947Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognisable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling. I do not claim ownership.
Edited and beta-read by Himura, Bub3loka, Ash, and Kingfishlong.
Also, if you're feeling generous, want to support me, or want to read ahead, you know where to find me.
31st October, 1992
Juno
She hissed the moment her fingers touched the yew wand and quickly dropped it. The pain lingered, and an angry dark splotch sat where the skin had contacted the wood. Even trying to grip it through the three-folded fabric of her sleeve sent jolts of pain, but she ignored the unpleasant feeling and started pouring her magic for a Wand-lighting Charm.
The moment her magic reached the wand, Juno screamed.
The wand cluttered on the floor, but her body was numb as jolts of agony roiled under her skin, and her magic was in turmoil. Her hand felt like it had been stuck to a boiling tea kettle, and it looked red despite her sleeve remaining undamaged.
"Are you alright?" A concerned Harry cautiously picked up his wand from the floor.
"Well enough. It was not nearly as bad as a Cruciatus." She swallowed; her nerves still felt like someone had set them on fire. "I don't think I can clear the previous spells you cast."
"It's fine," Harry said, pocketing it in his robes, then his eyes narrowed dangerously. "How do you know how the Cruciatus feels?"
"I asked my aunt Cassiopeia to cast it on me once so I know. It's no big deal; such things are customary for House Black's heir, of course, along with the Imperius."
His eyes glimmered with fury for a moment, but it wasn't aimed at her. Something in her stomach fluttered. "The Cruciatus Curse only works when the caster means it." Harry grimaced. "You can't ask someone to simply cast it on you. It will either fail or…"
"I am well aware," Juno muttered, feeling mildly impressed that her friend was well-versed in the Unforgivables. "My grandaunt taught me all of it. That's why any self-respecting dark wizard has a good grip on their mind and emotions and can recall them at any time against anyone to cast even the most powerful of curses. But that's not what we're here to talk about. I don't think I can clear the wand, and if someone decides to use Priori Incantato-"
"If you can't hold it, others won't have an easier time," Harry groused, tone clipped. "Besides, Priori Incantato only shows the last seven spells you've cast at most—and that's if cast by a particularly powerful wizard. Most people can only manage two or three."
That was certainly a poor beginning to her attempts to help her friend. It had taken half an hour for the ghostly pain to dwindle, but she made a note not to touch that wand again—it had clearly developed a heavy dislike for everything that was not Harry Potter. After a long and exhausting trek up the tunnel, which could turn into a spiral staircase by a single command, they were finally back in Hogwarts. They were stuck in an empty classroom on the second floor, and Juno had done her very best to put in some silencing charms and spells that would alert her if any ghosts decided to snoop. She even pulled in the curtains to prevent anyone from seeing the lit lamp from outside.
After much thought, Juno decided it wouldn't be wise for Harry to show up in the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night while Nyx snoozed in the Chamber after overeating. They had to come out shortly after the morning curfew ended before the castle was awake to avoid undue attention.
However, pulling any information from her friend proved to be a chore. Harry was rather willing, but he was just as tired and confused. Magical exhaustion was no joke, especially after a ritual, and he often dozed off more than once, feeling completely tired. She even had Wally bring in some pieces of roast for her hungry friend, who seemed to devour every ounce of meat with relish.
The Dark Lord was still bloody alive! Well, not exactly alive, but he wasn't as dead as she had thought, either. Juno would have thought it madness, but the undeniable, raw belief and conviction in Harry's face was not something she could dismiss. She could sense it, there was no lie in his words. Harry Potter believed everything that came out of his tongue, and he was neither a madman nor a fool.
Oh, the presence of an over seventy-foot basilisk in a legendary hidden room that was thought to be merely a myth was very convincing, too. Juno couldn't think of any plausible way that Harry knew of its location, let alone how to enter or what to fight inside otherwise.
"…So Voldemort split his soul into seven parts?" Juno asked again, ignoring the storm raging in her mind and soul. By Circe and Morgana, it was a lot to digest.
"Maybe. I'm not sure anymore." Harry shrugged, looking uncertain and tired as if he hadn't spent the last few hours napping or eating.
"And how do you know all of this?"
"I had the misfortune of seeing a vision of a future," he said, his eyes growing distant, jaded.
Morgana, he wasn't even lying. Some of the things he said before were not exactly the whole truth, but Juno didn't delve deep into it, for Harry seemed as confused about it as she felt. Worse, his emotions seemed harder to read than before, even when he lacked any magic to employ Occlumency as if his mind was covered by an additional veil.
One of the results of the unexpected ritual.
"I didn't know you had the Sight," Juno quipped to lighten the mood. She failed.
"I don't think I have it." Harry sighed. "It was a one-time thing and hardly reliable as I've found for myself. Most of the stuff I saw was wrong or outright didn't happen. Perhaps," his voice thickened with feeling, "perhaps, it was a bad dream all along."
Juno raised an eyebrow. "So because of some vague vision, you decided to push yourself into a training regime that would make many crumble in months for over a year and… rob Uncle Lucius?"
"It sounds silly now that you say it," Harry bit out with a dry chuckle.
Somehow, she wasn't surprised. It sounded like something her overachieving friend would certainly do. And she couldn't deny it. There were rare, ancient magics that could induce fevered visions of what could be.
