Axis Shift

“Breaking into Snape’s office in the middle of the night?” asked Harry as he approached, the violent orange sparks a beacon in the dark dungeons. “Even in the best of times, we considered that a risky move.”

The pitch-black silhouette continued slashing his wand over the door. Light brown eyes reflected eerily in the wandlight. “Only you, Potter. Only you would value getting in a sarcastic quip over your own life.” A sudden flare exposed sickly skin and too-sharp features. Harry leaned his shoulder beside the door and crossed his arms, stomach flipping uncomfortably. Normally he and Nott ignored each other if their paths intersected during their midnight rounds. An unspoken rule. One which he already regretted breaking. Yet he couldn’t muster the strength to trust in Nott’s incompetence and walk away.

Harry exhaled lowly. “You’re using a cursebreaking technique on a door without a curse. Pardon me for not quaking in my boots.”

Nott ripped his eyes from his work for a split-second to give Harry an offended look. “It’s the Nowak Sequence. No mere technique. A single error and this entire wing of the castle goes to rubble!”

“Why are you so desperate to get in there?”

Curling his lip, Nott jerked his wand towards Harry, sparks flying angrily around them. “I believe I am the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, not you. I’ll be the one to decide what does and does not work against this blasted door!”

Harry looked down, scraping his toe of his boot against the ground. “Considering you just broke the Sequence, do you reckon there’s enough time for me to leave, write out a goodbye letter or two, and return just in time to explode along with the dungeons? Or would it be pointless.”

“Write? To who?” said Nott with a laugh. ”The dead can’t read.”

It was far from the worst remark he’d heard. For some odd, unexpected reason, he thought of Tracy Davis, his first friend in Slytherin. A snowy day their 5th year, while everyone else was frantically studying for OWLs, she had been cuddled in a cashmere blanket by the fireplace, reading through a stack of Witch Weekly magazines. Noticing him, she’d pulled at her blonde hair and complained the green lightning of the Common Room made her look like an ugly mermaid. When the test results came in Tracy had gotten the best scores in their House. Now he could only see her red, gaping throat and cold limbs.

The back of Harry’s eyes pricked. His nails bit into his palms. “Are we resorting to petty insults now, professor?” Nott wanted to get a rise out of him. Harry wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I’ve just about had it with you.” Nott took an aggressive step forward. “I don’t have to resort to anything. You’ll see. I was going to go easy on you tomorrow—a professional courtesy—but it seems filth like you need repeated lessons about mouthing off to your betters.”

Nott shoved past Harry, who watched as the tall figure retreat in the direction of the bed chambers.

Harry’s fists unclenched like rusted wrenchs. Crescents of pain flared at his palms.

“Bastard,” he hissed at Nott’s back.

Securing the cuff of his sleeve around his forearm, Harry pressed his hand to Snape’s door. Feelings and ideas pressed back (—the seeping warmth of a mug of hot chocolate through worn mittens/egyptian pyramids in a sandstorm/a blossom unfurling—). The fabric of the door’s enchantment was unchipped by Nott’s attack.

Hesitantly, Harry curled his fingers around the doorknob. Then twisted. Dread warmed his insides as the knob turned all the way unimpeded. If he so much as leaned forward it would fly open. Plainly, the door only opened for Harry. Snape had to have cast the charms before he’d died.

Harry’s heart wrenched painfully.

As though the doorknob was burning hot, he released it and walked away, the stern click of the doorknob returning to position echoing in his wake. It was too dark to see. Harry didn’t know where his legs were taking him but as long as it wasn’t back there, he didn’t care.

///

“Professor Potter has agreed to join me in the demonstrations this week.”

The hem of Harry’s plain black robes snapped around his ankles as he stepped onto the elevated dais. Hundreds of young faces stared up at him with naked curiosity. At the fringes of the crowd were the older students. Harry recognized a few as first and second years from back when he was a student. Mostly half-bloods who returned after riding out the war.

They wore varying expressions. Apprehension, namely.

Theodore Nott made a flourishing motion with his wand. “Watch our duel carefully, students. Unlike our esteemed herbologist, Professor Potter has training under his belt. Rumors say even the nobleAlbus Dumbledore gave him a lesson or two once. But I wouldn’t be too optimistic about his chances. All the great wizards are gone except our Lord, and if Potter was one of them, well, he wouldn’t exactly be here now would he?”

A far-reaching silence met him. Not even the children of Death Eaters dared a snicker.

Harry brought out his own wand and kept his grip light. Nott wanted him angry. Instead, Harry felt a sadness so deep he could hardly breathe. Because Nott was right. So right, it beat like a second horcrux inside his body. If Harry possessed even a sliver of Ron Weasley’s courage he wouldn’t be trapped like a showbird inside Hogwarts. Years ago, at the height of the war, words had been thrown around—special, chosen one, destiny—and everyone pleaded for him to be careful. Don’t grow up too fast. Live like a child, you are one. Let the adults handle it. He listened. The war slipped through his fingers like the finest sand. Suddenly his own friends were fighting for their lives, but still they told him to keep his head down. Suddenly Hermione Granger and rest of the muggleborns were taken away and there was no one left. It was all to live for a day which never came.

He was a coward.

Dipping their upper-halves, Harry and Nott kept their eyes locked as they bowed.

“Crucio!”

“Expelliarmus!”

The red curse hit Harry and he buckled to the floor, choking on his pained gasps. White-hot agony cut through his veins, shredded his spine, hands feeling as though under a blowtorch one second then plunged into dry ice the next. It was a good curse. But trivial compared to Voldemort’s. To Harry’s own.

Pain vanishing, Harry struggled to his feet. Nott’s expression was unbearably smug.

“Did everyone catch that, or shall I beg Professor Potter for a second duel?” asked Nott loudly as he looked pointedly at the crowd. Half the students looked sick—a girl in the back was rubbing at wet eyes. “What do you think, Ms Carrow?”

