Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

This chapter is dedicated to CruciareMors, who knawed off her fingernails waiting for the next attack. May they rest in peace.

Chapter 15: Seeds of Doubt

Harry filled his friends in on his conversation with Dumbledore the next day. Hermione was rather bothered that he hadn’t managed to discover what had turned one of their friends into a statue.

“So he really didn’t have any ideas?” Hermione asked. They were currently utilizing Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, for lack of a better place to talk privately. The classroom off the Entrance Hall was being used for the first time in recent memory by Lockhart’s 6th Year Class. Apparently, the buffoon had managed to fill his own classroom with noxious fumes while attempting to brew a potion. Snape was strangely enough incapable of lending him aid, and recommended that he simply wait for the fumes to subside.

Which could take anywhere from four days to four years.

“No,” Harry said, leaning back against the sinks. Hermione was sitting on one of the window sills, while Ginny was pacing around the entire bathroom, an irritated expression on her face. The normal occupant of the bathroom had fled at the sight of Harry for some reason. Hermione couldn’t offer any explanations, but they could do without the depressing spirit anyway.

“That’s not good,” Ginny said, stating the obvious. “I know he’s not perfect, but Dumbledore’s the most powerful wizard in Britain…no leads…nothing?”

Harry shook his head. “At least none that he told me. Still, the way he was speaking freely and seems to trust me, I don’t think he would have hidden any.”

Hermione muttered something. “What?” Harry asked.

The bushy-haired Muggleborn looked up. “I’m just frustrated. I’ve been trying to figure out what in the world could possibly be Petrifying people.”

“It’s only been two,” Ginny pointed out. “It’s not like everyone in the school is constantly under attack.”

“I know,” Harry said. “But that fact that its happened is disturbing enough.” He pushed himself up, and began pacing over the wet and cracked tiles of the bathroom.

“And Tom had no ideas?” Hermione asked. After being skeptical of Tom’s motives at first, Hermione had had a change of heart after a number of the dueling techniques he told Harry about had been very helpful. He’d also had some useful insight into some difficult Potions and Transfiguration work, the only classes that were really proving to be a challenge for the team of Harry and Hermione.

Ginny though, frowned at the mention of the diary intelligence. But it was brief, before her irritated expression returned. “Ginny, what’s wrong?” Harry asked.

She looked up in surprise. “Nothing…well, besides the obvious.”

“You frowned when I mentioned that diary,” Hermione pointed out. “Honestly, I think we can trust him, he’s been really helpful.”

“I suppose,” Ginny admitted. “It’s just something my dad said. He always told me, ‘never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.’…I don’t know, it’s just strange…”

Harry shrugged. “Daphne knows about the diary, she didn’t seem worried. Tom’s just lonely, you’d be too if you hadn’t had human contact for fifty years…to be perfectly honest, he’s a lot like me.”

“Okay,” Ginny said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to question your judgment, and I know that that diary is important to you.”

“I’m sorry for being so aggressive when you tried to pick it up, but there is a reason I’ve had to lock my bed hangings for the past two years. My privacy is important to me.”

Ginny managed a weak smile. “Alright…so what are we going to do now?”

Harry shrugged. “Hermione?”

Hermione blinked for a moment, then shook her head as if to clear it. “Well, I guess we just keep researching…and stay on top of our schoolwork, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry repeated. Hermione glared at him, and Ginny giggled briefly.

“Alright, enough of that,” Ginny said. “We’ve got work to do, anyway…Harry, could you help me with the Transfiguration? I’ve been utterly incapable of turning wood into marble, and its driving me up the wall.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed. “Why don’t we go to the library, and work on it.”

Harry glanced over at his timetable. “I’ve got Charms this morning, what do you have?”

Hermione pulled her own timetable out of her bag. “Herbology.”

Ginny did the same. “Transfiguration...Thanks for the help on the marble-wood stuff, by the way,” she said. “Professor McGonagall was very impressed…she also told me to thank you,” she admitted sheepishly, turning a bit red. Harry laughed.

“She’s a sharp old bird, not much gets past her…only a matter of time before she realized you weren’t at the top of your grade only because of natural talent…not that you don’t have it anyway,” Harry amended quickly. Ginny nodded, her cheeks still a bit pink.

“Potter,” Nott called over. Harry turned to face him. “Yes, Nott?”

“Would you mind working with me today in Charms? Daphne’s come down with something, and I’d rather not chance seeing my marks slip,” Nott explained. Harry blinked.

“Fine…any particular reason you chose me?” he asked curiously.

Nott gave him a calculating look. “No.”

Harry shrugged; he figured Nott wanted to talk to him about something. “Fine, I’ll meet you there.”

