Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Chapter 5: A Fatal Explosion

Harry casts another spell over the Equipment storeroom.

It comes back the same as the last dozen spells.

There is no sign of any magical interference; no curses; no enchantments except for those which should be on the brooms and the Quidditch balls and snitches.

A hard knock against the open room door has him turning to look over his shoulder with a frown. It’s early in the day, the rest of the school is at breakfast, and he really wants to finish his testing.

Pettigrew stands beside the door in his Auror robe, his arms folded over his chest. His small hard eyes are narrowed on Harry. “We need to speak with you again about the recent incidents.”

“Right,” Harry pushes his glasses up his nose and frowns.

He’s already given two statements to Pettigrew and Croaker. He’s not sure how much else there is to say. While he’s previously endeavoured not to have an opinion about his father’s old school friends, that has definitely been tested in the past week.

James thinks they’re just being thorough, but James has been sidelined from the investigation by Scrimgeour citing a conflict of interest.

Dumbledore is annoyed by what he feels is Ministry interference and Harry is annoyed to find himself on Dumbledore’s side of the argument.

He looks back around the room, taps his wand against a wall to initiate a surveillance spell which will warn him if anyone enters, and leads the way up to his tiny office. Godric looks up from his doggy bed by the door leading to the family quarters and settles back down uninterested in the two Aurors.

Harry takes a seat behind his desk and conjures chairs for his guests. “What did you need to go over?”

“Walk us through the day of the Quidditch match again,” Pettigrew orders.

Harry swallows down the want to bristle at Pettigrew’s demanding tone. He takes a breath. “I got up early as I usually do on match days, and took breakfast in my quarters with my wife, Professor Black, and Professor Evans. Afterwards, I came across to the Hall. I checked through the dressing rooms to make sure everything was laid out ready for the players. I went over to the pitch and examined everything was in good order there. I came back and had lunch in my office.”

“Alone,” Pettigrew states.

“Unless you count Godric,” Harry gestures at the dog. “The house elf Jauby delivered my dinner.”

Croaker coughs. “How do you know the house elf’s name?”

“I asked,” Harry says mildly. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “After lunch, I got changed and went to warm up on the pitch with the players. We used the Nimbus Quidditch set at the time. The stands started to fill up as we finished. We came back in to rest ahead of the game. I retrieved the Balling set for the actual game and took it out to the pitch.”

“Why did you choose that set?” asked Croaker.

He’d asked the same question the last time they’d gone through the day with Harry.

Harry pins him with an unamused glare. “It was the next one in rotation. We have a half a dozen sets. I rotate them as much as possible so one doesn’t get damaged beyond use.”

“So you’ve said,” Pettigrew comments.

“Yes, so I’ve said,” Harry replies tersely. He forces himself to take a breath and ignore the itch of irritation skating along under his skin. “I went out to the pitch. Ahead of the coin toss, I examined the set for tampering along with the captains. The spell came back as clean. Whoever cursed the bludger was likely in the stands or it was cursed in a way which is undetectable by the usual tampering spell.”

Pettigrew shifts his weight. “One of our Unspeakables has suggested that you used the moment of examination to curse the bludger.”

Harry’s eyes widen at the accusation. He’s not surprised by it; he’s just surprised they’re finally saying it out loud.

“They say you’re powerful enough to have masked the curse with the tampering spell or to have given a false positive,” Pettigrew continues brusquely. “Are you?”

“Am I powerful enough?” Harry repeats and shrugs. “Probably.”

“So you admit it?” Croaker points at him.

“I admit I’m powerful enough to do what your Unspeakable has posited,” Harry retorts sharply, “but I’m not admitting to cursing the bludger since I didn’t do that. I would never do such a thing given my past experience with a crazy bludger.”

“Right,” Pettigrew drawls, “your past experience where we only have yours and your wife’s word about what happened.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I can give you the memory as evidence. You’re more than welcome to it.”

There is a moment of silence where they glare at him and he glares back.

Godric lifts his head and whines.

Harry sits back in his chair and regards his father’s friends with a frown. “Do you want me to continue or do you want to just arrest me without any evidence that I’ve done anything wrong here and on the basis of theories about my magical power?”

Croaker coughs. “We are just trying to…”

“Push me into a confession you’re never going to get because I’m not the one behind the bludger incident and I’m not the one behind the attack on Professor Wilde.”

There is another heavy moment of quiet.

Pettigrew gestures at him. “You have no alibi for Wilde.”

“I was asleep in the infirmary,” Harry points out not for the first time.

“There’s something you’re not telling us about this whole thing!” Pettigrew waves a hand around the office as though to encompass the incidents and Hogwarts.

Harry presses his lips together. He can’t actually tell Pettigrew and Croaker about the basilisk because of his oaths to the Council.

There is suddenly a sharp rap on the office door and before Harry can ask for the person to wait, they enter.

James takes one bounding step in, the greeting on his lips dying as he takes in the tableau of his friends interrogating Harry. He pauses and straightens. “What’s going on?”

“We’re just going over a few things in Harry’s statement,” Croaker says soothingly. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Really,” James nudges his glasses up his nose in a similar way to Harry. “Then you won’t mind if I sit in for the rest.”

Pettigrew grimaces, turning to face James. “There’s a reason you’re benched from this investigation, James.”

“I wasn’t planning on sitting in as an Auror,” James shoots back, “I was planning to sit in as Viscount Potter, as Harry’s family.”

“Merlin, James!” Pettigrew explodes, throwing up his hands. “He’s not your actual son!”

“Maybe not,” James says calmly, “but he’s family and under the protection of the Houses of Potter and Black. If you have an actual accusation to make with evidence to back it up then make it, otherwise your continued questioning of him just looks like harassment.”

“You’re taking his side?!” Pettigrew snarls.

“You are still an Auror, Prongs,” Croaker says, although he puts his hands up as though in surrender.

Pettigrew gestures angrily at James. “Exactly. You should be backing us up!”

“By accusing someone who definitely didn’t do it?” James’ incredulity raises his voice. “I don’t know what your problem is with Harry, but you’re focused on the wrong wizard.”

“And you’re blind!” Pettigrew stabs a finger at him. “Ever since this kid landed here, you’ve been barmy! You exiled Moony because you’re bending over for Black, chasing Evans again like you’re sixteen, and you’ve gone so far up your own arse you can’t see what’s in front of you!”

Croaker looks honestly stunned by Pettigrew’s outburst; his mouth gapes open and his eyes are as wide as saucers.

James’ expression is glacial.

Harry feels for his father. He’s been at the sharp end of a friend calling him a liar, of betrayal, and while he’d forgiven Ron, he’s never forgotten the hurt. He drops his gaze and hides his fists under the desk to keep from giving away his own anger.

It looked like Pettigrew was a dirty traitor in every universe.

“Blackfoot!” Croaker finally manages to speak. “That’s too far!”

“No, it’s not far enough!” Pettigrew snaps. “He hasn’t been acting like himself for months!”

James holds up his hand when Croaker goes to speak again. “No, Bertie. You don’t apologise for him or try to explain this away.” He keeps his gaze on Pettigrew. “You want to complain how I’m different because you’re worried about our friendship? You’re right, I am different. Harry isn’t my son, but he’s blood and family. More than that, he’s innocent of any crime and deserves to be protected and supported.”

Pettigrew’s lip curls.

“You, Bertie, Remus? You’re all my brothers by choice,” James says calmly if in a hard tone. “I will always treasure our friendship, our brotherhood. But I’m not going to sooth your insecurity about your place in my life at the expense of the other people I love or to the detriment of my family’s honour, Peter.”

Harry winces as the two Mischief Makers flinch at James’ sharpness. He’s beginning to wish he could apparate out of his office without anyone noticing.

“You know that Harry is bound by the oaths of the Council as am I,” James continues, “and you know these incidents are tangled up in the secrets bound by those oaths. Instead of petitioning Scrimgeour and Moody to get read in, you’re taking your frustration out on Harry and Sirius. It stops here.”

Pettigrew’s jaw moves side to side as he chews on James’ remonstration. He whirls around and storms out of the office.

Croaker sighs. “That was harsh, Prongs.”

“Do you honestly believe that?” James raises his eyebrows. “Pete has had his nose out of joint for months despite my doing what I can to mitigate his concerns. I’ve talked with you all and understand your concerns. I’ve spent more time together as a group, with each of you, and it’s never enough.”

“He just wants things to go back to the way they were,” Croaker says quietly.

“He already knows that things are never going to go back to the way they were,” James notes with a hint of weariness as though it’s not the first time he’s said those words to Croaker. “We’ve got a Dark Lord at large, my family accepted the rapprochement with the House of Black, Arthur and Merlin yanked Harry and Hermione from their world into ours for a mission to save us all…we can’t go back, we can only go forward.”

Croaker nods. “I’ll talk with him.” He rubs his chin in a way which faintly resembles his Uncle Albus. “I think he’s mostly upset about your reaction to Moony getting hired by Dumbledore to provide security.”

“He did what?!” Harry blushes as they both turn to stare at him. “Sorry, did you say Dumbledore has hired Remus to provide security?”

James nods after a quick glance to Croaker. “Moony told me about it last night. It was one of the reasons why I was coming over to talk to you.”

Harry tries to act nonchalant in front of Croaker. “Right.”

“Peter thinks you’re trying to get Dumbledore to fire Moony,” Croaker comments, folding his arms over his chest, and any hint of amusement in his expression dies away as he takes in James’ expression.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” James says with the air of someone who has said the same words before.

“Snape is going to give him that new tonic during the full moon,” Croaker argues. “He’ll be safe.”

James rolls his eyes. “It’s not the full moon, I’m worried about. He’ll still be a werewolf roaming the halls of Hogwarts. If anything happens, who do you think they’re going to blame?”

Croaker winces, a hand rising to push through his hair almost unconsciously. “Ah, I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

James heaves a sigh. “I don’t know why you guys think I’m still punishing him. Remus and I talked it out. He gets why I was mad.”

“I think Peter still thinks there wasn’t anything to talk out,” Croaker pushes both his hands into the pockets of his robes.

“Peter doesn’t get the broader political implications of my family’s magical honour being ruined,” James says dryly.

Harry hopes his face isn’t looking as incredulous as he feels.

Croaker grimaces. “He gets it, he just thinks loyalty to us should come first.”

“Like we’re still in school!” James retorts. “You both know that’s not possible in the real world where we have obligations. And if Peter really thinks he’d put us over his mother, he’s lying to himself given the number of times he’s actually chosen her and obligations to her over us.”

Croaker’s hands go up in surrender. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you,” begins James.

“But you’re not making it easy for him, Prongs,” Croaker cuts in. “Black, Evans, this whole thing!”

Harry cocks his eyebrow at the way Croaker gestures towards him.

James sighs. “It’s my family, Bertie.”

Croaker’s disbelief doesn’t so much slide over his face as it stampedes across it. “Right, and we’re only friends not family, not anymore despite your words of brotherhood, that’s clear. I’d best go and find my partner.”

There is a snap to the tone which makes James flinch as Croaker marches out. The door to the landing closes with a firm click, not a slam, but there is a certain finality to it which Harry feels in his bones.

“I’m sorry you had to hear all that,” James says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought they’d accepted everything but…” he trails off, looking lost.

“Change can be difficult for people,” Harry says diplomatically. “They’ll adjust.” Or they wouldn’t and lose James’ friendship – that much was evident and it was probably the reason why the Mischief Makers were upset.

James takes a breath and seems to shove it aside. His eyes narrow on Harry. “You had a pretty strong reaction to hearing about Remus patrolling.”

Harry rubs his old scar before he realises what he’s doing and stops. He sits back in his chair. “In my third year at Hogwarts, Dumbledore hired Remus as the Defence of the Dark Arts professor to provide extra protection because my godfather had broken out of Azkaban and it was believed he was coming after me.”

James frowns as he considers Harry’s explanation. “Do you think we’ve managed to skip over your second year then? That there is no basilisk or Voldemort trying to regain a body? Maybe Malfoy’s plot failed before it even started.”

“I don’t think we’re that lucky, besides Dobby pretty much confirmed something’s afoot,” Harry mutters, rubbing his head. “Maybe Fate is speeding things up.” He shrugs. “It’s not like the same circumstances exist here for the events of my third year to take place. I don’t have a godfather here, my parents’ betrayer isn’t hiding as a rat, and the Ministry haven’t deployed Dementors to guard Hogwarts from an escaped convict.”

James winces. “You know every time I hear about your time at school, I hate your world a little more.”

Harry smiles at him. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Remus being brought into protect Hogwarts?”

“I think so,” James agrees, leaning back against the wall. “I was hoping to conscript you into arguing against it with Dumbledore.”

“I’m not sure he’ll listen to me,” Harry says bluntly.

“Sirius says Dumbledore definitely won’t listen to him either,” James grimaces. “Maybe I should ask Snape but I’m assuming he already argued against it and lost. He hates Remus.”

Harry cocks his head. “My Snape hated Remus because my Dad saved his life when he tried to face Remus on a full moon to kill him.” He pauses. “I mean, it was a bit more complicated than that, but he suspected Remus was a werewolf when he goaded the secret to getting into the tunnel out of my godfather.”

James stares at him. “I’m thinking there is a whole story behind all of those words which I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Did Snape try to kill Remus when you guys were at school?” asks Harry, waving away James’ comment.

James tilts his hand in a see-saw motion. “Kind of? He came into the woods one full moon in our Sixth Year? Bertie corralled Remus and took him further into the woods while I chased Snape out. He was caught by Hagrid and claimed he was just gathering ingredients for potions.”

“Wow,” Harry murmurs. “He really is a dick in any universe.”

“There has to be one where he’s not, right?” James grins. “Laws of the universe and everything?”

“You mean like a universe where he ended up in Gryffindor and is a Marauder, I mean a Mischief Maker?” Harry waggles his eyebrows. “Can you imagine that?”

James laughs.

Harry checks his watch. “I have a class to get ready for and inventory to do, did you need anything else?”

James shakes his head. “Not unless there’s something about your Third Year you think we need to know about immediately?”

“Just that the Dementors are a bad idea, mainly,” Harry says. “They almost killed Sirius that year.” He presses his lips together. “We only saved him because of a Time Turner.”

“Dementors and a Time Turner?!” James shakes his head. “They don’t really allow those out of the Ministry.” He nods. “I’ll see you later maybe? Lily suggested I come round to help with the research.”

