Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

Rispy catches me alone in my dorm one afternoon. He's dressed like a 'normal' house-elf again, in a sack tied with a piece of string around his waist.

"Hello, Rispy," I say. "How are you doing?"

"Well enough, I suppose," Rispy replies. "I've blended in with the house-elves here at Hogwarts and have been studying and observing them to start with."

"So what have you learned?" I ask.

"They're... happy," Rispy says. "But the thing is that they have no goals or desires of their own. They looked at me very strangely when I made the slightest suggestion of such. They might be happy, but they're still so thoroughly brainwashed that I don't even know where to start."

I nod. "Change won't come overnight," I say. "I doubt it will even come in a single generation, especially considering that wizard generations can be long ones."

"It's too slow," Rispy says. "We need a revolution. But happy people don't revolt."

"I never said things would be quick," I say. "There's not much adventure to be had in it, either. But perhaps what they need is a good example."

Rispy sighs. "I'm sick of wearing this garbage again already. Sick of pretending to be a good little slave."

"So don't," I say. "Why don't you ask Dumbledore for an actual job? Let the house-elves see what a real elf can do."

"Dumbledore would stoop to treating a 'mere elf' as an equal?" Rispy says.

"He even employs a half-giant on the Hogwarts grounds," I say. "Try it. You might be pleasantly surprised."

"Alright," Rispy says. "But if I'm not happy with the response, I'm leaving. Don't know where I might go next, but I'm definitely leaving."

Rispy vanishes again. What was I doing here again? Right, I came upstairs to get something from my trunk. I wish I could just carry everything around in my bag, but it can only hold so much, unfortunately. I wonder how expensive a bag with unlimited capacity might be.

I open up my trunk and sift through my belongings for my copy of Hogwarts, a History to lend to Neville. I've already read through it all at least once, so I really have no need to carry it around with me all the time. I've also got all but one change of clothes in here, most of my higher level school books, most of my potion supplies, and other miscellaneous school equipment. I'll admit that the majority of the things in here are here to make it seem cluttered and be less obvious about something else I'm hiding in here.

I tried carrying around the dagger with me in my bag of holding, but I was uncomfortable in doing so. The blood never did come off, and it still looks fresh and not dried at all. My discomfort in having it with me was probably just all in my head, but it was enough that I wanted it away. So instead, I tucked it away in my trunk, buried under layers of miscellaneous junk, sheathed and wrapped in cloth.

Or at least, that's where it's supposed to be. My blood chills when I realize that the cloth that was supposed to be covering it is empty now. Ah, fuck. I frantically search through the rest of the trunk on the off chance that it got misplaced somehow. But no, there's no sign of it anywhere. The cloth was still neatly wrapped up, and I wouldn't have even noticed it was gone unless I'd touched it.

It's not paranoia if I start thinking of worst case scenerios first. And that would be that the Dark Lord somehow planned all of this, and snuck into my dorm and stole it from me. In that case, we're all screwed.

I sigh and close my trunk, and take Hogwarts, a History down to the common room to hand to Neville. He seems to have suddenly become the most popular person in our year, somehow. He's surrounded by a cluster of admirers even now.

"You're so brave, being able to be friends with Harry Potter," Lavender says.

"And Neville's the only one in our dorm who can approach him while he sleeps," Dean adds. "I get such chills whenever I try, I can't even get close."

"He's pure evil, I tell you," Seamus says.

"Quiet, you, he's coming," Neville says.

I pass the book over to Neville. "Here you go," I say.

"Thanks, Harry," Neville says.

I wander off to think. What am I going to do? I should probably tell Snape right away. This is bad. Even the best circumstances I can think of involve a random innocent student or house-elf with this thing, and that seems pretty unlikely. No, it had to have been Quirrell, somehow.

I head out of Gryffindor Tower and down to the dungeons to Snape's office. He needs to be warned, even if it looks bad on me. I don't even know how long the dagger has been missing. It could have been several days by now. I've obviously been inattentive, and that's dangerous.

"Yes, Potter, what is it?" Snape asks.

"Muffliato. Colloportus," I mutter habitually. "Professor, the dagger is missing."

Snape's face takes on a grave expression. "Bad enough that you bring this thing into the school, but now you tell me that you've lost it?"

"Yes, sir," I say. "This was all a mistake, I know. But I thought you should know."

Snape sighs heavily. "Fine, I'll give you credit for coming to me right away, if nothing else. But that doesn't even come close to canceling out your phenomenal stupidity that let things come to this in the first place."

"Yes, sir," I murmur. "I'm sorry, sir. It was my mistake. I'll take responsibility for the consequences."

