Harry Potter and the Reign of Darkness

Chapter Seven - Beyond The Veil

That night in Gryffindor Tower, Harry and Ron were inspecting their books that had been delivered as they sat around the fire, waiting for Hermione to return from her Head Girl duties. They had received their schedules along with their books and were less than thrilled to see that they would be enjoying Snape's company in double Defense Against The Dark Arts the following day. Harry recalled the one DADA class that Snape had been allowed to teach during Harry's third year at Hogwarts, when Professor Lupin had been recovering after a full moon. Snape had lectured them about the dangers of Werewolves, never giving them the opportunity to use their wands. Looking back, Harry had only had a worse Defense Against The Dark Arts lesson with Professor Umbridge; even Gilderoy Lockhart had let them use their wands. Harry sighed and looked up at the massive grandfather clock; it was nearly midnight. Harry stood out of his favorite chair and snatched up his books, putting his schedule on top. "I'm going to go to bed, Ron, are you coming?"

Ron looked up from his own schedule, scowling. "No, I think I'll wait for Hermione. Go on ahead."

Harry nodded and yawned, "Good night, Ron." Harry turned and headed up the stairs to the dormitory. As he reached the door to his room, he heard the faint creak of the Fat Lady's portrait and turned to peek down through a small opening in the banister to get a better look. Hermione stepped through the opening, letting the painting shut behind her. Harry strained to get a better look, and as near as he could tell, it looked like Hermione was either crying or just had been. She walked over towards the fire, carrying a stack of books and sat where Harry had been minutes earlier. Ron looked up at her and said something that Harry couldn't make out. Hermione replied, speaking much louder, but Harry could only make out two words: "Malfoy," and "Mudblood." After Hermione had said the latter, Ron stood from his chair quickly, his books scattering on the floor and be began to storm by Hermione's chair for the door when she grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Ron struggled, but not too much, and quickly turned his attention back to Hermione. Harry reckoned that Ron was pleading with Hermione to let him beat Malfoy to a pulp, but Hermione kept shaking her head and mouthing what looked like "No." Harry noticed that Hermione didn't let go of Ron's arm long after he stopped struggling to get past her, but Harry couldn't make out much of what they said over the next couple of minutes as Ron, his back turned to Harry, had stepped inbetween him and Hermione. Finally, Hermione, setting her books aside, gave Ron a long, earnest hug. After she released him, she said a few more words and then turned to head towards the girls dormitory, taking her books with her.

Ron turned and watched her go until she was out of sight, and then picked up his books one by one before turning for the stairs. Harry quietly turned to the door and slipped through. Dean, Seamus and Neville were already asleep, and Harry tiptoed over to his bed, setting the books down on his trunk. Harry could hear Ron nearing the door, so he quickly threw the covers aside and leaped underneath, removing his glasses and pulling the comforter taut. Ron had much less subtlety when he shut the door, nearly slamming it, but no one but Harry, who was pretending to sleep soundly, seemed to notice. "Crookshanks! Off!" Ron whispered in an irritated tone, and Harry heard a slight thump on the ground. "Get out of here, you bloody furball!" After another moment, Harry heard Ron open, and then shut the door again rather unceremoniously. Before Ron's light finally went out, Harry swore he heard him whispering, as to what he was saying, Harry could only guess.

After breakfast the next morning, Harry, Ron and Hermione walked down to Snape's classroom for their first Defense Against The Dark Arts lesson and took their usual seats from Potions class. A smattering of Gryffindors and Slytherins were gliding through the doorway as the final bell sounded, and Harry saw a smirking Malfoy strut in, his Head Boy badge gleaming, and take a seat along with Crabbe and Goyle. Moments later, with a sudden slam, Snape appeared, walking briskly to the front of the class, his long, ebon robes flowing behind him. Turning on his heel after passing the front row of tables, Harry noticed a triumphant smirk on his face. "As this is your final year before your N.E.W.T.'s, it is my responsibility to ensure that you are prepared for the dangers that you can and will encounter throughout the rest of your miserable lives." Snape removed his wand from his robes and turned to the chalkboard, tapping it once, and quickly words began to appear.

