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SIYE Time:12:31 on 28th March 2024
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Grey Maiden IV: Darkness Rising
By Chris Widger

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Romance, Tragedy
Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 181
Summary: Harry's training has begun at last, as has the difficult task of gathering allies. Daphne and his friends will prove invaluable in this job, but then Harry finds himself hurled into a legendary and deadly competition against his will. As the Darkness gathers, he is faced with his greatest test yet. And the penalty for failure might just be death.
Hitcount: Story Total: 132395; Chapter Total: 5258





Author's Notes:
Sorry about the careless 1st posting. I was in a hurry. I assure you that my beta is quite competent, and this is my fault.




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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 23: Darkness Arisen

Harry's dead.

That thought pounded over and over again through the mind of Ginny Weasley as she fought against her own short stature, peering through the roiling and screaming crowd around her. These were the times that she wished she wasn’t, quite literally, the Littlest Weasley. Ginny desperately tried to see through the mess of flailing limbs and fellow students whose bodies just happened to be a bit more vertically elongated than hers.

Things had begun to go wrong as soon as Bagman had made the announcement that both Harry and Cedric had reached the final chamber. The announcement that they’d reached the Cup itself had been followed by a lusty roar of approval from all four Houses of Hogwarts. But when the news of who had actually reached it first hadn’t been announced, Ginny had started to worry. Despite the capture of Barty Crouch Junior over two months previous, all of them had feared that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might still make his presence felt at the third and Final Task. And as the teachers began whispering in frightened and increasingly panicked tones, it seemed those fears had been realized. Dumbledore had ordered them to remain calm, and even Ginny had felt the magical power that had accompanied his command.

Waiting anxiously with Anne Grunitch and Melissa Quinn, as Hermione disappeared into the crowd in search of information, Ginny had seen multiple individuals entering the maze. Eventually, the unconscious, but alive, body of Viktor Krum had been pulled out, as well as a despondent Fleur Delacour. The level of noise had risen as Krum had been revived and begun wildly gesturing, spewing something in Bulgarian, a language as utterly incomprehensible to Ginny as any she’d ever heard. The teachers had begun steadily deconstructing the maze, and Hagrid had been sighted carrying away the body of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. In the course of Bagman’s poor commentary, Ginny thought she remembered a mention of Harry fighting one of the things, but she wasn’t sure. The maze was nearly gone now, but it seemed that Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, and the Triwizard Cup had vanished into thin air.

Not likely, knowing Harry, Ginny had told herself. It’s probably a lot worse than that.

Hermione had returned maybe twenty minutes later, near panic, her face blotched by tears and rage. She’d been unable to get into the Teacher’s or Judge’s Box, stopped at the latter by none other than her pompous and infuriating older brother, Percy, who assured her that the situation was well in hand. She hadn’t even seen McGonagall or Daphne, the two people she’d been looking for. Hermione admitted she’d considered hexing Percy on the spot, but considering the confusion that was already creating wild rumors and disorderly conduct, including a fistfight between a few of the younger Gryffindors and Slytherins, she’d decided against it.

The evening had worn on, with no news or explanations. The Judges had evidently decided that keeping the spectators in the stands was the best course of action. Ginny wasn’t so sure she agreed with them, especially after a frustrated Anne Grunitch had delivered a vicious uppercut to one of Ginny’s male classmates, who’d apparently blamed Harry for the situation and called him something that Anne neglected to repeat

Then, all of a sudden, things started to happen.

A flash of blue light half-blinded her, but as soon as the afterimages faded, poor vision became the least of her concerns.

Ginny finally lost it, and shoved aside a taller Slytherin 5th year, desperate to see what was happening. Fortunately, as soon as the boy got a glimpse of what Ginny was staring at, he froze in shock, abandoning all thought of retaliation.

Two human forms had seemingly fallen out of the darkening sky, landing maybe twenty meters from where Ginny was standing. She recognized the mop of unruly black hair instantly, although there wasn’t much else from which to identify Harry Potter, covered in muck and, blood, and lying on his side, still as death, his right arm tucked under him, along with the limp arm of his fellow Hogwarts champion. His left hand still clutched a shiny object that appeared to be the Triwizard Cup. Diggory lay facedown, and though it was hard to tell at this distance, Ginny was sure he wasn’t breathing. And when Harry failed to move as stunned silence gave way to panicked screams, she became sure that her boyfriend wasn’t either.

First to break loose from the spell of the boys’ sudden and dramatic appearance was, unsurprisingly, Daphne Dressler, who leapt over the barrier and raced at full sprint for her ward’s body.

Ginny had begun moving an instant later, but was yanked back as Hermione’s hand grasped her flailing wrist. “Where are you going?” she yelled. Ginny stared back in disbelief. Where else could she possibly be going?

Ginny turned back to the field, and saw that Daphne had propped Harry’s body up on her lap, and was currently fumbling with something she’d pulled from her robes.


Even as her fingers furiously dug for the vial, Alecto Carrow continued to deny what she was seeing. She had thought her task done after Potter had overpowered Krum (whom she had intended to use to stop Diggory, before the Hufflepuff had blasted a hole in a solid wall and then gotten lost.) All that remained was to continue to masquerade as the concerned Grey Maiden, desperately searching for her missing ward. As soon as the search was abandoned, she’d flee before the real Daphne Dressler awoke. Potter would be dead, her master would be restored, and she would have secured herself a prime place in her new order. If she could manage the time, she might even delay her departure long enough to cut Dressler’s throat.

Instead, she was abruptly thrust into the role of a servant finishing what her master had started. Somehow, Potter had escaped the trap that had been laid for him, although given the severity of his injuries, it hadn’t been easy. That her Dark Mark had burned fiercely fifteen minutes after Potter vanished meant that her Master had indeed returned. She’d been just about to depart, under the auspices of investigating a suspicion of hers, when Potter and Diggory had quite literally fallen from the sky. The port-key, which re-charged every half-hour until disabled, had somehow brought him back. And he was still breathing.

