veil that covered thought. A screen, was a more befitting term; when I dreamt, I saw something else. I watched something, through the eyes of another person entirely.

I stood in a dark room, the same room that I had been in only a few weeks ago. Shadows danced in the candle light, writhing on dark, marble walls that were barely visible. Men stood before me, cloaks drawn around them and the same, ivory skeletal masks shielding their true face. Their identities were hidden from me, but some part of me knew exactly who each of those bowed before me were. Each of my servants were known to me, none of them could hide. 

And again, I felt the fog further descend upon my mind, clouding rational thought. 

“Lucius,” I whispered slowly, yet softly. 

One of the few servants besides me stepped forward, a small hobble in his step as if something had rendered a leg immobile. The wizard fell to his knees in front of me, reaching for the hem of my robes to brush his lips across. Some part of me felt empowered by the way such a usually refined man bowed before me, his soul resting in my very hand.

“Have you completed your task, my servant?” I asked. 

His bowed head dipped even lower, “Of course, my Lord. We have made contact with our source,” he murmured quietly.  

I felt elation course through my veins, a semblance of excitement at the prospect of fulfilling a goal. I felt my mouth part, lips curling into a dangerous smirk. A pale hand -- was that mine? -- reached into my dark, black robes and removed a pale, almost white, wand. My fingertips gripped the handle and I looked down towards the servant before me.

“Let it be known that your Lord is benevolent. Reveal the wound,” I commanded. 

The blonde-haired wizard slowly rose, I could see pain flicker in his eyes. Carefully, he lifted the edge of his robe to reveal a long, jagged wound that spread along the length of his calf. Bone was out of place, protruding from skin in a grotesque fashion. Half of me was slightly disturbed at the sight, the other, darker side of me marveled at the craftsmanship of the wound. How skillfully the spell must have been cast…

My hand lifted of its own accord and pressed the tip of the wand into the wizard's flesh, eliciting a small, muffled sound of pain. Dark tendrils spread forward, coiling around the leg in its shadows. Skin knit itself back together; the soft hissing sound of bone being forcibly reconstructed was audible. With another flick of my wand, the bone cracked back into place, leaving the wizard to gasp with relief.

“My Lord…Thank you,” murmured Lucius, reaching forward once again to kiss the hem of my robes. 

Cold wind whispered against my skin once again, candlelight flickering in the darkness. Shadows realigned themselves among the marble -- shadows that would falter under my presence. I rose from my blackened throne and gazed towards the dark sky. 

“You have done well, Lucius,” I said before turning to the rest of my followers, their numbers growing larger from when I had last seen them. “We are on our way to greatness. Soon, this world will be ours.”

I felt myself being pulled out of wherever I had been, climbing towards the sky as pain wracked my body. My scar burnt again, flame that could not be suppressed as it pierced my forehead. I took a sharp breath and sat up rapidly, my arms supporting my weight.

The fog slowly cleared and my vision returned to itself, focusing in on the dark stone of the Slytherin dormitories, the green drapery, the silver tapestries. I let out a labored breath and took a sweeping glance over the room. Everything was how I left it, the folded shirt on top of the drawers, the tools that were only a few feet from me.

I let out a terse breath. This was getting ridiculous.

Never before had I seen those sights, the memories, the very thoughts of something else. “My Lord,” they kept calling me, a figure of royalty and leadership.  They treated with me respect, and I held a certain power over each and every one of them. I could feel someone's power within my body, know their movements, feel their emotions. 

And how dark they were. Ideals of confidence, power, malice, and ambition all meshed together to formulate something terrible. Something with plans and a calculating mind far beyond my own capabilities. Something, that I wanted to one day become. 

A vision of my future, then? Was this what Fate had decided I would one day become? A piece of greatness that had fallen so close to the family tree and yet so far. Maybe this was a wizard's power, to see the future itself and know. Precognition, a worthy power indeed. To have sight beyond sight, to see and know the workings of the world. 

A fleeting, cold smirk formed on my mouth. It would just be a matter of time now.

I lifted myself from the bed and stood on the cold floor, wavering slightly as I stood on my own two feet. I stared out the artificial window: it was a clear night sky, one where the luminescent moon shone brightly above the castle. Stars adorned the sky, small crystals that shone in the distance.

“Potter, close the door. It brings in a draft,” said a groggy voice.

