Chapter Text
“Just taking your weak pawn,” said the boy, flicking a finger in the direction of the white knight, who pulled back on his warhorse’s reins, and with one, great leap, bore down on the trembling black pawn, who could only whimper in fear as he was shattered into marble pieces.
“Alright then,” said the girl on the other side of the chessboard, wrinkling her nose. “Knight to C7.”
It was the boy’s turn to look irritated. On the one hand, he would lose castling rights. On the other…
Black drew the first blood, and by doing so, began the middlegame.
The next thirty minutes or so were spent locked in a tense battle. They leaned across the board and glowered at each other, trading insults as their pieces hacked each other to bits. After the black king was neatly shoved into a corner by the white queen and what had once been the kingside rook, it was fait accompli that Black would face checkmate on the next move.
Ron Weasley slid the white king into place with a self-satisfied smile. A drop of sweat ran down his freckled forehead. You did, after all, run the risk of stalemate with such a significant material advantage. There was a narrow path to victory, which required careful planning and the deliberate execution of a sequence of precise moves.
Ruby Potter looked about ready to flip the board as her king wept in despair, collapsing to his knees as his onyx crown slipped off his head to shatter on the board. The white queen, her haughty, pale face swathed in ermine and ivory silks, pointed and laughed, her king and rook joining in.
“Oh, come on!” Her restless fingers curled instead around the rim of the table, giving Ron a reproachful look.
“Rematch?” Ron leaned back in his chair, surveying the detritus with a wistful eye. “You’re better than Hermione, I’ll give you that. And Harry still keeps falling for Scholar’s Mate after all these years.”
“I think he loses on purpose to make you happy,” said Ruby. She frowned. “And I haven’t played since Dumbledore…”
The air in the room had suddenly become uncomfortably tense. Neither of them much wanted to think about what had occurred at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries just a few months ago. The grand library fell utterly silent.
“Ummmm. Yeah.” Ron stood up and waved his wand at the board to reset it before sweeping the chess set back into the box. “Maybe another time.”
"Yeah," said Ruby, but her voice lacked enthusiasm.
They walked together in silence through the gloomy hallways of a Victorian townhouse that had once been grand, but was now slowly falling victim to the ravages of time and Doxies. The main staircase — the nice wide one for the house’s once Ancient and Noble occupants and their distinguished guests — was lined with the preserved heads of old house-elves, which had given Ruby quite a fright the first time she’d seen them, but she was now almost completely used to. That was probably a bad sign, she thought. After all, you had to wonder exactly how much living in Number Twelve had contributed to the Black family’s… uniqueness.
Ruby peered into the sitting room, then thought better of it, as it was currently occupied by Remus Lupin, a friend of Ruby's late parents and the Hogwarts librarian, nursing a cup of tea and clearly enjoying his solitude.
“Let’s go back upstairs,” she suggested.
The second floor was just as gloomy as the ground and first floors, but for the sound of voices emanating from one of the rooms. Without knocking, Ron headed inside, and Ruby followed. Like the rest of the house, this guest bedroom had an air of rotting grandeur, but at least it was inhabited.
A tall, slender woman with white-blonde hair looked up as they entered; she reminded Ruby a little of the white queen from Ron’s chess set, except that she was much prettier, and Ron had a habit of going slack-jawed and monosyllabic in her presence.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” said Hermione, who was sitting on the floor in front of Harry’s bed, with at least twenty square feet of parchment scattered around her. “Fleur’s helping.”
Fleur Delacour, the French alchemist and the Order's new Healer, gave Hermione a withering look. How they had managed to wheedle her into such drudgery, Ruby did not know. Perhaps she was just bored and had nothing else to do. Then again, lounging on the window seat with a look of disinterest was a bit of a stretch when it came to usually accepted definitions of ‘helping.’
And besides, Ruby didn’t realise that they were supposed to be having a strategy meeting right now. The one the day before that, and the day before that, for that matter, had been utterly fruitless, so why should this be any different?
“What I don’t understand, is how these have anything to do with… anything.”
Hermione held up two identical vials — identical, but for the fact that one was brilliantly red and one green, to the point of seeming fluorescent.
“One’s the poison, one’s the antidote,” said Harry with a shrug. He was leafing through Lily’s notebook — the encrypted one, which was filled only with incomprehensible symbols.
