Comes a Slytherin

6. Warmonger

Harry walked the empty corridors back to Gryffindor tower, repeating the forms Methos had taught him, desperately trying to commit them to memory so that he'd do well on tomorrow's transfiguration quiz to prevent McGonagall's wrath. Although he'd lost count after the twelfth repetition, he'd estimated he was somewhere near twenty when he heard voices drifting down towards him.

Too soft to recognize, he frowned and drew his wand. While he was certain that Methos had not kept any other basilisks in the castle, that still left a lot of options for whom or what the mysterious voices belonged to. Drawing his wand, he slowly made his way forth. As he got closer, the voices became more distinct, and as he heard the shrill voice of McGonagall, he put his wand back, realizing he was safe. Safe, but curious.

He crept down the hall even further, until he could hear exactly what they were saying.

"The boy needs guidance, Severus!"

The potions teacher laughed. "You call telling a student that he won't be able to perform up to standards on the N.E.W.T.S because he's not behaving in an a perfectly acceptable manner that is not dictated by you personally guidance?”

Harry could almost hear the sneer. Part of him wanted to move on, being well and truly sick of arguments about him. The rest of him, the part that had just had to know, won out and he stayed put. If they were going to argue about him, he wanted to know what was said.

"I resent that, Severus! The boy's recent work was lacking."

"Give me a break, Minerva! I've seen his work! While it may not be on the level of Miss Granger, it's certainly more than decent enough for him to pass—both the written and the practical. There hasn't even been time for them to slip to a point where Mr. Potter could fail."

"Why do you care so much, Severus?"

"I refuse to let you bully around anyone just because Dumbledore deems it so."

"Dumbledore?" Harry mouthed to himself in the silence that followed Snape's accusation.

Finally, she responded. "We're just trying to do what's best for him. He's still just a boy!"

Harry crept closer to the door.

Snape snorted. "When was Harry Potter ever just a boy, Minerva? Dumbledore never let him be one! Let's try to figure out the day he ceased being one, shall we? Perhaps it was the day Potter fought the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets unaided? Or maybe it was before that. Maybe it was the day we had to line the path to the Mirror of Erised with puzzles to theoretically "stop" the boy from getting through? He is not a boy. He is a man, and since Christmas, his world had gotten five, no ten times more complicated and dangerous! He must learn to survive on his own, Minerva. If survival means that he's a little more Slytherin that our dear Gryffindor-loving headmaster likes, then so be it! You and Dumbledore will just have to accept it and move on."

McGonagall said nothing.

"Think about it, Minerva. Albus has good intentions, but doesn't always go about things in the right way. Loyalty is good, blind loyalty dangerous." He paused. "Potter is going to be on his own sooner or later. The longer Albus waits to cut the strings, the greater the chance that he won't survive when he finally can think for himself."

Harry scowled; he thought for himself quite a bit, thankyouverymuch.

"If you don't trust him to think for himself, Severus, then why do you care what Albus does?"

"We've no proof that Potter makes intelligent decisions. All his actions up to now have been dictated by our dear Headmaster's whims, or are ones that have been decided by pure Gryffindor foolishness, which I'm quite sure is Albus' work." Bitterly, Severus added, "After all in Albus' view, you have to be certain that the damned brat will let himself be killed to save the world, because Merlin forbid that he have to do anything that would make him leave his cozy office."

Silence.

Finally, Minerva asked, "Just why do you care so much, Severus? You've never shown any sign of liking the boy."

Harry couldn't wait to hear the answer. He knew it was going to be good.

"Simple, Minerva. If Potter dies, then I lose my quite entertaining hobby of Potter baiting."

"Severus!"

Harry snorted to himself. Of course.

"We all have our pastimes, Minerva. Don't begrudge me mine."

Harry had a feeling that this particular argument could go on all night. Making sure to stay out of the light, Harry snuck by the office, and returned to Gryffindor tower.

* * *
Lunchtime chatter filled the Great Hall with a buzz of business that only barely registered with Harry today his mind still digesting the conversation of last night.

He picked at his shepherd’s pie and studied the Head Table. Snape was engaged in an discussion with Duncan, and Methos talking animatedly with Madam Pince, undoubtedly over some book he found in the corner of the Restricted Section. Flitwick was talking with his usual gaiety to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore. Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. Dumbledore saw him and smiled politely.
Harry frowned. He had to ask Dumbledore if what Sirius said was true; if what Snape said was true. He had to know.