I turned my head to the side, watching the young Blaise Zabini in a state that was halfway between consciousness and sleep. A sheet pulled over his head, tightly wound around his body as his head sank deeper into the pillow. I chuckled softly and crossed the room quickly, closing the door that had been opened only a fraction of an inch.

Déjà vu strikes at the most inopportune times. I remembered closing that door earlier that night, I was sure of it. My eyes scanned the room carefully, watching for any minute detail that might have been out of place.

“Mr. Zabini, have you opened the door tonight?” I asked carefully, proceeding slowly to my own bed where my effects lay.

The dark skinned wizard raised his head and eyed me conspicuously, one hand trailing towards his wand that lay underneath the covers. His eyes widened slightly, in surprise before his arm moved faster underneath the covers.

“Potter. My wand is missing,” he said with an edge of wariness and suspicion. 

I cursed under my breath. This whole situation screamed setup, there was something in this room, something that was hiding. My eyes swept everything, watching the shadows underneath the windowsill, the corners, the floor, even the ceiling that stood above me.  

A sibilant hiss came from underneath the bed, one which made me pull out the gun underneath my shirt and hold my left hand at the ready. I watched the floor carefully, backing up closer to the doorway while Zabini stood up on his bed, similarly watching the ground beneath us. 

“How deadly are snakes in the Wizarding world?” I queried softly, gaze never leaving the ground.

“Faster and possess more unique poisons than Muggle ones,” supplied Zabini, shifting his weight over his heavy sheets. “If the snake has three heads, don't let the middle head touch you.”

I didn't bother for an explanation -- that could come later. I nodded and flicked off my gun's safety, pulling back the hammer and waiting. Seconds passed like hours, every member of the room still incase of the impending attack. 

“We should attack now,” hissed one voice, a language that seemed foreign -- almost like English, with a vague lisp. Was this creature human? That simply didn't make any sense.

“No! We must wait. Wait until they sleep, wait until they are in rest,” spoke a second voice, in the same, sibilant sounds as its brother. Multiple enemies lurked in my midst, I would be hard pressed to survive two snakes in such closed quarters. 

I kept my eyes locked on the room and reached behind me with my left hand, searching for the handle that led to the door. I padded at the wooden entry until I found the knob and turned it, ever so quietly. I tried to avoid any noise, keep  every motion smooth and silent.

The door was locked.

I jerked on the handle with a little more force, trying to press the door open but my efforts reached no avail. Zabini's eyes grew a little more wary and he moved cautiously into another corner, staying as far away from the floor as possible. 

“Mr. Zabini, can you unlock the door?” I asked, keeping my voice a restrained calm. 

He nodded shortly, “Give me thirty seconds with a wand and I can break the locking charms,” he pledged, a dawning comprehension coming into his eyes. 

I jerked my head towards my pillow and the boy understood my meaning, tiptoeing carefully over furniture and making the final stretches to my bed, all the while staying off of the floor. My wand was just out of his reach when a piercing hiss broke the taut silence of the room, making my sweaty hands tense with anticipation.

“Kill!”

“Mr. Zabini, get to the side,” I commanded, holding my gun up and at the ready. His eyes grew round and for a moment, I was wondering if he comprehended me. 

Something began to rustle across the floor, moving far faster than any serpent I had known. Three heads came out from underneath the bed, all attached to one serpentine body.  The orange, thrice damned, snake slithered towards me, black markings upon its lengths visible in the moonlight. It moved with an elegance that was mesmerizing, as if led by a worthy snake charmer. 

I raised the gun at the center head. I couldn't afford to miss, though that luxury had never been available to me, regardless of the time or place. 

I took aim as the four foot snake coiled itself, muscles tensing along its body, readying the final strike. I brought my will together in my left hand, bringing together determination, magic, and pure focus into one desire. To push it back with enough force to break the creature's bones. 

And in that moment, something different happened. Time slowed down for me, my brain processing the triggered reaction of the snake, it flying towards me with the center head's fangs open. My finger pulled back on the trigger and I prepared for the recoil. 

Click.

The gun failed, a small smoke was all that left its muzzle. My eyes grew in amazement and astonishment as the snake finished its last stretches, fangs open, serpentine eyes aimed on my extended palm. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Zabini grab my wand and flick it hurriedly, a sharp, violet arc left its tip and sailed towards the serpent. 