"Almost all of it is hogwash, prophecies included," Arcturus had waved dismissively all those years ago when Juno raised the topic after reading 'A Guide to the Future'. "There's a reason why Divination is considered a flight of fancy. Interesting to pursue out of boredom, but as worthwhile and reliable as cloudgazing."
But Harry's wayward godfather was said to be a very competent teacher in Divination despite not having the Sight, so maybe it wasn't that useless. Hestia and Flora had said something about Harry learning a useful Divination spell from them last year. Perhaps it was not all hogwash, even if it was mostly vague and unhelpful.
"So, larceny, breaking-and-entering, attacking a house-elf, exploration of cursed secret chambers, fighting a thousand-year-old class five beast that makes the other wizard-killers look like plush toys, and hunting cursed items that would probably make veteran curse-breakers wish to flee and retire," Juno listed mirthfully. "Just because of a nightmare."
Harry's wince was all the answer she needed. "...It was a very bad nightmare, believe me," he said as his shoulders slumped.
"I recall someone mentioning something about recklessly hunting a class five beast a few months ago," she drawled with mock amusement, but her friend seemed too tired to do anything but groan.
"I know I'm reckless, Juno." Something dark slithered in his voice. "I know the dangers—I nearly died today, and I'm still not even sure I'm alive or how I'm alive in the first place. I thought I could do it alone, but that's clearly not the case—it's why I asked for help."
"I know, and I will help."
"Really?"
Voldemort could still perish by her hand now. Juno's heart thundered with excitement and no small measure of anticipation. Revenge for stealing her parents and family. "Why yes. I already offered to aid you. And besides, I believe you," she continued softly. "This is bigger than us, though. We're but two children. Perhaps we should tell your godfather or maybe Dumbledore—I know you have your reservations about him, but he seems to genuinely care for our safety."
"My godfather died fighting an escaped Bellatrix," bitterness and fear mingled in his voice. Juno ignored the spike of… fury and confusion that stabbed through her chest. That certainly explained why Harry had been so wary of her at the start. "He's certainly powerful and resourceful, but deep down, I know he's as reckless as I am, if not worse. I just can't take the risk—I have nobody else to lose besides him. And Dumbledore… I don't trust him. Not with this."
"Why?"
"Last year has shown how fallible the old headmaster is. Besides, I saw him die to one of the Horcruxes in my vision, but not before ensuring I will walk to my death–because I carried some of Voldemort's soul," he tapped his forehead, where the lighting-shaped scar was barely visible. "Uh, don't worry, it's gone now."
Ice flooded her veins. It took her a minute to find her words again. "Are you certain?"
"Yeah." Harry's eyes darkened for a moment. "If it wasn't gone, it definitely is now. Basilisk venom and all that."
Juno couldn't bear the intensity of his gaze and looked away. Was that why he wanted to get to the basilisk so urgently? She wanted to ask so many questions, but Harry no longer looked like he wanted to speak. After a tense moment, she checked the pocket watch Aunt Narcissa had gifted her for her seventh birthday.
"Curfew has ended. This should be a good enough time to show up at the Hospital Wing."
"My legs aren't listening," Harry hissed through gritted teeth as he attempted to get up from the chair, only to plop back into it. "I don't think I can drag myself to the Hospital Wing."
"I can levitate you–or, well, your clothes," Juno proposed.
"Sure." Her friend yawned weakly.
"Wingardium Leviosa," she intoned, and Harry floated off his chair and stretched lazily. She could feel a significant strain on her mind, but this was the first time she attempted to do so on a living being. It wasn't levitating Harry, but the clean set of garments Wally had brought all at once, yet Juno still had to be careful, or else they would tear from the boy's weight. "By the way, what happened to me in your vision?"
"You… never showed up at Hogwarts," was the drowsy mumble.
She paused, blinking in confusion, but a few moments later, his chest fell and raised rhythmically. Her friend was asleep. Juno had so many questions, but they could wait. Then, a ripping sound made her pause. She barely managed to grab Harry by his armpits before his robes tore again.
And he felt heavier than he looked. Far heavier than helping him up the stairs earlier. A quick Feather-Light Charm alleviated the weight significantly, but like most weaker charms, they were considerably inefficient on living beings. But Harry was now light enough to carry him on her back.
That was not what caught Juno's attention. As she carried her friend through the corridors, she could not help but notice his wiry physique and corded muscles that still felt between firm and squishy to the touch. She had seen it without clothes, too. All of it. She could even recall the memory with crystal clarity if she closed her eyes.
Harry's breathing was steady as his head leaned over her shoulder. The warm air tickled her cheeks, and she couldn't help but feel her heart beat faster. It had to be from the exertion of carrying her friend, yet as she unconsciously adjusted her grip and glanced at his sleeping face, Juno couldn't help but want to raise her hand and pinch his cheeks.
She shook her head at such thoughts; she had Mrs Norris to spoil, and Harry could wake up. The idea of him catching her like that made her feel mortified, so she hurried along the corridors, looking left and right at every intersection as they approached the hospital wing.
The way was clear, and Juno was already before the wing's double doors in a handful of minutes. A soft chime announced her presence as she pushed them open, and a drowsy Poppy Pomfrey appeared promptly, her greying hair looking like a wild tangle.