“Can’t be that simple,” Anthony piped up. “Why would you go to all that trouble for a poison? You know those are pretty much the easiest potions to make, right?”
Perhaps inadvertently or not, he was looking at Ruby as he said this, and glanced down, flushing.
“An undetectable poison?” Harry suggested. He shut Lily’s notebook and cradled it to his chest, his eyes fluttering shut.
Fleur cleared her throat, and said, as if it were obvious: “Purification. Balance. You cannot make one without the other. That which is below is like that which is above.”
She really is Flamel’s apprentice, isn’t she, thought Ruby, with a touch of contempt, as she went to go sit on Harry’s bed next to Anthony, careful not to step on any of Hermione’s papers.
“That really clears things up, thanks,” muttered Harry, and Hermione said, “Harry!”, as if Fleur had even noticed his retort.
While Hermione’s attention was elsewhere, Anthony had uncorked both vials, and poured a drop of each drought onto a scrap of parchment, then mixed them with the end of a quill. With an ominous pop, the liquids disappeared.
Hermione rounded on him in an instant, snatching the vials back. “What do you think you’re doing, what if that was a bigger explosion? We have to be careful, we’ve only got one sample of each!”
What had happened to the rest of Snape's workshop, Ruby wondered. Surely there had to be more there... more clues...
There was an affected sound from the direction of the window; they all turned their heads, Harry reaching over to slot Ron’s jaw back in place.
“It’s not an explosion,” Fleur said, her cold eyes flickering with even more disdain than usual. “It is annihilation.”
With that, she got up from the window seat and strode past them to the door with the grace of an assassin and the haughtiness of a fashion model. Hermione rushed to gather up her notes before Fleur stepped on them, between glowering at her, while Ron followed her progress with the same slack-jawed enchantment as usual.
“They don’t make girls like her at Hogwarts,” said Ron after the door had shut behind her.
“What’s annihilation?” asked Anthony, holding the scrap of parchment up to his face, in fact, right in front of his eye, which Ruby thought particularly ill-advised. “Obviously I know what it means, but in this context?”
“I should hope not, Ron, she’s nearly twenty-one,” said Hermione snappishly, as if twenty-one was hideously old. “Besides, we’ve got more important things to worry about. You, Harry and Anthony can all have the locker room chat you’re dying to have once we’re done with business.”
“Um, I have a girlfriend,” Anthony pointed out, sounding quite insulted at that.
Harry had picked up the decoded notebook and was frowning at one of the pages. "One's the Draught of Life, and one's the Draught of Death. Death has to be something that can kill something alive, but nothing dead can be brought back to life... right?"
He looked up, but no one else was paying attention. Hermione and Ron had descended into bickering, with Anthony interjecting occasionally.
Ruby, who was feeling irritated at this point, got to her feet and left as the conversation began to devolve. Not like anyone will notice I’ve gone for the next half hour. It had been like this for weeks. Going in circles — circling the drain — with all the answers finally in front of them, but somehow they had never been further from the truth.
Shutting the door behind her, she could just make out Fleur’s retreating form from down the hall.
“Excuse me? Excuse me?” she called, sprinting to catch up, but Fleur did not turn until Ruby placed a hand on her shoulder, at which she deigned to glower down.
“Excuse me,” Ruby repeated, her throat going dry. It was as if she were twelve years old again and begging answers out of Flamel. “Could you explain a bit more about the potions — the annihilation? Please?”
For a second, Ruby was sure Fleur would spin on her heel and stalk off with her nose in the air, as she had done so many times when Ruby had tried to engage her in conversation. But now, she seemed to relent.
“An-ni-hi-la-tion.” She pronounced the word syllable by syllable, as if Ruby were a particularly stupid child and not nearly seventeen. “They are equal in weight, equal in power, opposite in sense. Truly balanced. They are equal and yet reversed. One goes backwards in time and one forwards. When the two meet; they are destroyed, as if neither existed, and release all their power. These potions you have come into possession of… they are an alchemically perfect pair in that same sense. They will only take effect if they are to be used at the same time.”
“Thanks,” said Ruby, not that much of it made any sense. Her fingers curled around Fleur’s sleeve even as she turned away. “If they destroy each other, drinking them together will do nothing, won’t it? And if one is a poison, then the other is…”
Brusque as ever, Fleur extracted Ruby from her person. “I would not know. It was not my area of specialization. Master Flamel ails, so I suggest you write to him before it is too late. Leave me now. I have a headache; I would like to lie down.”