The Unspeakable Curses

"It is my understanding that during your fourth year, you were subjected to an introduction to the three Unspeakable Curses. As they are the trademark of the Dark Arts, we shall begin with understanding their potency, their technique and their counters. Wands out," Snape commanded. Harry, along with most of the class (including many Slytherins) were shocked to hear Snape ask to have their wands out, and subsequently many were slow to remove them from their robes, to Snape's obvious discontent. "Longbottom," Snape called out, and Neville, who had been doing his best to look very small, gazed up at Snape, terrified.

"Y-yes, professor?"

"The Cruciatus Curse, its effects and a suitable counter."

Neville stared at Snape, who was glaring triumphantly back at him. Harry frowned. Snape knew that it was the Cruciatus Curse that had driven Neville's parents to breaking point.

"The Cruciatus Curse causes unbelievable suffering on those affected...." Neville blurted out, Snape did not appear surprised to see Neville answer correctly, rather, he began to grin slightly.

"Correct, Longbottom. The counter, please."

Neville searched carefully for a response, but could only stutter. The Slytherins began to chuckle, but were silenced quickly by a glare from Snape, who quickly returned his full attention back to Neville. "Of all of the people in this classroom who should be able to respond with the correct countercurse, it would be you, Longbottom. Five points from Gryffindor," Snape jeered. If it was possible, Neville slumped into his chair even lower than he had been before. Snape's eyes darted across the classroom. "Anyone care to respond with a proper counter?" Harry and Ron both immediately looked at Hermione, but she looked as puzzled as they did for once. The impostor Moody had told them during their fourth year that the Cruciatus Curse, like the other two Unspeakable Curses, had no counter other than dodging. "Potter," Snape called out, pointing his wand at him. "With me."

Harry stood, clutching his wand tightly, and walked to the front of the class, turning to face Snape. "On the count of three, I am going to perform the curse. I want you to prevent that from happening," Snape said, a cool satisfaction in his voice. Harry began to panic, there was no counter! What did Snape expect him to do, grin and bear it? Snape took a few steps away from Harry and then turned.

"One."

Harry's mind began to race, he wouldn't be able to disarm him before the curse took effect. Could he summon something to absorb the blow? Harry looked to the books sitting on Snape's desk. "Not thick enough," Harry thought.

"Two."

Harry was now glancing wildly about, looking for some clue as to what he could do to protect himself from Snape's curse. As Snape opened his mouth, an idea flashed into Harry's head, and he gritted his teeth in expectation.

"Three. Cruciatus!"

"PROTEGO!" Harry bellowed in response, pouring all of his vigor into the Shield Charm.

The flash of red that erupted from Snape's wand rebounded off of Harry's Charm and struck Snape, who screeched in pain as the Curse took effect, then quickly dissipated. Snape, coming to his senses, glared up at Harry, looking shocked. Snape quickly stood, brushing himself off and collecting himself, before turning to address the class in a curt tone, "As you saw, Mr. Potter was correct, a Shield Charm is able to repel the Cruciatus Curse....with the proper concentration," Snape's gaze returned to Harry, "You may sit, Potter."

Harry spent the rest of the class in a triumphant daze, living and reliving the look of shock on Snape's face after he had deflected the Cruciatus Curse back at him. Even the thought of writing a foot on the Imperius Curse and the concentration and preparation needed to resist it didn't seem to faze Harry as he exited the class alongside Ron and Hermione.

"That was wicked, Harry!" Ron said, after assuring himself that he was out of earshot of Snape.

"I agree, Harry. Where did you read to use the Shield Charm against the Cruciatus Curse? I've never seen that mentioned anywhere," Hermione said, looking puzzled.

