Two to Lead

Chapter 28: The Heir's Throne

"[T]wo conceptions of power have dominated Western political thought in the modern period. One...is the conception of power as a simple, quantitative capacity. [T]hose with more power will invariably prevail over those with less. [The second] conception of power [is] the idea of power as a capacity...brought into an equivocal relationship with that of power as a right. [This is] based more or less directly on the consent of the subjects in question. [But if instead] power is seen as a matter of the instruments, techniques and procedures employed in the attempt to influence the actions of those who have a choice about how they might behave, [then] it is a trivial consequence...that power should be seen neither as essentially centralized and hierarchical, nor as necessarily based on some combination of coercion and consent..."

-Barry Hindess, Discourses of Power

*******

Remus blinked his eyes open, aware that he felt rather stiff and sore and something was vibrating rather near his...

"Vivian!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet and racing up the stairs, his heart pounding. He called her name again in the entry hall and was answered with silence. For a second, he stared stupidly at the front door, unable to figure out what to do next. Then his communications link vibrated again. He reached into his pocket and removed the knut.

"This is Remus," he said, his voice calm even though his hands were shaking.

"Remus?" a female voice sounded. He braced his hands on his knees, weak with relief. Whatever dangerous situation she'd run headlong into like a sodding rookie Auror, Vivian was at least alive enough to speak. And had at least one hand left. Good sign.

Anger penetrated relief and he stood up. "Where the hell are you?! What the hell did you think you were doing, running off like that alone after a fucking vampire who wants to kill you?! I almost had a heart attack?! In fact I may still be having one..."

"Remus, you can be angry with me later, okay? Right now I need you to come here and look at something."

"Come where and look at what?"

"David's parents' old lake house and a pair of corpses."

"Oh, goody. I take it he isn't there."

"No, he isn't, but he must have been up until a few days ago."

"Wait a second. Why haven't you called the Aurors in? And why do you want me to come out there just to look at a pair of dead people?"

There was silence on the other end of the link, followed by scuffling sounds and low muttering. "Vivian?" Remus asked. Then, more worried, "Vivian?"

"I'm here. Sorry. I dropped the damn thing. Listen, Remus, if you want me to, I'll call the bloody Aurors right now, but I just wanted someone else trustworthy to get a look at the scene before the Ministry stomped all over the place and catalogued everything."

She had a point there. "Okay, I'm on my way. I'll let you know when I'm about to apparate." Warning was necessary when apparating to other communications links, because the location was spot-on. If Vivian didn't jump back at the moment of apparation, then she'd end up with a fully-grown man sitting on top of her.

Yanking open the front door, Remus strode out into the dingy square. Pounding club music from one of the neighboring buildings blocked out the low hum of traffic.

Glancing up at the night sky, Remus frowned. He'd been unconscious for several hours, by his estimation. Had Vivian been trying to reach him that long? Why hadn't she called someone else in the Order? Or had she just not wanted to bring them into it?

"Vivian," he whispered into the communications link, waiting for her to pick up.

"Remus, is that you?" she answered. "Are you coming?"

"Yes," he said, deciding to leave the questions until he got there. "Apparating in three...two...one...now!" Concentrating on the knut in his hand and the person on the other end of it, Remus apparated. He found himself a few feet from Vivian in the large backyard of a charming white cottage. A thick forest surrounded them on three sides.

Stepping forward, he crushed her against him, needing to know that she was real and here and alive. She wrapped her arms around him, sighing, and he squeezed harder.

"If you ever stupefy me and walk into a possible trap again, I'll make you my next meal."

"Are you telling me you wouldn't have done the same thing?"

"Of course I would have. But it's different."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because it is," he said firmly.

"I see," she said in a tone that indicated quite clearly she really didn't but wasn't in the mood to argue with him. "So anyway, come look at these two," she said briskly, taking his hand and leading him into the house. The stench of death hit him like a brick to the face and Remus pinched his nose. "Sorry," Vivian said, wincing. "They're a bit ripe."

"I'll say," Remus said, breathing through his mouth carefully.

Though he didn't think it was possible, the sight was worse than the stench. "It was rather messily done, really," Vivian said, shaking her head at the two individuals in the corner. Renewing his hatred of David Lynes, Remus pinched his nose harder and studied the dead couple. A touch on his shoulder made him look up.

"You had a speck of lint," Vivian said. "Light up your wand and take a proper look."

Puzzled, Remus did so. "Is there something specific I'm supposed to be looking for?"

"No, no. It's just...they're Muggles."

"Yes, I noticed. Do you think he left them as a message?" Remus asked, extinguishing his wand and moving into the hallway where the stench was less awful. Vivian followed.

"I don't know," she said vaguely, rubbing her left wrist as she stared off into space.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded, dropping her hands to her sides. "I mean, I wish I could've found him, and I'm sorry the Muggles are dead and everything, but..."

"What took you so long?"

"What do you mean?"

"You knocked me out hours ago. What have you been doing this whole time?"

She looked away, as if she were wondering the same thing. "I searched the woods for a while just to be sure, and then it took me a long time to get through to you."

"Why didn't you just come back and ennervate me?"

"I don't know," she said, sounding exasperated. "I suppose I would have if it had taken much longer. What's with all of the questions, anyway?"

Remus ran a hand down his face. "Sorry. It's just that this is all very strange. He said you'd know where to find him, and he was obviously here - or at least a dark creature was here and we can make an educated guess that it was David - so why wasn't he here when you arrived? Where is he now?"

"Finally, some worthwhile questions," Vivian said, rubbing her wrist again.

"Did you do something to it or what?" he demanded, feeling fed up with her.

"It's fine. Shall we go back now?"

Remus looked at her. She seemed odd, at turns distracted and businesslike. Well, whatever snit she'd gotten herself into was fully deserved in his mind. "I'm still angry with you, you know."

"You said you wouldn't be angry with me until we got back," she pointed out, promptly apparating. Swearing, Remus followed a moment later, and they entered Number Twelve, plodding down to the kitchen in a sort of sulky stalemate.

Vivian turned around to look at him, her hands fisted at her side, looking pale and tired in the dim light. "I'm sorry," she said in a bleak voice, her eyes wide and desperate.

"I know you are," Remus said grudgingly, "not that an apology makes up for it." He idly poked at the unappetizing remnants of his sandwich. "Aren't Gryffindors the ones who are supposed to go running off into danger without an ounce of forethought? I mean, you're supposed to be a solid, rational Ravenclaw..."

His words ended when he looked up and saw her wand pointed at his head. Remus had the reflexes of a dark creature, and they had saved him and those he cared about more times than he could count. In that moment, they failed him. He was too surprised.

"Obliviate," Vivian said.

Sitting up, Remus realized that his focus had drifted from the conversation. He shook his head. "I see," he said academically, as if her plan - or lack thereof - were even worth considering. "So you're going to walk into an obvious trap without backup or a plan?"

"I don't think it's a trap," Vivian said slowly. "But I guess you have a point. It's better to be safe than sorry, right?"

"Yes, it is," Remus murmured, wondering at the change in her. "So where is he?"

"Let me work out how we should handle this. Then I'll tell you."

"You just don't want me to know where David is, because you know I'll kill him."

"Yeah, something like that," Vivian said vaguely, leaning over to give him a ridiculously chaste kiss on the cheek. "I'll talk to you when I work things out, okay?"

"Sure," Remus said, puzzled, half-worried that she was going to go after David on her own. But she walked sedately over to the floo and returned to Hogwarts. Shrugging, Remus picked up the rest of his sandwich and took a bite, but the meat was gummy and the bread soggy, as if it had been sitting out for hours.

Waving his wand, Remus got rid of the sandwich and cleaned up the kitchen, then headed upstairs to bed. Whatever plans Vivian was cooking up in her head to go after David Lynes, they could wait until the morning. He was too tired to think about it right now.