"Fortunately for us, he is unlikely to try anything with it before the Vernal Equinox," Snape says. "If he were inclined to use it right away, he would have done so before you even realized it was missing. Until that point, we must do whatever we can to find and retrieve it."

"I'll see what I can do," I say. "I still have detentions with him every Sunday."

"See that you do," Snape says. "And keep in mind that this is all your fault."

"Yes, sir," I say meekly.

"Dumbledore has many secrets," Quirrell tells me during our next session. "He holds them close, and lets no one see all that he has done."

I haven't really had an opportunity to look around for the dagger yet, but I'm keeping my eyes open. "I know," I reply. "I don't really trust him."

"Do you realize that he's hiding something within this castle even now?" Quirrell says. "He warned the students about that mysterious corridor on the third floor on the first day of school, after which it was quickly put out of mind. Do you wonder what he's keeping there?"

"He didn't even tell you about it?" I ask. "Do you know something, Professor?"

"He did not," Quirrell says. "But I have my sources, and I have discovered what it is that he's hiding."

"What is it?" I ask.

"Tell me, Potter. What do you know of the Philosopher's Stone?"

"What's that?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

"It's said to be able to transmute lead into gold," Quirrell explains. "And it's used to brew the Elixir of Life, that can grant a person immortality."

"Wait, are you suggesting that this is what Dumbledore is hiding in the castle?" I ask.

"Indeed so," Quirrell says.

"Why?" I wonder, frowning. "I mean, I suppose he is getting pretty old. And I have no idea what the Hogwarts budget is like..."

"Who wouldn't want something like this?" Quirrell says. "All the wealth and life that you could hope for. Wouldn't you find that appealing?"

"Not really," I say. I already have more of both than I know what to do with right now. "I wouldn't mind studying it, though, but I don't know enough about alchemy to even know where to start, if I had it."

"What kind of person isn't motivated by the prospect of immortality?" Quirrell says. "Don't tell me you're the sort that thinks death is merely 'the next great adventure' or some such nonsense, are you? I'd thought better of you than that."

I shrug noncommittally. "Professor, at my age, the prospect of old age seems an awfully long way off to me."

"True, I suppose," Quirrell says. "Tell me, Potter. If you could have anything in the world, anything at all, what would you want?"

"A dragon," I reply offhandedly, fondly remembering Norbert.

"A... dragon?" Quirrell says, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah," I say. "Dragons are awesome!"

Quirrell sighs and rolls his eyes. "When given a choice of anything, including immortality and phenomenal power, you would choose a dragon? You disappoint me, Potter."

"Phenomenal power is nice, too," I say. "But dragons are in a whole class of their own. There's just no comparison." I can gain power and knowledge merely by patience and diligence, but I would have put it off a little if I could have spent a bit more time with Norbert.

Quirrell mutters something under his breath, and then says aloud, "Silly boy. Run along, then. This session is over."

By February, we still haven't found any sign of what happened to the dagger. I think I need to bring Hermione into this. She's way smarter than I am. I'd really like to tell her everything, but I'm not sure how I might break it to her. Still, I need to tell her something.

So, one Saturday morning, I take her aside and say quietly, "Hermione, can we talk in private, please?"

"Of course, Harry," Hermione says, putting aside the book she was reading and following me out of the common room.

I lead her out to an empty classroom, and pull out my wand. "Muffliato. Colloportus. Locus Timoris."

"What's with the spells?" Hermione wonders.

"I don't want any eavesdroppers or interruptions," I say. "This is important, and very secret. I trust you, Hermione, and I need your help."

"What is it?" Hermione asks.

"You might want to take a seat," I say, sighing. "This is going to take a while to explain, I think." We sit down, and I lean back heavily in my chair. "For starters, you've probably noticed that I seem to be ahead of you in every class, even when I intentionally try to downplay my abilities."

"I've noticed," Hermione says. "And I've wondered about that. I'd figured at first that it was because you had prior practice, but that doesn't quite explain it."

"Yeah," I say. "I'm a time traveler."

"Ah, of course, that makes sense," Hermione says.

"You aren't even surprised by that?" I say.

"Not really," Hermione says. "If you were much further ahead or seemed more mature, I would have started suspecting it myself."

"Wait, you think I still act like a kid?" I say, looking at her incredulously.

"Well, yeah," Hermione says. "Despite all your composure sometimes."

I snicker softly. "Alright, the truth is, I'm not eleven years old. I'm... twelve years old. Almost thirteen. I traveled back in time during second year."

"That explains it," Hermione says. "You only have two years more experience than the rest of us!"

