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Author’s Note: Here it is! Freshly back from my wonderful beta RAfan2421! Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited, and followed this fic! You lot make my day(s) and give me an incredible amount of inspiration to write; I can’t possibly thank you enough and I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: As always, this story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including – but not limited to – Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.


Duality: Clandestinity

OoO

The feeling of his wand back in his hand, performing even the randomest of magic, made Harry extremely happy to be back at Hogwarts. In his timeline, it had been a little over a month since he had set foot in the castle, which was bizarre to think about. Once they were past the secrecy sensors, Ron was already nipping at his and Hermione’s heels to get them to visit the Room of Requirement – even saying that they should skip lunch, which made Harry and Hermione pause in alarm on their way up the stairs in the Entrance Hall.

Ron was really bloody serious about wanting to be in the loop if he was turning down lunch.

“Er – just let me go get the Gryffindor password from McGonagall and I’ll join you two there,” Hermione said with only the slightest hesitation, turning and leading her bags and pet carrier up the stairs with her wand.

Harry let out a sigh and gestured with a sharp jerk of his head for Ron to follow him. “Come on then,” he muttered, not looking forward to this bit.

Outside of the Room of Requirement, he paced with Ron slowly – three times – until the door appeared and allowed them to enter. The room was cozy, similar to the Gryffindor common room, with the massive table full of pastries and sandwiches behind the sofa being the only difference. Harry glanced over at Ron with an amused grin as the redheaded Gryffindor moved forward and tried to grab a chocolate pastry, but his hand kept going straight though the food as if it was a ghost.

“I don’t think that’s real, mate.”

“What’s the point of going through the trouble of giving me food that isn’t real? I’m starving!” Ron addressed the room, reaching down and opening his rucksack to pull out a tin of Mrs. Weasley’s shortbread. “Thank Merlin I’ve another tin of mum’s biscuits.”

Shaking his head, Harry set his bags down and took a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the fire while Ron took the sofa, stuffing shortbread into his mouth. They’d barely had a chance to say anything before Hermione joined them, entering the room and sitting across from Harry in the other armchair.

“So,” Ron began, wiping crumbs off of his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper, “you wanna tell me what’s been going on with you two? With your group and stuff?”

“There is no group,” Harry stated calmly, causing a confounded expression to bubble up on Ron’s face.

“What?”

Hermione shifted nervously in her seat. “That was a lie that we told the Order to convince them about the list. But really, we got that list via… other means.”

“How then?” Ron’s brows furrowed low on his head. “What’d you do?”

“We kidnapped and interrogated Malfoy and Goyle,” Harry said after a pause, reaching in his pocket to pull out his red leather case. “Well, really – Daphne, Nott, and Zabini kidnapped Malfoy and we all sort of kidnapped Goyle togeth–”

“Hang on,” Ron interrupted with a gesture of his hand, his gaze questioning. “When did you…? How did you…? And–”

“We used a time turner,” Hermione said, cutting him off.

She went on, explaining the original plan that Daphne, Nott, and Zabini had with Malfoy and how they kidnapped Harry and she found out about it. Then, about how they interrogated Malfoy for information and how they needed Goyle for confirmation so they kidnapped and interrogated him. She revealed most of the information they’d gleaned from the two Slytherins, including the Vanishing Cabinet and the Hogwarts siege, which they had agreed upon telling him.

Ron’s eyes got increasingly wide during the whole story, his mouth opening at various times to interrupt, but Hermione kept going, putting it all out there. Harry stayed silent, smoking a fag and listening, playing with the metal scrying mirror case in his lap. His nerves were set on edge.

“No bloody way,” Ron breathed after it was all over, his entire body unmoving – possibly from the shock. The tin of biscuits next to him lied completely forgotten.

Sighing, Harry flipped open the metal case in his lap, which depicted both Malfoy and Goyle in their interrogation rooms. Malfoy was reading a book and Goyle was passed out on his bed, asleep. He threw it to Ron, who fumbled with it and stared at it, his eyes even wider than before.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered. “You did, didn’t you? Merlin.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We said we’d tell you everything. That’s everything.”

