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SIYE Time:11:41 on 29th 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: 132518; Chapter Total: 6455







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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Chapter 5: What Lies Ahead

The students disembarked the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade station in the middle of a downpour. Black-robed children hurried about with First Years huddling together near Hagrid’s shining lantern. Harry, Hermione and Ginny hurried across the station platform into the muddy field where the Threstral-drawn carriages waited, but as they were about to get into the carriage, Ginny stopped suddenly with a gasp. “Ginny?” Harry asked. He noticed that she was staring into the fiery red eyes of the lead Threstral. But she can’t see them, can she?

“I can see them,” she said, her voice wavering. Her knees were shaking, and Harry rushed over to support her, as Hermione watched with concern.

“How?” Hermione asked. “You haven’t seen anyone…die, have you?” Her voice was filled with a kind of “Aha!” tone that came from sudden realization. Obviously, she’d made some kind of connection that Harry hadn’t picked up on yet.

Ginny shook her head. “I…hadn’t thought so,” she said, her tone entirely unconvincing. Harry knew she was lying. One did not simply forget witnessing the death of another human being. He wondered if this might have to do with the nightmares that she’d suffered the previous year into this summer. Perhaps that was the connection that Hermione thought that she had discovered. She was still staring at it when she said, “Let’s get into the carriage. I’m getting wet.”

All three of them climbed into the carriage and settled in. They didn’t speak as the Threstral-drawn vehicles rolled up the wet, muddy path towards the brightly lit castle in the distance. Harry sat closer to Ginny than he normally did, and she tiredly leaned her head on his shoulder. “You okay?” he whispered.

Ginny nodded. “Just a bit tired…you don’t mind, do you?”

Harry shook his head. She smiled, and relaxed again. Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was staring out of the open door of the carriage into the heavy rain. Harry decided not to interrupt her thoughts, and closed his own eyes as they continued up the path.

The carriage ground to a halt, and the three of them got out and walked through the huge oak doors into the magnificent entrance hall of Hogwarts. Harry always felt more at home here, for some reason. The mass of students began to file in to the Great Hall, and it was here that Hermione separated from her friends. It was customary that students sit with their Houses at the Welcoming and Leaving Feasts, and Hermione didn’t mind spending some time with her fellow classmates. Blaise was already sitting at the Slytherin table, and waved to Harry and Ginny as they approached. Harry sat down next to him. “Sorry about that whole thing on the train. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Blaise shrugged it off. “Don’t worry about it. Sounds like she was really upset about the whole thing, though. Not sure why she brought me into it.”

“She’s just not that fond of you,” Ginny explained. “You strike her as sneaky and arrogant, and she doesn’t want you to be Harry’s friend.”

Blaise nodded, and then stared out at the mass of students and the Head Table. “That’s odd.”

“What?” asked Ginny.

“No Defense teacher,” he clarified. “There isn’t any one new at the Head Table.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I’d hoped Lupin would come back, but my father told me he resigned. Pity, that. I wonder if Snape finally got the job. He’s been dying to teach that subject for years.”

“Small wonder, after seeing traitors like Quirrell and idiots like Lockhart at that desk,” Harry commented. “I wasn’t aware he knew much about defense against Dark Magic.”

Ginny frowned. “What?” Harry asked.

She leaned over. “I heard Dad mentioned a guy named ‘Mad-Eye’ in connection to Hogwarts,” she said. “I haven’t the slightest clue who he is, of course.”

“I do,” Harry told her. “Alastor Moody, an Auror from the War. Daphne says that he taught her everything she knows.”

“Impressive,” Blaise said. “Any body who knows more than Daphne Dressler has to be really good. And a bloody good teacher. I’ve heard of the guy too, but he didn’t sound like the type who’d agree to come out of retirement to teach children.”

As they were speaking, the Sorting began. Dozens of young, black-robed witches and wizards filed into the Great Hall followed by Professor Minerva McGonagall, wearing fine robes of deep maroon, the color of her own house, and a pointed witch’s hat. The noise level dropped quite a bit, but Harry wasn’t particularly interested in the new First Years. But when they had all joined a table, one remained, and unless Harry was quite mistaken, she was not eleven-years old.

“I’d like to apologize for my oversight,” Professor McGonagall said. “Though it is not common, Hogwarts occasionally receives new students who either transfer from other wizarding schools or have been home-schooled until they enroll. This is Giselle Reisor, and she will be a Fourth Year.” She gestured for the girl to get up and walk over to the stool where the Sorting Hat was resting. She appeared timid at first, but seemed to gain confidence as she strode towards the front of the hall. She sat down and pulled the Sorting Hat over her eyes. It didn’t take long before the hat bellowed, “SLYTHERIN!

Harry clapped politely as the girl removed the hat and rose, gentling setting the Sorting Hat back on the stool and make her way over to where the Fourth Year Slytherins sat. Harry studied her as she approached. She was fairly tall, a few inches shorter than he, with short black hair and icy blue eyes that scanned the table as if searching for potential threats. Giselle was waved over by Millicent Bulstrode, sitting about six seats away from Harry, and accepted the invitation. The way in which she moved did not scream ‘pureblood,’ though the possibility remained. Harry was curious, and resolved to learn more.

