Snakes and Lions

Secrets and Spells

Two nights later, Harry arrived at the Chamber to find Draco engrossed in a large book. Harry sat down and peered curiously over, trying to see what the book was about. Only the chapter heading was large enough to see. "Insignius: Rendez-ici to the Dark Mark," he read.

Draco flipped the book shut to show him the title, Magical Signaling through the Ages.

"I was looking up Insignius charms -- the Dark Mark is the only one in current widespread use, but they were formerly quite common, especially in medieval times," he said. "The Ministry discourages them now -- officially because Muggles monitor so much of the sky; really, I think, because it reminds them of the Dark Mark -- but they are still permissible for emergency use in rural areas."

Draco set the book aside and focused intently on Harry. "So," he advanced, "I've been thinking...."

"Uh-oh. Call Professor Trelawny -- I'm finally developing an Inner Eye. I sense..." Harry raised one hand dramatically to his temples -- "Trouble! Danger! Flagrant disregard for rules!"

Draco smirked. "Oh, shut up and listen." He leaned over to pour Harry a glass of cognac. "You can tell me I'm brilliant later." Draco stoppered the bottle, and passed first the book, then the glass to Harry. "Page 184. Follow along, now."

Harry opened Magical Signaling through the Ages. Pages 184 through 186 detailed a way to split a book into two books which would remain linked, such that anything written in either book appeared in both. The creation of such books did not seem to be proscribed in any way -- notes detailed its current usage in government and business record-keeping applications. The principle limitation seemed to be a distance limit of three furlongs.

"How far is a furlong?"

"220 yards. I don't think we can do Slytherin to Gryffindor, unless they're vertically more in line than I think, but we can easily talk in class."

"And my notes are your notes."

"And vice versa. The procedure doesn't look too bad, but the ingredients will take some doing. We need a book, first, bound in the undyed and unbleached skin of a white goat, with papers that are similarly not dyed, bleached, or marked in any way. I can order that, by owl. It will take a few days to get it. Then we need some potions ingredients for the title ink, but I can lift that from Snape's stores -- if he catches me, he'll just approve of my dedication and interest. Then one of us needs to cast the Fissum spell, and the other Geminus, simultaneously, off a copper mirror, which, again, I will need to order by owl. The spells are not hard, but the timing -- and aim -- must be precise."

Harry frowned at the written instructions. He realized Draco was no longer talking and looked up. Draco was looking at him expectantly.

"Is this the bit where I tell you you're brilliant?" Harry asked innocently.

"If you like."

"Draco -- you're brilliant!" Harry toasted Draco with the cognac. Draco smiled.

It took them less than a week to complete the books. Both were more willing to spar with each other in class when they could have a secondary conversation in writing, and their classmates seemed put at ease by the resumption of strife. In Potions and Transfiguration, they also used the white book for notes, since it would not do to be seen writing in two books, and discovered they had very different note-taking styles. Within a few uses, they had taken to using quadrants -- the left page was Draco's and the right Harry's; the top of each for class notes and the bottom for commentary and making plans. Now that they could easily communicate schedules, they did not meet every other night. Sometimes they met several nights in a row, and sometimes not for two or three nights.

Chamber, tonight?

Draco wrote, that Thursday in Transfiguration.

I guess. Moaning Myrtle has started threatening to tell, though. Can you stop her?

Harry scribbled in his quadrant. He watched Draco's reply appear.

How would I be able to stop her?

That spell you used to find the place?

I told you, that spell is limited to one command. One really effective one, that is. I could use it on her a second time, but it would not work as well.

Harry thought that was an odd restriction. Why? he wrote.

It's something about ghosts. There's no physical brain to help -- you need to do all the manipulation exclusively on the soul, which is more resilient, at least after death, or something like that.

After a moment, Draco added:

Do you still want to learn it?

Can I tell her to never tell anyone anything about people who go in or out of the Chamber?

Yes, but it's a bit drastic. She couldn't tell you, then, if anyone had gone in before us.

She wouldn't anyway -- she hates me now.

Well, think about other phrasings that get you what you want. It's not a difficult spell -- I could teach it to you tonight.

What if I get it wrong, though? Can I do it to her again if it doesn't work the first time?

There's a forester's ghost in a shack near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He never comes up to the castle, and I doubt he would protest if you did something trivial to him. We can fly out there for your first try, after Quidditch practice.

Trivial?

Make him sing the school song, or something.

I don't think I could stand that!

Harry managed to keep himself from laughing at the memory of Dumbledore, Fred, and George singing the school song. There was nothing he could claim was particularly funny about McGonagall's dry explanation of turning books into bats.

Harry had just tucked the Marauder's Map in beside his wand, and was putting the invisibility cloak into his bag when he heard a noise at the door. He quickly stuffed as much of the fabric in as possible. If the person opening the door had been anyone other than Ron, he probably could have succeeded in looking innocent. Ron, however, knew the cloak well enough to identify it from a brief glimpse.

