The Scent of Lightning

Chapter Three

What was this? The two-hundredth time? Three-hundredth? Once again, Hermione had been right. Often this made Ron proud. Sometimes it made him irritated. Today definitely fit into the irritated category, although some of that probably had to do with the fact that he was mad at her already.

Ron tried again. "Sir, I really think we need to take this seriously."

"I appreciate your concern," Robards said, "but I'm afraid a dusty book written by a wizard who has been dead for a thousand years - even if he was Salazar Slytherin - is not going on my list of priorities."

"But what if Harry's right about the whole 'coming back from the dead' thing?"

"In the first place, you had no business showing classified information like this to Potter."

"Yes, sir," Ron muttered.

"Regulations to the side, I am not really interested in Mr. Potter's views on the matter. He has already shown himself to be biased and melodramatic in any subject relating to his past - a fact which led to his dismissal from this department. I'm sure Potter naturally made the connection from Slytherin to Voldemort and that connection would certainly cloud his judgment."

"I don't think - "

Robards held up a hand. "I will send this book, along with Potter's translation, on to the Spell Theory Committee. When they get to it and what they do with it will be up to them."

"Yes, sir." Ron knew that without any extra prodding from Robards, it would likely be months before the committee even looked at it.

"Now, about this Ives case," Robards went on, clearly signaling that all discussion of Slytherin was at an end. "A team went through his flat yesterday and they found a letter from a Theodore Nott, whose name, I'm sure, is quite familiar to you." Ron nodded grimly. "The letter doesn't say much - just that Nott wants to get together with Ives, talk about old times at Hogwarts or something. I want you to go see Nott, ask him if he knows anything about the odd circumstances of Ives's death."

Glumly, Ron accepted the file Robards handed to him. Great, just what he had wanted to do - see an old Slytherin classmate again. He went to his office, shut the door. If Harry was there, they would be reminiscing about the stupidity of Crabbe and Goyle, how Snape always favored his own house, the time Fred and George stuck Montague in the Vanishing Cabinet. Then again, maybe they wouldn't. Now that Harry was with Draco, he seemed to have a new philosophy about Slytherins in general. Well, just so he didn't end up with a Malfoy-Nott-Potter love triangle on his hands, he wouldn't complain.

Ron took a Chocolate Frog from his desk drawer and unwrapped it, staring moodily at the picture of Morgana. Her again. "How can you spend thirteen years with someone and find out that you don't know them at all?" he asked her. She gave him a saucy smile and then disappeared out of the frame.

It was true, Ron thought. Harry, Hermione - they were like different people these days. Ron still couldn't believe it sometimes that Harry was friends with, in love with Draco Malfoy. Every time Harry and Draco came over for dinner, held hands, kissed, it was like his world slipped into another reality.

And it was hard, too. Ron had thought he had the future figured out. He and Harry working together as Aurors. Going to Quidditch matches together. Harry married to Ginny. Seeing their kids get onto the Hogwarts Express for the first time.

Which brought him to Hermione. Now she was doing it to him, too. It wasn't that he didn't think it was brilliant that she worked at St. Mungo's - that she was brilliant. It wasn't like he hadn't known Hermione would be committed to her career.

But, Ron admitted to himself, at some point he had thought that would slow down. A few years into their marriage and he had pictured them with a new baby - Hermione happily ensconced in the huge library they would have in their house. A house, not a flat in London, but a house out in the country with lots of secret nooks and odd angles. A house with trees around it so he and Harry, who conveniently lived just over the hill, could play Quidditch without being seen by any Muggles.

Instead, Hermione spent all her time at work or researching dangerous projects that she shouldn't have gotten involved with in the first place, Harry was off playing Quidditch and sleeping with Malfoy, and Ron had to interrogate the slimy sons of Death Eaters and drink coffee that was more like flavored water. Ron knew that wasn't fair or true (except for the coffee), but it was how he felt, dammit.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione knew when she woke up, the morning after she and Ron fought, that they needed to sit down and talk about this like a mature, married couple. But Ron was being moody and disagreeable and she was upset and so instead of talking about it they just stopped talking all together. Ron stayed late at the Ministry, and Hermione threw herself into researching Slytherin's spell, determined to figure it out.