I released my energy without focus, my concentration gone in my brief stupor. Violent, uncontrolled energy leapt forward from my fingertips. The air in front of me blurred with its power, as it coursed through the air, ever nearing the serpent. My force flew true and I pushed whatever energy I had left into it, giving it whatever power it needed --

The left head of the snake clamped down on the flesh of the heel of my palm a split second before my spell made contact. I hissed in pain as time sped up once again, the purple arc of Zabini's spell cleaving the snake cleanly in two, my blast destroying the middle and right heads before it could get any closer. 

Its flesh fell to the floor, marring the stone in a strange, crimson blood. I felt the wound on my hand burn terribly but wasted no time. I swiftly grabbed the fabric of nearby sheet and tore off whatever I could; a thin strip large enough to wrap around my forearm. I coiled it around my forearm and pulled tightly, cutting off most of the blood flow. I didn't know how fast the poison traveled, but at least this would lessen the effect. 

Zabini was half a step ahead of me, muttering under his breath at the door, rapping the handle several times. After a moment the door clicked open and Zabini moved back to me, supporting my numbing left side as we walked forward. My vision began to swim -- the stairs seemed to be a near endless expanse and once we arrived in the warm common room, the usually dull fireplace was as bright and searing as the sun.

“Which head bit you?” asked Zabini quickly, the very questioned seemed warped to my ears.

“It's left,” I responded in my daze, using my right hand to grasp a nearby couch for support. I stabilized myself, slumping against it like a drunkard.

“The Dreamer,” he mused under his breath. “It's a paralyzing agent, Potter. Your mind is going to shut down quickly, I have to get you to the Hospital Wing. If the toxin is in your body for too long, your heart could stop.” 

I heard about three words of his speech and gave him a lazy thumbs-up, slumping against the couch once again. Sleep felt rather nice, I was awfully tired after all. As if lead weights were pressed over my eyelids, I felt slowly began to drift off, pain ignored for the moment.

“Aguamentai,” murmured Zabini. 

Icy cold water splashed against my face and I felt alive again for a brief moment, rejuvenated with energy and awake. I gave him a pitted glare and lifted myself up again, somewhat capable of rational thought. I grabbed a poker from the fireplace and used it as a makeshift cane, allowing me to hold my weight up without any aid.

“Can you walk?” asked Zabini, his tone noticeably relieved. 

I nodded shortly and reached into my pockets, frowning slightly as I shuffled through them until I found the small vial I was looking for. I had enough thought to know that I needed to be awake, and an Invigoration Draught was the best option available to me.

I uncorked the yellow drink and knocked it back, strangely enjoying the lemon taste before throwing the empty vial to the side. The effects were near instantaneous, the leads lifted from my eyes and I was awake, disregarding the fact that my limbs refused to acquiesce to any demand I might make. 

“How much time?” I asked, my tongue lazily moving over every syllable.

“Twenty minutes before you lose motor control, thirty before your heart slows. After that, it's all up to how strong your body is,” he answered honestly. I nodded shortly, a movement that came out as a bobbing of my head and began to push myself towards the Hospital Wing. 

And so we began a slow climb towards the staircases, moving through the winding hallways of Hogwarts with Blaise Zabini supporting half of my weight. I felt a great rush of appreciation for the boy at my side, maybe I'd even start to use his first name. We preceded through the hallways at a dragging pace, moving from the dark, dank Dungeons to the more elegant Entrance Hall.

Zabini walked over to the nearest painting and jabbed it roughly with the tip of my wand. The small knight woke rapidly with a clatter of his helmet and armor, holding the hilt of his sword at the ready and surveying the setting he was in.

“Who dares wake me at this hour of the night?” demanded the knight, brandishing a small sword. “A mere stablehand? Thou art outclassed! I am a fearsome --” 

“Cadagon,” interrupted Zabini tersely. “Wake Madam Pomfrey, alert the Friar and the Baron that a student is wounded. The Baron will know who else to find and the Friar will wake the Headmaster.” 

The knight saluted and bowed once before mounting a pony, “I shall take thy quest! Aid shall come to thou in this late hour! Something must be afoul!”

I saw the knight disappear out of the painting and down the rows, his clattering rousing the portraits until a loud murmuring filled the halls. I pushed onwards up the stairs, minding their rotating nature while my legs gradually began to slow in their movements. Coordination became difficult, my knees didn't want to bend anymore. I felt like a puppet without a puppeteer to guide him, legs clanking uselessly around while flailing for balance. 