*******

There was pounding. Awful, horrible, painful pounding that echoed through Thera's head like somebody was trying to drive nails into it. Opening a bleary eye, she realized that the pounding was partially external. Somebody was knocking at the door.

Somebody who was about to die.

"Thera, unless you're trapped under something heavy, open the door," Draco ordered.

"Go away," she croaked.

"Ah, so you are alive in there."

"No, I'm not!" she said loudly, rolling over onto her back and pressing her palms against her temples as the sound sent a rippling wave of pain across her poor head.

"Listen, I have better things to do with my time than play nursemaid, but you've gone and missed a whole day's classes, and I've been ordered to drag your ass up to the Headmaster for an explanation. I'm at least willing to sober you up in the meantime. Snape isn't. So either open the door, or I'll get him to do it."

Making a half-plaintive, half-whiny sound, Thera pushed herself into an unsteady sitting position, clutching her face in her hands as the room tipped dizzily.

She felt as if she'd been beaten within an inch of her life - especially about the head - and then had her vital organs scooped out and put back into the wrong places. After passing out last night, she'd woken up at some painfully early hour of the morning, downed a few pre-menstrual potions, polished off the rest of the scotch and passed out again. Then she'd woken up again this afternoon, taken some more potion and decided to see if the bottle of Old Ogden's was really bottomless.

She wasn't three sheets to the wind; she was three hangovers to the wind.

Taking the bedcovers with her as she poured onto the floor, Thera made difficult progress over to the door. It was rather like playing Twister. Reaching up, she grabbed the knob.

Draco stepped inside, looking immaculate. Taking in her position, he raised an eyebrow. "You know, it's generally not a good idea to kick off a bender on a Tuesday."

"Yeah, well it couldn't wait," Thera muttered, starting her trek back to the bed. By the time she got there, she couldn't summon the energy to get back into it, so she just pulled the bedcovers completely off and wrapped them around herself.

"Now, now, none of that," Draco tutted. Thera hissed as he started extricating her. "You can't smell like a pub's vomited on you when you meet with the Headmaster."

"Fuck the fucking Headmaster."

"You mean you haven't yet? Your Village Broomstick title might be in jeopardy."

"Fuck you, too," Thera said, her head pounding too much to engage in verbal banter.

"You already have, Miss Loose Knickers. You should keep a record. Drink this."

"No," she said, toddler-like, pushing his hand away.

"My job is to take you up to Dumbledore," Draco said patiently, "and - let's be honest - you're hardly in any fit state to stop me. So you can go after a long shower and a few dozen tooth brushings or I can take you up like this and he can take one look at you and toss you into Knockturn Alley where you belong. Frankly, I don't care how we do it, just so long as I'm not late for Quidditch practice. You see, I'm not the one who has to explain to the Dark Lord why I got expelled from Hogwarts."

"Let them expel me. I don't give a shit."

"Thera, this is not the most opportune time to express your teen angst," he said, poking her through the covers. Thera growled at him, curling herself up into a tiny ball and squeezing her eyes shut, willing him away with every alcohol-saturated cell in her body.

"Erm, Thera?" he asked. "What happened to your mum?"

It was hard to breathe under the comforter, too close and too hot. "Got stabbed to death."

"No, I mean why is the box empty?"

Much too hot and stuffy, but Thera didn't want to emerge, even if her nose was burning. "I decided to give her a burial at sea."

"I know I'm going to regret asking this, but how?"

"By flushing her down the toilet," she said, snickering even as the burning got worse.

"Well, that's...novel."

"Reina liked sailors. It seemed fitting. I sang Anchors Aweigh and everything." The burning shifted behind her eyes and Thera scrubbed her face against the comforter.

"Right. Will you come out and take the bloody potion now? It'll make you feel better," he wheedled, poking at her again.

"Leave me alone. Tell Dumbledore I'm dead." Now both her face and the comforter were damp, and no force on this planet was getting her out of her cocoon.

Except for Draco yanking it off of her, that is.

"Alright, I've indulged you as long as I can take it. Now sit up and take the bloody potion and then go into the bloody bathroom and clean yourself up."

"I'm not going to see Dumbledore. I'm going to crawl over to the desk like a paraplegic, drink more firewhisky and pass out again."

"Oh, sweet Merlin, are you crying?!" He sounded disgusted. She couldn't blame him.

"No," she said defensively. "I'm...leaking."

"Dammit, Thera," he said, snatching her chin so that she didn't have any choice but to look at him. Scowling, she tried to dislodge his hand, but he held tight, silver eyes burning into hers. "If the trials and tribulations of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry can turn you into a leaking heap of stinky drunkenness, then you're going to be a drooling vegetable by the time Bellatrix and the Dark Lord are done with you."

"I can handle Bellatrix and the Dark Lord," she snapped, digging her nails into his wrist until he let go. "You see, unlike you, my knowledge of 'survival of the fittest' is slightly more advanced than schoolboy taunting and running to daddy whenever I need something done. How about you sit here and be the big Slytherin fish in the little Hogwarts pond and refrain from giving me lectures about what my fucking job entails?"

Thera found herself amazed that her brain was functioning well enough to say that.

Draco's jaw worked angrily. "I. Am. Trying. To. Help. You. You. Fucking. Bitch." He shoved the potion at her and Thera took it grudgingly. "Drink it and get in the fucking shower or so help me, I will yodel until you pray for death."

She drank the potion, then another as Draco went to start the shower. Her head cleared up a great deal, and Thera stood carefully, her eyes coming to rest on the discarded box that had previously housed her mother's ashes, feeling a painful stab that she ignored. She wasn't sorry for what she'd done, not to Reina and not to Harry.

"Come on," Draco said from the doorway. Thera ripped her eyes from the box on the floor, walking as steadily as she could into the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, Thera was squeaky clean and reasonably sober, trudging after Draco down the dungeon hallway.

"I dumped him," she said as they turned up the first staircase.

"Who? Potter?"

"Yeah."

Draco stopped so suddenly that she nearly ran into him. "You dumped Potter?"

"Yeah."

He threw his head back to laugh, then aborted, looking as if she'd just told him Christmas was canceled. "Potter just got dumped and I can't even publicly taunt him about it?"

"Damn. I guess you'll just have to do it in private."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Sometimes you have to settle, Draco."

He looked at her piercingly. "What was Potter like?"

"You mean in bed?"

"No, I mean..." he broke off, running an aggravated hand through his hair. "Did he get all...you know, caught up the whole thing? Start building castles in the sky and such?"

Standard Slytherin Code for 'clingy and emotional.' "A little bit, yeah."

"What did you do?"

"Ripped it to shreds and threw it back in his face. Told him I'd fucked other people."

"Did you?"

Thera winced. "No. That's the embarrassing part. I thought only guys lied about sex."

"So why didn't you? Fuck around, I mean?"

She thought for a second. "I'm not sure, really. It just didn't occur to me."

Draco walked a few steps ahead of her, shoving his hands into his pockets. He muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?"

He stopped and turned around to face her. Thera had never seen him look like that before, like he was utterly miserable. "Red dropped the 'L' word on me."

"Ginny Weasley's a lesbian?"

"No, it's worse. She said..." he lowered his voice and glanced around to make sure they were alone. "She said she loved me."

Thera couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. Draco crossed his arms and watched her with an expression on his face remarkably similar to Harry's patented 'I'd love nothing more than to throttle you right now but I can't because I'm a hero' look, something that only made her laugh harder.

"You really are flying without a broomstick, aren't you?" she giggled, wiping her eyes.

"Fine," he said haughtily. "Laugh all you want. Merlin knows my dignity went down the toilet long before your mum's mortal remains."

Thera got a handle on the laughter, but couldn't stop the smirk. "Do you love her back?"

