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Duality	By : Andafaith Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 70195 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, characters, nor plots or the world within. No copyright infringement intended and no money or profit is being made from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 37
- 38
- 39
Author’s Note: You guys are fantastic – as always, my upmost thanks goes to you! I’m shocked you’re still here. This chapter is quite the monster. I’ve rewritten/edited it and have pondered over it for so long, it’s almost ridiculous so I decided to rip off the unhappy plaster and post it. I also must thank my beta RAfan2421 for his patience and help! It was much needed and extremely appreciated. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I do not own. This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and 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: Guilty Knowledge

OoO
“So this is how you usually practice… stuff?” Harry asked, warily glancing at the small group of potion-enhanced flying squirrels that Daphne brought up to the Room of Requirement, pilfered from Nott.
Daphne tilted her head thoughtfully, pulling the last of the squirrels out of the expanded pocket of her robe. “Depends on what it is. Thaumaturgy requires living subjects – squirrels work well; you can get them to do almost anything, but it requires human practice to gain proper finesse with it – you’ll see.” She paused, slipping her wand from her sleeve. “Unless you’d rather start with the triple-layer glamours? Those you can do on yourself.”
Shaking his head, Harry drew his wand. “Thaumaturgy first. It’s the most pressing.”
“Alright, Thaumaturgic suggestions. They’re the ‘easiest’ of the lot. The wand motion is a simple flick and the incantation is nonverbal – Retinentia.”
“Retinentia, got it,” he said with a nod, repeating the word in his head over and over.
“This incantation allows the mental tendrils of a person’s mind to connect with your magic – that’s what makes this all very tricky. You can get the connection with the incantation – that part’s easy – but it’s working with the tendrils that’s the difficult part. There’s no specific incantation for adding suggestions – you have to concentrate on your magic and suggest something. Are you with me so far?”
“I think so?” Harry asked, his brows raised. “Pull at tendrils and add suggestions.”
“Concentrate on your magic and then add suggestions,” Daphne amended, waving her wand and summoning one of the squirrels that was flying about the empty room they’d requested for practice in. “It’ll be easier to explain that part after you try it. Have you done any N.E.W.T.’s level magic before?”
“Does the Patronus Charm count?” He took the squirrel from her, which stayed surprisingly placid in his grip. Nott and Daphne must have made them more docile with their Thaumaturgy practice.
Zabini was probably pleased by that – he was far too attached to his special hair potion.
Daphne shrugged. “I’ve never successfully casted a Patronus. I mean, I know you have to concentrate on a happy memory and then do it – this is more… concentrating on the magic and then suggesting. Go on, give it whirl; at least make a connection so you can get a feel for it.”
Staring down at the squirrel and holding it still, Harry pointed and flicked his wand at it, focusing on the incantation. In a flash, it felt as if a rush of tingling warmth had shot out of him, tugging at something from the squirrel – a silvery band of light, floating in his mind, connecting with the small mammal – and he nearly dropped his wand in astonishment at the rush of it all, the warmth and silvery band of light disappearing behind his eyes.
Harry’s brows furrowed. “Er – was that supposed to happen?”
Staring at him expectantly, Daphne’s lips curved into a bemused smile. “I can’t really tell. Thaumaturgy is a mind to magic connection – it’s not visible to anyone but the caster. If it was, I’d physically show you how to do it.”
“Well… there was this silver thing and this rush and this warm sensation...”
Her brow arched and she rolled her wand between her fingers and palm. “Have you not felt your magic before?”
Harry shrugged, shifting on his feet and letting the squirrel free when it started to struggle in his grip. “Not really, I guess. Was that what that warm sensation was? Like gripping your wand?”
“Yeah. I would have thought that, since you’re friends with Granger and all, you would have done some…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s no matter. That sensation is what you need to focus on once you get ahold of a mental tendril – that’s the ‘silver thing’: a tendril. Then, you use your magic to transfer a suggestion.”
Staring down at his wand, his lips parted. “…How?”
“Intuitively – using your magic. You have to get a feel for magically weaving your own thoughts around mental tendrils. Takes a lot of magical concentration… I’ll show you, kind of–”
Plucking a squirrel from the air by the scruff of its neck, Daphne pointed her wand at it, her eyes unblinking as she focused solely on the squirrel. As she let it go, the squirrel started hopping around the floor like a hyper rabbit. “I suggested to it that it should jump up and down ten times,” she explained. “You just focus on the magic inside you and strongly intend to weave a thought or idea around the tendril.”
“So it’s a bit like accidental magic?” Harry asked and then quickly elaborated, “My aunt gave me a terrible haircut once and my hair grew back to the way it was overnight because I hated it so badly.”
Daphne gave a laugh. “I suppose. It might be easier for you if you feel strongly for what you’re doing. You have to have a clear suggestion while focusing on your magic to make that suggestion stick to the mental tendril.”
“Okay, got it,” Harry muttered, sweeping his wand and summoning the nearest flying squirrel.
Now that he knew what was going to happen, it was a bit easier to hang onto the connection and focus. It felt very strange to him – the warm, tingly feeling inside him that was his magic, welling up and attaching itself to a foreign piece of the squirrel’s mind. Trying to focus on that feeling, he attempted to do what Daphne did to her squirrel. However, when he set it down on the floor, it simply skittered over to join the squirrel that Daphne had doing a jig, not jumping even once.
“I probably didn’t concentrate enough…” he muttered, biting the inside of his cheek.
“What did you try to do?” she asked, looking up at him from where she was crouched on the floor.
Dropping to his knees beside her, he picked the errant squirrel back up. “Make it jump, like you did.”
“You’re not going to get it the first time you try it – I didn’t,” Daphne said comfortingly. “Even on squirrels, it’s hard. Wait till you get to humans – took me a whole week before I could get Theo to do a backflip over his bed without him protesting, or tell Blaise that he loved him after a few suggestions.”
Picturing that in his head, a short disbelieving laugh escaped him and he stared over at her, stroking the squirrel’s head to calm it. “You can do all that with Thaumaturgy?”
“With practice,” Daphne said with a nod. “It just takes time. It’s complex magic because the human mind is complex and Thaumaturgy is a process of magically weaving illusions into the mind, whether they’re images or words or feelings that a person can believe is reality, or as their own thoughts and feelings. And, with the wards, you create a magical cage around the area that does the hallucinogenic bewitching and suggesting for you. Muggle-Repelling wards actually derive from Thaumaturgic wards – they impart suggestions to Muggles. Then there’s the Notice-Me-Not Charm, the Babbling Curse, and even Cheering Charms or other charms that affect people’s moods – all derived from Thaumaturgy. They’re just… advancements of an old branch of magic that inspired it. But older types of magic tend to allow for more possibilities because they’re the old way of doing everything that we now have simpler spells for, which do the work for us.”
“Interesting…” Harry vaguely responded, staring down that the squirrel in his hand. “So I could make the squirrel really happy by suggesting that it be happy to one of the mental tendrils?”
“Not exactly,” Daphne replied, her cheek scrunching up. “You have to impart the feeling of happiness if you want to make it feel something. Concentrate on your magic, hold the tendril, give yourself the feeling of happiness, and then focus on attaching that feeling to the tendril.”
Harry’s lip curled, imagining the difficulty of all that. “I can see why Cheering Charms were invented now.”
“You’ll get it with practice,” she said confidently. “Why don’t you try again?”
Flicking his wand toward the squirrel and casting the nonverbal spell, he concentrated on the suggestion of jumping, pulling away from the tendril after imparting it and releasing the squirrel.
The bastard just sat there, staring up at him with its beady little eyes.
This was going to take a while.

OoO
Ginny and Neville, as it turned out, were practically the new leaders of the D.A. While official meetings weren’t held anymore, they apparently treated it as a sort of tutoring and counseling service amongst the inter-house group of friends, remaining surprisingly close to each other. Ginny was the most enthusiastic about it all – and the most enthusiastic to help every time Harry approached her for D.A. assistance.
“Do you have a few minutes?” the Weasley girl asked quietly, tugging him away from Ron and Hermione on his way out of the breakfast in the Great Hall on Saturday.
“Uh – sure, what is it?” He tossed his two friends an apologetic look, following Ginny down the corridor.
Ginny lowered her voice, “You said you needed a private meeting with Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott?”
“Yeah. Order business...”
“I reckoned that was it – Susan and Hannah are very well-connected. We use this abandoned classroom on the fifth floor, so – for the future – if you need to contact one of the D.A. members, it’s a good place to meet. We use it for studying and such.”
“The D.A. has a new headquarters?” Harry asked, trying to keep up with Ginny’s manic pace up the stairs.
“Mhm. It’s great – Ernie Macmillan kitted it out with a bunch of old furniture he found in a storage room in the dungeons on one of his Prefect rounds. And we’ve got the old board up and Luna hung around all of these garlands to keep the Wrackspurts at bay, which apparently helps with focusing. I don’t know if that’s true, but it makes the room smell nice. Better than the Gurdyroot she was so intent on before – one of Neville’s omnivorous plants kept eating it and it smelled terrible. It had to go.”