He chatted pleasantly with his housemates for the rest of the meal period, keeping an eye on Dumbledore. He got jabbed in the arm playfully more then once, as he seemed unable to keep his mind on the conversations at hand. Right now, who was going to win on the professional Quidditch circuit just didn't seem as important.

Finally though, he saw Dumbledore getting ready to leave. He excused himself from the table after promising to play chess with Ron later that afternoon, before running up to Dumbledore.

"Excuse me, sir. May I talk to you? In private?"

"For you, Harry, any time. Follow me."

With trepidation, Harry followed him through the twisty passages and up the staircase to his office. He said hello to Fawkes before taking a seat. He felt rather small all of a sudden, like he was a first year again.

"How can I help you, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath, and looked Dumbledore straight in the eyes.

"Why did you lie to me?"

"I have never lied to you Harry."

"Yes, you did. About my godfather. You said that Sirius wouldn't be coming to visit me because Adam opposed it. But that's not true."

"Why would I try to keep you from him?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. But I've only been able to see him once this year, whereas in the past you were more free with his visits."

"You saw him, Harry?" The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye suddenly dimmed a little.

"I did. A few days ago." He took another deep breath. "Adam set it up and brought him here."

Dumbledore paused, seemingly a little confused about how he could have got in without anyone knowing. Certainly no one had seen the oversized dog on the grounds.

"I see."

"And he said that you hadn't written to him in quite some time, and that Adam set up the meeting."

Silence stretched between them for another minute. "I see," Dumbledore repeated. He pushed a small bowl of candies towards Harry. "Lemon drop?"

Harry pushed the bowl back. "No disrespect meant, sir, but I want the truth, not some sweets. Why did you lie to me, especially over something like this? Why say anything at all?"

Dumbledore was trapped, and both knew it. Harry waited to see what answer Dumbledore could possibly give him.

"I was only doing what I thought to be right, Harry."

"How is keeping me from my godfather right?" Harry asked incredulously. "He's the only family I've got!"

"You see, Harry…"

Harry shook his head. "You can't even tell me the truth, can you? Professor Snape was right, wasn't he? I'm just a puppet, meant to kill Voldemort for you."

"Mr. Potter!"

Bitterly, Harry replied, "I should have known that you had more then just my own best interests at heart. How can I trust anything you tell me now, Professor? How can I trust you?”

Dumbledore stayed silent.

"I see." Harry pushed himself up with shaky arms. "I see."

He left.

* * *
Methos got the summons to Dumbledore's office that evening after detention had finished being served.

As soon as he entered the office, Methos took a seat, and without hesitating, began, "Hello, Albus. How may I help you?"

"When did you bring Sirius Black here?"

"Two days ago."

"How did you bring him here?"

Methos smirked slightly. "I helped build this castle. The castle remembers me. Don't bother searching for the passage I used. You'll never find it."

Dumbledore ignored the taunt. "Why did you bring Sirius here?"

Methos rolled his eyes, "What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? Why shouldn't I have brought Black here? Harry has a right to see his godfather."

The elderly wizard leaned forward. "Surely your reasons went beyond a bit of generosity, Mr. Pierson."

Methos shrugged, not denying the accusation. "You deliberately tried to manipulate my student into not trusting me. Unfortunately for you, we'd had a talk about this the day after I arrived. I simply exposed the lie. The boy has to learn sooner or later."

"I find it interesting, Mr. Pierson, that you would try to expose me as a manipulator, when you are worse than I am."

"At least Harry has always known what I am, due to my reputation, and now that he knows me personally, he knows full well of what I'm capable of—the difference between us though, is that I have never manipulated him, not in the ways that you have." Methos stood. "I presume there's nothing else?"

Dumbledore shook his head.

Methos headed towards the stairs, but stopped before he was out of Dumbledore's sight. "Godric Gryffindor was a fool, but even he knew that provoking me was a bad idea. I can be a nice person. I want to be a nice person; but if you provoke me enough, I will do whatever it takes to win. And I will win. Goodnight, Professor Dumbledore."

Methos left.

Seconds later, Albus Dumbledore grabbed a quill and piece of parchment and began to write.

* * *
There was a perceptible tension in the Great Hall for the next few days. Snape and McGonagall spoke to each other only when strictly necessary, and even then with only the barest pretenses of civility. Harry refused to look at Dumbledore, and now Flitwick had to spend his time dividing conversation between Methos (who had won him over with a few unique charms) and Dumbledore, who he couldn't pull into one conversation to save himself.