"Where you going to?" Ron asked curiously.

"Just around," Harry said, as casually as possible.

"Can I come? It's been a while since we did anything, you know?"

I know

, Harry thought. School had resumed almost two weeks ago, and this was the first time Ron had indicated noticing they no longer did things together. Harry thought that if he was not meeting Draco Malfoy, with specific plans, having Ron along might be fun. He was surprised to realize he was not sure of it.

"Not tonight, Ron," he said. His voice came out rather cool, he thought. Not icy, like Draco's would have, but cool -- disinterested.

Ron looked stunned. Harry tried not to be pleased.

"Why not?" Ron sputtered. "What...?"

Harry shouldered the bag quickly. "I wouldn't want you to get in trouble," he said. He opened the door and started quickly down the stairs.

"You planning on getting in trouble?" Ron hissed after him, but Harry ignored him. He knew Ron wouldn't yell -- Ron wasn't the sort to rat out a friend, even a sort of half-maybe-friend. You had to be Ron's enemy for that.

Harry loitered around the Quidditch field waiting for the Slytherin team to finish discussing their practice session and head back to the castle. Finally, they began to emerge.

"Coming, Draco?" Warrington called back as he left the changing rooms.

"I'll be up later," Draco responded. "I have some things to do outside."

"Don't get caught!" was the cheerful reply. Harry waited for the others to leave, then slipped into the room. Draco was combing something into his hair. Harry took off the cloak. Draco continued to arrange his hair.

"What does it look like without that?" Harry asked.

Draco looked overtly scandalized. "Almost as bad as yours," he confided.

"Your father's hair isn't messy."

"Oh, mine will be fine when it's long."

"Are you growing it?" Harry asked, confused. Draco's hair looked about the same length as usual.

Draco turned and stared. "Of course not! I'm not officially an adult until I graduate."

"You can't grow your hair until you're an adult?"

"Well it's not ..." Draco sniffed. "It's not done, that's all."

Harry thought about that. It fit well with wizards that he had met -- traditional men grew their hair, but none of the boys did, even the boys from traditional families.

"Today's lesson in wizarding culture," he remarked.

Draco groaned. "You are such a Muggle, sometimes, Potter."

They flew around the edge of the forbidden forest for several minutes. Draco landed outside the trees.

"Let's go over the spell here," he said. "The shed is slightly inside the forest itself, but not so far that we are likely to have problems."

"I've been in the Forest a few times," Harry said.

"Were any uneventful?" Draco asked wryly.

Harry ducked his head. "No," he admitted.

Draco looked thoughtful. For a moment, he stared off into the trees and bit his lower lip. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. "You know who's after you, right?" he said.

"You want the full list?" Harry asked, with exaggerated disbelief.

"Top two."

"Okay. Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange. Am I right?"

"Good. Here's another reason to be careful near the Forbidden Forest: I have heard it implied that there are places, deep in the forest, that are gateways to other places in Britain. I don't know where. My father won't tell me if it's even true, but he gives me the feeling it is. Goyle swears that his father says that one goes to a lady's clothing department in some big Muggle store in London, but I think he just misunderstood an off-colour joke. I've also heard Fountains Abbey, which would be more useful. Anyway, some people, perhaps including LeStrange, may be able to get into Hogwarts via the Forest, rather than the gates, so be cautious here."

Harry was rather astounded Draco was telling him this, even this vaguely. He tried to think carefully about the repercussions, to keep himself from being frightened.

"Perhaps that's how Barty Crouch made it in," he said.

"Junior or Senior?"

"Senior."

"I don't see how he'd know," Draco said dismissively.

Harry shrugged. "Who says the Aurors don't know some of them, too? He could have learned that way."

"I suppose." It seemed to be a foreign concept to Draco that Aurors might know anything useful. His brow furrowed as he considered it.

"Well, be that as it may," he said finally, "the spell. The words are 'Umbram Jubo,' that's 'I order the shade,' followed by your command. The wand motion should be very direct, almost aggressive, and as you say the command, you should push it with your will along the line of the wand. Try just that."

Harry tried. He felt a little silly with the pose when he first took it, but at the end he just felt silly not to have a command.

"Good enough," Draco commented, getting back on his broom. They flew slowly into the trees, just few feet off the ground. "Have you decided on your trivial thing?"

"I don't know. I like the singing idea. How about Hal and Tow?"

"Entirely the wrong season. It's still January."

By the time they reached the shed, Harry had decided. The ghost came floating out to meet them, and recoiled slightly at the sight of Draco.

"You," it said disapprovingly.

The ghost had been a large and hale man (though nothing to compare with Hagrid). From the way he had his foot and a large ax tucked under his left arm, Harry suspected he had maimed himself chopping wood, then bled to death in this lonely place.