But Alecto was a practical woman. She knew that things might not go as smoothly as planned. She breathed a sigh of relief as her searching hand clasped her backup plan: a vial of specially brewed poison. She pulled it out, ripping out the plug. To all the world, it would appear she was attempting to revive her ward with some manner of healing potion. Instead, she was going to end this pathetic challenger’s life.

She forced open Potter’s mouth, and tipped the vial of clear liquid…


Ginny hadn’t even noticed that she was there, but Luna Lovegood quickly made her presence felt with a loud gasp. Ginny turned, staring curiously at the enigmatic Ravenclaw and childhood acquaintance, (if not friend,) who seemed to enjoy a strange and rather unique relationship with Harry. Her protuberant blue eyes were wide with terrified disbelief. “Luna?” Ginny asked, trying to make herself heard over the crowd noise.

“Stop her. That’s not…” Luna said, trailing off. Abruptly, she’d grabbed hold of Ginny’s shoulders, and started shaking her violently.

That’s. Not. Daphne. Stop her, or he’ll die!”

Ginny stared back at the other girl, trying to process what she was hearing. “Luna, what are you..?”

The Ravenclaw blinked, and looked toward the scene on the field, at Harry in Daphne’s arms, at Cedric lying dead on the ground. Her face was a mask of concentration. Everyone else seemed hesitant to approach, even Cedric’s Head of House, Professor Sprout. Ginny couldn’t understand what was wrong, why or Luna was so alarmed…

Then, abruptly, she saw it. For an instant, Daphne’s hair was not short and honey-blond but long and dark. The look on her face was not that of concern but cold determination. And her eyes were not gray-green but pale blue orbs full of malice and loathing.

Ginny jerked back in surprise. As she witnessed this bizarre mirage, she saw that the woman was holding an upturned vial to Harry’s lips. Realization hit her like a thunderbolt.

NO!

< p>She scrambled over the bleachers, knocking over Melissa in the process. Hermione’s yell followed her as she stumbled and scrambled down to the edge of the stands. From the commotion and mumbled apologies also coming in Ginny’s wake, her Gryffindor best friend was also trying to get out of the stands, making for the lowest point they could find. Bracing herself on the top of the barrier, Ginny pulled herself over it, dropping about a meter to the grass. She barely even felt the pain as her knees absorbed the impact. Scrambling desperately forward, she pulled her wand from her robes, but she never got the chance to use it.

A tremendous blast came from her right, and a fireball erupted from the base of the Teacher’s Box, ripping a tremendous wound in the timber and canvas structure. When the inferno had faded, Ginny saw the real Daphne Dressler silhouetted against the gaping hole, bruised, disheveled, and enraged; her robes torn and soiled. Just as she was reputed, she acted decisively without the slightest hesitation. Ginny watched as the Grey Maiden’s wand arced through the air in a short, quick slash. The front of her doppelganger’s robes exploded in a shower of crimson, and the imposter slumped to the ground. Daphne stood there, wand extended, for a few more moments before she crossed the distance to her ward with long, measured strides, dropping to one knee, almost absentmindedly banishing the body of the woman she had just killed another three or four meters behind her.

Despite her fear of the woman, Ginny started moving and Hermione was right behind her. Daphne’s face was a mask of anger and concentration. She swore as she examined the contents of the vial. “Snape. Find Him. Now,” she snapped at Hermione.

“What should I tell him?”

“That he’d best be ready for anything, because I don’t know what this poison is,” Daphne said, her voice hard and strained. “Now go!

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. Ginny’s eyes drifted to Cedric’s body, lying less than a meter away. Ginny could now see that his eyes were open and glassy, staring aimlessly at the ground.

“He’s dead,” Daphne said in a matter-of-fact voice, noticing her gaze. “Killing Curse. Ginny, help me lay him on his back,” she ordered.

A part of Ginny wanted nothing to do with the woman, but the rest of her knew that at this moment, she was acting in Harry’s best interests. Ginny did as she was told, trying to avoid touching the worst of her friend’s wounds, though her hands still came away bloody. “Come on, Harry,” Daphne said, sounding desperate, frantic. “You’ve made it through worse, you’ll be okay. You’ve got to be…where the hell in Snape?” she demanded angrily.

“Here,” came the voice of the Potion Master. Behind him were Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick, all wearing varying expressions of horror. Pomona Sprout pushed past them to Cedric’s body. The plump, normally-pleasant woman was on the verge of tears, which then flowed freely as she knelt over the Hufflepuff. Hermione was also back, and quickly at Ginny’s side. Over her shoulder, Ginny thought she saw Blaise Zabini, though she couldn’t be sure.

Snape tapped the vial, which still held a bit of the poison, with his wand, and it glowed a bright red. “Ashwinder compound,” he said. He tapped it again, lower on the vial, with a different wrist movement. “And Rockworm venom,” he amended. “Creative.”

“Can you save him or not?” Daphne asked. She sounded like she might hex him if he replied in the negative.

“Possibly,” the man replied. “Move him to the Hospital Wing and get him stabilized. I’ll run to the dungeons and find the correct antidotes. Quickly, now. While not extraordinarily fast-acting, indeed, more prized for difficulty of detection, both poisons are extremely lethal. When combined…”

“I get the picture,” Daphne said. “Go.” He did, racing back toward the castle, black robe and cap flapping around him like an overgrown bat. The Grey Maiden looked to Dumbledore, who was already in the process of turning a chunk of wood into a Portkey. Daphne grasped Harry’s left arm; the right, as Ginny now saw, was a bloody mess.

“I want to come,” Ginny blurted.

“No time,” Daphne replied quickly. She grabbed the piece of wood from Dumbledore, and she was gone, leaving only a patch of ground soaked with the blood of Harry and the as-yet-unidentified Death Eater who had just been so brutally cut down. Flitwick was staring at that body now. With the woman’s death, the effects of Polyjuice were nullified.

“Alecto Carrow,” the tiny wizard said, sounding wistful. “A bright young woman, but one with a cruel streak and a bigoted family. A shame, really.” McGonagall nodded along with him.

Ginny wasn’t exactly in the mood for wistfully remembering the schooldays of the woman who had just attempted to murder her boyfriend. “Can Hermione and I go up to the castle?” she asked quickly.