You win some, you lose some, thought Ruby, and then she headed off towards the library, ignoring Walburga Black’s wailing of half-breeds and vermin, Mudbloods and traitors! which echoed throughout the house. Harry would probably let her borrow Hedwig, but first she’d need to get her head around the idea of having to talk to Flamel again.
At least it felt like progress, but that was a cold comfort.
T. M. Riddle didn’t even flinch as another red Stunner arced past his cheek, slamming harmlessly into the heavy wooden table below his feet.
“I could do this all day,” he drawled, rolling his shoulders back and drawing his wand in a neat flourish, “but some variety would be nice. I’m getting bored.”
At first, he was convinced that the Headmistress would not let herself be goaded. But, after a moment’s hesitation, every candle transfigured itself into a glowing, golden bird with a wickedly pointed beak, shrieking and caterwauling as they released themselves from the walls and light fixtures, all descending towards the lone figure atop the Slytherin table. Tee felt his heartbeat kick up a notch as the first slammed into his shield, the second piercing it, before he summoned water to come bursting through the floor in a spray of oak boards, dousing the mob flanking his left. One beak grazed his arm, drawing blood, sending an electric shock up his nerves.
“Serpentsortia!” he called, and an army of vipers curled about his feet, ready to do his bidding. They wrestled the sodden birds down to the ground, the floor of the Great Hall transformed into a violent mass of feathers and fangs, while he leapt free from the barrage to face Minerva directly.
Tee dodged an Impediment Jinx, taking him right into the path of a falling chandelier. With a flick of his wand it switched courses and began flying around the room.
“Don’t tempt me, Riddle,” said Minerva, looking more amused than irritated. The candles loosed from the chandelier and started flying in Tee’s direction no matter where or how he dodged.
His heart beating fast, he darted under the staff table, but two of the candles followed him and vaporised the chair right in front of him, coughing in the wood-scented smoke as Minerva laughed.
No telling what she did to those candles, thought Tee, slipping out the other side. Time to stop messing around. Breathing hard, he shot a Stunner in Minerva’s direction, then dove under another table to avoid the next projectile.
“I thought that was old hat?” called Minerva. “And stop hiding!”
Tee cursed, not under his breath, but instead quite loud. Tapping his wand to his head, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. Let’s see how clever these candles are, shall we?
As quietly as he could, he emerged from under the table, and then straightened up, standing stock-still. The candles had begun to mill about randomly, some bumping into each other. As Minerva looked around, Tee tiptoed over the fallen bodies of birds and snakes, careful not to make a sound, or worse yet, trip. It wasn’t until he was standing right in front of her that he raised his wand, about to cast a Disarming Charm — just as Minerva finally caught on, and called: “Homenum Revelio!”
A shudder went through her, and then Tee’s Disarming Charm hit a shield and bounced off.
Just then, the great double doors swung open.
Well, how’s that for an audition? thought Tee. He yanked his crumpled sleeve down and mopped his forehead, bracing himself against the Slytherin table and surveying the wreckage. It looked bad, what with the furniture either burnt, scraped, broken or otherwise damaged, the chandelier still rolling around the floor amongst the carcasses of Conjured animals, but it was nothing a few Reparo’s wouldn’t fix.
“Next Defence candidate’s here to see you, Professor McGonagall,” said Remus Lupin, the librarian, shuffling into the hall, doing a double-take and then wincing at the mess. He ran a hand through his uncombed hair, looking everywhere but at Tee.
Minerva straightened up and brushed herself off, regaining her usual pose. Her face coloured a little as she looked around at the chaos around them, taking in the destruction.
“I trust you’ll be able to manage, Riddle?”
Oh, he’d be damned if he let her relegate him to the role of Little Helper. Really, he should be Defence. Whoever this next candidate was, they didn’t hold a candle to his power, his knowledge, his practical ability, his experience, even—
“Quite,” said Tee, forcing a smile that made his eye twitch. Lupin and Minerva went on their way without so much as a glance back at him. Gritting his teeth, he tossed out a few careless Reparo’s before making his own exit.
The halls of Hogwarts, for once, echoed emptily around him. Less than a month ago, these corridors had shuddered under the steps of a thousand pairs of feet, bodies clogging the stairs leading up to Gryffindor Tower, students scattering into classrooms, a few ne’er-do-well’s skivving off lessons, the Quidditch delinquents whooping and screaming as they circled the pitch on their brooms.