“Let me get this straight,” Ron replied, staring between both of them. “You-Know-Who’s planning to siege Hogwarts for hostages in order to take over Ministry…? With a Vanishing Cabinet. Which is in this room – well, another room in this room. Right now.”

“Yes,” Harry said with a nod.

The centre of Ron’s forehead creased. “And you’re not going to destroy it?”

“As much as I’d like to, that wouldn’t be the most… tactical approach,” Hermione confirmed, shrugging begrudgingly.

“Why not?”

“Voldemort would find another way to siege Hogwarts somehow – this way we know how he’s going to get in and we can stop it that way,” Harry explained, taking the last drag of his cigarette. “We’re going to keep an eye on Cornfoot to track his progress. When the cabinet’s fixed, we’ll be waiting for them.”

“Why didn’t you tell the Order about this?” Ron asked. “I mean… I’m sure they’d help.”

“Snape’s a part of the Order,” Harry said briskly, “and I don’t trust Snape. We’ll alert the Order when there isn’t enough time for him to go running off to Voldemort to tell him we’ve foiled his plans. Because Merlin knows who Snape is working for.”

He heard Hermione let out one of her patient sighs, knowing that she slightly disagreed with him, but she didn’t protest the plan. Obviously everything Malfoy’d said in the interrogation room about the summer conversations between Snape and Voldemort was starting to get through to her. And Goyle about the Dementors, among other things – like the suspicious Unbreakable Vow.

Ron nodded his head in concurrence, staring at the fire with a much less confused look on his face. He seemed to be taking it all in – and accepting it surprisingly well.

“The Order probably wouldn’t go along with our plan either,” Harry elaborated further, as an afterthought.

“I dunno.” Ron shrugged a shoulder. “They might, mate. But yeah… I agree about Snape. It’s a good plan…” His brows then furrowed and he looked up at them. “So you really spent two weeks in a Muggle warehouse thing with Greengrass and that lot? And Malfoy. And Goyle.”

Harry’s brows rose at the question. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “We did. It wasn’t as bad as you’re probably thinking.”

Ron stared at him unconvinced.

“Merlin, Ron,” Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You need to get over this petty house rivalry. Is it so hard to believe that there are Slytherins that are on our side?”

“Come on, Hermione.” Ron’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Nott? His father’s a Death Eater! And Zabini is…”

“If you were paying any attention at the Order meeting, you would have heard that Nott’s older brother is the Death Eater in that family – not his father and definitely not Nott!” Hermione argued sharply. “And Blaise has always been quite neutral, despite his–”

A heated flush crawled up Ron’s neck. “Blaise, is it?”

Harry pressed his hand to his forehead, letting out a silent groan as the row hit with an explosive force.

Why did she have to slip and call him ‘Blaise’ now, of all times? She’d been pretty good at calling him Zabini throughout the whole explanation. He tried to drown out the screaming and not listen to it, much like he did when she and Daph got into rows at the warehouse, but it was hard. It was echoing off the walls.

When he glanced back up at them, they were on their feet, circling each other – their eyes narrowed to slits. Ron bellowed about the ‘mistletoe incident’ at Slughorn’s Christmas party and Hermione had out her accusatory pointer finger, tapping Ron on the chest with it and cornering him as she articulated, “I can snog whomever I want, Ronald Weasley! As many times as I want!”

That just made it worse.

They looked as if they wanted to strangle each other, which made Harry feel slightly worried as they drew even closer to each other. Swiftly, he rose from his chair, situating himself between the two just as Hermione got out her wand. Harry stood in her line of sight, blocking her aim if she decided to take the shot.

They were arguing over his shoulders and around his torso.

“COULD YOU JUST STOP AND BLOODY WELL TALK ABOUT THIS LIKE CIVIL FUCKING ADULTS FOR ONCE?!” Harry shouted over their screaming, grabbing the front of Ron’s shirt and the end of Hermione’s wand.

They both glared at him, momentarily silenced, and he shoved Ron down onto the couch, gesturing Hermione to take a seat in her chair with his other hand. She harshly tugged her wand out of his grip and stubbornly stood by her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

That was probably the best he was going to get out of her.