Harry gave his friends a look that clearly said ‘I don’t know,’ which seemed to answer the questions they’d been poised to ask him.

After breakfast, the three friends separated, with Hermione meeting up with Terry Boot to partner with in Herbology. The two were discussing Thorned Strangleweed, a plant that Harry and Hermione had been introduced to the previous year in Spout’s contribution to the defense of the Stone, when Harry felt a presence lurking over him. He glanced up to see the neatly-trimmed brown hair, wire-frame glasses, and calculating visage of Theodore Nott. “Nott,” he said in greeting.

“Better get to Charms, Potter,” he replied, in a tone that implied boredom more than annoyance. Nott was a strange boy, Harry thought.

They arrived at Charms on time, and Harry sat in the seat normally occupied by Greengrass. Flitwick took attendance, pausing to ask where Greengrass was. Nott told him, and once he had checked off everyone’s names, he introduced the lesson.

“Well, now that we’ve finished the Lumos Charm, I believe it's time to move onto something a bit more difficult,” tiny Professor Flitwick began, jumping onto the stack of books he used so that he could see over his desk.

A few of the Hufflepuffs groaned, something that Harry thought was rather pathetic. Harry, along with most of the Slytherins, could perform the Lighting Charm in his sleep when he had arrived at Hogwarts. It was rather stupid that the Charm wasn’t taught until Second Year, occasionally, Third Year. Seriously, if you can’t make your magic light up the tip of your wand, you have some serious issues… Harry grumbled mentally. Nott seemed to nod in agreement, indicating he too believed that they should do things that were more challenging.

“Anyway, today we’ll be beginning the Cleaning Charm!” Professor Flitwick cried excitedly. Harry could only admire his Professor’s enthusiasm, and knew that he was a very good teacher, but right now, this class was boring him to death.

“And next,” Nott whispered, “we’ll be learning how to turn Gryffindors into lemmings and make them run off a cliff!”

Harry snorted. “That would be Transfiguration, Nott…and even as a lemming, Hermione would be smart enough not to run off a cliff. She’d probably sit there and analyze the situation with her small lemming mind, and determine her time was better spent elsewhere. Like studying exactly why lemmings run off cliffs.”

Nott snickered. “It’d probably kill off most of the Gryffs, though.”

“You’ve got me there,” Harry admitted. “You might not need to turn Weasley into a lemming.”

“You two!” Flitwick yelled. “Quiet while I am talking! 10 points from Slytherin!”

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said in the most genuine voice he could manage.

“Very well, now that Misters Potter and Nott have decided to pay attention, I’d like you to follow me. I’ve located a classroom that is rather badly in need of cleaning.”

The class followed Flitwick into what appeared to be an old Potions classroom. The air was dank and smelled of something rather foul. It was also something that Harry wasn’t particularly comfortableallowing into his nostrils.

The room was dark, though Harry could make out a dozen or so knocked-over cauldrons, smashed glassware, an upended desk, and a fallen chandelier. Flitwick opened the small windows, allowing a bit of light into the classroom. Harry could now see the spilled potions staining the floor, along with fungus, mold, and spider webs. It was just plain disgusting, something that was vocalized by Hannah Abbot.

“Something die in here?” Zabini asked loudly.

Flitwick gave him a glare, and then chuckled. “I suppose it’s a possibility. I don’t think anyone has been in here since Horace Slughorn was teaching Potions. Alright, you can see there is quite a bit of work to do. Most of you won’t be able to Vanish things yet, so focus on cleaning up the spilled potions and such.”

“I think Peeves had a party in here,” Justin Finch-Fletchley said though his pinched nose. The stench was overpowering.

“This is a job for House-Elves!” Malfoy cried indignantly.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Malfoy, your grade depends on it,” Flitwick snapped. He’d been much more irritable, especially with the Slytherins, ever since Lisa had been attacked. He tended to go easy on Harry and Ginny because he knew they’d been Lisa's friends. As for the girl herself, she remained petrified in the Hospital Wing.

Harry turned to Nott, who was viewing the scene with distaste. “I think Zabini was right on target,” he commented, surveying the mess. He turned to Harry. “Best get it over with; I assume you can do this spell with your eyes closed, like any half-decent wizard.”

Harry nodded. “Let’s get to work.”

Ernie Macmillan, a pureblood, was apparently as bored as Harry and Nott were. Unfortunately, his technique was severely lacking in, well…success. His first attempt at a Cleaning Charm instead blew up the target cauldron, spewing globs of Merlin-knows-what all over Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones. Susan made a noise of disgust and promptly cast a Cleaning Charm on herself, while Hannah began running around in circles trying to somehow get away from the decades-old potion. Her approach didn’t work particularly well, as she tripped over another cauldron and landed in another pile of ancient potion remains.