Harry waves James away. He slides out of his chair and heads back down to finish his equipment inspection. He pushes the mess of James’ friendships, the surprising news about Remus, and the whole issue of the basilisk from his mind and focuses on the task in front of him.

He manages to get the checks completed before his lesson with the Third Year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. He’s in good spirits as he makes his way to lunch.

Hermione is already seated with an open book propped up on the salt and pepper shakers in front of her.

Harry sneaks a peek at the title as he sits. “’Ghosts and How to Trap Them?’”

“Myrtle didn’t just vanish,” Hermione says primly, slicing a piece of chicken carefully. She glances over at him. “How was your morning?”

“Interrupted by Aurors,” Harry says spooning some of the chicken salad onto his own plate. He reaches for a warm bread bun. “Yours?”

“Frustrating,” Hermione says. “Every single student wanted to gossip about recent events.”

“Can’t exactly blame them,” Harry nods as Hagrid takes his place at the end of the table.

Hagrid nods at them both. “Kids are kids.”

Hermione and Harry agree quietly.

Harry glances to the empty chair beside Hermione. “Where’s Sirius?”

“Interrupted by Aurors,” Hermione says dryly. “Pettigrew caught him at the door and asked to speak to him before he could even get to the table.”

Harry grimaces. He doesn’t think that’s going to go well.

“Hagrid,” Hermione leans forward to look at their friend at the same time as she subtly casts a privacy bubble around them. “Did you know Myrtle Warren?”

Hagrid squirms in the large chair. “Not as such, no,” he shakes his head, “but I was the one who found her.”

“In the girls’ bathroom?” asks Hermione, a little bit of her shock resonating in her words.

“I was looking for my, uh, pet,” Hagrid says, his cheeks turning a ruddy red.

Harry and Hermione exchange a quick glance.

Aragog.

Harry shudders at the memory of the old huge spider.

“Bathroom door was ajar and water was running out but it was pink,” Hagrid continues, “thought someone had left the taps running, used some colouring, and blocked the sink like a prank.” He grimaces. “I found her out cold in the middle of the floor, all her blood…” he clutches at his bushy beard. “Terrible sight. It was just…terrible.”

Hermione places a hand over his huge forearm. “I’m sorry, Hagrid. I didn’t mean to bring back such an awful memory for you.”

Hagrid pats her hand. “You’re a good lass, Hermione. It’s alright. It was a long time ago. ‘Sides, almost as soon as I saw her, I saw her ghost floating in the toilet nearest the door.”

Hermione tilts her head. “It’s unusual for a suicide to end up as a ghost.”

Hagrid’s shoulders give a massive shrug. “She told old Dippet she didn’t remember anything. One minute she’s talking to someone, next thing she’s on the floor bleeding like.”

“Who was she speaking to?” asks Hermione. She suddenly slaps a hand over her mouth and looks contritely at Hagrid. “Sorry, Hagrid. I shouldn’t be asking you all these questions.”

“’S okay,” Hagrid says tucking a napkin into the front of his shirt. “I know you don’t mean any harm. You’re just wanting to find out what’s going on and stop things like what happened to Professor Wilde.”

“That’s it,” Hermione says. “Thank you for understanding.”

Hagrid reaches for a platter of chicken and moves most of the pieces onto his plate. “Not like I can give you an answer tho’ since she never said who she’d been talking with. I always figured it was her bullies. The older girls in her ‘ouse liked to pick on her.”

“Ravenclaw has a bullying problem,” Hermione mutters.

“Wilde told her he was sorry for not stopping it,” Hagrid says. “He was Head of House at the time. He was upset to hear she’d gone missing.”

“I forgot that he was teaching when she was here,” Hermione wrinkles her nose.

Harry watches the flush of disgruntlement at herself flash over her face. He nudges her and sends her a look of reassurance. “I don’t think any of us connected those dots yet.”

He wonders if Wilde was targeted because he knew Myrtle or knew something about how Myrtle died, or who she had been talking with before she’d ended up in the bathroom.

“They were likely targeted by the same spell,” Harry says out loud, not sure where his mind is wandering with the thought. Hermione thinks The Assassin’s Mask is a spell unique to this world; she hadn’t heard about it before. But then neither he nor Hermione are history buffs. Too much of their curriculum had been buried under Goblin Wars and self-study of the textbook which had been sleep-inducing.

Hermione nods. She takes down the privacy bubble. “Hopefully the Aurors will learn more since they’re spending so much time here.” Her gaze returns to her book.

Hagrid nods and tucks into his lunch.

Harry focuses on his own and reaches for a slice of treacle tart. He has two flying classes in the afternoon and he’s going to need to be properly fuelled.

BOOM!

Harry startles at the loud sound, flinching back into his seat.

Dumbledore sends up sparks from his wand and captures the attention of the hall as he stands up. “All students will remain seated and in the hall.” He lowers his voice and turns to Minerva and Horace. “If you can keep order here, Minerva, Horace?”

She nods swiftly. “Of course.”

Horace acquiesces with a wave of his hand.

Harry belatedly realises the other side of the table is missing quite a few of the teaching staff. Only Angela Glass sits in her usual chair, her half-eaten lunch still in front of her.

Everyone else is missing. Locke, the Defence of the Dark Arts Professor; Stabling, the Care of Magical Creatures Professor; Aurelius Dumbledore, Pomona, Filius and Lily.

Dumbledore’s gaze catches Harry’s. “Professor Potter, Instructor Potter, if you can come with me?”

Harry dutifully follows Dumbledore from the hall and through a side corridor. Hermione tucks her hand into Harry’s as they stride through Hogwarts quickly.

Dumbledore leads them to a staircase tucked away behind a statue of a centaur. They get to the second floor and he takes the corridor to the left. They’re on the opposite side of the castle to the girls’ bathroom.

Another corridor, a narrow affair tucked between two statues of two different snakes, one looking forward and one looking weirdly down the corridor towards a portrait of a sleeping potions master.

Dumbledore hurries down the next wide corridor towards an open doorway where the Aurors are already gathered.

Sirius hangs back from the huddle of Aurors. His demeanour is all Heir to the House of Black, despite his teaching robes. He stands with folded arms and a firm stance, exuding a steady and calm presence. A careful poke at the family bond reveals he is deeply unsettled.

James steps out of the huddle and greets them with a grim nod. He points at the classroom, an old potions lab. “We managed to put out the fire but someone set off an explosion which burned the whole room.”

Hermione bites her lip as she cranes forward to look into the room. “Why?”

James shakes his head. “We haven’t examined the room thoroughly yet. We focused on getting the fire out.”

Dumbledore is already moving, brushing past Pettigrew and Croaker who remain behind when Dumbledore gestures at them sharply. Harry wonders if the obedience is ingrained because of Dumbledore’s natural authority or whether it signals a deeper loyalty to Dumbledore himself.

Harry looks over at Sirius who nods almost imperceptibly back at him, acknowledging that he has also registered the interaction.

“Harry! Hermione!” Dumbledore calls for them.

He lets Hermione precede him into the room, and James follows.

Harry wrinkles his nose at the smell of acrid smoke. The floor is damp with puddles of water in places.

The lab is a little different to the others in the school. To his left, the remains of three long worktables face the front of the room and the Professor’s bench. They are still identifiable despite their blackened charring as are some of the tall stools. Everything is covered in soot, the walls darkened with smoke damage. Two snake statues, one looking forward and one looking back like those in the corridor, bracket an old blackboard which covers the far wall. There is a scrawled message across it written in white chalk.

‘Beware! Death shall come to his enemies!’

Hermione sucks in a breath as her eyes flit to Harry’s.

It’s an event out of sequence from their own world.

It’s not the same message.

It’s not the wall of the bathroom.

It’s not Halloween and they haven’t been to a ghost party. There isn’t a puddle with a shrieking Argus Filch and a petrified Mrs Norris…

Harry stills. “Has someone been down to the blackboard?”

James shakes his head. “Stay here.”

Dumbledore doesn’t argue as James strides down the side of the room, wand out. He freezes as he looks behind the Professor’s bench. He grimaces and casts a spell. He shakes his head and looks back at them grimly.

“It’s Filch,” James says sombrely. “He’s dead.”

Chapter 6: Teatime Confidences

Argus Filch’s funeral takes place in the old cemetery behind the walled gardens, set close to the Black Lake.

Dumbledore stands at the head of the grave, intoning a blessing which has the cadence of a traditional rite which Harry has never heard before. Hermione is following it avidly and Harry suspects she’ll be researching it as soon as they get back to the castle.

Godric shuffles by Harry’s feet and he tightens his grip on the grim’s leash to dissuade him from trying to move further.

Like many others there, Hermione and Harry are dressed in warm black robes because Scotland at the end of April is a tad brisk when the clouds are grey and the winds blow down from the Highlands. They stand in the second row behind the Heads of Houses, Professor Glass and Madam Pince who are seated on plain wooden chairs. Hagrid blows his nose loudly on the other side of Hermione and Professor Stabling pats his arm consolingly.

Sirius stands beside Harry. He has been quiet in the week since Filch’s death. He was with Pettigrew and Croaker when the explosion happened which at least had given him an unimpeachable alibi. Sirius hasn’t spoken about what happened when they questioned him but given the tenor of his own interview with them, Harry is certain it was nothing more than a list of accusations and an unwillingness to listen to the truth.

The Aurors stand on the opposite side of the grave, alongside Alastor Moody, Scrimgeour, and the Director of the DMLE, Barty Crouch. Harry reminds himself again that they are not the same people as those who he knew on his own world. The Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Kevin Locke, has chosen to stand with the Aurors, although he is in black robes which do not suit his stern visage. Harry sometimes forgets that Locke is an Auror on loan to Hogwarts.

The presence of the Aurors at the funeral signals the sizable presence of them in Hogwarts since Filch’s death – a compromise with the Ministry over the continued threat. At least, Harry muses wearily, they don’t have to worry about Dementors. Pettigrew, Croaker, and James have been joined by five more. Harry doesn’t recognise any of them except for Amelia Bones. She is not present as she and James are on patrol duty within the castle.

Aurelius and Lily are also both up at the castle keeping a watch on the students. They’d been drawn from a hat seemingly at random by Dumbledore to ensure the castle had a staff presence while everyone else was at the funeral. Ariana and Poppy had been similarly excused due to their duties in the infirmary.

Harry wishes that the Headmaster had simply asked for volunteers; he would have volunteered. Harry shifts his weight, trying to dislodge his irritation. Hermione’s hand slides into the crook of his arm.

Snape is missing entirely from Hogwarts. Harry presses his lips together. He isn’t happy with the decision to allow Snape to act as some kind of triple spy but he understands it. They are blind to Voldemort’s plans without someone in the Dark Lord’s camp and that morning had seen Snape head off to a brunch with Lucius Malfoy.

Dumbledore finally finishes his speech. He waves his wand and the grave fills with dirt and a carpet of flowers erupts across the ground.

The Headmaster turns to them. “Thank you for making the time to remember Argus. I will see you all at dinner.”

Hagrid nods at them and mops his wet face with an overly large handkerchief. “I’m going to see if I can find Mrs Norris. Poor thing has probably gone to ground in her grief.”

The cat hasn’t been seen in the few days which have passed. Harry doesn’t want to say she’s missing and, despite her nature, he hopes nothing has happened to her. She had been a devoted companion to the squib caretaker so perhaps Hagrid is right and she is simply grieving.

Hermione hums and pats Hagrid’s arm with her free hand. “Let us know if you find her, Hagrid.”

Hagrid attempts a smile which fails terribly. He ambles away from them heading back towards the castle.

In the face of Hagrid’s genuine mourning, Harry feels a twinge of guilt at not feeling even the slightest sliver of grief at Filch’s passing.

“Shall we take a walk?” Sirius gestures with his head towards the path which leads to a trail around the Lake.

Harry and Hermione nod in unison. Godric gives a happy bark.

They walk in silence for a long while, Sirius ahead of them, hands clasped behind his back, and Harry and Hermione walking arm in arm just behind him. Godric, off the leash, happily bounds alongside, stopping occasionally to sniff some grass, peer at a woodland creature or just at nothing at all.

Sirius stops at a small wooden dock, leading them out to the end where they look back towards the castle, admiring the view for a long moment. There is a faint mossy water smell that fills the air but it isn’t unpleasant with the fresh breeze sweeping over them.

Even though they are alone, Sirius takes the opportunity to erect a privacy bubble. He conjures three comfortable seats in an informal circle.

Mogby, Regina’s house elf, pops in and leaves a tea tray on a table complete with a plate of assorted biscuits. She pops away again.

Sirius flushes. “Reg said I should talk to you both.”

Harry and Hermione sit down and regard Sirius with shared concern.

For a long moment, the Black Knight focuses on the tea tray, pouring tea into cups, and offering the biscuits. Harry takes one by rote, biting into the chocolate hobnob after dunking it into his tea. Godric looks at the biscuit plate hopefully, his tail offering a happy wag.

Hermione clears her throat when Sirius keeps stirring his own tea, looking into its depths with a frown.

“I’ve been having dreams,” Sirius’ spoon clatters into his saucer.

“Dreams?” asks Hermione, frowning.

Sirius nods. “I dreamt of the explosion and, not Filch dying exactly, just the sense there would be a death the night before it happened.” He rubs his forehead. “I didn’t know what it meant. I was going to speak to everyone about it at dinner but…” he sighs. “Usually, my dreams are not so timely or specific.”

“Perhaps your gift is evolving to meet the needs of our Black Knight,” Hermione suggests.

Sirius nods. “I think so.” He grimaces. “I feel guilty about Filch.”

“Even if you’d informed us at breakfast, even if we had warned Dumbledore and the rest of the staff, it might still have happened,” Hermione notes matter-of-factly. “Whatever the method being used for Voldemort to possess someone and take over their body, clearly it is getting stronger.”

Sirius looks away for a long moment. “I just don’t understand why that particular classroom was used. It hasn’t been in operation for years.”

Harry pushes his glasses back up his nose. “James hasn’t been able to spend any time with us over the past couple of days to drop any hints from the investigation either.” He brushes the crumbs from his hobnob off his robe.

Hermione taps her chin thoughtfully. “We know the second floor was Slytherin’s domain. We know that the entrance to the chamber is not the girls’ bathroom on this world. The entrance has to be somewhere else.”