After Dumbledore’s death, it didn’t feel like that careless gaiety would ever return. Hogwarts had survived a myriad of attacks, both from outside and within its walls (most of which were inflicted by himself in his various guises). But something about this year felt different. Hogwarts was just, Tee hated to admit, different without Dumbledore. It was as if the castle were missing a floor, something you knew ought to be there but could never find your way back to ever again.
Eventually, his wandering feet carried him to stand in front of the familiar gargoyle, who gave Tee a doleful look before grunting, “Password?”
“Godric,” Tee muttered, and swept past. He hoped this wasn’t the new theme. Last fortnight’s had been ‘Crimson.’ It wasn't a promising pattern.
Minerva’s voice reverberated through the door.
“Well, thank you for coming, and we will certainly be contacting you by owl within the week with our answer.”
He had arrived just in time to see the Defence applicant, a large man with a twisty moustache wearing robes that were several sizes too small, emerge from the double doors looking downcast, briefcase in hand, who, assuming he was the next candidate, glowered at Tee with a hissed ‘Good luck!’ that sounded on the verge of tears.
Ignoring him, Tee pushed the oak doors open and strode into the office, where Minerva was holding what must have been the applicant’s curriculum vitae in her forefinger and thumb, as if it were grubby. In fact, there were oil marks all over the parchment.
“Not any good, was he?”
He lifted an eyebrow, and with self-satisfied contentment, settled into his favourite chair.
“No,” said Minerva, speaking the word as if it had personally offended her.
“Well, I have nothing else better to do at present.” He leaned forward ever so slightly.
Minerva’s eyes flashed. “Like finding Redacted, perhaps?”
“I’ve been thinking.” Tee tapped the side of his head, and then noticed that Dumbledore’s silver instruments must have been packed up and stored somewhere. “You don’t expect me to rush into this investigation with no plan, do you? In fact, I’d like to get my hands on those Ministry files before anything.”
“I’m afraid you’re on your own there, Riddle,” said Minerva, Vanishing the CV, filling her quill, and beginning to write the rejection letter. “You ought to talk to Alastor and Andromeda.”
Oh, joy, thought Tee. He did not particularly enjoy either of their personalities — Alastor Moody in particular. There were so many more pleasant things to occupy his time with, like pulling off each of his fingernails one by one. And as a matter of fact, he had been drawing a blank when it came to the true mole. It was true that Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott were Death Eater assets with virtually unlimited access to Hogwarts and therefore must be regarded as prime suspects, but Tee personally doubted their ability to concoct, much less execute, such a dastardly and complex plot.
Ergo, they must have had help. But who? Someone inside Hogwarts, he’d thought at first. But after interviewing all of the (eccentric, tiresome, snobbish, and downright rude) professors and subjecting all those who were susceptible to the full force of his Legilimency, Tee was still drawing a blank. The only thing to do now was to lay a trap. But what should be the lure?
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Minerva looked up from her letter.
“Next candidate?” asked Tee, already halfway out of his chair. “Well, I’ll leave you to stew in mediocrity.”
But Minerva frowned, confusion etched on her brow. “No,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else.”
It was quite likely that she wanted him to leave, Tee reflected. But he wasn’t particularly moved to do so, and besides, there was no way he could disappear through the door without going past the would-be intruder, anyway. Besides, there was no way to hide in a circular room — though Dumbledore had somehow managed it on occasion. Perhaps there was a trapdoor somewhere. Tee wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore to have had one installed, merely for the sake of dramatic entrances.
Having clearly determined there was no way to get rid of Tee on such short notice, Minerva folded her letter, inserted it into a nearby envelope, placed it on the silver dish beside her, and called, “Come in, please!”
The oak doors burst open, slamming against so hard against the walls that they would certainly leave unsightly scratches in the authentic medieval wooden paneling. Tee leapt to his feet, turning towards the newcomer and drawing his wand in one swift motion. Behind him, Minerva had done the same.
“You have some nerve, Lucius,” she said in an acid tone.
Indeed, the known (to the Order, not the public) Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy stood before them, flanked on either side by three scarlet-robed Aurors and four… individuals who did not look in the least official. There were probably even more bodyguards lurking in the stairwell.