Collectively the room looked at a seventh year girl, a silver Head Girl badge gleaming at her breast. Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail, pale grey eyes shifting between her two professors before settling on appraising Harry. He could almost see the thoughts racing in her mind. If I say yes, will Potter give me an D on my final paper? The Games Department considers History scores when choosing applicants…

Nott raised his brows slightly at her.

“It - It was over so quickly, I didn’t quite catch it, no,” said Carrow awkwardly.

Still reeling from the curse, Harry’s vision spotted black and his consciousness perceived the world as a series of cut scenes. He was testing his balance on his feet again. His body was moving. Head cracking against the ground as incredible pain racked through him. This time, he may have screamed. Harry wasn’t sure. Squinting hard through askew glasses he saw his young godson, Teddy Lupin, bounce up to the stage and hand Nott a note.

Arms hooked under his armpits and brought him to his feet. A wand pressed to his temple and clarity returned—his body drained out the lingering shocks of pain, leaving behind utter exhaustion. “Drink this, Potter,” hissed Nott in his ear. Pepper-Up potion slid down his throat. Harry shook his head, steam curling out of his ears, energy sparkling through him. The room was completely void of students except for Teddy, whose hair was a mousy brown as he watched them.

“Now,” continued Nott. “How are you feeling? Good? Spectacular?”

It took Harry a second to identify the hurried tone as fearful.

“Like I got hit with the cruciatus twice,” said Harry.

Nott gave him a nasty look but his face couldn’t sustain it. “Something serious has come up, Potter. I’ve received word the Dark Lord is at Hogwarts. Visiting, of course, surely just to see how well the new crop of students are faring under our superior teachings. But he is here. And, as is logical, he wishes to check up on his favorite pet. You are to head for Yaxley’s office—I mean, Headmaster Yaxley’s office, at once. Understand?”

Harry felt a dark sense of mirth. No wonder Nott was acting out of sorts. What glorious timing. For all that Nott relished in making Harry’s life miserable, ages ago Voldemort had mysteriously declared that Harry Potter was untouchable under the punishment of a drawn-out death. The cruciatus wasn’t permanent damage. But considering the Dark Lord’s instability, Nott’s neck might as well be under a guillotine, rope rapidly fraying.

“Perfectly,” said Harry, intentionally slurring around the word. “Do you need any help cleaning up? I’m sure Voldemort will understand if I’m late, he is a generous, merciful Lord after all. Though, after those cruciatuses you hit me with, I may be a bit slow on the uptake…”

“I know what you’re doing, Potter!” Nott’s face was stricken and ghost-pale. “Lupin! You’re responsible for getting him to the Dark Lord. If he is upset for any reason, you’re spending the rest of the year in detention. With me. Got it?”

“Yes sir!” said Teddy, quickly grasping Harry’s hand and dragging him out the door. The boy was surprisingly strong for an eleven year old. Once they were a safe distance from the Great Hall, Teddy slowed, allowing Harry to catch his breath. “Uncle Harry, what happened?

Why did you let Professor Nott win like that?”

Or not.

“I didn’t. He’s a good duelist.”

Teddy’s eyes widened fractionally before narrowing to slits. “You’re lying. You’d never say anything nice about Professor Nott. Are you imperiused?”

“Great. So he’s teaching the unforgivables to first years,” muttered Harry.

“Uncle Harry!”

“Look. Teddy, the world may seem simple to you, but it’s not. It’s not particularly heroic of me, no, but I have to deal with Nott every day, and he’s ten times more difficult to deal with when his fragile ego feels threatened.”

“Can’t you tell anyone? Headmaster Yaxley?”

Harry tried not to let out a gusty sigh. “No one can do anything, not even Yaxley. Vol- the Dark Lord instated Nott himself. Nott’s dad was a loyal, high-ranking Death Eater, who suffered heroically in Azkaban for years before dying. I suppose the Dark Lord felt bad and gave the man’s son a cushy career.”

Intense concentration scrunched Teddy’s face. “You… could ask the Dark Lord.”

Harry turned his head slowly, half in disbelief, wondering if his godson had truly just said that. “I will never ask that monster for anything,” said Harry. “Your parents are dead because of him—for that alone, I’ll suffer through a hundred Notts, a thousand cruciatus curses, and even then I won’t say a word. I won’t spit on the graves of everyone who died fighting him.”

“I’m - I’m sorry,” said Teddy, “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“It’s not you. It’s him,” said Harry, catching sight of the gargoyle as the pair turned the corner. “You better head on to your next class. If Nott gives you any trouble at all, I want you to tell me. Our issues don’t involve you. He’s not allowed to hurt you.”

“Wait!” called Teddy just as Harry was about to say the password. “Hogwarts gives help to those who ask. That’s what the older kids say. Don’t give up. People still believe in you. They talk about you all the time. Tell me what I can do—I can help!”

Hogwarts gives help to those who ask.

Harry snorted quietly.

Dumbledore gives help to those who ask.

“Forget it. Your biggest worry should be whether or not McGonagall will let you play in the snow outside.”

With a whispered word, Harry was trekking up the curling staircase. His scar twinged. Voldemort was without a doubt in Yaxley’s office, but no voices carried down the steps. So Yaxley finally found a way to implement an anti-eavesdropping jinx? Giving a polite knock at the door, he entered without waiting for an answer. No locking charm.

Voldemort sat in the guest seat across from the expansive Headmaster’s desk. The years hadn’t touched him in the slightest, appearing exactly as he did during the Second Wizarding War. He wore nondescript black robes, legs crossed, scarlet eyes looking at Harry with amusement over his steepled fingertips. In the high-backed Headmaster’s seat, Yaxley sat stiffly. It took Harry a moment to realize the old man chest wasn’t moving. Eyes unblinking. Well, thought Harry with a slight grimace, that solved why he hadn’t heard any conversation walking up.

“We meet again, Harry…” said Voldemort in his soft, cold voice.

“At your request.”

“Let me see.”