"I don't know," Harry said, and Hermione pleadingly gazed back. "No, really, it just, well, you know. It was like a reflex...." Harry said as confidently as possible. Glancing at Hermione, Harry saw that she looked less than sufficiently appeased with this answer, but she didn't prod Harry anymore as they made their way towards Professor Sprout's greenhouse.

That evening, Harry's excitement about returning to Hogwarts had slowly turned into misery as he scribbled another hour away on Snape's essay, who had demanded it turned into his office the next afternoon. Hermione and Ron were also engaged in homework, although Hermione had finished off Snape's essay nearly an hour earlier and was now working on advanced Arithmancy tables that made Harry's head spin by just looking at them. Finally setting his quill on the table in front of him, Harry gave his essay a quick read through and nodded, pleased with his work. Unlike Potions, Harry didn't mind essays for Defense Against The Dark Arts nearly as much, even if it was Snape assigning them. Harry turned his head to the entrance to the common room as the Fat Lady's painting swung open, and Ginny stepped through, hauling a small library in her arms. Crookshanks leaped off from the back of Hermione's chair and trotted whimsically over towards Ginny, tracing inbetween her legs and purring. Ginny carefully walked over to where Harry and the others were sitting and dropped her books onto the table with a crash.

"Sorry," she said sweetly, "I thought that with Snape teaching two classes he might slack off a little on the essays...."

"You thought wrong, Gin," Ron said, looking up from his own DADA essay briefly, "Snape would grade papers all night as long as the lot of us are miserable."

Ginny grinned weakly at her brother and then her eyes fell upon Harry's essay on the Imperius Curse, which still laid open on the table, a small "O" formed on her lips. "Snape's got you on the Unspeakable Curses already? Aren't you a little nervous, Harry?" Ginny looked genuinely concerned, and for good reason. Harry knew that Snape had once been a Death Eater, but somewhere before Voldemort's first defeat, had switched sides, or so Dumbledore had strongly believed. Despite the numerous occasions where Snape had the opportunity to hand Harry over to Lord Voldemort and didn't, Harry had yet to completely trust the hook-nosed head of Slytherin, and still held him mainly responsible for Sirius' death out of spite more than facts. "Harry?" Ginny said again, looking curious.

"Even if he was up to something, Gin, he wouldn't announce it to the class first. I think Snape just wants to show off, more than anything, since he finally got the position he always wanted," Harry said, snapping himself out of his thoughts before he began to dwell on Sirius' death once again as it was still a painful subject. "Besides, we've already had a brief introduction to them back in fourth year."

"When Crouch's son was posing as Mad-Eye? He taught the Unspeakables?"

Harry nodded at Ginny.

"That's odd," she said, shrugged, and then turned to her mass of books.

With another creak, a swarm of second years swept into the tower, vibrantly talking and laughing. Harry noticed that Hermione began to grip her quill very tightly, and when the group decided to remain in the common room, Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book shut. "I can't take it. I can't work in this racket. I'm going to head to the Head Boy and Girl's quarters and finish this there."

Ron looked up from his homework and frowned, Harry frowned as well, he didn't want another incident between Hermione and Malfoy, but before either could protest, Hermione was already on her way out, Crookshanks in hot pursuit. Ron murmured something in an angry tone.

"What was that, Ron?" Ginny said inquisitively.

"I....uh, just said that Malfoy'd better keep his ruddy mouth shut. If he's even there, I mean," Ron blurted out, and then quickly buried himself so far into his Defense Against The Dark Arts book that his nose was scraping the parchment. Ginny shot a knowing glance to Harry and smiled. Harry grinned back at her as he began to pack up his books.