Her eyes immediately darted to Harry. "What happened to Mr Potter?"
"I… I think we practised too much," Juno sobbed out, letting fear and worry leak into her voice. "One moment, we were practising the Patronus Charm, and then he just collapsed—"
"What?! That's beyond NEWT-level magic and not something any student should ever attempt without supervision!" Poppy was now wide awake and visibly angry. With a flick of her wand, Harry found his way straight to one of the hospital beds.
The Matron waved her wand over her friend's prone form, and a heavy frown settled on her face, but Juno saw no surprise in the mediwitch, which meant she didn't see anything odd. Perfect.
Juno quietly retreated as Pomfrey muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'reckless children' and 'force-feeding them her nastiest nutrition potions until they learned'.
Her mind was far away as she rushed back to the Ravenclaw tower.
Even if half of it was gone, the basilisk carcass was an enormous treasure trove. The Chamber of Secrets was no lesser—a secret place that could hold inheritance from Salazar Slytherin himself. A massive, secret chamber only available to Harry and her presented endless possibilities.
Of course, dealing with trouble came first. Another person could access it, which was unacceptable. Juno didn't know why, but something deep inside her thrummed with fury at the thought. Voldemort's diary was in Hogwarts, and if Harry was correct, even a sixteen-year-old version of the Dark Lord would be a bag of trouble. The other Horcruxes could wait until Harry got better and told her more about them.
But Juno was too tired, and the lack of sleep was calling its due. Before she could heed it, however, she had to message Hestia and Flora that there would be no training this morning.
There was a spring in her step as she climbed the marble staircase.
Juno didn't feel shaken at tonight's revelation. They were certainly surprising, but most of her felt… giddy. The show of Harry's trust was raw and beautiful in a way nothing else was. That thin barrier from before had shattered, and she finally felt she knew him.
For some reason, it made her heart and cheeks feel warm.
The Headmaster
His mind drifted to the empty flask in his pocket. That had been the only Elixir of Life he had ever accepted—a parting gift from Nicolas and Perenelle before they decided to depart for the next Great Adventure. But if given the option, he would make the same choice again without regrets.
Perhaps it had been an utter waste, and he should have let things run their course. Yet poor Sybill had ended up in this mess because of his negligence and incompetence.
That said, spending the elixir made him feel like an old fool who had no idea what he was doing once more. The image of last night was still vivid in his mind; it was as if the potent elixir had stirred her innate talent, bringing it back to the surface after over a decade of slumber.
Albus was never a man who put stock into prophecy. Divination was an ancient branch of magic, but it could not hold power over you unless you chose to give it said power. He was old and foolish, but not old or foolish enough to follow in his student's footsteps.
But something deep inside him struggled with dismissing the blood-curdling prophecy. Dark and grim, it promised doom. It was the second true prophecy he had witnessed in person, as if Fate was laughing at his foolishness. Barely a minute after the prophecy had been spoken, the Death Stick had gone eerily silent, no longer whispering tempting promises of death and destruction, and it remained quiet like a normal wand even hours later.
As if something had scared it. Albus didn't like this one bit.
He did everything not to think of the foreboding words that had left Trelawney's lips. Eventually, Albus decided to see if something odd had happened today at the school.
The only thing remotely interesting was Harry Potter's stay in the hospital wing due to overtraining.
Just a day earlier, the headmaster would be content to observe from afar, but after last night, he couldn't sit still and made his way to the hospital wing to check on the boy in person. On one of the hallways by the second floor, he halted as his senses tingled. He was being watched, and it was not portraits, ghosts, or house elves.
The headmaster spread his awareness, and he finally pinned the anomaly. It was the shadows in one of the alcoves, observing him with caution. Albus peered back with interest. No, it wasn't a shadow but something hiding inside the shadows, barely distinguishable from the darkness but not malignant the way dark magic was. Despite that, his nerves were stretched thin by the attacks in the castle, and things often hid their true nature when confronted with powers out of their league.
"Show yourself!" he commanded. The hint of authority in his voice washed over the shadow—which promptly shrugged it off, making him reach for his wand.
A fat black serpent of considerate length slithered out of the shadow, lazily raising its tail's tip and shaking it like a pendulum as if it was giving a wave.
"This must be Mr Potter's serpent, Headmaster." Helena Ravenclaw floated down from the ceiling. "Nyx is a good girl."
The fat snake nodded comically, bobbing her head up and down. She possessed significant enough intelligence to understand human speech, and the glint of understanding in those two black eyes was unmistakable.
"Last time I checked the registry, she was supposed to be no bigger than a forearm." Albus motioned at the serpent that was approaching fifteen feet and was longer than Hagrid was tall.
He had heard the snake had grown but dismissed it as the usual student gossip. Seeing the snake now, Dumbledore knew he could no longer ignore the rumours. Its size was past the point where the snake could make significant trouble for unsuspecting students, doubly more so that it was a magical beast.
At least class three, perhaps even class four, by his estimate.
"I wouldn't worry, headmaster," Corvinius Gaunt lazily drawled from one of the portraits. "She's usually hunting in the Forbidden Forest."
This was the first time Albus had seen this particular portrait speak. It belonged to one of the few Gaunts that had not gone mad, and he had even taught Defence for a decade in the 17th Century.
"And you can understand her?"