The sibilance of the demand sunk into the shadows of the room, lingering in the air. The Dark Lord must have spoken in parseltongue. Harry felt all the exhaustion in his muscles at once as he lifted his fringe, exposing the angry red lightning bolt scar to Voldemort’s hungry eyes.

“Have you been taking care of me well, Harry? No foolish actions?”

“Yes.”

Voldemort’s lipless mouth curled into the mockery of a smile. “So I see… yes, very good. Your obedience has not gone unnoticed by Lord Voldemort.” His scarlet gaze caught Harry’s attention flicker to Yaxley. “Ah. Where are my manners? Would you like to have a seat, Harry?”

With a wave of the Dark Lord’s spidery hand, Yaxley was thrown by an invisible force into the opposing wall. Scraggly white-streaked black hair veiled his face as he lay crumpled at the bottom. Dark eyes stared straight ahead.

Voldemort gestured to the vacant seat. Seeing no way out, Harry eased into the Headmaster’s chair. It felt wrong. Even with the shelves stripped of whirring silver instruments, Fawkes’ perch removed, and the Phoenician rugs replaced with bare hardwood, the circular office still felt like it belonged to Dumbledore.

“It suits you,” said Voldemort contemplatively. “To sit in that seat means to gain immeasurable prestige and power within the wizarding world. Many forget their duty… to shape the newest generation into capable witches and wizards. Guard those who cannot yet protect themselves. That is why I must trust this Headmaster… I would be remiss in not choosing from among my most faithful…”

Harry could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Voldemort wanted to make him Headmaster one day? The merits surfaced in his mind. It would be the best position to fight Voldemort from. As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Harry could turn the school into a safe haven far from the Dark Lord’s reach. Harry could prepare students. Teach them to think out of their parents’ guidelines. In a decade or two, there would be a new wave of people ready to fight Voldemort’s tyranny.

“What is it you want from me?” asked Harry guardedly.

The Dark Lord gave an amused hiss. “Is there something Harry Potter can offer the great Lord Voldemort which he does not already possess? You can satisfy a whim of mine, perhaps,” he said. “Come to me willingly. We do not have to be enemies. I will not force you… when you are ready, you may ask for my Mark and you shall receive it upon your arm, becoming one of my faithful.” He paused as though in thought. “Yes… you, Harry Potter, have potential unequal to any other than myself. The Sorting Hat placed you in the noble house of my ancestor, distancing you from your parents’ legacy. It saw in you what it had seen in me, many years ago. Does any other exist whom Lord Voldemort could trust more? More than the one who shares his soul, and whose very blood runs in his veins?”

Harry dry swallowed. “And if I decided to never join your side?”

Voldemort’s serpentine features pinched in cruel excitement, like he’d been waiting all this time for Harry to ask that very thing. “Have I not so generously given you that freedom?” he asked. “It is a taste of how I reward my loyal friends. I listen when they speak to me. Last week, dear Lucius suggested we cast a Muggle-repelling jinx on the Muggle Ministry’s parliament building. I wished to burn it. However, I am flexible and receptive to the opinions of the worthy.”

Snake-split pupils constricted. “In three days time, we will finally rid the Camps of mudblood filth. Against the many wishes of my friends, I have kept them alive… yet the animals continue to plot and rebel. They speak openly of my downfall. No longer will I accept this disrespect. It is unfortunate not one of my friends wishes to step forward and speak on their behalf. I take their silence to mean I am in the right.”

Harry’s world narrowed to a pinprick. Hermione.

His mind flew through different variations of their next bit of conversation. Fifty percent of them ended with Voldemort denying he wanted to brand Harry. Fifty percent ended in Voldemort saying he merely listened to his followers not that they had control over him. There was also the strong possibility Voldemort wanted to mark him today—now—and would use anything more Harry said to tighten the noose around his neck.
What Harry needed was time to think. Why did Voldemort want to mark him so desperately? What could Harry do about the Muggleborn Camps? How much influence could he really have over Voldemort?

Most of all Harry had to quickly figure out what leverage he had over the Dark Lord. Anything.

Harry stood up and bowed his neck. “I appreciate what you’re giving me. If there’s nothing else, I’d like to leave and think about everything you’ve said today.”

Voldemort’s spindly fingers ghosted over his jaw as he rested his chin in his palm.

“Go.”

///

The halls were eerily quiet. Rumor of Voldemort’s presence had circulated the castle, and everyone, even Peeves the Poltergeist, seemed to have vanished. Looking at the masses of vacant picture frames, Harry debated recalling the portraits back from wherever they were hiding, but decided the whole bother wasn’t worth it. The Dark Lord hadn’t made a public appearance. If the man hadn’t apparated home, then he was likely staying in the Headmaster’s Quarters.

“Watch him,” whispered Harry. “Alert me if he makes a move.”

Harry continued walking as his shadow stopped in its tracks. Giving a nod of acknowledgement, his shadow turned around and fled in a wide meld of darkness. It was not a normal thing to be missing one’s shadow. But hardly noticeable unless looking for it. Stepping into the Hogwarts library, Harry snaked his way through familiar towering shelves, headed for the Restricted Section.

Evening set upon Hogwarts quickly. Harry produced a candle and snapped a flame onto the wick, setting it to the corner of his table. The light gleamed on peeling gold titles. He noticed a fingerprint on the book directly in front of him and felt, somehow, that it was Hermione’s. On a whim, he placed his hand in front of the flame, wondering if his shadow had returned without him noticing. Light spilled through his fingers. Brightness hit the pages without an impedance. What was Voldemort doing in the Headmaster’s office? Scheming up ways to burn the Sorting Hat?

“You don’t expect me to put all these away for you after you’ve finished, do you Professor?”

Harry removed half the books from the column in front of his nose, creating an opening in the unintentional fort he had built. The black, almond-shaped eyes of the librarian, Daphne Greengrass, bore down on him. Tracy’s old friend. She was strikingly beautiful. Which was about the only thing he and Nott agreed on—the man, when he wasn’t bullying Harry it seemed, was in the Hogwarts library making a show of reading books Harry knew were far too complex for Nott to understand. Hell, even Dumbledore claimed he could barely wrap his head around Flamel’s infamous Theory of Non-Spiritual Alchemy.