“I was wondering where that thing went – it ate Seamus’ Puffskein at the beginning of the year,” he said, stalking after her down a fifth floor corridor he’d only been through a few times in the past. “So, Susan and Hannah are meeting me there?”
“Yes. It’s perfect, no one but the D.A. knows about it. Also, Anthony, Justin, and Padma worked on the privacy warding and Sir Cadogan agreed to hang around in the landscape portrait outside of the room as a guard. He’s shit at it, but he’s good at keeping Filch away. They can’t stand each other.” They reached a nondescript classroom door and she turned to address the landscape portrait hanging across the corridor. “Hello, Sir Cadogan!”
“Greetings, young Ginevra!” Sir Cadogan replied, galloping around on his steed and stirring up the nesting grouse that were painted into the portrait. “Nothing new to report, I’m afraid – the bootless beef-witted codpiece and his cat have been suspiciously silent!”
“I’m sure you’ll handle him just fine – keep up the good work,” Ginny told him, reaching behind her to open the door and let Harry into the room.
“Aye, m’lady!” he heard Sir Cadogan exclaim from the corridor just before the door slammed shut behind them.
The D.A.’s new headquarters gave him a wave of nostalgia from the moment he entered, looking around. They’d tried to make it somewhat resemble the Room of Requirement when D.A. had practiced there, with various Daily Prophet and Quibbler articles and pictures hung up on a board on one side of the room. The other side held the familiar practice dummies, which were arranged like soldiers along the walls. There were differences though. Garlands that smelled like wildflowers dangled from the ceiling, draping over the walls, and various plants filled the windowsills. The rest of the room was occupied with tattered furniture that still looked comfy, giving it a homey – and complete – feel.
It was as if the D.A. had never disassembled; it continued to persist, even without him – and that warmed his heart a little.
Harry’s eyes trailed to the faded yellow sofa next to the fireplace, where Susan and Hannah were waiting for him, holding cups of tea and corralling the errant enchanted tea service in front of them. Flouncing across the room, Ginny dropped into one of the burgundy armchairs and – trying to think of something to say – Harry joined her after a moment of hesitation, taking a seat.
“I’m sorry I haven’t really been around for the D.A.,” he apologized, feeling as if it was desperately needed, especially considering… well, everything currently surrounding him. “I didn’t realize…”
“It’s fine, Harry,” Susan replied, giving him an cheery smile and stilling the magical bouncing sugar bowl with a vicious strike of her wand. “We all figured you were busy and we’re doing well enough on our own – Ginny and Neville have been taking the reins.”
“I’ve heard,” Harry said with a nod. “I’m glad.”
“Want some tea?” Susan offered, gesturing to the enchanted service in front of her. “This was my auntie’s set. They’re bloody useless at recognizing a guest – aren’t you, you little nits?”
The teapot seemed to cower under her glare and Harry politely declined. “I’m good, thanks.”
“What was it that you needed to meet with us for?” Hannah asked, setting her writhing teacup aside and tapping it with her wand to make it stay put.
Letting out a breath, Harry started his approach, “Have either of you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?” he asked, staring mostly at Susan. He knew that her aunt – likely the previous owner of the tea service – was involved with them before she was killed last summer. Kingsley had mentioned working with her a few times.
“You mean Dumbledore’s secret group?” Hannah questioned, her eyes lighting up. “Quite the scandal, that – it’s all over the Evening Prophet – Andy Smudgley has been doing these ‘investigative’ pieces–”
“Investigative – pfft,” Susan huffed into her tea. “It’s sensationalistic trash.”
Hannah shrugged. “It’s fascinating though… You have to admit.”
Harry’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Andy Smudgley’s stupid conspiracy in the Evening Prophet,” Susan answered, gazing at him with vague skepticism. “You haven’t read his series?”
“No…” he warily intoned. “What’s the conspiracy?”
“That Dumbledore has a secret army called the ‘Order of the Phoenix’, which he uses for political and personal gain,” Susan explained, rolling her eyes. “Basically, Smudgley’s been trying to convince people that it’s Dumbledore who’s stirring up – and instigating – a lot of the Death Eater attacks, using the Order of the Phoenix, to discredit and undermine the Ministry as an institution. And he heavily postulates that Dumbledore secretly wants to run the government like an ironfisted dictator, which he assumes will occur if an all-out war breaks out – a war that Dumbledore is apparently encouraging so he can gain full political power.” She snorted contemptuously, her hand reaching out to snatch up her footed saucer, which started to run off toward the edge of the table. “It’s pure propaganda that has bloody Scrimgeour written all over it.”
“Yeah, but at least people think it’s just a conspiracy,” Ginny jumped into the conversation. “Unlike Dauber and Pash’s anti-Muggle articles in the main paper.”
Anti-Muggle articles?
Harry stared between the three girls, feeling tremendously out of the loop. He clearly needed to start reading the Prophet again instead of just glancing at the cover in disgust and throwing it in the corner of his dorm. His face was plastered on the front of almost every issue as of late and the ones that didn’t have his face plastered all over usually mentioned him at some point. Scrimgeour was trying very hard to make it look like he was working with the Ministry, regardless of their Christmas meeting.
And Hermione, who usually had enough patience to read the Prophet in total and weeded through the news for him, was still going through the back issues she’d missed while she was focused on her library horcrux hunt.
Merlin, look away from the bloody paper and all hell breaks loose.
“What anti-Muggle articles?” he asked, glancing over at the redheaded Gryffindor.
“You know how the Daily Prophet started that section on Wizard-Muggle relations last November?”
Harry nodded. From what he had read of it, it was a half-arsed attempt at best and far too easy to get annoyed and angry at.
“Well, they wrote some good things, articles about how the Muggle Prime Minister and the Minister of Magic were working together to provide Muggles with support after Death Eater attacks and such. It used to be rather pro-Muggle, but it’s slowly deteriorated into… ugh.” Ginny’s nose scrunched up as if she’d just stepped in dragon dung.
“There was this article a few weeks ago that started out like we were collaborating with the Muggles. They’d found this mass grave from the Burning Times and the Ministry of Magic was informed, and the Ministries worked together on returning the remains to their families – good and all. But the article mostly focused on the torture that magical people used to suffer during the Burning Times – especially the women and children. They spun it like Muggles were total monsters and still are – but they don’t do anything to us anymore!”
He may have heard Hermione mention that one…
“And now,” Ginny continued, gesticulating wildly, “they’ve been all: There’s been an outbreak of a mysterious illness in Sihr – it must be the Muggles’ fault! Seven wizards shot in Denmark – Muggle weapons are dangerous, here’re some tips on how to avoid Muggle weapons violence and defend yourself from the Muggles because they’re surely out to get us! It’s nothing good anymore – mostly bad. And people bloody well believe it!”
“Because bad news sells,” Susan dryly intoned, her mouth flattening into a thin line. “Especially if it’s irrationally biased and inspires strong emotions – that’s how politics works. My great uncle works in The Department of Magi-Muggle Cooperation; he loathes that section. He told me that those incidents that they’re making such a fuss out of happen all the bloody time. What they don’t mention is that witches and wizards accidentally kill Muggles just as often as Muggles accidentally kill witches and wizards – especially if there’s a war going on somewhere. But that section wouldn’t gain as much popularity if they tried to write like actual journalists.”
“They’re probably not actual journalists, I reckon. Likely Death Eaters who got a shiny new job at the Daily Prophet,” Ginny said boldly.
“Maybe.” Susan shrugged again, setting her cup of tea down onto its saucer and tapping it with her wand. “But it’s the Ministry who’s still approving it – they have people who review articles before they’re allowed to be published. The blame is all on their backs.”
“Does that have something to do with you coming to us?” Hannah asked, angling herself toward Harry and raising her brows. “Because I might be able to help. My cousin works for Witch Weekly and he probably knows someone who can stop the Order of the Phoenix series from being published. Not so sure about the anti-Muggle articles; the Evening Prophet is handled differently than the Daily Prophet. Less serious – they’ve less readers.”
“Er – no… I mean, you can do that if you want, but that’s not why I wanted to meet with you,” Harry muttered, caught off guard and his mind still roiling from the news about the Prophet. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried to get back on track to his approach.
“I only mentioned the Order of the Phoenix because I work with them – and they’re really fighting against Voldemort; it’s not for Dumbledore – he started the Order to combat Voldemort… none of that stuff in the Prophet that you mentioned is true.”
“We know, Harry. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that it’s a ruddy pile of kindling,” Susan heatedly insisted.
“Hopefully the rest of the population sees it that way.” His lips quirked into a sardonic crooked smile and Ginny scoffed cynically, murmuring, ‘Not bloody likely,’ which he internally agreed with.
With a small sigh, he moved back onto the reason why he needed them, bending the truth, “Anyhow… there’s evidence that Voldemort’s using students at Hogwarts to do things for him. We’re still not certain on what he’s having them do – Malfoy and Goyle were possibly involved before they went missing. But I believe that one of these students is in Hufflepuff and I was wondering if you could help me get into the common room so I can search their dorm for clues or anything else I can get on them.”