Harry spent the rest of the evening lost in his thoughts, his eyes staring into the fire. Ron had left to serve his first detention with Snape soon after Hermione had made for the Head Boy and Girl's quarters, his essay was still sitting in the comfy chair across from Harry. No matter how many times he tried to force himself into mulling over Quidditch strategies for the coming year, Harry would always soon return to thinking about Sirius. The sting of his godfather's death had not lessened with time, as Harry had hoped, but had intensified instead. He had lived and relived the night in the Department of Mysteries over and over again. "If only I hadn't been such a fool!" he said to himself, over and over. Voldemort had laid an ingenious trap to lure Harry deep beneath the Ministry and then steal the prophecy that Dumbledore had later revealed to Harry. Dumbledore, the mere thought of him rattled Harry's insides. Dumbledore was gone. Harry leaned back into his chair, his eyes lost in the flickering flames. It hadn't really stuck him until that moment. First Cedric Diggory, then Sirius, and now Dumbledore. Dumbledore had known, just as Sirius did, that there were bound to be casualties in the war against Lord Voldemort. Harry had hoped that rounding up so many Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries may have broken the Dark Lord's back, that perhaps Voldemort would be defeated before his sixth year. Looking for any source of hope in the wake of losing Sirius, Harry had convinced himself that Dumbledore and the Order were close to victory all that summer. And as much as Harry hoped and made himself believe that the Order would vanquish Voldemort once and for all without Harry having to get involved once more, he couldn't shake the words repeating themselves over and over in the back of his head, "..and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...." Dumbledore had revealed that prophecy to him as Harry had sat before him, early in the morning, after Sirius had been killed and the truth about Voldemort's return had been revealed. Harry had struggled to come to terms with it throughout the course of his summer after fifth year, and as Voldemort's reach only grew during his sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry wanted nothing more than to attribute it to the ramblings of a confused fraud; but deep down, Harry knew that Professor Trelawney had been tapped, that the prophecy had been real because she had given another to Harry, foretelling the escape of Peter Pettigrew and his return to the side of the Dark Lord in Harry's third year. When the siege on Hogwarts began, Harry had finally accepted that his destiny laid with Voldemort. With the battle raging around him, Harry had searched for any sign of the Dark Lord. Hearing his vicious, high-pitched laugh, Harry had begun to run in that direction, his wand at the ready, but when he rounded the corner, he wasn't prepared for what he saw next. The flash of light was enormous, Voldemort had made sure that there would be no questions to the potency of his killing curse. Dumbledore, who had just arrived on the grounds to the dismay of the Death Eaters, slumped to the floor, his eyes closed, a look of grim resolve on his face. Harry had screamed, filled with rage, and used the only spell he could think of. The Patronus that leapt forward from Harry's wand radiated with such sheer power that the Dementors that had restrained Dumbledore had begun to wither, and some even melt, before it. To Harry's surprise and displeasure, Voldemort had fled as well. Harry had chased after him, but Voldemort easily slipped through his fingers. Why had he, the Dark Lord, in the moment of his greatest triumph, fled? Harry had been there, unprotected and furious. He could have easily made a vital in mistake in that fury. It made no sense. Unless.... "Unless the prophecy is wrong after all," Harry whispered.

"What's that, Harry?" Ginny said, and Harry immediately snapped out of his self-induced trance. The common room was empty, except for Ginny, who was looking very concerned. Harry blinked at her for a moment.

"Oh. Nothing, just talking to myself," Harry said, still trying to collect his thoughts.

Ginny frowned and set her quill down on the essay she had been working diligently on before setting her eyes back on Harry. "What is it, Harry?" Ginny demanded. Harry stared at her, debating whether or not to tell her. "When are you going to let me in?" Her eyes were pleading, her voice genuinely concerned. Harry stood and walked towards the window looking out onto the forest, clutching his hands behind his back. Harry then turned and looked back at Ginny, who was watching him carefully, and he motioned for her to join him.

It was a beautiful, cloudless night. The moon reflected in Harry's glasses as he smiled weakly at Ginny when she walked up next to him. "I never told you, told anyone, what Dumbledore said to me after that night in the Department of Mysteries," Harry said dreamily, his mind replaying the night's events once more, "The prophecy wasn't lost."

"But it was smashed! You and Neville," Ginny said, confused.