Blaise spoke first, “What do you think-”

“Dumbledore’s about to speak,” Ginny interrupted. “Quiet.”

As his friend whispered this, the tall, grandfatherly-looking wizard, dressed in colorful robes of purple and gold, his long white beard tucked into them, stood and held out his hands to both sides. “Welcome,” he said to the room. Whatever chatter that had persisted when the great wizard had gotten up faded in a heartbeat. Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, was a man that commanded immense respect from everyone. Harry didn’t know if the rumor that he was the only person that Lord Voldemort had ever feared was completely accurate, but he knew that the old man possessed incredible power, raw magical strength and ability that rivaled or even succeeded Harry’s own. The difference between him and the teenager over a century his junior was of course, that he had wielded it longer, and could control it to an extent that Harry could only dream of.

“Welcome,” he repeated, “to another year at Hogwarts. I trust that you are all rested and rusty from your time off. I expect that it may take a few days to shake off all of the cobwebs, but I expect another fine year of learning and growth from all of you.”

When he paused, there was now dead silence. Dumbledore commanded everyone’s attention. Someday, they’ll look at me like that too, Harry told himself. He let that thought slip away and refocused his attention.

“I would also like to inform you that a very special event will be taking place at Hogwarts this year. This event is the culmination of months of work between the ministries of several different countries and the administrations of several wizarding schools, and represents a recent high in international magical cooperation. For the first time since it was discontinued for safety reasons, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament.”

This time, even the respect that the students had for Dumbledore couldn’t contain the excitement as whispered conversations broke out everywhere. “Bloody hell,” Blaise whispered. “That’s brilliant…”

Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but Dumbledore began speaking again, quieting the room. “The two other schools that will be competing are Durmstrang Institute of Sorcery and the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Their delegations, including prospective champions and the Heads of each school, will be arriving sometime in October. On Halloween, the champions will be selected and the judges revealed.” He paused, possibly for dramatic effect. “It is a great honor to host such a historic competition. While the ultimate goal of this enterprise is to bring home a trophy, this is also a wonderful opportunity to meet young witches and wizards from other schools, cultures, and backgrounds. I expect that we will learn as much from interacting with one another as we will from watching the champions compete. As for the champions, the winner will receive 1,000 galleons prize money, as well as the Triwizard Cup itself.” Whispers of excitement broke out among the crowd, but were silenced when Dumbledore continued.

“The Triwizard Tournament was originally banned because of the high death toll. We have taken steps to insure that this new incarnation will not be nearly as dangerous. However, we have agreed to limit prospective champions to those who have already come of age. We are all in agreement that students below 7th year will not have the training and skills to cope with the challenges they will face.” There was a loud series of groans and cries of protest, more noticeably from the Weasley twins. Harry couldn’t help but grin; the twins would be turning seventeen less than a year after the champions were selected. And assuming that both would be allowed to represent Hogwarts, Harry wasn’t so sure they weren’t up to the challenge. Many were fooled by their actions, believing them to be pranksters of negligible magical talent. Harry knew better. Identical magical twins were exceedingly rare, and nearly all of them had been very powerful. It was a mistake to underestimate the Weasley twins.

Harry abruptly realized that Ginny was whispering something angrily in his ear. He turned and looked at her. “What?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. Her face was red with fury. “You. Are. Not. Entering. Do you understand me?” she demanded, her voice hissing through gritted teeth.

Harry stared at her in confusion. “I wouldn’t be able to pull it off even if I wanted to. I was actually thinking about the twins’ chances, not daydreaming about hoisting the Cup over my head…anyway, you wouldn’t have a chance to kill me. Daphne would get to me first.”

Good,” Ginny said. “Because it sounds like exactly the kind of boneheaded, reckless, delusional thing that you would try.”

Harry held back a retort. It had certainly occurred to him that the winner of the Triwizard Tournament would receive the kind of positive fame he so craved, but the risks far outweighed the benefits. He would make his name in other ways.

Dumbledore finally quieted the student body. “Once the delegations from the other schools arrive, I will explain the competition in greater detail. For now, though, I have a few more announcements. As usual, the Forbidden Forest is out-of-bounds, and any students caught within it will be punished severely.” He gave his customary warning glance at the Weasley twins, who appeared to be still seething over their inability to enter the Triwizard Tournament. “In addition, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that-”

Dumbledore only got that far, because the doors to the Great Hall were flung open with tremendous - and Harry thought, unnecessary - force, crashing into the stone walls of the castle with a loud boom. A limping figure began hobbling down the center aisle towards the Head Tables. The man, his grizzled face scarred and battered, his right eye an unnatural electric blue that swiveling in equally impossible directions as he approached, had one of the most menacing and intimidating appearances that Harry had ever seen. His wooden leg, at the end of it a shining metal claw, clinked softly on the stone floor. He wore a black cape, one that almost hid his misshapen nose and scarred visage. It was Alastor Moody.

Dumbledore smiled at the appearance of the newcomer. “I would like to introduce my good friend Alastor Moody, who has graciously accepted the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the coming term. Professor Moody brings with him unparalleled skills and experience, and I hope that you are able to take advantage of that knowledge.” The room remained silent, save for the occasional whisper, as Daphne Dressler’s mentor took his seat. Dumbledore then proceeded to complete his announcement concerning all of the new additions to Filch’s list of items banned at Hogwarts, and made a few more comments before declaring, “Dig in.”