Tee's spine tingled, a shudder trickling down his nerves.
According to the Order’s reports, Lucius had been at St. Mungo’s. Tee hadn’t had the misfortune to run into them, but apparently, he’d been instrumental in the downfall of the Order’s senior spy, Severus Snape. However, you had to wonder if it was more out of true loyalty of Voldemort, or simply to raise Lucius's position. In general, there was no love lost between him and the Malfoy family, but Tee assumed this turn of events, whatever the motive, would please Voldemort.
“Attempt to kill me if you like, Headmistress,” said Lucius, spreading his arms wide as if in surrender even as his bodyguards formed a rough phalanx around him, “but Hogwarts shall not escape the all-seeing eye and iron fist of Section One.”
So much melodrama from such a little man, thought Tee, shaking his head. He lazily flicked a Stunner at Lucius’s head, which his retinue scrambled to shield him from, all clearly hoping to be seen as the most dedicated.
“Riddle,” said Minerva through gritted teeth. “Stop playing with Malfoy and allow me to handle this.”
“I also hope you understand the futility of appealing to the Ministry to toss me into Azkaban,” Lucius went on with an air of knowing dignity, though he looked a little like a bird whose feathers had been ruffled.
“Quite,” said Minerva in a snappish tone, “as your wife is the Special Advisor to the Minister, the Ministry itself is puppeteered by Voldemort, and I suppose you are here to tell me that you are officially head of Section One.”
Lucius clapped his hands, his usually anaemic face alight with cruel merriment. “Yes, McGonagall, yes! By Jove, you’ve got it in one!”
A few of the grey robed men giggled. Tee assumed they were Section One agents. After all, they didn’t look dirty enough to be Snatchers.
“State your business and leave,” said Tee, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk, all the while casting a judgemental eye at Lucius. “The Headmistress is a busy woman and she hasn’t got time for your childish games.”
“I suppose you would say that, wouldn’t you, boy?” Lucius’s upper lip curled as if he had just been presented with an unpleasant smell. “First Dumbledore’s lapdog, now McGonagall’s—”
The spell went off like a firework, and this time none of the Aurors were apparently well-trained enough to stop it from hitting its target. Tee’s only regret was that it hadn’t been lethal. However, the Stinging Hex still did its job, and Tee’s aim was irreproachable. Lucius cupped his nose and howled like a child who had scrapped his knee on a playground; and Tee smiled, his heart skipping a beat.
“I suppose you ought to get to your point, Lucius,” said Minerva, rising to her feet.
But Tee was not particularly interested in Lucius Malfoy’s ‘point,’ assuming he even had one. Though not as extreme as security had been a few years ago, unknown — and in this case, hostile — people shouldn’t be able to just wander onto the grounds and all the way up to the Headteacher’s office. Someone had let them in. Probably unsuspecting. It wasn’t like the Order went around sharing their list of identified Death Eaters with the general public (which Tee personally found ill-advised. There was nothing the general public loved more than someone to hate).
“The point,” said Lucius, smiling like the cat who got the cream, “is that Hogwarts has been allowed to conduct its operations unsupervised, which has led to chaos under Dumbledore’s reign. The Ministry shan’t let it happen again, McGonagall. You don’t have a choice. Section One will be regularly assessing compliance, and we shall install a permanent representative.”
Minerva straightened up, glaring at him past the phalanx of Aurors. “Hogwarts will not comply to tyranny.”
“If you say so,” said Lucius with an ominous smile. “Of course, the other option is to replace you with another Headteacher who will not be so bothered by our ‘tyranny’.”
“Then why not forcibly replace me now?” said Minerva, her voice ice-cold.
But Tee knew the answer to that. They all did. It’s coming. But such a sharp transition would be… troublesome. Best to turn the heat up slowly but surely.
Well, that puts a strict timeline on things, he thought, with a touch of dread.
Gathering the last of her politeness, Minerva said, “Good day, Lucius. We’ll show you out.”
“Oh, no,” said Lucius, still smiling. “I couldn’t trouble you.”
With that, the whole retinue disappeared through the double doors. As they did, Minerva leaned over to Tee, and mouthed, ‘Make sure they leave.’
Maybe Lucius is right, he thought with a touch of resentment, casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself. After all, working with Minerva like this felt… strange. Something about Dumbledore had felt very natural, despite its ups and downs. Perhaps it was because they were both Legilimens. Words have a nasty habit of making things complicated, he thought as he headed down the stairs.