"OF COURSE NOT!" he shouted, stomping up the next set of stairs. Halfway up, he froze. Thera caught up with him, looking up at his face. He was either experiencing an internal battle of epic proportions or some vicious gas pains.

"I don't know," he said finally. "How can you tell?"

Ah, love. Thera hadn't experienced it herself, but she had seen plenty of movies.

"Let me ask you a few questions," she said, all business. "Do you bicker romantically? I don't mean arguments, I mean little verbal tiffs rife with sexual tension."

"We argue mostly, but...yeah, I guess. Sometimes."

"I see. Have you ever done anything nice for her anonymously because you're too passive-aggressive to admit that you like making her happy?"

Draco looked stricken. "Well, I'd hardly put it that way..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Do you cuddle after sex?"

He turned and started walking away. "I don't want to know the answer any more."

Thera's jaw dropped. "You do, don't you?"

"Headmaster," Draco mumbled, Rain Man-like. "I have to take you to see the Headmaster. I have to take you to the Headmaster."

"You probably put your cloak over rain puddles so that her dainty little feet don't get wet, too," Thera taunted him, "and watch her while she's sleeping and say things like..."

"Conversation over!" Draco said loudly. "This conversation is over!"

Feeling like she'd pushed him far enough, Thera remained silent the rest of the way up to the Headmaster's office. He had enough problems without her torturing him.

*******

Harry seemed put-off by the sofas when he arrived in the training room. "We aren't going to have another therapy session, are we? I've got a handle on my anger. I promise."

Fox put her feet up on the coffee table and conjured up some pumpkin juice. "This isn't a therapy session, Harry. It's a shitstorm, and both of us are caught in the middle of it."

"In the middle of what?" Harry asked, pouring himself a glass.

Fox sighed. "A Guardian power-grab. They're rare, but when they happen, watch out."

"Power grab?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought Guardians were supposed to be above that sort of thing."

"Well, it's not really about being above anything. It's about convincing enough of the others to go along with you so that you can actually pull it off."

"Oh." Harry didn't seem all that interested. "So who's grabbing power from whom?"

"A couple of the others are trying to grab power from me."

"And somehow Voldemort and I are tied up in it, right?" Harry asked, a bitter edge to his voice. "I thought it was about time somebody dropped something new on me that will eventually mess up my life."

"Oh, drop the tragic teenager act, Harry. Did it ever occur to you that it might have been news to me, also?"

Because he was actually a good kid, Harry didn't just apologize, but actually looked sorry. "So who's trying to usurp your...I mean our power?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

"I don't have a definite list of conspirators, but I can guess who three of them are."

"Who?"

"They're your enemies too, so pay attention," Fox said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Sakura, the Guardian of sex, lust and romantic love. She was one of the ones who orchestrated the end of Grindelwald, and we'll be keeping you far the hell away from her so both of your heads don't explode. There's also Gloss, the Guardian of art, music, self-expression, etcetera. From what I've heard, he was all right until he started communicating entirely in sound effects and lewd hand gestures..."

"Why?" Harry interrupted.

"Because language has no meaning." He gave her a blank look. "It's a post-modern thing. Anyway, the third one is Fatima, the oldest Guardian around these days. She's in charge of...ideals, I guess you'd say."

Harry nodded, looking into his pumpkin juice. "Is there a Guardian of Peace?"

"No, there isn't," Fox said, smirking, "and you'd think the rest of them might have caught onto that fact before they started ganging up on the poor old Guardian of War and Destruction. Guardians deal with human drives. Peace isn't a drive; it's an aspiration."

"That's not true. There are people all over the world who want peace."

"They don't want peace, Harry, they're just sick of war. What mortals think of as 'peace' is just the period of time between the last war and the next one, and most of it is spent creating the circumstances to go to war again. And we've gotten off-topic."

"Have we really? I mean, aren't the other Guardians ganging up on you because they want peace?"

"They don't want peace, Harry. Even when I wasn't around, there was still plenty of violence and death and general nastiness. You can thank Cracker Bob for that."

"Cracker Bob?"

"Guardian of Discord and Discontent."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So those are human drives? But wait...how is idealism a drive?"

"Okay, now we're off topic."

"Well, how is it?"

Fox dropped her head back on the sofa. "I'm sorry. I explained it badly. Fatima's more like the Guardian of Reflecting on the World Around Us and Forming Theories as To How it All Might Work. Is that better?"

"Damn. Well, if she's against you, then..."

"Don't you mean against us?" Fox cut in snidely.

Harry studied her. "Are they against me, too?"

"Not necessarily. Of course, they're not necessarily for you, either."

He put down his pumpkin juice and rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. "Talking to you tires me out sometimes."

"I think it's time to get to the point. Do you remember why The Cardinal and Dumbledore and I want you to defeat Voldemort?"

"So that I can return the power to you." His head snapped up as understanding dawned. "But they don't want the power returned to you, do they?"

"No, they don't. It's easier to take out a weakened Guardian, and once they've finished with me, whoever has the power - you or Voldemort - will be easily controlled, because you're both relatively mortal and neither of you is one of the twelve natural Guardians."

"But if they take you out, won't another Guardian be created to fill your spot, like you were created to fill Grindelwald's?"

"Eventually. It will take a long time, because the power will have been corrupted, just like it would have taken a long time for me to come along if Dumbledore hadn't sped things up. And they'll be able to control the new Guardian or destroy it if they have to, providing of course..." Fox trailed off, wondering how far into the quagmire she wanted to go, and how much Harry could take.

"Providing what?"

"Providing that another one comes along at all," Fox said heavily.

"I thought there always had to be twelve."

"There always have been," she hedged. "That doesn't mean there always will be."

"What is that supposed to mean? Are there rules or not?"

He sounded so offended that Fox had to smile. "Sometimes I forget how British you are. All rules and order and decorum, unless you're at a soccer match."

"It's football," he said icily.

"Oh, go colonize something. The point is that there isn't what you would call a plan laid out for us Guardians. Most of us think that it's because a plan has an objective, at which point the plan is complete, and from what we can tell, there is no concrete objective, meaning that the plan - as it were - will never be completed, and isn't meant to be."

"Then why bother with it in the first place?" he asked, growing huffy.

"Because..." Fox sighed and tried to find some way to convey this to him that would make any sense whatsoever. "Are you familiar with the concept of infinity?"

"Like in mathematics? Yeah."

"Well, it's a number that can never be reached. If you keep adding up numbers, you get closer and closer to it, but you can never actually reach it, because it doesn't exist. There isn't any stopping point. Now are you getting it?"

"So we're getting closer and closer to the stopping point, but we'll never really get there," he said slowly.

"Perfection. Humans can't achieve perfection. They can just keep trying to get closer."

He looked away. "You said most Guardians think that way. What do the others think?"

"They think that there is a stopping point - at least for the Guardians - and it's when we've made ourselves obsolete. When humanity itself has taken over our respective roles, our jobs are finished. It won't be perfection, it will just be a group of beings functioning at their highest potential, without the need for outside influence."

"And these people think that you've become obsolete," Harry concluded.

"Yes, but of course it's easy to point the finger when one is in charge of something unpopular. In ancient times, Guardians were worshiped as gods, and it was a role we were happy to play. We're still human, and we have egos just like everybody else. Beyond that, it was a good thing at the time. One of the main weaknesses of modern mortals is their obsession with the illusion of control. They buy an alarm system or go to church and live by the rules of their society - which is all well and good in and of itself - but then they believe that these things gain them some cache with the cosmos. If the necessary steps are taken and they do everything right, then nothing bad will ever happen to them. At least the ancients understood that...well, that shit happens."

"What, you want to be worshiped again? Ritual sacrifice and all of that?"