"Yes, it was smashed, but it was only a record of events that had already transpired, someone already knew the pr-,"

"Dumbledore!" Ginny cried.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Dumbledore himself was given the prophecy by Professor Trelawney."

"Trelawney? That old bat?"

Harry grinned, nodding once more. "Yeah, she told Dumbledore...." Harry paused.

"Harry, tell me...." Ginny pleaded.

"She, she told Dumbledore that a boy would be born, born to parents that had defied Voldemort three times. A boy that the Dark Lord would mark as his equal," Harry said, raising his hand up to brush his prickling scar, not looking at Ginny.

"Yo-your parents?"

Harry nodded. "My parents. Neville's parents had also defied Voldemort three times, but for whatever reason, he chose me."

Ginny gasped slightly.

"But Voldemort never heard the whole prophecy, that's why he wanted it so badly that night in the Department of Mysteries. He never heard the end," Harry said, pausing briefly to regain his composure before continuing, "The prophecy says that the boy he marked and Voldemort will never be able to coexist. That one...." Harry swallowed audibly, finally turning his gaze to Ginny. "One must murder the other."

Ginny's head turned to the window, her eyes looking out into the night.

"But, I'm starting to think that Trelawney was wrong," Harry said, a trace of hope in his voice. Ginny's gaze returned to him, looking confused. "That night, when Dumbledore was killed, Voldemort had me. I was concentrating on the Dementors, he could have struck me down, I wouldn't have stood a chance. Instead...." Harry's eyes were searching as he spoke, "He ran. He had me and he ran."

"He fears you, Harry," Ginny said, confidently, "I can feel it."

"But he killed Dumbledore! Next to him...."

"Next to him, Harry? It has been you, time after time, standing against Voldemort. YOU, Harry. Dumbledore understood that, and he trusted you. You haven't failed us ye-"

"YES. Yes, I have," Harry snapped, "What about Sirius, I let him down! What good is Dumbledore's trust if he's dead too!" Harry quickly turned from the window, the intensity of his scar's pain only growing. "Who will be next because of me, because I couldn't fight him? Because I wasn't strong enough!" Harry sighed. After a moment, Harry felt Ginny's hand on his shoulder.

"They knew the risks, Harry. We all do. You said it yourself at the meeting, all of us have a responsibility, we know what we're in for. You can't take every death and put it on yourself, Harry. None of this is your fault," Ginny said, a subtle strength in her voice. Harry fought back the tears forming around his eyes, and turned to look at Ginny, who was smiling warmly at him. "I'm going to go to bed, Harry. I think it would be best if you do as well," she said softly, and after another moment of gazing at each other, Ginny collected her things and walked up towards the girls dormitory, leaving Harry standing there, lost in thought.

A few moments later, the Fat Lady's portrait swung open, and Ron stepped through, looking exhausted and displeased, but he flashed Harry a smile upon seeing him. "Snape had me scrubbing cauldrons for an hour and a half! Bloody git," Ron said as he walked over towards the chair where his essay still sat. After sitting back down and grabbing his quill, Ron looked back up at Harry. "You alright, mate? Harry?"

Harry shook his head and then glanced over at Ron, smiling briefly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I think I'm going to go to bed." Ron glanced at the clock and then nodded at Harry.

"I'll be up as soon as I finish this."

Harry snatched up his things and made his way upstairs. Neville was lying on his bed with a book open in front of him, his eyes skimming over it. As Harry walked into the room, he glanced up at him and smiled. "Did you finish Snape's essay, Harry?" Harry nodded at Neville, who sat back and crossed his legs. He watched carefully as Harry set his books down on his trunk and kicked off his runners. Harry could feel Neville's eyes boring into him, and was about to ask him what he was staring at when Neville spoke again. "How did you block it, Harry?"

Harry turned his head around and looked at Neville, raising an eyebrow.

"The Cruciatus Curse, Harry. How'd you do it?" Neville looked extremely hopeful.

"You saw yourself, Neville. I used a shield charm," Harry said nonchalantly and then knelt down to place his runners under the bed.