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, than nodded. Ginny grabbed Hermione’s wrist and nearly yanked the larger girl off her feet. She fell into step behind Ginny as they ran up the path back from the Quidditch Pitch. Neville Longbottom joined them at some point. So did Blaise, and eventually Luna caught up with them. Together, the five of them raced for the Hospital Wing, desperate for news about their injured friend.


So this is how it begins, Severus Snape thought, his eyes flicking to the pale, unconscious young man occupying one of Madam Pomfrey’s Hospital Wing cots. He was breathing freely now, although his color hadn’t improved a great deal. Still, he was on the road to recovery, and that was more than could have been said several hours ago, when Potter came within minutes of expiring. Snape had been hard pressed to create a dual-action antidote to a pair of rare and complex poisons, but when his old Potions professor, Horace Slughorn, a man prone to stretching the truth, had told him he was the most talented Potions prodigy of his time, he hadn’t been exaggerating.

He’d been able to save Potter’s life, fortunate because Dressler had been worked up into a frenzy as the minutes ticked by. Considering that the woman had already killed a Death Eater in the past hour, it wasn’t much of a stretch to believe she might make him pay for his failure with his life. After all, it wasn’t as though she needed anything but an excuse. She’d had him marked for death from the night of that…incident with Lily. An incident that he continue to regret like few other moments in his life. He had loved Lily Evans, he thought. At the least, he’d felt something for her that had never been duplicated in the years after her death.

Not that it matters any more, Severus thought, his eyes again falling on her son. He looked vulnerable, weak. He certainly did not conjure images of one that had just confronted the Dark Lord and somehow managed to survive. Though the particulars would remain a mystery until the young man’s battered and abused body had healed, Severus’s Dark Mark told him all he needed to know. As he thought about it, the underside of his left forearm ached slightly. He’d best accustom himself to that, and be prepared for far worse, for the foreseeable future.

So his master had returned. Potter had been present, and paid the price. His right arm remained wrapped in a white gauze glove that would need to be changed regularly, even as the strongest of Madam Pomfrey’s Healing spells and potions fought the Dark magic of the spell that had created the horrible wounds. Underneath his pajamas was another wound on his left shoulder, and a variety of bruises, and two or three broken ribs. More subtle, but potentially also more damaging, was the severe trauma to his nervous system. Potter had been exposed to the Cruciatus Curse before, indeed he’d spent more time under the power of that Unforgivable than most Aurors three times his age. Even the most incompetent of his master’s Death Eaters couldn’t match him. Of course, most of them were executed before they had a chance to match his suffering. He’d been forced to endure the Dark Lord’s own Cruciatus at the tender age of eleven, then that of his own guardian at twelve.

Once again, it seemed he’d escape without significant neural damage, but he needed to stop pushing the envelope. A few seconds either way could mean the difference between no long-term side effects and paralysis or insanity. Needless to say, if either of those fates were to befall the Boy-Who-Lived, the consequences would be quite devastating. Namely, they’d be forced a war they had no chance of winning. Some might prefer a hero’s death to a life without meaning, but Severus was not among them. Every moment he was still breathing was better than each moment he wasn’t, no matter how he’d gotten to that rather permanent state.

Potter would probably regain full use of his right arm, although it would take quite a bit of time for the potions to re-grow his shredded tendons, ligaments, and bones. That it was his wand arm, and the forearm, at that, was significant to Severus. Assuming that the injury was inflicted by the Dark Lord, it was probably meant as punishment for an action by Potter. Like hitting him with a spell, for example.

And in the mind of Severus Snape, any fourteen-year old that could not only survive an encounter with the Dark Lord, but also manage to land a curse on him, was worthy of great attention. Even if his escape turned out to be a fantastic serious of lucky coincidences, which, considering Potter’s history, it might well be. As long as the young man understood that, and trained hard so that next time he might survive on skill and not blind fortune, that was. And Snape had no doubt that that would be Harry’s precise reaction to the events of that evening, he was aware that the boy and his friends had been training in private for some time, although the particulars remained unknown to him.

He lamented that Dumbledore had banned him from using Legilimency on students after an incident about six years in the past, when a particularly irritating Ravenclaw named Nymphadora Tonks had figured out exactly how he knew she was planning to put a Babbling Hex on one of her Slytherin classmates’ textbooks, to be activated as soon as Emmanuel Bulstrode opened it to a certain page. In fact, as Severus soon learned, the clumsy Metamorphmagus had staged the incident to test a theory. And, her suspicions confirmed, her mother, Andromeda Black Tonks, had been notified and promptly threatened to report him and Dumbledore to the Hogwarts Board of Directors, which back then had been chaired by an old friend of the disowned Black daughter. Dumbledore had since limited his Potion Master’s use of the mental art to culling extra information while interrogating students for disciplinary violations, especially in the case of his own Slytherins. Well, he’d also used it to disorient and, if he was honest with himself, torture the son of James Potter. Dumbledore had repeated Daphne Dressler’s threat verbatim, which included promises of castration, an Entrail-Expelling Curse, and a bout with a fully transformed Remus Lupin. It had been enough to convince him to find other methods of extracting his petty revenge. He’d since learned better.

Unfortunately, Snape thought, Potter and his friends are quite good at escaping punishment for breaking the rules. And so long as I value my life, I’d best not intrude upon his mind outside of Occlumency lessons until Dressler lies six feet under.

And Snape wasn’t all that diligent about disciplining members of his own House either, even if he could find an excuse. He’d been inside Potter’s mind, of course, during their Occlumency sessions, but he’d been on the prowl for far more…significant things.