“Okay,” Harry said, regaining his composure and still standing between them as a human shield. “I don’t know what it is with you two, but it has to stop.” He held up his hands when they went to interrupt him.

“Look – we’re all telling the truth right now,” he continued. “So… out with it. Do you two want to snog each other or something? Because you both have acted like jealous… people–” He wanted to say a far more insulting word. “–for months. And I’m seriously getting tired of it.”

There was a stiff minute of silence, where no one moved a muscle, and air in the room felt charged until Hermione suddenly spoke.

“No – I’d rather not ‘snog him’, as you so eloquently put it,” she answered haughtily. “Maybe a few weeks ago I would have said differently, but I’m past the point of dealing with this.”

“A few weeks ago?” Ron intoned, his voice acrid and bitter as he looked up at her. He then sunk back on the sofa, his expression darkening. “Right. A few weeks ago for you was Slughorn’s party. With Zabini.”

“It was before that, actually, and I wasn’t going to wait around forever for you to get a bloody clue, Ron,” Hermione replied, her lips pursed to a severe degree. “I fancied you. But… I just can’t.” She shook her head. “I’m sick of it and it’s hopeless.”

“But I…” Ron started and then stopped, his expression morphing slowly – softening slightly. “Maybe I do too.”

Hermione’s brow rose. “You ‘what’ too?”

“…Fancy you,” Ron admitted hesitantly, looking jumpier than a pygmy puff.

Well… this is better than the shouting, at least, Harry thought as he side-stepped away to retake his seat in the armchair by the fire.

Hermione huffed, shaking her head. “It’s too late.”

“But…”

“No, Ron,” she sharply cut him off. “I really do like Blaise.”

Ron stared at her in horror, sitting up straighter. “He only wants one thing, Hermione! Blaise Zabini is–”

“Not you too,” Hermione interrupted, rolling her eyes. “You don’t understand. None of you do!”

Harry gazed at her questioningly, a bit on edge from the sudden shouting. He was ready to intervene at any moment, watching the conversation carefully. They weren’t attacking each other... yet.

Hermione’s wand was still pointed in a direction other than Ron, which was relieving, but that could change at any moment. And she really knew how to use that thing so it was good to be on guard.

“Then help me understand!” Ron said, leaning forward, angry and attentive. “Because I fancy you and you fancy me – your next response shouldn’t be ‘Oh, well, I like Zabini’,” he mocked, causing Hermione to glare at him.

“I told him I fancied you, you know,” she said in a vicious voice, but it faded quickly. “He was… very empathetic. He helped me a lot, actually.”

“Helped you right out of your skirt, I reckon,” Ron scathingly retorted.

“No!” Hermione said firmly. “He’s… You know how his mother’s had her fair share of relationships and he’s definitely had a fair share of…”– she sighed –“well, you know?”

Ron rolled his eyes, looking disgusted. “I don’t even want to know,” he grumbled.

But Hermione persisted, “I wouldn’t exactly call him an expert in this subject, but he understands at least. And he helped me realize what type of relationship that you and I would have if it ever happened. Would it be good? Yeah, probably for the first few months... But we just don’t work, Ron – we row and have so many differences. And it likely wouldn’t ever stop. It’s even possible that we wouldn’t be close friends after the relationship eventually ended and I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

Harry’s brows furrowed. If Zabini was using a manipulation tactic on Hermione, that was an extremely good one… He wondered what the dark Slytherin boy was playing at.

“But my mum and dad argue all the time and they have a great relationship!” Ron protested, still with that sickened expression on his face.

Hermione sighed again, a frown marring her lips as she gazed at Ron patiently. “I don’t want that type of relationship. It makes me sad thinking that that would be our future – my future – if we ever decided to give it a go.”

“But we don’t know that!” Ron burst out, gripping the edge of the sofa cushion. “We haven’t even tried anything and – already – you’re passing off on it because bloody Zabini put that idea in your head!”