“Not in the slightest,” said Harry. He cleared his throat. “I’ll return them. Don’t worry.”

Greengrass narrowed her eyes before shifting to examine the titles laying around him. “Anatomy of the Soul… Possession: The Darkest Art… Warlock’s Mandate…” her voice went quieter after each book, draining of its earlier indignation. “What is this, Potter?”

“Did you know there’s a myth that Hogwarts’ innate magic is so strong because the Founders sacrificed their souls for it, vowing to protect their beloved school eternally? I’m not a fan of that particular conspiracy. Souls aren’t… batteries.” At Daphne’s deeply unimpressed look, Harry closed the book he was reading. “You and Nott used to be a thing, right?”

She let the question hang in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Why?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Because for the life of me I can’t see anything to like about him. And trust me, I’ve tried.”

“So it’s an exchange. I tell you about Nott, and you’ll tell me what this abominable research is for?”

“Precisely. I’ll even throw in a freebie— Headmaster Yaxley is dead.”

Greengrass sucked in a horrified breath. “Why?”

“Because Voldemort killed him.”

“Obviously, Potter, but I mean why?” In her liquid black eyes, Harry saw conjecture flying through her mind. Not about what, exactly, but there was far more present than there should be. It was like seeing an innocuous computer file titled Potions Homework being a thousand times larger than its Transfiguration Homework or Charms Homework counterparts. Greengrass misread his silence and sighed. “Alright. Theodore isn’t a bad guy. At least, he wasn’t to me. I often found him quite annoying, but as unlikely as it sounds, he was probably the most attentive boyfriend I’ve ever had. When I was working with the Unspeakables during the war, we were on opposite sides, and I was charged with poison experimentation— to be used on the Death Eaters, of course, which he knew about, but whenever I came home in a bad mood after work, he’d send me a rose at the Ministry the next day. It was all the little things. So many little things that I ignored the big things, like the fact that he was an insecure classist, racist, entitled prick with daddy issues. But, I suppose no one is perfect. Is that enough for you, Potter? Or shall I continue with meaninglessly re-opening of the scars on my heart?”

Harry thumbed his lips in contemplation. “Has he mentioned Snape recently?”

One of her perfectly shaped brows arched. “Indeed. Would you like to know why he’s so insistent on getting into your old Head of House’s private office?” At Harry’s nod she gave a close-lipped smile. “Then answer my questions. Please.”

“Yaxley’s dead because Voldemort wanted him dead—”

“Potter,” cursed Greengrass.

He gave a small dry smile. Everyone was a Slytherin now, all the Houses having been merged. “—However, if I had to guess, it’s because of Hogwarts’ loss to Durmstrang last year. Yaxley lost favor after Bletchley’s defeat. And then, well, Voldemort said something quite curious to me today. You know how Yaxley’s been actively vying for the Supreme Mugwump seat— ?”

“Just like Dumbledore.”

“Well, Yaxley’s definitely not Dumbledore material… I don’t think Voldemort liked his hubris.”

Greengrass pulled out one of the chairs, sitting with a deep sigh. Harry courteously cleared away more books, revealing that the woman had her head in her hands, long silky black hair falling around her and curling in spirals on the table. With another, smaller sigh, she perched her chin on her interlocked hands. “I don’t think you should be calling the Dark Lord that name. He’s excessively lenient with you, Merlin only knows why, but what if someone who doesn’t know better like Teddy starts to pick it up? Don’t be brash.”

Harry gave her a hard look. “Old habit.”

“Who’s to be the next Headmaster then? Has your lordly confidante share that information as well?”

“Not with me, no,” said Harry, slowly rearranging the books to busy his fingers. The slightest breeze from the movement of his arm dimmed the candles for a moment. Or perhaps it was something else. “Although I imagine we’ll be hearing about it very shortly. You first asked me what I was researching, didn’t you?” He lifted a tome. The ancient grid pattern of its covers was rough on his fingers. Any title had been long ago worn away. It had been hidden in the deepest, darkest recesses of the Restricted Section, and its pages were completely blank. Unless, like a password, you knew the secret author of the book.

Abruptly the candles extinguished and room was bathed in darkness. At Harry’s ear, there was a quick whisper. The flames came again anew. Shadows extended from Harry into the long hall. Claws of darkness clutched his face. Swam over the table and the books and even to the candlesticks themselves.

“How familiar are you with the term horcrux?”

///

After leaving the library, Harry felt like sticking a sword through his foot. Why had he told Greengrass as much as he had? They weren’t friends. Only had a handful of chats before today, and she was closer to Nott than anyone at this school. Hell, she might even be one of Voldemort’s vaunted Death Eaters. He never checked. Never asked. Harry supposed it was because there was something disarming about her. Not sweet, or innocent, but… uncomplicated, in a way that defied logic. It was familiar. Nostalgic.

“I hated Snape when we were in school. How about you? He always seemed to treat his Slytherins better,” Greengrass had said with a deep sneer, speaking as she flipped through one of Harry’s books. The expression, however, was purely for the acerbic potions master.

“He was tough,” admitted Harry. “Not anyone’s idea of a nice guy. But when it came down to it… you know, he was on Dumbledore’s side all along, right? He died fighting for us. Including the muggleborns—everyone. Spent years lying to Voldemort, being hated by both sides, just to help keep me safe. That matters to me more than a few bad potions grades.”
Greengrass offered him an unimpressed stare. “I am very much holding back the tears here, love.”

“You can’t hate a guy that died for you,” said Harry.