It took her two weeks of staying up until two in the morning or later. Then, one afternoon while mixing medicines, the solution hit her. She consulted her notes and Slytherin's equations once more, just to be sure. Yes. That was it. She hastily informed Irene she didn't feel well and needed the afternoon, off, and then rushed from St. Mungo's, Apparating to the Cannon's practice field.

The team was working on defensive maneuvers, a few fans gathered in the stands. Hermione spotted Harry hovering by one of the goalposts and waved frantically to get his attention. Harry flew down to her.

"Hermione, what is it? Is everything okay?"

"I solved it, Harry! I figured out the spell!"

Oliver was yelling something at them, but Harry ignored him, stepping closer. "And?" he asked quietly. "Is it what I thought?"

"I'm afraid it is," Hermione began. Harry turned pale, and his knuckles whitened where they clutched his broom. "But that doesn't mean Slytherin is back," she added hastily. "Can you take the afternoon off? I need to explain all this to you."

Harry hesitated, glancing up at the other players circling above them. "Okay," he said at last. "Let me tell Oliver."

Oliver, Hermione could tell, was not happy. There was a lot of shouting and gesticulating, but at last Harry flew back down, red in the face. "I'll just change and then we'll go," he said.

Hermione took him to a small coffee shop near the pitch. "You were right about what Slytherin was trying to do," she said after they had both ordered a drink. "The spell, however, doesn't exactly bring someone back from the dead. All it does is open a portal to the afterlife and allow someone to step back into this world."

"How would that help?"

"I'm not exactly sure of all the mechanics," Hermione confessed, "but I don't think Slytherin was, either. I think he was taking the chance that whatever he experienced after he died would give him the knowledge of how to get back through. You see, the spell is on a timer. Every ten years it's set off, opening the portal for a few minutes. Then, if Slytherin didn't come back through, the spell would go dormant for another ten years."

"So if the spell is still active, that means Slytherin hasn't come back, right?" Harry said. "And we could deactivate it, make sure he never comes back?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"So how do we go about doing that?'

"Well," Hermione continued, "it happens that portals like this can only be set up in specific locations. The only one in England is at a place called Dragon Hill, near Uffington."

"Dragon Hill? Sounds familiar."

Hermione nodded. "It's a famous site, even among Muggles. There's a huge chalk portrait of a white horse on a nearby hill that was created in the Bronze Age. And, according to legend, Dragon Hill is where St. George slew the dragon."

"So what do dragons have to do with Slytherin's spell?"

Hermione sat up a little straighter and went into her "textbook mode." "Not much. Legend aside, Dragon Hill was actually an important site for the ancients when they were carrying out Beltane rituals. They would construct a bonfire on top of the hill to celebrate the coming of summer. Now Beltane, along with Samhain, are the only two times of the year when portals to other worlds can be opened. I'm betting that Slytherin set up the spell to go off on one of those two dates on top of Dragon Hill where such rituals had often been carried out."

Harry grinned. "You're brilliant, Hermione."

Hermione fidgeted with her cup, trying not to look too pleased. "Up for a trip to Uffington?"

v.v.v.v.v.v.

They had to rent a car, as they couldn't Apparate to a place they had never been, but it only took them about two hours to get from London to Uffington. The city had gradually given way to a charming rural countryside. Signs led them to a small car park and path that led to the White Horse. Not that it was hard to miss. The white chalk figure could be seen miles before they had arrived.

"That's amazing," Harry said.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Too bad you can't see the whole thing from down on the ground."

"Fancy a broom ride?"

Hermione gave him a look. "No, Harry. We aren't going to breach the Statutes of Secrecy today. Besides, we aren't here for the White Horse - we're here for that," she said, pointing.

Dragon Hill's flat top clearly identified it from other hills in the area. The sun was out and it wasn't too chilly, so they decided to walk the short distance from the White Horse to the Hill.

"We got a Christmas tree yesterday," Harry said as they trudged along.

"Oh?" Hermione suppressed a pang of sadness. Last year she and Ron had gone out and cut a tree, tramping for miles in the snow until they found the perfect one.