"And second year was cut short by a terrible disaster that I hope to avert, as well," I say. "So I didn't even manage to finish the year."

"I see," Hermione says. "So what do you need my help with?"

"Things are going very differently this time," I say. "I'm not sure what I did to get things off course, but events are happening radically different than I expected. I'd like to think that I'm intelligent, but I'm not as smart as you, Hermione. I need to figure out what happened, and..." I sigh, and rub my temples.

"Tell me everything, then," Hermione says.

"Okay, let's start by getting the facts on the table," I say. I give her a quick recap about Quirrell, the Dark Lord, the Philosopher's Stone, and then finally come to the part about the missing ritual dagger.

Hermione listens, absorbing everything patiently. "This... can't mean anything good," Hermione murmurs once I'm done.

"Yeah," I agree. "We've been searching for the dagger, but haven't been able to come across any sign of where it went. I don't even know how it got out of my dorm. I suppose Quirrell must have snuck in while I was at classes or mealtime, or something."

"How would he even know about it, though?" Hermione asks.

"I imagine someone in the room full of Slytherins who saw me with it might have said something," I say dryly. "And incredibly, not one of them mentioned it to the DMLE."

"Well, they are Slytherins," Hermione says. "But what if it wasn't Quirrell that took it?"

"I wouldn't have put it past Snape or Dumbledore to take it to get it out of my hands and put it somewhere safer," I say. "But I'm sure they would have told me if they had. And lectured me about it. Draco might have known I had it, but he wouldn't have been able to get into the Gryffindor dormitory."

"What if it was a Gryffindor who did it?" Hermione says. "For that matter, someone, like Quirrell, might have convinced one of your dormmates to do it for them."

"Neville wouldn't do that," I say. "But I wouldn't put it past Ron or Seamus, or maybe Dean. Especially if they were convinced that they were taking an evil artifact away from an obviously evil person."

"Quirrell might not have even had to go into the dorm himself to get it, that way," Hermione says. "We could confront Ron, Seamus, and Dean and find out which one of them did it."

"Yes, but still, how would this help us find it?" I wonder. "Quirrell has it now, anyway."

"You're assuming that Quirrell has it now," Hermione says. "If he does, it would be a good idea to confirm it. If he doesn't, we need to start looking at other angles and find out who does have it."

I nod. "You have a point. Alright. We'll get Neville to back us up, and see about finding out the truth, then."

I cancel my spells, and we head back to the common room. I glance around the room. Good, all of my dormmates are present at the moment. We approach Neville, who is scritching away at a piece of parchment at the moment.

"Neville," I say quietly. "Sorry to interrupt your homework, but I think something was stolen from my trunk. I know you wouldn't do it, of course. But could you back us up? We're going to confront Ron, Seamus, and Dean about it."

"Alright," Neville says, frowning.

Ron and Seamus are playing chess, and Dean is off doing his own homework nearby. Neville goes over and brings in Dean so that I can speak to the three of them at once.

"What do you want, Potter?" Ron wonders.

I fold my hands across my chest and watch them carefully. "Who has been poking around in my trunk? Something was stolen from me, and I want it back. I don't know which one of you took it, but I'm none too happy about this. I'd rather not have to do anything drastic."

"Bugger off, Potter," Ron spits. "I don't know where your stupid evil dagger is."

I fix him with a glare. "I didn't mention what was stolen, Ron."

"You're already shaping up to be the next Dark Lord, and I'm not going to stand for it, Potter," Ron says. "I don't know what you were intending to do with that vile thing, but it's good that it's out of your hands!"

"What did you do with it?" I ask.

"You think I'm going to tell you?" Ron says.

I snort softly. "You have no idea what you're playing with here," I say. "How did you even know I had it?"

"Professor Quirrell told me you had it," Ron says. "Told me that you were planning to perform some evil ritual with it."

"Did you give it to Professor Quirrell?" I ask.

"No," Ron says. "I put it somewhere that you're never going to find it. So you might as well not even bother to look, Dark Lord Potter!"

I'm elated enough at that news that I almost smile openly. I'm no closer to finding it, but at least I know that Quirrell might not have it now. With the charms Lucius put on it, it'll be hard for anyone to find it at all. "Very well," I say neutrally. "I will spare you from retribution, for now."

I turn and walk away, followed by Neville and Hermione. "What was that all about?" Neville wonders.

"Muffliato," I murmur, flicking my wand. "Sorry I didn't explain the situation beforehand, Neville. I trust you, but we've been understandably trying to keep this under wraps."

"Is it bad if you don't get this dagger back?" Neville asks.