Three days after the fight between Methos and Dumbledore, the Malfoys' eagle owl came soaring into the great hall. No one took mind of it; the owls were always coming in and out at breakfast time. What was surprising was that instead of heading for Draco like it always did, it instead landed aside Methos' platter.

Raising an eyebrow, he took the scroll, and gave her a few Knuts before sending her off to the owlery. He wasn't expecting anything, and Lucius generally preferred to fire talk with him if he had news to send. What ever it was, it was bound to be important.

He took the scroll, and unwrapped to discover a second piece of parchment. He set that aside, and began to read Lucius' elegant hand writing,

Adam,

It appears that Dumbledore is unhappy with you. He sent along this petition to the Board of Governor's several days ago. It appears he wants you removed. Although I may not be on the Board myself anymore, I do still have quite an influence over the other members. To get to the point, your position at Hogwarts is secured through the time of Mr. Potter completing his education. The other governors agree that a fully trained Harry Potter is more than worth Dumbledore's discomfort about your presence, especially since he has nothing to prove his claims of illicit magic with.

I have enclosed a copy of the petition with my letter, so you may know for yourself exactly what was said.

Until our next luncheon, Adam

Lucius Malfoy

Methos frowned, and quickly scanned the petition. Dark magic indeed. How could anything he taught Harry be considered "Dark" magic when the magics themselves predated the invention of it?

"And you wonder why I haven't been more friendly with Dumbledore, Duncan." Methos muttered and passed the two notes over to a confused Duncan and Snape. "Excuse me."

He stood up, and walked towards the giant double doors that lead into the Great Hall; Dumbledore had just excused himself having received his morning mail. Methos could see the Ministry seal on the letter in his hand.

"That was rather a cheap move, Albus. Shame for you I've got friends in high places."

"Lucius Malfoy has no friends, only pawns."

"I think you'll find it the other way around this time, Dumbledore. Besides, it's just an expression."

"Are you done, Mr. Pierson?"

"No. Not quite. I am going to be here through the rest of term because the Ministry has ordered you to let me stay put. Believe me that I'm planning to take full advantage of it. While Hogwarts may be plenty big, it's going to get smaller and smaller if you persist in fighting with me. If you continue to drive me out, I'll move our lessons to one of the numerous secret chambers that can only be opened by Parseltongue, removing him from your presence all together. So what do you say, you ignore me, I ignore you, and we both refrain from manipulating Harry?"

Dumbledore pointed ignored Methos and began walking again.

"That's mature." Methos returned to the head table, and the few students who had strained their hearing to pick up on what was going on started buzzing amongst themselves over choice piece of news.

He returned to the head table. "I'm suddenly not hungry any more," he told Duncan. "I'll see you later."

Duncan made a move to stand, but Methos shook his head, and left the Great Hall.

* * *
Things quieted down a bit over the next few days as Harry refused to give any answers about what was going on, and no one—not even the faculty—were stupid enough to ask Snape what the problem was. A few had approached McGonagall, but she was equally tight lipped. Bored, the students had moved on, but there were subtle changes to be found, if one knew where to look.

Harry continued to do his best in Charms and Potions—although he didn't really have much choice, considering both Adam and Snape were all too good at "incentives" for better performance, should he not do as well as expected. He still made up his Divination homework with Ron, although after four years, they'd been forced to start repeating ways for Harry to die, and some predictions—like that he'd get killed by a blue spotted double-ended skrewt were so ridiculous that not even Trelawney bought them.

In Transfiguration, though, he only did what was necessary to keep McGonagall off his back, and nothing more. Oddly enough though it didn't seem to be much more then the work he'd done before the last chat with her. He didn't question the change, however, and took advantage of the bit of free time to relax.

Relaxation. Something that had seemed foreign to Harry since the term started again; he'd been so busy with schoolwork, revision, practices and "detention" with Snape. Free time had become a precious commodity, and he'd learned to savor it. Which was why he was currently engaged in a game of Wizard's Chess with Duncan. For once, he was actually winning. The fact that Duncan's men continually quarreled amongst themselves while Harry's were more or less were used to him didn't help the older Immortal any. He'd just trapped Duncan's king in check again when they both felt Methos heading towards the room. Looking up from the board, they saw a rather dejected Methos.

Duncan stood up. "What's wrong? Is it Dumbledore again?"

Methos shook his head. "I wish. At least he's easy to deal with."