"It's beautiful, smells so good. It's a bit big for our living room, actually, but Draco insisted all the others were too small, even though I kept telling him that they always look smaller when they're outside. I guess having twenty foot ceilings as a child skewed his perspective a little."

Hermione managed a laugh.

"We put up holly all over the place, too, and these great silver garlands." Harry frowned. "I hope those are still up. Draco thought they were too gaudy, and I wouldn't put it past him to throw them in the rubbish bin while I'm not there, and then pretend he knows nothing about it. But I convinced him to go caroling with me one night," Harry continued with a grin. "We're both awful singers, of course - probably get pelted with snowballs."

Listening to Harry, Hermione couldn't help smiling. She thought of all the horribly sad and disappointing Christmases Harry must have spent with the Dursleys. Things had improved once he got to Hogwarts, of course, but there was still something a bit impersonal about spending Christmas at school. She knew he was trying to make up for all those lost Christmases. Then she thought about Ron again, and felt like crying.

"You're awfully quiet," Harry said, breaking into her thoughts.

"Just thinking," Hermione replied.

"Well, we're almost there." They were now struggling up the slope of the Hill itself, stumbling over stones and into brambles. Hermione noted that Harry had taken out his wand.

They reached the top, breathing hard. "Better view of the Horse from up here," Harry said, gazing back over the way they had come. "So what now?"

"Now we cast a Revealing spell on every inch of this hill. The spell is probably anchored near a stone." She began to walk toward a likely looking rock, but Harry stopped her.

"I can feel it," he said. "Right over there." He walked toward the center of the hill, and Hermione quickly followed.

Harry stopped, then walked back a few paces. "It's strongest right here - like someone's pricking my skin with needles."

"I don't feel anything." Hermione frowned and cast the Revealing spell. Nothing.

"I know magic was done here," Harry insisted. "Powerful magic."

"I don't doubt you, Harry. The portal spell described in Slytherin's book would take an immense amount of energy."

"But then why can't you -" Harry stopped.

"Because the portal spell has been used," Hermione finished reluctantly. "Slytherin found a way to return."

"No." Harry shook his head. "There has to be another reason."

"The chances that another wizard would happen upon the spell at the moment it activated are small. Even if that did happen, no one would know what it was." Hermione sighed. "It had to have been Slytherin."

Harry's jaw clenched. He stood still for a minute, then went back to the side of the Hill and sat down in the grass, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Hermione scanned the ground, looking for any other signs, but found nothing. She went and sat down by Harry.

"It doesn't make sense," Harry said. "If Slytherin had come back, we would know it."

"He must have done it at Samhain," Hermione said thoughtfully. "That was about a month ago, so the traces of the magic are still there for you to feel." She had a few disquieting thoughts about why Harry, but not she, could feel the magic, but didn't voice them.

"If he did figure out how to come back - if he found all these powers - he would have used them. We would know that he was back. I mean, why wait? Surprise would be to his advantage."

Harry's shoulders were slumped, and Hermione wanted desperately to reassure him. "Maybe he never set the spell in the first place," she said, "maybe this magic you're feeling has nothing to do with Slytherin."

Harry looked at her. "Do you really think that?" he asked grimly.

"No," she admitted.

"Me either. Fuck!" Harry threw a stone down the hill with sudden violence. "All the way up here, I kept telling myself that the spell would still be there, that we could stop this right now."

Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, you don't have to be involved with this. I'll tell Ron, and he can take over. He has all the resources at the Ministry - he can find Slytherin."

Harry stared out over the fields. "No," he said at last. "Tell Ron about it, definitely, tell him to start looking. But I'm going to look, too."

Hermione studied Harry's face for a few moments, and then wrapped her arms around him, pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Harry hid his face in her shoulder. "What's life without the occasional Dark Wizard?" he said after a moment, his voice muffled.