Hermione’s jaw stiffened. “I’m not stupid, Ron. All he did was ask me where I saw it going – if I were to be involved with you, marry you even – which I hadn’t thought of before. I didn’t think ahead of the fact that I just fancied you because I was too busy rowing with you, being angry at you, or trying to make you get a bloody clue.” She paused. “It wasn’t him that put that idea into my head – it was my own conclusion. And I don’t fancy you anymore. I can’t have that life.”

Harry’s face relaxed slightly at her elaboration, as did Ron’s – actually, Ron went from being red with anger to looking completely dejected as a result of Hermione’s further explanation. He couldn’t even muster a reply, which made Harry glance over at him with a touch of sympathy, even though Hermione had a decent point about their possible relationship.

Harry reckoned that he’d have to have a serious chat with Zabini alone sometime, because everything Hermione had said was suspicious behavior on Zabini’s part. And if Hermione was considering a relationship with the arrogant wanker, Harry needed to make sure there wasn’t any foul play. He was her friend, after all – he had to look out for her. Just as Hermione looked out for him.

He had no idea how he’d help Ron though, which made him feel slightly awkward since he had brought on the whole conversation.

Rejection wasn’t an easy thing to swallow.

Then again, neither were love potions.

OoO

Harry had a problem. A really really big problem. And it was only a week into classes! However, it was a problem he expected – just not so soon!

“Hermione…” he muttered as he entered the empty classroom where he knew she liked to study before dinner. “What can you teach me about Occlumency in… less than four hours?”

She lifted her head up from her book, a confused expression marring her face and she marked her place with a spare bit of parchment. Her eyes then trailed to the scroll in Harry’s hand and the confusion fell away in an instant, replaced with concern.

“You have to meet with Professor Dumbledore.”

“Yes.” Harry took a seat across from her, pulling up a chair. “And I’ve always had this… inkling that he’s been – well… reading my mind? It’s like I don’t have to even say anything and he says things as if I were thinking out loud.”

“I know… Static Legilimency,” Hermione said with a resigned nod. “Professor Snape does it, I’ve noticed. It wouldn’t be implausible if Professor Dumbledore’s mastered it – it’s an intelligent thing to do if you’re in a position of power.”

“Right, so if I go in there and he asks about the mole list, how do I keep from him the real reason why I have that list if he’s reading my mind?” Harry said in a rush, feeling slightly panicked.

He trusted Dumbledore and all, but he didn’t trust what Dumbledore would do with that information and – by extension – the Order, which could mess with their plans. “I’m terrible at Occlumency. And didn’t you and Daphne do a load of practice with that stuff when we were revising?”

“We were trying to figure out how to block being pinned down with Legilimency – it’s not…”

“Sounds a lot harder than Occlumency,” Harry commented with a tilt of his head.

“I’m not sure.” Hermione shrugged, the centre of her forehead creasing. “I mean, yes, I know how Occlumency works and I know how to do it, but I’ve not had the same amount of practice you’ve had with Professor Snape. No one’s broken into that area of my mind; I don’t know if I could effectively evade them with what I know.”

His nerves were tingling worse than ever and his voice took on an anxious edge as he spoke, “Well, then, tell me what you know. It can’t hurt.” He paused and let out a sigh. “Maybe we could… practice a little? I don’t want to go in there unprepared.”

Hermione sighed and she shook her head. “I can’t do Static Legilimency, Harry.”

“Can’t be that different from normal Legilimency.”

“Legilimency is deeper and Static Legilimency picks up surface thoughts – they’re performed differently…” Hermione’s lips parted and she got up from her chair. “I’m going to go get Blaise – he knows Legilimency much better than I do. He might be able to try it.”

“Wait – hold on!” Harry stopped her before she could move out the door. “I’m not laying all of my thoughts and memories out to Zabini.”

“What else can we do then?” Hermione rhetorically questioned. “I’ve never performed actual Legilimency, let alone Static Legilimency – Blaise has. He’d be better at this than me. I’ll teach you what I know about Occlumency – Blaise might have a few ways to approach it too – and then we can… practice.”

He didn’t have much choice over this, did he? He was running blind – even Hermione was running blind, which was unusual.

With an unenthusiastic sigh, Harry gritted out, “Fine. But I don’t trust him. If he sees anything I don’t want him to see, he’ll have to agree to being Obliviated.”

