Switched

Harry sat on the edge of his seat, his posture meticulously correct, watching Professor Snape watch him, fingers drumming on the closed folder which contained notes and such regarding Harry. Probably not very accurate notes, Harry didn't think he would put anything truly incriminating in writing, but every Slytherin had one. They also had regular meetings with their Head of House, every month the first term, and then at least once per term, just to discuss any problems or concerns they might have, talk about possible careers and which lessons they ought to take OWLs and NEWTs in, and so on.

Since Harry still wasn't a Slytherin (technically), he hadn't quite had monthly meetings with the professor, but he'd still had far more meetings with Snape than any other adult at the school. (Hagrid really didn't count.) This time, he suspected that he was here to discuss the fact that he had killed someone without asking Snape for pointers first. And then hadn't told him for a couple of weeks (okay, like a month) because he'd sort of forgotten that he was supposed to have, since it wasn't exactly important anymore. But I didn't get caught, though, and Mira did the actual kidnapping part, so it's fine, right?

Snape ignored the thought, even though Harry deliberately projected it toward him. "I've just had a very...illuminating lunch meeting with your new guardian, Potter."

"Er... Did she tell you everything?" If she had, that would be convenient — Harry really did hate repeating things.

"I've been informed that your Family Magic is now stable again, that you intend to finish off the Dark Lord for reasons which are your own, that you will be reintroducing yourself to Magical Britain as one James Black when that task is complete, that Druella has pressured the Old Goat into signing over guardianship of you to her, and that you will be spending your summer holiday with her. Is that everything?" he asked, glowering.

"Er. Mostly? I know I was supposed to come talk to you when I found out where the Keep is, but there wasn't really time, and Mira did the actual kidnapping and I didn't get caught or anything, so it's fine, right?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Yes. Given that you are in fact not a grown woman with decades of experience luring men to their deaths, I would suggest you seek advice before attempting to do so yourself, but quite frankly, the less I have to do with the House of Black, the better. I am perfectly content to allow you to be Druella's and Lady Zabini's problem."

"O...kay? Then why are you still giving me a you're in trouble, Potter look?"

"This is a you are trouble expression, Potter, not a you're in trouble expression. Druella also informs me that you are currently in the process of metamorphosing into shadowkin after having been extensively exposed to the ichor of a corruptive entity over Yule. Is this why Mister Zabini asked me whether it would be possible to allow you to share his room for the remainder of your tenure here?"

"Er, no?" Harry was definitely going to have to write to Dru and ask her what shadowkin were, because he hadn't heard of them, much less been told that he was turning into one after vampiring Angel. "I mean, I guess that's probably why sunlight's been giving me headaches lately, and yeah, it'd be nice to be able to stay underground, but I was originally going to move in with Blaise because I kind of got slightly possessed and tried to eat Danny over Yule, and he's still kinda freaked out about it even though I didn't do it on purpose and I told him I won't do it again, and also because we're kind of having a fight about Dru and whether I should like her even though Danny's mum hates her. By which I mean Danny's kind of having a fight. I don't really care what he and Andi think, so." He shrugged. "It's fine, though. I've just been sleeping out in the Forest with the wilderfolk."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "You've simply moved out to the Forest. With the wilderfolk."

Harry nodded. "Theo and Hermione helped Danny ward our room against me so he can sleep without worrying I'm going to come in and kill him or something."

Nose-pinching graduated to forehead-rubbing. "Students are not allowed to ward each other out of their assigned dormitories. I will speak to Professor Flitwick—"

"I don't mind," Harry interrupted quickly. Slightly rude, maybe, but he didn't want to get his friends in trouble, especially since, "It was my idea, actually. I like the wilderfolk. And I was already spending a couple nights a week out there anyway. Now I just sleep out there, too."

The professor muttered something under his breath that might have been, Morrigan, grant me patience... "If I adjust the wards on Mister Zabini's room, will you move back into the Castle?"

Harry hesitated. While it would be nice to be able to hang out with Blaise in Slytherin, he didn't really want to move back inside. He liked the Forest. He liked the wildness of it and the sense of pack that surrounded the wilderfolk — not quite family but definitely people he could belong with. He was welcome there, in a way he wasn't...literally anywhere else he could think of. Of course he would be welcome at any of the Black properties, the Little Crow would be delighted to see him in person again, but the wilderfolk didn't want or need anything from him, didn't expect him to act a certain way like everyone other than the Little Crow (and maybe Blaise), and he wasn't a guest like he had been at the Zabinis', he was one of them, but free to come and go as he pleased — they didn't expect him to be there. If he was, that was fine and good, and if he wasn't, that was also fine, they'd see him later.

Snape made an exasperated little noise. "Of course not. Why would you prefer to live among your own species?"

"Well, it would be nice to be able to hang out in Slytherin," Harry admitted, "but I'm almost definitely not human. Did Dru not tell you that?"

"While undergoing a metamorphosis such as the one your guardian described does arguably make you inhuman, preternatural transformations are generally considered to be something one becomes in addition to one's natal species. Goblins, for example, can also become shadowkin, but you would not be considered the same species simply because you are both shadowkin," Snape informed him.

"What? No, I mean, because of the soul symbiote thing."

"The what?"

"Er. Apparently I'm actually some kind of fae? Or maybe Aunt Petunia was right, and I actually am a demon-child?" Honestly, Harry wasn't really sure what the difference was supposed to be. "So are Dru and Bella, except Dru didn't know until the Black Family Magic said something and she saw the memory, and Bella probably doesn't know and might not be able to do any fairy stuff because she did this ritual that messed with her brain and her magic when she was little, but she clearly still had it, because she passed it on to me, and might have passed it on to Sirius, too — Dru wasn't sure."

"That..." Snape trailed off as though he was re-considering what he wanted to say. "That explains rather a lot."

Harry shrugged, nodded. "That was pretty much Dru's reaction, but Andi was all upset about it. And a bunch of other things, I guess. She reminds me of Aunt Petunia a little bit, you know, like how she kinda just wants to be normal, but can't because she was born into this crazy family?"

Snape snorted, amused apparently in spite of himself. "I'm sure both Petuna and Andromeda would be horrified by that comparison. Would you care to elaborate on how and why you were accidentally possessed?"

"Er...not really? It was a Family Magic thing, but we're stable now, and not dying, so it won't happen again. I don't think Dru would've let me come back here if I was going to be a danger to other people, like involuntarily. She seems more responsible than that..."