The food appeared, and Harry, consumed by a ravenous hunger, quickly loaded up his plate. He glanced over toward the Gryffindor table and saw that, to his relief, Hermione was actually eating her house-elf-prepared food, albeit reluctantly. Harry and Ginny chatted throughout dinner, but Harry was more concerned with nourishment than conversation. He listened, though, to bits of discussion between some of his classmates, including Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Millicent Bulstrode, Blaise, and Pansy Parkinson. He also spared a few glances down at the newcomer, Giselle, who ate quietly and said little. Something was…off about her, but he seemed to be the only one that noticed.


Potter,” Snape’s voice called out as he walked down the dungeon corridor on his way to breakfast the next morning. He stopped and turned. His Potions professor and Head of House stood there, looking no more irritated than he normally did. He obviously wanted to talk to Harry, not to discipline him.

“Yes, Professor?” Harry said politely.

Snape eyed him warily for a moment, for reasons beyond Harry’s comprehension. “I wish to speak with you on…a number of subjects. If the conversation runs longer than I intended, I will have breakfast brought to my office.” The last statement demonstrated that, so much as it was possible, Severus Snape liked James Potter’s son. The fact that he even addressed the unspoken question concerning the desires of another human being was quite meaningful, and demonstrated how far their relationship had come from Harry’s First Year. Of course, the fact that he was unusually skilled at Potions and played Quidditch well for Slytherin House probably had something to do with it. Snape judged no one by his own character, he only cared about a person’s actions, and more specifically, how they affected himself. Harry had learned to understand, and to a degree, accept that.

“Of course, sir,” Harry replied. “We’ll speak in your office?”

Snape nodded slowly. “Come,” he said simply.

Harry followed obediently. One of Snape’s only redeeming values was that he extremely predictable. The arrived at the door to his office, which and Snape walked inside. Harry quickly entered just as Snape was sitting down. Neither one of them spoke for a moment. The Potions Master’s desk was clean, for once not covered in heavily marked student essays. “I hear from my Godson that he and his father were involved in a bit of an altercation with you, Potter.”

The way Snape spoke of Draco Malfoy was quite telling as to what he thought of the boy; he was contemptuous and angry. It was difficult to blame him for being disappointed. Considering who his father was, no matter how arrogant and conceited Lucius could be, the fact that the younger Malfoy seemed to have picked up none of the proper behavior and manner expected of a pureblood heir was somewhat mystifying. Draco had an extremely inflated opinion of himself, and was obviously spoiled. But when compared to a girl like Daphne Greengrass, who Harry considered to be the consummate Slytherin, he seemed rather…pathetic. Malfoy spoke loudly and boisterously, and crumpled when asked to back up his claims of greatness. The same could be said, albeit to a lesser extent, of Pansy Parkinson.

“Two of them, actually, sir,” Harry admitted, answering his question.

Snape frowned. “Two?”

Harry took a deep breath. “The first came at the Quidditch World Cup. Unless I was very much mistaken, Lucius was parading around the moor with some of his old comrades the night of the match. Daphne, Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks, and I, ambushed them. I managed to drive them off.”

Snape eyed him warily. “Potter, you are not normally one to take credit for things you haven’t done. But I have trouble believing that last statement. What, exactly, are you claiming to have done?”

Harry thought a moment, then responded. “I sent a burst of power right into the middle of the formation…with rather explosive results.”

Snape closed his eyes. After a long pause, he said, “I do hope you realize how profoundly stupid using your power in such a manner is. It is dangerous and wasteful. You could be a great duelist Potter, but you will not be one if you continued to insist on brute force. That, Mr. Potter, was the downfall of one Lord Grindelwald. He believed in his own invulnerability, and displayed no understanding of the finer points of the Dark Arts. He was a blunt instrument, a dangerous and unstable man who was ultimately destroyed because of his arrogance.”

Harry frowned. “I hadn’t expected that comparison.”

“It is, Potter, more valid than a comparison between you and the Dark Lord,” Snape told him, his voice steely and cold. He paused, smiling in a way that sent chills down Harry’s neck. “When I spoke of my Godson, I did it to test a theory,” he explained. “And it was no challenge to pick up your thoughts; your barriers are pitiful. You are overconfident, Potter. You have far more to learn than you realize.”

Harry listened intently. He wouldn’t allow shame to show, but he knew that Snape’s statements were logical and perfectly rational. He also knew that Snape was telling him the exact same thing his friends had been trying to convince him of for over a year, but the way he approached it was different. Somehow, it was making an impact. He’d have to spend some time thinking about this. “Why are you so concerned?” Harry asked, practically blurting the question. “You almost sound like you feel that you could teach me these things.”

Snape eyed him coldly. “If that is the impression that you are getting, then you are mistaken. I care, Potter, because I am bound to the Dark Lord. And anyone with half of a functioning brain realizes that you do not possess such power by accident. Fate has purpose, Potter. I do not need a Prophecy to allow me to understand that you will be the ultimate decider of the fate of the wizarding world. Dumbledore is old, Potter, and his time has passed. But be warned, Potter, I will not raise you up on a pedestal until you earn that right. You have earned my respect, if not my admiration. But the fact that you are willing to take up the banner of the Light, or simply to oppose Voldemort at all, means nothing to me. I am not one that gives my loyalty blindly.”