“You think that the entrance is in the lab?” deduces Harry.

“Our message was on the wall outside the bathroom,” Hermione reminds him. “If it isn’t the classroom itself, I think it’s close by.”

“It’s worth investigating,” Sirius says a touch of brightness lightening his voice. “If we can find the entrance, we can find the chamber and eliminate the basilisk,” he raises a hand before Hermione can correct him, “or whatever creature is there.”

“Have you had any other dreams?” asks Hermione bluntly.

Harry almost winces at her forthrightness.

Sirius nods. “I keep dreaming about a corridor of portraits. I’m walking down the corridor but I can’t find the portrait I’m looking for – I don’t even know what portrait I’m looking for which is frustrating. I wake up feeling like I’m missing something.”

“Portraits!” Hermione exclaims. “Of course!”

Sirius glances at Harry who shrugs because whatever leap of logic Hermione has made, he hasn’t a clue.

“Don’t you see?” Hermione’s gaze darts from one of them to the other and back. She huffs. “Magical portraiture contains the essence of the subject, an imprint. A portrait could be the artefact! It could be how Voldemort is possessing his victim!”

Sirius’s silver eyes widen as he assimilates the idea.

Harry shakes his head as he considers it. He has no real knowledge of magical portraiture. He knows that there is a magical imprint of the subject to enable them to wake up and hold memories and knowledge of their past lives. He has no idea how the imprint is done nor what the spells are to make everything happen successfully.

He reaches for another biscuit. “Are you sure it’s possible?”

Hermione nods briskly, her eyes gleaming with an inner satisfaction. “Presumably Malfoy gave someone a portrait during the Easter break.” She gets to her feet and starts to pace the small wooden dock. “Someone would notice a portrait in their belongings as unusual so they must have willingly carried it in! Or maybe they’ve assumed their parents gifted it to them.”

Sirius clears his throat. “But wouldn’t you ask? I mean, a diary could be written off as a gift you received without someone explicitly saying something to you, but if a portrait of some unknown wizard suddenly turns up in your belongings, wouldn’t you ask your guardians if they put it there?”

“The portrait might have some kind of compulsion not to talk about it,” Harry says bluntly. “The diary was riddled – no pun intended – with compulsions.”

Hermione sighs. “You’re right.” She picks up a plain digestive and starts to nibble on it.

“If it is a portrait, it would need to be placed near to the victim for the possession to work,” Sirius muses. “I think that means that it is unlikely that it is a student.”

Hermione sits down again. “Right. All the students are in dorms, only the Head Boy and Head Girl get their own suite here.”

“So, we’re theorising the artefact it is a portrait which is positioned somewhere close to the person who Voldemort is possessing via his imprint,” Harry checks.

Hermione and Sirius nod.

“The portrait probably has some kind of compulsion on it for the person not to talk about it,” Harry continues. “It may also have some kind of spell to make others ignore it or not notice it is out place.”

Sirius nods again. “That would explain why nobody has mentioned a new portrait popping up out of nowhere.”

Harry sighs and folds his arms over his chest. “It’s going to be like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

“Unless…” Hermione stares at Sirius, abandoning her half-eaten biscuit to her saucer. “What if you’re dreaming about portraits because you’ve seen it?”

Sirius blinks at her. “What?”

Hermione snaps her fingers. “You’ve seen it, maybe interacted with it, but walked away from it and maybe the spells on it made you confused about what you’d seen. Your gift is the only thing which is holding onto the memory so…”

“I dream about it,” Sirius strokes his chin. “It’s unfortunately an entirely possible scenario.”

“And a good clue!” Hermione proclaims. “You don’t wander needlessly all over the castle. You patrol the usual routes like all the staff. You have the routes you normally take to class, the dining hall and our rooms. The portrait is unlikely to be along any of those because it would be obvious to you. If you think about where else you’ve been, we might be able to track it down.”

Sirius sighs. “It’s a good thought. I’ll review my memories.”

They all fall silent for a long moment.

“Since we’re alone out here, what happened with Pettigrew and Croaker when they questioned you?” asks Harry, changing the subject abruptly. “They were pretty horrid when they were questioning me.”

“Pretty horrid is a good description,” Sirius leans forward, clasping his hands as he rests his elbows on his knees. “It was a lot of suspicion and threats mainly. Generally, they don’t believe I was asleep in my room during the Wilde attack.”

“You have the same alibi as every other teacher!” Hermione proclaims, scowling.

Sirius shrugs. “Once they got over the implied threats if I didn’t confess, they moved onto quizzing me about The Assassin’s Mask history.”

“Why?” asks Harry.

Sirius shrugs again. He meets Harry’s puzzled gaze with an amused look. “I think they wanted me to implicate myself by knowing too much about the spell used with Wilde.”

Harry rolls his eyes. He’s tried really hard to get along with James’ friends, to put aside his feelings for Wormtail, but he’s on the verge of deciding to just stop and give up.

Hermione shoots Harry a look as though she’s read his mind before turning back to Sirius. “I assume you told them the same history you told us?”

Harry’s brow wrinkles. “You told us about the spell?” He doesn’t remember that.

“We talked about it at breakfast when you told us Ariana had identified it when examining Wilde?” Sirius stares at him in concern.

Harry winces. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were loopy from the lack of sleep and growing a new arm,” Hermione notes dryly.

“So, what is the history?” Harry asks suddenly interested. He doesn’t like the idea of the Aurors knowing more than them about it.

Sirius heaves a sigh but his eyes are twinkling so Harry doesn’t think he’s truly annoyed. “The spell’s origin is a bit of a mystery. It is generally agreed that it came from Asia, probably in Merlin’s time. There are some mentions of a spell called simply ‘Death’ which historians think is the same spell, although for a long time it was believed that ‘Death’ and the Killing Curse were the same except one account notes that the Assassin spell was completely without light or colour.”

“I don’t remember reading that in any of the books you gave me,” Hermione says.

Of course Sirius had given Hermione books. It explained the new pile he’d noticed on her bedside table.

“That theory is written on a very old parchment which is kept in the Department of Mysteries,” Sirius explains, “I got to see it when I achieved my mastery.”

Hermione pouts but Harry figures she’s already working out a way to see it for herself.

“The spell is insidious. It is only detectable if the person is saved,” Sirius continues on, “someone might suspect that it has been used but it is hard to prove after the fact.”

“Because it manifests as a natural death or a suicide,” Harry vaguely remembers Ariana’s explanation.

“Or an accident,” Sirius nods. He picks his tea back up, winces at the lukewarm temperature and taps it with his wand to reheat it. “The spell grew in prominence in Europe during the war with Grindelwald. His side was said to use it often.”

“The incantation is difficult,” Hermione murmurs. “It’s not Latin or English based.”

“It is some kind of Asian dialect,” Sirius confirms. “The power required is also immense. I can understand the Aurors looking at us on that basis.” He sips his tea. “It’s another reason why I don’t think it is a student who is being possessed.”

“Well, combined with what we now suspect about a portrait being used, I agree,” Hermione says.

Harry finishes his tea and sets it back on the tray. He eyes the biscuit plate again but decides against it. “This feels like last term when we were trying to work out who Voldemort’s anchor was.”

“Agreed,” Sirius says. “At least we know it’s not Filch or Wilde.”

Hermione snorts.

Harry smiles at his wife and sees Sirius doing the same. He feels a lot lighter in the family magic than he did at the start of their talk and Harry feels the tension unknot in his own stomach.

“We have the same suspects as last year though, Glass and Locke,” Hermione brushes the strand of hair which has escaped her updo and is fluttering beside her face back behind her ear.

“Aurelius is new and he has to be a suspect, right? He was around Grindelwald’s crowd because of his mother, he’s powerful…” Harry adds.

“He’s the most likely to know about the spell,” Sirius says thoughtfully. “But really it could be any of the Professors. Last term we were focused on new staff members, but now we’re looking at someone who is being possessed by something brought into the castle.”

“All the Heads are powerful in their own fields,” Hermione sighs. “Not to mention there’s Snape although he is unlikely.”

“Yes,” Harry says wryly, “let’s all hope the wizard who we have spying on everyone isn’t being magically possessed by Voldemort.”

“Lily has too much regular contact with him not to notice if he was being weird,” Sirius pauses, “well, more weird than he already is.”

Harry laughs.

Hermione chides them both with a soft look, but her own twitching lips give away her amusement. “It’s a good point though,” she puts her cup down. “It is more likely to be someone who is more isolated on the staff.”

“Maybe not Stabling or Hagrid then,” Harry says. “They spend a lot of time together and they’re mostly out of the castle.” He pats a restless Godric who has his eyes firmly pinned to Hermione’s abandoned biscuit.

Sirius nods. “Angela is the most isolated. She rarely interacts with the rest of the staff beyond dinners, patrols, and staff meetings.”

“Locke’s not the most sociable either,” Harry comments. “Outside of the duelling club you guys run, I don’t think he talks to anyone.”

“He doesn’t talk much in them either,” Sirius acknowledges. “I know Minerva and Pomona have tea regularly. Filius and Lily have their one-on-one teaching sessions. Horace…”

“Horace does his get-togethers, but how often do any of us attend them?” Harry jumps in. “They’re mostly students.”

Hermione clears her throat. “We’re forgetting the other staff. Ariana and Poppy, Madame Pince.”

“Ariana and Poppy would likely notice if the other was acting strangely,” Sirius says, “Irma tends to keep to herself but she’s not a powerful witch.”

“We are assuming that the possession needs their host to be powerful to do the spell,” Hermione comments. “Maybe that isn’t the case.”

“Let’s hope not or it opens up the student question again,” Sirius says.

“Right then,” Harry says, “so Glass, Locke and Aurelius remain our main suspects. Maybe Madame Pince but not likely.”

Sirius nods.

“We haven’t talked about the Headmaster,” Hermione gestures before they can respond. “I know unlikely but I just wanted to put it out there. He would know about the spell, he has the power to do it, and we only have his word that Slytherin didn’t write anything useful about the chamber in his private diaries.”

Harry and Sirius both look at her in disbelief.

She rolls her eyes at them. “Fine, it’s probably not him.”

“Malfoy wouldn’t give Albus anything anyway,” Sirius points out.

“But he might have given Horace the portrait,” Harry thinks out loud.

Sirius opens his mouth to protest and closes it again. “That’s entirely possible.”

“But Horace knows that Riddle is behind the attack last year,” Hermione says. “Why would he accept a portrait of him?”

“Maybe he didn’t recognise him, or maybe he was compelled to take it,” Harry takes a breath. “Or maybe it isn’t him. Maybe Wilde got the portrait first.”

“Wilde and Filch must have at least seen something,” Sirius agrees.

“Or they knew something,” Hermione says.

“Wilde might have recognised the portrait,” Harry suggests. “Same with Filch?” 

Hermione finally takes her biscuit and offers it to Godric who happily swallows it down, barely chewing it first.

“That makes sense,” Sirius says slowly. “Whoever is being possessed might target those who would be able to identify him first.”

“Which means if Horace isn’t the person possessed, he’s likely on the list of targets to be put down,” Harry grimaces. “We should warn him.”

Sirius nods. “We also need to spend time with Locke and Angela.” He sighs. “Locke is easy. We have a duelling club later this week. It was postponed from today because of the funeral.”

Harry looks over at Hermione. “Well, at least I can’t reveal myself as a parselmouth since I no longer have that connection with the Dark Bastard.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“During our Second Year, we all went to a duelling club,” Hermione recounts, laughter tinging every word. “Lucius’ son conjured a snake to scare Harry only he started talking to it.”

“Unfortunately everyone thought that meant I was the heir to Slytherin so I ended up being ostracized,” Harry finishes with a shake of his head. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

“You still had Ron and me,” Hermione pokes his arm.

Harry rubs it dramatically as he rolls his eyes. “Ron lived in fear of me too until you told him to buck up.”

“The twins were great,” Hermione points out.

“Sure, they declared themselves my minions and swept through the corridors telling people to make way for the heir,” Harry smiles broadly at the memory.

Sirius chuckles. “Hopefully our duelling club will be less dramatic than that.”

“We can hope,” Hermione says. She brushes her robes down as she chews her lip briefly. “I don’t think after last time Angela will be receptive to spending any time with me.”

“She’s talked with me before,” Sirius says. “I’ll arrange a tea with her or something.”

“I can check on Madame Pince,” Hermione says briskly. “I have some questions about the library I can use as an excuse.”

“I’m shocked,” Harry dodges and narrowly avoids getting poked again. He settles back into his seat. “I suppose I can check in with Horace.”

Sirius hums. “Which leaves Aurelius.”

They all fall silent for a long moment.

“All three of us?” suggests Harry.

“Maybe James too,” Sirius nods firmly as though the decision has been made. “We should probably discuss this with the rest of the family and see if we’ve missed anything in our thinking, and we should check in with Lily and see if she has made any progress on a counter curse.”

“A what?” Harry shakes his head. “What do you mean? When did Lily say she was going to work on one?”

“Ah, sorry, she talked about it when she brought Snape for the spy discussion,” Sirius says sheepishly. “I forget that you two weren’t there.”

Harry shrugs.

“I might have forgotten to mention it to you too,” Hermione smiles at him apologetically. “Lily’s used Regina and I as a sounding board a couple of times.”

Harry reaches over and she takes his hand. He squeezes her fingers gently. “It’s alright. There’s been a lot going on.”

“I think she’s close to getting somewhere with it,” Hermione explains. “Lily believes she can construct an amulet that would attract and absorb the curse, rendering it null.”

Harry beams. Lily is brilliant, as is Hermione and Regina. He has no doubts that they’ll find a solution.

“Let’s head back and see where she’s at with it,” Sirius says.

They stand and the chairs instantly disappear. Mogby pops back in to retrieve the tea tray and they give her their thanks before they start their walk back to the castle.

“How is Regina?” asks Harry quietly to Hermione. He hasn’t talked with her for a while. He should find time to mirror call her.

“She’s as good as she can be,” Hermione sighs. She sidesteps a branch. “Pettigrew tried to ask me about her. I redirected him to Arcturus.”

“Why would they ask about her?” Harry wonders.

“She’s essentially missing,” Hermoine says. “I know Arcturus told everyone she’s abroad at a temple learning more about her gifts, which is essentially the truth, but it does look suspicious when you don’t know all the context.”