The professor sighed. "I suppose she does. Very well. I will adjust the wards on Mister Zabini's rooms to allow you to join him should you decide to resume pretending to be human, at the very least, and speak to Professor Flitwick regarding an official dormitory reassignment."

"Er. Do you have to? I really don't want to tell anyone else exactly how I was exposed to the ichor of a corruptive entity, so..." Harry was pretty sure that he'd be in trouble if anyone knew he had talked to Angel, much less vampired her. She was sort of evil, and all, and being a Black Mage was definitely illegal. Snape was apparently cool with it, but Flitwick struck Harry as being much...lighter. More likely to care about shite like sacrificing people and making deals with the devil, even to save his Family Magic.

"You needn't do so," Snape said, with a dismissive wave of one hand. "Magistra Rosier heavily implied that it was an alchemy accident. Obviously deceptively, given that you would have no reason to be concerned about such an accident coming to light — I will admit, I did have my suspicions, given that I cannot imagine who you might have visited who would have left such materials lying around, but there are only so many ways to initiate a transformation such as the one you are currently undergoing."

"What are the others?" Harry asked, because yeah, he could see how that cover story was a little thin, unless he was supposed to think Harry had been poking around something Dru was experimenting with. Not that it was out of the question she would be working on something that used the not-blood of a demon for something — one of the outside books he'd read in Potions suggested that corruptive ingredients could be used in restorative potions with certain brewing methods, so it wouldn't even have to be illegal or anything — but Harry wasn't a complete idiot. He knew better than to go poking around other people's alchemy labs.

"So far as I am aware, only exposure to distilled darkness, exposure to the ichor of certain types of corruptive demonic entities or other shadowkin, or a metamorphic ritual of some sort."

Harry frowned. Why did distilled darkness sound— Oh! Right! "Is that the same stuff Mistle told me she uses for moving tattoos?"

Snape gave him a very peculiar look, which Harry interpreted as uncertainty about how Harry would have met a Knockturn Alley tattoo artist in the first place.

"She was one of my neighbours when I stayed in Knockturn in August."

Apparently that was sufficient explanation. "Yes, distilled darkness is one of the primary ingredients in Inksmoke. You would need to be exposed to significantly more than any tattoo could possibly contain to trigger such a metamorphosis, however. Not to mention, I was unaware that you had any tattoos." He said that last part like it was ridiculous that Harry might.

"I could get one, though, and then just tell people I had a really strong freak reaction to it." Harry grinned. That would be so cool. Like, seriously wicked!

He really didn't expect Snape to come back with, "I suppose that would be...plausible," after a brief hesitation. "It would be...rather unexpected for an eleven-year-old to get a tattoo for himself for Yule, and even more so for anyone to agree to give you one, but not impossible, especially with enough gold as an incentive."

"Brill! So, I dunno, maybe wait a few days before you talk to Flitwick? I can take the bus down to London next Friday or Saturday and get Missy to do it."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Only if you intend for the idiots who run that wretched contraption to tell everyone and their brother that Harry Potter was sneaking out of school. You may use my floo to go to Diagon Alley to buy yourself a new cauldron, as a replacement for that thin-bottomed piece of trash you brought with you at the beginning of the year. Whatever else you may do whilst you are out is none of my concern, but if anyone notices your absence, I will be forced to give you a detention for dallying and significantly extending an errand that ought to have taken no more than half an hour."

Harry grinned. "Done! Though maybe still wait a few days, so I can send an owl and actually make an appointment? I mean, if I'm supposed to get it done quickly, I should probably make sure Missy's not going to be busy with another customer already when I get there..." And she might also have some idea what he should get, because he had no idea, there were just too many options...

The professor groaned. "Very well. Let me know when your plans are finalised."

He nodded. Obviously, he would have to if he was going to use Snape's floo. "So, official dorm reassignment, does that mean I'm actually going to be a Slytherin?"

"No, it means that you will be a Ravenclaw who sleeps in the Slytherin dormitories because you are an impossible demon-child and have developed a medical condition which warrants limited sun exposure."

"Okay..." Harry said, intentionally sceptically. "But if I'm your responsibility and everyone already acts like I'm a Slytherin and I'm sleeping in Slytherin when I sleep in the Castle—" He probably wouldn't every night, he liked the wilderfolk, but maybe sometimes, like when it was raining. He didn't mind the rain itself, but he didn't like smelling like wet dog, so. "—I'm just saying, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck—"

"The Sorting Hat's word is final. You will continue to attend lessons with your fellow Ravenclaws, and any House Points you lose will be taken from that House."

Oh, right, he'd forgotten about lessons. Though speaking of, "Hermione wants to know what happens if Quirrell doesn't make it to June." When the professor just blinked at what, yes, was sort of a non-sequitur, he explained, "I forgot about lessons, but speaking of: Defence. Quirrell. Is he dying or what?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, probably at the bluntness of the question, Harry thought, but he answered it equally bluntly. "Yes. If he deteriorates to a point where he is no longer capable of teaching before the end of the term, his lessons will be covered by the elective subjects professors, particularly Professors Hooch, Vector, and Kettleburn. Possibly Professor Babbling, though she usually only covers NEWT-level lessons — they discuss defensive warding toward the end of the year."

"Okay, but do you know what's wrong with him?"

The professor's eyes tipped toward the ceiling. "Not that it is any of your business, nor Miss Granger's, for that matter, but he claims to have contracted a parasite on his travels. It is almost inevitably fatal, but it is not contagious except through...intimate contact, therefore there is no reason that he should not be allowed to teach until he is physically or mentally incapable of doing so."

Oh, right. Now that Snape said it, Harry remembered that Sinistra had told him way back at the beginning of the year that Quirrell had some weird, magic STD. Exactly why he was dying wasn't nearly as important, though, as, "What, that stutter isn't considered physically incapable?" It really should be.

"It appears not. He insists that he is well enough to go on, and the Headmaster is pleased to allow him to do so. Personally, I suspect that he is holding out and attempting to break into the forbidden third-floor corridor and what lies beneath because he is under the impression that there may be something there which can help him."

...What?

"You mean, Fluffy's corridor?"

Snape nodded, watching him closely, like he was waiting for some specific response.

Harry didn't know what it was, though. "And what lies beneath, you mean, the trap door in there?"