Harry smirked, while Nott snickered. Flitwick managed to extricate the now-crying girl. Harry walked over to her. “Hannah, need a hand?”

The girl with blond pig-tails glared at him. “Not from you, Potter,” she snapped angrily.

“I just want to clean you off,” Harry said. He was only doing this so that she’d calm down, they’d finish faster, and they could get away from this rotting stench that was causing his eyes to water. Hannah nodded.

“Scourgify!” Harry cried. Two more Cleaning Charms and the girl’s robes were mostly clean. She gave him a grateful look and ran off.

“Excellent, Mr. Potter. 10 points to Slytherin!”

Harry shrugged; at least he’d earned back the points he’d lost. He walked back over to Nott, who was looking at him strangely. “The sooner she’s clean, the sooner we finish, the sooner we get to breath clean air,” Harry explained. Nott nodded.

Between the two of them, they quickly rid their corner of the room of all matter of filth and debris. Nott showed off by Vanishing two cracked cauldrons. Harry gave him a glare for performing the 4th Year magic. “Show off,” he muttered.

“The benefits of a pureblood education,” Nott countered. “I’m surprised you didn’t get the same.”

“Daphne had her reasons,” Harry replied, not wanting to get into them.

“I’m sure,” Nott replied in a knowing tone.

Harry looked around, and saw that the room was mostly clean. Even the Hufflepuffs had managed to master the extremely simple household charm. Flitwick seemed rather pleased. “Excellent. Twenty points to Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Now, I believe we’d best go breathe some fresh air.”

Harry couldn’t agree with him more. He breathed the fresh air deeply as they exited the classroom. Many of the other students went to do clean themselves up. Harry simply turned his wand on himself. Most of the Slytherins did the same.

Zabini and Bullstrode came up to them. “Oi, Nott,” Zabini called out. “What’s wrong with Daphne?”

Nott shrugged. “She said she wasn’t feeling that good. She was a in a bad mood this morning, might as well just let it be.”

“She can get real nasty when she’s angry,” Millicent pointed out. The more Harry saw her, the less he thought his impression of her resembling a troll was accurate. She was a bit heavy, yes, but her dark hair, which was rather handsome, and her sharp brown eyes had no place on a creature of such low intelligence. The Bullstrodes were a Dark family, one that had never allied with Voldemort, but certainly supported his aims. They were also one of the more respected families. Millicent clearly wasn’t someone to take for granted.

Really, none of the Slytherins Harry knew were. The Malfoys, obviously, were an old Dark family, even if their origins weren’t of England. They’d been rich and powerful in pre-Revolutionary France, as well, before the Squib Robespierre led the Revolution which forced them to flee the continent. Lucius Malfoy was widely believed to have been part of Voldemort’s Inner Circle, escaping Azkaban by bribing the Ministry.

His son, Draco, was not nearly the threat that his father was, yet. Draco was petty, exceedingly arrogant, rude, and seemingly uncultured; a surprise, considering his background. While Nott, Greengrass, and Zabini knew quite a bit about pureblood politics, Draco seemed to be entirely oblivious to their importance. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected that in addition to being the Malfoy Heir, he was also his father’s Magical Heir. Magical Heirs were chosen at birth, by both Light and Dark Pureblood families. James Potter had been a Magical Heir, as had Daphne O’Connor. Edmond Dressler had not been a Magical Heir, as his family didn’t believe in the custom.

Draco seemed to believe that by his very blood, he was superior to others. Not only that, but that others should treat him with the respect he felt he deserved, without the need to earn it. He believed that special treatment was his birthright. That his Head of House was also his godfather didn’t help matters. Snape encouraged it, in a way, by giving Malfoy undeserved points and perfect Potions scores, but he wouldn’t put up with the blond-haired boy’s incessant whining about unfair treatment from the other teachers.

Draco had the potential to be a great politician and powerful wizard. He had the aristocratic bearing and sharp looks of his noble blood, descending from both the Blacks, who were, along with the Potters, the Rosiers (a line now defunct with the death of Evan Sr. and his son, who had also been a Death Eater and was killed by Alastor Moody), the Boneses, and the McGonagalls, one of the oldest Pureblood families. Draco was also powerful and intelligent, probably a combination of his fine heritage and his status as a Magical Heir. They tended to be more powerful than those who weren’t, often far above average. And yet the boy still had a lot of growing up to do.

Still, he wouldn’t want to lock horns with the boy when he had matured physically, mentally, and magically.