“A Hufflepuff working for You-Know-Who?” Hannah leaned forward in her seat. “Who is it?”
“I don’t think it would be the best idea if I said,” Harry replied and then added, “Until I’m sure they’re working for Voldemort, that is. The goal is to incriminate with proof – not accuse.”
Susan’s eyes narrowed. “It’s Zacharias Smith, isn’t it?”
Harry snorted with laughter, shaking his head. “No – not him.” Though he could see why she would come to that conclusion.
“Too bad,” Susan muttered, slumping back against the sofa. “I’ve wanted a good reason to hex the little git for a while now.”
“We’ll help you get in, Harry,” Hannah said, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and smiling genially. “You know it’s by the kitchens, right?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been down that way before.”
“I’m free for it tonight if you want – how about you?” Hannah glanced toward Susan.
“Er – we’d have to do it when I know this person isn’t going to interrupt the search, so…” Harry trailed off before Susan could give an answer. “I’ve a way to make sure they won’t be there,” he evasively explained to their questioning glances.
“Do you know how to do the Memo Charm?” Susan asked, her eyes focused on the tea service. Exhaling a long exasperated sigh, she waved her wand at the sugar bowl, which had started bouncing again – even worse than before – flinging sugar everywhere.
“No.” Harry shook his head, sweeping away the thin layer of sugar that had gotten onto his lap. “Like the interdepartmental memos at the Ministry?”
“Exactly those. You could contact us that way, when you know the person’s going to be out; one of us should be around to help you,” Susan said, giving the badly behaved bowl a strict tap of her wand, sedating it. “It’s not that difficult. I’ve been teaching it to the D.A. so we can stay in touch with each other without alerting everyone using the coins. If you Disillusion them, they’re perfect for sending a confidential message. Whack you right on the forehead – hard to miss.”
“Alright,” Harry replied, slipping his wand from his back pocket and coming up with an idea that would assuage some of his guilt over neglecting the D.A. “How about a trade? You teach me the Memo Charm, and I’ll teach you the basics of a triple-layer glamour that you can pass onto the D.A. Takes a while to master, but it’s a useful skill.”
“Sounds good to me.” Susan shifted forward to the edge of her seat, glancing over at the redheaded Gryffindor. “Got any parchment handy, Ginny?”

OoO
Quidditch practice that week was hellish, snowy, and emotionally grueling. Ron and Ginny squabbled most of the time over Ron’s piss poor performance (and everything else they could pick at each other for) in front of the hoops, leaving them wide open for the other Chasers to toss Quaffle after Quaffle right on through. The only players who got any real practice the entire time were the Beaters, who made a game out of getting the Bludgers as close to the two rowing ginger’s heads without actually hitting them. Harry only let it go on because it was the one thing that would momentarily break up the fighting – all of Harry’s words fell on deaf ears, even when he disarmed them, played the Quidditch captain card, and threatened to boot them off the team.
Bloody maddening.
Nearing the end of practice, when it got so cold out that it was hard to keep a warming charm going without casting them every five minutes, he started to wonder if arguing was what Ron and Ginny did to stay warm. They didn’t seem nearly as effected by the weather as the other players, who Harry allowed to turn in early after suggesting that they get some pepper-up potion from Madame Pomfrey.
“I dunno what’s gotten up her bonnet,” Ron grumbled, tugging off his sweaty undershirt in the Quidditch locker room and tossing it into the dirty clothes trolley, which was already full from everyone else on the team having been through there. Ron had hung back around the pitch to help Harry wrangle in the balls. “I say one thing about Dean’s throws and she acts like I’d gutted her Pygmy Puff.”
“You said Dean threw like a girl,” Harry elucidated, but Ron merely shrugged.
“Just a little honest criticism.”
“Ginny’s a girl,” Harry further pointed out, unlatching his arm guards and shoving them into his locker. “I’m surprised Demelza didn’t say anything.”
Ron rolled his eyes, shucking off his soaking wet breeches and pants. “Women,” he muttered, sauntering off starkers toward the shower stalls with his leather Keeper helmet still on his head.
The sound of squeaky knobs turning and water spraying over the tiled floor followed in his wake and Harry finished removing his freezing Quidditch robes, casting a warming charm over himself before he summoned a towel for his walk to the showers. He’d lived in a dormitory full of boys and shared a locker room with the Gryffindor Quidditch team for six years, but he would never be able to match the immodesty of anyone in the Weasley family – even Ginny.
“Speaking of women,” Harry said, turning on the shower taps and throwing his towel over the top of the stall. “How’s your progress on breaking up with Lavender?”
“Ugh,” Ron groaned from next stall over. “Don’t mention her, mate. She’s impossible – all she wants to do is snog me till my lips feel like they’re going to fall off and it’s hard to get a word in when we do talk. S’like she knows or something. And it’s really hard to break up with someone when they’ve got their hand down your pants.”
Clever tactic, Harry humourously thought, busying himself with scrubbing his soapy fingers through his tangled mess of hair.
“Greengrass keeps saying I ought to tell her outright, but–”
“I thought I told you to stop bothering her about that?” he cut in, staring at the stall partition toward Ron’s voice.
“Yeah well, she’s the only girl who ever gives me any girl advice.”
Harry’s brow arched. “You haven’t asked any other girls for girl advice.”
“Well, I don’t know any other girls that well. And Greengrass is… not bad. Though I think she’s been setting Felicity Hardbroom on me and that’s just made Lav worse. I dunno what to do, Harry. They’re mental – all of them. ‘Cept perhaps Greengrass and maybe Hermione, but if she’s with Zabini...” Ron trailed off, cursing insults under his breath, which were half-muted by the shower spray.
“They really fancy each other, Ron. It’s bizarre, but there’s nothing much you can do about that,” Harry said, possibly for the hundredth time since he’d told the Weasley boy about his chat with Zabini. Ron was just as suspicious about the Slytherin’s intentions as he was – actually, Ron was still suspicious. He’d probably always be suspicious.
“I know…” Ron miserably intoned. “I saw them yesterday after the Prefect meeting sneaking into that alcove on the fourth floor – you know the one? Clever clogs warded it. Disillusionment or something – completely disappeared.”
“Probably an Insularity ward,” Harry muttered, remembering one of the ward debates at the warehouse between Daphne, Zabini, and Hermione. Brilliant idea to use one of those for snogging in an open alcove – he’d have to look into that.
“Whatever that is.” The sound of Ron’s leather Keeper helmet being tossed away and dully hitting the floor with a ‘smack’ followed. “So – uh – how’s it with Greengrass?”
“What d’you mean?” he asked cautiously, his eyes narrowing.
Ron rarely asked about his relationship with Daphne. It was refreshingly opposite of Seamus, who wouldn’t shut it about Daphne or Hermione, who Seamus was convinced was Harry’s ‘“bossy bit” on the side’ from all of the time that they spent together up in Harry’s dorm with Croaker’s letter and the dubious catalogue-ordered books on Soul Magic.
“Well, you asked me about Lav – isn’t this where we talk bollocks about our girlfriends or something? Y’know, like Fred and George and Charlie.”
“Daphne’s not my girlfriend, really,” Harry uncomfortably intoned, letting the stream of the shower flow over him and warm him to the bone. He thought he’d never get warm after that bloody practice.
“I know – whatever you two are doing.” Ron paused and the squeaky sound of a potion dispenser was heard. “Lucky bastard. Lav’s got me wearing that stupid necklace under my clothes and throws one hell of a fit when I forget it.”
Harry snorted, chuckling softly.
“And you just get to sneak away for whatever you do with Greengrass and not have to deal with all the other stuff.”
“We don’t just... We do plenty of ‘other stuff’ – like I’ve told you. She’s teaching me things.”
“I bet she is.”
Shaking his head, Harry soaped himself up, letting the muscle relaxation potion lather and soothe his Quidditch-specific aches. “It’s not what you think.”
“S’probably kinkier than what I think – Slytherin ‘n all. Charlie dated one once, that’s why Fred and George and I made a pact. She liked to do a lot of kinky things with him – s’probably why he liked her. Bit like a dragon. Scary.”
“Er…” Harry bit his lip. “No. She’s… maybe but… no. We’re not – it’s not kinky.”
“So nothing kinky at all? Really?”
“We’ve tied each other up once or twice, but that’s not that... That’s normal, isn’t it? And controlled Slicing Hexes. I mean…”
“Slicing Hexes? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”
“Yeah, that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s not… dangerous if it’s controlled, but it could be. Bit more exciting than a Severing Charm.”
They’d used both in the past, but the feeling of those yellow sparks, flying along the fabric across his shirt – slicing into it and tearing it off – not doing a lick of damage, was extremely satisfying in a way. It could’ve done a lot of damage though. It definitely could’ve…
He never realized how much he was into that sort of thing until she sprung it on him, all smirking and whispering, ‘Trust me?’ with her wand pressed against his chest after an arduous session of Thaumaturgy.
Great. He was getting hard just thinking about Daphne and her controlled Slicing Hexes.
“It’s just to get rid of clothes and stuff…” Harry muttered, clearing his throat and trying to will his half-mast erection to go down by picturing McGonagall naked. Then Snape – Snape usually did the trick.