He nodded again, which was just...bloody weird, because Harry knew that was where Hagrid shovelled everything when he mucked out Fluffy's toilet corner.

"So...cerberus shite is a cure to some weird magical S.T.D.?"

The professor blinked at him. It was sort of hard to tell, because Snape was about the most stoic person Harry had ever met, but he thought he might be confused. Or he thought Harry was confused. (Which was fair. Harry was confused. If cerberus shite would cure Quirrel, why wouldn't they just let him have some?) He didn't try to clarify the situation, though, just drawled, "Yes, Potter. Yes, it is," all sarcastically, then added, "If that's all, you may go. I do have other students to speak to this afternoon."

Harry also had other students to speak to that afternoon. When he finally met up with Blaise in their usual study-room, Theo, Hermione, and Danny (who was still not really speaking to Harry, but apparently didn't have anyone else to hang out with or something) were already there.

Hermione doesn't want you two to break up, Blaise informed him. She keeps insisting that they keep hanging out with us, even though Danny's still being...Danny.

...Okay, then. Having friends is weird, Blaise.

Hermione thinks so, too, he noted, poking at the memory of the meeting Harry had just had with Snape.

You going to help me think of a tattoo?

Obviously.

Brill.

"So, I found out about Quirrell," Harry announced to the group at large. "Snape says he has some weird magic S.T.D. and is trying to break into the trap door where Hagrid shovels all of Fluffy's shite because he thinks there's something down there that will cure it." This was extra weird because Harry had never seen him there. And Harry spent kind of a lot of time with Fluffy.

"Are you sure he wasn't having you on?" Hermione asked immediately.

"Er. No? I mean, I think the part about the weird magic S.T.D. was serious, the part where he said that yes, cerberus shite cures it, probably not." If that was all he wanted, he could probably just get there before Hagrid and get some out of the corner, right?

"Definitely," Blaise corrected him. "I think he was serious about Quirrell trying to break into the trap door, though."

"A, It's weird that you let Blaise legilimise you all the time," Theo informed Harry. "And B, what's an S.T.D.?"

"Sexually transmitted disease," Hermione explained, because she didn't just answer questions when she wanted to look smart in class. She apparently just...liked sharing information with people. Like Hufflepuffs liked gossiping, but with facts.

Theo immediately went pink, because he could give Draco a run for his money in the sheltered noble kid department.

"So what do we think is really wrong with him?" Danny asked.

"Why do you think he was lying about the S.T.D. part?"

Blaise frowned at Hermione like, stupid question, Granger. "You really think Quirrell has ever had sex?"

"Well, I don't know, he's clearly half-dead, you'd think he'd have to tell the other professors something, and you'd also think they'd check, right?"

"Maybe he paid for it," Harry suggested. The hookers he'd met in Knockturn over the summer would definitely have had sex with Quirrell before he started getting really ill. He was sort of a weedy, nerdy-looking bloke, but not hideously repulsive. Some of them might still, for the right price. (Though probably not, if they recognised the STD.)

Hermione went pink, too, but nodded.

"Maybe," Danny "agreed" in an I seriously doubt it tone. "But if he's dying of a disease, he should be in hospital. What could he possibly think is under that trap door that could help him more than checking himself into Saint Mungo's?"

"Hufflepuff's chalice?" Theo suggested.

"What?"

Harry was with Hermione. "I've never heard of that either."

"It's like a holy grail panacea thing," Danny explained. "But it's been lost for ages. I doubt it's just sitting here in the school. If we had it, it'd be on display or in the hospital wing or at Saint Mungo's for everyone to use, not hidden away being guarded by a cerberus."

Theo frowned at him. "Well, there aren't that many cure-alls out there, are there?"

"Okay, fair, but I'd believe it was the Philosopher's Stone down there before Hufflepuff's Chalice," Danny said, laughing. "I mean, at least we know that still exists, and it's like, you know, a treasure you'd hide away because infinite money, right?"

"Wait. The Philosopher's Stone, as in, the end-goal of alchemy?" Hermione said. "The infinite gold and eternal life, Philosopher's Stone? That's real?"

"Yeah, threw me when I read about it, too," Harry admitted. "This Flamel guy did it like seven-hundred years ago, but won't tell anyone how he did it, or share it with anyone other than his wife." In Harry's opinion, Nicolas Flamel sounded like a real dick.

From Hermione's absolutely appalled expression, she agreed. "That's— But— Why wouldn't he..."

"Most people think that he cheated and used high ritual to create it," Theo said with a little shrug. "So it only works for him. And no one even wants to know what you'd have to sacrifice for infinite money and eternal life."

"What about his wife?" Harry asked.

"Supposedly, if you believe that kind of conspiracy theory shite—" Theo gave Danny the bird. "—Perenelle is a metamorph and therefore immortal all on her own."

"Personally, I subscribe to the conspiracy theory that there's no Stone at all," Blaise said. "And Nicolas is a metamorph, too. Or, even better, there's only one Flamel, and they're the same metamorph."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione insisted. "I mean, the whole concept is ridiculous, but—"

"I think it makes more sense than this one bloke being a total dick and not sharing infinite money and the elixir of life with everyone, and no one stealing it or anything in the last seven centuries," Harry interrupted.

Theo frowned. "If you give everyone infinite money, money becomes meaningless. There's also a theory that the process of making it was declared anathema for exactly that reason."

"Okay, but what about the Elixir of Life?"

Theo gave Harry a look like he'd just said something bloody moronic, though Harry was fairly certain he hadn't. "What, just, no one would ever die again?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Because people would just keep getting born and there wouldn't be enough food and other resources for everyone?" Theo suggested. "I mean, you can't eat gold and being immortal might mean you can't starve to death, but that doesn't mean you can't be hungry and miserable."

Harry pouted at him. "Fine. Whatever."

There really isn't a Stone at all, Blaise thought at him, tinged with amusement. I asked Dru why it was so hard to make one when I was nine, and she said that anyone who could make one wouldn't need to.

They could make one for other people.

Hey, don't look at me, I'm not the one who's been twenty-five for the past forty years. I think eternal life with no strings attached is breaking the rules of how magic is supposed to work on the mortal plane, somehow. Like conservation of energy, or something.

...Okay, that...almost made sense. Maybe. Sort of. Except the part where Dru had been twenty-five for decades, now. Harry would ask next time he saw her.