Snape supposed it hardly mattered. Potter was as trained as the most tutored Pureblood, and possessed tremendous power to go along with it. Power that still unnerved Severus. He’d been a careful observer of the duel between his own Godson and Potter, a confrontation that occurred because Lucius’s son had hideously misread the situation and committed an unprovoked and unwise attack on Potter’s Muggleborn best friend, the insufferable Gryffindor know-it-all, Hermione Granger. Draco had managed to put up a fight, evening managing to knock Potter to the ground by displaying a curious aptitude for silent spell-casting, but Potter had known exactly how to beat him going in. He’d lulled his classmate into a false sense of security, then, as Severus had expected, ended the duel with three decisive casts. Draco had been completely humiliated, with Potter even breaking his wand while alluding to a comment he’d made concerning Granger. Severus was anxious to see if the defeat might finally prove to be the impetus for his godson to stop talking and start improving. Lucius and Narcissa had spoiled their son, and Lucius had been remarkably lax in teaching the boy about the culture and customs of the Wizarding world, in contrast to Daphne Greengrass or Theodore Nott, who were extremely well-versed from the day they arrived. Aiden and Richard were fanatics when it came to the old ways. It still baffled the mind that one as cunning and ruthless as Aiden Greengrass had once slept in the same dormitory as James Potter and Sirius Black.

The man has a penchant for heroics, I suppose, Snape reflected. If the rumors about his involvement with Potter are true, that courage will be put to the test sooner rather than later.

Snape had, of course, known that quite a few of his students were not in their beds on the night of the Winter Solstice. There were literally dozens of Dark Pureblood rituals that coincided with that night, the symbolic conquest of Dark over Light on the longest night of the year. He knew where most of those students had been. Upon learning that Potter had accompanied Aiden’s daughter and Blaise Zabini, who seemed to have struck up a friendship with Potter later in the year, Snape had been somewhat surprised. Aiden was more trusting than most, but trusting the last member of a well-known Light family was not the same as inviting him to partake in Karachun, one of the more intimate of the Winter Solstice celebrations. As for what Potter had seen that night, or who he had joined there, Severus was uncertain. Potter’s rapid progress with Occlumency meant he didn’t have much time to poke around before he was stopped or ejected.

Through Aiden, Harry now had a connection with the entire Dark Pureblood community. That was a good thing if he intended to persuade some of them to fight against Voldemort.

And, if what Snape had seen during that duel was any indication, he might soon have more in common with them than they thought.

To Severus, it was absolutely undeniable that Potter’s Dark hexes and curses were stronger than anything else he had. Not only that, but he seemed less winded when he let loose a barrage of Slicing Curses than when he fired off a group of Striking Curses. This didn’t make much sense; the latter was much less draining and difficult than the former. One possible explanation was that Potter simply had more practice with the Slicing Curse, but Potter’s first use of the Striking Hex had been a useless strike against the hide of a mountain troll just months into his First Year. He’d taught himself that spell, making use of the amount of time he’d spent along in the Library.

Assuming that he was correct, and Potter indeed possessed a particular aptitude for Dark magic, there were a number of inferences that could be drawn. First, the power that he possessed, which Snape understood to have been obtained as a result of his exposure to the Dark Lord’s diary during his Second Year, though now fully integrated into his magical core, might still favor the uses of its former master. Aside from creating a significant image problem, Potter openly declaring himself a Dark wizard wasn’t all that concerning; Severus had always believed that it was not how one used magic, or what spells one used, but the reasons for which one used magic that ultimately mattered. His former master was an unbalanced despot with a lust for power and control. If Potter continued to fight against Voldemort, and did not develop a desire to rule the Wizarding world for himself, the situation would be entirely different.

Of course, it was impossible to deny that extremely powerful Dark wizards showed a rather alarming tendency to seek power and control of the Wizarding world, far more so than their Light counterparts. Which was why, in addition to sheer numbers, the Light had dominated the Ministry of Magic for most of its existence, and the Dark had been forced to operate in the shadows.

Severus let his thoughts drift away from that subject as he spared a subtle glance at the veritable army of Potter’s companions that waited anxiously for their friend to awaken from his unnatural slumber.

Sitting next to the boy’s bed, her right hand lying on top of Potter’s left, was a miserable-looking redhead. The unlikeliest Slytherin Snape had ever seen Sorted, with the notable exception of her boyfriend. Of course, his first impressions of both of them had been terribly inaccurate.

Though perhaps not as dramatic as his change of heart when it came to James’s son, his opinion of Ginny Weasley had nonetheless improved during her second and third years at Hogwarts. He’d had his fill of Weasleys well before the diminutive girl had intruded upon his sacred House. William had been brilliant, skilled, dedicated…and a bit egotistical, but tolerable, to date the most accomplished of Arthur and Molly Weasley’s litter of redheaded offspring. Charles had all-to-often reminded Severus of another insufferable Gryffindor Seeker, and his obvious contentment with the adulation he received had only tightened the comparison. He’d been an unremarkable Potions student. Percival’s ambition might have made him the first Weasley to wear the silver and green, but his at-times disgusting reverence for rules and order pushed him out. Why he had been placed in Gryffindor was anyone’s guess. He’d been a solid student, a patient learner, and a boy that asked probing and relatively insightful questions. He’d also been insufferable in his own way. Modesty was not in his personal dictionary, and it was certainly not a word others would use to describe him.

Then had come Fred and George Weasley. The Twin Terrors. The heirs to the elder Potter’s legacy of mindless and intricate torment of their professors. Severus could tell that they were extraordinarily intelligent, and quite powerful. They were also the most brutally juvenile youths he’d ever had the intense misfortune to teach. While capable of brewing incredibly complex potions to use in their quest for laughter and personal amusement, they deliberately failed his class because they didn’t like him. He’d given them more detentions than he could count, taken more points from Gryffindor on account of their actions (which included periodically switching identities during class) than he’d taken from any two Gryffindors during his entire tenure at Hogwarts, and probably screamed at them in class more than he had at the rest of his pupils combined. When Ron Weasley, an idiotic, poorly-motivated, unfocused, dunderhead had joined his older brothers, alternating demonstrating his incompetence with tormenting Harry Potter, Severus hadn’t had high hopes for the last of the Weasleys.