We reached the third corridor a short time later, time that I could never account for. I raised the poker and hit the elegantly arched double doors to the Hospital wing, however weakly. After a few of my feeble attempts, Zabini unlocked it with a rapid flourish of my wand and I edged the door open with my shoulder. I tumbled into the room, with all the grace of a drunkard, and into the arms of the hospital matron, an old witch with concerned etched into her features. She helped me over to the bed and laid me down, with the utmost care as possible.

Voices blurred as sweat condensed on my face, I was beginning to feel feverish. My breathing became more ragged, coming in sharp, painful gasps. There were times in life where my life was in someone else's hands -- I hated those, when my destiny couldn't be crafted by my own hands. 

“Poison…Runespoor…Dreamer,” I vaguely heard Zabini say, sounds meshing together to form an incomprehensible tune. 

The next thing I knew was my mouth being forcibly opened by an aged, pale, and wrinkled hand. A small shriveled item was forced into my mouth and I swallowed it, placing my trust into this one nurse. Heat drained away from my body and I was left uncomfortably cold, my ragged breathing calming down into a steady cadence. 

Fog rose on the horizons of my mind again, and I finally gave in. There wasn't a tunnel of light at the end of the fog, or any beacon to warn me of the pitfall to Hell or even a gate to another land entirely. Maybe I wasn't dead quite yet.

As if they could kill me. As if I would let them.

- - -

My consciousness stirred to sharp light threatening to pour through my eyelids and scar my vision itself. I slowly opened my eyes, blinking rapidly as bright light flooded my system. I took a deep breath and felt life course through my veins. I was alive. 

I sat up and looked around the room and found the source of light -- a window coming from the other side of the room, arched in cathedral style. Identical beds with white linen sheets adorned the rows of the room, going on for a seemingly endless expanse of length. Privacy curtains were positioned near each bed, a picture of different healers hanging above the headboards. 

I looked over towards the front of the wing -- a small entrance that had an adjoining pathway to a small office with a misted window. I could see a silhouette in the room, bent over a desk and writing furiously, a blur of a quill moving from side to side. I shifted my vision over the hospital again and saw the picture of Helga Hufflepuff hanging over the double-doors that stood at the entrance.

A stagnant picture, unlike the ones that I had grown accustomed to seeing. A witch with plump cheeks, a light rouge upon them. Hair that was left falling at her sides, the red accentuating a drastic difference to her robes of black, trimmed with pale gold. I watched her, expecting her to move or make a motion -- none came.

A light clearing of the throat broke my gaze with the picture. I rotated my head to see the old, venerable Headmaster Dumbledore sitting on a comfortable chintz chair. He wore the same robes from the day I had met him -- a deep blue with the constellations and cosmic symbols printed upon them. Something in his eyes was different. Was that sadness? On any other man, the way his eyes were dull and the way his cheeks sagged, wrinkles forming might be considered sorrow.

One had to wonder: at failed prospect of a plan? Or perhaps feigned attachment.

Even I had to wonder, what made me a target? Maybe I had gone too far in my dominance and ignored a possible enemy forming in my midst. The door had been opened during the night, just enough to let the beast in, but never locked. Why?

“Good morning, Harry,” greeted the Headmaster, no longer holding a jovial tone.

I opened my mouth to respond but a sharp rasping sound was all that left my mouth. As if understanding my needs, Dumbledore reached over to the nightstand next to my bed -- upon which my wand lay -- and poured a small glass. I took a long draught from the proffered cup, knowing that Dumbledore wasn't going to kill me as I lay upon a hospital bed. If he would try, he would make sure someone else took the fall. 

He wasn't a man to get his hands dirty. 

“Mr. Dumbledore,” was my curt response. I didn't bother to keep a bitter note out of my voice. 

His posture didn't change, but the look in his eyes did. He frowned, and he represented the very image of a man who had just lost his son to the trials of fire and war. His shoulders sagged as if I had struck him down with that one statement, forever altering the bond between us. 

And I meant it. 

“It is indeed an unfortunate day when a young student of Hogwarts is attacked, quite unfortunate indeed. I cannot attest to any of your suspicions, Harry, for I know nothing of this circumstance myself,” said the old wizard, pouring himself a small glass of water and raising it to his lips. 

I narrowed my eyes.

“You promised me safety, you swore it on your word,” I responded harshly. “And now you come to me, expecting me to believe that you know nothing of what goes on in your own institution. Do you take me for a fool, Mr. Dumbledore?”