"Can we get back on point, here?" Hermione said, doing her best McGonagall impression. (Unintentionally, that was the funniest part.)

"Sure. What's the point?" Danny asked.

"What's wrong with Professor Quirrell?"

"Dunno," Harry said promptly. "If you're sure it's not the S.T.D. thing, we've got nothing."

"Well..." Danny said.

"Well...?" Hermione repeated.

"Well... Maybe if we knew what he was after under that trap door, that would help us figure it out," Danny said slowly.

"Nope."

"Count me out, too."

All three of the others turned to look at Blaise and Theo.

Blaise elaborated on his nope first: "I am not going to climb down into a literal shite-hole, full stop."

"Especially since we don't even know if whatever Quirrell thinks is down there, is down there," Theo added.

"He's not stupid, though," Danny objected. "And if he's trying to get past that monster—"

"He's just a puppy!"

Danny ignored him. "—he's got to be pretty sure it's worth it, right?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Harry, you're in, right?" When he hesitated, weighing the likelihood that there was anything down there other than a massive pile of rotting sawdust and literal shite, she added, "Aren't you curious?"

Danny's argument was, "You have to come, the dog likes you."

"That," Harry informed him, "is a terrible argument. None of us need to go." Hermione pouted at him. Harry sighed. "But fine, yes, I am curious. But if it turns out there's nothing but shite down there, I'm telling both of you I told you so literally forever. I'll make a Philosopher's Stone so we can all stay alive so I can keep saying I told you so."

Hermione giggled like she thought he was joking. "Consider us warned."

"Okay," Danny called up to the trap door, where Harry and Hermione were holding onto the rope slowly lowering him into the darkness, and all three of Fluffy's heads were whining in concern. "I'm at the bottom. If there's any shite down here, it's buried under the biggest Devil's Snare I've ever seen in my life. Hang on, let me— Incendio!" Flickering firelight appeared in the depths of the hole. "Alright, throw down the loose end!"

Hermione did so, biting her lip nervously. When they'd come up here to scout out the trap door, see if there was a ladder or anything, she'd been just as fully onboard with Harry's plan as Danny. There was no ladder, so they'd used a Depth-Finding Charm (which was apparently a thing quidditch players needed to be able to do...because reasons — Danny knew it off the top of his head) to figure out how much rope they'd need to reach the bottom, 'borrowed' said rope from Hagrid (without asking, but Harry would put it back before he realised it was even gone — he didn't really use rope all that often), stuck the trap-door open with a Sticking Charm, and used the handle on the inside like a pulley, so after Harry and Hermione lowered Danny, he could control Hermione's descent (rather than counting on Harry to do so, when Hermione outweighed him by almost two stone and the basic Featherweight Charm they knew didn't work on people), and they'd also have a way to get back out.

Now, though, looking down at a fifty-foot drop with (apparently) a giant predatory plant at the bottom, she seemed to be having second thoughts.

"Alright, Granger?"

"What? Yes. Yes, of course, I'm fine!" she stuttered, her voice somewhat higher and more terrified than usual. "I'm just, er. Afraid of heights. A little."

"You don't say?" Harry said, trying not to laugh at her.

"Ooh, shut up."

"Relax, Hermione. Just put your foot in the loop, hold onto the rope, and close your eyes. Danny's not going to drop you."

"I know that!" she snapped. "It's not— You don't understand!"

"No, I really don't." Harry still didn't really think he was afraid of anything in particular, like heights or spiders or whatever. "Look, do you want to find out what's wrong with Quirrell, or not?"

"You two alright up there?" Danny yelled.

"Yes! Fine!"

"Well, hurry up! It's creepy down here alone..."

"Ugh! Just give me the—" She snatched the knotted end of the rope out of Harry's hand and shoved her foot into the loop. "Alright!" she called down to Danny, her voice shaking. "I'm– I'm ready. I'm sitting on the edge," she added, doing exactly that. "Ooh, I don't like this..."

"Okay, go ahead! I've got you!"

Hermione took a deep breath, letting herself slip into the open air, clinging to both ropes so hard her knuckles were white and she didn't move even when Danny let up on the tension.

"Er. Did you go?" he asked, wiggling the rope, sending a little wave up to them.

Hermione yelped. "Don't do that!"

"You are going to have to let go of the other side, though," Harry pointed out. "Oi, Danny, pull it taut again!" He did. "Okay, Hermione, you need to let go of this side..." After what seemed like forever, she finally got her hands in the right place. She proceeded to cling to the rope as if her life depended on it, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Alright, Danny, go!"

The Gryffindor let out another little startled yelp as she felt herself beginning to move downward — it was a bit jerkier than when they'd been lowering Danny, Harry thought — but everything went fine, of course. It wasn't a complicated plan. A couple of minutes later, she reached the bottom with a relieved, "Oh, thank God! Okay, Harry, you can take the rope!"

He pulled it up and swung out into the dark, lowering himself a few feet and letting his eyes adjust to the much more comfortable level of light for a second before he continued. Or tried to, at least. "Danny, let go of the rope!"

"What?!"

"Let go, so I can just slide down!" he insisted, trapping the rope between his feet and wrapping an elbow around to keep himself more or less upright.

"I hope you know what you're doing..."

Of course Harry knew what he was doing. He came in a little hard, but not too badly, and it was a much smoother trip than either of the others had had.

There was indeed no shite. The enormous bloody plant, cringing away from the light, must've been using it as fertiliser or something. "Fine, I suppose you're safe from being forcibly immortalised and subjected to an eternity of I told you so -s. Where do we go from here?"

"Only one way out," Danny said, pointing at a tunnel. The plant was covering more than half of the wall-space, it was entirely possible there were other doorways hidden under it, but Harry admittedly didn't see any, either.

"Alright then," he grinned. "What are we waiting for?"

The tunnel sloped downward farther yet — Harry suspected that they had to be on the third dungeon level by now — and curved around enough that he heard the rustling of wings and a soft, incessant, but irregular clinking sound before he saw the light of the room ahead of them.

There was no door on this side, only a magical barrier, probably to keep the...flying keys? in the room. On the opposite side of the chamber, however, there was a very large, very solid-looking door. Presumably one which they would need a particular flying key to open.

"Are those...birds?" Hermione asked, peering up at them. The high-ceilinged room was brightly lit by no apparent source, light glittering off the keys as they swooped and fluttered, their brilliantly coloured wings making psychedelic patterns against the grey stone of the Castle.