The Crabbes and Goyles were minor pureblood families, with close ties to the Malfoys. They also were linked with Voldemort. The families were not known for their intelligence, and all of Harry’s research seemed to indicate that they had formed an alliance with the Malfoys, seeking protection and guidance. Their sons who currently attended Hogwarts lived up to that standard, and helped to feed Draco’s ego. At times, he was like a bully on a playground…until he ran into Harry, or someone else willing and capable of challenging him. Draco had gotten the better of him exactly once…and that had involved hitting him with his back turned, a tremendous offense and cause for dishonor. Draco likely didn’t understand that.

Though it seemed what had humbled him was being ambushed and beaten by a Muggleborn. Or Mudblood, a word that rolls off Draco’s tongue more freely than ‘hello.’

The Notts were an interesting case, a family that had actually gained its influence and power from inheritances of other Pureblooded families. Theodore’s ancestors had carefully arranged marriages to link them with a number of families. Fortunately for them, a number of the Nott’s spouses had been killed in a series of goblin rebellions in the 1700s, leaving them with large amounts of gold and with that, a great amount of respect and prestige. The Bullstrodes weren’t nearly as old as the Malfoys, but they had gained power slowly, and were respected as a family rich in magical power. The Greengrass family had been transformed from a minor upstart family to a respected and wealthy family by two Greengrass women in the 1750s that had made ground-breaking advances in Potions. Strangely, while Daphne was competent as Potions, as she was with everything, she didn’t seem to have the natural flair or instinct one of her blood should have.

Pansy Parkinson was a great deal like Malfoy. Her family was even older than Draco’s, and she carried the same arrogance and expectations of the wizarding world to drop to its collective knees and worship her. Her family had been associated with the Dark for a long time, and her mother and father were both said to have served Voldemort in some fashion. It was believed her mother, Grindelia, had been a Death Eater. Her father, Clematis, was rumored to have helped fund Voldemort’s war effort. It was of little doubt where their loyalties lay.

Other families of notes in Slytherin included Nathan Avery, Thomas Avery’s son, a Fourth Year. Avery was a friend of Lucius Malfoy, though their sons were not close. Thomas was also the son of a man who had been among the first Death Eaters, Julius Avery. His son was considered to be one of the Death Eaters that had evaded Azkaban by bribing the Ministry.

Harry didn’t know much about the Zabinis, though. They were of Italian and African Ancestry, but they had been mostly out of the country during the First War, and while traditionally Dark, the current Zabinis hadn’t declared their alignment. Blaise’s mother, Harry knew, was a Songstress, who had married seven times. Her current husband, a powerful wizard, had lasted much longer than any of the others.

“Oi, Potter, are you paying attention?” Millicent’s voice snapped. Harry shook his head to clear it.

“Sorry, got lost in my thoughts,” Harry replied. Zabini frowned.

“Right…”

“What was it you wanted to ask me?” Harry tried again.

“Is it true that you and that Mudblood are…involved?” Millicent asked a hint of distaste in her voice. What..?

Harry stared at her. “Absolutely not,” he said with complete certainty. “She’s my best friend, but there’s nothing like that going on between us.”

“Oi, Millie, leave him alone about Granger,” Blaise snapped. “It’s his choice who he hangs out with.”

“But she’s a Mudblood…and he’s always bringing her to the Slytherin Table,” she complained. Harry frowned, he didn't think that Millicent would be so easily swayed by the pureblood distain for Muggleborns. It wasn't as if Hermione hadn't proved her worth. Or maybe they just don't like being shown up by someone they've been raised to consider below them...

“We’d best get going,” Nott pointed out, breaking up an awkward situation. “We’ve got Defense with the Golden Prat.”

It was early February, and the snow that had blanketed Hogwarts for the majority of the winter was beginnings to melt thanks to some rather unseasonable weather. Still, it wasn’t exactly pleasant, with clear blue skies and bright sunshine. Hence, Harry had decided to use this Saturday afternoon to train. Ginny, on the other hand, had been completely frustrated by essay that she had to write for Snape on the uses and history of the Sealant Solution. Harry remembered how challenging that potion had been to make, and could hardly blame her for struggling with it.

Overall, the excitement from the Christmas Holidays had been short-lived. First Years and Second Years were rarely given homework (though teachers tended to assign long-term assignments shortly before the break and due shortly after the end), but it had not taken long for Harry to readjust to school life. Defense continued to be an absolute joke, but they’d finally moved on from Wanderings with Werewolves. Now, Lockhart was doing daily re-enactments of Holidays with Hags. They were about as educational as any of the previous ‘lessons,’ though at least Lockhart had learned something; he no longer called on Harry or Hermione, indeed, he ignored them all together. That didn’t mean that Hermione didn’t raise her hand and waive it energetically when the Golden Idiot pretended not to see it.