“I know that,” Harry said. “And I know that I still have a lot to learn. Daphne-”

“- is blind,” Snape interrupted sharply. “Dressler is broken woman clinging to a desperate hope. Whether you want to accept it or not, it is the truth. Her knowledge is still of great value to you. But her wisdom and advice are not.”

He paused, but Harry sensed that it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to speak. “You will arrange a meeting with the Headmaster,” he said. “Albus can teach you far more than I can, even if he too is occasionally unable to sense what is directly in front of him. In addition, you will meet with me every Thursday for Occlumency lessons. This is not negotiable. Do I make myself clear, Potter?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied firmly. “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me, Potter,” Snape said. “After all, I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know. And if you are unable to think realistically without my prodding, then we have already lost. I will not baby you, Potter. I will not be your mentor, your teacher, or your counselor. But I am a man who acts in his own best interests. And preparing you for what lies ahead ranks very close to the top of my list.”


Hermione was not fond of Potions. As soon as she crossed the threshold into the dark, dank Potions classroom, most of her good cheer from her first class of the year, Transfiguration, had vanished.

She really couldn’t say why it was that she really didn’t enjoy Potions. It probably had something to do with the teacher, but she hated the thought that she would not allow herself to enjoy what could be a fascinating subject simply because Professor Snape was a mean, vindictive bastard. Though Harry seemed to have allowed it to fade into the past, Hermione’s memories of his appalling treatment of the two of them during their First Year were as clear as ever. And as ashamed as she still was that she’d allowed her own prejudices and preconceptions to color her opinion of Harry, she still hadn’t forgiven Snape for intentionally tormenting her by partnering the two. Of course, they’d been working together ever since, by mutual agreement and to their mutual benefit.

Hermione was well aware that she was Professor McGonagall’s favorite pupil, by a wide margin. And Hermione had to admit that she hadn’t exactly resisted the opportunity to get close to her Head of House. She justified it by telling herself that she had learned a great deal during their occasional conversations, and that it wasn’t as if she needed McGonagall’s favor to receive excellent marks in Transfiguration.

Snape was an entirely different matter altogether. He was twisted and sadistic, and had no business teaching impressionable young schoolchildren. Even when she achieved highly in his class, the man displayed little but contempt and disdain, for no other reason but that she was a Muggleborn Gryffindor. Ginny didn’t like him either, though she didn’t really stand out in Potions, and because she was in his House, the Slytherin Head wasn’t as harsh with her. Harry…

She simply had no explanation for Harry’s relationship with the man. And that concerned her. As much as he might want to forget it, Snape had treated him horribly, only letting up when Harry had become the Slytherin Seeker. Even then, he’d done nothing to protect Harry from the horrific abuse heaped upon him by his own Housemates. Now, Harry looked to him as some kind of mentor. He’d been absent from breakfast, apparently because Snape had wanted to talk to him. She doubted they’d spent the entire time talking about his extra Potions assignments. What further confused her was that he’d been rather subdued. Hermione wasn’t about to thank Snape for taking Harry’s confidence down a notch, especially given the way in which he’d likely done it, but it seemed possible he might have accomplished something that she and Ginny had utterly failed at.

She quietly took her seat next to Harry, who was studying a Potions text, one that was describing various Healing Potions. Hermione knew little about them except that they were very difficult to make, and obviously required a great deal of precision to insure that they didn’t end up causing further harm. Harry glanced up at her. “Good timing,” he said. She had stayed behind for a few minutes to discuss some details of the Transfiguration homework, but it appeared that she wasn’t late. Snape’s desk was unoccupied.

“Extra work?” she asked.

Harry nodded. “I managed to talk to Moon briefly, and she told me this was the book that she told me Snape had recommended. It’s really fascinating, if extremely challenging. Some of these Potions require certain ingredients to be added at precise times of day.”

Harry was speaking of Elisha Moon, the quiet and unassuming (at least Hermione believed) Potions prodigy that worked together with Snape in his extra lessons. Harry reported that she had an unbelievable memory of ingredients, their effects and uses, and the ingredients needed to neutralize them. She also had a bit of a darker side. Harry said he’d been a bit disturbed by the long and detailed conversation she had with Snape about lethal poisons, and by the enthusiasm in her voice as she listed the symptoms that a victim would show. Moon was a loner, and the truth was that Hermione simply didn’t know her. She worked with Tracy Davis, a Slytherin girl of considerably lesser talent, in the back of the classroom.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the classroom door slamming open. Any students that hadn’t already done so instantly sat down and pulled out parchment and quill, awaiting instructions. If there was anything that Snape’s tactics of intimidation and disparagement accomplished, it was discipline. Snape marched down the center of the classroom to her desk, black cloak billowing behind him. He sat down and eyed his class with cold eyes, which lingered on Hermione. She stared back at him, unblinking and defiant.