"We speak sometimes, SsS ! #$…" The hiss seemed to grab Nyx's attention, and she promptly hissed in turn. "She says she has been ordered never to harm a student… And that you're old with funny robes."
Rowena's daughter started laughing loudly, openly mocking him. Albus shook his head at her pettiness; she had never liked him, not when he attended school as a student or when he started to teach. Helena had always been one to cling to her arrogance, even in death, but it surprised him to see her speak out in defence of a serpent.
And an illegal, dangerous magical beast with unknown powers belonging to a twelve-year-old boy with frightening potential at that.
"Lemon drop?" Albus offered, removing the candy out of his pocket. The triangular black head cautiously approached the levitated lemon drop and sniffed it.
She greedily gulped it down along with the wrapper and burped.
"May I ask a favour?" Nyx tilted her head as if thinking before she nodded, but her tail pointed at his pocket where the lemon drops were. Albus couldn't help but chuckle. "Observe the hallways for any students acting oddly—or anything out of place, and report to Mr Gaunt."
The Gaunt sighed. "And I suppose you want me to keep you abreast of any issues that do arise?"
"Naturally. And Nyx?" He exhaled slowly and carefully sent a tendril of raw magic to poke at the serpent. "You are welcome within Hogwarts so long as you do not harm any students or staff."
The serpent nodded eagerly, her tail tapping her head almost like a salute, before lazily slithering back to the alcove, merging with the shadows.
As headmaster, he ought to report such a beast to the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; they would surely confiscate it to study and eventually kill it. Or they would make an exception and hold it as a favour to the Boy-Who-Lived until he graduated—perhaps even extort him for a special dispensation of ownership. Or even issue an expiring license that would require a costly renewal each year.
Worse still, the snake was a magical familiar; Albus could feel it, and such bonds ran deep, especially considering that Harry Potter was a Parselmouth and doubtlessly conversed with his familiar. Any attempt to separate them would probably push the young wizard even further away from him.
Albus didn't deem it necessary to do anything yet, so he would sit back and watch, at least on this matter.
The hospital wing was empty except for a sleeping Harry Potter and the Carrow twins, who sat by his bed like two eerie statues.
"Miss Carrow and Miss Carrow," the headmaster greeted, earning himself two blank stares. "May I inquire what you are doing here?"
"Watching over our cousin, Professor Dumbledore," Hestia answered without blinking. "He's rather defenceless, and the blackguard who attacked Burke and Botley is still at large."
"Not for long," Albus promised. "The hospital wing is safe, though. Do you not have Quidditch practice?"
"We do," Flora agreed without an ounce of shame. "But we're merely on reserve, and cousin Harry is more important."
While it was heartening to see the feared twins show such concern for young Harry, the words were like a stab to the heart. Had the students lost faith in the school's safety to this degree? But upon a moment's pondering longer, he realised that they were right to lose their faith.
The thought rankled at him.
"Fret not, Misses Carrow. Mr Potter has not been attacked but is merely exhausted. Unless you believe he has made some enemies in his short stay in school?"
"No, professor," they chorused, and Hestia continued, "He is too busy studying or practising magic for mundane things like feuds."
"Well, in that case, you hardly have anything to worry about besides your education and that Quidditch training you're missing out on. I imagine Mr Flint would be rather upset, especially after all the effort Horace put in convincing him of your worth."
The twins reluctantly stood up and left, moving in nearly perfect synchrony. Albus shook his head inwardly and wondered if they would give the Weasley twins a run for their money as Hogwarts' finest beaters, as coordinated as they were.
"They're gone, Albus?" Poppy's head popped from her quarters once the hospital wing doors closed with a soft chime.
"Yes, they are."
"Finally. As polite as they can be, those girls scare the living daylights out of me," she confessed as she made her way to Harry's bedside.
Albus could finally inspect Lily and James' son up close. The boy was somehow paler than the headmaster remembered him being, and the faint lightning bolt scar on his brow was bereft of signs of magic. In fact… Albus couldn't feel Harry Potter with his sharp senses, no matter how hard he focused.
It was as if the twelve-year-old Ravenclaw was an illusion. Hesitantly, the headmaster reached out and touched the boy's warm hand. He found flesh and blood, real enough, but his senses did not lie; there was no magic in the boy–or if there was any, his ambient magic was no different from the bed he was sleeping in or the air surrounding him.
Even muggles were noticeable to his senses, but Harry Potter was not.
"How is he?"
"Out of magic." Poppy frowned. "I have not seen such a serious case of magical exhaustion in my life before. It's as if he somehow used more magic than he had."
"Impossible." Dumbledore shook his head, "That should have killed him."
Even muggles held a small amount of ambient magic; all life was intertwined with it in one way or another. For someone to be bereft of it was unthinkable.
"Indeed, but he's alive and in perfect health according to every single diagnostic spell I know, and his reserves are replenishing, if slowly. I think it came close, but it's hard to tell with powerful sorcery, such as the Patronus Charm. Besides, it's one of the rare spells fueled by hope and happiness and cannot fatally overdraw your magic. Perhaps that would be the cause?"
Albus frowned. It could be the cause of a ritual, but the effects were impossible, and there was no trace of sacrifice that accompanied that type of magic on young Harry's body. Was it truly a severe case of magical exhaustion?