"B-but, that's just not possible," Neville said, and Harry looked back up at him, even more confused than before.

"Well of course it is, Neville. I know that the impostor Moody told us otherwise, but I did it, didn't I?"

Neville stood off of his bed, holding a book that Harry didn't recognize, and walked over to Harry, thrusting it into his hands. He pointed at a passage midway down the page. Harry adjusted his eyes and began to read.

The Cruciatus Curse is perhaps the most sadistic of the three Unspeakables, as it is an instrument of sheer torture. Where the Imperius Curse removes all inhibitions from the afflicted, leaving them open to suggestion and control; and the Avada Kedavra is fatal on impact; the Cruciatus Curse was designed solely for the purpose of inflicting and sustaining long periods of pain without fear the afflicted will expire. The danger of the Cruciatus Curse, as with the Imperius and the Avada Kedavra, is made dangerous twofold in the fact that it cannot be deflected by any known charm, spell or artifact.

Harry reread the last sentence twice more, to be sure he had read it properly. He glanced up at Neville, who was staring back at Harry, looking nervous. "I knew something was up, Harry, when you deflected Snape's curse. My gran said that, well, after....after my parents," Neville began to struggle for words, and Harry lifted a hand to his shoulder. "After that bitch did that to them," Neville snarled, his eyes ablaze with the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange, "that there was no way they could have blocked it. No one can block the Cruciatus Curse." Neville's eyes quickly locked with Harry, a glimmer of hope in his voice, "You have to teach me how you did it, Harry." Harry stared back at Neville and his heart sank. Neville was searching for something, anything to give to the memory of his parents, and Harry was holding the key somewhere deep inside of him. Harry wished he could take the scar from his forehead, which had begun to twinge and burn, and with it the bond he shared with Voldemort, and give it to Neville, who had suffered just as horribly as, if not more than, Harry had. Harry knew he deserved vengeance just as Harry did.

"Truthfully, Neville," Harry began, his voice quiet, "I'm not sure how I did, but if I can get to the bottom of it," He gave Neville his best reassuring smile, "I'll do my best to show you." Neville looked disappointed but also satisfied with the truth of Harry's answer and, nodding once in response, turned back towards his bed. Harry sighed as he stood, watching Neville crawl into bed and turn off his light. Harry removed his robes and put on his pajamas, and was reaching to turn off his own light when he heard a whisper, extremely faint, coming from the foot of the bed.

"Harry...."

Harry slowly pulled his hand away from the light, and crept over towards the trunk that rested at the front of his bed, listening carefully. He stood there for a full minute, occasionally glancing at Neville occasionally to make sure it wasn't him talking in his sleep, when he heard it again.

"Harry....Harry Potter...."

"It's definitely coming from the trunk," Harry thought, and he quickly flung it open, his books scattering to the floor. Harry was greeted by a legion of shirts, socks, spare robes and other necessities.

"Harry....Potter...."

Harry's hands bored into the collection of clothes, searching for something, anything that could be saying his name. Midway through his socks, his hand grasped around something hard, and he immediately knew what it was, even though he hadn't even seen it for over a year. Harry slowly and lovingly removed the mirror that his godfather had given him, the reflective surface still faced away. Harry felt his scar begin to prickle in anticipation.

"Harry...."

The voice was definitely coming from the other side of the mirror. Harry's hands were trembling. Could his godfather, after nearly two years of silence, be trying to contact him? Why hadn't he done so for before now? Slowly, Harry flipped the mirror over, bracing himself to see Sirius, but his eyes saw nothing but himself staring back.

"Sirius," Harry whispered, leaning in close to the mirror, "Sirius Black, are you there? Sirius?" There was a desperate, pleading look in Harry's eyes as he stared at himself, looking for any sign of his godfather in the reflection. His scar's pain began to fade, and Harry dropped the mirror back into his trunk, dejected. Harry sat down on his bed and looked, infuriated, at the mirror for a moment more before shutting his trunk. "I'm hearing things now, wonderful," Harry whispered to himself. Harry turned to his nightstand and turned off the light, but as he pulled back the sheets, raised voices, coming from the common room, caught his ear.