The ghost focused on Harry. "This is not a safe place," it warned. "No one will hear you hear if you scream; no one will find you if you are harmed."

"Therefore, he has me to take care of him," Draco said haughtily. "Just because you died here, old man, doesn't mean we will." The ghost drew himself up to answer, but Draco said quickly to Harry:

"Just cast. I want to get out of here."

Harry drew himself up and pointed at the scowling ghost. He tried to do as Draco had said, sending his will out from the wand like an invisible beam of command.

"Umbram Jubo to sing his favorite song, once through."

Harry felt a burst of something coming out of him, and was left gasping. The ghost looked momentarily taken aback, then launched cheerfully into one part of what Harry guessed to be a rather complicated madrigal. Even the single part was rather pretty. Before the third section had finished, Draco drew Harry to the door. Harry was reluctant to leave, but supposed perhaps they should before the spell wore off.

"You have a great voice," he called, before letting the door close.

Draco started flying slowly. Harry overtook him in a moment, and wove with reckless delight through the trees, Draco in pursuit. In the clear, he raced even faster, forcing Draco to a real effort to keep up. Draco overtook him as they left the edge of the forest, and beat him to the castle doors by one or two seconds. Harry landed beside him and laughed.

"Moaning Myrtle, next?" he said eagerly.

Draco shrugged. "That was the point, wasn't it?"

"Umbram Jubo to say nothing to anyone of me or Draco." The command -- the thought of it -- shot out of Harry's wand like an arrow, piercing the shade of a particularly whiny ghost.

"I hate you!" she wailed, rising up towards the dingy ceiling. "You're awful to me!" With a lingering scream, she looped over and back, then shot down into her toilet. Water splashed into the sides of the stall and sloshed down on the floor. Burbling sobs rose up from the refilling bowl.

"Beat the flood down!" shouted Harry, and descended the pipe as he had the first time, sliding recklessly from bathroom to tunnel. He waited impatiently for Draco's slower descent, then walked before him to the Chamber.

Harry threw himself down in the chair so hard that it bounced. An empty bottle that had been resting against the base of it rolled a few inches, and Harry, laughing, reached down, scooped it up and hurled it against the far wall. The bottle shattered beautifully, spraying broken glass for yards out from the hard wall. Harry felt a fierce surge of delight.

"You need to learn to ground," Draco said harshly. He was leaning against the near wall, arms folded across his chest, looking deeply annoyed.

"I feel so ..." Harry frowned at Draco. "Okay, that was satisfying, but why do I feel like this?"

Draco shrugged, then suddenly smirked. "Welcome to Dark Arts."

Harry felt instantly furious. "Draco!" he roared.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him in a calmly inquiring look.

"Couldn't you tell me?! You knew I wouldn't if I'd known! I can't believe you would --"

"Oh, don't get tetchy with me, Harry! If you'd thought about it half a minute, you would have known."

"But, you--"

"But what?" Draco sneered. "You can't be bothered to think? It's not an ambiguous spell. Not some 'is it primarily intended to cause permanent bodily harm?' thing. This is under spells that 'compel a person to act contrary to his or her will.' Evaluative criterion one."

"She's a ghost!"

"A ghost of a person."

"You cast it on her," Harry argued.

"Yes," Draco said coldly. "I did. You know I practice Dark Arts. It may be unofficial, but it is hardly a secret. You've seen me! You also know how to evaluate whether or not a spell is Dark Arts. Horsyr was so impressed by your essay on the Flesh Burning Curse that she made you read it aloud!" Draco looked intently at Harry. Slowly and distinctly, he said:

"You shouldn't do anything just because I do it."

"So what are you saying?' Harry said angrily. "That I shouldn't trust you?"

"Ten points to Gryffindor!" Draco stabbed upward at the air. His eyes burned maniacally in his pale face. "Bloody brilliant, Potter -- you shouldn't trust me! Very good."

"So should I go back to last minute schedule switches when we leave the castle?" Harry asked coldly. "Not come down here with you? How does this work, precisely?"

"Harry, it's fine now -- I mean you can be alone with me; I don't have any orders about you, but..." Draco lost his fiery look in a strange desperation. "That won't last. I'm going to be a Death Eater. Then I will have orders."

"Why the bloody hell do you want to be a sodding Death Eater!" Harry bellowed. "The Death Eaters are nothing! They are slaves taking out their slavery on the victims approved by their master --!"

"What I want has nothing to do with it!" Draco screamed. "What I want has nothing to with anything except stuff!"

With that, he turned and ran. Harry could hear him stumbling in the corridor they usually picked their way through, sending stones tumbling on the rough floor. Harry was too surprised to follow. He waited quite a while, occasionally querying for Draco in the Liber Geminus, but Draco did not return, and if he read any of the messages, he did not reply.

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Chapter 13 -- a calmer discussion