"What do you think caused it?" he asked.
"Overtraining," she said with certainty. "Miss Black confided he's been pushing himself just to the border of magical exhaustion three to five times daily for over a year."
"Reckless." Foolish, almost desperate. But it doubtlessly explained why Harry Potter was so powerful. Risk and rewards went hand in hand at such an extreme level of effort.
"Indeed. It's no wonder his body's ability to hold magic has been strained after he drew too much at once. He'll recover fully and rather swiftly, at that. After all, Hogwarts sits on a magical vergence."
For good or bad, the young boy had chosen to tread on a path he didn't fully understand. The sheer drive and dedication required to continuously toil through the tedium of daily practice again and again, both body and magic, was not something everyone could bear, not for so long.
What pushed Harry Potter to excel so desperately?
Albus glanced at the nightstand beside Harry's bed. For a moment, he reached out but halted midway. A pale wand of yew sat there inconspicuously. The air surrounding it seemed to simmer momentarily, and its magic felt like an angry cat that would lash out at anyone not its owner. Rituals did not leave traces upon wands; besides, Harry Potter had done nothing wrong to earn his distrust.
But what did the muggles say again? Trust but verify.
Hesitantly, Albus reached out further and heard an angry but distant echo in his mind.
Kill the boy.
His hand jerked away instantly.
End him now, before he becomes too dangerous.
It will be easy. Just a little flick to stop his heart, and nobody will be able to detect it…
He had heard this voice a thousand times before, but never so urgent. Never so… insistent.
Sucking in a deep breath, he emptied his mind completely, letting the whispers of the Death Stick bounce off his psyche without finding a weakness to exploit, and he hastily excused himself from the Hospital Wing.
No, Harry Potter was best observed from a distance. Hasty actions would be… too easy. Too dangerous, now that he was unsure if they would be entirely his own.
Later that evening,
"Hmm, another failure." Dumbledore stroked his beard as he looked at the pink goo from his cauldron.
"So it would seem, professor," Juno echoed. For some reason, she seemed more lively today. But there was steel in her gaze as she glanced at him as if looking for something.
"I believe this is enough for today."
"But, Professor, there's still half an hour of detention left."
"I've been nearly a century here, and this is the first time I've seen a student protest being released from their detention early," he chuckled mirthfully, but Juno shrugged, her face turning into a mask. "But I find that all things, even detentions, should be done in moderation. Especially practise of advanced magic that is beyond the school curriculum."
"It's my fault, Professor," she said, guilt dripping from her voice. "I asked Harry to show me how long he could hold his Patronus."
Albus would have been fooled a few decades ago. She wasn't being entirely truthful, but the remorse in her words was genuine enough. Harry Potter and Juno Black were definitely up to something. He was not surprised by their camaraderie, but no matter how much Albus wanted to dismiss this as a youthful friendship, such a talented pair was dangerous; his own past and mistakes with Gellert haunted him.
The similarities were too great to ignore. Two driven minds like theirs would naturally flock to each other in search of a kindred soul. Albus knew better than everyone how power attracted. To speak to your equals after being above the rest, to share ideas and aspirations… it was a magnetic pull that was nigh-impossible to resist for hotblooded youth. Potter and Black were still young, merely children, but children grew up, and the suspicion would not go away.
"Well, perhaps you can show me your progress, then?"
Juno Bellatrix Black took out her wand and closed her eyes. A happy smile spread through her face, the most genuine emotion Albus had seen on the girl to date. "Expecto Patronum!"
A shield of blinding light erupted from her wand and quickly morphed into a translucent serpent soaring through his cabinet. Fawkes chirped happily as the Patronus slithered around as if looking for an enemy. The air in the room felt lighter, and Albus could feel the young witch's magic in full.
There was a tangible heaviness to her, a promise of greatness in her future, but the emotion that powered the Patronus was pure. For good or bad, he struggled to tell what kind of snake this was; the horns, which were its only distinctive features, were similar to a horned viper, but the rest didn't resemble any beast Albus could remember.
The ethereal guardian found no enemies and started lazily drifting around before slowly dispersing like ash in the wind.
"I did it," Juno said, excitement and disbelief warring in her eyes. Shaking herself away from her happiness, she hastily added, "Professor."
"Excellent." Dumbledore clapped. Had Juno and Harry just been practising as they claimed? Albus glanced at Fawkes, who trilled gently. Perhaps he was wrong to suspect the pair of second-years, no matter how talented and capable. "As I promised, I will teach you any piece of magic of your choice. I would advise you to take a few weeks and consider my offer carefully."
"But I've had two months to mull it over, sir," she said, smiling. It almost made her look like a young schoolgirl. "I have already chosen."
"What shall it be, then?"
"Conjuration and Transfiguration of precious metals, with your permission."
"A fitting skill, I suppose," Dumbledore hummed. "But this shall take quite a while. Advanced Transfiguration is not something easily understood or mastered. Before moving to precious metals, you must learn how to Transfigure their mundane counterparts."
"I am eager to learn, headmaster," Juno declared solemnly, yet her eyes seemed to shine in childish excitement.