"It's not about being worshiped. It's about clueing the mortals in on the big picture. Those of us who hold the belief that there is no stopping point tend to think it's time to stop beating around the bush and start moving things along. Mortals have managed to reduce the total annihilation of the planet and the end of their own existence to a mathematics problem. I, for one, think they can handle the truth."

"And the others think that we can't, so they'd rather control the process themselves."

Fox looked at him sharply. "Yeah, pretty much."

He was silent for a long time, thoughtfully drinking his pumpkin juice. Finally, he looked over at her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Well, you can ask. I don't guarantee answers."

"Why did you tell me all of this?"

Fox looked at him, trying to formulate the answer she'd been trying to formulate since she'd found out about the entire Guardian double-dealing, namely: where did Harry stand, and - more importantly - what should she tell him to do?

"I told you because I wanted you to know what was at stake. Up until now, the only thing you've had to worry about is the battle with Voldemort, and winning it."

He nodded, a grim smile crossing his face. "And now you're telling me that's not the end of it."

"It could be the end of it. It depends," Fox said, shrugging. "Dumbledore seems to think that it all depends on me, on how I play it."

"Yeah? And what do you think?" he asked challengingly.

She focused her eyes on him, pinning him to the sofa. "I think it all depends on you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry snapped. "I don't need anything else to be depending on me, thanks. I'm full up with dependence at the moment."

"I know you are," Fox said, standing. "Unfortunately, that doesn't mean shit when it comes to the situation at hand."

"Fine, then," he said, standing also. "I'll add it to the list of problems I didn't create that it's my job to solve. Forgive me if it takes a while to get around to it."

Normally, she would have grabbed him by his ridiculous preppy tie and thrown him against a wall for getting so bitchy around her, but this time, Fox let him stomp over to the door, one hundred percent angry teenage boy.

She could have stopped him easily, but didn't. If he was going to listen to her, it was going to have to be because he wanted to, not because she made him.

He opened the door, then slammed it shut, not turning around. "What?" he spat out. "I know you have something else to say, so just say it."

"It's not a new choice, Harry," she said quietly. "It's just the same question over and over, and you always choose the right way. If you want to know why you've been burdened with the problems you have, that's why."

"I see. So that's the reward for doing to the right thing?" he asked sarcastically.

"It's not about rewarding good deeds and punishing bad ones. You of all people should know that it doesn't work that way."

"Then what is it about?"

"It's about making sure that the important choices fall to those who will make the right ones. The more you do it, the more people trust you to do it."

He turned finally, and for the first time in months she saw him as an actual kid, a wiry, uncertain teenage boy with big feet and dorky glasses.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, in a predictably offhand voice, as if their previous conversation had never taken place and he was trying to persuade her to let him copy off of her homework or something.

Fox held his gaze. "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't bother with you."

He made an odd face, as if he was trying not to laugh. "Wow. You're really good at inspiring people, Fox. Did you know that? You should be a motivational speaker."

"You're too old to get away with smart-ass remarks and too young to get away with flirtatious ones," Fox warned. "And don't forget that I can kick your ass blindfolded."

"You know, if the other Guardians are more pleasant than you, I might be persuaded..."

His statement was cut off by her shoving him out the door and slamming it shut. Sighing, Fox immediately yanked it open again.

"You have the Port-a-call, right?" she shouted down the hallway at him.

"I don't leave Gryffindor Tower without it," he shouted back merrily.

"Yeah, just make sure you don't have to use it, you gullible fuck," she muttered under her breath, feeling suddenly in need of some Three-Person Strip Bridge to take her mind off of things.

*******

Ginny's hand went yet again to the diary in her pocket as she plodded up to Professor Wellbourne's office, wondering how badly she'd done on the last practice O.W.L. to warrant a personal meeting. The real O.W.L.s were only a week away, and the strain was getting to everybody. The most recent victim was Colin Creevey, who - after trying and failing to get his cheering charm to work several times earlier that day - had burst into tears and declared that he wanted to go back to Muggle school.

She hadn't cracked yet, and oddly, the diary seemed to help. She had a feeling it wasn't particularly healthy to carry it around with her all the time, constantly checking to make sure it was still there, but she liked the weight of it in her pocket. She liked running her fingers over the hole made by Harry driving the basilisk's fang into it. It calmed her.

Plus, she was meeting Draco later. That ought to clear out her head a bit.

"Ginny?" The voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Hey, Harry. What's up?"

"I'm going to see Professor Wellbourne," he said, smoothing down his hair reflexively, even though Draco's hair care advice had largely tamed it down.

"Oh. Me, too, actually."

"Harry? Ginny? What are you two doing here?"

As a unit, they both turned to see a confused Hermione and a silent, disgruntled Ron coming out of the library. Ginny marveled at the fact that this was the first time all four of them had been together since the summit, and it was entirely by accident.

"We don't have D.A. tonight, do we?" Hermione continued worriedly, digging around in her bag for the proper galleon. "I thought it was supposed to be tomorrow night."

"It is," Harry said. "We're both on our way to see Professor Wellbourne."

"We were just going to take a walk around the lake. If you aren't going to be long, we can wait for you," Hermione offered, stepping on Ron's foot when he tried to protest.

Ginny raised her eyes to the ceiling at this blatant attempt at peacemaking. Hermione seemed to function under the illusion that if she and Harry simply spent enough time with Ron explaining their actions, he'd come around. Sometimes Ginny wondered about the wisdom behind Hermione and Ron's relationship, if Hermione was able to believe that a plan like that would ever work on Ron.

"I don't know how long we'll be," Harry said to Hermione before turning to her. "Do you think Professor Wellbourne wants to see us both together?"

Ginny shrugged and they walked up to her door. Harry knocked soundly. "Professor?" he called, poking his head inside the door. "Ginny's here, also. Which one of us did you want to see first?"

"I wanted to see both of you, actually," Professor Wellbourne said. "Come on in."

"We'll wait for you," Hermione said stoutly, holding onto Ron's hand as he scowled.

Nodding, Harry walked over to sit in the far seat. Ginny sat in the other, hoping that her performance on the practice O.W.L. wouldn't be discussed in front of Harry.

"I have something rather odd to request of the two of you," Professor Wellbourne said, eyeing them as she moved the stack of essays on her desk to the floor.

"What is it?" Ginny asked.

Professor Wellbourne hesitated. "It has to do with the Chamber of Secrets."

Ginny went still. "What about it?" Harry asked, looking over at her.

The Professor looked suddenly grim. "Well, as you both know, we've heightened security in the school this year. The wards have been strengthened, and we've safeguarded all entrances into the school, including the secret passageways," she said, looking at Harry, who avoided her eyes as he shifted in his chair. "But Miss Weasley is the only individual who has even a rudimentary knowledge of the Chamber, and you, Mr. Potter, are the only one who can gain us entrance. It's just to make sure."

"To make sure of what?" Ginny asked. The palms of her hands stung, and she realized that her nails were digging into them. With effort, she straightened her fingers, spreading them out like starfish.

Professor Wellbourne sighed. "To the best of our knowledge, the Chamber presents no threat to the students of this school," she said, sounding like one of the robots from the silly films in Muggle Studies that sent the class into uproarious laughter.

"Nevertheless," the Professor qualified, "a bond was forged between you and the Dark Lord in that Chamber."

Ginny looked up sharply. She'd never heard anyone but Draco and Thera refer to You-Know-Who as 'The Dark Lord.' Something twisted in her stomach.

"We just want to make sure that there's absolutely no way for him to enter the school, that we've left no stone unturned," Professor Wellbourne said, raising her eyes to them. "Shall we?" she asked, indicating the door.

Harry rose immediately. Ginny paused a moment, studying the professor, whose face sank into a preoccupied frown.