He paused for a moment, a taut silence hanging over the room. I was challenging him, and looking back on it, that probably wasn't the best course of action. He put down his glass of water and looked me in the eyes, an action that was strangely unnerving. 

“No, Harry. We both know you are an intelligent boy, but you must understand that there are forces at work here far beyond what you think that you may know. Admittedly, there are those that will be your friends and fight by your side. There are others, however, with allegiances that have been drawn in the sands since before you were born. Think, Harry,” said Dumbledore softly, readjusting his spectacles slightly. 

I kept silent. Dumbledore had been my major suspicion -- the Ministry had no reason to hate me, I had done them a loan of good fortune. Voldemort should have been bereft of power within Hogwarts; but then again, perhaps the children of his followers held the same unfounded hatred. 

“You believe someone is after me from within your very stronghold,” I mused softly. I took a sip from the cup of water in my hands - its reflection showed me that I was strangely pale.

Dumbledore bridged his fingertips above his lap and inclined his head. 

“You still have my word, Harry. I was not knowingly responsible for these attacks, though I do concede that I should have been perhaps more, shall we say, vigilant in my protection.”

I disregarded his statement. A man once told me that there are few people that you can truly trust, and those people you know well enough to close your eyes and follow them through the river of death itself. I had no trust for Dumbledore, he was simply a King on his side of the board, trying to reel me into being one of the pieces that he could use.  

“As I'm sure you are aware, the Romans of old would leave snakes in the beds of those who they suspected would supplant their throne. Tell me, venerable Headmaster, do you fear my presence here?” I asked, meeting his eyes with icy coldness. 

“I do not fear you, Harry, nor have I plotted against you. As headmaster, such tasks are outside of the bounds of authority. I cannot harm a student of Hogwarts out of my own volition, and you have done nothing to wrong me,” he responded softly, removing his spectacles and rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

I watched him for a moment more, a heavy silence lingering over us. After a moment I nodded shortly, allowing him to smile ever so slightly. He was a fool to believe he had earned my trust; even though he may not have tried to harm me directly, I expected an order to another would be fully within his grasp. Man fears those who plan to usurp them, they fear the loss of power. 

“What are your thoughts on this, Mr. Dumbledore? Who do you think is pursuing me into your own sanctuary?” I questioned..

“There is knowledge that even one as humble as I does not know,” began Dumbledore slowly, stroking his beard with his forefinger and thumb. “Though I am not as ill informed as you think to believe that Hogwarts is a perfect defensive station. There are forces who have always sought to carry out the will of others.” 

“You suspect a student?” I asked, arching one eyebrow at the old wizard.

“I would not be so brash to make a decision quite yet. Though, I would implore you to perhaps be more careful during your stay at Hogwarts. Stay with your friends or within the sight of teachers, I have already instructed Professor Snape to keep an eye out at night,” admitted Dumbledore carefully, rising from his seat. 

“Duly noted, Mr. Dumbledore,” I responded dryly. He began to walk away, his robes hovering around him to make the man appear to float in the air itself. “I have one last question.”

Dumbledore stopped movement and turned around, eyeing me with anticipation. I slowly reached underneath my covers and pulled out my gun -- one that I had kept aimed at the headmaster himself -- and  slid the safety back into position. Dumbledore walked back over to me with quick steps and looked over the tip of his half-moon spectacles at the metal marvel in my hands.

The object itself was starting to deteriorate. Orange rust was forming at the tip of the muzzle, the leather grip was becoming worn, even the barrel failed to lock correctly. A strange smoke was leaving the front of the gun, as if the gunpowder inside was slowly burning away. 

“My weapon failed to fire last night,” I informed him with a wave of my hand towards the item before me. 

Dumbledore nodded and a small, fleeting smile formed on his face. 

“Magic, is quite the enigmatic force, Harry. It does not mix well with muggle items and can render them quite obsolete. I'm afraid that this is what happened with your tool here,” he said, giving the item before me a visual once-over. 

I inclined my head slowly, that left quite a damper on my strengths. I would be in need of something else, something within the realms of magic that would grant me significant, and quick, power. Magic spells were among the first to rustle in my mind -- there had been that one spell, one that killed without so much as leaving a trace. Such a spell could be so very useful…

“Then magic it shall be,” I responded resolutely. “Tell me, Mr. Dumbledore, are there books within this castle that hold the type of magic that we both know could be valuable to me?”