“I was attempting a thing called ‘bonding through commiseration’. I think it’s safe to say I failed miserably.” Greengrass crossed her arms and looked at the ground. “It’s kind of funny—Theo idolized Snape back when we were kids. Even caught him in front of a mirror once trying to practice the way Snape walked. That whole melodramatic flare of the cloak thing. However for the past few years or so Theodore blames him for anything that’s gone wrong. Slytherin loses a Quidditch game? Snape never took care of the school brooms. My favorite is Theo’s complaint about unruly children— he calls it institutionalized Snape-ism.

“You sure he said ‘institutionalized’?” asked Harry. “It’s got more than two syllables.”

“He’s not stupid, Potter,” she said bitterly. “Don’t underestimate him.”

Considering Harry had shared a room with the man for seven years, he didn’t think he was entirely unqualified to have an option. But he relented, giving a one-shoulder shrug.

“As you know, Theo is Slytherin’s Head of House. That’s what written in his teaching contract. And for all intents and purposes it’s true. But not to Hogwarts,” she had said, her words escalating in their quickness and passion. “Snape’s office isn’t really Snape’s. It’s the office of Slytherin’s Head of House. Hogwarts only recognizes the occupant of the office as Slytherin’s Head of House. Honestly, it’s not that big a deal. There’s a certain small few things Theo can’t do—like command the ghosts, or walk up to the girls dormitories—but it’s no big deal, really. For him it’s more of a pride thing, I suppose.”

Harry had nodded. “I wonder what exactly Snape’s done to the door.”

“Something brilliant. I loathe him, but I’ll give him that—he was one skilled wizard.”

Later that evening he had told Greengrass about Voldemort’s impending plan for the Muggleborns. She had left the library crying. For being a pureblood of the highest caliber, an employee at Hogwarts, and Nott’s ex-girlfriend, Harry hadn’t imaged she’d have such a violent emotional reaction. Did she know someone in one? Though Harry hadn’t found any new clues in the books he’d been pouring over since he first learned of his status as a horcrux, Greengrass had thoroughly put him off the mood of staying in the library.

Sighing, Harry continued down the corridor until he entered a large stone chamber, a heavy oak door about the size of a giant greeting his sight. The portraits around here remained blank. Quietly, but very visibly, Voldemort had left through the front door—and Yaxley’s replacement was due any moment. ‘Lestrange’ could mean either Rabastan or Rodolphus. Voldemort always called her Bella. Harry wasn’t anyone’s first choice door greeter but still he came, unable to sit and wait and do nothing as another dangerous stranger strolled into his home.

Minutes ticked by. Harry continued to stand sentinel. He waited for a long time, so long that it seemed like his eyes were dragging, and that he was seeing things. There was an odd shimmer in the corner of his left eye, but everytime he tried to catch it, it disappeared. Until it didn’t.

Harry stared at rubies and gold wreathing the small door. A proudly roaring lion was blazoned across the middle of it. He’d never seen anything like it before. Having devoured Hogwarts a History front to back multiple times, he’d never read about such a thing either. Taking a glance at the front door then back again to the small one, Harry decided that he was starting to very much feel sick of doors.

He pulled on the solid gold lever. It didn’t budge.

“You want to try?” demanded Harry of his shadow, which was curled up in a ball laughing on the ground. Frowning, he tried knocking on the door. Put his ear to it. He didn’t know quite enough about the acoustics of gold doors to understand if he was hearing anything odd. “You can’t have appeared for no reason,” he muttered. “I’m a Slytherin. You get that, right? I’m not one of yours.” The door must’ve been sentient for it then promptly vanished.

A large groaning reverberated through the antechamber, the two halves of the oak door splitting. It revealed a long scrap of white sky, and at the very bottom, Rabastan Lestrange, who removed his black woolen cap and beat the snow from it. Unlike Yaxley, who liked to portray himself as a distinguished larger-than-life fellow who considered committing various atrocities on his Lord’s command a quirky extracurricular, Rabastan was a stern, bookish sort who followed orders to the letter. Of the Death Eaters Harry had come into contact with, Rabastan was easiest to be around. The man was orderly and predictable.

“Suppose you knew I was coming, didn’t you?” asked Rabastan, cautious at the sight of Harry and his still-laughing shadow. “I am incapable of understand how you fucked up our Lord’s wraith ritual—an easy ritual—that badly, but at least you’ve squeezed some use out of the mangled afterbirth. Can you fly?”

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets. “No. It can’t interact physically with me or the world. It’s also gained some kind of personality, as you can see.”

Rabastan flicked his cap a last time then secured it over his head again. “Clearly. I suppose it’s no big loss to you. I’ve heard of your skill on a broomstick. And you’re a decent hand at apparition, lucky prick. Without the ritual, I’d have gotten here by Knight Bus and a strong anti-nausea elixir. Shall we head to the kitchens? I’m starving. You can inform me of the Hogwarts situation on the way.”

“I need to know something first—” said Harry “—the mudbloods…”

“Yes, yes. We are killing them all. It’s about time, quite frankly. Five Camps, around-the-clock surveillance.” He hesitated. “It’s just wasting far too many resources. I thought about suggesting to our Lord to consider feeding them to the dementors, but I don’t suppose the vile creatures deserve it. They haven’t been keeping to their borders.”

Harry struggled to keep his features expressionless. “Can I ask another thing? Our Lord says he wants me to take the Mark. All of a sudden. Why is that?”

Rabastan rolled his eyes. “No. If I understood the Dark Lord’s every action, I would be the Dark Lord. Personally, I don’t believe you’ve done anything to deserve the Mark, especially not as of recent. You’ve been much like a mouse in a hole. Except one that teaches history to other little mice. The rightsort of history, I hope. Merlin forbid…”

///

With the help of a dreamless sleep potion, Harry’s night was one of deep, dark rest. There were flitters of consciousness, like the flash of a blade in stormy waters—dreams which could not take—but they quickly disappeared. Then he began to hear screaming. The slices of awareness grew in size but he couldn’t wake up. It was a muted, indistinct scream. It was a voice, extremely high-pitched, uttering words so quickly they merged together.