Lucius and his bodyguards were making good progress towards the exit, and no one appeared to have split off to go do something nefarious. It was, of course, entirely possible that Lucius had only come to throw down the gauntlet, but Tee didn’t fault Minerva for thinking he might be up to something else.
After all, when you shake hands with a Malfoy, you ought to count your fingers after.
Wasn’t there any way of getting Lucius alone in a dark corner, and subjecting him to Legilimency? If anyone knew who the mole was, it was certainly him. All the same, Tee couldn’t think of a way to accomplish it without causing massive trouble for himself. The only thing he could think of at this point was Transfiguring himself and trying to blend in long enough to convince Lucius to split off from the others, but even Lucius Malfoy wasn’t stupid enough not to recognise a false bodyguard.
Anyway, he had things to consider. Like the accelerated timeline. It was clear to him now that the Ministry was planning to close in on Hogwarts by this time next year, and likely the Order, too. No more dissent would be possible. It was only logical that this would be the next step.
And what about me?
Tee had sealed his own fate when he chose to cross wands with his older self, of course, and a sinking sense of despair and regret had been eating away at him ever since. Surely this hadn’t been the right choice, surely it was another lapse in judgment — because it was surely going to end in his death. In the end, he would be just another Horcrux between the Order and Voldemort, another trinket to be destroyed.
And yet there was the weight of Dumbledore’s letter in his pocket. Tee had read the pages over and over until they curled at the edges and felt soft as cloth in his hands. He knew each word by heart, charging him with what had once been Dumbledore’s role; maintaining the balance of power and keeping Hogwarts autonomous, whether it involved fending off the Ministry or Death Eaters. But Tee had never been one for duty. It was convincing himself to start doing his ‘duty’ to Salazar Slytherin that had gotten him into this mess to begin with. Why repeat the idiocy?
Dumbledore would regard him from over the top of his half-moon spectacles, with a reproachful twinkle in his eyes, and say ‘Tom, it is because it is the right thing to do.’ Even now, his tongue burned with acid at the thought. Despite himself, his hand went into his other pocket, brushing the rounded surface of the Resurrection Stone. Not since that disastrous rendez-vous with his mother had he dared turn it three times and coax a wraith from beyond the Veil.
I’m not scared, he thought. I just don’t need to speak with him. He certainly made himself clear in his letter. I know what he wants me to do.
“Do I want to do it?” he said, aloud, to no one in particular, as he watched Lucius finally leave the premises. No trouble, then. His shoulders sagged with relief. Do I want to die?
Tee scoffed. After all this, to die for what? Just because his own experiences as an unfortunate side effect of Horcrux creation had dissuaded him from trying it again, didn’t mean he was keen to throw himself before the sword. Sometimes he was certain that Dumbledore got him mixed up with someone else — Severus Snape, Lily Evans — one of his more pliant little prodigies from the Muggle world.
Well, Lily Evans loved Harry, and Severus Snape loved Lily. What lever had Dumbledore to compel him to do the same, to willingly lay his head on the block, except for some ideal of heroism?
“Who let him in?”
Tee turned on his heel, his hand on his left pocket — but it was only Poppy Pomfrey, the kind but hot-tempered school Healer, and onetime fellow prefect.
“Anyone’s guess,” he said. “I suppose I should find out?”
Poppy gave him a suspicious look that told him he was no more favoured by her than Lucius Malfoy himself. Tee supposed she thought that wounded him.
“I suppose you ought to,” she said sharply, and then hurried off past him. Tee assumed she was going to pick up a Potions delivery. Slughorn might have taught Severus Snape everything he knew, but had none of his diligence, or at least, not enough to be a regular supplier for the school's massive need for a stock of healing potions at the beginning of term.
I know who might have some idea, thought Tee, and without so much as a glance over his shoulder, headed off.
Somehow, Horace Slughorn managed to maintain influence over students he’d taught as much as decades ago. It was impressive — But clearly not impressive enough to get a ‘Muggle-born’ a job offer anywhere nicer than the dregs of Knockturn Alley — thought Tee. Anyway, some of Slughorn’s contacts were certainly high up in the Ministry.
He ought to know. It was time for Tee to see if the old man could still be greased up with a box of crystallized ginger. And if not, Legilimency was always an option.