"We wouldn't want to get bored," Hermione responded, but she knew Harry was upset, angry. She, too, felt a familiar sense of fear and suspense. It was always like that - it was fine reading about basilisks in books, but then you turned around and got petrified.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

All he wanted, Ron thought, as he trudged home, was a long, hot shower and to never see Theodore Nott again. This was the second time he had visited the little rat and gotten absolutely nothing from him. Yes, he had sent that letter to Eric, Nott told him. Eric had come over to see him one Saturday afternoon, they had talked for awhile, and that had been it. He hadn't seen Eric in the intervening three weeks before Eric's unfortunate demise. No, Nott didn't know who might want Eric dead. Although he had heard Eric was involved with some shady dealings. Had Mr. Weasley thought about checking out that side of things? Ron growled that yes, he had, and barely refrained from punching the smug bastard.

Opening the door, he found Hermione sitting on the couch. "Hi," he said shortly.

"Ron, I have something to tell you," Hermione said.

Cold panic shot through Ron. Oh Merlin - was she going to say she wanted a divorce? Didn't want to be with him anymore? "I love you, Hermione," he blurted out.

Hermione looked startled, but then she smiled. "I love you too, Ron," she said and a wave of relief swept over him. "I figured out Slytherin's spell," she went on and Ron's relief quickly evaporated as she told him about what had happened.

"And you really think he's back?" Ron asked weakly when she was done.

"Yes. Have you heard anything suspicious at the Ministry?"

"Nothing to make me think there's a super powerful Dark wizard hanging around," he said. "And you think we would have."

"I know, I know." Hermione made a frustrated noise. "I feel like we're missing something."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Look, without real proof of this, I don't think I can tell Robards or anyone else at the Ministry."

"Why not?"

"They didn't take the book seriously. And if I understand everything you've told me, all the proof we really have is that a spell that might have been set up on this Dragon Hill wasn't there, and Harry had a weird feeling about it."

"Harry isn't lying," Hermione said sharply.

"You know that, and I know that, but the Ministry is seriously upset at him about that whole business last year. Robards thinks he's mentally unstable. They'll never believe me if this is all we have to go on."

"But you'll keep your eyes open? See if you can find out anything?"

"Of course," Ron assured her.

"Thank you," Hermione said, and she got up and came over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Ron held her close.

"I'm worried about Harry," Hermione said softly. "He's so upset about all this."

"We'll keep him safe," Ron murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Hey, about these past few weeks - "

Hermione stiffened in his arms. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Look - "

"Not now, okay?"

"Okay." Ron put his arm back around her, but the moment was gone. He could feel the tension between them again and after awhile Hermione went to the kitchen, and he went to take a shower.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Hermione was back in the library the next day. Something about this wasn't adding up. She pulled out a book discussing theories of the afterlife and took it back to a comfortable chair, reading as she went. Halfway there, she bumped into someone. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, looking up and blushing. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"A good book can be distracting," the man she had bumped into said with a smile. He looked to be about her age, perhaps a few years older. His dark hair was falling into his eyes, and he had several books under his arm. "May I ask what had you so fascinated?"

Hermione held up the book so he could see the title.

"Interesting. Have you read Holloway's Conversations with Ghosts?"

"No," Hermione said eagerly. "I'll have to check it out."

"My name is Geoffrey, by the way," he said, and held out his hand.

"I'm Hermione."

"Nice to meet you, Hermione. I'll let you get back to your book now," Geoffrey said with a last smile. He went over to a desk.

Hermione found herself staring at him and blushed again. This isn't fourth year, she told herself sternly. You don't blush just because some guy is nice to you. She sat down in a chair that put a stack of books between her and Geoffrey.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Harry became increasingly nervous as the days slipped by and neither he, Ron, nor Hermione heard anything about Slytherin. Draco told him not to worry about it, that no news was a good thing. Harry tried - Quidditch certainly kept him busy and tired enough that he shouldn't have had the energy to worry, but he did anyway.

"We're doing everything we can, Harry," Hermione had assured him last night. "And don't you go off doing anything rash," she added.

Which was what Harry proceeded to do. Not that he really expected Slytherin to be hanging around the Chamber of Secrets, he told himself as he walked up the road to Hogwarts, but it seemed like a place Slytherin might visit. Check to see if anyone had let his basilisk loose yet.

He had owled ahead to let McGonagall know he was coming, but hadn't told anyone else. He knew that Hermione would want him to take at least ten Aurors with him, and both Ron and Draco would want to come along, but Harry didn't want a troop of people parading down there with him. The Chamber was where he had first met Tom Riddle, where he had almost died. It was all too personal.