Harry woke with a start, clutching his blanket in a vice-grip.

Breathing out shakily he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Out of his eyes. He tore the damp shirt off his back and tossed it aside, the winter-touched dungeon air freezing against his skin. Having a thought, Harry looked at his fingers, but it was hard to see for blood in the blurry darkness. His scar didn’t hurt. That wasn’t a dream. What could—

“Potter! Took you goddamn long enough!” said Daphne Greengrass’s desperate voice.
Harry shoved on his glasses, his wand lighting as he grabbed it. He winced at the sharp brightness. “Greengrass? What on earth?”

There were creases beneath her eyes. “I’m in your bedroom, that’s what! You—I’m trusting you here, alright? Because I know… you have to be… I just know you’re on our side, and not his. What you told me about the Muggleborns. I went and told the Order, okay? We’re gonna—”

“The what?” asked Harry, still chasing the dreamless sleep from his mind. Surely he hadn’t heard that right. He dropped the wand on the bed where it stayed softly alight and he rubbed at his eyes. “Order? The Order of the Phoenix? You’re crazy.”

Greengrass gripped the back of her head and began frantically pacing. “It’s just the few of us that’s left. Me, Elphias Doge, Fleur Delacour, several of the Weasleys, Dung, Shacklebolt, and Professor McGonagall. I got in when some of the Unspeakables, me included, were recruited into the Aurors. They were struggling. That’s how I met Shacklebolt. Okay? That’s how I got in.”

“They didn’t trust me,” whispered Harry—he wasn’t even sure he said it.

“You were too close to You-Know-Who,” said Greengrass. “It’s not you.”

Harry grit his teeth. “Of course it’s me! You weren’t there the first time around. I learned occlumency because I was too close to Voldem—”

“Shut it!” said Greengrass. “The taboo’s still in effect.”

Ripping off the blankets, Harry jumped off the bed and got a glass of water from his desk. The swell of emotions inside him was so large it felt bigger than himself. Like it was all going to explode out of his eyes any second. Water fumbled over the glass rim. Baring his teeth, Harry threw the cup into the wall where it shattered into a cloud of glass upon impact. A few musical notes hung in the air, lingering in his ears, there-and-not-there, and he felt as though he were going insane.

“You’ll help us. If we’re going to rescue the muggleborns then we need every witch and wizard we can get,” said Greengrass in a calmer, measured tone. “I can’t believe you’re even debating this. These are your friends! This is no time for pride,” she hissed the word.

“I’m not debating. I can’t even think right now!” said Harry.

“You better figure out how soon. According to your timeline, we have little more than forty-eight hours to rescue about two-hundred and fifty people from their deaths. I don’t know how the Order didn’t see this coming. I double-checked. Triple-checked. The Camps have been rapidly decreasing their patrolmen for the past week. Orders for food and supplies haven’t been renewed. You’re right. Something is going on. Something bad.”

Harry pinched the bridge of nose and breathed out slowly. “Greengrass… why are you a librarian?”

“Huh?”

“Unspeakable - Auror - librarian. I’m at this school because I have to be. Why are you here?”

“Is it not plainly obvious?” said Greengrass. “Hogwarts is the center of everything. I’m the only one with the clean records, the pedigree, the connections, to get into the school and keep watch. And it’s lucky I am here. The Order didn’t know about the upcoming massacre. Now we can do something before it’s too late.”

“Pedigree…” said Harry. “Remind me again which mudblood it is you love so much?”

“Does it matter?” asked Greengrass heatedly. “Why does anything other than ‘yes I’ll help’ matter right now?”

Harry offered a close-lipped smile. “Bonding over commiseration?”

“You are appalling.”

“You — Know — Who,” said Harry, exaggerating each word. “Was the one who told me about it. And he was using it to pressure me into taking the Dark Mark. He doesn’t trust me. Hell, he’s said he didn’t trust me to my face. What if it’s bad information? A trap? He’d get the rest of the Order nicely and neatly with a pretty bow on top.”

“We have to risk it.” Greengrass ran her fingers through the base of her lustrous black hair. “If we get the muggleborns out—again, that’s around two-hundred and fifty people—and we get them to fight for our side? Against him?”

“Your Order’s how many right now—seven people? I lost count. There’s five Camps. We don’t know which one is getting razed down first. Or if they’re all getting razed down at the same time. I don’t know what information you’ve got, but I don’t even know where these Camps are.”

“We have to try!”

“I know we have to try!” stressed Harry. “You asked me to think. So I’m thinking. What d’you think I was doing all day yesterday—playing leapfrog in the snow with Nott? Our best bet, I think, is if I take the Mark. The Dark Lord strongly implied he wouldn’t kill them if I did. We can’t rescue everyone. We may not even be able to free one Camp.”

Why did Voldemort want him to take the Mark?

Why… why… why…

Wait.

Play this game forever.

And what if they all die anyway?

Greengrass gave a choked sob. “Strongly implied.” Harry’s silence was direct and continuous. “That’s true. You’re right. It’s a fool’s endeavour.”

For an inexplicable reason, Harry thought of the golden Gryffindor door.

Hogwarts will always give help to those who ask.

“I might have an idea,” said Harry quietly.

///

Harry’s heart hammered in his chest, legs working hard to bring him where he knew he needed to go. His shadow detached, veiling his form in the unlit dungeons even further. Greengrass’s following steps grew unsure as she was lost behind him. Harry was using every fiber of strength he had to do this. Adding in a spectator was inconceivable.

Without giving himself time to think, Harry opened Snape’s office door, breath catching when he saw the portrait of his old Head of House. A slip of robe of some unknown other was exiting the frame. In the moment between heartbeats, Harry had a thousand thoughts. Would Snape yell at him? Scream his disappointment? You can’t do anything right, Potter, I should’ve expected such cowardice from the son of James Potter…

Snape said nothing.

The man simply tipped his head in a minute nod.