“The Aurors certainly think so,” Sirius says, turning back to look over his shoulder at them briefly. “In between all the insinuations about my attacking Wilde, there was definitely an accusation of killing my sister.”

“You need to make a complaint,” Hermione says, horrified.

Harry nods. “Or we can get the Ministry to get them to back off the topic. Everyone on the War Council knows the truth.”

“Or we bring them into the secret,” Sirius suggests, surprising them. He shrugs and turns to walk forward again. “Maybe that will help adjust their biases.”

Hermione huffs. “I doubt it, but it’s worth a try.”

“I’ll talk to Gramps,” Sirius says, “he can talk to Millicent.”

Hermione and Harry exchange a pleased look.

The discussion slips into regular school talk for the rest of the walk. Sirius is lamenting the last submission of essays the NEWT class provided on the reasons why the wizarding world segregated itself from the muggle. Hermione chats away about the history and Sirius gives her a lively debate.

Harry listens more than participates. He’s pleased that Sirius’ mood has shifted with their conversation. They have a plan to tackle who is being possessed, they believe they know what the artefact might be, and Lily has apparently been working on a counter curse.

He puts Godric back on the leash as they near the castle only to have Godric yank him around the wall. He’s about to remonstrate with the grim when he spots a form staggering and weaving up the path from the main gates.

“Is that Snape?!” Hermione sounds scandalised.

“It is,” Harry says faintly. “Is he drunk?”

“Looks like it,” Sirius grimaces. “He’d managed to get invited to that brunch with the Malfoys, remember?”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Is brunch supposed to be alcoholic?”

“Come on,” Hermione starts walking off towards Snape. “We’d better help him before the students get sight of him.”

She has a point.

They intercept Snape as a group, surrounding him and bringing him to a lurching halt.

Snape is flushed red and stinks of whiskey. His black robe is buttoned incorrectly and one of his shoes is unlaced. “Potter.” He shoves a finger in front of Harry’s face. “I don’t like you!”

“I don’t like you either,” Harry says bluntly.

“But we can never tell Lily,” Snape declares. “She doesn’t understand because you’re her son,” he makes a dismissive gesture, “ish.”

“Good session with Malfoy, then?” asks Sirius, amusement brightens his eyes to a liquid silver.

“Terrible!” Snape leans in as though he’s confiding in Sirius. “Lucius has terrible taste in whiskey. Terrible!”

“Did your drunken arse pry anything out of his drunken arse?” asks Sirius dryly, his nose wrinkling.

Snape puffs up and staggers a step back. They all step forward to steady him and he gestures them away and finds his balance, even if he is a bit wobbly.

“He says he has a new benefactor!” Snape waggles his eyebrows. “He says he’s going to introduce me but not today because I have to prove myself to his father first as being trustworthy.” He stops. He places a hand on his chest and burps.

Harry wafts the stench away from his face.

“And he said that they have a plot to get Dumbledore fired!” Snape continues, swaying to the side.

Harry resists the urge to grab hold of him.

“Apparently the benefactor,” Snape mimes quote marks in a very exaggerated way, “was pissed that Gaius lost something of his which is why Sylve…Sly-vest…Sil…him got used in the forest thing, but they blame Dumbledore for the whole thing which is, you know, stupid!” 

Snape sways again. He suddenly turns sheet white and pitches back in a faint.

Hermione casts quickly and he lands on a cushion rather than the ground. They all stare at Snape’s prone form. Godric sniffs Snape’s boot.

“Do you think our Snape ever got this drunk?” Hermione asks.

“I think our Snape would rather have died than appear anything less than fully in control of himself,” Harry comments dryly.

Hermione harrumphs. “You’re probably right.” She conjures a stretcher and levitates Snape onto it. She casts a final invisibility spell and starts back towards the castle.

“I’m never going to let him forget this.” Sirius says cheerfully as he follows her.

Harry grins back at him.

Snape is going to be completely mortified and Harry is going to enjoy every minute of it.

Chapter 7: Timeless Pieces

The collective decision of the family is to warn Horace Slughorn first.

Nobody wants to see the old Potions Professor dead regardless of his self-serving nature.

The second collective decision is a buddy system. Nobody goes anywhere without someone else with them until the counter curse to the Assassin’s Mask is perfected.

Harry and Hermione arrange to meet with Horace for drinks after dinner. He’s delighted as always to host the Knights of Avalon in his quarters.

Horace settles into his usual armchair with a happy squirm, his large glass of burgundy wine held aloft.

Harry and Hermione are across from him on the very comfortable sofa. Harry has the same as Horace whereas Hermione chose a glass of sparkling peach elf wine. The house elves have provided a platter of small crackers topped with cheese and a dollop of brown chutney. Horace gives a delighted hum as he eats one with relish.

Hermione picks up one of the crackers and takes a bite.

Harry places a hand over his own overly full stomach. Dinner had been a lovely roast pork with all the trimmings, and he’d indulged in treacle tart and ice cream for dessert.

“Now, as much as I would love to pretend that this is simply friends coming together for drinks,” Horace says brightly, “am I wrong to assume you have some questions to ask me?”

Hermione smiles warmly at the Potions Professor. “Actually, Horace, we’re concerned that you may be a target of the individual who attacked Professor Wilde and Mister Filch.”

Horace freezes for a moment before he chuckles. He takes a large gulp of his wine. “I suppose you have come to the same conclusion as dear Minerva, Filius, and Pomona.”

Harry’s eyebrows jerk upward as he stares at Horace’s red face.

“Albus may have asked us to cease our own investigations with the Aurors in situ, but we Heads have a responsibility to our students,” Horace declares somewhat solemnly. He waits a beat. “And we are all gossipy old dragons when it comes down to it! Ha!”

Harry’s amused despite himself. “You’ve been discussing events between the four of you?”

Horace nods. He takes a sip of his wine and Harry sees how Horace’s hand trembles.

“Minerva believes that Ambrosius was targeted because he knew something or could recognise something because he taught Riddle,” Horace says.

“We surmised the same,” Hermione says, clasping both her hands around her glass.

Horace takes another sip of his fortifying wine. “Argus may also have known something but it was more likely that he observed something.” He raises a plump hand. “Either way they along with myself and Stan are among the longest serving staff here. Minerva and Hagrid are also potentially targets as they were here as students at the same time as Riddle.”

“We think Riddle may have left an imprint of himself in a portrait,” Harry says bluntly. “If the portrait is in proximity to someone, they’re using interacting with that someone to draw magic from them and to possess them.”

Horace blinks, his eyes wide and round. He gestures with his glass and the wine rolls furiously almost spilling over. “Really? We had the thought that if it is not a diary, the other most appropriate means of possession would be through an item of jewellery.”

Oh.

“I guess that is also possible,” Hermione admits. She shoots Harry a sheepish look which says quite clearly ‘why didn’t we think of that?’

They really should have thought of jewellery. They knew their Voldemort had used a ring, a tiara and a locket for his horcruxes, it would make sense that this Riddle would have targeted similar trinkets.

“Well, we might have an advantage since we know that the final project Ambrosius sets for his NEWT class is to craft an item of jewellery,” Horace continues. “Riddle took the class and Minerva believes that Ambrosius would be able to recognise the item, hence why he was probably targeted.”

“Well, this throws our theories up in the air now,” Hermione says with a heavy sigh. “We thought if it was a portrait, it was more likely a member of staff who was gifted the item to get it inside Hogwarts.”

“A piece of jewellery means it could still be a student,” Harry takes a gulp of his wine.

Hermione shakes her head. “I think it still can’t be a student. The Assassin’s Mask needs a lot of magical power.”

“Which suggests it is an adult who is being possessed,” Harry scratches his head. He’s completely confused.

“It is a conundrum,” Horace gulps his wine. “Unfortunately, I do not remember what it might be.”

Harry’s eyes narrow at the sweat on Horace’s brow, the way his fingers rub together to sooth himself. He has a strong suspicion that the wizard is lying and that Horace remembers all too well what Riddle created.

Hermione pins Horace with a sharp look. “I appreciate that you cannot fully remember, but perhaps you can take a guess at what his project was likely to be?”

Horace buries his face in his wine glass for a long moment. He avoids their gazes when he finally looks up, staring towards the hearth mantlepiece where an old-fashioned carriage clock takes centre stage. He fidgets with his robe button.

“Most girls will focus on a necklace or a bracelet for themselves,” Horace begins tentatively. “Most boys with a sweetheart or with a close female relative will follow the same as they are the easiest to make.”

Hermione touches her own pearl necklace. Harry had gifted it to her for her birthday just before they’d been yanked through the portal to this world.

“Riddle was an orphan,” Harry states thoughtfully.

“Did he have a girlfriend?” asks Hermione.

Harry can’t imagine Riddle with a girlfriend, although schoolboy Riddle had been somewhat attractive.

Horace gives a single shake of his head. “I cannot recall one.”

“So, what is the usual project for boys who don’t have a sweetheart or a close female relative in their lives who merits a gift?” Hermione frowns, staring into her apple juice. “What constitutes male jewellery?”

A medallion. A ring. A tiepin. Cufflinks.

Harry reels off the list in his head. He doubts Riddle wanted to go with something easy or common. He would have wanted a challenge. He pushes a hand through his hair and his eyes snag on his watch. Harry glances towards the clock. Maybe Horace hadn’t just been checking the time.

“A watch,” he says out loud.

Horace chokes on his wine and comes up spluttering. He waves them off as they begin to rise to help him. “No need! No need!” He looks over at Harry with wide eyes.

“But not a wristwatch,” Hermione says slowly, “back then it was more likely to be a pocket watch.”

“I, um, think you might be onto something there,” Horace splutters. “It, um, feels like that might be right although you didn’t hear that from me!”

Same old cowardly Horace, Harry thinks.

“Of course not,” Hermione sooths him. “Perhaps a change of subject is in order? I wanted to pick your brains about a potion I’d read about called Miner’s Lung Cleanse? The recipe doesn’t match the intent of the potion.”

Harry tunes out the potion discussion.

Are they wrong about a portrait? Why would Sirius be dreaming about portraits if a portrait wasn’t involved? Yet the Heads’ theory that it was jewellery feels compelling. A pocket watch would have been easy for Malfoy to drop into a bag or a pocket somehow. He wishes he had questioned Dobby more about the exact details of what Malfoy was planning. He had assumed too much based on his past experience.

Harry drinks his wine.

Fate is skewing events to mimic his own experiences but changing them enough to never give Harry too much of an advantage. His past is not ‘the power he knows not’ even though he wishes it was that easy.

It doesn’t help, Harry considers darkly, that it feels like the events of two years are tangled up rather than just one year being skewed since Remus continues to be employed as a security addition. He patrols alongside the Aurors to provide protection.

The events of his Third Year carry too many thoughts of Harry’s late godfather. All the events seem entwined with him; Sirius breaking out of Azkaban to protect him, Wormtail revealed as the true betrayer of his parents in the confrontation in the Shrieking Shack; using the Time Turner to save him; Harry saving Sirius from the wave of Dementors with his Patronus.

Perhaps he’s jumping too far ahead, Harry muses. All that is similar right at that moment is that Remus is at Hogwarts. Beyond that, they’re stuck trying to discover what Malfoy’s plot is to wreak havoc in Hogwarts.

There is no diary. There are the options of a portrait or jewellery.

There is no entrance to Slytherin’s chamber in the girls’ bathroom, but someone set an explosion in a classroom and wrote a message on a blackboard.

There is no Myrtle. She is missing.

There is no basilisk at large, only someone, who they believe is possessed, using an assassin’s spell which takes power and knowledge of the spell.

They don’t know who has the item and who is being possessed. If they are being possessed…maybe they’re wrong about that too. Maybe it’s just someone who aligns with the Dark Bastard.

“Harry?”

Hermione’s concern yanks his attention back to the present.

Harry flushes, heat rising in his cheeks. “My apologies. I was lost in thought.”

“Quite alright, Harry,” Horace beams at him. “I know potions are not your thing!”

Hermoine nudges Harry’s knee with his own. “I was just giving our apologies to Horace since we need to get back to the room to join Sirius in calling Regina.”

“Please give my best wishes to her,” Horace says cheerfully. “I hope she’s enjoying her studies abroad.”

They say their goodbyes and Harry allows Hermione to steer him out of Horace’s comfortable abode and into the corridors. They stay silent as they walk back to their suite. The corridors are not a safe space to discuss anything of importance.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief as they enter the warm space of their home within Hogwarts and close the door on the rest of the castle. Godric hurries over to greet him and he pats the grim’s head affectionately as they make their way towards the dining table where Lily and Sirius sit focused on marking their students’ assignments. Harry gave silent thanks that as Flying Instructor he rarely has to mark essays. He generally only assigns them as a disciplinary measure.

Lily looks over and smiles at them. “How did it go with Horace?”

Hermione slides into the seat beside Lily and Harry heads to the other side to sit next to Sirius who is surrounded by stacks of parchment. Harry lets Hermione take the lead on explaining the Heads’ theory and the likelihood of a pocket watch being loose at Hogwarts.

Lily frowns. “It’s an intriguing theory.”

“Completely possible too,” Sirius states with a sigh. He absently scratches his head with the feathered side of his quill. “We only landed on portraits because I was dreaming of them. It might not be a portrait. Maybe the dream has a different meaning.”

“Maybe that’s your excuse of talking with Angela,” Lily proposes. “Dreams are her thing, right?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Hermione says. She points at a pile of parchment. “Do you want me to help you out?”

“No, that’s alright,” Lily says, “but you could check over the arithmancy on this.” She reaches to a parchment discarded in the middle of the table. “It’s the latest counter curse tweak.”

Hermione grins and happily takes the paper.

Harry gestures at Sirius’ work. “I’d offer to help but I was pants at history even on my world.”

Sirius smiles at him fondly. “You look perturbed by your meeting with Horace.”

“I guess I am,” Harry admits. “Every time we think we have something worked out, it feels like something other theory comes along to derail it.” He shakes his head. “This would be easier if everything was the same as it was on my mine and Hermione’s.”

“I guess Fate couldn’t make it too easy for you to take down Riddle,” Sirius grimaces at the paper in front of him and slashes through a paragraph in a streak of red ink. He puts a T at the top of the page.