“Like I said,” Ron replied, after a pause. “…Kinkier than I thought.”
“It’s tame most of the time…” Harry justified, not wanting to feel self-conscious.
It was just a bit of impatient magic that he happened to like the feel of.
“Still a lucky bastard, even if she’s going at you with those,” Ron grumbled. “Lav likes to tickle me while we… you know. It’s bloody weird – I don’t know how to tell her to stop though.”
“Erm – how about tell her, ‘don’t do that’?” Harry said, finishing up while the sound of squeaky taps turning off came from Ron’s stall. “Or just… pin her hands or something.”
“Pin her?” Ron was right outside of the door to Harry’s stall. “Isn’t that a bit rude?”
Turning off the taps and wrapping a towel around himself, Harry opened the stall door. He wiped the steam from his glasses with his thumbs. “Isn’t ‘tickling you when you don’t want it’ a bit rude?”
“I guess?” A flush was creeping up Ron’s face and he nervously rubbed at the back of his love-bite marred neck with his hand, holding his towel around his waist with the other. “Does Greengrass tickle–”
“No. She doesn’t,” Harry answered awkwardly, moving toward his Quidditch locker and drying off as he grabbed his pants.
“So just… pin her,” Ron said, more to himself than anything.
Harry nodded, shoving his legs into his trousers. “Or tell her you don’t like it – that’s a better option.”
“Rather just break up with her, honestly,” Ron griped, toweling off and banging open his locker. “Do you and–”
Pulling just jumper over his head, Harry interrupted, “Are you going to base everything off of what Daph and I do?”
“Well, you are a bit more… experienced – just curious.”
“I’m not though – not any more than you are.”
“A little bit,” Ron responded, his dry shirt sticking to him as he tugged over his half-wet torso. “What with Cho and now Greengrass. And all the kinky Slytherin stuff you do with her.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not more experienced though. And it’s not kinky. It’s just different, that’s all.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m asking.”
“If you’d stop being a coward and break up with Lavender, you wouldn’t need to ask – you could follow Daph’s advice and go find out differences for yourself since you’re so interested.”
“I’m not a coward!” Ron retorted, his brows furrowing. “Lav’s just impossible and I don’t know how to do it. They really need to teach a class on that – be more useful than bloody Divination and Astronomy.”
Harry scrubbed his hand over his face, sighing. “Do you want me to break up with her for you?”
“D’you think that’d work?” Ron stalked over to the mirrors on the wall with his wand in his hand and started spelling glamours over the smattering of marks on his neck.
“Since you don’t have the bollocks to do it yourself…” Harry trailed off, bending over to tug his trainers on.
Ron’s reflection glowered at him in the mirror. “I do – it’s just that she’s–”
“‘Impossible’,” Harry finished for him. “Yeah, I know – and no, you don’t.”
“I do,” Ron asserted. “I just don’t know what to say.”
“‘I think we should see other people’, ‘I don’t want to see you anymore’, ‘maybe I’m not “your sweetheart”…’” Harry replied, his lips curving into an amused grin. “I could give you a list.”
Ron’s glower deepened as he inspected his glamour work, which made his neck appear whiter than the rest of his skin. “It’s not that easy.”
“It is, mate.” Waving his wand, Harry performed a quick Hot Air Charm on his hair, running his fingers through it to straighten it out to no avail. “If you really wanted to end it, you wouldn’t be making so many excuses. You’d just do it.”
“Huh.” Ron thoughtfully chewed at his lips. “So… uh – pin her?”
Harry shrugged on his robe, pocketing his wand and wrapping his thick Gryffindor scarf around his neck to protect himself from the frigid weather. “…If she seems comfortable with that.”
“S’worth a try. Anything to stop the tickling.”
Harry’s brows rose. “You’re never gonna break up with her, are you?”
Ron answered with a deflated shrug and conflicted look on his face.

OoO
“Do you think you can check to see how far along they are in fixing the Vanishing Cabinet?” Harry inquired after Dobby delivered a long detailed speech about what Cornfoot and Runcorn were up to in the Room of the Requirement, where they were currently. Their names had completely disappeared off of the Marauder’s Map less than an hour ago.
He figured that, while he was waiting in the Hogwarts kitchens for Hannah or Susan to arrive to let him into the Hufflepuff common room, he’d get an update from the house elf on his reconnaissance mission.
“Dobby knows a way!” Dobby said, nodding enthusiastically, causing the pile of tea cozies on his head to teeter back and forth. “Is Harry Potter sir wanting me to check the cabinets now?”
“Erm – no, Dobby,” Harry replied, setting down his mug of hot chocolate and raising a hand to stop him from Apparating away immediately. “They’re up there at the moment. Maybe after they’re done?”
The portrait hole burst open and Hannah Abbott came bounding through as Dobby stayed silent, forbidden to discuss the mission in front of anyone but Harry; Dobby’s answering nod and expression told Harry that he’d do what he’d suggested and get back to him after and Dobby took his leave, Disapparating with a crack!
“What do you think?” Hannah asked, spinning in front of him as she strode over to where Harry sat. “I’ve been practicing the triple-layer glamours.” She fiddled with the end of her glamoured brunette hair, which she had plaited over her shoulder.
“Nice. Looks good,” Harry complimented, evaluating – it seemed almost as flawless as Daphne and Hermione could get them. Hannah must have been talented at Charms to get the glamour to work in only a few days.
“Thanks! I’ve always wanted to try out darker hair, but I didn’t want to mess with permanent dying charms and I’m terrible at human Transfiguration – and triple-layer glamours are even better than cosmetic spells for covering spots! It’s amazing,” Hannah rambled, scratching at her chin. “Itches like the dickens though.”
“You got skin down already?” Harry asked, his eyes flicking toward her chin, looking for the seams of the glamour and finding none. He reiterated his earlier thought – she was incredibly talented at charms.
“Skin and hair. Features don’t want to stick for me.” She turned to the house elves that started approaching her. “Oh, no, I don’t need anything – don’t worry about me! I’m just here to meet with Harry.”
“Well, you’re on the right track,” Harry encouraged, picking the conversation back up and watching the dejected elves slowly return to their usual duties. “Took me ages just to get skin and hair and I’m still dreadful at features – it works a little better if you perform the spells backwards because the defense charms stick it all in place, but it’s... not as good as doing it properly.”
“I’ll try that,” Hannah said, looking him up and down. “Are you going to use one to get into the common room? Glamour yourself as a Hufflepuff?”
“I’m not that good at them yet – you can obviously tell I’m wearing a glamour when I do them. I’m going to use a Disillusionment Charm instead,” Harry replied, standing up and demonstratively tapping his head with his wand, letting the charm take over him. He then tugged his invisible invisibility cloak out of his pocket and threw it on for even more concealment. “I’ll go in like this, silence my shoes, and sneak into the dorms.”
Hannah’s eyes widened. “Woah, that’s amazing – I can’t even see you!”
“That’s the idea,” he quipped, rather certain that his invisibility cloak was the reason why he was so well-concealed. “Shall we?”
“Oh, yes – the entrance is just down the corridor, in the wine casks.” Hannah pivoted on her feet, exiting the kitchens; she kept looking around for him like he’d suddenly appear out of thin air and he tapped her shoulder to let her know he was following. “Goodness, this is hard with you being invisible.”
“Just try to look natural – I’ll stay close,” Harry quietly ensured her, tapping her shoulder every ten steps and again when they stopped in front of a giant stack of massive wine barrels.
“Is it alright if I wait for you back in the kitchens?” she muttered to him, whispering the password – ‘Pigeon Pie’ – and causing the end of one of the casts to open, revealing a staircase that led downward. “Then you can tell me if you find anything. I’ve been dying to know who it is.”
“Yeah, that’s alright, I’ll meet you there,” he replied in a hushed tone, knowing that if he found anything he’d probably have to lie to her about it, but she didn’t need to know that.
Descending the staircase, Harry silenced his footsteps as he entered warm and inviting circular room that was the Hufflepuff common room. It felt slightly as if he had stepped inside an enormous, brightly lit and oddly coloured, onion bulb. Yellow and black décor permeated every surface, interspersed with the green plant life growing in the pots hanging from the windows. Study tables lined the walls and plush, curved furniture encircled a giant spherical – also bulb-like – fireplace, which was recessed in the centre of the room. Students relaxed against poufy cushions on the hearth, studying and chatting to each other as Harry passed through, silently side-stepping around them.
He was starting to get pretty decent at sneaking through common rooms from his practice down in the dungeons, visiting Daphne. Part of him was wondering if he should sneak through Ravenclaw Tower for the complete Hogwarts common room-sneaking experience.
A first year Hufflepuff girl disappeared up a staircase that must have led to the girl’s dormitories and Harry waved his wand, immobilizing the stairs. He wasn’t certain if it was needed – but he didn’t want to alert anyone of his invisible presence by turning the stairs into a slide. Taking a tentative step onto the staircase, he let out a breath when it didn’t flatten under him and continued on his way up, searching for the fifth year girl’s dormitory.