"No..." Danny said. "I think... I think they're keys. Yeah!" he added, looking around the room at their own level. "Look, there're brooms. Must be we're supposed to catch one. Reckon it'll match the door handle, there?"

"Probably," Harry agreed, crossing the open space to try the door, if only because he'd feel damn stupid if they spent who knew how long trying to catch a stupid key, only to find that it wasn't even locked. It was, though. "Silver, heavy, kind of ornate."

"Alright, then. Let's get this over with..." Hermione said, seizing and mounting one of the brooms which had been left conveniently in a corner.

"No need to sound so excited, Maïa."

She rolled her eyes at Danny's cheerful teasing. "Easy for you to say, you actually like flying!"

"What's not to like?" he asked, kicking off.

While Harry generally agreed that flying was fun, it only took a few minutes chasing keys around, trying to grab any that looked like they might fit the lock, to decide that looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack while playing chase with what amounted to a couple hundred snitches was mostly just frustrating. Danny managed to catch two, but neither were the one they needed. Harry and Hermione were both, Harry felt, mostly getting in the way.

"There has got to be some way to make this easier with magic. Stupify!" The Stunning Spell did absolutely nothing to the keys, but Hermione's Freezing Charm worked, well...like a charm.

"Stilleste!" An ice-blue jet of spell light shot into the flock, half a dozen keys freezing mid-flutter to fall tinkling to the floor.

"Good call!" Danny agreed, joining them in indiscriminately charming keys. After they'd knocked out about half of them, Hermione retired to the ground to search through the pile and start trying the silver ones.

"Oh! This is it! Danny! Harry! I've got it!"

The next room was, they found as they stepped through the door, home to an enormous chess board, the pieces faceless, life-sized mannequins carved from black and white marble.

"Are either of you any good at chess?" Danny asked, looking at the board somewhat doubtfully.

"I'm not bad," Hermione said, but they all knew that was a lie. Hermione didn't hesitate to admit when she was good at something.

Harry just shrugged. "I've never played."

"Well, I'm shite at it, so this should be fun. Obviously we're playing black, and white goes first. So. Oi! Chessmen! White, it's your move!" he shouted at the board.

Nothing happened.

"Pawn to G-four?"

Again, nothing happened.

Danny and Hermione stared at the board, nonplussed. Harry, bored, decided to try the door on the other side of the room, since nothing else was happening.

The pieces turned to 'watch' him as he strode casually across the centre of the board, Hermione and Danny's footsteps hurrying along behind him after a few seconds, but none of them moved until he reached the line of white pawns, whereupon the two he would have had to walk between crossed their spears to bar his path.

Damn. "So, what? We have to play? Well, then, you have to make the first move!" he told the white king.

It shook its head, pointing them back to the black side of the board.

"What?"

"Maybe..." Hermione suggested slowly, as though she hoped that she wasn't going to be right about this, "we're supposed to...take the place of a piece? And then we can start?"

The white king nodded.

"Well, shite."

Harry seconded that notion. Still, might as well get it over with. "Bags I the queen!" He knew that one could move as many places in any direction as it wanted, like a bishop and a castle combined.

"What do you think, Maïa?" Danny said. "Maybe knights?"

She shrugged, looking very uncomfortable with the idea, but then nodded. "I suppose?"

Both of the black knights dismounted and joined the queen in stepping off the board. Harry skipped over to take the queen's spot, while the others followed more slowly, muttering to each other about who was going to actually call the moves.

"Okay, I'll give the orders, but you have to tell me if you think I'm about to do something wrong," Danny said, hauling himself up into a stone saddle. "And both of you keep an eye out for if you're in danger of being taken, yeah?"

Then a white pawn stepped forward, and the game was afoot.

Maybe twenty minutes later, things weren't looking so good for their side. Harry had managed to steal a spear from a captured pawn — not strictly necessary, as the pieces easily acknowledged that they were captured and stepped aside whenever any of the three of them took one, but when the animated pieces took each other, they would stab each other, or bash each other with their heavy stone arms, and that seemed like more fun — and they had managed to take a handful of pawns and one of the white knights. (Harry had also stolen its horse, so he could bloody well see the board, too. He hated being short!) But on the other hand, they'd lost all of their pawns except one, and a bishop, and both of their castles.

"But if you send the bishop over there, that will leave you open to attack by the white queen," Hermione objected. "I think I should move two to the left and one back, and try to draw out that castle so you can take it."

"No, the bishop will get you, see?"

"No, if it takes her, I'll be able to take it," Harry said, eyes raking over the board. They really were running out of options, and pieces. "What if you send our bishop two forward and to the left? That'd put the king in check, right? And then since he's surrounded and Hermione will be able to take him if he moves to the left, they'll have to take the bishop with the knight there, and then I'll have a straight shot at the king, right?"

"I...think so?" Hermione said slowly.

"Wait— No, actually, I... Yeah, I think that works, actually," Danny agreed.

"Brill. Bishop! Two forward and to the left!"

It slid as ordered, with a hollow scrape.

"Check-mate, you bastard!" Harry crowed.

If the pieces had eyes, he was certain the white king would be glaring at him, but it could see the writing on the wall. It chose to go left, just, Harry imagined, so that it would be able to surrender to Hermione, rather than Harry. Could enchanted chessmen be petty arseholes like that?

She moved forward, and the king dropped his crown at the feet of her horse. There was a heavy clunk like a lock turning over, and the remaining pieces shifted aside to allow them to walk past, forming a sort of honour-guard.

"Alright, what's next?" Hermione asked, clearly relieved that none of them had been stabbed or bashed off their horses by the white side.

The relief was, however, short-lived, as the answer to her question was a familiar rotting-river stench, which swept over them as soon as they pulled open the door.

"Oh, bloody hell, not again," Danny muttered.

"Well, it looks like it's asleep to me," Harry offered. He still had his stolen white spear and would be happy to keep it busy while the others made a run for the door on the opposite side of the room, but he didn't think it would be necessary.

"Are you sure?" Hermione frowned into the dark. "I can't see a thing..."

"Um, yes?"

"Did you not know that Harry can see in the dark?" Danny whispered across him. "Where is it? And where's the door? Do you think we can just sneak past?"