Hermione’s lips pursed. “No – no Obliviation. Go get some vials. If he agrees to it, he can pull the memories from his mind instead. It’s safer – more controlled.”

“But how will we know if he’s pulling the right memory?” Harry hissed, his entire body filled with mistrust over this whole idea.

“I’ll teach you how to put them into your head so you can check,” Hermione replied with a nod, as if the whole thing was decided and sounded completely sane to her.

She left the room in a flurry of bushy brown hair before he could say anything else and Harry pulled out his red leather case, frustratingly lighting a fag as he went off to search his potions kit for his box of vials.

This was one hell of a half-baked plan.

OoO

He came back to the room with a large box of unbreakable glass vials in his hands, filled to the brim thanks to Neville. Neville had hundreds of vials, which he used on a regular basis to collect plant extracts, so he didn’t mind sparing a few dozen to help Harry with his ‘extra-credit Potions project’. It was a small fib, but he’d probably need as many vials as he could get if the Occlumency lesson from Snape was any indication of how this was going to go.

In the room, Zabini was leaning against the table with his wand out, looking bored and aloof in a way that only Zabini could pull off. Hermione was sitting next to him on the table, in mid-ramble about the things she’d learned about blocking Legilimency attacks and Harry took out his wand to quickly ward the door just in case. He didn’t want anyone stumbling upon them practicing this.

“The techniques used to manipulate Static Legilimency are the same as usual Occlumency techniques,” Zabini replied to Hermione, glancing over at Harry. “What type of techniques did you previously learn?”

Harry shrugged. “Clear your mind?”

Zabini’s brow arched. “The Vacuous Technique? That’s…” He shook his head, his lips pulling into an amused smirk. “Was it effective at all?”

A perplexed expression crossed over Harry’s face and Hermione explained, “It’s a very advanced technique. Is that all you… learned?”

Harry nodded.

“No wonder you need my help,” Zabini dryly intoned. “Only an imbecile would start off teaching you that method right away.”

Slightly entertained by Zabini inadvertently calling Snape an imbecile, Harry set the box of vials on the table. “What other techniques are there then?” he questioned, staring over at them.

“Morgana’s eye, Potter, are you seriously telling me you’ve never opened a book on the subject?”

“There’s the Replacement Technique, the Distraction Technique, the Mundane Technique, and the Mirror Technique,” Hermione listed, ignoring Zabini’s derisive remark but still throwing him a disapproving glance. “All of them have different ways of approaching the issue. It’s generally about projecting different thoughts to replace others or conjuring up deceptive images. Since you said the techniques for manipulating various types of Legilimency are similar, I think the latter will be the best approach, right Blaise?”

Zabini shrugged. “If he can muster enough imagination to effectively accomplish it, perhaps.”

Harry glared at the dark Slytherin determinedly. “I’m sure I can. Now, what do I have to do?”

“You have to…” Hermione started, obviously gathering her thoughts, “imagine things. For example, when you go to lie, you have to imagine aspects of the lie and project them to the forefront of your mind. If Dumbledore asks you about the list – for instance – you could bring forth an image of asking various people for help, or asking them to gather information for you. You have to visually construct the lie.”

“Yes, that would work,” Zabini said with a miniscule tilt of his head. “However, for completeness, it’s better to take a past memory and replace aspects about it to fit your lie. Imagined, constructed, and badly altered memories all have a fogginess to them, which makes them easy to detect. The Headmaster might be able to sense that something’s off if there’s too much fog.”

“Okay,” Harry muttered, positioning himself in the centre of the room, away from any objects he could hurt himself with while under Legilimency, “I’ll try that then. We should get started – we’ve only about three hours left.”

Zabini gazed at him with a cynical expression. “If you brace yourself like that in front of Professor Dumbledore, he’s going to know something’s off without Static Legilimency.”

Letting out a sigh, Harry tried to relax a little. “I’ve had terrible experiences with Legilimency, Zabini. Just give me a second…”

He took in a deep breath, clearing his emotions and preparing to visually lie, bringing up and changing memories of speaking to Nott to blackmailing him; changing memories and conversations with members of the DA, with Luna, and with Susan Bones and even Daphne.