"Are you done, then? That was quick," Hermione said, so obviously and painfully hopeful that they could all walk around the lake together again as if nothing had happened that Ginny truly wished she could wave her wand and make it true.

"No, we're not," Harry said, glancing at Ron. "We're going to the Chamber of Secrets."

"What?!" Ron said, stepping forward, his face going red. "No, you're not."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but we are," Professor Wellbourne said breezily.

"We? You and Harry and Ginny, you mean?" he asked in such an insubordinate tone that Hermione looked scandalized and grabbed onto his arm.

Professor Wellbourne stopped and looked at Ron levelly. "They've been in the Chamber before. We're just trying to make sure..."

"We're going, too, then," Ron said in a voice that - even when applied to a professor - brooked no argument.

Professor Wellbourne studied him for a moment, then stared off into space as if deep in thought. At long last, she nodded. "I see no reason for you not to come."

With an almost dismissive air, she gestured for Harry to lead the way to the fateful loo. Walking inside, Ginny felt cold. She hadn't been back since first year when they'd flown up on Fawkes' tailfeathers. Harry squeezed her shoulder.

"Are you okay with this?" he whispered, so the others couldn't hear.

"I'm fine," she whispered back, not really knowing if it was true or not. Everything was happening too quickly. She was - with no warning - about to return to the Chamber of Secrets, and it just seemed too farfetched to be actually happening.

A loud splash interrupted the silence, followed by Moaning Myrtle's voice. "Hello, Harry," she simpered, popping out of the second toilet.

"Oh! Errrr...Hello, Myrtle," Harry stammered, trying to look pleased at her appearance.

"What are they doing here?" Myrtle asked, glaring at the rest of them.

"They're with me. Listen, Myrtle, we're actually in a bit of a rush..."

"Of course you are," Myrtle said shrilly, bearing down on Harry. "Everything's more important than Myrtle! Who'd want to come visit her? Who wouldn't ignore her even though she helped him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament..."

"I'll come visit you tomorrow," Harry said desperately. "I promise. I just...I need to take care of some things right now..."

"And I offered to share my cubicle with you," Myrtle sniffed, her ghostly chin quivering. With a sob, she dove into the nearest toilet, flooding the room, soaking their shoes.

"She's a bit temperamental," Hermione whispered to the professor.

"Yes," Professor Wellbourne said, stretching the word out to three syllables. "Could you open the Chamber now, Harry?"

Harry's mouth tightened as he nodded, ducking his head to check the correct sink. He spoke a few words of parseltongue, sending shivers down Ginny's spine. It was unnatural to hear something so chillingly awful come out of Harry's mouth.

Ginny didn't realize she'd closed her eyes until she heard a grinding sound and had to open them to see the sinks shifting, revealing the opening to the Chamber. She'd done the same thing and didn't remember it. She'd been here and spoken parseltongue.

Without hesitation, Harry jumped into the hole. Professor Wellbourne called down to make sure he had reached the bottom safely before sending the rest of them to follow. Ginny went right before Professor Wellbourne, frightened because it was all so alien to her. She must have done this before, but why didn't any of it seem familiar?

Harry caught her at the bottom, placing his hands under her armpits and dragging her away from the slide so that Professor Wellbourne wouldn't run into her. Ginny felt things crunching underneath her feet, but refused to look down.

"Do you remember this, Harry?" she asked, feeling a rising panic. "I don't remember this." Something about it was horribly wrong. Something around here should jog her memory, but it didn't. She'd flown through here when they'd escaped, but it had all been a blur, really. With a sinking certainty, Ginny felt that she had never been in this room before in her life.

"I remember it," he said sourly, reaching out to capture her hand. "Nothing's here anymore, Ginny. There's nothing that can hurt you."

Harry's words didn't particularly make her feel any better, but the sounds of Professor Wellbourne's approach cut off any response she would have had.

Professor Wellbourne arrived and dusted herself off, and the five of them proceeded past a collapsed wall, a crackling mass of shedded basilisk skin and through a twisting tunnel. Finally, they reached a wall adorned with two serpents. Their emerald eyes glinted in a far too realistic manner for Ginny's liking. Harry stepped forward, looking resigned.

He said something evil-sounding in parseltongue and the serpents responded. The wall parted, revealing first the tall, snake-headed pillars of the Chamber of Secrets and in the vague, misty distance, the statue of Salazar Slytherin himself.

Slytherin wasted his time with the Mudbloods. I won't make that mistake, Tom's voice sounded in her head. Harry Potter - my future downfall - that's the problem I intend to address tonight, Little Ginny. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to destroy him.

"Harry," Ginny gasped, her chest constricting suddenly, spots dancing in front of her eyes. She leaned against one of the hideous pillars and tried to steady herself. This place she remembered. She had stood here and learned that she was to be a pawn in Harry's death. She had stood here and realized that she was not going to leave this room alive. Her heart thudded and the room dimmed.

She heard them yelling as she sank down the pillar. Someone grabbed her, pulled her up.

It was Harry. "I'm sorry," she said. "I never said before how sorry I was."

"Ginny," he said, his arms and words awkward. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

The others stepped forward to help her stand and Ginny grabbed the lower jaw of the snake head on top of the pillar, reality returning as the sharp teeth bit into her fingers. "I'm fine." She shrugged them all off, embarrassed. "I'm fine."

They watched her warily as she led them across the Chamber, trying to ignore the sensation of Salazar Slytherin's eyes boring into the top of her head, her hand going to the diary in her pocket as if it were a portkey that could return her to her warm, soft, safe bed in Gryffindor Tower, far away from the ancient nightmares that surrounded her.

The basilisk's corpse had - thankfully - been removed. Ginny circled the puddle of water in the middle of the Chamber, Harry close on her heels, coming to a stop in between the feet of the statue of Salazar Slytherin. Tom had left her here. Harry had found her here. Glancing back, she saw Harry's gaze focused on the statue's face.

"Miss Weasley?" Professor Wellbourne asked, startling Ginny out of her thoughts. "I take it this is familiar?" The professor looked odd, expectant, and Ginny's stomach twisted again.

Her hand returning to Tom's destroyed diary in her pocket, Ginny nodded.

Harry eyes left Slytherin's face, coming to rest on her. "Ginny?" he asked.

It was an open-ended question. Was she alright? Did she want to leave? She found herself unable to look at him. Take away the glasses, smooth down the hair and turn the eyes brown and he was Tom's twin in appearance, and the absolute opposite in every other way. Good and evil aren't separate entities, just different sides of the same coin. She didn't know where the thought came from.

It echoed through her head. The same coin...the same coin...the same coin... Ginny squinted into the impenetrable darkness between the statue's feet.

"Ginny?" Harry asked again, the same question.

"There's a door there," she said, wincing, feeling as if she were betraying some knowledge that didn't entirely belong to her.

"A door?" Hermione asked, coming up to put a hand on her shoulder, staring into the darkness. "A door to where?"

Something hovered at the edge of her mind, but she couldn't grasp it. "I don't know."

She started forward, but the others stopped her.

"Do you know how to open it?" Professor Wellbourne asked.

"There's a key," Ginny whispered, slinking backwards. She'd left it here. She always left it in the same place. Walking up to the nearest snake-headed pillar, she reached a hand into its mouth, her stomach sinking as her hand closed around the large, ancient key.

"Ginny," Ron said, touching her arm as she tried to pass him. "You're bleeding."

She glanced down and saw that she was. The sharp teeth of the serpent head had sliced open her fingers, and the bright red blood stood out dramatically against her skin, running in tidy rivulets around her knuckles and messy splotches across the palm of her hand.

"I'm supposed to be," she mumbled. That's how blood bonds were created, after all.

They proceeded as a group into the shadows between the statue's feet. The others had their wands out, their eyes trying to penetrate the darkness, to see if there was a threat. Oddly enough, Ginny found that she wasn't frightened. What lay beyond the door was...biting her lip, she tried to put a name to the feeling. Safety? Comfort?