"That is good, considering you have a lot to study before I can even begin to teach you the basics. This is beyond NEWT-level material, and your knowledge of Transfiguration and skills in Conjuration is insufficient. I suggest you start reading 'The Limits of Transfiguration: A Study of Permanent and Reversible Changes' and 'Underneath the Principles of Elemental Transfiguration' for a start, and I shall test your understanding once you're done. Off you go, Miss Black; have some free time before All Hallow's Eve feast."
Bellatrix's daughter nodded excitedly before shooting out of the room like an arrow, leaving an amused Dumbledore behind in his office. He exhaled slowly. Yes, things like prophecies were best left forgotten in the end. A pang of regret followed. Had an eleven-year-old Tom Riddle truly been evil?
Perhaps Albus had treated the young orphan differently or taken a softer, less accusatory approach instead of beginning with a heavy rebuke merely to teach him humility.
No, it was not a rebuke but his own hubris. A young Tom Riddle relied on himself and saw the world as his enemy. Perhaps he could have guided the boy if he hadn't made him an enemy on the first day they met. Or perhaps he should have taken an even firmer approach instead of silent judgment and suspicion.
What did his father love to say? Spare the rod, spoil the child.
Perhaps things would be different now if Dumbledore hadn't been such a coward. The fireplace flared green then, and Josephine Nettleby's head popped through the fireplace.
"How can I help the Board of Governors?"
"The complaints about violence in the school are piling up, Dumbledore," she reported glumly. "Some are threatening to withdraw their children from Hogwarts if the issue isn't solved. Botley and Burke's parents demand your resignation. It's all noise, of course, but I've heard they intend to involve the Minister or the Daily Prophet. Such heavy attacks on the children of respectable folks are concerning. It doesn't help that you've been doling out detentions like candy."
"I am, of course, willing to hear their complaints in person," the headmaster said. "I'm taking problems within my school very seriously, I assure you. And those in detention earned it thinking they can sow chaos and mayhem and get away with it, Josephine."
After over two dozen detentions and students scrubbing hallways with toothbrushes, the occasional jinxes and hexes thrown around the hallways quickly halted. But Dumbledore had yet to find who had pushed those two students down the stairs. The reminder of his failing turned his previously good mood sour.
Albus found himself in no rush to join the Hallow's Eve Feast, instead wandering around the hallways, invisible, while he pondered what to do. Unresolved issues had a way of festering badly and could be troublesome—fatal even. If Melony Burke had fallen in just the wrong way, her spine would have broken there and then, and she wouldn't have made it to the hospital wing alive.
A murdered pureblood student would see a DMLE and Ministry investigation inside the school as per law. While Albus would allow an investigation, the school and classes would have to be suspended until its conclusion. Worse, they probably would fail to solve anything and just produce a scapegoat like Hagrid, destroying a poor child's life so as not to look incompetent.
The simple fact was that the culprit who had so brutally attacked the two Slytherins had not dared to make any further appearances, probably cautious because of the increased surveillance. Whoever pushed Burke and Botley was very good at covering their tracks. And cautious, too, leaving Albus no choice but to wait for them to make a mistake, which forced him to wait for another attack.
Was history going to repeat itself once more? Could he leave the lives of one of his students in the hands of chance? Sadly, his only clue was cold; the ghosts observing Ronald Weasley brought nothing of note. Nothing about the boy was out of the ordinary aside from his disciplined, if rather dull, routine. He woke up daily at dawn for his muggle ritual training, breakfast with his younger friends Astoria Greengrass and Luna Lovegood, and then attended classes, still the loner with his yearmates.
Always at noon, young Ronald would take a long walk around the great lake, seemingly with no purpose, while eating some sort of dry snacks lacking in sweetness that looked utterly unappetising to Albus. In the afternoon, he would study and write his homework at the library and then do some queer muggle exercises with iron bars and round plates in one of the abandoned classrooms on the far side of the third floor in the evenings.
The day was usually finished with some magical practice, though nothing beyond his coursework and simply exhausting his magic to sleep. Then, there were his meetings after dinner with the young Damien Greengrass, who provided him with a few potions that Ronald Weasley either drank on the spot or kept close at all times.
Albus had managed to spirit away a drop and recognised it as an odd mixture of nutrition and a mild healing potion. It was the most revolting potion Albus had tasted, but the young Gryffindor was drinking it like pumpkin juice. It was evening, and if Ronald had followed his routine, he should have been in his training room–an abandoned classroom over the fourth floor. Albus couldn't help but quietly peek inside as he passed by the door.
Even now, the youngest Weasley son was lying on a makeshift bench, face covered in sweat, while repeatedly pushing a heavy-looking iron bar vertically. The boy continued all sorts of queer exercises, and it was clear he was pushing himself to the limit of his body. Albus wondered what was the purpose of such intense exertion.
He knew that Quidditch players trained their bodies, but it was usually related to flying, swinging bats, or throwing. What Ron Weasley was doing was far beyond anything Albus had seen a wizard experiment in. It was fascinating to witness first-hand, especially as the gains were clear for those who knew to look for them, but most witches and wizards would not be impressed with such muggle discipline.
It was a shame, for it indeed was something he had not seen before, and Albus wondered how such a regimen would affect magical growth, especially at such a young age. Shaking his head, the headmaster turned around as the tired boy collapsed on the bench and decided to nap.
Perhaps he ought to get the house elves to send some plates of chicken wings and mash to the boy who would most likely miss the feast. Just as the headmaster reached the hallway's bend, he heard faint, cautious footsteps. The slip of discordant magic in the air had Dumbledore pause, his wand drawn.