Finally came the long awaited arrival of Ginevra Molly Weasley. It had come as some surprise to the girl when she’d been Sorted into Slytherin. She’d broken down and engaged in some truly pitiful behavior as she clung to Potter and bawled like an abandoned child. Truth be told, the behavior of her family had been even more despicable, as if they thought her diseased. That Potter had seemed to take the younger girl under his wing was a good thing, although at that point Potter was still living under the shadow of his father as far as Severus was concerned. This youngest Weasley had achieved highly, like her oldest brother, a fine potions student if not one with any real flair or instincts. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise, considering that she was being aided by two of the best students in the next year. She was a good listener, and did almost nothing to give Severus a reason to actively dislike her, even if she did have a tendency to allow a bit of hostility into her voice when she spoke to him. Still, he’d hardly changed his mind about her Sorting because she was a good student.

But indeed, she had proven to be worthy of the House of Serpents. When she wasn’t spending time with Potter and Granger, she was most often in the company of two other bright Slytherins: Burly Anne Grunitch and quiet Melissa Quinn. Severus had attended Hogwarts with the latter’s parents, including her brilliant Ravenclaw of a mother. The three of them had a tendency for occasionally drawing attention to themselves, but never being caught. It had been through those displays that Snape had finally seen why a Weasley had been Sorted into Slytherin. As she aged, her remarkable mature sense of the world grew, nurtured no doubt by the cynical realism that had become Potter’s trademark. It was quite a refreshing contrast from Granger’s at-times hopeless idealism. Though the traumas of the last few years were beginning to eat away at even that part of her personality.

Weasley had even proven to be quite advanced for her age. Her magical power was a bit inconsistent, more evident with certain spells than it was with others. Such variation was normal for young witches and wizards, especially those of great talent. And while certainly not on the same level as Potter, Ginny Weasley was at the least a bit above-average in ability, and possessed a sharp mind, good intuition, and a killer instinct that might serve her well on the battlefield, if she could control her emotions.

A model Slytherin she was not. Her at-times vicious temper and aggressive personality was only partly moderated by her natural cunning, and she was not one to remain in the shadows. No, what had brought her into Severus’s House was an unquenchable desire to succeed, to overcome her disadvantaged upbringing and outshine her entire family. It was possible that even she did not acknowledge this or even realize that it was her fondest desire, but it was all too obvious to her Head of House. She would go far, if she could survive this war and learn to consider the consequences of her actions more carefully. There was also a certain ruthlessness that had come as something of a surprise when he had first witnessed a demonstration of it. It had been a rather…curious incident during her 2nd year, involving a fellow Slytherin classmate, a boy named Robert Gannon.

Snape’s eyes drifted to the other side of the bed, where his Gryffindor colleague’s favorite pupil sat, unsurprisingly in the midst of reading a sizable and aged tome, something about Pureblood culture and traditions. While that was an interesting choice of reading material for the Muggleborn witch, Severus knew by now that Granger would never stand for being under-informed on any subject. The result was that her class work tended to drift very close to outright memorization rather than reasoned and careful analysis. Her trust in authority was such that she rarely went with her gut if it contradicted what she had already read. It unfortunately meant that she was quite limited when it came to the art of Potion making. Assuming she survived this war, she’d no doubt make herself a fine career in the Ministry, perhaps for the Committee of Experimental Charms, or another research and development think-tank. More impulsive than her friends, it was quite clear to the careful observer why she had been Sorted into Gryffindor, though Severus still saw her more as a textbook Ravenclaw than anything else. Perhaps one of the reasons that he became so irritated with her dry recitations of the curriculum material was that he had high hopes for her, given her natural intelligence. She was apparently also receiving some sort of private tutoring from Minerva, something altogether beyond the scope of the standard curriculum. He’d pulled those vague details from Potter’s mind during their Occlumency sessions. Despite her outwardly confident, indeed at times arrogant, appearance, Severus could tell that the girl was quite insecure, and constantly feared failure. It was something she’d need to get over if she was to get very far.

The remainder of the students waiting silently in the room was a more varied lot, all recent additions to Potter’s close circle of friends. Pudgy, nervous, and an utter disaster when it came to Potions, Neville Longbottom paced nervously near one of the windows. The boy was plainly terrified of him, and his dangerous incompetence only made things worse. The son of two ex-Aurors currently residing in the Permanent Ward of St. Mungo’s, he’d grown up with his paternal grandmother, one of the most intimidating women that Severus had ever encounter. When Augusta Longbottom spoke in her refined, steady tones, one listened. But as sharp and graceful as she was, her grandson was forgetful and clumsy. He quickly panicked when things went wrong, losing his self-confidence at times for no reason at all. Severus didn’t particularly regret his conduct toward the boy, (who had just thrown him a frightened look and was now looking determinedly out the window,) as he had managed to destroy multiple cauldrons, foul up the most basic of instructions, and nearly injured several of his classmates. When you were that poor at something, everyone had a right to tell you so. Still, it hadn’t done the boy any favors. Perhaps some good would come out of Potter taking the boy under his wing, although the action itself was quite un-Slytherin-like and Potter’s motives remained a mystery to him. They had similar backgrounds, he supposed, both essentially orphans from a young age, both raised with great expectations by strong and powerful women that were legendary in the British Wizarding community.

Still, if his association with Potter had done him any good, it had yet to manifest itself in Potions. Severus would be glad of the day he was finally rid of the boy, after he’d no doubt failed his Potions O.W.L. It was probably for the best. For both of them.

Standing in the middle of the floor, eyes wandering every few seconds, was the greatest of enigmas. Luna Lovegood, a 3rd year Ravenclaw that was unlike any human being Severus had ever encountered. She was immensely gifted, although not in the ways that most people would expect of a thirteen-year old. During her first month, after she’d made a few…interesting comments, he’d let his curiosity get of the better of him, and entered her mind. What he’d found was best described as an endless, swirling maze of infinitely changing doorways and halls. A door might open and then the floor would fall out. His first thought was that she might have been insane; such disorganization was common in the minds of the mentally ill. But her schoolwork was quite good, and she seemed capable of following instructions, if not keeping her mouth shut and keeping her inane and delusional theories to herself. It was on his second foray into her mind that he discovered what made her truly remarkable. As he pushed into her mind, he felt no resistance. But almost instantly, she gazed up at him, squinting. Without warning, he suddenly felt the girl’s presence in his mind. She’d pushed through his seamless Occlumency barriers like they were nothing. He immediately threw her out, though she never made any attempt to go any further. Nor did she confront him after class, even after he called her up to ostensibly discuss her potion. When he asked her if she had experienced anything unusual, she said that she didn’t remember anything out of the ordinary. When no angry missives came from Dumbledore within two weeks, it seemed that the girl hadn’t said anything to Flitwick either.