“The prophecy does kind of force an equal playing field,” Hermione says distracted as her finger traces along the arithmanthic equations.

“Maybe that’s another reason for us to consult with Angela,” Sirius points out. “Your prophecy hasn’t even been made here; does it even apply?”

“I would hope not otherwise it’s going to be really difficult to take him down,” Harry notes.

There is a loud knock on the door which heralds James entering. His Auror robes look dusty and streaked with dirt. He greets Lily with a kiss and slides into the remaining chair beside her.

“I am officially done for the day!” James declares cheerfully. His gaze sweeps the table and he grimaces. “This looks awful.”

“I’m almost done,” says Lily. She taps the small stack in front of her. “Just these to go.”

Sirius grimaces. “I am almost done for tonight anyway. The rest can wait until tomorrow evening.”

“Weren’t you guys supposed to be at old Sluggy’s?” James asks.

Hermione points at Harry. “Your turn.”

Harry accepts the task with a sigh and brings James up to speed quickly. By the end of it, James is looking as frustrated as Harry feels.

“Jewellery!” James shakes his head. “Why didn’t we consider that?” He pauses. “Wait a moment. Back in February we found a pocket watch in the Forest where the foal got stolen, remember? Maybe it’s the same pocket watch.”

“Then how did it get into the school?” Hermione asks sharply. “You handed it as evidence to the Ministry, didn’t you?”

James nods. “I can’t recall what the DOM made of it though and what happened to it. It was probably put in storage. I’ll ask tomorrow.”

“The truth is that it might not be a pocket watch at all. It could be anything,” Sirius says grimly. “All we have are theories. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a chocolate frog card!”

Laughter overtakes them all for a long moment at the thought of a tiny Riddle trapped in the photo of a card trying to possess someone.

Hermione raises the paper she holds triumphantly. “Well, one thing which is going right is this. I think you’ve cracked it, Lily!”

Lily’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really,” Hermione says grinning. “The only thing is that I’m not sure a small amulet is going to be big enough to anchor it though.”

“Maybe an armband or a torc?” Lily suggests, tapping her quill against her lips.

“That could work,” Hermione agrees.

James leans over and kisses Lily’s cheek softly. “Congratulations! I knew you could do it.”

Lily flushes bright pink under her freckles. “I can’t believe it. Filius says if I write up a thesis on it too then I can count it towards my Charms mastery.”

“That’s definitely something to celebrate,” Sirius sets his quill down. “Come on. Let’s get some refreshments and do something other than work or worry about how Riddle is possessing someone for an hour or two!”

“That gets my vote!” agrees Harry, brightening.

Maybe a few hours of not thinking and talking about it will help clear the fog.

Hermione nods. “I think a break is definitely needed.”

It’s a good evening.

They play cards, drink mugs of cocoa with fluffy marshmallows, and generally ignore all of their problems.

Lily and James are the definition of smitten with each other and Harry marvels at the opportunity he’s been given to watch a variation of his own parents fall in love. His gaze shifts to Sirius, bright and full of life, without many of the shadows and torments that plagued his own godfather. He might hate that he was chosen to protect this world and yanked from his own, Merlin knows how much he misses the friends they’d left behind, but he appreciates more than he can ever say getting to know his family here.

Harry feels peaceful as he and Hermione head to bed. He falls asleep with his wife cuddled up beside him and the sense that everything will work itself out.

The feeling stays with him through another full school day and it feels like no time has passed before the evening arrives. It finds him accompanying Sirius to visit with Angela. The Divination tower is a bright airy space with each room designed for a particular practice. Angela lives in an attic suite at the top of the tower, accessible only by a winding staircase.

Harry is winded when they reach the top landing. “I can’t believe Angela does this every day.”

“Maybe you get used to it,” Sirius says breathlessly. He stands with his hands on his hips on the landing, his face flushed pink.

The door to the living quarters opens and Angela stands there. She doesn’t even try to hide her amusement at the state of them. Her long grey hair is down around her shoulders and she’s dressed comfortably in muggle wear; plain ballet slippers, jeans, a bright blue blouse, and a long grey cardigan. 

“Come on in,” Angela directs them through the door and into a cosy living space.

Harry looks around with unabashed curiosity.

It is the equivalent of a studio flat.

A sunshine yellow kitchenette curves around the far wall with large windows allowing the late evening sunshine to flood the space. A small dining table with two chairs provides a barrier to the living space where a curvy old sofa faces the hearth, an old-fashioned rocking chair right next to it. An oval wooden coffee table sits atop a sheepskin rug in front of the sofa. To the left, a set of stairs lead to a mezzanine area where Harry can see a glimpse of a bed. He assumes that there must be a bathroom space provided too even if it isn’t visible. There is a faint scent of a lavender incense in the air but nothing as overpowering as the stuff Trelawney used to burn.

Angela gestures towards the sofa as she sits in the rocking chair, picking up some knitting and setting it aside into a basket of wool beside her. “How can I assist you both?”

Harry blinks and darts a look to Sirius.

Sirius rubs his chin. “Perhaps it might be easier to start with me?”

Angela’s blue eyes regard him thoughtfully. “You’ve Seen something.”

Sirius nods. “I dream of portraits, of searching for a particular portrait.” He presses his lips together. “When I was discussing the matter with Harry and Hermione, it was proposed that the person who attacked Professor Wilde may be influenced by a portrait.”

Angela glances towards Harry. “I assume your wife made the suggestion, Harry?”

Harry nods and ignores the feeling that he’s somewhat throwing his wife under the bus with the admission.

“I thought so,” Angela says dryly. “Hermione has one of the most literal and logical minds I have ever encountered.”

“She does,” Harry agrees brightly. He knows Angela probably didn’t mean it as a compliment but he decides to take it as one anyway.

Angela smiles at him before turning back to Sirius. “You have had training for your Sight, Sirius. What is the first lesson?”

“Sight is not clear,” Sirius intones with a sigh. He pushes a hand over the crown of his head and touches the low bun of hair as if checking it is secure. “Things are obscured in symbolism often.”

Which explains why prophecy is often so cryptic.

“So, what do the portraits symbolise?” asks Angela patiently.

“Portraits are pictures of the dead,” Sirius says slowly.

Harry frowns unsure where Sirius is going with that because isn’t that obvious? He represses his urge to sigh. He’s so pants at Divination.

Sirius closes his eyes. “Ghosts. The portraits are a symbol of ghosts and I’m searching for a ghost.”

“Myrtle,” Harry blurts out. “She’s missing but we haven’t focused on finding her. Maybe she’s the key.”

“And maybe the key to finding her is to talk with the other ghosts,” Sirius says, opening his eyes. “They were around when she died. They might know something.”

Harry’s sceptical on that. Talking with ghosts was problematic in his experience but it is a good plan if Myrtle is so important to working out what is going on.

Angela sits back in the rocking chair. “Your gift is growing stronger.”

Sirius nods. “Yes.”

“We should spend an hour every week together training,” Angela says briskly. “You need more than a school’s education in the matter.”

“I would be grateful for the instruction,” Sirius says politely.

Angela turns to Harry. “You have no gift.”

“No,” Harry agrees with a grimace. “I just, well, we thought it might be good to get your take on my circumstances?”

That had been a debate and a half since they cannot know for certain that Angela isn’t the one possessed or working with Voldemort. In the end they had all agreed it is worth the risk to get her expert opinion.

Angela peers at him. “I assume you don’t mean about your knighthood as that is not my area of expertise?”

“There was a prophecy about me on my world,” Harry begins bluntly. “It identified a baby who would be born at the end of the seventh month to parents who had defied the Dark Lord three times as someone who could defeat him with a power ‘the Dark Lord knew not.’”

“I see,” Angela murmurs, tucking her cardigan around her. “You’re touched by Fate.”

“On my world,” Harry nudges his glasses up his nose. “But events are repeating themselves here. It’s like Fate has decided to make the prophecy applicable to here too. Is that possible?”

“All things are possible when Fate is involved,” Angela says almost apologetically. “But I doubt that the prophecy with all of its meaning on your world applies to your circumstances here. It’s more likely that another prophecy, a different prophecy, was made about to cover the potential here.”

Oh.

Harry hasn’t even considered that possibility.

Sirius grimaces. “We should probably consult with Director Bell and pay a visit to the DOM.”

“It would be prudent,” agrees Angela. She fidgets for a long moment with a button on her cardigan, her eyes remaining on Harry. “It is a difficult thing to be chosen by Fate. Your individual actions are not dictated by Her, but the path you walk is. If there is a prophecy, it is meant to guide you, to help.”

Harry sighs heavily. “I never found the one on my world particularly helpful. Part of it made me a target for a Dark Lord, and the rest of it was just nothing which made sense.”

Amusement flickers over Angela’s face, warming her blue eyes and softening her features. “Nothing which made sense to someone without a gift.”

Harry’s cheeks heat a touch at her pointed statement. He nods. “Right. I never was very good at interpretating stuff like that.”

“I’d be happy to assist you in any way I can, Harry,” Angela offers. “Perhaps we could begin with the prophecy from your world?”

Harry recites it from memory. It’s been stuck in his brain since his Dumbledore finally told him about it on the night of Padfoot’s death.

Angela rubs her arms as though she’s cold when he finishes. “I see what you mean about the identifying part of the puzzle. A child born as the seventh month dies, parents who have thrice defied this Dark Lord…I assume you met the criteria without question?”

Harry nods, shifting his position a touch to squirm into the cushions. “I don’t know the exact nature of the three times my parents defied him, but my Professor Dumbledore confirmed that they had. There was another baby born the day before who also met the criteria until the whole marking thing.” He swept a finger over his old lightning scar.

Angela’s eyes flickered to it briefly. “He marked you as an equal.”

“He only knew part of the prophecy, I doubt he would have marked me as such if he’d known,” Harry says, “and besides, I wasn’t his equal. I was a child. Even later, he was more powerful, more educated.” He shakes his head. “It never made sense to me.”

“Being marked as an equal doesn’t necessarily make you an equal,” Sirius comments quietly beside him.

“What happened during the marking?” Angela asks gently.

Harry blinks at her and he looks away towards the hearth. The mantelpiece holds an array of different crystals and he stares at a green crystal, the same colour as the Killing curse.

“He tried to kill me when I was barely a year old,” Harry says. “He’d already killed my parents to get to me. My Mum had done some kind of protection spell and the Killing curse rebounded on him, left me with a scar.”

“And how did it leave him?” presses Angela.

“He was disembodied and stayed as a wraith until my school years. He used my blood to help him create a body for himself,” admits Harry.

“So, in a way, at the act of marking, Fate made him equal to you in that moment,” Angela points out. “She made him as helpless as a baby.”

Harry tilts his head as he considers her words. He’d never thought about it that way.

“What about the power?” asks Sirius. “Do you know what that is?”

Harry sighs. “My Dumbledore thought it was love since my mother’s love protected me for a long time. Hermione always thought it was something more tangible. I just wanted it to be something useful and obvious.”

“If we assume the phrase of being marked and the power are linked, your mother’s protective spell must have been the power he did not know,” Angela says thoughtfully. “The rest of it…it says your fates were intertwined from that moment. One of you would need to kill the other to resolve it and you’d be forever unable to move forward in your life until you did.”

“So, when I killed him…”

“Your prophecy on your world was fulfilled,” Angela confirms.

Harry feels lightheaded with relief. “And it doesn’t apply here?”

“And it doesn’t apply here,” Angela states firmly. “But as I said…” “There’s another prophecy,” Harry says out loud. He shakes his head as though to deny it but he can’t because it is all too likely. Fate had chosen him again after all.

Chapter 8: Prophecy, Prophecy, Prophecy

“Hold still,” Lily remonstrates as she fastens the clasp on the new platinum wrist band etched with the Peverell coat of arms.

It’s thick and heavy. He thinks he’s seen something similar in a TV show.

“Honestly, you’re worse than James,” Lily says, “and he was a complete baby about it.”

“I’m not being a baby,” Harry protests. “It’s just uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable or not, it could save your life so you are wearing it,” Lily smooths his robes over his shoulders.

Her maternal care makes Harry’s heart ache a little.

Hermione clears her throat and lifts her own arm where she wears a matching band to his. “I’ve charmed mine lighter. I don’t think it will interfere with the counter curse.”

“It won’t,” Lily blew out a breath, her fringe floating upwards for a moment. “Why didn’t I include that?” She taps Harry’s band and it instantly lightens.

“That’s better,” Harry says.

Sirius looks up from reading the paper, his silver eyes sparkling. “When are you going to tell James that he can put a featherlight charm on it?”

Lily smirks. “I’m sure he can work it out.” She points at Sirius. “Your turn.”

Harry grins at Sirius as he steps away and takes a seat on the sofa by Hermione. She slides her hand into his.

Their living room is flooded with early morning sunlight. It’s too early to be awake on a weekend, but they’ve arranged to visit the Ministry and the Hall of Prophecies. Charlus and Arcturus are meeting them there.

James is unable to go with them as he is on duty patrolling Hogwarts alongside Remus all day. He’d joined them for breakfast though and the bunch of sunflowers he’d brought Lily sit majestically in a vase on the dining table their yellow faces turned towards the window.

Harry pets Godric when the grim pushes his snout into his hand. Hedwig spreads her wings atop her perch and settles back to preen at her feathers. He looks around and nudges Hermione. “Where’s Crookshanks?”

“Out,” Hermione says briskly. “I think he’s courting that kneazle in the stables again.”

She doesn’t sound pleased.

“You don’t want to be a grandmother?” Harry teases gently.

She pokes him in his side and rolls her eyes.

“Right,” Lily says. “We are all done.”

Sirius stands examining his wristband with awe. “This is amazing work, Lily.”

Lily goes pink under her freckles. “Thank you. Filius thinks it will definitely be enough to confirm my mastery.”

“I agree,” Sirius says. “It’s brilliant work.”

Hermione stands and tugs Harry to his feet. “We should head off if we’re going to meet Charlus and Arcturus on time.”

They summon their outerwear and hastily shrug on the light robes before they use the Floo to traverse to the Ministry.

Harry ignores the bright lobby with its horrible statue, pushing memories of his own Ministry to the back of his mind. Nothing good had ever happened to him at that Ministry. He’d only ever visited this one for a single Wizengamot session. Of course that had ended in chaos with the visit from the ghostly King Arthur but Harry hadn’t been on trial, or losing his godfather to the Veil, or obtaining a horcrux…

They head to the elevators and down to the DOM.