Pressing his ear to the door, he double-checked that it was as empty as the Marauder’s map had indicated fifteen minutes ago before turning the handle, glancing around. His stomach was doing anxious flips and he swiftly entered the room, parting his cloak and getting started. While he was midway through trying to locate Runcorn’s stuff by opening the trunks and looking at names on homework, he put a Tripping Jinx on the door as an afterthought. If he searched carefully enough, it would allow him enough time to get everything in order without making anyone too suspicious if they ran into it.
A Tripping Jinx on a doorway was a common prank.
With his luck, Runcorn’s trunk was the last one he reached and he hurriedly got to searching, memorizing where she had everything so he could put it all back. The trunk was disappointingly chock-full of the usual fifth year supply of books and course notes and very little else. One of the scrying mirrors that she had won during the broom race was in there, hidden in a jewelry case under a romance novel, and the only other anomaly he found was Cornfoot’s copy of Advanced Potion Making, which had been wrapped up in her Hufflepuff scarf.
Sighing, Harry rearranged the trunk back into its former state, closing it and moving on to search the wardrobe and bedside table. It was when he stooped down to search the bottom drawer on the wardrobe that he noticed something peculiar out of the corner of his eye. Underneath Runcorn’s bed was a cauldron, bubbling away next to where she kept her broomstick and potions kit. Placing a Heat-Protection Charm on his hands, he pulled it out from underneath the bed and lifted the lid, scrutinizing the contents and unable to figure out exactly what it was on sight. It wasn’t anything he’d made before. Wishing he’d brought a phial with him, he eyed Runcorn’s potions kit, deciding – against his better judgment – to knick one from her.
She had enough of them; she wouldn’t notice if one went missing, would she?
His heart nervously rising to his throat, Harry swiftly ladled a small amount of potion into the glass phial, replacing the lid on the cauldron and sliding it back under the bed. Stuffing the phial into the pocket of his robe, he did a quick search of the bed and bedposts, checking for concealment spells and finding nothing awry. Backing away from the area, he gave the room a once-over – everything looked as it was when he found it – and he nodded to himself, nearly stumbling into the Tripping Jinx he’d set on the door, which he removed on his way out.
As he had expected, he wasn’t able to call the search a brilliant success – nothing like the treasure trove that was Cornfoot’s dorm. He basically told Hannah he didn’t find much when he met back up with her in the kitchen, still not informing her whose dorm he searched. Fortunately, she took it well, only a little let down by it, which made him breathe an internal sigh of relief.
Sooner or later, he’d probably have to tell her – and the D.A. – but, for now, he had to keep his cards close. The numerous plans that they all had set in place relied on rather specifically executed steps. While there was a minimal amount of flexibility on certain things, if they let too much information get out, they wouldn’t be able to predict what could go wrong.
If a worst case scenario were to occur – if the Vanishing Cabinet were to be destroyed or if Cornfoot and Runcorn were taken out of commission – there were a number of terrible possibilities that could be made possible as a result. It was better to remain discreet and have the important information stay in the confidence of those who were in on the plan – even if it was a bit stressful to keep it that way.
Lying, deceiving, and continually keeping track of all of the different stories he had told people in his head was a bit like dancing on a ledge while someone fired Cruciatus Curses at him. He had to make sure he didn’t slip for even a moment, especially when the time came to whip out the lies and carry on with the various farces they’d created.
No wonder Daphne smokes so much, Harry thought, plucking a fag from his red leather case and lighting it on his way back to Gryffindor Tower. The mysterious phial of potion in his pocket was just begging for a good prod from Hermione.

OoO
When Cornfoot and Runcorn weren’t using the Room of Requirement, it vaguely resembled a mad house during his and Daphne’s practice sessions.
Flying squirrels circled the Gryffindor common room-esque space like vultures, grouping with the paper-plane memos that whizzed around the light fixtures in the ceiling. Various books that they’d needed for practice and issues of the Evening Prophet were strewn about, bereft of all the Andy Smudgley articles, which burned vengefully in a cauldron in the corner. Daphne’s face was badly morphed into the face of Hermione – thanks to Harry’s botched triple-layer glamour – while she did cartwheels across the floor under his Thaumaturgic suggestion, breaking into insane fits of laughter.
However, he wasn’t certain if the laughter was from the emotions he placed in her mind or if she was just laughing because he’d finally gotten her to do cartwheels.
Staggering to a stop in front of him, Daphne giggled like he’d never heard her before and he smiled widely as she said, catching her breath, “I think you’ve got it now. That one hit me perfectly – didn’t even feel it. The euphoria was a nice touch.”
“Yeah?” he asked, not being able to resist reaching for her and loosely pulling her into his arms. “Think I could take on Slughorn yet?”
Daphne waved her wand over her face, getting rid of the badly done triple-layer glamour. Her free hand was sneaking up the back of his shirt, teasing at his skin. “I think that if you do that a few more times – consistently –” She paused, a smirk curving her lips. “– we’ll be able to do step one on Monday.”
His smile widened further as his heart soared in his chest and he leaned down to kiss her softly. “Brilliant,” he muttered happily against her, backing her toward the only sofa in the room that wasn’t covered in books and newspaper. “Have I mentioned that you’re a brilliant teacher?”
“Must be my methods,” Daphne wryly replied, her teeth grazing over his lower lip and angling her body against his.
“Mm – must be,” Harry murmured, laying her down onto the cushions, her legs wrapping around him. His lips skimmed over her neck, placing kisses along her collarbone and tasting the saltiness of her skin. “I’ve a better idea than cartwheels and euphoria.”
“Oh, really?” she prompted, kicking off her shoes, which thumped onto the floor. “And what would that be?”
“Do you think anyone’s ever tried inciting arousal with Thaumaturgy before?”
Daphne let out a huff of laughter, tugging his head back by his hair and grinning up at him. “I like where your mind is at.”
Nipping at his earlobe, she pressed her lips against his skin, whispering, “Go on then, Mr. Potter.” He felt a controlled Slicing Hex, sparking from the tip of her wand and skimming across the front of his shirt, ripping it open and making him shiver. “Ten points to Gryffindor if you can get it on the first try.”
“Yeah, you’re a bloody brilliant teacher.”
OoO
“Are you ready for this?” Daphne asked, her hand resting on the doorknob.
Harry shrugged, trying to quell the jittery wasps that kept zipping through his stomach. He felt far more confident up until they reached Slughorn’s office. Merely standing in front of the place made the plan that he’d concocted seem that much more real. Previously, it was all in his head like a faint illusion of what he had to do, but now…
“Just like we practiced, right?”
Daphne’s lips pulled into a smirk. “You’ll do well, I’m sure of it. Don’t worry so much.”
Her telling him not to worry only seemed to make it worse.
The door opened easily and they stepped inside the large office. Cautiously warding the door behind them, he anxiously trailed after her through the room, taking deep breaths through his nose to clear his emotions. Behind one of the partition screens, Slughorn was poking at his fire with his wand, his giant velvet-covered bum in the air, and he gawkily whirled around when they entered, his eyes wide.
“Oho! Daphne – Harry, m’boy! You startled me!” he exclaimed, pressing his hands against portly stomach. “What can I help you with at this late hour?”
“We’ve something to ask you, Professor,” Daphne casually intoned, moving toward one of the sofas in front of the fireplace and taking a seat. “Perhaps you can settle a little debate between us?”
“Of course – of course!” Slughorn finished mucking about with his fire with one last poke at it and he sat heavily in the ornate armchair across from her. “I’d be glad to. What is this debate of yours about?” He twisted toward Harry to gesture for him to take a seat.
Pulling the phial he’d lifted from Runcorn’s cauldron out of his pocket, he sat next to Daphne and held it out to Slughorn. “We were wondering if you could tell us what this potion is. One of my dorm mates is brewing it and none of the revealing spells’ll work on it.”
Hermione couldn’t even figure out exactly what it was, taking a whole hour in his dormitory running tests. There were too many potential potion outcomes.
“If it isn’t a complete potion, most revealing methods won’t work on it. Requires a more experienced hand – or nose,” Slughorn said, seizing the phial from him and uncorking it to take a whiff. “Ah, precisely! You say that one of the students in your dorm is brewing this?”
Harry nodded dutifully. “Yes, sir. Daphne thinks it’s a sleeping aid because of the heavy use of lavender, but I personally think it’s a nighttime drought for the common cold – since there’s angelica root in it. You can tell by the colouring...”
“You aren’t wrong about the ingredients! Both excellent guesses – however, the potion is neither of those. This is Felix Felicis, in fact – not even a month into its brew cycle. Rather impeccably done thus far, if I say so myself.”
Slughorn re-corked the phial and tossed it back to him, searching the pockets of his smoking jacket while he spoke, “If it were further along, you might have been able to connect it to the recipe if you used a spell to analyze the components. Silverweed would have been a dead giveaway, but that isn’t added until the third month of brewing.” He paused, the centre of his forehead creasing as he squinted toward his desk beyond the partition, gripping his wand. “Ah, I must’ve left my tin of pineapple over there…”
As he raised his wand to summon the tin of sweets, Daphne pounced, drawing her wand from her sleeve and pointing it straight at him.