"No. You're not opening it," Ron said, holding her back when they reached the door.

"We don't know what might happen," Hermione agreed. "The door could be cursed."

"It's not cursed," Ginny said, suddenly impatient. She wanted out of the Chamber. She wanted to be where the door led. "And I'm the only one here who can open it." It was true; she realized it as she said it. Rubbing her eyes, Ginny felt as if she had stepped into some alternate universe where nothing made any sense. It was like she'd lived a whole different life that she didn't remember living until now.

"Ginny, do you really think...?" Harry said as she shoved the key into the lock.

"Where we're going is better than where we are right now," she said flatly, turning the key. The door swung open and their lighted wands revealed a winding stone staircase.

"How do you know?" Hermione demanded. "Are you sure?"

Ginny nodded. "This is how I got into the Chamber before," she said, starting forward.

"What? What do you mean?" Harry asked, following close behind.

"It's like a back door. I think Tom made it when he was here."

"So you never used the other entrance?"

"No, I didn't."

"But what about the diary?! I found it in Moaning Myrtle's toilet!"

"I threw the diary in Moaning Myrtle's toilet because nobody ever goes in there."

The staircase was brief; in less than two turns they had reached another door. Pulling out the key again, Ginny opened it to reveal a charming sitting room, with an overstuffed chair, a large fireplace, and a battered writing desk. Walking inside, Ginny couldn't hold back a smile. How could she have forgotten about this room?

"Where are we?" Ron asked.

"Second floor, behind the tapestry of the Second Goblin Rebellion," Ginny said softly, running a hand along the desk. "Tom made it. He told me about it at the beginning. I used to come here to write to him. I'd forgotten about it."

"I don't think you should touch anything," Hermione said uneasily, her wand still out.

"There's nothing dangerous here," Ginny assured her, sitting down at the desk. Her eyes were drawn to the bottom drawer on the right-hand side. Was it still there?

"Ginny, maybe you should listen to her," Harry said, looking around the room warily.

She ignored him, opening up the drawer, her breath catching as she saw that it was still there. It wasn't much to look at, just an odd gilded knob of some sort, but she'd found it in this room and become quite attached to it. She had held it while she wrote to Tom, carried it with her the way she now carried the diary around. The curves fit between her fingers perfectly, even though her hands were bigger now.

And the power was still there. The diary might be dead, but she still felt a thrill as she touched the trinket after so many years. Endless possibility: she held it in her hand.

"Professor?" Ron's voice asked. Ginny looked up. Before anyone could react, the four of them were suddenly bound together in a clump.

"Professor Wellbourne, what are you doing?" Hermione asked, her voice muffled by Ron's shoulder.

"Omnia mea mecum porto," the Professor said. The knob warmed in Ginny's hand, and without warning, she felt the unmistakable nauseating tug of a portkey.

*******

Draco arrived early at the Room of Requirement, wanting to have a good long time to pace and think and plan out his words before Red showed up.

He was not going to be cruel about it, but he wasn't going to sugar-coat things, either. He was very flattered that she felt that way about him, but he was ninety-percent sure that he did not love her, and roughly eight-five percent sure that he never would.

It had nothing to do with her. He certainly liked her. He liked her quite a bit, and he cared about what happened to her. She was a wonderful girl, if a bit rough around the edges. There were just people like her, who went around loving everybody, and there were people like him, who didn't. That's all there was to it.

If she was willing to continue on with their relationship in its current form, then he would be more than happy to do so. If she wanted to just remain friends and not have sex anymore, then he was just going to have to accept that. If she never wanted to see him again, then he was just going to have to accept that, too. Heaving a sigh, he sat down on the edge of the bed. He'd really let things get messed up with Red, as Thera had so subtly pointed out.

Draco knew somehow that it would hurt her, and he didn't like it. He would even go so far as to say that a small piece of him almost wished he did love her back, not just to spare her feelings, but because sometimes when she spouted one of her silly sentimental Gryffindor truisms, he could feel the words hovering just outside his understanding, dangerously close to making sense.

But love...he'd rolled the word around in his head for weeks now, and he couldn't resolve what he felt for her to the word itself. Love was his mother giving his father a gooey look, sparkling with her latest dose of potion. It just seemed very situational and vaguely dishonest. He couldn't imagine himself spending hours gazing into her eyes or any other sort of cheesy bullshit. It just wasn't his style.

Nodding his head, Draco decided that he was ready to face her, suddenly impatient. Looking at his watch, he realized that she was late. Very late. A half-hour late.

Red was hardly an avid fan of punctuality, but half an hour was out of character, even for her. Plus, he'd seen her just before dinner, and she'd given him the smoldering look, so she hadn't forgotten. Perhaps something had come up.

Fifteen minutes later, he was fantastically annoyed with her. He resumed pacing, and began muttering to himself.

"As if I haven't anything better to do with my time than sit here twiddling my thumbs waiting for her. Obviously her fingers don't work anymore, so she can't send a bloody owl or even just pop in to say 'Sorry, can't stay..."

Once she was an hour late, annoyance had developed into anger, and Draco decided that it was time for action. The fifth years would all be cooped up in the library, working their little tails off. If she was there, then he would drag her ass off to a closet and yell at her. If she wasn't, he'd make one of the little snotrags go find her.

Red was not in the library. Seething, Draco spotted Creevey hunched over a pile of books, his rodent-like face pinched and pale with stress, his hands clutched in his hair.

Sauntering up to the table, Draco slammed the kid's book shut. "Where's Weasley?" he demanded.

Creevey blinked at him. "M-M-Malfoy?"

"No, I'm Malfoy. I'm right here. Where is Weasley?"

"You mean Ron?"

"No, you fucking moron. The short one with breasts."

"Ginny? I...I don't know, actually. I haven't seen her since dinner."

"Well, then we're going to go find her. Get your things," Draco said, turning and walking away.

"Hang on, what do you want with her anyway?"

"Prefect business," he said breezily, neither slowing nor turning around. He heard the boy's trotting footsteps catch up with him as he neared the door.

"Well, I'm a prefect. What did you need her to do?"

"I need her to come with me to go see Dumbledore, only the chit's disappeared."

"What about?"

Stopping abruptly, Draco froze the boy with a glare. "That's none of your business, Creevey," he said scathingly. "Just help me find her."

"Well, I can look in the common room. Maybe she's in there."

"Brilliant, Mudblood. Where did you think we were going?"

Creevey shut up until they reached the portrait that every Slytherin knew led to Gryffindor tower. His mind straying from its main objective, Draco tried to overhear the password, but Creevey whispered it directly into the Fat Lady's ear and disappeared into the Gryffindor common room. Damn, Draco thought, imagining the sort of havoc he could wreak if he had access to Harry Potter's boxer shorts. Or his Firebolt.

Creevey returned a few minutes later. "She's not in there," he said, shrugging.

"Well, did you bother to ask if anybody knew where she was?"

The kid looked surprised at this suggestion, then went back into the common room. A few minutes later, he crawled out again. "Nobody else has seen her since dinner."

Draco was beginning to envision a brilliant career for Creevey as a desk clerk in the Department of Magical Transportation. "Go in there," Draco said very slowly and deliberately, "and get me a member of the sodding Potter Brigade." He had to bite his tongue to refrain from tacking on a highly descriptive threat.

Sighing in a long-suffering manner, Creevey obeyed, oblivious to how close he was coming to having his camera shoved somewhere unpleasant. "Nobody's seen them since dinner, either," he said when he got back. "Can I go back to the library now?"

Waving him away, Draco resumed the activity that had taken up the majority of his evening: pacing. He didn't like the fact that Red wasn't where she was supposed to be. He liked it even less that the Daisy Chain Gang was missing, too. There were only a few weeks left of school, making it prime Harry Potter hunting season for the Dark Lord.