Harry felt overwhelmed. He clumsily went to Snape’s old leather seat and sat down. There was no outburst of magic or intense feeling of power. It was like the time his holly wand had chosen him. A tingle through his fingers. A feeling of rightness.

In front of him the strange small Gryffindor doorway appeared.

“I’m not a Gryffindor,” breathed Harry, looking over at Snape’s portrait for guidance. The man’s sallow face provided no answers. Harry glanced back at the door, realization coming up on him like a dawn sun over the horizon. The four Houses didn’t exist anymore—just Slytherin. Which meant… maybe…

“I guess I am, aren’t I?”

This time the little door opened without resistance. Bright golden light shone onto Harry as he went down to his knees and crawled inside. Coin faces printed into his hands. All around there were hills of gold coins, jewels, books… a window at the top, blue sky, cascaded light over the riches, and sparkled on the three tall glass containers standing imperiously at the very center. Each container held a person, their eyes shut. Harry scarcely dared to believe his own eyes. A torrent of emotion welled up within him. He’d read Hogwarts a History too many times not to be able to recognize Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff.

Harry’s shadow swam over, darkening the wealth as he passed—except one thing, a large, beautiful sword embellished with a ruby the size of a chicken egg. It gleamed even brighter in the momentary darkness. Harry got to his feet and stumbled to the sword, holding it up high, somehow knowing precisely what to do.

Glass shattered, large triangular shards crashing to the floor as Harry swept the sword through the containers.

Deadened eyes began to ease open.

///

“Ready, Professor Potter?” asked Theodore Nott, shifting stance on the duelling platform. Just like yesterday, students crowded the arena, but their faces were plainly stressed. Rabastan Lestrange stood in the corner with his arms crossed. Various other professors flanked him.

Harry made sure to take note of everyone’s position in the room. Teddy, it seemed, had made sure to get a space at the very front, and was staring up at him unsurely.

“As I’ll ever be,” replied Harry, testing his wand in his grasp. It warmed powerfully.

“Then let’s bow.”

And they so did.

Nott’s lips moved—an amateur move—as he silently let loose a pink curse. Harry didn’t know what it was. He didn’t need to.

No more running.

“Avada Kedavra,” whispered Harry.

fin

 

The build up to this was really gradual, and honestly not what I expected. I really like it thought because you foreshadow it a bit earlier when he's talking to Voldemort. "I appreciate what you're giving me." Takes on a dual meaning from an already pretty powerful line.

Dat Respect from Snape. This paints the picture of something more in terms to the usual canon relationship. If I was looking at this from an AU perspective this doesn't automatically no-sell the fic for me. What it does is make me more interested in the back story, which is good.

This I felt was a bit heavy handed. How likely is he to tell just anyone about his darkest secret? And how receptive do you think they'd be? I feel like when people let out revelations like this in fic, especially those that go the course of acknowledging Harry as a container and him sharing that with someone else -- its often lack luster? It doesn't have the impact that I would expect. The culmination of years of misery and unknowns and the delivery is often. "I'm a horcrux." There is no horror, and there should be.

Overall though, I like that you ended it there because it let me use my own mind and the mood of the story to fill in the blanks. Its brief without being too brief.

Like I said in the above, that foreshadowing here. This could be taken with a dual meaning and it makes the statement that much more powerful. Good job.

Probably the best line in this in terms of dialogue. Its such a Voldemort thing to say. Especially if he was ever given a chance to gloat.

This made me laugh, and also root for Harry. I wanted him to bitch slap Nott everytime he spoke.

Plot and Pacing: 4/5
I give this such a high value because what you have here works. Its a setup to a larger story, and if you decide to later you can follow through with the after math. You go through and dump a lot of information in without it being too info dumpy and all it does is make me want more. Good job.

Characters: 4/5

I like your Harry. I like your Voldemort. And I like Nott, despite him not having much character voice in canon. His "sympathy position of power" makes a lot of sense to me. Voldemort never feels bad about anything he does. Remorse is one of the things he cannot have and the emotions there in. But by rewarding Nott with such a position, it ties into his Reward model for the rest of the death eaters. Nott's is a bit sullied because we can only assume that the reason he got his position is due to his father's own loyalty and not his own personal merit. So its reads like an insult to anyone else that isn't Nott and Voldemort.

Prompt Use: 5/5

The use of the prompt was handled well. As well as any first line prompt can be. And the direction you took it was not something I would have considered, especially when 'Breaking into Snape's office.'

Other: 5/5

There were so many things going into this that I knew when I go to the end I was going to want more. I don't really give a shit about grammar, what you've got here is legible enough to me that I wasn't having to re-read segments to try and figure out whats going on. So that's a non-issue.

The fact that I was so vested in your other characters in such a short amount of time lends itself to your writing ability. I was less put off by the fact that it was canon divergent and intrigued to see where you'd take me. The only disappointment I felt was that there wasn't more.

Overall, a great little intro piece to what could be a much larger story.

 

Plot & Pacing: 4/5
Characters: 4/5
Prompt Use: 3/5
Other: 4/5

All. Of my. Yes.

The worldbuilding is really on point for me. Despite not being a massive AU that I usually do, it's exactly the same feel of story I try to go for. It's different with a reason for being different. There's cause and effect and logical progression so that the changes never leave you feeling "wait what?".

The concept, while not anything special, was done well which is what really matters. Prompt use was used merely as an introductory line but later on felt like it was leading to something more. Maybe if there was a second chapter i'd be more incorporated into the plot, and the promise of that possibility is enough for me to bump this a point higher.

Technical writing was spot on. No glaring errors I could see, nothing that jolted me out while reading it. Atmosphere felt just right, and the take on Voldemort was interesting without breaking my SoD.

The last line I liked in particular. It felt like the coming together of agency and competence, and serves to align the emotional climax with the beginning of action, giving the act emotional weight.

15/20

 

“Write? To who?” said Nott with a laugh. ”The dead can’t read.”

Damn - that's a good line. Actually you have a good start in general here. Right into the middle of the action with enough description to put us in the scene but not so much it slows anything down.