Ron Weasley stiffly left the room as if he had trouble moving his own limbs. There was something cold and dangerous in his blue eyes, even as the muscles on his face seemed stiff. They immediately widened in terror as he spotted the headmaster despite the near impeccable invisibility charm.
This was not the same Ronald Weasley as earlier.
The Death Stick was already moving, and the tiles turned into hands of stone that grabbed the young wizard by the ankles. A heartbeat later, a stunner struck the immobilised boy in the chest faster than he could raise his wand.
"Fawkes." The phoenix immediately appeared in a blinding flash of fire as Dumbledore reached the knocked-out boy. A moment later, they were in his office.
"Is this the culprit, Albus?" Dippet's worried voice echoed from his portrait. All the headmasters were looking at him, not even pretending to sleep like they usually did.
"Of sorts. He was possessed."
Taking away Ronald Weasley's wand, Albus sighed and inspected the stunned boy before him. That slight coldness in his magic was gone. His skin was half a shade paler, as if some of his vitality was gone. It wasn't permanent–colour slowly crept back to his face. Albus grew concerned; this was no mere possession.
With a wave of his wand, Ronald Weasley awoke, blinking in confusion as he found himself tied to one of the guest chairs. He instinctively struggled, causing the ropes to strain before Albus coughed, and the boy craned his head his way and flinched.
"Headmaster? Why am I tied up?"
"I saw you walk in the hallways, possessed, Mr Weasley," Albus offered kindly.
"But… I was just taking a short nap after my training," Ron muttered, agitation and confusion warring in his eyes. "And uh, please, call me Ron—Mr Weasley sounds like you're speaking to my father."
"Very well, young Ronald, but to return to the matter at hand, the body is weakest to possessions when slumbering or tired. Have you taken a nap before but woken up at a different place than you remember? Or perhaps you awoke far later than you planned to but still felt tired?"
His previous struggle ceased, and his shoulders slumped. "More than once," he said, his voice small. "I thought it was just the training or that my memory was playing tricks on me."
"Were some of those days when Mrs Burke and Mr Botley were attacked?"
"I think so." Ron's face twisted in horror as the implications set in. "Wait, I… I did it? How?"
The headmaster spread his senses to the very limit, looking for any signs of possession. Signs of that foreign, oily magic that would stick to the possessed. He sensed none, but that meant little, considering there were numerous ways to conceal such signs.
"Perhaps you came in contact with a medium or a vengeful wraith as of late," Albus suggested. "Those are the two most common ways one loses control of their body to another."
"A medium?"
"Usually a cursed object. It might or might not be magical and look innocuous, seemingly safe to approach, but the more you come in contact with it…"
"Oh." Ron swallowed heavily. "I can think of one such item, Sir."
"You can?"
"Yeah." he nodded weakly. "An enchanted diary I got at the start of the year. It's in my robe's pocket. It looks empty at first glance, but when I write, it writes back."
"Interesting. Care to show it to me, young Ronald?"
Albus carefully dispelled the ropes binding the boy, who hastily took out an ordinary muggle-looking diary with a black cover. Its design looked rustic from a few decades ago yet somehow seemed brand new despite coming out of Ron Weasley's crumpled robes.
T. M. Riddle.
The letters rang like a clap of thunder in his mind, yet the diary looked perfectly innocent, with no sign of dark magic. There was an old anti-theft spell woven in, a clever use of a peculiar ink-storing enchantment, nothing amiss for a diary belonging to a witch or a wizard, but Albus couldn't shake the feeling that he was being observed back.
Sharpening his focus like a needle, Albus stabbed his wand forward, sending out a jet of metallic grey liquid that wrapped the diary before solidifying into thick sheets of pure iron.
"This should do the trick for now," he said, stroking his beard.
"Er, I thought iron's non-conductive magical properties made it near impossible to conjure?"
"Ah, you've been paying attention to your Transfiguration theory, I see! I'm not one to toot my own horn, but I'm rather skilled at that particular subject, Ronald. You will discover in time that most Transfiguration rules are more guidelines rather than rigid laws." Albus ran his hand through his beard. "The diary shouldn't be able to possess you now or do much of anything."
"Thanks, Professor. Though doesn't it seem a bit… too much for just a cursed book?"
"You would usually be right. But things left by this former student of mine are never as simple as they seem. You see, the name T. M. Riddle, or Tom Marvolo Riddle, might sound rather innocuous, but it was the name Voldemort was given at birth."
Ronald Weasley stumbled out of his chair, leaping as far away from the desk and book as possible, his face pale and hands trembling.
"Now, there's no cause for fear." Albus coughed. "I'm here, and as you stated, iron tends to suppress magic. You can come back and sit, my boy."
"I didn't know, professor," Ron started babbling, still hiding behind one of the chairs as if the diary would leap out and bite him. "I started writing in it out of boredom. And well, he… he understood me. I barely had any friends; everyone except Luna and Astoria avoided me, but they're a year below, and we don't share classes. Then… he actually showed interest. Genuine interest in helping me and what I was doing."