Slicing off his thoughts before they could stray too far in the direction of fear, Draco walked up to the Trophy Room, where Thera was serving the last night of detention for her little skiving stunt. Small groups of students making their way back from the library parted hurriedly to allow him a clear path. Those who didn't got cursed.

As was Filch's habit with detentions, the Trophy Room door was locked to keep Thera from sneaking off. Performing an unlocking spell and nearly ripping the door from its hinges, Draco stormed inside and froze.

Aside from a pile of rags and a bucket in the middle of the floor, the room was empty. Thera was gone, too. And if Thera was gone, then...

"Fuck!!!" Draco shouted, kicking the bucket across the room, spilling dirty water all over the floor. Spinning around, he ran to Dumbledore's office as fast as his feet could carry him.

*******

Because the four of them were bound together, they arrived at their destination rather painfully. Someone's elbow made contact with Harry's solar plexus, robbing him of his breath as his glasses flew off his head.

"What the hell?!" Ron shouted.

Hermione shushed him. "Don't make any noise. Where are we?"

Shaking off the disorientation of traveling by portkey, Harry tried to open his eyes and realized that they already were open. The four of them were on a stone floor, surrounded by impenetrable darkness.

"I don't know," Harry said finally, squirming to get out from underneath Ron. There wasn't a lot of room to maneuver within the ropes. Harry wiggled his arm up and lit his wand. They were in a dark, dank basement of some sort. They appeared to be alone, but he couldn't tell without his glasses. With a thrill of fear, he recalled the last time a portkey had taken him to a sinister and unfamiliar place.

Hermione performed a few cutting spells and the ropes loosened. The other three stood while Harry crawled around, trying to locate his glasses. When his hands closed over them, he felt a wave of relief. He didn't like the idea of not being able to see what was coming...or who, for that matter.

"Is everybody alright?" he asked, his senses sharpening as he looked around the room. It appeared to be a wine cellar; racks of dusty bottles stretched well beyond the circle of light produced by his wand. He couldn't see what lay behind them.

"Yes, we're fine," Hermione said faintly. "Ginny, what was that you were holding?"

"It's just a piece of junk. I found it in the room, right where I'd left it. I used to hold it while I was writing. It...it helped me think."

"It's a voice-activated portkey, that's what it is," Ron hissed. "Merlin, Ginny. Just when I think you can't possibly do anything dumber than you already have done..."

"I didn't know it was a portkey!" Ginny protested shrilly. "And how did Professor Wellbourne know what it was, or how to activate it, anyway?"

"Because she's the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, that's why," Ron said bitterly. "The year couldn't end until we found out she was secretly working for You-Know-Who. Hand the thing over, would you?"

"No." Harry hadn't been watching the exchange, but his head snapped to look at Ginny. There was a fierceness about her and he had the sudden impression that even if the three of them ganged up on her and tried to wrestle the trinket away, they wouldn't succeed.

"Both of you, calm down. If it's voice-activated, then all we have to do is all touch it and say the same words, and it should return us, right?" Hermione said reasonably.

"Do you remember what she said?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. The four of them gathered close, all holding onto one another. "Omnia mea mecum porto," Hermione whispered.

Nothing happened.

"Great," Ron said sarcastically, throwing his hands up. "Wonderful. We're stuck here."

"Are you sure that's what she said?" Harry asked Hermione.

She looked up at him, suddenly fearful. "It's what she said. I remember. It's a rather famous quote, from Cicero."

"What does it mean?"

She swallowed. "All that is mine, I carry with me."

Something about the statement chilled Harry. It sounded too much like the spell, like ownership and slavery.

Hermione enlarged the lumos spell at the tip of her wand so that it became a basketball-sized globe of light and placed it on the floor so that didn't have to rely on their wands to see. "Maybe we should look around and see if there's some way..." Hermione began. She was cut off by several loud cracks behind them. Apparation cracks.

Spinning around, Harry went into a crouch and sent a wave of stunners in the direction of the sounds. He heard Hermione cry out. Glancing over, he saw the shield she'd erected shatter and her wand fly out of her hand. Ropes snaked out of the darkness to bind her tightly as she fell to the floor. Seconds later, the same thing happened to Ron.

With two of them down, the attackers began concentrating their offensive power on Harry, and though Fox's training allowed him to block and dodge them, as they came faster and heavier, he could feel himself tiring. Fox's training...

Harry felt like smacking himself on the forehead. He'd completely forgotten about the Port-a-call. He reached over to grab Ginny's arm and haul her behind one of the rows of shelves so that he could have some cover while he located the device, but he paused.

Ginny had no shield up. No curses were being directed to her. She hadn't even crouched down to avoid being cursed. She was simply standing there, looking into the darkness hiding their attackers, her face serene and patient.

There was a split second of indecision. In that split second, his scar exploded with pain. Harry was so surprised that he pitched forward. Breathing heavily, he put everything Fox had taught him to work, shutting the doors in his head, clearing his mind, concentrating everything he had on blocking out Voldemort. Unfortunately, this meant that he couldn't block the curses coming at him. Just as the pain began to recede and Harry was able to reach a hand to his pocket, his arms were yanked behind his back and bound tightly.

The good news was that his legs weren't bound, so he was able to scramble to his feet as footsteps approached. The bad news was that he'd lost his wand. "Accio!" Harry shouted desperately, hoping it would work. He felt a surge of triumph as he the wand jumped up into his hand. In a sort of last-ditch effort, he spun around and shot as many curses as he could from behind his back, closing his eyes and trying to hear where the footsteps were coming from so that he could aim them. He heard two bodies fall before he was seized roughly and thrown to the floor. His wand was ripped from his hand.

"Harry Potter," an all-too-familiar voice said. "You never cease to amaze me."

"Don't tell me you've stopped underestimating me," Harry bit out as he struggled against the ropes binding him and the Death Eater's knee digging into his lower back, "or I might not be able to escape again."

Harry choked as Voldemort pressed his foot into the back of his neck, smashing his face into the floor. "I don't think you'll be escaping anytime soon," he said lightly.

"I've...heard...that...before..." Harry rasped.

The pressure disappeared and Harry found himself lifted up to stand. He expected to find himself face-to-face with his mortal enemy, but Voldemort was currently standing in front of Ginny, both of them looking at each other curiously.

"Tom?" Ginny said in a soft, uncertain, little-girl's voice.

"Little Ginny," he said, a heinous smile splitting his reptilian face. "You kept it for me."

She grinned proudly and held out her hand, the hand that held the knob-like trinket.

"Oh, no," Harry breathed, shaking off his momentary shock. "Ginny, don't! Tom is not your friend! Tom tried to kill you! Don't you remember?"

Ginny's head turned toward him slightly, but her eyes stayed on Voldemort, who was still smiling. "No, I didn't," he said as he plucked the knob from her hand, something akin to - Harry thought as sickness rose up in his throat - a purr in his voice. "I tried to give you what you truly wanted. Do you remember what you wanted, Little Ginny?"

She nodded her head solemnly. "I wanted Filch's cat to stop following me around when I walked around the castle at night. I wanted Colin Creevey to stop pestering me. I wanted to have lots of money, but not be a jerk about it like Malfoy. I wanted to have the highest marks in my class," she parroted.

"And I gave you the opportunity to obtain those things, didn't I?"

Harry realized with a dawning horror that even knowing what he did now about Ginny's role in the spell, he still hadn't scratched the surface of what had occurred during the period when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Ginny had just listed those who had been petrified by the basilisk: Filch's cat and Colin Creevey because they bothered her, then Justin Finch-Fletchley - who was really the only wealthy non-Slytherin at Harry knew of - and Hermione, hands-down the smartest student at Hogwarts.