Dumbledore froze, turning very slowly to watch me. It was an odd action, he was analyzing me as if I reminded him of an old friend or someone else entirely. After a moment he cleared his throat and smiled gregariously, turning around to walk away. He paused at the double doors of the Hospital wing, turning over his shoulder to offer me one piece of advice.

“You will find that answer yourself, with time. There are many types of magic that are useful, the arts of Charms and Transfiguration can be very effective when it comes to battling the forces of this world,” said Dumbledore before parting through the doorways and leaving me to watch the sun move over the morning sky.

I scowled and tossed the gun to the side, the useless object falling into the covers with obscure grace. I picked up my brown, holly wand from the nightstand that lay next to me and disentangled the sheets from my body. One of my spare robes lay upon a small table just a ways from the foot of my bed. I donned it quickly, placing my wand in the pocket where I would usually place my gun. Looking back on it, perhaps it had been quite a good idea to not simply abide by the projected study material and go a step further. 

I began to walk towards the double doors, through the light that leaked in through paned windows. The door to the small office at the front of the door opened quickly, and a stern looking woman came out, in the white robes of a nurse. 

“Mr. Potter! Where do you think you're going?” she questioned, placing her hands on her hips and moving to block the entrance of the door.

My lips twitched in amusement.

“My apologies, I was under the impression that I was quite free of your healing touch,” I responded coolly. I made a move to pass the old witch but she remained resolute, blocking the door off with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Bitten by a Runespoor and you think you're as fit as a fiddle do you? And if you collapse in the hallways in front of the Undersecretary it will be my license on the line,” chided the Nurse. I remember someone calling her Madam Pomfrey, so let's call her that. 

I gave her what I hoped was a charming smile, “Madam Pomfrey, I assure you I am at the pinnacle of physical health. I'm afraid time does not permit me to stay bedridden,” I said smoothly, attempting to brush around her again. 

“Do you think I'm some young woman, Mr. Potter? I've been through your father and his friends,” she faltered slightly for a moment, “and I can very well deal with a young man such as yourself.” She moved in front of me yet again, I knew I was bordering her ire.

“Very well,” I demurred. “I would prefer to take my medications with me, if that is possible.” 

She gave me an indignant huff and hurried back into the office, her silhouette disappearing behind rows of shelves from inside the place itself. Before I could even contemplate stepping outside the room, the nurse reappeared with a small disc-like jar and another small phial that held as much liquid as the average shot-glass. She held them out to me and gave me quite the menacing glare, leaving no room for argument. 

“Apply the cream on your hand before you sleep, and take the phial if you feel your fingers beginning to numb,” she instructed, keeping eye contact with me the whole time. 

I inclined my head in concession and pocketed the supplies into the folds of my robes. I brushed past the old hospital matron, barely catching the small, reminiscent smile that slowly formed through her wrinkles. I pushed open the two doors and stepped out to see Blaise Zabini himself leaned against the banister of the staircase, his arms looped around the railing -- the very image of casual.

The dark skinned boy had his standard robes on, an identical copy to the ones I wore. A half-smile quirked on my lips, as a similar one did on his. There were few things that brought people together closer than a life or death experience; it was nice to know that the bonds of good will and actual help still existed in this realm of wizards. Two years ago, I would have died if there was a snake in my bed, especially in a land where my weapons were useless. 

“Blaise,” I greeted.

 “Harry,” he responded, untangling himself and standing up. “Out so soon?”

I chuckled softly and walked forward, heading down the staircases with the young Blaise Zabini at my side. Neither of us said a word for a moment, letting the silence speak for the favor that I know owed Blaise. I doubted the kid would ever try to collect on that, but then again, I had been surprised by those I had found within the walls of Hogwarts.

“The school's all up in arms about what happened. There hasn't been an attack on a student for a few years now, not since the Chamber of Secrets itself,” began Blaise casually, crossing his hands over the back of his head.

I raised an eyebrow, “The Chamber of Secrets?”

He inclined his head indulgently, “It was rumored to be the secret chamber of Salazar Slytherin -- at least that's what Binns told us all back in our second year. Myths tell us that a great beast once lived there, one who would cleanse the school of those it felt were unworthy, a beast to be led by the heir of Slytherin,” he replied. 

My interest was piqued.

“And the Heir of Slytherin? Was one ever found?” I asked. Such a person under control of a beast of such magnificence would be a great ally to have at my side, and a terrible enemy to have against me.