"Troll's about three metres to our left and five metres in front of us. Door's directly across the room, about twenty metres." Someone, apparently, had decided to give the troll a nice, large prison cell, but there was nothing there to entertain it. Harry wasn't surprised it was asleep. It had to be bored out of its little tiny mind. "We probably can. I don't see any enchantments or anything that look like they could be an alarm or lights, or anything like that. Keep your wands out just in case, but yeah, I think we can sneak through..."

"Alright, here, like, close the door most of the way for a second so we won't wake it up." When Harry did, Danny added at a much more normal volume, "What sneaking spells do you two know?"

"Sneaking spells?" Hermione said, as though she had never considered the notion of using magic to sneak around.

"Yeah, you know, to make you quieter or harder to see or notice or whatever. I can do a Footfall Silencing Charm."

Harry shrugged. "I don't usually use a specific spell when I want people not to notice me." He just sort of...twisted magic around himself to make their eyes slip past him, and he didn't know if that would work on the troll. Plus, he didn't think trolls' night vision was that much better than humans. Their hearing was the big thing to watch out for, and their sense of smell. Supposedly. Harry had a hard time imagining that they could smell anything at all over their own stench, but. "Is there a spell to make you not smell like anything? And we should silence our robes and shoes, too."

"Oh! There is! Well, it's actually meant to make you smell like flowers or whatever, my roommates were trying to learn it because Parvati's parents won't let her buy perfume, but I think it can make you smell like nothing, too, or like a cave, or whatever. But why should we silence our robes and shoes? That won't make us any quieter than the Footfall Silencing Charm..."

"Are you kidding?" Harry had to ask.

"No?"

"Silencing your footfalls won't stop the leather of your shoes from creaking or your robes from rustling, will it?"

"I don't think the troll is going to be able to hear the leather of our shoes creaking, Harry."

"I can—" If he was listening for it, at least — usually he just ignored that sort of thing, but he was pretty sure it would stand out if he was in an otherwise silent room, not expecting anything to make a sound. Both of the others gave him an Okay, Potter... look. "—and do you really want to take the chance that it will? Silencio!" he cast, aiming first at each of her shoes, and then at her robes, before doing Danny's and his own.

Danny did his Footfall Charm, and it took Hermione a couple of tries to get the scent charm right, but when she did, all three of them started smelling like the damp wall of a cave, completely innocuous, and also really weird. Harry didn't really think that he relied on smell that much, but he definitely noticed when something wasn't right with the way the others smelled. He had to resist a ridiculous urge to reach out and poke them to convince the stupid, instinctive part of his brain they were still real.

"Okay, next thing: can you two walk in a straight line in the dark? Because I can't lead you across the room and also guard our rear in case it wakes up." Danny and Hermione exchanged a look Harry was going to interpret as a no.

"Lead us across," Danny decided. "We'll hear it if it gets up, right? And then we can do a light charm and make a run for it if we have to. Good?"

Harry shrugged, nodded.

"Yes, let's go," Hermione said firmly, turning back to the door again and tugging it open.

Harry had to move her hand to his shoulder instead of letting her cling to his arm, because he wanted both his wand and his stolen spear free, but aside from that, the plan went off without a hitch, the three of them ghosting through the cave-dark room without a sound. The troll didn't move a muscle, and when they reached the other side, they found the door wasn't locked.

It was, however, immediately barred by purple fire when they stepped through it, while the exit, on the opposite side of the room, was blocked by black flames.

There was a table in the middle of the room, with seven bottles arranged in a line, and a little scroll. Hermione pounced on it immediately to read it aloud:

"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind;
Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead.
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

"Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore.
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide,
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second on the left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight."

"So it's just a logic problem?" Danny asked, peering at the clues over Hermione's shoulder.

"It seems so, yes. Let's see. If these two are the same, they could be either wine or poison — strike that, they must be wine, because that one's the largest. Which means these two are poison, and the one on the right end doesn't help us move forward and can't be poison because the one on the left end must be, which means that's the one to go back. And the tiny one must be the one to go on, since neither dwarf nor giant is poison. Yes?"

"Um." Hermione glared at Harry, but he thought he was right to hesitate. "No, I mean, your logic is sound, but only if the clue is true and no one has messed with the order of the bottles — we got down here, after all, and it wasn't really that hard — and we're definitely supposed to be on that side of the table. If you stand over here, the one you said is the one to go back might actually be poison. Not that you really need it, but."

He had continued poking around the room, looking to see if there were any other clues or resources or anything, and whether the fire was actually real, burning fire, because again, he'd feel damn stupid if they could just walk through and wasted their time trying to figure out if they were being tricked.

"What do you mean, we don't need it?" Danny asked. "Even if you're on the other side of the table, the tiny vial is still the one to go on, and there's not enough for all of us to have a swig."

"That purple fire's an illusion," he informed the others. "I can tell just looking at it." Sure it was hot, but like, hot air coming out of the oven -hot, not actually going to set you on fire -hot like the black flames, which were definitely real. Also magical, clearly cursed somehow, but it was a different, more malicious sort of magic than the illusion on the other side of the room.

Hermione, meanwhile, seemed to be slightly outraged by the suggestion that they might have been lied to by whoever had designed this trap (Harry was betting Snape or Vector — he'd never met the Arithmancy professor, but from what Sinistra had said about her, logic puzzles were right up her alley), but also uncertain, as though she couldn't quite bring herself to just dismiss Harry's concern as unjustified paranoia. "I suppose... I suppose it depends on whether we think they're actually trying to stop someone getting through," she said slowly. "I mean, as you just said, we got down here, and it wasn't difficult. None of us are even very good at chess! So whatever's at the end of this thing, I know it looks at first glance like whoever designed it is trying to keep people out, but what if it's like...a test, or something?"

"Well, then it would depend what they're testing," Danny said, reasonably, but not really helpfully. "I'll admit, it does seem sort of like a bad idea to just drink one of these. Maybe it's like the keys, where there's like, the obvious way you're supposedly supposed to solve the problem, and then the much easier way you're really, actually supposed to do it. Like, thinking outside the box."

"Alright, but then, what are we really, actually supposed to do?"

They spent the next several minutes trying to put out the black flames with every remotely reasonable spell they knew. It wasn't exactly surprising that the standard Fire-Quenching Charm didn't work, or Aguamenti, drawing water from the air to throw at it, or even trying to pull the magic away from it to kill it. It had to be sustained by a ward or something, because Harry hadn't been able to shift the magic involved in the spell at all. Harry had sort of hoped that the Flame Freezing Charm might do something, or attempting to physically smother it with his over-robe (which was, in hindsight, a terrible idea, because now he was down a school robe until he could get to the shops over Easter — good job, Potter...).