Of course, it wasn’t over for Gilderoy. With Harry and Hermione unable to harass Lockhart, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, Millicent Bullstrode, and Theodore Nott had taken to making cutting comments and pointed questions. Nott was even better than either one of them at making Lockhart look like a fool while maintaining an air of innocence. And Lockhart was finding no help from the staff either. Harry had gotten detention twice for simply laughing at him, and both time, Snape has mysterious had something else to do, and let him go a mere five minutes into it. Hermione actually had to clean out a cauldron, with magic. Obviously, Harry’s Head of House, who had grown increasingly complimentary of Harry’s Potions skills. Considering that his mother had been a favorite of Snape’s predecessor, it wasn’t stunning. Harry’s attention to detail and excellent memory allowed him to make adjustments that other students couldn’t. Hermione didn’t have Harry’s talent, as her best subject was Transfiguration (she was now easily surpassing him), but she worked as hard as she could to match him. There was no competition, especially because they always worked together. It would be interesting to see what would happen next year. Snape promised that while they would still be partners, they’d be expected to make their own potions. When they reached NEWT level, there would be no more partners.

He walked around in a circle, then spun around quickly and shot off three Cutting Curses and a Blasting Hex in rapid succession. He felt noticeably winded after that, and had to stop to take a break. Harry had been trying to build up his endurance. He had knowledge of enough spells, but he needed to be able to use them as quickly, effectively, and efficiently as possible. At least, until his magic matured and Daphne could begin teaching him more advanced subject matter.

Three more Cutting Curses later, and he was winded again. Harry sat down, feeling the physical exhaustion beginning to take a toll. He waited until he felt his strength return, and then decided to try something. He seemed to have mastered the Cutting Curse, but it was the Slicing Curse he was most anxious to try. Normally, it required more magical power than a wizard of his age should have, but he decided that he might as well give it a shot. At worst, he’d fail, drain himself, and take a quick nap before meeting Ginny and Hermione at dinner.

Harry turned back towards the oft-abused wall, and raised his wand. He focused as best he could, and then made a diagonal slashing movement with his wand, flicking it at the target brick as he completed the motion. “Abrumpo!”

For a twelve-year old wizard’s first attempt at a Slicing Curse, it wasn’t a bad one. His wand sparked with magic, condensing into a razor-thin blade of white light. It shot towards the wall next to the door at about half the velocity it should have, and missed by about two feet from an improper wand motion, but nonetheless, it managed to make a sizable slash, much more powerful than his best Cutting Curse.

It was a matter of function; the Cutting Curse was designed to cut ropes or vines, or in dueling, to cause minor wounds that did more to cause pain and distract one’s opponent than knock him out. On the other hand, the Slicing Curse was designed to be used only in combat, as it was considerable overkill for any other everyday use. Rather than causing a minor cut, it created a wide and deep gash when it hit a target, creating a wound that was also difficult to heal with basic healing magic.

He would have been beaming, though exhausted, if it hadn’t been for one thing.

At the instant that the Slicing Curse had left his wand tip, the door had been flung open. And his first attempt at a Slicing Curse had missed Ron Weasley’s left arm by about two inches, and appeared to have sliced through his robe It had also cut cleanly through the door that had been flung in its path. Standing besides Weasley, who appeared to be in a combination of rage and shock, was Neville Longbottom, who was as pale as a ghost.

Harry lowered his wand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw blood began to seep through the cut in Weasley’s jumper. Ron looked at it in disbelief. Harry opened his mouth, realizing that this was about the worst possible scenario he could have imagined, but Ron beat him to it.

“What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?” he asked in a deadly quiet voice. Harry closed his eyes. Yes, this is very bad…

“Harry..?” Neville asked nervously.

The somewhat overweight Gryffindor had managed to have several conversations with the trio recently. Harry thought that between his Auror parents and pureblood background, he had a chance to be a great wizard. The problem was that he was severely lacking in confidence. From what Neville had said, it seemed that his grandmother, whom he lived with, held her son and his wife in extremely high regard, and that Neville was under a lot of pressure (real or imagined) to live up to his parent’s reputations. Snape certainly didn’t help things, terrorizing the young Gryffindor whenever he screwed up a potion or chopped an ingredient incorrectly. He had a poor memory, and Harry wondered if there was a reason for that.

Harry raised his hands, trying to proclaim his innocence, sliding his wand back into his holster. “Sorry, guys, I was just training. I thought I reinforced the Silencing Charm.”