“Somnus,” she muttered, causing Slughorn to slump in his chair, his head lolling to the side and letting out a great long snore.
The wand in his hand clattered to the floor and Harry let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding from the moment Daphne took action. Already, she was crossing the rug and standing over the plump professor, her wand flicking as she mouthed incantations to alter the Thaumaturgy previously placed into his mind.
Harry got to his feet, staring unblinkingly. Planning everything out was a lot different than practical execution, and seeing Slughorn peacefully sleeping while Daphne messed around with his head was a bit like… uncomfortable shock.
“Alright,” Daphne said, straightening up and nodding. “Fixed the hallucinogenic bewitching.” She gazed over at him, her eyes searching his face. “It’s your go, love.”
Rolling the tension out of his shoulders, he reasoned with himself that the plan he’d concocted was good and would get him what he needed – it was only just a matter of time and careful implementation. Sadly, it couldn’t be done without this, but it would be different after this part was over. He’d never have to mess with the mind of a sleeping man again.
Raising his wand and focusing, Harry stepped forward – a simple flick and one of Slughorn’s mental tendrils was pulled toward his magic. With concentration on the goal in mind, feelings of guilt and regret thickly wove around the tendril and Harry backed away, ending the spell and letting his nerves deflate inside him.
Daphne’s expression was vaguely soothing when he looked over at her and he nodded toward Slughorn, indicating that it was her go again.
He watched as she steadily raised her wand, aiming towards Slughorn’s temple. Her face didn’t betray any sort of nerves or hesitation over what they were doing; she was calmer than a gentle breeze and he couldn’t help but admire her for that, even as she performed the necessary spell,
“Obliviate.”

OoO
“YES! I got it!” Hermione cried, springing up in her seat on Harry’s bed, the parchment in front of her flying into her hands. Harry’s quill went skidding off of his essay at the disturbance, tracking a long line of ink across the page and splattering it all over the Evening Prophet, which had been opened to the latest story on the ‘Order of the Phoenix conspiracy’. Cursing, he mopped up the mess with his wand, looking up at her.
“What does it say?” he anxiously asked.
“‘Dearest Miss Granger and Mr. Potter,’” Hermione read, “‘I apologize that I am unable to personally help the Order of the Phoenix in the Department of Mysteries myself. However, it may be of some use to your cause to ask around the sixth level if they enjoy sausages. Those who are agreeable or answer in the affirmative to this question will be of use to you and might be willing to help you within the department. Please give my regards to Albus. Hope all is well, S. Croaker’.”
“Sausages?” Harry incredulously asked, his eyes narrowed toward the parchment.
“Maybe it’s some sort of Unspeakable code for ‘Order of the Phoenix’?” Hermione suggested with a shrug. “I don’t know.”
Harry’s eyebrow arched. “‘Sausages’ for ‘the Order’? That makes about as much sense as what Smudgley’s writing.”
“I’ll send a letter to Tonks,” Hermione muttered, pulling a fresh roll of parchment from her book bag. “She might be able to figure it out. Or, at least, she’ll be able to put it to use since she’s working on getting someone in the Department of Mysteries.”
“Yeah…” Harry grabbed Croaker’s letter from her and read it over again. “It’s not like I’m going to be able to give my regards to Dumbledore for him.”
“He probably thinks it was Dumbledore who told you how to contact him,” Hermione deduced, scribbling out a letter to Tonks and chewing at the end of her quill after every other sentence. “Unless he knows about you and Greengrass, but since Greengrass wasn’t mentioned…”
“I wonder if he’s gotten back to her on the horcruxes yet,” Harry mused, shoving his Charms essay aside and reaching into his bag to pull out the Marauder’s Map to look for her.
Hermione signed her name on the bottom of the parchment with a flourish. “You’ve been meeting her every other day since the last Slug Club meeting; she’d tell you, wouldn’t she? What have you two been up to, anyway? I’ve been meaning to ask, but I didn’t want to pry into your relationship.”
“Erm – it’s not really… that. It’s more to do with Cornfoot. Slughorn too.” Harry shrugged, his eyes roving over the dungeons, searching for ‘Daphne Greengrass’.
“You told her about the memory?”
“Not fully…” Harry paused, spotting Daphne’s name in the Ravenclaw common room. She was with Dahlia Runcorn and Sylvia Montague, making nice just as they’d had planned. The Runcorn friendship between them was really coming along, so much so that Daphne was able to completely ruin the Felix Felicis that Runcorn was brewing by hitting it with a spell that raised the temperature on it.
Liquid luck took meticulous temperature monitoring; Runcorn would have to start over.
“So what are you doing that involves Slughorn’s memory?” Hermione asked, glancing up at him curiously.
“She’s been teaching me Thaumaturgy and stuff… and we’ve been practicing a few other things,” he explained, setting the Marauder’s Map on top of his half-completed Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. “It’s… a bit complicated.”
Hermione stared at him sharply. “So complicated that you need to resort to Dark magic?”
Harry’s brows rose. “Thaumaturgy isn’t Dark, is it?”
“It’s hallucinogenic bewitching – of course it’s Dark!” She stared at him warily. “What are you going to do to him that requires that?”
“Er… scare the memory out of him? It’s only to make me more… useful to him,” he reluctantly admitted. “You know, putting suggestions into his head...”
It didn’t seem that Dark to him, but perhaps it was a little bit… He and Daphne were somewhat messing with Slughorn’s mind with what they were doing. He’d only considered it marginally immoral, which it definitely was.
The centre of Hermione’s forehead creased. “Suggestions of what?”
Letting out a sigh, Harry leaned back against his headboard. He’d have to tell her all of it if she was going to make sense of anything. He dithered, knowing she wouldn’t be fond of it, but he didn’t like keeping things from her.
It was bad enough that he had to lie to everyone else – he didn’t want to lie to his best friends.
“Alright. You know how Slughorn has this new possible apprentice that was mentioned at the last Slug Club meeting – Mr. Voynich?” he asked and Hermione nodded. “Well, Mr. Voynich doesn’t exist. Remember I went broom racing with Daphne and we worked on getting closer to the Carrow twins and Runcorn a while ago?”
“Yeah, but…”
Harry persisted, “I was Mr. Voynich. Daphne triple-layer glamoured me into Tom Riddle and then put a Thaumaturgic spell on Slughorn to convince him that he interviewed Mr. Voynich for an apprentice position in case the Carrows or Runcorn asked him about me. However, her bewitching failed and Slughorn couldn’t distinguish between Mr. Voynich and Tom Riddle very well, which is why he reacted so weirdly during the meeting.”
Hermione’s lips parted. “Okay… What does this have to do with the getting that memory other than severely inconveniencing everything?”
“Actually, it doesn’t inconvenience anything,” Harry contradicted, his lips twisting into a faint grin. “It’s really handy that she bungled that spell because we can use that angle. She altered the Thaumaturgy she originally placed in his mind to make Slughorn think that the Voynich interview was all a nightmare. Then, Daphne altered Slughorn’s memory of Flora asking about Mr. Voynich during the meeting. Of course, we had to obliviate the real reason why we went to Slughorn’s office when we did all of this but… nevertheless…”
Hermione’s face grew more horrified with each passing second and Harry shook his head, refocusing on the original plan at hand.
“I’ve been putting Thaumaturgic suggestions in his head that his conscience is the reason why he keeps having these nightmares about Tom Riddle interviewing as Mr. Voynich. And, I’ve laid the foundations for guilt and regret over giving Dumbledore the tampered memory. Then, gradually, I’m going to put more suggestions in there that he should give the real memory me, because I’m the ‘Chosen One’ and very close to him; a person he can trust. Giving the memory to me will then clear his conscience so he can stop having the nightmares. Meanwhile, Daphne’s going to make him think he’s had more nightmares until he gives me the real memory because she’s a bit better at Thaumaturgy than me right now. It has a possibility of working really well and it provides me with a valuable use to him: To help him clear his conscience about that memory.”
“That’s mental, Harry!” Hermione admonished, her eyes widening. “You’re terrorizing a professor!”
“I know it’s wrong.” Harry shrugged sheepishly. “But Dumbledore said that that memory was very important and it must hold some sort of terrible knowledge if Slughorn’s hiding it from him. Maybe the ends will justify the means! We already know that horcruxes kill people and, if Voldemort’s making horcruxes, it would probably be important to know what that’s all about with Slughorn and everything, don’t you think? It might involve him somehow.”
“And what happens if the Carrows or Runcorn ask him about Mr. Voynich again?” Hermione retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “That certainly throws a spanner into your plans, doesn’t it?”
“Daphne already put a Thaumaturgic suggestion in Runcorn’s head that it wouldn’t be beneficial to ask Slughorn about Mr. Voynich because she isn’t supposed to know about him – for the Carrows, she changed it a bit since they’ve already asked; they won’t ask him again. I honestly think she should have done that in the first place since suggestions are easier than full-on bewitching… but–” Harry tilted his head in a nonchalant shrug. “– we wouldn’t be where we are right now if she did.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this – he probably would have given you the memory if you just buttered him up and asked nicely.”