Sirius leads the way confidently as they step into a blandly decorated corridor. He takes them right through a large wooden door and into a bustling reception area. Sirius greets a few people with a bow of the head as he walks them over to the sitting area. He had confided that if he hadn’t been tasked by his grandfather to spy on Dumbledore at Hogwarts, he might have joined the DOM as an Unspeakable until the time came to take up his role as Lord Black.

The current Lord Black stands by an uncomfortable looking sofa, Charlus beside him. They greet them with bows and curtsies as is the practice in this world. Hermione hooks her arm around Harry’s as they stand.

A young witch with frizzy blonde hair and nutbrown skin hurries over. She wears the grey robes of the DOM uniform, a metal badge with her name etched upon it on her left breast; Kathleen Armor.

“My Lords, Director Bell will see you now,” Armor says crisply. “Follow me.” She doesn’t wait for their acquiescence and simply starts walking.

Harry sees Charlus and Arcturus exchange a brief look of irritation at the disrespect but they follow the witch. Harry and Hermione fall in behind them, leaving Sirius and Lily to bring up the rear.

Harry doesn’t bother trying to keep up with the maze of corridors and doors that they are led through. He has a sense that even if he were to memorise the way, it would change on him if he tried to repeat it.

Hermione’s eyes sweep over everything and he knows she’s storing the knowledge of the place away in her sharp mind.

They finally enter a large office suite and find themselves in another reception room.

It is a beautiful room. Dark blue wallpaper in a brocade pattern covers the top two-thirds of the wall with dark wood panelling on the bottom third. Brass uplighters keep the room well lit.

To Harry’s left there is a large desk piled high with stacks of paper and a wizened old man sits behind it completely focused on reading, half-moon glasses perched on a long thin nose.

To Harry’s right, there is another large desk but it is substantially clearer. A mature rotund witch with bright purple hair is typing away on a computer. Her nameplate identifies her as Unspeakable Munch. She looks up and nods at Armor.

“Thank you. I’ll take it from here, Kathleen,” Munch dismisses Armor brusquely. She doesn’t even wait for Armor to depart before rising and bowing to Charlus and Arcturus. “My Lords.”

Charlus smiles at her. “It is good to see you again, Polly. How is your mother?”

“She’s doing well, Lord Gryffindor,” Munch replies with a smile. “She’s currently on a cruise through the Caribbean with my stepfather.”

“Alma always did want to travel,” Arcturus notes warmly. He slides a look to Harry and Hermione. “Charlus and I attended school with Alma. She was one of Melania’s dearest friends.”

Hermione smiles at Munch. “It is good to make you acquaintance.”

“And I yours, Lady Peverell,” Munch nods to Harry. “Lord Peverell.” She gestures towards the door to the far right. “Please come this way.”

They’re ushered into a conference room.

There is a long oval table in the centre of the room with comfortable leather chairs arrayed around it. A projector suspended from the ceiling points at the far wall. There are refreshments already set out on the table; coffee, tea, juice and water.

“Please wait here,” Munch says. “Director Bell will be with you shortly.”

Charlus and Arcturus take seats. Harry sits beside his grandfather, Hermione beside him, and Lily takes the seat beside her. Sirius slides into the seat next to his grandfather on the opposite side of the table.

Hermione takes charge of refreshments; Charlus and Arcturus both opt for the coffee, Lily has a glass of juice, and the rest of them settle for water.

They’re barely situated when Director Bell arrives. Constance is a statuesque blonde in her late fifties. During their past encounters both when she was confirming them as travellers from another world and during the Council sessions, Harry has found her a formidable witch, smart as a whip and fiercely opinionated. Charlus and Arcturus list her as an ally.

Harry’s gaze zeroes in on the rectangular wooden box she sets it at the head of the table.

“Shall we get down to business,” Bell’s English accent is crisp and upper-class. She smooths down the DOM’s uniform grey robes. Only an amulet gives away her seniority. “I have retrieved three prophecy spheres which have been identified as being applicable to Lord Peverell. One precedes the Ministry’s spell to automatically capture and have any prophecy spoken in the British Isles recorded to the Hall.”

Three.

Harry’s heart sinks.

Bell looks over at him calmly. “Would you prefer me to stay or leave while you and your family listen to them?”

Harry glances at Charlus.

“It’s your decision, Harry,” Charlus says.

Hermione rubs her thumb over Harry’s white knuckles. “Would you be willing to make a vow to keep the contents of the prophecy secret unless given permission by Harry to share the details?”

Bell nods slowly. “As long as the vow does not contradict my oath of office or others.”

There is a long delay while they work out the wording and Bell takes the vow. She takes a seat by Sirius and floats the wooden box down to Harry.

He lifts the lid with trepidation.

Three spheres sit nestled into a velvet cloth.

One is fogged up and grey. He vaguely remembers that means it is fulfilled. He taps it with his wand anyway. A woman’s voice echoes through the room.

‘Friend of the Centaurs, he hides them away when the Dark Lord rises; Knight of Avalon, he and his blood hide Avalon away when mine own blood meets her destiny below the Lake; the choice of the Emrys and of Fate to stand as the Light before Dark.’

Bell clears her throat. “The prophecy was made by the Priestess Vivien in the reign of Arthur. The orb was gifted to the Ministry by Rowena Ravenclaw.”

Harry presses his lips together.

“The events before Easter mean that this prophecy is completed,” Hermione says quietly.

Bell raises an eyebrow. “I would like to ask questions about Avalon.”

“It is deemed a family secret,” Charlus tells her. Harry can hear the genuine regret in his voice.

“Although perhaps there is an argument for Director Bell to be added to the vow,” Hermione says. “We can talk about it afterwards.”

“A good suggestion,” Arcturus bows his head at her, warm approval in his silver gaze.

Harry picks up his water and takes a sip. He takes a breath. “On with the next one.”

He taps the centre orb, which is white, filled with clouds which stream out and fill the air and take the shape of a slim man dressed in plain black garb but with the crest of Peverell stitched onto his cloak. Harry recognises him immediately as his ancestor Ignotus. He thinks he knows what prophecy is about to be spoken…

‘When Evil rises to threaten Camelot, the Master of Hallows will claim them though he wants not the power they wield.’

The image flickers and it is as though his gaze lands directly on Harry.

‘Trust that Death is your friend, Descendent, for her Grim walks beside you.’

The cloud streams back into the orb at the end.

Charlus coughs. “That explains why the portrait of Ignotus woke for you and no-one else in the family.”

“You united the Hallows in your own world?” questions Bell, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Harry nods. “By luck mostly.”

“Sheer dumb luck,” Hermione agrees sombrely.

He tangles their fingers together drawing strength from her. He’s relieved his magic has been stabilised because he hates to think just how turbulent it would have felt if he hadn’t had the treatment.

“This relates to your mission,” Bell states, lightly tapping the tabletop with a single finger. “The King asked you to defend Camelot.”

“Yes,” Harry nods again. “The portrait of Ignotus and I spoke briefly. He was aware that the one who would unite them here would face a great evil and the Hallows would be needed.”

“You know where they are,” Lily deduces out loud, her green eyes wide.

“I do, but they shouldn’t be gathered before they’re necessary,” Harry says firmly. “They are dangerous in the wrong hands and if Riddle knew where they were he’d want them for himself.”

“We will bow to your judgement on this, Harry,” Charlus says firmly. “You are Lord Peverell. The Hallows are yours.”

Sirius and Arcturus nod in agreement.

Sirius clears his throat. “It’s an interesting comment about the grim. We know Merlin gifted you your familiar but perhaps there is greater significance to that.”

Hermione leans forward to catch Sirius’ gaze. “We know from many of the accounts we’ve read about the Knights of Avalon that Merlin’s gifts often had a purpose. It is probable that Godric and even Crookshanks will play a role beyond being a comfort to us.”

“Well said, Hermione,” Lily says.

“I think it is interesting that it was Ignotus himself who prophesised this,” Bell says, looking at the orb. “Your family line is tied to Arthur’s through his mother. This prophecy is related to your Knight’s mission. There is a substantial blood and family magic link here.”

Harry can’t argue with that. He sighs as his gaze drifts to the remaining orb. “Last one.”

Hermione offers him a weak smile, her eyes dark with worry.

He taps the final sphere.

The cloud rushes up and hovers above the table, forming into a plump young girl dressed in a Ravenclaw Hogwarts uniform. Her glasses were overly large for her face which was spotted with teenage acne.

“Myrtle!” Hermione breathes out in a gasp.

‘The one with the power to vanquish the Riddle

is not of this world,

but blood and magic will accept him as kin.

The one with the power to vanquish the Riddle

Is Fate’s Chosen and Arthur’s Knight,

and he will have power the Riddle knows not.

For either must die at the hand of the other,

For this is their shared path

In every world.’

The cloud drifts back into the orb.

The room is silent.

Harry belatedly realises he is rubbing at his scar and abruptly lowers his hand.

Hermione leans into him offering him her support. “Well, now we know.”

“The House of Potter stands with you, Harry,” Charlus places his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “You have our wands.”

“The House of Black stands with you,” Arcturus echoes solemnly. “You have our wands too.”

Lily reaches over and places a hand on his arm. “You have my love and protection.”

Harry trembles as he meets her gaze. “My mother died for me. I cannot lose you too.” He sweeps his gaze over Charlus and Arcturus, landing on Sirius. He shivers. “Any of you.”

“It’s the nature of war,” Sirius says quietly. “I know you know that only too well. If Riddle continues with his plans, we will all face him one way or another; all be in danger. Let us be in danger with you, Harry, so we can aide you.”

Harry nods jerkily.

Hermione’s hand tightens on his. Her eyes meet his. She’s beside him. Always. He’s never needed her to say out loud that she’s with him; she’s never given him cause to doubt it. He leans his head against hers briefly.

Lily pats his arm gently, rousing his attention back to the room.

Harry leans back in his chair, easing away from everyone’s touch except Hermione’s. He regards the spheres sourly. “OK, so one prophecy completed. One relates to the Knights of Avalon mission, and one is directly related to Riddle.”

Lily waves a hand at the box and the spheres. “Shall we talk about the elephant in the room?”

“Don’t you mean ghost?” Sirius quips.

“It does rather change things, doesn’t it?” says Hermione, shifting to look at Sirius. “Has there ever been a hint of Myrtle being a Seer anywhere in the accounts of her? Maybe something I haven’t read?”

Sirius shakes his head. “The longest account of her is actually in the Hogwarts’ academic records. Minerva pulled Myrtle’s file for me after she saw Harry’s memory. Myrtle was first generation; a good student; solid for a Ravenclaw rather than brilliant. There is plenty of commentary of her difficulty in making friends with other students. Ariana treated her for hormonal issues. She had tea with her twice trying to investigate rumours of bullying to no avail.”

“She would have assumed the bullying would have gotten worse if she’d spoken about it,” Lily comments angrily. “The upper years can be complete bitches to the younger students in Ravenclaw if they’re not performing to what they believe is the academic standard.”

Sirius nods. “At least Filius tries to watch for it now.” He gestures across the table. “Her death was recorded as a suicide due to the bullying and emotional instability. That’s it from a record perspective.” He presses his lips together. “I’m almost certain that she didn’t take the Divination class.”

“Most Ravenclaws do not take it because they are typically very logical thinkers and dismiss the Divination practices as nonsense,” Bell comments.

Harry watches as both Hermione and Lily go pink in response.

Bell frowns at the spheres. “This Myrtle girl may never have realised that she had the gift if she was a Truth Speaker and she never spoke in front of someone.”

“Is a Truth Speaker when they don’t remember what they’ve said?” Harry checks.

Sybill Trelawney probably fell into that same category, although he’d always assumed her confusion after speaking was worse because of how much sherry she imbibed on a regular basis. In hindsight, he is certain Trelawney had an alcohol problem.

Bell nods in response to his question. “Truth Speakers will often suddenly talk but when they stop, they never recall what they’ve said.” She pauses. “I should return to the Hall and see if there are any other further prophecies she made. They may not pertain to you, Lord Peverell, or they may have the potential but not a full identification as yet.”

“Thank you, Connie,” Charlus says. “I think we would appreciate the assurance if you could do so.”

Bell rises and leaves without another word.

“Myrtle was a Truth Speaker,” Sirius says, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “She would have no memory of giving the prophecy.”

“Does the recording have any further details of who might have heard?” Hermione asks.

Harry reluctantly lets go of her to reach for the box. He pulls it closer and picks up the orb. He remembers his original prophecy orb had a wooden plinth attached with the details of who had spoken, to whom and the identification of himself and the Dark Lord.

This orb is without the plinth and any kind of noted detail.

He shakes his head as he turns the crystal sphere over in his hands. “Nothing.”

“Maybe it’s recorded elsewhere; we should check,” Hermione says firmly. She meets Charlus’ questioning gaze. “Harry’s prophecy was partially overheard on our world. Our Dumbledore immediately hired Trelawney and shielded her in Hogwarts to protect her. What if Myrtle was partially overheard in some way and Riddle killed her trying to get the details from her?”

“Details she wouldn’t have been able to provide because she wouldn’t remember,” Sirius says, horror sketching its way across his face.

“He might not have even used the Assassin’s Mask back then,” Arcturus says, “the Imperius curse might have worked just as well.”

“Unfortunately, this is all sounding very feasible,” Charlus says tiredly. He rubs his eyes and sits back, his hands flat on the table, “I’m just not certain how it helps us now.”

It doesn’t.

Knowing more of the details of Myrtle’s death doesn’t get them any further forward in finding her ghost. All they have achieved is finding the prophecies which relate to him. The last one is not so different to the one on his world – he is identified as a potential vanquisher, an unknown power, and the fact that he is not guaranteed to kill Voldemort as either of them could die at the hand of the other.

The door opens and Bell sails back through another smaller wooden box in her hands. She waves the door closed with a snap of her wand and once again floats the box to Harry.

“This is the only other orb which responded to my summons for prophecies spoken by Myrtle Warren,” Bell explains crisply. “It probably did not respond to my previous gathering as the circumstances may not yet have fully identified it as pertaining to you. However, magic knows if it relates to you or not and it should respond when you tap it if it does.”

Harry grimaces. He rubs his nose and contemplates the box. He had hoped three prophecies were enough. He opens the box and taps the cloudy orb.