It started snowing just before he got to Hogwarts. Harry paused in front of the gates, blinking through the white flakes at the castle looming up in front of him. He hadn't been back in years.

A figure appeared on the front steps and slowly resolved into McGonagall. "Potter, it's good to see you again," she said, letting him in the gates.

"Good to see you, too, Professor," Harry said, shaking her hand.

"I was quite surprised to get your owl. I must say that I hope your suppositions are incorrect and we do not have another Dark wizard on our hands."

"I'll agree with you there."

McGonagall led the way into the castle. "I haven't noticed anything suspicious around Hogwarts lately," she said. "And the wards surrounding the entrance to the Chamber are untouched as far as I can tell."

"I don't really expect to find anything, but I just want to make sure."

McGonagall nodded. "Well, I assume you haven't forgotten your way around Hogwarts. I'll be in my office - the password is Ginger Newt - if you need anything."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"I didn't tell any of the other staff members that you would be here," McGonagall added. "Although I'm sure they would love to see you again." She hesitated. "Perhaps you would join us for dinner?"

"I'll probably be covered in dust and slime after going down there," Harry said, forcing a laugh. He didn't know if he could handle a dinner in the Great Hall.

"Well, think about it," McGonall said. "I am glad to see you again." She smiled and then headed in the direction of the Headmaster's office, leaving Harry standing in the entrance hall.

It was silent in the corridors - the students must all be in class. A thousand memories assaulted him as he began to walk slowly up to the second floor. Strangely, he found that he wasn't really thinking about what he supposed one would term the "big events" of his time at Hogwarts, but all the little things that made up the time in between. Ron biting on his quill while trying to write a difficult Potions essay, and ending up with ink all over his teeth. Hermione fussily straightening Harry's tie as they went down to breakfast. Laughing with Neville at some joke of Seamus's. Kissing Ginny in front of the common room fire. Draco sneering at him from across the Great Hall at dinner. Hating Draco and Draco hating him.

Harry stopped, leaned against the wall. Why did I come back? Hogwarts belonged to the past - to a version of himself that didn't exist anymore. He wanted to turn around and leave. Instead, he took a deep breath and opened the door that still had an Out of Order sign affixed to it.

It looked smaller than he remembered. The sinks that revealed the entrance to the Chamber no longer towered up above him. Harry knelt down, peered at the side of one of the pipes. The small snake was still etched into the metal. He gave an experimental hiss.

"Hello, Harry," a voice whispered in his ear. Harry jumped, startled, and banged his head on the sink.

"Ouch!" He turned around. "Hello, Myrtle."

"I didn't think you were ever coming back," she said with a pout. "I didn't think you cared about me anymore."

"I do," Harry said hastily. "But I don't go to school here now."

Myrtle sniffed loudly. "You could still come and visit."

"I've been busy." Tears welled up in Myrtle's eyes. "But I'm here now, aren't I?" Harry quickly added.

"Yes." Myrtle gave him a suspicious look. "But you were talking snake language just now - I heard you. You're planning to go down into that horrible Chamber again, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "You haven't seen anyone else go down there, have you Myrtle?"

"No. Although I have other things to do than just hang around here all day," she added frostily.

Like visiting the Prefect's bathroom. "Well, thanks anyway, Myrtle," Harry said. "I'm just going to get on with this, then."

"Fine! Ignore me," Myrtle sobbed and flew into a stall, slamming the door behind her.

Harry sighed, rubbing his head where he had hit it. He looked at the snake again. "Open up."

The sinks began to move - metal shrieking against stone. The entrance to the Chamber was slowly revealed, and Harry stepped up to the edge, looked down. Pitch black darkness stared back at him. He took out his wand. Myrtle's crying echoed off the walls, a long wail of misery. He jumped.

The ride down was as fast and terrifying as Harry remembered. He tried to anticipate the end of the pipe, but fell anyway, sprawling onto his stomach. "Lumos," he cast, and found himself staring into the eye-sockets of an animal's skull. He shuddered and scrambled to his feet.