The girl was an outcast from the start, but not in the same way as Potter or Weasley had been. She almost seemed to intentionally alienate others, and her bizarre ramblings quickly earned her a reputation as being quite unbalanced. She didn’t seem to have any friends, although he’d seen her exchange friendly greetings with the Weasley girl on occasion. It seemed they’d known each other as children. Severus learned that the girl’s Ravenclaw mother had been a brilliant Charms witch with a penchant for experimentation and carelessness. Ultimately, that indiscretion had cost her life. The girl’s father had been an eccentric and paranoid Gryffindor known best for believing that the truth was always being hidden from him. It was no surprise that he’d joined the staff of that delusional rag of a newspaper, the Quibbler, and was now chief editor. It seemed the girl had taken to repeating the nonsense that he published about imaginary creatures and non-existent government plots, though she seemed to lack his conviction.

Her relationship with Potter had been subtle, but in Snape’s eyes, extraordinary, and alarming in the rate at which it developed. His information was spotty, but Potter seemed to believe the girl was responsible for curing his mental illness following his ordeal in Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets. That meant that not only was Lovegood a natural Legilimens, which was exceedingly rare in and of itself, but that without any formal training, she could easily manipulate the minds of others. Potter wasn’t seen with her often, but he seemed to think a great deal of the girl and the things she said to him, which evidently weren’t the same kind of nonsense she spouted in public.

No, Potter seemed to feel that the inane theories she espoused were nothing more than a salute to her father, and that she was far more than she appeared. During one foray into Potter’s mind, he’d stumbled upon a memory that could not possibly be real. In it, Potter had become mad with power, and begun executing his own friends and followers when they failed to swear allegiance to him as the new ruler of the Wizarding world. Harry had fought hard to get him out of that memory. It had been connected in some way to the Lovegood girl. Is it possible she is capable of projecting dreams? It was almost unheard of for anyone to possess that kind of mental influence, putting aside the fact that she was an untrained thirteen year old witch. Then again, before Potter met her in Diagon Alley, his mind was a jumbled mess. After, he was whole again.

He’d have to keep his eye on her. She had the potential to be invaluable, but also extremely dangerous. He also had to wonder how much she used her gift on others. Perhaps, by knowing everyone around her in the most intimate sense, it eliminated the need for friends. She knew how everyone thought, who they confided in, what their fears and dreams were…it was a frightening thought indeed.

As if to confirm his guess, her eyes lazily drifted to meet hers. Then she turned and skipped across the floor over to Ginny Weasley, whispering something in her ear. The redhead nodded, and threw a look of suspicion at her Head of House, but said nothing, looking back down at her boyfriend.

The last member of Potter’s cadre stood off to the side, against the wall. Blaise Zabini seemed to take after his father far more than his famous mother. Stefano Zabini was Arabella’s seventh, and last, husband, and the only man for whom she had born a child. A skilled Illusionist, he was adept at remaining hidden while his wife captivated those around her. And young Blaise, who had grown increasingly close to the Boy-Who-Lived, seemed to follow that philosophy. Even now he was an outsider, perhaps more than any of those awaiting the return of Harry Potter to the land of the living, so that he might have an ally once again. The dislike between he and Granger was plainly obvious, although they tended to think about one another quite often, mostly in the most unflattering of terms.

Zabini wasn’t the kind of person he wanted hanging around Potter. Idealistic, which in itself was unusual for a Slytherin, arrogant, and glory-seeking, he could be as dangerous as the most foolhardy Gryffindor. A decent Potions student, a fine student overall, really, but he was dangerous. Severus could only hope that Potter saw through the boy’s confident exterior and saw the weak and timid soul within.

“Is there something you want from us, Professor?” Ginny Weasley asked in a perfectly innocent voice. “Or do you intended to stand in that spot for the entire night?”

“I will stand watch over my own Slytherins as long as I see fit, Miss Weasley,” Snape replied coolly. “Potter has suffered greatly, and I wish to be on hand in case his condition rapidly worsens.”

“Leave it alone, Ginny,” Neville said. Snape almost blinked. His presence defended by Longbottom? Perhaps the boy simply wasn’t of the mind to see a demonstration of his brutal sarcasm and vindictive nature. That was probably closer to the truth.

“I suggest you take Mr. Longbottom’s advice,” Severus advised. “The Headmaster wants one of us to be on duty at all times, to ensure that no one attempts to finish what was started. And with all due respect accorded to your combat skills, I feel that I am far more capable of protecting Potter than you are.”

The redhead didn’t argue with him, instead looking back to the stricken boy on the bed. She managed to keep her face an emotionless mask. Severus hoped at that moment that he might be able to enjoy another few hours of quiet reflection. He was severely disappointed.

At that instant, the doors to the Hospital Wing swung open, and a massive, mangy beast of a dog blew through them. Severus suppressed a shudder of disgust as the dog leapt into the air, rapidly becoming the filthy, deplorable, mutt of a man, Sirius Black. Severus hissed, enraged. How can Dumbledore do this to me? He’d only recently learned that the man was innocent, at least of the charges of betraying the Potters and killing a dozen Muggles and Peter Pettigrew. The latter was still alive, the real spy, and in the employ of Severus’s old master.

“Snivellus!” he cried. “Get away from my Godson!” He looked half-mad, more rabid now than he had as a beast.

“Black. A pleasure, as always. And the Headmaster entrusted me with his protection last. I will not leave his side until I am ordered. The boy is in my House, Black, and that means I have a bit of a responsibility for his well-being. I assure you-”

Black’s dark eyes widened when Snape talked about his responsibility. Most likely the deranged man hadn’t taken the news his Godson wore (and flew for) the silver and green, and slept in the dungeons very well. “I don’t need your assurances, Snivellus,” he said, again using that infernal nickname. “I want some time alone with him. That is, without you.