Blaise shrugged, something entirely different in his eyes, “Rumor has it that the heir would speak to snakes, an ability of Salazar himself. It opened somehow, but the Basilisk was slain by the headmaster himself with apparent ease. A cock's crow was all it took,” he provided, turning down a corner into the depths of the Dungeons.

I followed him down the stone steps, greeted by the familiar stench of what had become my new home. I almost didn't smell it now, as if the very scent had assimilated itself to what I expected. We walked a few more paces, past arching doorways and into small corridors where Knights adorned the hallways. 

Blaise stopped a hallway away from the dormitories and stared at me. I stopped two steps later and looked over my shoulders, giving him a questioning look. He met my eyes for a moment and took on a look of careful interest and insight.

“I heard you speak to the snake last night, Harry. You yelled at it right before it attacked you, in Parseltongue,” he said carefully, as to not tempt my ire. I turned around and faced him, my hand falling to my side as he followed the action reflexively.

Not a sound was heard in the Dungeons, save the peals of laughter of younger students from somewhere down the hallway. I could hear water droplets hit the floor, each one felt like a reverberating drum in the dark, stone corridors of the Dungeons. I froze, I hadn't even realized I had spoken to snakes but looking back on it, I knew I had at least heard the snakes speak. If I was the heir to the Slytherin line, things could get out of hand indeed. My name would be everywhere, associated with darkness at other corner.

 I knew well of Salazar Slytherin, a wizard who fought for his ideals at the tip of his sword, or in this case, wand. He was a man who had opposed teaching of muggle-borns and the general subjection of muggles to wizards itself. It was interesting, how a man who was so great was defeated by his comrades in arms and forced to flee the castle of Hogwarts. 

The power of darkness was one that I had learned could incite great fear in those of wizards and men. Wizards feared those with magical ability that surpassed them, yet where fear was found, so was respect. Albus Dumbledore had been respected for his prowess, and Voldemort himself was feared us, but also respected as a great wizard, however dark. By aligning myself with those of evil, the people would fail to rally under me and my opinions would suddenly be left without power or influence. The headlines would shame me for studying texts, and even those in power would fear to appear too close to me. 

“Where do we go from here?” I asked softly, without malice. “You know I cannot have this secret be learned by others, and it matters not to you. If you reveal this information, I will crush you.” 

For a moment, one so brief I almost missed it, I saw fear in the young boy's eyes. He was bereft of confidence; all that cunning that he exuded had shed away for that brief moment. He feared for his life, a worthy object to fear for. In the end, our lives are all that we have. It was an offer he couldn't refuse: his life, or a vague secret. I think he knew I would kill him if it came down to it. 

He let out a small sigh and let his hand fall numbly to his side. 

“It doesn't matter, does it? Like you said -- for me, it doesn't really matter. Why don't we just be friends? I'll keep your secrets until I die, and you keep mine,” he proposed. He held out his hand in front of me, vertically.

I stared at it for a moment, contemplating the idea. A friend. Someone who I would have to trust, place my life in their hands in case I needed it. As far as wizards came, Blaise Zabini had been the first one to act as someone I would've liked to have as a friend. He had saved my life, and there can be no greater bond between men. I slowly moved forward, keeping the gap between us to a small distance. 

“Give me your word that my secrets will never be discovered by your tongue or actions,” I instructed, surveying him as if considering an ancient blade. 

He didn't skip a beat, “You have my word,” he responded.

Between gentlemen, there can be no greater oath. 

I clasped his hand with my own, gripping it firmly as he mirrored the action. I gave him my own word through my actions, and he had accepted to take my secrets to the grave. I'd take his as far as I would but somehow, I felt at a terrible disadvantage. I knew nothing of this boy's secrets, and if he was careful, he had gained my true friendship for nothing. But for now, knowing that he had saved my life was enough for me.

He chuckled, a bit nervously, as we turned the corner; I led by half a step. I had made a friend, not just a political ally that I would exploit later as needed; I had created a bond of brotherhood that would be the start of my empire. Blaise Zabini would stand by my side and confront the gates of Hell with me, he would fight demons by my side. Most schoolyard friendships don't delve that deeply, but with Blaise Zabini, I knew there would be little that could stand between those who have faced death together. 

As we entered the Slytherin dormitories, to where Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass were poised on the couches I cast a sidelong glance to the boy next to me. Even as the two young girls rose to their feet and walked towards us with interest written on their faces, we both shared a small, secret smirk.  

Between gentlemen, there can be no greater oath.