"It's alright," I say. "I'm actually pretty relieved. Right now, I just want to make sure that it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

"With the anti-tracking charms on it, it'll be hard for anyone to find it," Hermione says.

"Yeah, Ron is the only one who knows where it is..." I comment. Then I frown as something occurs to me. "That's not very secure, though. The Dark Lord is a skilled Legilimens. He could just pluck the location from Ron's mind, or control him with the Imperius Curse, or something. Argh, not relieved anymore!"

"Wait, You-Know-Who is involved?" Neville says in alarm.

"I need to see Professor Snape right now," I say. "Hermione, could you fill Neville in, please?"

"What should I tell him?" Hermione asks, looking at me imploringly.

Hermione isn't an Occlumens either. The Dark Lord could find out about the time travel from her mind now. Damn it, too late to worry about that now. She might have figured it out on her own, anyway. And if anyone can learn Occlumency, Hermione can. Neville, on the other hand... "About the dagger and Quirrell," I reply.

Hermione gives a nod. "Alright."

I make my way out down to Snape's office. Why didn't I think of questioning them sooner? I mentally thank Hermione for insisting on covering everything. Why didn't I think of asking Hermione for help sooner?

"What is it, Potter?" Snape asks.

"Muffliato. Colloportus," I mutter. "I don't think Quirrell has the dagger."

"What have you learned?" Snape asks.

"It was Ron Weasley who took it from my trunk," I say. "But he didn't take it to Quirrell. He said he put it somewhere that I'd never find it."

"So Quirrell may not have it yet," Snape says.

"But he could still take the information from Ron's mind, or force him to go retrieve it, or something," I say.

"Legilimency isn't always quite that easy," Snape says. "But you make a good point. We still ought to find it."

"Couldn't you use Legilimency on Ron yourself to find out where he put it?" I ask.

"I could," Snape says. "But if I solve this problem for you, you won't be seeing that dagger again yourself." His lips quirk into a bit of a smirk. "Are you willing to pay that price for my assistance?"

Right, I didn't think of that. I rub my temples. Is my pride really worth it? I have no idea what I might actually do with the dagger myself, anyway. "Fine," I say. "I really don't care if I never see the thing again. Just keep it out of the Dark Lord's hands."

"Finally, you're being sensible for a change," Snape says. "Very well. I shall see about extracting the information out of the Weasley's brain. Dumbledore does not approve of using Legilimency on students, but under the circumstances, I can't see how even he would disagree. Return to your common room and send him back here at once."

I nod, and head back up to Gryffindor Tower. Ron has gone back to his chess game in the meantime. "Ron!" I snap. "Snape wants to see you in his office, on the double! You're really in for it now!"

Ron mutters and stands up. "Sorry, Seamus," he says. He heads for the portrait hole, but on the way, he grabs me by the collar and hisses, "I should have known that you were collaborating with that greasy git. Don't think you've heard the end of this, Potter." He releases me roughly and leaves.

Hermione and Neville come up to me. "What does Snape want with him?" Neville asks.

"Snape will get to the bottom of this," I say after muttering Snape's charm for privacy again.

"You really trust Snape?" Neville wonders.

"Absolutely," I say.

"But, he's terrifying," Neville says. "And he looks obviously evil. And he takes points from you all the time, and he's really nasty in class. Why would you trust someone like that?"

I grin at him broadly. "It's complicated," I say. "I'll just have to ask that you take my word on it, please. Alright?"

"If you say so," Neville says dubiously.

"What do you two know about Occlumency?" I ask.

"What's that?" Neville wonders.

"I haven't heard of it," Hermione says, frowning.

"It's the art of protecting your mind from anyone trying to read it," I say. "In this sort of business, it is vitally important to know it, or someone might just pluck information right out of your head."

"I can see why that would be important to know," Hermione says.

"If I buy you both books on Occlumency, will you try to learn it?" I say. "It will make me feel a lot better about sharing secrets with you if I know someone can't just take them from your mind against your will."

"Of course, Harry," Hermione says.

"I'll do my best," Neville says. "I can't make any guarantees, though."

"It's alright, Neville," I say. "Just do your best and believe in yourself. Occlumency doesn't use a wand. It's all about learning to control your own mind. Magical ability doesn't have much to do with it."

"Maybe I can do it, then," Neville says, nodding.

"I'll see about making an owl order, then," I say.

"You know, if you want, I can cover the costs..." Neville says.

"Forget it," I say. "I'm asking you to do this for me. It's the least I can do to provide the means."

"Alright, then," Neville says.

I head off to make the order immediately. No sense in putting this off. I kind of wish that I had bought some books on Occlumency right away, but I didn't actually need them myself at that point, and it didn't occur to me that I might want someone else to learn it.