“Planning to overpower his friends and take him with you? Dressler didn’t take it well the last time you pulled a stunt like that. Leave him, Black. Leave him and forget he’s even related to James Potter. The boy despises his father, and isn’t the least like him.”

Sirius looked crestfallen, but his face rapidly became a mask of rage. “You liar!” he roared. “I bet Harry regrets every single day that he was Sorted into the House of Snakes! No-good Death Eaters-”

“You’re wrong.”

Sirius was halted mid-rant by Ginny Weasley’s defiant tone. “What?”

“Harry doesn’t regret being Sorted into Slytherin. He’s proud of it. And so am I.” The redhead had risen to her feet. Her brown eyes were cold with rage and contempt, her face twisted into a classic Slytherin sneer. Black didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Poor girl, you don’t understand-”

“No, it is you who does not understand,” Granger said. Like her friend, her expression was hard, unyielding. Severus could hardly believe his luck. Black was about to be broken before his very eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That Potter’s happy here,” Zabini chipped in. “That Harry has a friend, and a girlfriend,” he said, indicating Ginny, “in Slytherin. That he wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if he did, he’d want to be a Ravenclaw, like his guardian. Certainly not a Gryffindor. Harry hates them. They’re a bunch of stuck-up, self-righteous gits, in his opinion…well, most of them,” he amended, shooting a glance at Granger.

Well spoken, Zabini, Severus thought, if a bit crude.

“If you came in here with delusions of saving your precious Godson from his inner Darkness and Slytherin tendencies, I assure you that you’d best leave straight away. There is nothing to be done for him, because there is nothing to be done. He is content, and he is where he needs to be, Black. He’s growing stronger, learning the Dark Arts with a maturity beyond his years. They will serve him well in the battle to come. The only thing that remains to be seen is if you will acquiesce to fight along side him. He’d have you as an ally, I believe,” Severus did his best to keep his voice level and reasonable. He didn’t need Black doing anything rash, although Severus wouldn’t mind having the chance to exact revenge for all those years of torment. Just give me a reason, Black, he swore. But he knew that Dumbledore wouldn’t stand for it. He had an inexplicable fondness for Black, both as a student and now as an innocent ex-convict.

The students looked toward him in slight awe, except for Lovegood, who looked at Sirius, a strangely pleased expression on her face. Perhaps the had come out as reasonable and impartial as he’d hoped. This is ideal, Severus thought. Black looks like an insane fool, and I look like a caring and responsible caretaker.

“The Dark Arts?” Sirius gasped, his eyes bulging in their sockets. “My Godson, Lily and James’s kid, learning the Dark Arts? How can Dumbledore possibly-”

“He recognizes the reality of the situation,” Weasley said. “Harry’s been training in private for some time, but it’s recently become evident that his true strength lies with those curses considered Dark. Slicing Curses, Severing Curses, and the like, at least at this point. There are others, of course, that he’s experimented with. But you know what? He’s still the same Harry. He’s kind, compassionate, and bright as hell. Maybe he’s different when he’s dueling somebody trying to kill him. But he’s still a good person, Sirius. And you need to accept that he’s not going to be what you wanted him to be.” She crossed her arms over her chest, standing over her boyfriend protectively.

“That’s not true,” the man howled, looking close to breaking down. “I cannot…I cannot allow this. I won’t lose him like this!”

“You’ve already lost him, Black,” Severus snapped. Revenge was oh so sweet. Black was minutes…no, seconds…away from bawling like a baby. The bastard that had tormented him for his entire stay at Hogwarts was finally getting his due. “What did you think was going to happen when you tried to take him away from the only mother he’s ever known? When you used the Imperius Curse on him? Think, Black. The boy hates you!” He spat the last, feeling a rush of euphoria.

That isn’t really true,” Granger interrupted in her maddening way, ruining Severus’s moment of glory. Severus made a mental note to downgrade her marks on her most recent essay, a dull and dry piece on the uses of Juniper Grass in antidotes. “Harry doesn’t really know what to think of you. He’s willing to give you a chance, mostly because Remus keeps telling him to, but he’s not all that enthusiastic about it. And he’s still sore, and rightfully so, about the Imperius Curse you used on him. For one that professes to hate the Dark Arts, you sure use them easily. At least Daphne’s consistent.”

Sirius looked at her in horror. His relief came, ironically, when Daphne Dressler strode through the doors, followed by Dumbledore and McGonagall. Daphne moved to Potter’s beside instantly, and Snape watched with interest as Weasley seemed to flinch back from the Grey Maiden. The older woman didn’t even spare a glance at her. “He’s waking up,” she said matter-of-factly. She brandished the Companionship Ring on her right hand. “I can feel it.” There was a blister around her finger, most likely caused by her ring burning intensely during Potter’s confrontation with the Dark Lord, and his subsequent brush with Alecto Carrow’s poison of choice. Dressler had been ripped out of her temporary coma by the burning pain, and she’d blasted her way through — unnecessarily, Severus thought — and killed the woman in the nick of time. As unfortunate as Potter’s life might have been, Fate seemed to smile upon him quite frequently.

Sure enough, Potter groaned. Weasley seemed to overcome her momentary fear of Daphne Dressler and moved closer. “Harry, are you there? Are you okay?”

“…Gin…” he moaned. Relief lit Weasley’s face like a beacon, and after slipping his glasses on, she immediately moved to embrace him. She jerked back abruptly as Dressler pushed closer to the bedside. Severus watched that particular reaction with great interest. She wasn’t just intimidated by the woman, something that a great number of wizards and witches could be accused of, but she was downright terrified of her.

She’s seen something, Snape thought. She’s seen the Grey Maiden in action.

Then he had it. He’d been sent into the Forest by Dressler to recover Weasley after a running battle in the Forest between Dressler, Black, Potter, his friends, Peter Pettigrew, Fenrir Greyback, and the Carrows. And no less than five meters from the terrified girl, he’d seen the mutilated corpse of Amycus Carrow, a cruel and uncreative Death Eater. Neither he nor his sister were known for their brains.