For some odd, unexpected reason, he thought of Tracy Davis, his first friend in Slytherin. A snowy day their 5th year, while everyone else was frantically studying for OWLs, she had been cuddled in a cashmere blanket by the fireplace...

I had some POV confusion here. I think we're still in Harry's POV, but at the time when Tracy would have been studying for her OWLs Harry wouldn't have been in the Slytherin common room, right? So I thought at first you'd swapped to Nott's POV, but I don't think you did.

Anyway it threw me a bit, pulled me out of the narrative briefly while I went back to read it again and double check.

I think I missed something as well... Nott is casting, Harry is giving him lip (as befits Harry's character), Harry thinks about Tracy, Nott gets pissy and storms off towards the bed chambers. So... the door is open? Since he's heading towards the bed chamber? But then after that it seems like Harry is thinking the door opens only for him, and then he doesn't go inside?

It's a fantastic scene, don't get me wrong. The pacing, description, characterizations, etc. are all very well done. I was 'hooked' and found it easy to keep reading. But I did read bits of it twice just because I wasn't sure if I'd missed something or if it was missing.

...wow, and the next scene takes it in a direction I didn't expect. Good job on the backstory - if you had led with the bit about how Harry was trapped in Hogwarts and thought himself a coward, etc. I would have gotten bored. You handled this nicely though in my opinion - you led with a scene we could sink our teeth into and only brought in the backstory (which you kept to a single paragraph) when we were already invested in the story to an extent.

For all that Nott relished in making Harry’s life miserable, ages ago Voldemort had mysteriously declared that Harry Potter was untouchable under the punishment of a drawn-out death.

I love how you treat me like an intelligent reader instead of over-explaining to me. I'm assuming this is because Harry is a horcrux, and I like that you let me figure that out (at least for now, I assume it'll be made clearer later for those that didn't get it, and even if it's something else that just makes it all the more interesting.)

The halls were eerily quiet. Rumor of Voldemort’s presence had circulated the castle, and everyone, even Peeves the Poltergeist, seemed to have vanished.

It's little details like this that I enjoy seeing. If you had only said that everyone seemed to have vanished it wouldn't actually put me in the scene envisioning it. But for some reason the 'even Peeves' bit did it. It put me mentally in a deserted Hogwarts where it wouldn't have without that little detail.

I liked the shadow thing - I've played with a similar concept before in my own story notes.

Oooh - Harry was in Slytherin in this AU? That's... actually really interesting, and explains my earlier comment on why he was in the common room with Tracy. And if we assume a lot of other things were the same... It means that the difference in his house choice, and the changes it had on him growing up, are what led to the present in this story as opposed to canon. A present in which Harry ended up under LV's thumb at Hogwarts instead of winning the war.

“You want to try?” demanded Harry of his shadow, which was curled up in a ball laughing on the ground.

Yeah, I snickered too. Great image... and the "Can you fly?" bit was a fantastic touch.

I like your potrayal of Rabastan and his interaction with Harry. He seems like a person not a caricature like so many Death Eaters are often written as.

Damn and that ending. I wasn't expecting the... uh, dead founders to be randomly resurrected when Harry got into Snape's office? And who else was in the picture frame with Snape that darted out of sight? I mean, it's great, but the bit with the Founders came slightly out of left field - I was expecting Harry to be the 'actual' Head of House of Slytherin and it give him some kind of power / ability / advantage, which would also tie in with the last scene (which is basically showing us that Harry is playing Hardball now that something has changed in his favor), but... yeah?

Fucking fantastic all around though. Great job. No surprise at all that this won, it's higher quality writing than I typically see in fanfiction.

And now I'm going to go read your own comments - I wanted to give you mine without any preconceptions first. I'll edit shortly.

1. You mention that your ending might be too ambiguous. I disagree. We know that something big has changed. I think you ended it at the right place with the right amount of ambiguity. We don't need to know what happens next. Knowing that the Founders are alive and in the castle is enough to let us know that Harry is playing hardball b/c he has an advantage to press.
2. Addendum to #1 - The last scene doesn't need to change imo, but I would suggest either foreshadowing the Founders bit more (you tried, with the mention of their souls and wards or w/e) or removing that and having the 'advantage' Harry gets from getting into Snape's office (and being Head of House from the castle's POV?) be something else.
3. The comments about how you see a Slytherin!Harry tie into how I read his character in this story, so well done there.
4. The camps... honestly with your ending I assumed they'd sort that out after Hogwarts, but you're right. One does not logically follow the other. But I did like that it was a real, serious issue that prompted Daphne to break her cover to Harry. Maybe... maybe imply that Nott is a major component behind wanting to exterminate them, and Voldemort is letting him plan it as a reward, and that Harry will get that information they need (which order and how the camps will be extinguished) from inside Nott's coat or something once he's dead? No idea. Or you could change it as you suggested, but if you tie the camps to Nott (or Hogwarts) somehow one idea can follow the other.
5. I didn't connect "bravery" to Harry unlocking Hogwart's magic. I figured once Harry heard about the camps he was roused to action and Hogwarts rose to meet him since he was essentially 'asking for help,' but I didn't think of it as bravery in particular.
6. The horcrux reveal? ...what horcrux reveal? Harry is one, but that wasn't really a reveal? So... apparently yeah, it might need to be better, since I seem to have missed it entirely, hah!
7. I thought the pacing was spot on, personally, and the various story threads didn't bother me... but you could tie them together or tie them up a bit more somehow... like I was expecting Harry to wink at Teddy at the end or something when Teddy is staring up at him uncertainly, because this duel is about to be very different from the first one Teddy commented on.
8. I don't think you need to explain things like the shadow any more than you did. It's a magical ability that this Harry has that isn't OP. You even let us know it was a botched ritual, though you probably didn't need to let us know that. It wasn't important to the plot so I was content to just have it there as something this Harry can do.

Cheers, hope that helps.