Rolling his shoulders to stretch out the tension, Harry nodded. “Okay. Ready.”

Zabini stood, approaching him with his wand at his side. “Now, I can’t perform Static Legilimency. That’s wandless and takes years to master. I’m simply going to do a light Legilimency sweep – it’s a bit stronger than Static Legilimency, but light enough that we’ll still be able to hold a conversation while under the effects.” He paused. “It might be advantageous to… have me ask you questions you’ll have to answer with a lie in order to simulate the situation.”

“Go head.” Harry took another deep emotion-quelling breath and nodded in acquiescence before Zabini raised his wand.

“Legilimens,” Zabini whispered, maintaining eye contact. “How was your Christmas holiday?”

Harry’s brows furrowed and he gazed at the dark Slytherin confusedly, not able to feel any difference inside or outside of his mind. Did Zabini get the spell wrong? It wasn’t like any type of Legilimency that he’d ever experienced.

Shouldn’t he be hunched over on the floor right about now?

“I didn’t get it wrong – I know what I’m doing, Potter,” Zabini impatiently responded to Harry’s thoughts. “Now answer the question: How was your Christmas holiday?”

“Er, good – I had fun,” Harry replied, his mental images sticking to the memories at the Burrow; peeling sprouts with Ron and eating at the enormous dining table in the Weasley’s kitchen. The Weasley’s kitchen thought then strayed to meeting Rufus Scrimgeour and he tried to stop it, but the image of speaking with him in the Weasley’s garden still peeked through.

“I see. How did your private chat with the Minister of Magic go?” Zabini asked, a mocking grin tugging at his lips.

“I probably don’t need to lie about that with Dumbledore,” Harry said, shrugging. “There wasn’t anything… incriminating about it.”

More images poured forth that he tried to hide and failed.

“Not bad, Potter.” Zabini’s grin widened further. “Subtly telling the Minister of Magic where to stick his wand – I’m impressed.”

Harry’s teeth gritted in irritation. “You’re supposed to be helping me lie to Professor Dumbledore – not assessing my memories, Zabini.”

“Sorry,” Zabini said, but he didn’t look sorry in the least. “It’s not like I can help it when you’re being an open book.”

“Just get on with the questioning.”

“This little group of yours – the ones who got the list. Who are they?” Zabini then probed, cocking his head to the side.

Harry brought up the memories he’d altered and tried projecting them to the forefront of his mind. “I’d rather not say. They wish to remain anonymous – I believe it’s safer for everyone that way.”

“Good – though that one of Susan Bones is suspicious. When was that?” Zabini’s eyebrow rose. “Last year? Her hair’s different. And there’s a bit of fog in the one with Theo, but it’s not too terrible for your first try.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment?

Harry’s brows rose. “I’ll try again,” he said, quickly altering the thoughts and placing the conversations in different memories, projecting them forward.

Zabini’s nose scrunched up in consideration. “Better. It’ll do. How about Draco? Do you know where he is? And Goyle?”

Harry blinked, trying to imagine Malfoy gatecrashing Slughorn’s Christmas party, but he knew that a memory of Draco Malfoy tied to a chair in his interrogation room slipped by for just a second.

“I’ve no idea where he is. Haven’t seen him since Slughorn’s party.”

“Finite,” Zabini muttered with a sigh, waving his wand. “I think it might be a useful exercise to write a list of everything you don’t want the Headmaster to know and construct memories against them. Because you can’t go into this ill-equipped. You’re good at hiding your emotions but you’re not good enough to construct quick fabrications on the spot. You’re not compulsive enough to do that.”

That was actually an extremely helpful idea… The centre of Harry’s forehead creased. “Why are you so willing to help me?”

“Potentially, I could be implicated just as much as you if something in your mind got to Dumbledore,” Zabini clarified. He then glanced over at the bushy-haired Gryffindor seated on the table with a smirk. “Hermione can also be very convincing.”

“…How?” Harry asked, his eyes flicking toward both of them.