“You’ve had an entire summer to idle and accomplish nothing, so I expect you to be at your best,” he began. “As usual, we will be handling volatile compounds and potentially poisonous mixtures, and I’d prefer that I did not have to carry any dunderheads to the Hospital Wing this year.” His eyes found Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Hermione felt a flash of pity. Harry had a unique connection with Neville, and had done his best to build the boy’s confidence over the year, but he always melted under the withering glare of Snape.

“Next year, as you should know, you will be taking your Ordinary Wizarding Levels in this class. I expect the majority of you to do poorly, but some might still be salvageable. I am telling you this because we will be studying a number of subjects that will be on that exam this year. The first part of the year will focus primarily on antidotes and the most basic of healing potions, though I fully expect a number of you to fail to brew such simple potions. The second half of the year will be focused on an introduction to simple poisons. Next year, we will cover the more advanced antidotes and poisons, and I am already dreading it,” he finished with a sneer. “Today, you will be attempting to brew the Awakening Potion. As most of you probably suspect, it is used to revive witches and wizards that have either consumed powerful sleeping potions or are suffering from the effects of an average Sleeping Spell.” He drew his wand with a flourish and tapped the board. A long list of ingredients and instructions appeared. Hermione began copying them down as Snape said, “You have everything you need there. I have re-stocked the supply cabinet, so I won’t accept any excuse that you couldn’t find an ingredient. You have the entire class. Begin.”

Hermione got up to gather all of the needed ingredients, while Harry carefully copied Snape’s instructions. Once he was done, he began to examine them closely, searching for possible shortcuts or opportunities to improve the potion. Snape, as exacting and demanding as he could be, still used the standard textbook instructions. Harry knew enough so that he could confidently substitute ingredients or change the measures without fear of ruining the potion itself. And Hermione had gotten the idea that the two of them might be marked down for failure to do exactly that.

She returned with a tray of vials, jars, and bags of various magical and natural substances. Harry was mumbling something to himself, but he stopped when Hermione approached. At her questioning look, he said, “I was just trying to remember if there was a better alternative to using crushed pomegranate seeds to neutralize the corrosive qualities of the rot-weed.”

Hermione, for once, knew what he was talking about. It was rather frustrating, but no matter how much she studied, she simply didn’t possess the initiative ability that Harry had when it came to Potions. But in this instance she could remember a passage involving the limitations of crushed pomegranate seeds as a neutralizing agent. “What about…Kalas Weed?” she suggested.

Harry considered that for a moment, then smiled. “Perfect. It’s more potent than pomegranate seeds, albeit a bit more volatile. Start the water boiling and I’ll try to find some in the supply closet,” he instructed. She did as he asked, and the cauldron was bubbling when he returned. “Okay, let’s get started. Add a handful of knotgrass.”

Hermione frowned. “How much is a handful?

Harry shook his head. “Knotgrass is so harmless that it doesn’t really matter.” He went back to examining the instructions. Hermione felt a bit sorry for him, but felt that this system was even more unfair to her. She wasn’t at Harry’s level, yet because they worked together, Snape would expect far more from both of them.

Trusting his judgment, she added the knotgrass, which settled into the water. She followed his instructions carefully, and once he was certain that there were no viable alternatives to the given instructions, Harry assisted her in preparing the rest of the ingredients. “It’s been almost five minutes,” he reminded her. “Get ready to add the Kalas Weed.” He went back to pulverizing the Bowtruckle branch into a fine powder, which she eventually added. The potion flashed orange, then shifted into a warm light blue. Harry smiled.

Professor Snape was now patrolling around the desks, critiquing the work of his students, and insulting them at every opportunity. He warmed up by ridiculing the pathetic half-hearted efforts of Patil and Brown. Ron was seething by the time Snape had finished lecturing to him about his creation, which, instead of being light green as it should have been, was a muddy brown with what appeared to be undissolved Knotgrass floating in it. It was utterly incomprehensible, even to Hermione, that a person could be so careless as to not actually bring the water to a boil before carelessly tossing in the ingredients. He then proceeded to harass his favorite target, Neville Longbottom, working with Seamus Finnegan, who wasn’t exactly a Potions Master himself. Hermione pitied both of them.

“Longbottom, I do hope that you don’t expect someone to drink from that. Apparently you did not understand me when I told you that we would be starting our study of venoms next term,” Snape said in a soft, cutting voice. “I must congratulate you for being so completely incompetent that you managed to brew something that will likely kill as fast as the Black Widow Drought. Clean out your cauldron Misters Longbottom and Finnegan. I expect a roll of parchment from both of you on my desk tomorrow detailing exactly how you created this monster.”

Leaving Neville trembling in his wake, Snape continued on to his Godson and Pansy Parkinson. “I’ve seen worse,” he said briefly. He was considerably more generous with his criticism of Blaise and Millicent. He simply nodded in satisfaction at Moon and Davis. He made a rare complimentary remark after examining the work of Greengrass and Nott. Harry and Hermione were last. Hermione added two grams of Flobberworm mucus and stirred the potion clockwise four times, as per Harry’s instructions. Snape scrutinized their work, and Hermione tried to ignore his presence, focusing on making sure they didn’t wait too long before adding their next ingredient. “Mr. Potter,” Professor began, “I would appreciate it if you might at least make an effort to actively participate in the physical aspects of brewing this Potion, but from the changes you made from the original basic instructions, I see that you have not been wasting you time. You have even outdone Miss Moon in originality. Five points to Slytherin for your initiative.”