The boy swallowed uneasily, looking sick. "I thought he was taking the piss, but he helped me with a particularly difficult Transfiguration homework that stumped me and promised to teach me more magic. And when I challenged him to make me an easy protein potion recipe that would cut down my recovery time at no expense to my gains he delivered—and well, it worked. I was so happy, and he promised he knew an easy way to procure Re'em heart if I continued to excel and a method to make the strengthening effect permanent. He… He told me everything I wanted to hear, didn't he, sir?"
Re'em blood, let alone a heart could be bought only with the right connections and never with enough gold.
"Correct," Albus smiled kindly.
"A part of me knew it was too good to be true," Ron said, sighing in defeat. "I feared asking him what he wanted in return, but he seemed so kind and understanding. Everything I would want in a friend."
"Do not blame yourself, my boy. Tom Riddle has deceived far greater and more experienced wizards and witches than a second-year student like yourself. While most people remember Voldemort as a bloodthirsty dark wizard who carved his name in blood and death into Magical Britain, they forget the charisma, intellect, and charm that had convinced all too many to follow him out of their own free will."
"Why would he attack students, then?" The young wizard's eyes were fixed on the iron-cased diary with fear.
"Ambition. Greed. Voldemort always thrived on chaos and destruction. However, I suspect some of the reasons are more insidious than that. One of Voldemort's recruitment methods was getting those hesitating on the wrong side of the law with promises, threats, rewards, or simply by setting them up for it, like using a curse that would see someone in Azkaban for a lengthy stay. Then, they would have no choice but to follow him or have significant, if not lifelong, problems with the Ministry. Perhaps he aimed at Botley because he was one of those who had attacked you last year to stoke the feeling of vengeance and satisfaction inside you. Though I profess, I have no idea why he would target Miss Melony Burke."
"…I heard her speak about how they should push Luna and Astoria down the stairs after Botley's incident." Ron's fists tightened, his knuckles popping, and his teeth clenched, yet his eyes drifted away towards Fawkes. "It was just a random meeting in the hallway, but she deliberately spoke loudly with her friends while staring at me as if to mock me. I felt so angry then."
Shame was dripping from his words, and Albus had no doubt there was more to it, but it didn't matter. It seemed the boy had at least picked up some basic knowledge of mind magic from Tom.
"These actions were not your own," Albus reminded softly.
"But I wanted to hurt them, sir." Ron hung his head in defeat, looking at the floor. "I still feel angry at Botley, Montague, Derrick Higgs, and the others that beat me up last year. I just made two friends this year, and when they were threatened…"
"It is only human to be angry. After all, you never attacked anyone outside of self-defence. I suspect the diary feeds on such strong emotions, making it easier and easier for it to possess you." The headmaster hummed. "It certainly is how Voldemort did things. Where did you find the diary?"
The boy grimaced.
"Luna gave it to me on the train. Said she found it in the grass one evening, and it looked as lonely as I was." Then, the youngest Weasley son chuckled sardonically. Suddenly, he straightened up and met his gaze without flinching for the first time tonight. "She has nothing to do with it, sir. Please don't expel her. I don't think she did it on purpose-"
"I'm not expelling anyone, Mr Weasley."
"But I attacked two students-"
The headmaster raised his hand. "Let me finish. Your staunch loyalty does you credit, but I can hardly fault you for this mess. I would expel Tom Riddle and snap his wand if I could, but I'm fifty years too late. As for you, there shall be no punishment for accepting a gift from a friend. I have taught Tom Riddle for seven years, and I know how he does things. And you, my boy, have yet to do something out of spite or malice. Your only fault here is being young and inexperienced."
"Thanks, headmaster." he bowed deeply, but the joy drained from his face. "Blimey, the snakes are going to hate me more now. The entire school, even!"
"Fret not. Tomorrow, at breakfast, I will announce I have apprehended the culprit." Albus motioned towards the iron dome sealing the diary. "A cursed item. Unless you're planning to push other students down the stairs?"
"No, professor, I'd rather smack 'em, err, I-I mean–" Ron swallowed heavily, and then his stomach rumbled.
"I believe it's time you join your classmates at the feast." Albus chuckled before fixing the young wizard with a serious gaze. "It would be in your best interest not to speak of this to anyone else. Of course, the door to my office is always open if you have any questions. And do tell Miss Lovegood to pass by my office discreetly after the feast, if you will. I find myself particularly fond of jelly babies."
"Er… okay? Thanks, Professor Dumbledore."
The office's door swung open, and Albus thoughtfully listened to Ron's dwindling footsteps in the distance while his gaze had not moved from the book-shaped iron sheets on his desk. The feast could wait a bit.
Author's Endnote:
A bit anti-climactic end to the diary plot. I intended to drag the plot on a bit longer, but I decided it was not particularly interesting or challenging without the Basilisk.
Also known as "Shady Salesman Tom Riddle baits young Ronald Weasley with the promises of magical 'roids. Albus Dumbledore does something similar, bribing dangerous beasts with muggle candy to his insidious cause."
Dumbledore's competence and proactive measures also begin to give results.
The fuckery surrounding Harry Potter continues, and nobody knows what is happening.
Meanwhile, Ron continues on his path to swoleness.
I update a chapter every second Thursday (or early Friday morning if I'm late/depending on your time-zone)! You can find me on my Discord (hVMvHF7g2m), where you can read ahead, come chat, or ask me or others questions.