The cloud drifts up in a now familiar way to reform into Myrtle.

‘To solve the second Riddle, you must find me in the Dark Chamber where secrets are hidden and the cat stalks their prey.’

The cloud dives back into the orb.

“Myrtle is in Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets,” Hermione’s astonishment matches his.

“If this Imprint Riddle hasn’t found the way into the chamber, she may have fled their for safety,” Sirius theorises.

“What was that bit about cats stalking their prey?” asks Bell sharply. “Does that mean anything to anyone?”

They all shake their heads.

Harry thinks briefly of the still missing Mrs Norris and dismisses the idea as too literal, Angela’s words echoing in his mind. Cats were symbolic of a predator. It could be that it was referring to Riddle although Harry had never known him to align with any motifs other than a snake and a skull.

“We will need to think on this more,” Charlus states, knocking his fist against the table.

“I know the Aurors and the Headmaster have been through the old classroom and found nothing, but I think it’s worth us taking a look ourselves,” Sirius suggests. “It’s our best lead for where the entrance might be in this one.”

“Agreed,” Hermione says. “Let’s get back to Hogwarts, have some lunch, and go exploring.”

They made their goodbyes, thanking Bell for her time and expertise. Munch fell in beside them to show them back out of the DOM. It is another winding and confusing walk and Harry focuses on holding Hermione’s hand and simply following where they are led.

They finally reach the main lobby and Harry freezes at the sight of the very recognisable Malfoy hair.

Abraxas.

The wizard was taller and more imposing than Lucius; an aristocratic thin face and sharp chin, his blond hair swept back from a prominent widow’s peak. He has a long slim black cane with a head fashioned into a black cobra.

“My Lords, how surprising it is to see you here,” Malfoy sneers.

He’d been tipped off, Harry surmises. He does a sweep of the room and see Armor looking pointedly away, tidying some stacks of parchment as though her life depends on it.

“Family business,” Charlus says easily.

Malfoy glares at him.

“Speaking of family business, Narcissa says she’s doing well with the pregnancy,” Arcturus cuts in. “You must be delighted at the prospect of your first grandchild, I know Cygnus is quite gleeful.”

Malfoy twists the cane under his hand. “We are pleased.” His gaze flickers to Harry. “I do not believe we’ve had the opportunity to be formally introduced.”

“How remiss of me,” Charlus says dryly. “Lord Abraxas Malfoy, I introduce you to Lord Harry Potter, Earl of Peverell, Baron Ravenshold, a treasured member of my family, and his wife, the Lady Hermione.”

Harry gives a short nod of his head. He far outranks Malfoy in the nobility, something he guesses irritates the older wizard immensely as his bow is lacking. “Congratulations on your family’s blessing of a child.”

“Sylvestre noted that you were an adequate Flying Instructor,” Malfoy sniffs. “Perhaps you might consider leaving Hogwarts for a private employment?”

“I’m afraid not,” Harry rejoins. “I’m pleased to hear Sylvestre is doing well at Durmstrang.”

“A school he did not have to attend if not for all the disturbing developments at Hogwarts,” Malfoys says. “Many of which began with your employment there, I believe.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “If you feel I’ve been that disruptive, I can’t imagine why you’d be prepared to take me into your own employ.”

Malfoy’s pale skin turns red.

Charlus steps forward. “I would suggest you keep your unwarranted insinuations to yourself, Abraxas, or I might take offence.”

“And I,” Arcturus slides in smoothly.

“I meant no offence,” Malfoy says grudgingly. “You cannot be pleased with how Dumbledore is handling the latest trouble, surely? Not after all that business with the possessed witch he allowed to be on staff.”

Harry remembers Snape’s drunken recounting that Lucius had mentioned a plot against Dumbledore. Maybe, he muses, the Malfoys’ plot was more about the Headmaster and that it had the potential to hurt him too was a bonus.

Arcturus’ silver gaze is flinty. “I know enough to know that in this he is doing his duty. If you know otherwise I’m certain the Board of Governors would be happy to hear your complaint although as you no longer have a direct family member on the rolls, it would be difficult to secure a hearing.”

Malfoy’s lips thin. “Perhaps when I have gathered my evidence you will be more inclined to hear me.”

“Perhaps,” Arcturus says.

Charlus coughs politely to break the stare down between the two men. “If you’ll excuse us, Abraxas, we must be getting back. Dorea is expecting us for lunch.”

They sweep out but Malfoy’s angry face stays with Harry. He only hopes he can free Dobby from him one day.

Interlude

Hermione wakes up slowly.

She is not a morning person but she has a disciplined morning routine. Both her parents had worked and her childhood nanny had believed structure was key in forming young minds. Her inner alarm clock has typically woken her at six for years in anticipation of being up and out of the door ready for the start of the day at eight-thirty. Only the year of trampling after horcruxes had altered her routine bar illnesses and injuries. She’d found comfort in reverting post the war. Lately, Harry has had a unique way of convincing her to stay in bed a little longer.

Her lips curve at her memories of their honeymoon at the beach cabin, her toes curling a touch. She rolls over to kiss her husband awake and finds an empty bed.

Hermione’s muddled mind belatedly registers the signs that should have told her that he was missing. He hogs the duvet and it had been wrapped around her. He’s usually in touching distance; his body a welcome presence breathing beside her, reminding her that he is with her.

He snores.

Little tiny snores which are more adorable than they ever should be found.

Hermione huffs and slumps back in the bed, blinking the last remnants of sleep away. She frowns at the lack of noise from the bathroom. It means Harry is probably either waiting for her in their sitting room just beyond the bedroom door or he’s downstairs in the communal living area already.

She closes her eyes and centres her mind on the family magic bond. She doesn’t have quite the same connection with the Potters and Blacks as Harry does. She’s married in and she does not share their blood, plus she lacks Harry’s sheer magical power.

She frowns as she finds a new spot which feels odd. She’ll have to talk to James or Sirius about what that might mean. Maybe it is the magic reconnecting Regina after Avalon had seemingly muffled her presence. And maybe Hermione hasn’t been quite as diligent as she should be about identifying everyone in the magic as she should have been beyond Harry. She turns her attention to her husband, ignoring the thrill of being married to him that flutters through her. 

Harry is a constrained ball of anxiety, probably about the day ahead. They’ve finally secured permission from Albus and the Aurors to investigate the potions lab along with their fellow professors. Professor Glass and Madame Pince had taken Hogsmeade duty.

Hermione grimaces.

Lily had gone with her to have a conversation with Irma Pince, but it had been a waste of time in respect of their search to see if any of their colleagues is possessed by Riddle.

Pince’s sitting room had been austere. She’d imagined every wall covered in bookshelves and packed tightly with stacks of books so it had been a shock to discover bare walls with only a picture of Jesus on the cross hanging on one wall. At least their conversation about books on religious and political fanaticism had given Hermione some additional leads to follow in their Avalon investigation. 

She sighs and stretches, pushing back the duvet to step into the warmth of the bedroom. There is no fire in the bedroom hearth since it is ostensibly the beginning of May, and she suspects Harry cast a warming charm when he got up. He hates getting out of bed and into the cold air.

She heads to the bathroom and breathes in the scent of Harry’s preferred bodywash and shampoo. The woodsy pine notes make her smile anew. She sets the shower to run while she deals with pressing bodily needs.

Climbing under the water fully wakes Hermione up.

She sets about her ablutions, wondering if she should speed up a touch to get to Harry sooner. He hasn’t slept well since Argus Filch’s death. She knows that he’s blaming himself for it even though it isn’t his fault.

If anyone should take the blame other than the actual murderer, Hermione thinks darkly, it is sodding Fate.

She absolutely hates that Harry had been put in the position of defeating Voldemort again. Hadn’t he suffered enough? If she ever gets her own visitation from King Arthur or Merlin she’s going to give them a piece of her mind for ever bringing Harry to this world.

She sighs as she reaches for her shampoo, inhaling the scent of lemons with a hum.

Hermione can allow that perhaps Arthur and Merlin hadn’t realised the implications of pulling the subject of a prophecy from one world to another where they had interfered to deny Fate her chosen hero. Maybe they just hadn’t thought through the consequences enough full stop.

She hates that she was used as bait to draw Harry into the trap Merlin had made to capture them.

Words.

She will have words with them if they ever dare to show themselves to her.

Hermione rinses her hair thoroughly. She performs a quick depilatory spell – so much better than waxing – and grabs the body wash and her sponge.

The only thing she will thank them for is bringing her along with Harry. If she had been left behind…

Well, she would have torn universes apart to find him. It was probably best for all involved that she had been brought with Harry. Her own world had realised the same when she had followed Harry into the muggle world following his exile.

She’d had the plan ever since the farce of a trial just before their Fifth Year. She had been about to track Harry down in Little Whinging to see how he was after the events of the Triwizard Tournament when Professor Dumbledore had turned up and taken her to Grimmauld Place. She had assumed Harry was there. It had been a huge disappointment to find herself sequestered instead with the Weasleys and unable to send Harry any letter of value since Molly read everything.

Sirius and Remus had indulged her with stories of Harry as a baby and her endless questions about magic. It had been Sirius in a rare moment of seriousness (no pun intended) who had advised her on having a contingency plan. She suspects he knew that she would automatically include Harry within it.

Harry.

Her first friend.

Her first love.

She flushes in remembered guilt because Ron had known how she’d felt about Harry. He had always known and always been jealous about it. It had been what had driven him to leave them in the sodding Forest of Dean. And then it had just been the two of them, her and Harry alone for weeks until Ron had come back.

She doesn’t regret her relationship with Ron. She did have genuine romantic feelings for him and she had planned a life with him. But their relationship had been volatile and, with hindsight, she’s come to realise that Ron had never liked her true self so much as he had the Hermione he’d made up in his head. His offer to marry her so she could be a stay-at-home Mum like his mother after the Muggleborn Act had come out had been mindboggling.

When she’d told him about her plan to head into the muggle world, their fight had been horrible. He’d accused her of always putting Harry first; of loving Harry more. She knows deep down that it had been an unfair charge. She’d loved Ron just as much as Harry, but she also knows that Harry had been her first friend, her first love, and that had given him a special place in her heart.

She does miss Ron. But their friendship had difficult in the wake of the break-up and the fact that she was rarely in magical enclaves. She’d had more contact with Neville and Luna than Ron in the year before Merlin’s spell had removed her and Harry from their world.

She misses her friends. They’ve been gone for just under six months and she misses them. But she knows she’s happier in some ways in this world than in her own where she has parents who cannot forgive her for using magic on them and where she’s exiled to the muggle world (even with the solace of having Harry with her). Oh, she had reconciled herself to a mostly muggle existence and a part of her knows she would have been happy following her path towards a doctorate and a career in law, but she is a witch.   

Not to mention that Harry’s chaotic magic which had seen him exiled on their world is now cured. He has family here. They can live and practice their magic.

Hermione rinses off swiftly. Leaving the shower and wrapping herself in a towel to follow her dental hygiene and usual facial routine.

She absently wonders if Harry has ever realised that her Harry-and-Hermione-Go-Muggle Plan had been years in the making. Maybe not. She thinks he’d been too grateful to have a plan to think about just how long Hermione had had one. He’d thanked her for it when they’d arrived on this world, when they’d talked about why Harry usually carried an emergency trunk and she a bottomless handbag filled with supplies.

They usually carry them, shrunken down and hidden in pockets when they can’t feasibly wear them openly.

Hermione knows part of their caution is in case Merlin’s spell somehow fails and they get yanked either back to their own world or to another. Being made Knights of Avalon and being assigned a mission has helped allay her fear somewhat in that regard but there is still the risk that it might happen.

Another reason to maintain the habit is that it is difficult to simply trust.

The Potters and the Blacks have been tremendously welcoming and they feel sincere in the family magic, but a part of her can’t trust that they’ll stay true.

And then there is the Ministry.

Hermione knows neither she nor Harry will ever fully trust the Ministry. She knows he regrets suggesting the War Council and being open with them about Voldemort and what had happened on their world. Millicent Bagnold is a better Minister than Cornelius Fudge but she’s not immune to trying to manipulate Hermione and Harry and it hasn’t endeared her to either of them.

Hermione tidies up the bathroom as she exits. She heads to the closet and dresses for the day. A simple cotton shirt dress in a light lavender colour is paired with her usual Professor robes. Sandals adorn her feet and she sweeps her hair up into a tidy chignon. The final touches of a spray of perfume and small gold hoop earrings complete her outfit.

She touches her Lady Potter-Black ring with affectionate awe.

Harry had magically married her with the ring when he’d brought her under his protection. It had been an error but one that has served them well since the world they now inhabit frowns on unchaperoned interactions between single men and women. They’d originally intended to just pretend to be together only to find out magic believed they were married regardless.

Hermione has never been so grateful to a quirk of magic in her life. She loves being married to Harry, to building a real relationship with him. It’s something she’d never thought would happen. She’d always thought Harry had preferred athletic girls; that she wasn’t his type and had settled for being his friend. She had been very wrong.

She feels Harry’s love for her in their magic every day. It makes her feel like she can move mountains. Or maybe, she thinks with amusement as she goes in search of her husband, able to find the entrance to Slytherin’s chamber. She knows Harry revels in her love and affection too. It’s weird to think that it took them literally travelling to another world to realise that they loved each other and wanted to be together, but maybe it’s a second thing she should be thankful to Arthur and Merlin about – maybe.

And maybe the third thing is Harry finding his family. If Harry revels in her love and affection, he’s still sometimes startled by the love and affection his family bestows upon him.

Hermione would like to go back to their own world and kill the Dursleys. She can make it look like an accident. She is the smartest witch of her generation. Clearly the Potter men have a type.

She slides on the heavy wrist band which is her protection against The Assassin’s Mask, and marvels again at Lily’s genius.

She heads downstairs at pace and finds Harry at the communal dining table finishing some toast and eggs. She figures his anxiety had prevented him from tucking into his usual weekend fry-up. She leans in to kiss his cheek before sliding into the seat next to him. A bowl of porridge topped with fruit and granola pops into her place setting right on schedule. It smells like cinnamon and she sniffs appreciatively.

“Where’s Lily and Sirius?” asks Hermione noting their absence.

“Lily had a meeting with Filius and Sirius is talking with Regina,” Harry says. “They’ve already eaten.”