Ron spluttered angrily from the back of the classroom. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Potter just sits back and tells Granger what to do, you call him on it, and you give him five points for sitting on his arse?” Hermione knew what was coming next.

Snape rounded on him. “I will not tolerate your pathetic outbursts in class, Weasley. Twenty Points from Gryffindor for questioning my judgment, and ten more for your foul tongue. Just because I trust that Mr. Potter is, unlike yourself, capable of brewing the potion by himself, is not a reason to cry favoritism. Perhaps if you applied yourself and kept your mind away from that inane game you might someday be half of the Potions student that he is.”

Ron looked stunned for a moment. Harry whispered something in her ear. “What?” she whispered back.

“He used Legilimency,” Harry said. “He locked eyes with Weasley; that’s how Snape knew that he was thinking about Quidditch.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Hermione whispered loudly. Snape turned on her this time, and sent her a withering glare. She felt a cold presence quickly enter her mind and a flash of brief pain. Her cheeks reddened with anger, but she fought to keep her emotions under control.

“Ten more points from Gryffindor, Granger. Focus on your work,” he said curtly. Hermione managed to stay silent for the rest of the class, and she managed to sufficiently concentrate enough to finish the potion. Harry seemed pleased with the end product, and she felt that it was much better than anyone else’s.

Hermione went up to the desk, carrying a vial of the potion, as Harry began to clean up their workspace. Snape looked up at her as she came closer. “Good,” he said simply. More quietly, he whispered in a menacing tone. “Whether or not what I do is legal is irrelevant, Granger. If you provoke me, I will not hesitate to punish you. Do I make myself clear?”

She forced a nod, and then returned to Harry. As soon as they were out of earshot of the Potions Classroom, Hermione exploded. “The gall of that man,” she said, letting some of her pent up rage out. “He knows full well that what he did was illegal, and just to prove a point, he used it on me. And then he threatened me when I went up to give him our potion. And just for good measure, he took a total of thirty points! We’re probably in last place now!The man rules by terror, damn all the rules!” Hermione was panting by the end of her rant.

Harry looked sympathetic, but merely shrugged. “He is who he is,” he said simply. “It doesn’t make him any less of a vindictive bastard, but Dumbledore trusts him, and that seems to be all that matters.”

“Of course you would say that,” Hermione replied indignantly. “You didn’t just see thirty points taken from your House and have your mental privacy violated.”

Harry’s cheeks turned slightly red. “Do you really think I give a damn about points?” he hissed. “I’m sorry for what he did to you, but I had to put up with a lot to get on his good side, and I’m not about to throw that away fighting an argument that I can’t win.”

Hermione was silent. How can he stand Snape? How can he just forget how horrible that he was to him? It’s not as though he has forgiven Ron!

“Because Snape is valuable, and Weasley is useless,” Harry replied to her unspoken question. She turned an accusing glare at him, but he raised his hands. “When you think like that, to a person as sensitive to fluctuations in magic as I am, you might as well be screaming it at the top of your lungs. I didn’t hear what you said, so to speak, but I felt the gist of it, and made the connection.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.” She felt a twinge of jealousy that Harry had so much power, and that he was beginning to learn how to wield it. She hadn’t even tried to use fire-related magic outside of the occasional Ignition Spell since the previous year.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and looked away. Hermione huffed. “If you are going to say something, just say it.”

“You are thinking about your own abilities, and how you haven’t had a chance to develop them,” Harry said simply. “I don’t need any assistance to figure that out. Dumbledore did say that McGonagall would be willing to help you. If you are so anxious, what’s stopping you from asking her about it?”

It was a reasonable question, but Hermione didn’t really have an answer. “I guess I’m just procrastinating,” she said lamely.

Harry gave her a suspicious look. “Since when do you procrastinate?”

Hermione didn’t respond. She sighed. “I need to get to Herbology, and you should get to Charms.”

Harry blinked in confusion at the change in subject, but nodded. Hermione walked back through the dungeon, images of the time she’d nearly killed Harry with an overcharged Burning Curse flashing through her mind.


Harry had been looking forward to his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year. “Mad-Eye” had received rave reviews from his first classes of students, who were impressed with his knowledge and his willingness to show them the Darker side of magic. As good as Remus had been the previous year, Harry would be lying to himself if he said that his father’s friend had really tried to get his students to understand what Dark magic could do to a human being. Based on what he’d heard from Daphne, his guess was that Moody had no such inhibitions.

When he entered the classroom there were a few students milling around, anxiously looking around for their new teacher. Harry noticed that very little about the classroom had changed, saved for the addition of a few instruments he recognized as Dark Detectors, including a mini Foe Glass on Moody’s desk. Harry sat down toward the back of the classroom, where the Slytherins tended to located themselves. He waved a friendly greeting to Blaise as his friend entered, and Blaise returned it, even though he was engrossed in conversation with Millicent Bulstrode. Hermione came in, her bookbag full to bursting and several textbooks in her arms. She crashed down in the desk next to him. “Library,” she explained.