Walking to the doorway and slowly swinging it open, Harry peeked carefully through a small nook onto the common room below. In the small corridor that led to the Fat Lady's painting, Hermione was talking with Ron, who was holding the painting open. Both of them looked extremely upset, but Harry couldn't make out anything they were saying. Harry walked down the steps leading into the common room itself as Ron began to make as if he was going to leave Gryffindor Tower.

"Ron, no, please don't. He's already gone back to his quarters by now," Hermione said, pleading. Ron looked wide-eyed and furious.

"I can't let him keep doing this, I just can't."

"Now is not the time, Ron. Plea-Harry!" Hermione's eyes locked on Harry in surprise. Ron's head craned to Harry as well.

"What's going on? Where are you going, Ron?"

Ron took a longing glance outside, and then swiftly shut the portrait. "Malfoy's had some choice words for Hermione. I was going to go have a few choice words with him," Ron said defiantly.

"And I strictly forbid him from doing so," Hermione said with a slight nod, drying tears from her eyes with her sleeve, "He's Head Boy, Ron! Honestly!"

From the looks of things, it wouldn't even have mattered if Malfoy was a giant spider, Ron still would have half a mind to pound him to a pulp, but Malfoy was bound to be back in the safety of the Slytherin Dormitory by now. Harry noticed Ron's clenched fists slowly release. Hermione stared at Ron a minute longer, until she was satisfied that he wouldn't go storming off and getting himself in a heap of trouble. "I, I'm going to go to bed," Hermione said cautiously, "Thanks for waiting up for me, Ron."

Ron nodded slightly, looking in Harry's direction. After Hermione turned her back to leave, Ron's eyes quickly focused back on her, following her closely until she finally disappeared upstairs. He sighed and turned back to Harry, who was giving him a very understanding look.

"What?" Ron said, taken aback.

"What's going on, Ron," Harry said as if he already knew the answer.

"It's that prat, Malfoy, Harry. I told you already. Every night when they've got their duties, or in the Head Boy and Girl's quarters doing paperwork, he's running his mouth. 'Mudblood' this and 'Mudblood' that. Can't keep his ruddy trap shut and it's got to stop. We've only been back a couple of days and he's already got her crying every night!"

"So, what do you expect to do?"

"Expect? I plan to punch his teeth in, that's what I expect to do, Harry."

"It won't stop him, Ron. You'll just have to sit an extra week with Snape for detention, scrubbing cauldrons, while he keeps this up, we've got to find ano-"

"We? I'm going to handle Malfoy this time, Harry. Alone." Ron wasn't challenging Harry as near as he could tell, there was a trace of longing in his voice.

"What are you trying to prove, Ron?"

"Prove? Nothing, I just want to do this one my way."

Harry shrugged. "Fine, but if you need my help, just ask. I've got no problems causing some trouble for Malfoy. Just NO punching his teeth in, we're going to be starting Quidditch training soon and I need our star Keeper there, alright?"

Ron paused for a moment, looking at Harry strangely, before cracking a smile. As they headed upstairs to the Dorm, Ron placed his arm around Harry.

"Thanks."

The next morning, Harry joined Ron for an early breakfast in the great hall before they would head down for their first Potions class of the term, and hand in their essays on the Imperius Curse to Snape, who had demanded them to be turned in that morning. Hermione had joined them as the Post arrived, and a small spotted brown owl soon landed in front of her. Hermione removed a rolled-up copy of The Daily Prophet and dropped a knut in the owl's collection sack before it took off. As Hermione flipped open the paper, her shriek of surprise filled the whole hall.

"Bloody hell! What is it, Hermione?" Ron bellowed, getting up out of his seat to take a closer look. Harry's eyes fell down to the front page of the Prophet, sprawled in front of her.