Dear Merlin, she watched Dressler torture and kill that man. I thought her terror was the result of being subjected to the Cruciatus. I was wrong. She’d just seen her best friend’s guardian become a monster.

He watched Potter’s reaction with great interest, but he didn’t seem to notice his girlfriend’s fear. He immediately began whispering something in Dressler’s ear, and the woman nodded. He doesn’t know, Severus understood. He’s no doubt heard the stories, but they hardly do that woman’s crimes justice. He knows what his guardian has done, and what she’s capable of, but he doesn’t understand how far she’s slipped.

Severus Snape wasn’t sure he was so terrified by the ignorance of another person, to any subject, in his entire life. Watching Potter and Dressler together, it was clear there was a symbiotic relationship, a mutual reliance. One could not function without the other. That was how Potter had managed to forgive the woman for torturing him and shattering his mind. The relationship had already developed past the point of reason.

Severus hadn’t been certain it was possible for Dressler to be more dangerous than she already was. He had just been proven horribly wrong.

What to do about it?’

Before he could ponder the answer to that question, Dressler stood. “Lord Voldemort has been returned to body. Harry was an unwilling participant in the ritual that resurrected the Dark Lord. Harry dueled him, and managed to survive long enough to get back to the Cup and Cedric’s body.” She pursed her lips. “Bellatrix Lestrange was there.”

Severus was stunned, and like everyone else in the room, he turned to Dumbledore for an explanation. “I have heard nothing of any escapes from Azkaban,” he said, his voice tired. “I shall of course notify Cornelius.” Not without reason was Severus quite confident that the Minister would refuse to believe it, then do nothing once the evidence mounted.

“I’ll send the letter,” Minerva volunteered. “You should stay here, Albus. I am certain that there is more of a story to tell.”

The wizened Headmaster nodded, and his Deputy Headmistress departed.

Poppy Pomfrey had finally arrived, coming to Harry’s bedside with such determined strides that Dressler herself had moved out of the way. The Mediwitch checked Potter’s vitals, casting several different monitoring spells on him, and then checking his forehead. The progression from complex medical magic to the most basic of diagnostics was somewhat ironic. Then she moved to the boy’s right arm. She cast a Numbing Charm and Clotting Charm on it. Severus had seen the boy’s injury from a distance, but even he wasn’t prepared for the sight of a blood-soaked remnant of an arm. Despite their loyalty to Potter, a number of his friends who had gathered around the bed to check his condition recoiled in disgust and revulsion. Granger was dry-heaving. For his part, Potter stared down at his ruined arm with a strange, distant curiosity. The Mediwitch finished changing the dressing, and removed the Clotting Charm.

“What happened?” Longbottom burst out.

“Flesh-Shredding Curse,” Potter replied with clinical detachment. “Voldemort’s.”

At that moment, Severus felt a rare emotion: pity.

The boy glanced up at the Mediwitch, a primal fear shining in his eyes. “Can you save the arm?”

“Probably,” Pomfrey said. “It’s completely resistant to Healing Spells, so I’m hoping your own magic can dispel the Dark magic festering in the wounds. You’ll need to change the dressings every day until the wounds heal. I’ll give you my strongest Healing Potions, but while I’ve treated a Diripio victim before, he wasn’t cursed by You-Know-Who himself. So I’m not sure exactly what to expect. Keep that arm numbed, though, or you probably won’t be able to stand up from the pain.”

Harry had been listening intently, but his fears didn’t seem to have been soothed. His maturity and composure at that moment were deeply unnerving. While it could probably be explained in part by shock, some part of Potter had been forever changed by his experience in the graveyard. His innocence was gone, completely eradicated by his suffering.

Dressler had taken a seat beside Harry, and was staring at him, deep in thought. On the other side, Weasley seemed to overcome her fears. “Are you okay, Harry? I mean, really okay?” she asked quietly. She alone had the nerve to ask the question they all desperately needed to hear the answer to.

“No,” he replied without hesitation. “I’m not okay.” His voice had finally begun shaking. “I almost died. I should have died. I’d accepted it, really. Accepted that I wasn’t going to get out of there alive.”

“You’re here now,” Weasley insisted. “You’ll heal up. You’ll be okay, Harry.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again, Ginny. Not while he’s still out there. Even then…”

The implications of his words began to sink in for all of them. Potter seemed remarkably alert, but also quite distant, as if he wasn’t completely there.

Dressler rose. “Harry, you don’t need to tell us the details. I’ll take care of that end. I’m sorry, but I’m going to need to ask you to call to mind tonight’s events, starting with after you seized the Cup’s handle.”

“He’s suffered enough!” Weasley protested, seizing her boyfriend’s left hand possessively. “He doesn’t need to go through that again.” Granger, he noticed, was nodding along with her friend. So was Longbottom. Lovegood and Zabini remained motionless.

“She’s right,” Potter said quietly. “They need to know.” He looked at his guardian. “Can you somehow make a copy. I…I can’t allow myself to forget. Not now.”

Severus was stunned by the boy’s request. Surely, given everything he’d suffered, he’d enjoy a respite from the memories. But he’d misjudged Harry Potter once again. He’d made the mistake of thinking of him as a young man. At fourteen, the boy was already an adult.

Dressler nodded. Potter squeezed his eyes shut, while Weasley clamped his left hand like a vise. He moaned occasionally, but the entire exercise took less than a minute. Dressler drew the long gray strand of memory into a vial. She looked to Dumbledore. “We should review this as soon as possible.”

“Right now would be an appropriate time,” the Headmaster agreed. “Severus, I assume you’d-”

“I’m coming,” Snape replied without hesitation. He needed to see. Needed to understand what Potter was going through, so that he could help him. That was his role as the boy’s Head of House, wasn’t it?

Something more than that, now.

“So am I!” Black said, getting to his feet. Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “I’ll be right back, Harry,” he said. The young man barely nodded. Dressler seemed to tense slightly, but said nothing.

Severus moved toward the exit with the other three, leaving the teenagers alone. As soon as they’d left, Severus heard a loud outburst of questions coming from inside.

It begins.


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