“Doubtful,” Harry retorted. “Dumbledore’s known him for over fifty years and he probably ‘buttered him up and asked nicely’ and look at what he got. I’ve only known him for a few months! And it’s obvious that Slughorn only does things for people who would be of use to him… But my use is only something that he can boast about – some use that is. It’s definitely not enough to confide his deep dark Voldemort-related secrets with. I need him to feel like he’s clearing his conscience and I’m doing him a favour. Thaumaturgy will do well for that, even if it isn’t the most ethical way to go about it.”
Hermione’s lips pursed and she focused on folding up her letter to Tonks, sticking it into an envelope. “Fine… but I don’t approve of it one bit. Greengrass has been a terrible influence on you.”
“Don’t blame Daphne for this. It was my idea – not hers,” Harry defensively replied.
“She’s teaching you some seriously Dark magic.”
“Which I asked her to teach me,” he pointed out. “I didn’t know it was Dark. It’s simply… useful for what we need to do.”
It was also weird to think that Dark magic inspired the Cheering Charm.
Hermione’s gaze narrowed in his direction. “Fine,” she repeated. “Just…” She paused, sighing. “Be careful. Slughorn’s an Occlumens.”
“Erm – Thaumaturgy doesn’t work that way,” Harry said, surprised that he knew something that Hermione didn’t. “Occlumency can’t block Thaumaturgy very well and you don’t need any eye contact.”
“No wonder it’s considered so Dark then! There’s no way to protect yourself from it!”
Harry let out a patient sigh. “There’s a spell you can use to reverse it; it’s just not blockable… And it’s not as if I’m doing it for the wrong reasons, Hermione. There just aren’t many other options that would get me foreseeable results any time soon.”
“As you’ve said,” Hermione replied with a huff of a sigh as Dean and Seamus loudly entered the room, tossing around their shoes. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it – or approve of it. I can see wh–”
“Oi, it’s the lovebirds!” he heard Seamus proclaim before popping his head into the curtains around his bed. “You two ‘doing your coursework’ again?”
Snorting derisively, Harry asked, “That what they’re calling it now?”
“With Hermione Granger, yeah, I imagine, mate,” Seamus said as he glanced over at the Gryffindor girl, winking rather salaciously. “Hello, ‘Mione.”
“Seamus,” Hermione greeted tersely, her disapproving McGonagall stare-of-death fixed on him.
Seamus leaned closer to Harry. “Does she look like that even when you –”
“If you want to keep that bottle of Firewhiskey I saw under your bed, you’d better not finish that sentence,” Hermione sternly interjected. “And, for the last time, there is absolutely nothing going on between us!”
“Whatever you say,” Seamus responded with a cheeky grin, giving her a salute and slipping back outside the curtain. “Though the evidence speaks otherwise!”
“Yeah, he’s always going to be like this,” Harry dryly intoned, answering the silent question that was written all over Hermione’s face.

OoO
Ever since the first step of Harry’s plan had been executed, Potions class became a daunting juggling act. On one hand, he was balancing asset cultivation with Slughorn and, on the other hand, he was carefully messing with the man’s mind, with Daphne aiding him.
She was lucky she always took a seat at the front, giving her perfect access to weave as much Thaumaturgy as she wanted into Slughorn’s mind. Harry’s usual seat in the middle of the room wasn’t close enough to perform the spell, so he had to come up with various ruses to get near Slughorn – aside from his usual classroom walkabouts.
Stirring his cauldron and double-checking the Prince’s book for instructions, Harry surreptitiously glanced around the room before making his way to the storeroom behind Slughorn’s desk for ingredients that he would have had if he hadn’t intentionally left them behind in his dormitory. His wand was inconspicuously slipped from his sleeve as he reached the edge of Slughorn’s desk. The plump professor was sitting there, grading papers and obliviously chewing his way through a packet of sweets.
Harry’s heartbeat quickened and he felt like a child reaching for a contraband biscuit in the tin hidden on the top of a fridge, out of his reach.
With a short flick of his wand and a nonverbal spell, Harry continued to pass behind Slughorn’s back, pulling at one of the professor’s mental tendrils. He could feel it with his magic and the Thaumaturgic suggestions and feelings of guilt that he imparted clung to the tendril, snapping back into Slughorn’s mind. Pocketing his wand, he moved to find the ingredients he needed, watching the professor out of the corner of his eye.
Slughorn’s gaze didn’t even lift from the essay he was reading for a single moment and relief flooded through Harry’s veins. Trying to avoid detection was always the most unnerving part of the whole scheme – luckily, only Hermione seemed to notice what he was doing, based on the look she shot him as he walked past her.
On his way back to his desk, he felt a note slide into his hand by magic – he’d recognize one of Daphne’s Placement Spells anywhere – and he opened it after tossing a small measure of the feverfew he’d gathered into his cauldron.

Got a response. Meet me in the Hall of Hexes after dinner.
Harry’s stomach did an acrobatic twirl, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes skimmed over the words again and again. He’d been waiting for this for what seemed like ages. And, given all of the disapproval he’d received from Hermione for using Thaumaturgy as of late, he was in need of a little more justification for what he was doing. At least, he hoped that knowing more about horcruxes would give him that.
Yet… considering how long it had taken Croaker to get back to them, Harry wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign. It was difficult to remain too optimistic.

OoO
“Y’know, I thought that I was supposed to be the reckless Gryffindor in this relationship,” Harry innocently stated, a delighted grin bubbling up onto his face.
“Oh, shut it, Potter,” Daphne drawled amusedly, handing him an unbreakable vial of familiar purple twinkling liquid.
They stood on the edge of the Quidditch Pitch, just before the wards protecting the school. The Signature Duplicating Potion was rubbed onto their chests and wands, and a triple-layer glamour was thrown onto him before they passed right through the wards as if going through a thin layer of fine mist.
It was just as reckless of him as it was of her, sneaking out.
He didn’t even get the chance to tell Hermione where he was going when he ran off to meet Daphne in the Hall of Hexes. But, he didn’t expect to be making his way to the Calendula Café in Hogsmeade to meet an ex-Unspeakable for a chat about horcruxes. Apparently, the subject was so taboo, Croaker wouldn’t even talk about them in a heavily coded note since that led to an implicative paper-trail. It didn’t matter if it could be burned or if it was difficult to decode. A meeting at the Calendula Café on short notice had to suffice.
Daphne used Disillusionment Charms and footstep-silencing spells to get them past the Auror guards on the path to Hogsmeade. The place was crawling with them.
This is reckless, he repeated in his head as they snuck by the red-robed pairs of witches and wizards, but he was thrilled regardless.
It reminded him of his rule-breaking third year-self, stealing away to Hogsmeade without a signed permission slip, only he and Daphne were on a completely different path.
Once they got off of the high street, Daphne cancelled the Disillusionment Charms and footstep-silencing spells, quietly leading him down a road behind Zonko’s to a small café that was tucked away in the residential area of the village. The pale blue exterior of the two story building was welcoming, even in the dark, and the interior was quaint and cosy with cushioned chairs and tables dotted around the place.
It was far better than Madame Puddifoot’s, with only locals lightly dispersed about the hospitable café.
“Come on, he’s probably up here,” Daphne whispered, still grasping onto his hand.
He followed her to the lofted upper level and they stopped in front of a private table where sat a thin, stoat-like man with greying hair, swathed in navy-coloured tweed and delicately sipping at a steaming mug of coffee.
“Who’s your friend?” Croaker asked after greeting Daphne with a nod and a smirk that made his face seem even more stoat-like.
“Someone who can keep a secret,” Daphne idly stated, sitting down next to Croaker and pulling out a cushioned chair for Harry, which he took.
Croaker’s dark eyes narrowed a miniscule amount, calculatingly raking over Harry’s form in a way that made him feel as if he was about to be covered in lard, thrown into a pan, and roasted for dinner. He fingered his wand in his pocket despite the fact that Daphne said they could trust Croaker with their lives.
“Hm… Impressive triple-layer glamour. It’s not too hard to figure out who you are though,” Croaker finally said, causing Harry’s nerves to seize as he shifted in his seat.
“But I’m…”
“I’d recognize that scar on your forehead anywhere, covered in a glamour or not.”
Daphne snorted, conjuring two empty mugs and pulling the pot of coffee on the table toward herself. “Holding out on your spook skills again, are you?”
Croaker’s stoaty smirk widened. “Better to be underestimated than overestimated, I always say.” He paused, flicking his wrist and causing his wand to appear in his gloved hand. “But first, some privacy–”
A powerful wave of magic flooded around them and Harry felt his ears pop from the force of it. The invisible wards fell over their small occupied space, caressing his skin like a tickle of silk, which contrasted heavily from its power.
“You’re just showing off now,” Daphne playfully chided with a good-natured smile, pouring a second cup of coffee and sliding it toward Harry.
Croaker tilted his head in a demure shrug. “We shan’t be overheard, given the nature of the topic.” He then cleared his throat, taking another sip of coffee before he began, “Now, you require information on horcruxes, yes?”