SIRIUS BLACK SIGHTED IN LONDON

Below the headline was, undoubtedly, Sirius. His hair was scraggly and a menacing look was on his face as he glanced briefly right up at Harry as he trailed down a Muggle street. Harry's scar ignited in pain as he gazed down at his godfather, who looked like he had gone out of his mind.

"But, but how?" Ron hissed, "How?" He glanced at Harry, a look of shock washed over his face, but Harry didn't hear him. He was still staring at the picture of his godfather, vaguely aware that Hermione had begun to read the accompanying article out loud.

In a stunning appearance, Sirius Black, the first of many accused Death Eaters to escape from Azkaban Prison before the revolt of the Dementors, has been seen in London for the first time in over two years. The Daily Prophet has been receiving contradicting reports about Black's involvement with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named since his escape from Azkaban nearly four years ago. While the official Ministry position still heralds Black as a dangerous criminal loyal to You-Know-Who, numerous sources have stepped forward on Black's behalf, proclaiming his innocence. It should be noted that Black was not reported to be involved with last year's assault on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and anonymous sources now report to the Prophet that Black may be hiding from both the Ministry and He-Who-Must-Be-Named, for reasons that still remain unknown.

Hermione slowly set the paper back down on the table, and turned to Harry. The Great Hall had long stopped staring at Hermione after her outcry, and the numerous voices were ringing heavily in Harry's ears. The events of the night before suddenly snapped into Harry's head, and he turned to look at Ron and Hermione. "He, he tried to contact me last night," Harry said quickly, looking fearful. "I didn't reach the mirror in time."

"Mirror, what are you talking about, Harry?" Ron said.

"When we were at Grimmauld Place when your dad was attacked, Ron, Sirius gave me a mirror. A two-way mirror that would allow us to talk. I didn't trust it," Harry paused for a moment, looking down at his place, "I didn't want him to get caught." Harry's head snapped up. "But I heard him calling me, last night, from my trunk!"

Ron and Hermione looked very confused. "Your trunk, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Yes! The mirror, I kept it in my trunk. After the Department of Mysteries, I had tried to contact him, but he didn't respond. I just....couldn't bring myself to throw it away," Harry's voice trailed off, and then his eyes shot back up. "But, but this means he's alive! He found a way out!"

"But Harry, Dumbledore said...." Hermione said lightly.

"He must have been wrong!" Harry interjected. "Sirius made it back!"

"Potter," a curt voice waded through Harry's growing excitement, and he turned around. Before him stood Professor McGonagall. "A word." She nodded her head towards the entrance to the great hall. Clutched in her right hand was that morning's edition of The Daily Prophet. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione and nodded before getting up. McGonagall walked quickly from the Hall and Harry walked close behind. The two made their way towards the stone gargoyle that led to the Headmaster's Quarters. "Quidditch Cup," McGonagall whispered, and the gargoyle turned to reveal a spiral staircase. She swept up the stairs and Harry followed behind.

The headmaster's office looked like Dumbledore had never left. The only addition Harry could see as he took a seat was that a portrait of him now hung alongside his predecessors, his twinkling eyes watching Harry very closely. McGonagall walked around her desk and took a seat, her hands clutched tightly around the Prophet. "I imagine you saw this morning's paper," McGonagall said, looking quite vexed. Harry nodded. Leaning forward, she rolled out the front page on her desk. "Harry, I don't know what is going on, or where this picture came from, but I can assure you of one thing: that is not Sirius Black." Harry was taken aback. Professor McGonagall never addressed students by their first names, but the levity of the situation seemed to have rattled her even more than Harry.

"I, I don't understand, Professor. If that's not Sirius...."

"We just don't know yet, Potter. I brought you in here so that you make no mistake that your godfather is dead," McGonagall's eyes bored into Harry, the words reverberating in the office. Harry looked down to his runners. "I'm sorry, Potter. I am, but this is a trick, a lure to get you to make a mistake. Remember his sacrifice, Harry. Don't go looking for Sirius Black."