During lunch, Snape wanders past me in the Great Hall and says, "Come to my office after lunch."

"Yes, sir," I reply.

Ron has been looking pretty sour ever since he got back from Snape's office himself, but he hasn't said anything about it. He has, however, been glowering at me even more than usual.

I head down to see Snape after lunch. He casts several quick spells to ensure our privacy, and says, "It seems that retrieving the ritual dagger will not be quite so easy as I had hoped."

"Did you find out where Ron put it?" I ask.

"Yes," Snape says. "He hid it in the restroom on the seventh floor. However, there is no restroom on the seventh floor."

"Oh, great," I say, sighing. "Is it possible that his memory has been modified?"

"I did not detect any signs of tampering, but it is possible," Snape says.

"So, this looks like a dead end, then," I say.

"Unless this mysterious restroom materializes, then yes," Snape says. "However, still, should you recover the dagger yourself, I must ask that you hold to your agreement and surrender it to me."

"Yes, sir," I say. "I will. I promise."

A week later, I'm still worrying about the missing dagger, and it seems that now Ron hates me even more than he did before, if that were even possible. I went with Hermione and Neville several times this past week to scour the seventh floor, but we were unable to find any mysterious hidden restroom there.

I've heard rumor about a strange clothes-wearing elf helping out Kettleburn and Hagrid with the magical beasts. I've been meaning to visit Rispy, but I've been so concerned about finding the ritual dagger that I haven't made time for it. So the next Saturday, I decide to go see him.

"Harry," says Neville as I pass through the common room. "Hermione and I are doing Defense homework. Want to join us?"

"Maybe later," I say. "I'm heading out to see a friend at the moment. You want to come with for a bit? We can come back and do homework afterward."

"Sure," Neville says, and the two of them follow along after me.

"Who is this friend?" Hermione asks. "Which house is he in?"

"He's not a student," I say. "His name's Rispy."

We arrive at the right place eventually. Care of Magical Creatures isn't available until third year, so I haven't had a chance to take it yet. It takes a bit of searching and asking paintings to find the place we're looking for. Sure enough, there's Rispy, dressed up in real clothes again with a dagger strapped to his belt.

"Oh..." Hermione says upon seeing him. "What is he?"

Rispy looks up sharply upon our arrival and gives Hermione a bit of a glare.

"I'm sorry!" Hermione says. "That was awfully rude of me, wasn't it?"

Rispy's expression softens, and he gives her a smile. "Apology accepted," he says. "Although I must say I much prefer that sort of reaction to the attitudes of many wizards who are familiar with we elves."

"This friend you mentioned is a house-elf?" Neville says incredulously.

"Case in point," Rispy says, glaring at Neville instead.

"Rispy, these are my friends, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom," I say. "Guys, this is Rispy. Do not call him a house-elf."

"Sorry," Neville says.

"I am a free being, and I do not approve of the institutionalized slavery of my people," Rispy says, approaching us. "But if you are willing to refrain from treating me as a lesser being, I will be happy to be your friend."

As he comes closer, my eyes fall upon the weapon at his waist. It's a different one than he had before, with an ornate hilt. It looks familiar...

"Rispy, where did you get that dagger?" I ask.

"I found it in the Come-and-Go Room," Rispy says. "Stuff gets misplaced there all the time. The other elves weren't sure who it belonged to, and I liked it, so I claimed it as my own."

"May I see it?" I ask.

"Sure," Rispy says, taking it off and handing it to me.

I pull the dagger out of its sheath and examine it closely. Sure enough, it's the same dagger, still stained with fresh blood. I breathe a sigh of relief. "Rispy," I say. "You are my fucking savior."

"Huh?" Rispy says, looking at me in confusion.

"Is that...?" Hermione says, peering over at it.

I put the dagger back into its sheath. "Look, I promised to take this back to Professor Snape if I found it," I say. "But I'll buy you a new weapon. I'll have it custom made with all the expensive enchantments you could possibly want."

"You were looking for that dagger?" Rispy says. "Well... I suppose it wasn't mine to begin with, then."

I reach down and hug Rispy tightly. "Thank you so much," I say. "You've just totally saved my skin."

"But I certainly won't complain about taking up your offer of a shiny new weapon," Rispy says with a grin.

"Make me up a wish list of what you want it to do," I say. "And I'll see what I can do." I gesture to Neville and Hermione. "I'd best get this to Snape right away." I tuck it away in my bag of holding for the moment.

As we're walking away, Hermione says, "So what's this about elvish slavery?"