However, that didn’t seem to satisfy Ron, who was furious from nearly being hit, and spoiling for a fight. Harry was all too happy to oblige, if that was what it came to. “Yeah, Silencing Charms…you really need those when you’re practicing Dark Magic, eh Potter?” he whispered nastily.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Harry asked incredulously.

“You know what I’m talking about!” Ron screamed. “You nearly killed me with a bloody Slicing Curse! I know that incantation! Lucius bloody Malfoy used it against your own guardian! And you are training with it?”

Harry shrugged, trying to let that last comment roll off of him. He certainly didn’t feel guilty for trying to use the Curse. It was extremely useful in battle, and he’d just been trying it out. “Yes, I am,” Harry said evenly. “It’s useful to know.”

“Useful? BLOODY USEFUL?” Ron bellowed. “What other useful things have you been learning…WHAT OTHER USEFULY DARK MAGIC HAVE YOU BEEN TEACHING MY BLOODY SISTER?” he demanded. “ANSWER ME!”

“I haven’t taught her any Dark Magic, Ron,” Harry replied dangerously. “She only knows things thus far she would have learned eventually in class.”

“Yeah, in Seventh Year!” Ron yelled. “I know the Shielding Charm is NEWT Level Magic!”

“It shouldn’t be,” Harry commented. “One needs to be able to defend themselves.”

“Yeah, defend themselves from Dark Wizards like you!” he yelled. “Tell me why I shouldn’t go to Dumbledore? The Polyjuice is nothing compared to this!”

Harry laughed. He really couldn’t help it. “Do you really think Dumbledore doesn’t know? I told him everything, and he encouraged it!”

“Ron, maybe we should go…” Neville proposed nervously, eyeing Harry with fear in his eyes.

“No! Shut up Neville!” Ron yelled. “I’m going to teach this bloody…Dark…arrogant…Slytherin git…”

Harry’s expression darkened considerably. “Call me a Dark Wizard again, Weasley, and you will be very sorry…” his hissed dangerously. He flicked his wrist, and his wand was clutched tightly in his right hand. Neville’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, Potter?” Weasley answered stupidly.

Harry smiled darkly. “What’s it like to be outdone in every respect by your little sister, Ron?”

Ron turned bright red. He hadn’t cooled off since he’d nearly lost his arm, and Harry was just baiting him, taking out built up frustration. His anger from the entire year was now blazing behind his eyes. He was an insult anyway from sending Weasel to the Hospital Wing for a long time.

“What’s it like to be a disgrace to your parents’ memories, Potter?” Weasley whispered nastily. “They must be rolling in their graves seeing what you’ve become after they gave your life to preserve your worthless existence.”

It was perhaps the most complex and well-thought out insult that Ron had ever used. It also took Harry’s strained emotional control and snapped it like dry kindling. His rage ignited, and hisblood pounded in his head.Magic forgotten, he crouched and hurled himself at the taller boy, using his greater strength and balance to overcome Weasley’s mass. Harry slugged him in the face, grabbing him by his shoulders.

As he punched Weasley again, the door opened, and there was a pair of feminine gasps and some un-ladylike cursing from Ginny. Ron took advantage of Harry’s distraction to flip Harry onto his back and began to pummel him with his fists. Harry coiled his strength, and then pushed hard, shoving Ron off of him and landing on a knee, blood flowing from his lip and nose. Ron didn’t look much better.

He felt arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back. A flash of bushy-brown hair told him it was Hermione. He allowed his best friend to haul him to his feet. Neville had Ron’s arms pinned behind his back, while the redhead was determinedly trying to break free and continue using Harry as a punching bag. Harry’s pulse was pounding in his head, and he briefly struggled with Hermione, who was trying to calm him down. “…it’s not worth it, Harry…leave him alone…let him be a git…” Harry tried to relax. Hermione let him go when he stopped struggling, and he wiped his bloody lip and nose on his robes, glaring at Ron. The redhead returned his death glare, and was still being restrained. Ginny was now standing in between both of them.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded. Harry was actually glad that she was taking the time to find out what was going on before taking action. It wouldn’t help matters if she immediately sided with Harry.

“Git was practicing Dark Magic,” Ron grumbled, staring accursedly at Hermione, who frowned.

“Were you?” she asked, a bit of concern in her voice.

“I suppose you could say that,” Harry admitted. “I just tried out a Slicing Curse.” Hermione nodded.

“That’s not all!” Ron protested. “He nearly killed me with it!”

Ginny rounded on Harry, brown eyes blazing. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him, nor did I,” Harry explained. “I was aiming at the wall and missed. They opened the door; I didn’t know they were there.”

Ginny looked into his eyes, as if trying to determine if he was telling the truth. Apparently, her crush wasn’t bothering her at the moment. She nodded curtly. “Alright, I don’t know what happened here, but this is ridiculous.”