The rest of the class began to file in, and no sooner had they assembled than Harry heard the clicking of Moody’s cane on the stone floor of the hallway. Moody entered, looking bedraggled but still menacing. His electric blue eye spun in its socket, examining all of the students that passed behind him as he made his way up to the front of the classroom. He took attended, pronouncing each name in the same, gruff tone, though he did pause on Harry’s name. Harry had gotten used to it, and hardly noticed. Once he was done, the retired Auror addressed his class. “It seems that I am inheriting a rather under-educated bunch of children,” he began. “Lupin probably did the best job of the three, but that isn’t saying much. I suspect you learned nothing of use from that ponce Lockhart and the traitor Quirrell. Merlin forbid Voldemort actually teach you anything of practical use against him.” Most of the students in the class gasped when he said the name, and he glared at each and every one of them.

“How, exactly,” he began, “do you expect to combat the forces of the Dark Lord if you can’t say the bugger’s name?” he demanded. “It’s not a Conjuring Charm, it’s a name. Voldemort!”The word rang through the silent classroom, and the same group of people flinched.

Looking disgusted, he turned away. “As I was saying, last year you finally got something resembling a decent education in this class. Lupin covered the whole standard curriculum of Dark Creatures.”

Malfoy sniggered, but stopped as soon as both of Moody’s eyes locked with his. “You think that’s funny, boy? Do you? I’ll tell you this: Remus Lupin is far more of a man than your traitorous, boot-licking Death Eater father will ever be,” he snarled.

Draco turned bright red. “How dare you..?”

“I dare,” Moody replied, “because I saw Lucius Malfoy captured. And I gave a chunk of my body to take down his bodyguards," he said, rolling up his sleeve and tracing a hideous scar on his right arm. "One of my fellow Aurors gave his life. And you can imagine that I was none too pleased when I learned that he had paid his way out of Azkaban.”

“My father,” Draco began, “was under the Imperius Curse. He was targeted because of his stature in the pureblood community. He was declared innocent of all charges by Cornelius Fudge himself-”

“Perhaps,” Moody hissed, “if you keep repeating those lies to yourself, you’ll eventually convince yourself that they are true. Good luck convincing anyone else.”

The reaction of the class to this entire exchange varied greatly. Most of the Slytherins appeared mildly amused that Draco was entirely unable to mount an effective defense to Professor Moody’s accusations. Greengrass and Nott appeared entirely uninterested. Hermione was watching with a look of disapproval. But the rest of her fellow Gryffindors were staring at Moody in shock, and several of them, including Ron Weasley, in something resembling adoration. Harry’s anger with Ginny’s idiotic brother increased. Ron didn’t care at all about what was actually being discussed, he was simply enjoying Malfoy being insulted by a Professor. Ron understood very little about how the Wizarding World worked, something that Harry had little choice but to pin on his parents, who tried to shield their many children from the truth of the rampant corruption and evil imbued in the very fabric of wizarding society itself. It always intrigued Harry that Muggles had rid themselves of the system that wizarding society was stuck in centuries ago. He’d read a bit about the French Revolution, which had been a widespread revolt of the lower and middle classes against the privileged elite that had turned into decades of violence and war. In that society, too, those of noble blood had exerted dominance over those of less prestigious descent. The wizarding world, most notably in Europe, was an archaic relic of times past, and things hadn’t changed for centuries. And, if history was any indication, they weren’t likely to. Wizarding society was a society living within a society, one that didn’t even knew that they existed. Wizarding society could not be counted as an entirely distinct entity; though the lines had been drawn closer in the last few hundred years, with the establishment of the Ministries of Magic in a number of countries, ending the idea of wizards posing as Muggle politicians, inventors, and other persons of note, overlaps remained.

There were maybe 15,000 wizarding families living in Europe altogether. And the kind of dissatisfaction that had inspired the French Revolution simply did not exist. Muggle-born wizards were not used as slave labor or deprived of nourishment, as the French peasants had been. Most parents of Muggle-born witches and wizards knew little of the wizarding world, and most preferred not to associate with it, a preference that Harry could understand. After all, who would wish to immerse himself in a society where he was looked down upon for not possessing fantastic abilities that that society considered commonplace? What Harry had concluded was that unless there was a tremendous and unexpected upheaval of the wizarding world, things would remain essentially unchanged. Unless they began to marry Muggleborns in large numbers, the pureblood families would decrease in number, but there were still enough of them that it was hard to see them disappearing entirely. And those that remained would merely possess even more power.

“Planning to start paying attention, Potter?” Moody growled, his voice coming from an area of alarmingly close proximity. Harry started, emerging from his thoughts.

“Sorry, sir,” he said hurriedly. “I was just thinking.”

“On your own time, Mr. Potter, on your own time,” Moody replied, his magical eye unnerving at this distance. He broke eye contact and walked back to the board, tapping his walking stick on the words he’d apparently written on it. Harry read them with more than a twinge of surprise. The Unforgivable Curses. Ron sniggered at his lapse of concentration. Moody turned on him.

“Weasley, since you obviously know all of this, else you wouldn’t be fooling around in my class, you go first,” he said. “Name one of them.”