"Any other ideas?" Danny asked, clearly trying not to laugh as Harry came to the realisation that that had been a bad one.

Harry huffed at him. "Well, I still think it'd be a bad idea to drink that potion, and even if we did, there's not enough for all of us. None of us are going on alone, agreed?"

Hermione clearly did not agree. "Well, it might be worth it. I mean, even if I want to see what's at the end of this thing, I'd still rather one of you go on and tell me than not find out at all."

"Not to mention, we came down here to try to see if we could find any clues about Quirrell," Danny reminded him.

"Yes, but if we split up, at least one of you will be stuck here, because there's still a troll in the last room." Harry would be fine, obviously, but he had no intention of sitting around all day for Danny to come back — it sounded like Hermione was volunteering to let him go ahead — since they didn't even know if he would be able to come back. For that matter, he didn't know if they'd be able to get back through the door on the other side of the chess room — they'd left the key in the lock, it might've re-locked itself when the Freezing Charm wore off.

Both grimaced. "Okay, no splitting up," Danny agreed.

"So, what? You want to just go back?" Hermione asked, both surprised and annoyed. "No, there has to be a way..."

Harry grinned. "No, I want to try dumping the potion on the fire." When they hesitated to support his idea, he added, "If we're not sending anyone alone, and there's not enough for all of us, we might as well, right?"

"I...guess..." Hermione muttered, clearly trying to decide if she really wanted to give up the option of drinking it. After a moment, though, she relented, unstopping the bottle and carefully dribbling it down Harry's stolen stone spear to ensure that the small amount of liquid would actually get into the flames, without burning herself.

Nothing. It just formed a little puddle beneath the flames. Damn it.

"Alright," the Gryffindor snapped, even more annoyed by the failure than the idea of giving up. "What do we have to work with? We know it burns robes, paper—" They'd poked the scroll with the clues at it, just to see. "—and humans...or, whatever Harry is, at least—" He hadn't actually touched the cursed flames, but he had gotten close enough to scorch the hair off his arms trying to rescue his robe once he realised that it was catching fire. He didn't doubt he would burst into flames instantly if he attempted to just jump through it, or whatever. "What about wood?" she asked, looking around the largely empty room. Aside from the three of them and the shite they'd brought with them, there was really only the table and the bottled potions. "Here, let's move these and then we can break a leg off to test it," she suggested, already moving the bottles to the floor.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Hermione?" Danny asked sceptically.

"Yes? If it works, we can just push the table through the door and use it as a bridge."

"No, I mean, breaking and burning the furniture."

"I'm sure whoever set up this little obstacle course can find another table if they have to. There's a load of furniture that's not being used in empty classrooms and storage," Harry pointed out, helping the girl tip it onto its side. Danny sighed, but didn't object when he used a Cutting Charm to free one of the legs.

Hermione immediately snatched it from his hand and thrust it into the black flames...whereupon it immediately caught fire. Startling her, apparently, as she yelped and dropped it. "Shite!" That was, Harry was fairly certain, the strongest language he'd ever heard Hermione Granger use. "I really thought that was going to work!"

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, as he had a thought. "It didn't burn the spear!"

"Well, no, but that doesn't exactly help us. I mean, it's only about three centimetres in diameter. The flames still went around it, it didn't actually stop them."

"Yeah, but what if we transfigure the table into stone, and then use it as a bridge?"

Hermione just stared at him for a full two seconds, like she was surprised that sometimes other people came up with clever ideas, or maybe like she wasn't sure whether to be more annoyed that she hadn't thought of it herself or excited because, "Yes! That could work! Let's try it! Danny! Do you know a wood-to-stone transfiguration?"

Danny was already two steps ahead of her, chopping off another table-leg to test.

It worked! Harry let out a triumphant whoop, which was maybe a little loud for so small of a room, but it worked! "Brill! Alright, let's see what's on the other side of this thrice-cursed door already!" Hopefully something interesting.

But when he skipped across the transfigured table into what seemed to be the final room — there weren't, at a glance, any ways out other than the door through which they'd just entered — there was just...

"A mirror?" Hermione sounded almost as disappointed as Harry felt. There should at least be some sort of treasure or something. Why would anyone bother making a whole gauntlet of obstacles and puzzles and flying keys and shite, just to make it harder to get to a bloody mirror?

It was, admittedly, a relatively fancy mirror — a free-standing, full-length thing, with a heavy, ornately carved golden frame. There was an inscription around the top that he couldn't quite make out, carved in equally ornate lettering as it was, and it looked old, but there were no spots of tarnish like on some of the bathroom mirrors. And obviously it was enchanted, magic shimmering across its surface like oil on water. But it was still just a mirror.

"Oh! That's... That's very odd," Hermione said, sounding rather odd herself, as she moved to stand directly in front of the mirror. Part of the enchantment, he thought, must be stopping him from seeing her reflection from this angle. He circled around to look over her shoulder instead.

"That is very odd," he agreed. Because he didn't see either one of them as they were now. He saw himself and Dru, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her sitting room, with the heather moor in the background. Their eyes were closed, and there was no sound, but he could see Dru's lips moving, and then the room around them sort of...faded away, and their bodies, until they were just glowing forms of light or magic or something, in an endless sea of much softer magic or light or something, like floating...Outside, he realised. Maybe...maybe they were doing astral projection? She'd said she would teach him at Easter, there hadn't been time on Christmas...

"What is?" Danny asked, following them over. "Oh! That's... I'm guessing you two aren't seeing me showing Dora a portrait of herself?"

"No...I see myself introducing the two of you, and Blaise and Theo, to my parents, when we go back to King's Cross at the end of the year."

"I think I'm learning astral projection? So, it shows us our futures, or something?" Okay, maybe it wasn't such a lame prize to put at the end of this weird test thing.

"I don't think so," Danny said immediately. "Theo is never going to meet the Grangers. Not in public, at least. His father would kill him for fraternising with muggles. I'm bad enough, with Dad being muggleborn and all. I was going to say maybe it's the fulfilment of our greatest ambitions? Because I've been working toward making a portrait of Dora that transforms like she does for years — that's why I got into portraiture in the first place, you know. We had a family portrait done when I was seven..."