“I agree,” Hermione said. “You two are wizards, not Neanderthals!”

Harry hung his head in shame. Ron wasn’t so tactful. “Yeah, Neanderthals with wands…trying to kill fellow students,” he spat.

Ginny spun around, eye’s blazing. “Shut. Up. Ron. Before I send a Striking Curse where it will hurt the most.”

Ron paled. “You wouldn’t…”

“Maybe she would, but I won’t let her,” Hermione interrupted. “Neville, Ron, OUT!”

Neville grabbed Ron by the robe sleeve and pulled him out of the room. The redhead spat in Harry’s direction. Harry’s anger bristled. What Ron had just done was among the most offensive gestures in the wizarding world. The idiot probably didn’t even know that one could be challenged to a duel for it.

Hermione buried her head in her hands when he left, while Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hermione was the first to recover. She turned to Harry, looking very tired.

“Would you care to explain what just happened?”

Harry jumped out of his four-poster, and decided to try to find his friends. He remembered that Hermione had mentioned that she and Ginny were going to take a walk around the Grounds and the lake and stop in to see Hagrid. They’d agreed to meet at dinner, and Hermione had encouraged Harry to take a nap if he felt he could use it. Harry tossed the diary and quill into his trunk and locked it, slipped on his trainers, and left the Slytherin dormitory, bound for the library.

Harry left the dungeons, climbing up the stairs into the Entrance Hall. He thought of just trying to find his friends on the Grounds, but then remembered the assignment that Snape had (rather politely) asked him to do, a research project on rare antidotes. He said that he had been impressed by Harry’s work thus far, and wanted to see if he could do ‘more than the other dunderheads in the class.’ Harry, knowing that he wanted to get of Snape’s good side, quickly agreed.

The Boy-Who-Lived said hello to Nearly-Headless Nick, who was grumbling about something involving ‘the headless hunt,’ or something like that. Nick had been in a foul mood often since about Halloween. Harry didn’t have that much interaction with the ghosts, though he had talked to the Grey Lady and to the Bloody Baron before. He often said hello to Nick. The Gryffindor ghost looked up as he did so.

“Hello Harry!” he said brightly. “What are you doing inside on this fine day?”

Harry shrugged. “Taking a nap, I suppose. I’m going to the library. If you see Hermione or Ginny, could you tell them that?”

“Sure thing, Harry,” the ghost replied.

Harry thanked Nick, and shaking his head as the ghost began grumbling again, he ascended the stairways the 2nd floor corridor. As he proceeded, the hair began to stand up on the back of his neck. He flicked his wrist, and his wand shot into his hand. He glanced nervously over his shoulder.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Cautiously, he proceeded forward, around a curve in the castle.

And then he stopped, mouth dropping open at the sight before him.

Dean Thomas and Ron Weasley were lying on the ground in front of a large mirror, Petrified. Dean’s mouth was open in a silent scream, and his head was turned slightly to the right, as if to find out what was behind him. Ron appeared to have been livid when he was Petrified. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth open to yell. Harry imagined he must have been bright red before he was felled. Harry glanced around, raising his wand. Carefully, he proceeded past the two Petrified boys, searching for whatever had attack them. His eyes widened at the sight of the scorch marks on the castle floor and walls; he remembered that Hermione had mentioned the same thing when they found Mrs. Norris.

He quickly ducked around a corner, but saw nothing. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or panicked. He couldn’t just leave; he may not have though much of Weasley, but he wasn’t going to do nothing. Even more importantly, if he was seen fleeing the scene, that could create some major problems. Harry wished at that instant that he had remembered to bring his Invisibility Cloak. It would certainly allow him to slip away unnoticed.

He was stuck. Harry bent down to look at Thomas, staring into his glassy eyes. It was eerily similar to the effects of the Avada Kedavra Killing Curse, but the fact that his limbs were extended and stiff as marble betrayed his true state. Harry took another deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He got up and bent over Weasley, his hands on his knees, hoping for some clue as to who or what had done this to them.

He found nothing. Though they had been standing in front of a mirror, for some reason…

Then, a patter of soft footsteps, a horrified gasp and strangled cry, and a loud thump as a number of books were dropped to the floor. The silence echoed, and Harry silently cursed.

Slowly, dreading what he’d see, knowing that he couldn’t look more guilty, Harry raised his head. He sucked in a breath as he took in the sight of the worst possible person that could have found him. The person he’d been silently praying wouldn’t find out until she heard it from his own mouth.

Ginny Weasley was rocking back and forth, her arms still extended from where she’d been carrying several library books. Her face was pale, a pasty white, completely devoid of blood.