Surprisingly, it didn’t take him long to come up with an answer. “The Imperius Curse,” he said, his voice shaking a bit.

Moody nodded, tracing the letters on the board with his wand. “You would know that one,” he said. “Gave your father and the rest of the Ministry quite a problem during the war.” His magical eye again landed on Malfoy.

He picked up a jar containing a spider and removing the lid, set it upside-down on the desk. He lifted the jar and the spider began trying to run across the desk. Moody used an Immobilizing Charm to hold it in place. Then, he drew back his arm and cast, shouting “Imperio!”

Harry, somewhat stunned to see that Moody had actually used an Unforgivable at all, let alone in class, watched as the spider began to jump up and down, doing cartwheels in the air, and a number of other feats that would have been normally impossible. Many of the students in the class began laughing. Moody smiled evilly. “You think that’s funny, do you? Well, how would you like it if I did it to you.” That statement was met with complete silence.

“Total control,” Moody began. “That is what the Imperius Curse is about. It has been used in the past to force innocent people or wizards of good morals to commit heinous acts and take the blame for it. It is especially difficult to combat because the only symptom of a person that has been placed under it in the past is acute memory loss. Earlier in history, memory loss was incorrectly assumed to always be the result of a Memory Charm, one that the accused could have cast on themselves. It’s dangerous, but many still did it. And so a lot of innocent people spent time in Azkaban. The physical symptoms of a person under the influence of the Imperius Curse are milky-white eyes and flat speech. It can be used by anyone anywhere, so remember…CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he bellowed.

Many of the students jumped. Harry had been waiting for it, and hardly reacted. It was Moody’s motto, and Daphne said he repeated it like a prayer. “Next?” he asked. A number of people raised their hands, including Hermione. Moody was about to call on her when abruptly he pointed to…Neville, whose hand was surprisingly raised.

Harry had a feeling of surprise and dread. “Longbottom, right?” Moody asked, his voice considerably less gruff than usual. Neville nodded, but Harry could see the sweat glistening on his forehead.

“The…the Cruciatus Curse,” he whispered. Moody nodded gravely.

“The Torture Curse, is has also been called,” Moody said. “The sensation of being under it is not one I would care to describe to you. I would hope that you never have to endure it.” He stared pointedly at Harry, but left unsaid, except for those who already have. “It is, in my opinion, the foulest of the Unforgivables. The desire to kill, to take a life, can be a temporary thing. But to use the Cruciatus Curse long enough to cause permanent damage, which can include complete disintegration of mental processes and rational thought, in other words, total insanity, or even physical symptoms, particularly if the curse is targeted at one area repeatedly. It often causes internal damage and bleeding from the ears, nose, and mouth. It can cause paralysis if targeted at the spine. If sustained past the destruction of the victim’s mind, it can kill. And I assure you, there is no more brutal and agonizing way to die. Even curses that cause dismemberment produced a quick death.”

He dumped another spider onto the desk. “This needs to be larger for you to understand,” he said. “Engorgio!” The spider tripled in size, becoming as large as an average tarantula. Ron shrank back in fear. Ginny had mentioned that he hated spiders. “Crucio!”

The spider began to convulse and writhe in silent agony, but even as it did memories flashed through Harry’s mind. He saw Quirrell standing over him. He saw Daphne standing over him. He flinched, and felt Hermione’s hand squeezing his shoulder. Then he heard her cry, “That’s enough!”

Harry blinked in confusion, and saw that Hermione was looking at Neville, who looked like he was about to faint. Moody gave both of them a sympathetic look, then shrank the spider and returned it to its jar.

The was a long silence. “Does anyone know the last one?” he asked. Hermione raised her hand, but he called on Harry. “Mr. Potter?”

Avada Kedavra,” Harry said quietly. “The Killing Curse.” Many of eyes in the classroom, including Moody’s magical eye, flicked upward to the scar on his forehead. But at the moment, it was his second encounter with that curse that he was recalling. He’d come within inches of death, protected only by the small blood-red stone he’d carried in his pocket.

Harry watched, his face emotionless, as Moody drew out a spider, placed in on the desk, drew his wand back, and cried, “Avada Kedavra!” The sickly green jet of light struck the spider and enveloped it. The energy vanished, revealing the spider lying on its back, motionless. Dead, with no visible marks.

“These curses are not the Darkest you’ll ever encounter,” Moody said. “There are others, such as the Flesh Eating Curse, the Flesh-Shredding Curse, and the Mind Death Curse.” Hermione stiffened at the last. “But these three are the only ones guaranteed to get you thrown into Azkaban without a sentencing hearing. Once a jury convicts you, you have no appeals, you have no possibility of lesser punishment. The only choice is life-long incarceration in Azkaban.”

The bell rang. No one got up to leave. “Remember what I’ve told you. Constant Vigilance. Dumbledore asked me to show these to you so that you would be prepared for what lies ahead. Next class, there will be a test, but nothing involving memorizing what you learned today. It will be a far more challenging test. You are dismissed.”

The students slowly got up to leave. Harry rose and found his legs a bit shaky, but he walked easily. Neville was still sitting at his desk, staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused. Harry and Hermione made to approach him, but Moody stepped in front of them. “I’ll do it. You get to your next class.”


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