“I threatened to hex him quite… creatively if he didn’t help you right away,” Hermione answered with a self-conscious shrug.

Zabini’s smirk widened. “Can’t argue with that, can I, love?” he said fondly.

Ugh. Trust Zabini to be attracted to threats of being hexed.

Harry rolled his eyes as he ambled over to the table and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill to start his list.

“How did you learn about all this stuff anyway?” he asked, staring at the parchment and writing things down: Malfoy, Goyle, and the warehouse to name just a few.

The dark Slytherin snorted derisively. “How do you think?” he said, leaning against the table. “It’s not as if my mother isn’t an alleged homicidal widow.”

“Oh. Right…” Harry trailed off with a wary stare toward Zabini.

“So she really did kill all of her husbands?” Hermione questioned with a scoff and a stern hand on her hip.

Zabini let out a breathy laugh. “As I said – alleged. There’s no proof – don’t look so appalled.”

“Just because there’s no proof doesn’t mean that she didn’t!” Hermione argued.

“Yes, but there’s no official proof that she did either.”

“You wouldn’t need to learn mind arts if you weren’t covering anything up for her.”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” Zabini shrugged. “What she does with her husbands is her business.”

Hermione gaped. “But she’s killing people.”

“Allegedly,” Zabini insisted. “And if she were to kill anyone, it would be for a good reason.”

“Like what? Monetary gain?” she disapprovingly remarked.

Zabini laughed, low and deep, a wide smile splitting across his face. “Most of our money came from my father, who died – of natural causes, mind you – well over a decade ago.”

“That doesn’t tell me that she wouldn’t do it for monetary gain,” Hermione pointed out.

“No, it doesn’t,” he evenly replied.

Before Hermione could say anything else, Harry interrupted the heated discussion, looking up from his list, “Okay. I’m done. Is there anything you want to add?”

He slid it over to them, glad for the silence that fell over the room.

Hermione’s glare toward Zabini withered and she picked up the piece of parchment, her eyes scanning it briefly. “Seems to cover everything. Shall we add your mother’s dubious habits to this?” she asked haughtily, passing the list to Zabini.

“I don’t see why. It’s all alleged, as I’ve said,” Zabini retorted, smirking. He then turned toward Harry. “You don’t want to keep your relationship with Daphne from him?”

“I was… forced to tell the Order about it, so he’ll know,” Harry explained, biting his cheek in irritation at the memory of Ron outing that secret.

“How unfortunate,” Zabini drawled absentmindedly, setting the list back down onto the table and fingering his wand. “Are you ready to give it another try?”

Letting out a long sigh, Harry reluctantly nodded. “Just let me reconstruct a few memories first…”

OoO

He finished the last few drags off of his cigarette in front of the statue guarding the Headmaster’s office, vanishing it with a wave of his wand. Mentally and emotionally, he was prepared for this, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit nervous. He had no idea what to expect other than Pensieve-viewed memories about Tom Riddle’s life. Hopefully Dumbledore was just building to the more useful stuff for later – taking his time. That had to be it.

Whispering the password to the giant eagle statue, Harry climbed the stairs to Dumbledore’s office, taking even breaths through his nose to clear the remaining dregs of emotion that clung to him. The memories he had reconstructed came to him much easier now, thanks to Zabini drilling him for the last two hours.

He was ready.

“Ah, Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore greeted from behind his desk, gesturing to one of the wing-backed chairs in front of him. “Please, sit down. Would you like a Lemon Drop?”

Harry crossed the room, past the sleeping portraits of former Headmasters, and took a seat, declining Dumbledore’s offer of a Lemon Drop.

Dumbledore popped one of the sweets into his mouth, staring at him thoughtfully and leaning back in his chair. “How have you been?”

“Just fine, sir,” Harry replied, getting comfortable in the wing backed chair and trying to look relaxed.

Dumbledore smiled genially. “I’m glad that you are. I’d heard that the Minister of Magic visited you at Christmas.”₁

“Yes,” Harry said with a nod, staring at Fawkes, who was perching on the end of the desk. Avoiding eye contact supposedly helped with deterring Static Legilimency. “It wasn’t too unpleasant. He was… more manipulative than I expected though.”