"What is it then?" Harry asked, before sharply reprimanded his pieces to be quiet once they'd started to whine that they wanted to finish the game and vanquish Duncan's king.

"It's Lucius. He wants me to go to a Death Eater meeting."

Silence.

Finally, Duncan asked hesitantly, "That's bad, isn't it?"

"Things could get very messy, very quickly."

"Do you have to go?" asked Harry.

Methos nodded. "I owe it to the man. I'm still here, after all. And after the past weeks of seeming to be interested in the group it would seem rather odd as to why I wouldn't want to go."

Harry nodded. "And an upset Malfoy is never a good thing."

"You've dealt with him before, haven't you?" asked Duncan.

"Yes. It's right up there with serving detention for Snape on my list of fun things to do."

The other Immortals laughed. "Poor you," Methos teased, "I'll be sure to tell Severus that."

Harry grinned. "Don't bother. He already knows."

Duncan smiled, but it quickly disappeared. "So you're going to go, aren't you?"

"I don't really see another alternative."

"You'd better have a plan, Methos. Voldemort's a bit…touchy sometimes."

Methos laughed. "That's an interesting way of putting it. I've got a bit of time before I have to go. I need to do a bit of research though. If I remember correctly, there's some pretty powerful Egyptian death magic…of course, it's been almost three thousand years since I did any of it."

Harry gave him a curious look. "Methos?"

"One day, I'll give you that talk on just how old I really am."

Harry blinked. "Okay."

Duncan asked the more important question. "If it's been so long, how are you going to remember any of it?"

"My journal. You don't think I just kept laundry lists in there, do you?"

Duncan snorted. "Somehow, I didn't think so." He frowned for a second. "You put preservation spells on them, didn't you?"

Methos nodded, pleased with Duncan's question. "Of course. Books like that just don't survive on their own without a little bit of assistance."

"Diary?" Harry asked, just a little nervous. He really didn't need any more magic diaries in his life.

"I've been keeping it as long as I can remember. When I need more space, I just add a bit more parchment in. I've had it since the days I first began to study magic. It was a gift to me from the High Priest of Set so I could keep track of my studies. I've had it with me ever since. It chronicles everything from my studies, to people I met, to just random things I wanted to capture about the place and time I was living in. When you get to be my age, the memory starts to go a bit."

Harry snickered at that thought, prompting Methos to swat at his head lazily. "I'm not senile, you know."

"Of course not," Harry said innocently.

Methos sighed. "I'm just glad Kalas didn't destroy it. We'd be up the bloody Nile without a paddle right now if he did."

"Who's Kalas?"

Duncan smiled sympathetically, a touch happy that for once he actually knew what Methos was talking about. "An old enemy. When this is all done we'll sit back, and I'll tell you a few stories."

Methos pointed his thumb at Duncan. "A few? He could go on for a decade with the enemies he's fought." He looked at his watch. "I'd better get to my research. I've only got two weeks to find and try to get that spell down pat. Ah, blessed caffeine, what on earth would I do with out you? If you need me, I'll be in my study. Harry, for the time being, I want you to keep practicing with Duncan, and work on refining what I've already taught you. If I can find what I need in time, maybe I'll teach you the spell as I'm relearning it. It couldn't hurt."

"Yes, sir." Harry replied.

Methos nodded at the two Immortals and left the room.

"Can he do it, Duncan?" Harry asked.

Duncan nodded. "If there's any Immortal out there who can, it's Methos. After all," he forced a smile, "surviving is what he does best."

"I hope so."

Duncan noticed the unsettled look on Harry's face. "Something wrong, Harry?"

"It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Well, for the past seven years of my life, I've always been told about how I defeated Voldemort again, and again. How he's always been after me, and how one day we'll face each other in some kind of final battle, where the Light and I will again triumph and Voldemort will be defeated again once and for all. If Methos kills Voldemort…what's left for me? It'll be like I let everyone down because I didn't do what was expected of me."

Duncan looked at Harry. "I know how you feel. It just seems like something that although you didn't start it, you feel obligated to finish it."

Harry nodded. "Exactly."

"Tell me, Harry, have you ever refused to go after Voldemort when you specifically knew that he was up to something, or to try and stop him?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"And you've defeated him in the past before, yes?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, but I don't get what you're leading to."