The bluish white light illuminated a few feet in front of him as he started down the tunnel. He reached the cave-in, which didn't appear to have shifted in the intervening years. He squeezed through the hole Ron had dug - definitely a tighter fit now - coughing from the dust. His breathing sounded harsh in the still air.

He kept walking, resisting the urge to keep looking over his shoulder. When he reached the final doors, the serpents danced in the light from his wand. He hissed into the gloom.

The smell of the dead basilisk hit him as the door opened. It was an overpowering stink of decay, and he swallowed hard, trying not to vomit. The sight was no better when he got close enough to see it. Averting his eyes, he went over to the statue of Slytherin, looked up. The stone face gazed out into the Chamber, immobile, uncommunicative.

"So much for this idea," Harry muttered. As far as he could tell, no one had been here for the past twelve years.

Sliding down to the floor, he leaned back against the statue. He felt exhausted. The sound of dripping water echoed from some slimy corner, hypnotic in the silence. Harry stared at the floor, imagined that he could see the stain of ink that had signaled the demise of part of Voldemort's soul, still ingrained like blood in the stone. A gleam of white that must be the basilisk's fang. How strange that had felt, Harry mused, his eyes closing. Dying. Slipping away from the world...

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. Harry watched with horror as the fiery letters rearranged themselves to spell I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. Riddle smirked at him.

"So this was my heir," a voice said behind him. Harry whirled around, startled. He was sure no one had been here except Riddle and him. And Ginny, lying on the ground.

"And to think he was a half-blood. How disgusting." A man was standing there. He was dressed in green robes and the hood was up, hiding his face.

"Who are you?" Harry asked. He looked quickly back at Riddle, but Riddle seemed to be frozen, like a Muggle movie put on pause.

"Salazar Slytherin." He pushed the hood of his robe back. Dark hair framed the thin, angular face of a young man.

A shiver ran up Harry's back. "You really found a way to return then."

Slytherin nodded.

"But this is a dream." Harry looked down at his twelve-year old body.

Slytherin nodded again. "Powerful places, dreams."

Harry glanced up at the wizened statue towering over him, fighting down the fear rising within him. "Weren't you a little older when you died?"

"Why settle for age when I can regain my youth?" Slytherin said, and smiled.

"What do you want?"

"A little background information, to begin with. I've found out what I can about my last living descendant, this Lord Voldemort, but I hear you were quite intimately acquainted with him."

Harry clenched his fists, wishing for the wand that Riddle held. "Get out of my head," he growled.

"Impressive Parseltongue skills," Slytherin went on, ignoring him. "I can feel the connection between us - centered in that remarkable scar on your forehead."

Harry's hand flew up to his scar. It didn't hurt, not like when Voldemort had been near him.

"I can feel your power, too, Harry. Your magic." Slytherin's voice caressed the last word in an almost obscene way.

"Go away."

"Not just yet. I'm quite interested in the dramatic scene being carried out here." Slytherin gestured toward the frozen tableau behind them. "It wouldn't do to leave before the denouement."

Harry felt himself being turned around. Riddle was speaking again. He wanted to stop, wanted to wake up. But he couldn't. It was like being a spectator in his own mind. His body kept moving, words kept coming out of his mouth - the same words he had uttered to Riddle twelve years ago.

The basilisk rose from the dead. Fawkes let out a shrill cry. Gryffindor's sword appeared in the Sorting Hat. The poison flooded through Harry's body. He stabbed the fang into the diary. He moved toward Ginny, and the world ground to a halt again.

Slytherin was clapping. "Very impressive, Harry. Godric would have been so pleased to know that his sword put an end to my pet. He was always such a horrible bore about those sorts of things."

"Fuck you," Harry managed to gasp out.

Slytherin laughed. "Unfortunately, I have to go now. But I promise you, Harry that we will do this again very shortly."

Harry jerked awake, breathing hard, sweat pouring off of him. He tried to stand, but fell forward onto his knees. His stomach heaved, and he threw up. Trembling, he lay on the cold stone, wishing that Draco was there.

v.v.v.v.v.v.

Author's Notes: All my information on Dragon Hill, the White Horse, and Uffington comes from the internet, and I do not claim that it is entirely accurate. Although the legends about them which I will be using in my story do exist, I will be mixing and changing them to fit my plot.