But the last two made less sense. They had what Ginny wanted, but she had no reason to bear either of them ill will. Why would Tom treat them like the others?

Harry's head dropped forward as terrible things began to fall into place. The summer after the Chamber of Secrets, the Weasleys had won money in a contest. Her second year, Ginny had bounced back, and - quite obviously - her marks had improved. Ron had told him once that he thought Ginny would be at the top of her class if she bothered to be. She's just lazy, that's all. When she actually does her homework, it takes her half the time it takes me. And there were other things: his own decision to give the twins his winnings from the Tri-Wizard Tournament, with which they had financed not only their joke shop, but also Ginny's new broomstick. And then Sirius had left them money in his will. Through whatever means, Ginny no longer wore second-hand boy's robes.

Even after he had been destroyed, Tom had delivered on his promises. Or, Harry wondered, had Voldemort delivered on them? But how? How would he even know what happened in the Chamber of Secrets? Harry gave up; he'd have to think about it later.

"Ginny, he didn't give you what you wanted," he tried again, looking wildly at Hermione and Ron for support only to realize that they were both gagged. "He was just using you."

"I wanted to be brave and strong like Harry," Ginny said dazedly, ignoring him.

"And you will be," Voldemort said, nodding to the other Death Eaters present. They were wearing masks; Harry couldn't see their faces. They set Hermione and Ron on their feet. Both of them were pale and wide-eyed, watching the exchange between Voldemort and Ginny with a frozen sort of horror.

"Shall we put this back in its rightful place?" Voldemort asked, holding up the knob.

Ginny nodded. With a wave of his hand, the Dark Lord lit the torches in the wine cellar, and Harry blinked in the sudden brightness. He couldn't say that he had the first clue what was going on here, but he knew Voldemort had done something to Ginny to make her act like this, and he also knew that whatever the knob-like trinket was, Harry did not want it put back in its rightful place.

Unfortunately, talking Ginny out of whatever trance she was in didn't seem to be working, he was tied up, and they were surrounded by Death Eaters.

"Accio!" Harry yelled, focusing all of his energy on the trinket. If he could just get it in his hand, maybe he could destroy the thing before it could be put to use. He'd never used wandless magic for anything other than defense before, but it was worth a shot.

His heart skipped a beat as the knob shot out of Voldemort's hand and into his own. Holding onto it tightly, Harry screwed his eyes shut in concentration. "Incendio," he whispered. The object grew warm, but before Harry could use another spell, it was pried out of his hand and he was gagged.

"Try something like that again," Voldemort warned, "and the Mudblood loses a limb."

Harry glared at his nemesis, hatred pouring off of him in waves. Voldemort led Ginny through a row of shelves, the Death Eaters forcing the rest of them to follow. Against the far wall, there was a heavy metal door like, the vault doors from Gringott's.

Voldemort touched a hand to the door and it swung open soundlessly to reveal a circular chamber. In the center sat a large ornately-carved wooden chair with velvet cushions.

"The heir's throne," Voldemort said softly. Hermione made a squeaking sound, and the Dark Lord's head turned. "I see Miss Granger is familiar with it." He snapped his fingers and her gag disappeared. "If your reputation is justified, you should be able to describe to your friends just what the throne is."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed, but she didn't seem capable of producing any sound. Voldemort's face darkened. "Or perhaps it is not, in fact, justified," he said softly, raising his wand. Harry and Ron struggled unsuccessfully against the Death Eaters holding them. Harry's mind was screaming at him to do something, but he couldn't, and Hermione was going to die and...

"Salazar Slytherin began constructing it when he learned his wife was expecting a child," Hermione said, her voice breathless, the words tumbling out in a stream of terror. "He had it crafted out of ash and gilded it with transfigured lead that held the protective spells he'd placed around his homes and castles. When it was completed, the heir could oversee all of his holdings. They were utterly impenetrable."

"Don't stop there, Miss Granger," Voldemort prompted her. "Tell the rest of it."

"Following the death of Salazar Slytherin III, there was a war of succession between his nephew Helius and his grandson Salazar IV." Hermione's voice was quavering and Harry could see tears running down her face, but she continued. "Salazar IV won, killing Helius and most of his family, but Helius' sister Lucretia convinced Salazar that she believed him to be the true heir, so he left her alive. She plotted against him with several other enemies of the Slytherin family, and arranged for his murder. The family's enemies couldn't destroy the throne, so it was dismantled, the pieces hidden throughout Britain."

"Very good, little Mudblood," Voldemort murmured. "As you can see, I've managed to piece it back together." A sly grin stole across his face. "Extra credit for you if you can guess how I managed to do it."

"The dark creatures," Hermione said without pause, her voice stronger. "They're sensitive to wards and magical objects. The only part I don't understand is the portkey."

"It was the first piece I located," Voldemort said, his red eyes blazing as he beheld the unassuming gilded knob in his hand. "The summer before my fifth year, the mistress at the orphanage gave me a box of my mother's belongings. They were trifles, mostly; there was nothing of value except for this. I knew the moment I touched it that it was connected in some way to my noble legacy. Unfortunately, it was not until after I opened the Chamber that I realized its significance. I knew that it was useless without the rest of the throne, and I feared that those who suspected my true identity as the heir of Slytherin might realize the importance of the object in my possession and take it away from me."

"I managed to obtain only one other piece of the throne before I graduated Hogwarts. When I came here to kill my worthless Muggle father, I placed that piece in his silly Muggle vault." They weren't at Shirag Castle, then, Harry realized. They were at the Riddle house in Little Hangleton.

"Just as blood would protect Harry Potter from me," Voldemort continued, "blood protected my birthright. In order to protect the other piece in my possession, I left it in a secret room I created while I was at Hogwarts, connected only to the throne itself when it was in all other ways completed, and connected only by the words chosen by me."

An odd sort of light seemed to fall upon Voldemort's snake-like face as he beheld his nearly-completed throne. "It has taken me almost a mortal lifetime to restore the throne, and the birthright of the Heir of Slytherin." Harry could only watch as Voldemort placed the last piece on the throne, fitting the knob into a notch at the very top.

Sitting down in it, Voldemort surveyed the four of them smugly. "As enjoyable as it would be to finally kill the famous Harry Potter in front of my collected Death Eaters, I think - considering our surroundings - that a small, intimate gathering would be more appropriate. Killing you in my father's house, claiming my throne and then destroying this place...it just seems more meaningful, don't you think, Harry?"

Because the gag kept him from voicing his opinions on the subject, Harry glared at him.

Voldemort's red eyes flashed as he stood. "Wormtail, have the throne moved to the ballroom and then escort Miss Weasley to the master bedroom." Harry fought off the desire to heave at the implications of what was happening. The spell, Ginny...his mind raced to try to think of some way to get them all out of this. Unfortunately, his best hope sat in his front pocket, inaccessible to him.

"You two," Voldemort said, indicating the Death Eaters holding Harry, "take him to the ballroom to await the others. The rest of you, secure the Mudblood and the Weasley boy in the vault. We'll deal with them later."

Harry dug in his feet to no effect as he was dragged away. He heard Hermione and Ron struggling behind him and craned his head to try to see if they were having any success. The solid metallic thud of the vault door shutting gave him his answer.

He fought with renewed rage as they reached the stairs. Fox had said he could make things happen, so why couldn't he do it now? Where was the last-second twist that always popped out of nowhere and saved his ass?

"Now, now, Harry," Voldemort chided from behind him. "There's no purpose to be served by continuing to fight a lost battle. Besides, I don't intend to kill you right away. No, there's someone I'd like you to meet first. She's a lovely girl. Very...imaginative."

Harry stopped struggling as the implications of the statement sank in. He wasn't sure if introducing Thera into the mix meant things had just gotten better for him, or worse.