"You aren't shirking on your duty. You've done all that you can, and you've done an amazing job of it as well. I'm sure most fully-grown wizards could never accomplish all that you have. Look, as much as we may wish they would, things don't always resolve in ways that we would like. If Methos has to kill Voldemort, then I hope to god that he's successful, but I certainly won't look down on you for not killing him, nor will anyone else. Why? Because he'll be dead. Unable to hurt anyone else, unable to kill anyone else, and isn't that what this is al labout?"

Harry nodded. "I suppose."

"It's not easy to swallow, and something I still have trouble managing myself, but sometimes, you just have to."

"I'll try," Harry said.

Duncan smiled. "Good, and in the mean time, you can help Methos research."

Harry groaned. "I hate research, and besides, I thought Methos wanted me to keep practicing."

"Even Methos needs a little help now and then."

Harry smiled at that, and let Duncan lead him to the stack of books on Egyptian magic.

* * *
A week and a half after Methos had got news of the Death Eater meeting, Harry sat in the Quidditch stands watching the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams fly overhead in a scrimmage match. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone flying; just learning how to fight had taken up so much of his time. The added pressure of trying to get Methos' death magic up to par again hadn't helped, and left Harry with almost no time to breathe, let alone do something as frivolous as fly. He still took care of his Firebolt, but when one didn't fly, one didn't have a lot of maintenance to do. He'd heard rumors that a non-competitive Quidditch league was going to open up in the spring for those who didn't play on the house teams. He wondered if they'd let him play, or if they'd disqualify him because he'd be seen as too much of an advantage for one team to have him on their side. Failing that, there was the occasional pick up match.

"I bet they wouldn't even let me play that," he muttered bitterly to himself. Quidditch was Quidditch, the risk still there, and the danger of being discovered. Probably not, he decided.

"Play what, Harry?"

Harry turned around and saw Seamus standing above him.

"Oh, hey Seamus. Just the spur-of-the-moment Quidditch matches."

"Who'd stop you?"

"Professor Snape. Who else?" He didn't feel like mentioning Adam.

"Why'd he care if you play a pick-up match? It's not like it counts for House points. Not that Gryffindor is going to win this year anyway." From where the points stood now, Slytherin stood to sweep the Quidditch season. Without the added points, and the distinct possibility that Harry wouldn't be getting any last minutes from Dumbledore this year it seemed likely that Slytherin, or possibly even Ravenclaw would take the House Cup.

Harry didn't look at his friend. "I don't want to explain. It's…complicated."

Seamus shrugged. "Whatever, I won't press it."

"Why are you here?" Harry asked

"I can't come see how my friend is? You've seemed a bit lost the past few days."

Harry chuckled weakly. "You've found me." He got a light punch on his shoulder for his trouble.

"You know I didn't mean it that way, Harry."

He smiled. "I know."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I want to but…"

"It's complicated," Seamus finished for him.

"Yeah. I'm sorry." He was sorry. He desperately wished he could tell anyone—Ron, Hermione, the other boys in his dormitory, even Hagrid, but he wouldn't break the promise to Adam. He understands all too well why he had to keep it to himself.

"It's about You-Know-Who, isn't it? That's why you've got to keep it a secret. It's all right. I'm sure I'll hear all about it at the end of term after you've earned us a ton of bonus points and the House Cup." Seamus replied.

"Yeah," Harry said hollowly.

"Come on. Cheer up. The guys and I are starting a Exploding Snap tournament. Winner gets a case of butter beer, a bottle of fire whiskey, and a servant in the runner up for a week. We've got people from all the houses signed up, even Malfoy's playing."

Harry perked up. Malfoy the house elf, for an entire week. He grinned to himself just at the thought of making him wear a suitably enlarged pillowcase for the week. "Count me in."

"I knew I could count on you. Come on!"

Harry laughed and followed Seamus back into the castle.

* * *
Though Harry didn't win, and Malfoy didn't end up in a pillowcase (although Terry Boot did look rather fetching, if a little green at the thought of serving Goyle—and by proxy Malfoy—who by some act of God had managed to win), watching the tournament proved to be great fun, and he was glad that he'd joined up. Ron had even got Hermione to come down and watch, and Seamus had dug up some liquor to spike the punch that Harry had got Dobby to serve them. The teachers had even left them alone, perhaps because they didn't know about the alcohol part of their wager.

At the moment, he was cheering Boot on as he was paraded around in his new day wear, a pillow case in Slytherin green trimmed with silver stain ribbon on the edges, when Harry felt the buzz of an Immortal approaching. Setting his drink down, he quickly headed for the door, hoping to get to it before Duncan could get inside, so that his friends could continue to party.