After summoning said box of crystallized ginger, which he kept for exactly this kind of occasion, Tee continued on his way. It wasn’t long before he found himself in front of the Potion Master’s door — so strange that everything had come full circle — and knocked.
There was the sound of papers being shuffled around, and something glass being knocked over. And then, Slughorn’s voice boomed through the door, “Come in!”
Tee slipped inside. The office was night and day compared to its appearance during Snape’s tenure. Gone were the jars of dead animals floating in noxious liquids, the austere desk, the ever-present stack of exam papers to be marked. He was certain Slughorn had done some kind of Transfiguration to the office. It certainly looked bigger, though whether that was merely illusory was yet to be determined. Now the desk was broad and nicely-varnished mahogany, so that it glowed with the reflections of the roaring fire. Ostentatious gifts from former students glittered on the shelves, along with old photographs of Slug Club members.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Slughorn, with extreme distaste and mild horror (or perhaps it was the other way around) as Tee entered box-of-crystallised-ginger-first, proferring it as if attempting to negotiate with a feral cat.
“Yes,” Tee agreed. “Minerva asked me to talk to you.”
A flicker of something passed over Slughorn’s rosy face. Somehow, Tee felt Slughorn was not sure he believed him, but he couldn’t quite tell.
Dealing with an Occlumens was always a little unsettling. It reminded him how much he relied on his sixth sense.
“Take a seat,” said Slughorn finally, gesturing for Tee to place the box on top of the desk. Tee did so and watched as Slughorn undid the ribbon holding the sides of the box together; a spicy, sickly-sweet scent rose into the air.
“Ahhh,” he said, his voice laced with suspicion. “My favourite. You remembered.”
Something flashed in Slughorn’s eyes again. He’s thinking of poison.
“Nothing’s wrong with them.” Tee reached into the box, extracted a piece at random, popped it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. All the while, Slughorn continued to look horrified.
Even if it burned a little, Tee supposed it did settle your stomach. Maybe Slughorn needed it, with all the rich food he usually helped himself to.
“W-Well, one can’t hurt,” said Slughorn, and followed suit. In fact, many more than one followed.
All these years, and it’s still child’s play to get him to cave.
Tee let the silence hang for a while. And then, once the tension in Slughorn’s shoulders had just started to relax, he pounced.
“I don’t suppose you know anything about Lucius Malfoy paying us a visit?”
Slughorn’s pale eyes widened. “What the devil do you mean?”
“I mean—” Tee leaned forward over the desk, and Slughorn instantly shrank back “—I mean he just left. Surely, with your… channels of information, you must have heard something.”
“What are you trying to insinuate now?” Slughorn’s moustache wobbled — walrus-like — an angry walrus — “If I had even an inkling of such an intrusion, the Headmistress would have been notified immediately!”
“Oh.” Tee tipped his head back to hide his laugh. “I didn’t realise you were so devoted to reporting irregularities, Professor Slughorn. Forgive me.”
“Don’t chastise me in that tone, Tom!” snapped Slughorn, his voice crescendoing to a shout.
“That is not my name,” said Tee through gritted teeth.
“I simply won’t be spoken down to by a barely-grown boy, destitute of all morals—” Slughorn's mouth contorted, his moustache trembling with indignance.
Anger boiled in Tee. Rage, his old friend, constant companion of youth, so often the compass that guided his hand. Even now, he itched to draw his wand and do something that couldn’t be taken back.
But he must tread carefully now. As Dumbledore had said, the path was narrow. So Tee only got to his feet, swallowed his fury, eyes burning with all the power of his Legilimency, and said, looking down at Slughorn:
“Did you have prior knowledge of Lucius Malfoy entering Hogwarts to deliver an existential threat to the Headmistress regarding the ultimate fate of the school, yes or no?”
The ice in his voice could have frozen flames.
Slughorn’s chin wobbled. “No.”
He appears to be telling the truth, thought Tee. He nodded, and left the room without so much as another word.
As the silent halls echoed around him, his mind filled with all sorts of terrible ideas.
One thing was for certain. Something truly dangerous was underfoot, like an asp placed under a throne. The question was, would he be able to pull it out before it had the chance to strike?
Tee stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn't realised how deep he'd wandered into the dungeons; here, he could hear the Black Lake echoing around him.
Or maybe, he thought to himself, it’s already too late.