"But introducing you to my parents isn't very ambitious," Hermione finished for him, as he trailed off, leaning in to see himself in the mirror more closely. "If it were ambition, I'd expect to see myself as a professor, or maybe Minister of Magic."

"Maybe it's just...what we want. Like you want us to meet your family because you've never had friends to bring around before, and I want to see Dora's face when she sees that portrait, because she was so disappointed when the artist told her she'd have to pick just one face... Though I dunno, I guess astral projection seems sort of lame for like, a thing you'd really want to do. Isn't it just like...meditating, or something?"

Harry shook his head. "No, it's— Well, yeah, I guess it probably is meditating, but it's projecting your soul outside, like, into magic, and—" And recalling that feeling as he'd stepped through the portal, through the thin veil of magic between Dru's sitting room and Dumbledore's office, "It's the best thing I think I could possibly experience, ever..."

He wasn't sure when he'd come so close to the mirror — he hadn't consciously decided to move nearer — but his fingers stubbed against cold glass as he reached out to the magic just on the other side, shockingly hard and smooth and wrong, standing between him and magic.

Except it wasn't. He knew it wasn't, it was just—

He wasn't sure if he wanted to cry at the disappointment or break the stupid thing for lying to him, but the longer he stood here, looking at it, feeling that same longing he'd felt stepping through Dru's portal, needing to be there, Outside, with Magic and nothing else, the more sad and helpless and angry he felt, unable to reach the image in the mirror.

He hated this thing, he decided abruptly. He hated it, more than he had ever hated anything — more than he'd known he could hate a thing, especially an animated, unconscious thing that a distant corner of his mind knew wasn't doing this to him on purpose. That didn't stop him from feeling like it was taunting him with the idea of escaping into the endless sea of magic — where he was meant to be — away from this terribly, soul-crushingly mundane world.

He wrenched his eyes from the mirror, forcing himself to turn away and digging his nails into his arms to make himself focus on the here and now. Not quite as effective as coming face-to-face with a phoenix, light magic, painful and dissonant, crashing over him, but it did help a little.

"Harry? Are you alright?" Hermione asked.

It took a moment for him to find words again. "No. I don't— It's not real."

"Well, no, of course it's not, it's just a projection," Danny said, as though that wasn't the most disappointing thing he'd ever experienced.

He didn't understand—

"Harry...you sound upset," Hermione said, cautiously, as though she thought he might attack her for pointing out the extraordinarily bloody obvious. "I— Did it do something, when you touched it? Or did what you were seeing change, or something?"

Neither of them understood. "No. I need to leave."

"But..." Danny said, his eyes drifting back to the mirror. "We just got here..."

"You can stay, I don't care, but I— I can't." He took a deep breath, trying to pretend he didn't know it was still there, right behind him. "If I don't leave, I'm going to—"

"Jesus!" Hermione interrupted him, which was fine, he didn't really want to admit that he was on the verge of entirely losing his shite and trying to break the bloody mirror, or something. "Harry, stop that, you're hurting yourself!"

"Eh?"

"You're bleeding!" she snapped, reaching out to try to pull his left hand away from his right arm.

He hadn't noticed until she said something, but he didn't particularly care now that he had. It didn't hurt nearly bad enough to entirely distract him from the lying mirror and the fact that he was stuck here. He'd mostly managed to avoid thinking about it since coming back to school. Spending more time out in the Forest like a wild thing wasn't really the same kind of freedom as he just knew he would find in the Beyond, but it was a place he belonged more than he belonged here, with humans, with their claustrophobic rules and expectations.

"I need to get out." He needed to run, or play fight with the wolves until he was too tired to move, that would be better — something too physical to think or feel or do anything but be and react — to remind himself that no matter how intensely he longed for the Beyond, how right he knew it would be to lose himself in it, he did also actually like being a physical being. "Come if you're coming," he said shortly, jerking his hand and arm away from Hermione's concerned fingers.

He did make an effort to relax, though, as he stalked back toward their makeshift bridge, at least enough to stop digging his own nails into his own flesh, focusing on the magic to heal the tiny, crescent-shaped cuts and reminding himself it's not real, it's not right there, it's no closer or farther away than it was before we came down in this gods-forsaken pit...

The troll was still dead to the world, and the chessmen apparently weren't meant to stop people leaving this awful place, which was good, because Harry wasn't in the mood for a game of chess. If he'd been forced to play his way across again, he might've just walked across the board like he had the first time and blasted the black king's head off. He would say stab it in the not-face with his stolen spear, but he realised about halfway across the Chess Room that he'd left it in the Potions Room.

Not that it mattered. All the battered and broken pieces had repaired and reset themselves, and none of the white pawns were missing a spear.

Similarly, the door which locked with a flying key wasn't locked at all from this side, and while the Devil's Snare had found their rope and begun climbing it, it shied away from a Midnight Sun charm just as easily as it had from Danny's fire charm earlier, releasing the rope to press itself back against the wall. Harry did have to wait a moment for it to do so, long enough for Danny and Hermione to catch up — he'd shaken them off as soon as they got past the troll, not eager to listen to them speculate about Quirrell and whether the mirror would show him how to get rid of his STD or whatever was actually wrong with him. They still weren't entirely sold on the STD thing.

In fact, as they caught up, Danny was saying, "I dunno. I'll ask Dora what she thinks his symptoms add up to, see what she says."

"Why not your dad? Isn't he a healer?"

"Yeah, but if there really is a disease with symptoms like that, he'd probably think it was the most likely thing. I mean, Pomfrey has to think so, right? It just seems like... I dunno, there has to be something more going on with him. Why would my scar hurt whenever I look at him if he's just ill?"

"Well, it could be an unrelated issue," Hermione suggested, though it didn't sound as though she really believed it.

They hauled themselves back up to Fluffy's corridor in the reverse order they'd gone down, so Harry could calm the dog down. As soon as he helped the others back out of the trap door and ushered them out of the corridor, he was gone, taking his leave without so much as a see you later. Rude, yes, but he just had to get out of here.

Hermione obviously thought so, too, though she seemed more concerned than offended. "He seems really upset. Do you think we should tell, I don't know, Professor Snape, or someone?" she asked Danny, before Harry was quite out of earshot.

"No. I mean, yeah, he does seem upset — bloody weirdo — but I don't think telling Snape would help. Better just let him go. Come on, I want to send that letter off to Dora..."