Dumbledore’s bushy white brows rose. “Is that so?”

“He used Percy Weasley to get me to talk to him and then tried to bribe me into improving the Ministry’s image.” Harry glanced over at Dumbledore for a moment, conjuring up those memories. “He also tried to gather information on you. Wanted to know where you were going off to during your absences.”

“Yes, he has been very nosy in the past months,” Dumbledore replied with a small smile. “He tried to have me followed, which was rather amusing. Unfortunately for him, he sent Dawlish. I regret that I’ve had to jinx him more times than I’d ever care to. Naturally, Dawlish says it’s all part of the job, but nevertheless…” he trailed off with a slightly pained sigh.₁

“So he still doesn’t know where you’re going,” Harry deduced, quickly hiding his built up curiosity over the subject and projecting the image of Scrimgeour asking about it all.₁

“No, not as of yet,” Dumbledore said, peering over his half-moon spectacles. “I have also heard that you and your friends offered your hands at the last meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.”

Was that Dumbledore’s way of distracting him from the topic of his absences?

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the box of Lemon Drops on the desk, preparing his mind before he looked back up at the Headmaster. “It started out as a way of gathering information on Malfoy and what he was doing in the Room of Requirement. Getting our hands on names of Ministry moles was just a happy accident – we thought the Order could use it.”

“It was very kind of you to share that with us. However, I would like to know, Harry… What came of the information gathered on Draco Malfoy?” Dumbledore questioned, gazing at him with his overly perceptive twinkling eyes.

“We never could figure it out,” Harry said with a shrug, projecting memories of Mundungus Fletcher speaking of Malfoy at the Order meeting. “Not that it matters anymore since he’s run off. With Goyle as well.”

The disappearance of Goyle and Malfoy caused a number of wild rumours to fly about the castle over the past week – everyone was talking about it.

As an afterthought, Harry continued, “Maybe whatever he was working on in that room, he took with him.”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore intoned, his malformed hand stroking idly at the end of his long beard as he turned to stare out the giant window in his office. “I’m unsure if you’ve been told this, but Narcissa Malfoy has gone missing as well – around the same time as Mr. Goyle. The Daily Prophet, as you would expect, has kept this matter very private.”

Harry’s brows rose and he schooled his expression into one of surprise. “Really? D’you think they’ve gone into hiding? Maybe they took Goyle along?”

He hadn’t been able to talk to Daphne since arriving back at school, what with classes starting and the piles of homework that the professors handed out. She also seemed inordinately busy – disappearing during meal times and study periods. But if Narcissa Malfoy had been missing since Goyle had been gone, it was safe to guess that Daphne was successful.

Dumbledore shook his head, glancing back at Harry, who had to quickly hide his thoughts under Malfoy at Slughorn’s Christmas party and the conversation between Moody and Mundungus Fletcher.

“Alas, I can only speculate, for there has been no word of their whereabouts or movements for weeks.” Dumbledore paused, placing his hands – one blackened and one merely wrinkled with age – on the edge of the desk. “And now, Harry, I must insist that we press on. We have much to cover this evening,” he said, rising from his chair.₁

As the Headmaster strode over to the Pensieve, Harry let out an inconspicuous sigh of relief, but kept his facade.

He almost couldn’t believe that he was accomplishing lying to Dumbledore. But the hours of preparation that he’d put into the lies didn’t prepare him for the effects – how he felt now as what he was doing sank in, following the eccentric Headmaster over to the Pensieve. He tried to squash it and not let it show on his face, but inside he felt it all, gazing into the basin and away from Dumbledore’s twinkling stare.

Part of him felt guilty about lying, which he’d expected – he trusted Dumbledore after all and the eccentric Headmaster had given him very few reasons not to trust him over the years.

Yet, the other part of him was… starkly opposite. It didn’t feel guilty in the least.

If anything… that part of him seemed… pleased.

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₁ Rowling, J.K. (2005). Chapter 17: A Sluggish Memory. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (US edition) (pp. 356-359). New York, NY: Scholastic Inc.

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Author’s Note: Thank you for reading and please review!