It was her eyes that were the worst, though. Her warm brown eyes, which could be full of a bevy of emotions ranging from mischief, to friendliness, to love, to anger, to despair.

But the one emotion he’d never seen Ginny express was the one that he saw now as her eyes raked his frozen body accusingly. It was a look of complete and total betrayal, mixed in with shock and burning rage.

Harry felt his body go numb as she screamed at him.

“HOW COULD YOU?” she shrieked, tears streaking done her face. “I TRUSTED YOU! HOW COULD YOU?” Her last cry was broken up by an anguished sob. With her betrayal still burning a hole in Harry’s heart, she turned and fled.

Harry collapsed against the wall, his mind racing. She can’t be right…I was sleeping, he told himself.

But what if she is? a strangely familiar voice asked softly, almost mockingly. What if Ron’s been right all along? What if you’ve been the one attacking people…Remember the roosters?

Harry felt his blood run cold as a fuzzy memory came back to him. But it was a dream! It had to be! I didn’t…

Don’t fool yourself; it’s unbecoming of your intelligence, the voice snapped condescendingly. You did kill those roosters…yet you don’t remember it, do you…

STOP IT! he screamed at the mysterious voice. I can’t be the Heir of Slytherin, I can’t…I’m not attacking students, he told himself, his mental voice panicked.

I’ve got to tell Daphne, he realized abruptly. She’ll know what to do; she always knows what to do. She loves me; she’d never abandon me…

Do you know that? The voice snarled in his head. Can you take that risk?

But if it is me, what I attack Hermione next? Or Ginny?

NO! You CANNOT tell them, the voice commanded, a tone of malice filling it. Harry felt nervous suddenly, as he slumped against the wall.

You will tell NO ONE, Harry, the voice commanded. Harry stiffened, and his mind went strangely fuzzy. Seconds later, he blinked and his memories of what he had found, of what Ginny had done, came racing back to him, hitting him with the force of the Hogwarts Express. He started violently when he heard a cry of alarm from McGonagall, and glanced up to see both her and Hermione with matching expressions of horror on their faces.

“Harry, what happened? When did you find them?” Hermione whispered. She had no idea how much relief her words brought him. At least she believes my innocence…

“Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked coldly.

Harry took a deep breath. “I was taking a nap, and was heading up to the library. I found them here; I swear I had nothing to do with it!”

McGonagall looked grave. “I believe you, Harry. I know you didn’t get along with Mr. Weasley, but I don’t believe that you would go this far.”

“Ginny found me first,” Harry mumbled miserably.

“Damnit!” Hermione loosed a rare curse. “I’ll find her, Harry; I’ll talk sense into her.”

“I hope you can,” Harry replied dejectedly.

“Very well,” Professor McGonagall interrupted. “Hopefully, Miss Weasley hasn’t told anyone else. I need you two to keep this quiet. Return to your dormitories, now,” she said, in a tone that said that the argument was over. Hermione through Harry a helpless look, and wandered back towards the Slytherin Dormitory. He stopped only to pick up Ginny’s library books.

Harry slowly made his way down the dormitories. He left Ginny’s books on the table, and wandered into the 2nd Year Boys dorms. He collapsed onto the bed, his mind reeling.

And that possibility frightened him. It frightened him more than anything.

Who am I kidding? Harry scolded himself mentally. I can’t tell Daphne about this! I’ve got to handle it on my own. I can’t always go running to her for help. If it gets any worse, then I’ll get help. But I’m fine for now.

Trying to get these disturbing thoughts out of his mind, Harry snuck out of his bed and crept into the Slytherin Common Room. It was near midnight, and Harry was regretting not going to dinner. Briefly, he thought about getting his Invisibility Cloak and going to the kitchens (he seen Fred and George sneaking in before), but decided not to when he saw the object of his fears standing in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room in front of the still roaring fire. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and Harry could see tear tracks glistening in the flickering light.

“Ginny?” Harry asked nervously. He hoped that Hermione had gotten through to the redhead; he wasn’t sure if the tears were for his ‘betrayal’ or her foolishness and shame.

His friend jumped nearly a foot in the air, spinning around, and her eyes wide. “Harry?”

He nodded. Ginny began to nibble on her lip, a nervous quirk she’d picked up from Hermione. Though Hermione tended to make it a full bite. “I’m sorry…” she whispered in an almost inaudible voice.

Harry walked over to her, opening his arms. Without thinking twice, she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Harry squeezed her tightly, and she began to sob quietly into his robes. Harry blinked as he felt his own eyes prickle with tears. Then he let them come.

Ginny was one of his best friends, one person he trusted almost absolutely.

He couldn’t afford to lose her.