He made it, but only just. "I'll talk to you out there Duncan, please? I don't want them to get into trouble."

Whatever news Duncan had brought, it was important enough that Duncan didn't even fight it; instead he just nodded.

Harry had one of the Patil twins let Ron and Hermione know that he'd gone, and quickly left the room.

With a hushed voice, Duncan said, "It's Adam. He's got to go, tonight."

"But I thought it wasn't for another four days!"

"Yeah, so did he. Plans change. Everyone's being summoned tonight."

"Bollocks."

Duncan smiled grimly. "You can say that again. Come on, Adam wants to see you."

They hurried down the hall down to the Slytherin dungeons, into Methos' suite. Adam stood there pacing back and forth, wearing not his customary working robes, but rather ones made out of white wool. Harry frowned. He was pretty sure Death Eaters wore black robes.

"Like my outfit, Harry? Just transfigured them myself." Methos moved over to where his journal lay open to one of the numerous pages with spells on them, and began running a finger over the hieroglyphs. Both Methos and Harry agreed that once this was all over they were going to sit down and do some serious translation, so if there was a next time, the spells would be there in easier-to-read English.

"But Death Eater's wear black," Harry pointed out.

"I'm not a Death Eater, am I?" Methos asked, not looking up.

"No. I suppose you’re not."

Quietly, MacLeod said, "No. You're Death."

Methos simply nodded. "If Lucius or Voldemort think that they can control me, or get me to join the Death Eaters, they're wrong. Besides, it will help me stand out. I'm Salazar Slytherin, a man looked up to as some kind of God by many of these people. I should stand out. It will make things all the more poignant if I have to resort to killing Voldemort."

"But they won't get the reference."

Methos shook his head. "It's not for them that I wear it. It's for me. To remind myself that I can do this."

Realization hit Harry. "You're scared, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. You'd be a fool not to be."

"I didn't…" Harry blushed. "I didn't think you would be. You've been so calm and collected about it all week."

Methos looked up. "Fear isn't a bad thing, as long as you don't let it overwhelm you. Unless we're talking phobias, you fear something because it's a risk to you and your well being. I'm all about staying in one piece." He started muttering Egyptian under his breath, before cursing. "Damn. I wish we had a test animal in here. I need more practice."

"Could we transfigure something?" Harry asked. The past week they'd been clearing the grounds of some of the slugs that had inhabited Professor Sprout's greenhouses; she'd been rather pleased to have a volunteer to keep her garden clean, even if she didn't know why Harry wanted them.

Methos thought about it. "I'm not really sure. This kind of spell is similar to the magic of the Dementors—it carries the soul away to another plane. I don't know if a transfigured animal has the necessary consciousness."

"We could find out."

"How?" asked Duncan.

Harry frowned, and then took a fairly new book off the shelf. He concentrated and with a rather decisive flick of the wand turned the book into a rather impressive boa constrictor like he'd seen at the zoo so long ago. "We ask."

Methos laughed. "Clever boy. Do you want to ask, or shall I?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll do it." He looked at the snake, and his eyes unfocused a bit.

"Do you remember being a book?"

"What'sssss a book?"

Methos frowned. "Guess not."

Harry thanked it, ended the spell and replaced the book back on the shelf.

"I'll take it that was a no?" hazarded Duncan.

Methos nodded. "Yeah. It looks like we'll just have to wing it, and pray that things don't get that bad."

Everyone seemed to get lost in their own thoughts then. Finally, Duncan asked, "When do you leave?"

Methos looked up at the clock. "I'd better get going. I'm to meet Lucius at his house in twenty minutes. We're going to eat, and then when he gets summoned go to the meeting."

"Does Snape know about it?"

"No, why would he?" Methos asked as he took off his robe and placed it over his arm. It looked so different from the robes he normally wore that he didn't want to raise anyone's suspicions

"He didn't tell you? I mean; he's a Death Eater too. Well, he was one. He's been spying on Voldemort for Dumbledore for years."

"He is? I wonder why he hasn't said anything," Duncan wondered.

"I doubt it’s something he’s proud of."

"Then I'd better go now and let him know. I'm sure he'll appreciate the warning." He walked towards the door, patting Duncan on his shoulder. "I promise I'll be back. I don't know when, but I will return."

Duncan nodded. "Be careful, Methos"

Methos nodded. "Thanks, Highlander." He left.