Hermione checks the time. They have plenty of time to get to the lab. She savours the tea which has just arrived and digs into the porridge.

Harry pushes his own plate away and picks up his mug. “Do you think Myrtle was a seer in our world?”

Hermione swallows her food as she considers the question. “There’s no way of knowing without finding out whether there were prophecies attributed to her in our DOM.”

“At least we know she’s in the chamber here,” Harry says.

She hears his unspoken words that it is one of the only things they do know. Since their return it feels like nothing has worked in their favour.

“I was thinking about the cat part,” Hermione scoops up more of the porridge. “Nobody has seen Mrs Norris since Mister Filch died. I’m almost certain that it must be her.”

Harry nods slowly. “That makes sense. Maybe animals can find their way into the chamber somehow outside of the secret entrance for us.”

“I think that’s a good theory,” Hermione says. “Maybe she’s been living off rats down there and stalking the place for when they return.”

“She’s not going to do too much damage to them though, is she?” Harry murmurs. “I mean, at the end of the day, she’s still just a cat.”

“I dare you to say that to Minerva,” Hermione teases.

Harry smiles, a small uplift of his lips but she feels satisfied that she’s managed to ease his worries for a moment.

She’s just scraping the last of her porridge out of the bowl when Sirius walks down the stairs. She takes in his relaxed appearance with careful eyes. Both she and Harry had worried about him in the wake of Regina staying in the Temple of Avalon, but he has rallied in recent weeks and she’s pleased to see a return of the suave cousin who had welcomed them both so warmly.

“Ready?” asks Sirius, straightening his already straight robes.

Hermione quickly finishes her breakfast and gulps down the last of her tea.

“You don’t need to rush,” Sirius immediately hurries out. “We can wait.”

“I can’t,” Hermione retorts dryly, impatience making her want to rush even more.

Harry chuckles and finishes his own tea. “Let’s go do this then. Hopefully it won’t take the whole day.”

“Are you not excited at the idea of exploring the Chamber of Secrets?” Sirius waggles his eyebrows.

Harry lifts one of his own in response. “If it’s anything like ours it will be a barren warren of caves.”

Sirius grins at him. “I have confidence it will be nothing like your chamber.”

Hermione hums. “Well, truthfully, nothing has been the same so far, so that tracks.”

They all laugh as they exit their suite.

“How’s Regina?” asks Hermione as they troop down the corridor.

“Good,” Sirius says, a hint of relief in his tone. “She was present at the birth of a unicorn last night and couldn’t stop talking about it.”

Hermione gaped at him. “Really?”

“Really,” Sirius nods.

Harry gives a mock shudder. “Rather her than me.”

“You don’t want to see the glory of a unicorn birth?” asks Sirius cheerfully.

“I saw a birth of a calf on television once,” Harry says. “It was completely gross. The vet had to put his hand right up…”

“Alright,” Hermione cuts in hurriedly. “I think we get the point.”

Harry grins at her unashamedly and she rolls her eyes at him.

“I saw my grandfather’s hunting dog give birth to a litter of puppies when I was a child,” Sirius comments. “It was incredible but I’d rather not see something like that again.”

“I don’t think I’ve actually witnessed an animal birth,” Hermione says, pondering it. Surely, she had seen some kind of television depiction at least – but no. She was certain she hadn’t. “I would love to see a unicorn born.”

“There is the herd in Cornwall at the sanctuary,” Sirius reminds her. “They might be amenable to a Knight of Avalon asking to bear witness. It would be symbolically powerful.”

They chatter about the unicorn sanctuary as they make their way to the lab.

Hermione shivers as they pass by the two snake statues and turn into the main corridor, the memory of following Dumbledore after the explosion crystal clear in her mind.

Harry slides his hand in hers and tangles their fingers. She leans into the comfort.

Albus is holding court just outside the room. Lily is talking with the Heads of Houses with Remus, Snape and Aurelius standing spaced out around the group. The Aurors are gathered at the back and Locke is with them again.

She frowns. Kevin Locke has been evading a meeting with Sirius and Harry. She would like to believe that it is because he has concerns about a conflict of interest between his commitment to Hogwarts and his Auror oath, but she cannot help but feel he is the best candidate for their possessed professor. After all, hadn’t all of Harry’s Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers tried to hurt him? Even Remus had tried attacking them in his werewolf form before their Sirius had run him off.

She notes that she hasn’t seen much of this world’s Remus. She knows vaguely that he was appointed as an additional security guard but she’s never come across him on a patrol. Given the animosity of the rest of James’ Mischief Makers towards Sirius and Harry, Hermione is glad he’s keeping his distance. She’s perhaps a touch regretful as she’d always enjoyed the time she’d spent with their own Moony and remembers him with fondness.

As a group, the Aurors look annoyed including James. It’s not the full contingent assigned to Hogwarts, just James, Pettigrew, Croaker, and a very young-looking Amelia Bones who bears a shocking resemblance to Susan.

Hermione figures they’re not happy with the idea of letting the professors examine the lab. In some ways she can understand that. They’d had the best of their department investigate the room including specialists from the DOM. Albus has also been over the room. They’ve found nothing. The idea that a group of Hogwarts’ professors might be able to find something they’ve all missed must seem like arrogance.

Hermione might even agree with the sentiment, but she knows that their group also contains some of the finest minds in the wizarding world. She absently nods greetings to the others and half-listens to Albus’ welcome and pep talk.

She breathes a sigh of relief when he finally leads them into the lab itself. It hasn’t changed much from the day of the explosion. The walls are grimy with soot and smoke; the furniture demolished. The message remains scrawled across the blackboard.

‘Beware! Death shall come to his enemies!’

The stench of the ruin fills the air.

Hermione’s nose wrinkles.

“Would it be permissible to clear the air?” Minerva asks bluntly.

Albus glances towards the Aurors.

Surprisingly it is Bones who gives the nod. She’s not that much older than James and his friends, perhaps only a couple of years, but she is the most senior Auror there since Locke is acting in his role as Hogwarts’ professor and not as an Auror.

“We’ve done all the forensic testing we can do,” Bones says brusquely. “We wouldn’t have allowed this examination to happen if we weren’t done with the room.”

“Allow me then,” Filius says loudly and flicks his wand.

A rush of wind whisks through the room removing the stale odours and leaving behind a clean faintly flowery scent.

Hermione takes a deep breath.

“For the benefit of expediency, I will share that we have already tried parseltongue as a trigger on the fixtures in the room with no success,” Albus begins. “Additionally, I sought to verify if there was a passage secreted behind the walls only to be faced with a rather impressive illusion ward which none have been able to remove.”

Filius harrumphs quietly. She can understand his disgruntlement at being excluded from the attempt, but if Albus wasn’t able to shift the ward himself, it was unlikely the Charms Professor would be successful.

Albus waves his wand and a parchment appears in front of each of the professors.

Hermione reaches out and takes her copy.

“This is a copy of everything Salazar Slytherin wrote in his diaries about the chamber,” Albus explains briskly. “Aurelius felt it might be useful to share with you.”

Pettigrew steps out of the Auror group with a heavy frown pulling down his lips and a fierce glare hardening his eyes. “May I ask for a copy for the Aurors, Headmaster?”

Albus presses his lips together but his wand arcs and flicks delivering more copies to the small group.

Hermione reads through the words with vibrant curiosity, a small part of her itching to get her hands on the actual diaries.

‘Entry 1: We were tasked with the creation of hidden places where secrets may lie. I must ponder the best way forward for mine.

Entry 2: Rowena has already finished her room. It is brilliant and a marvel much like Rowena herself. Godric is green with envy but his is almost done. Helga’s will only grow over time. I still ponder mine own.

Entry 3: It is done. I have set a test. Only those who deserve my legacy may find and be granted entry to the chamber. It has been foretold that those for whom it is intended will find it in their time of need. Perhaps my familiar will help whoever they may be.’

Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest. The Founders had been tasked to create hidden places. That had to be their Knights of Avalon mission. Her eyes fly up and meet Harry’s. He nods at her, a small nod, not at all subtle, but small.

Rowena Ravenclaw’s room was the Room of Requirement. It had to be. She had no idea what the other two founders had done. She’d never heard of a Gryffindor room just the sword and…

The sword.

Harry had been able to call the sword. Maybe he could do the same on this world. She shook her head and refocused.

The second entry had no useful information except for the fact that Slytherin had apparently completed his last.

The third entry was clear though. Slytherin had set a test based on his legacy and there was another damn prophecy, probably not attributed to Harry specifically.

“May I ask why you haven’t shared this information with us before, Headmaster?” Pettigrew’s tone borders on disrespectful but for once Hermione can’t blame him for his ire.

“I do not believe the information relevant to solving the matter of Mister Filch’s murder,” Albus says briskly.

“There really is only three pieces of relevant information in these entries,” Minerva asserts before Pettigrew can reply. “That the entrance to the chamber is based on a test, that the test is tied to Slytherin’s legacy, and that he had a familiar who he hoped would aide those who need to find it as they are the intended recipients of what lies in the chamber.”

“Are we assuming the latter is a basilisk?” Pomona waves her parchment.

Hermione notes that none of the Aurors look surprised at the question. They must have been told about the possibility. Hermione is firm in her own belief that there isn’t a basilisk here.

“We cannot assume anything,” Albus says firmly.

Hermione nods. Sometimes she feels her and Harry’s past experience is nothing but a hindrance. It leads them into too many incorrect assumptions.

“Is there no other mention of this familiar in his diaries?” asks Sirius, glancing up from the parchment for the first time.

“I’ve scoured the diaries for mention of a familiar and the only thing I found is a name: Norteña,” Albus confirms. “There is nothing to identify the species or the gender of the animal.”

“Does it matter?” Snape sneers. “I disagree with the relevancy. His familiar is only mentioned as a possible aide after all.”

He has a point, Hermione thinks reluctantly as Minerva glares at Albus’ apprentice.

“In our world,” Hermione draws everyone’s attention, raising her voice a touch to carry around the room, “his legacy is his ability to talk to snakes. He made the test tied to that ability.”

“But the Headmaster has already confirmed that a test of parseltongue doesn’t work here,” Lily says musingly.

“So, the test must be tied to something else which Slytherin must have considered his legacy,” James offers, gesturing in a sweep of his arm around the room, the parchment flapping wildly.

“Potions!” Horace crows, hopping from one foot to another in an excited jig. “It has to be potions.”

“Professor Slughorn may be correct,” Snape makes a subtle motion with his hand to encompass the room. “Why else would he have staged it in a potions laboratory?”

Hermione hums as a discussion breaks out amongst the others.

Potions is certainly the obvious answer. She looks around sceptically at the room. How would a test of potions lead to the entrance being revealed? How would anyone even know what to do? Her eyes stray back to the blackboard.

She walks over unhurriedly. Harry follows her and stands beside her as she examines the board.

“What are you thinking?” asks Harry softly.

Hermione points at a faint mark on the board. “What if the instructions for the test were on the blackboard? Look, this suggests something was written and wiped off.”

Harry glances back towards the benches as Sirius extracts himself from the bickering mass of professors and Aurors at the far end of the room and wanders over to join them.

“You have an idea,” Sirius points at him.

Harry shrugs. “Maybe.” He rubs the back of his neck which Hermione knows means he’s worked something out but he’s insecure about his deduction. “Hermione thinks there were instructions on the board. Maybe there was a potions test set-up too?”

“Like the one which was protecting the stone?” Hermione nods. “I think you’re right. Maybe Riddle’s imprint didn’t try to find the entrance himself, maybe he simply destroyed anyone else’s ability to do so.”

“By setting up an explosion,” Sirius folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure about that. It would mean he would never get access to it either.”

“Or he resets everything once everyone’s attention is elsewhere,” Harry says. He draws his wand. “Let me just…” he casts wordlessly.

The room shivers and everyone falls silent as they realise magic is sinking into the walls, ceiling and floor around them.

Albus whirls around. “What did you…”

Suddenly, a white ripple of magic travels across the ceiling and walls, leaving behind pristine pale green walls. It races across the floor and over the benches, setting the furniture to rights and leaving behind polished wooden benches and stools. On the bench nearest to the blackboard a set of potions equipment appears along with a set of ingredient vials. The magic sweeps over Hermione as it travels behind her to the blackboard…

The warning message disappears and the blackboard is wiped clean.

Everyone stares at Harry, their mouths agape at what his magic has wrought. She forgets sometimes just how powerful he is. Her eyes narrow at a couple of unusual reactions…

A sound behind her as her turning sharply back to the blackboard.

Hermione’s hand flies to cover her gasp as a piece of chalk levitates upwards and begins writing.

‘Only the one who knows my true legacy may access the secrets in my chamber. True loyalty to our King must be proven if you wish to enter.’

The chalk sets itself down.

“A loyalty potion!” Horace waddles hurriedly over to the bench. “Yes! These are the ingredients to Lealtad! It is a terribly old potion, quite out of fashion!” He rubs his hands together, glee written all over his face. “It was given to the Spanish royal court as a test to determine if someone was trustworthy or not.”

“It takes almost a month to brew,” Snape hovers at Horace’s elbow, his eyes scanning the vials with avarice.

Albus joins them. “We should consider getting fresh ingredients. These have been reconstructed by Instructor Potter’s magic. Their potency may be affected.”

Minerva clears her throat. “Perhaps the rest of us should leave this in the hands of our potion experts?”

Albus loudly agrees.

Lily rolls her eyes as Snape gestures her over but she joins him regardless. The Aurors have a quick debate and leave behind James and Pettigrew as observers. Minerva, Filius and Pomona lead the way out, Remus and Aurelius slinking off with them, Locke, Croaker and Bones following.

Hermione casts one last look at the blackboard and falls into step with Sirius and Harry as they make their way out of the lab.

Harry nudges her. “Are you not going to help with the potion? You’re brilliant at them.”

Hermione shakes her head. “I’m good at them because I’m good at following instructions,” she says wryly. “I think this will need innate talent and I don’t have that. They’ll be fine without me.”

She looks back again at the board as they reach the lab entrance. Something about the wording nags at her. She shakes her head. She’ll think on it more later. Instead, she hooks her arm around Harry’s and nods at his suggestion of taking Godric for a walk around the lake and a picnic. It sounds like a much better way to spend their day.

Continued in: Another Dimension: Part 3