Both Harry and Daphne nodded, staring at him with rapt attention. Daphne’s hands were pulling her silver case from her pocket all the while.
“They’re very interesting devices,” Croaker intoned, not missing a beat as he conjured Daphne a crystal ashtray when she lit a fag; Harry took one as well, lighting it with his gold lighter. “A horcrux allows one to become somewhat immortal, I suppose you could say, but that is – to a certain degree – a half-truth.”
Immortal.
Nott didn’t mention anything about immortality.
Harry’s heart sunk into the pit of his belly as he exhaled a breath full of smoke. “What do you mean by that, sir?” he asked. “How does that work?”
Croaker’s eyes moved to him, putting Harry under his scrutinizing Unspeakable gaze. “They’re formed by splitting the soul. Therefore, immortality only lasts as long as two lifetimes. It isn’t complete and eternal immortality; thus, a half-truth. In addition, the bit of soul that you split off and put into the horcrux will not pick up your life where you left it after you die. Sometimes a person with a horcrux – who hasn’t been very careful with it – will have another version of themselves walking around and living a completely different life than their own. And they’re occasionally none the wiser about it.”
“Okay, I feel like I’m missing an important bit of information here,” Daphne interjected, blowing a wispy puff of smoke toward the ceiling. “Assume we know absolutely nothing about horcruxes because I’ve only seen the word mentioned in Magick Moste Evile and the author wasn’t too keen on explaining anything.”
“Oh, yes, forgive me – I’m used to discussing this matter with more informed subjects,” Croaker apologized, starting over. “A horcrux is essentially a home for a chunk of soul that can eventually turn into the wizard or witch whose soul the chunk originated from. It’s formed via the use of the Killing Curse, which, as you may know, does damage to the human soul – the curse aids in the splitting process. I believe there might be a potion to further aid horcrux-making, but I’m a little rusty on the method...” He held up his finger and dug into his inner cloak pocket, tossing a book on the table. “The general process is in there if you want a full guide on how to do it. Nasty stuff, to be honest.”
Harry stared at the book, Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock, cocking his head to the side to read the title straight on.
“Where was I…” Croaker blinked rapidly and then nodded. “Ah yes – the chunk that flakes off as a result of the horcrux-making will remain the same age that the person was when the original soul was severed. And, once formed, a horcrux will be able to do its job, which means that you have to be very careful with it after you make it. Horcruxes are designed to kill and drain the life from humans who have contact with them. The soul is on a constant search for life-giving energy, which is what enables the soul-chunk to regain its former body. It’s a bit like a phoenix being reborn from its homicidal ashes, which is probably why it’s continually considered a method for immortality, despite the limited extra lifespan gained from a horcrux…”
Throughout Croaker’s lecture, Harry froze as a few things that the ex-Unspeakable said hit far too close to something he’d encountered in the past.
“Is it possible for a horcrux to possess a person?” he asked, busying his hands with his cigarette and mug of coffee and trying to seem casual.
Croaker nodded once. “Easily – if you form a strong enough bond with a horcrux and feed it enough of your energy, there are points where you’re likely to become more horcrux than person. They’re rather parasitic.”
All the dots in Harry’s head connected. Tom Riddle’s diary must have been Voldemort’s horcrux, which tried to kill Ginny in order to gain form.
But he destroyed it… so why was Dumbledore after the horcrux memory in Slughorn’s head? Harry’s brows furrowed and he looked into his recollections for more clues, drawing deeply at his fag.
To his left, Daphne was lazily flipping through Secrets of the Darkest Art. “Gruesome…” she muttered vaguely toward the book before looking up at Croaker. “Is there any actual way to gain real immortality?”
“There’s the obvious vampirism – that’s eternal. The trade-off is that you lose your magic in the process and have to dine on human blood for the rest of your life to sustain you, which deters most people,” Croaker answered in a humoured drawl, settling further into his seat and curling his gloved fingers around his coffee mug.
“Huh,” Daphne uttered, her lips parted in thought. “But what about the Philosopher’s Stone?”
“Destroyed, unfortunately – before the Unspeakables could get their hands on it. And Flamel burned all of his notes on the process of making it before he died, the bastard.” Letting out a rueful breath, Croaker took a sip of coffee. “Many Unspeakables would give their wand arm for that information.”
Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t think of any reason why Dumbledore would want Slughorn’s horcrux memory since Voldemort’s horcrux was already destroyed.
Perhaps the memory held a new key piece of information?
But what…?
Was he wasting all of his time with the Thaumaturgic intervention he was staging? Was it possible that Dumbledore himself didn’t know what a horcrux was?
Harry dismissed the latter question once more, knowing it was extremely improbable. Dumbledore seemed to know almost everything.
Or maybe he just wanted proof that Tom Riddle’s diary was a horcrux…
“Then it makes sense why horcruxes are considered apt for immortality,” Daphne said, closing Secrets of the Darkest Art and picking up her coffee. “Since there isn’t any other way to retain your magic and increase your lifespan.”
“Indeed; however, I dislike that description of it. Immortality is and should be eternal in order for it to qualify,” Croaker replied, his cheek scrunching up in irritation. “I blame Harpo the Foul for describing it as such, but he basically invented the process.”
“Hmmm…” Daphne hummed around her cigarette in contemplation. “Yeah, but what if you made more than one horcrux to make your lifespan more… eternal? Or is that not possible?”
Croaker tilted his head introspectively. “I don’t think anyone’s done that before. And, who – in their right mind – would want to be the first to see if they can split their soul more than once without something going wrong?” He cynically laughed as if the notion was ridiculous, cutting it off with sip of his coffee. “It would need testing before I’d chance that.”
Harry’s stomach joined his heart, sinking to the pit of his belly.
He knew who would want to be the first…
“But, if it was possible,” Croaker continued, “I still wouldn’t consider it eternal immortality even then – you’d have to continually make horcruxes and if you lived through that, considering the studies done on failed Dementor kisses, I doubt you’d have much soul left in you to exist after two thousand years at the most. But that goes into the unknown.”
“Two thousand years is a significant increase in your lifespan,” Harry pointed out, adding in his head, ‘For someone who’s afraid of death, especially.’
Imagining two thousand years of Voldemort was difficult to wrap his head around. How many horcruxes would that take?
“Well, does the soul split in complete halves…?” Daphne questioned, her forehead creased in the centre. “Or is it more imprecise? Because that would make a huge difference.”
Croaker shrugged. “Even the Department of Mysteries doesn’t understand much about actual soul-splitting due to the rarity of horcruxes. I would hazard a guess and say that it’s imprecise, just based on the St. Mungo’s–Department of Mysteries collaborative analyses on soul damage as a result of the Killing Curse, which was done on Azkaban prisoners after the last war. And, when Dementors leave bits of soul behind, they’re always jagged cast offs. Messy eaters, that lot.”
“Makes it all the more possible to have more than one then,” Daphne concluded, flicking ashes off of her fag and sitting back in her seat.
“Still wouldn’t advise more than one if that’s what you’re planning to do, Ducky,” Croaker responded, the corners of his lips quirking. “Or is this information for the Boy Who Lived?”
Harry uncomfortably met Croaker’s amicable gaze.
“Well, if Harry wanted to split his soul, would you blame him? He has one of the most powerful wizards in the world after him,” Daphne retorted. “Might come in handy.”
“Yes, I can see the appeal to have an extra life in that case,” Croaker said, nodding graciously. “However, don’t get caught – the Department of Mysteries has wanted to study you for ages ever since you survived the Killing Curse. If you made a horcrux, they’d be even more interested, which is saying something. Not to mention the Azkaban sentence that it carries, leaving you completely at their mercy.”
“It’s only a consideration, sir,” Harry replied, going along with the convenient excuse Daphne presented. To her it probably wasn’t an excuse – she might’ve thought it was true since he hadn’t told her that Voldemort was the reason for his interest in horcruxes. “It would be nice if we could keep this conversation just between us though. I don’t want it getting out that I’m looking into this.”
“No worries there,” Croaker guaranteed. “It’s not as if I’d be comfortable telling anyone that I informed two teenagers how to make a horcrux. I’d be in Azkaban if anyone important got wind, considering that it’s banned knowledge.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Then why’d you tell us? If it can get you into trouble…”
“You don’t become an Unspeakable unless you enjoy breaking the rules, Mr. Potter,” Croaker answered, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Those who do the field work are basically glorified criminals with government paychecks and heads full of secret knowledge.”
“My kind of job,” Daphne commented from behind her coffee mug.
Croaker glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “Yes, we all know that you aspire to be a cliff jumper.”
Harry stared at Croaker questioningly and the ex-Unspeakable explained, “Sixth level. Cliff jumpers are the spooks with very little sense of self-preservation. Run straight into danger and usually you find them hiding in enemy territory.”
Harry’s brows rose. Daphne wanted to be that type of Unspeakable? That was news to him, even if it sort of made sense.
“You did it for thirty years and you’re still alive. No need for the discouraging tone,” Daphne remarked, laying her hand over Secrets of the Darkest Art. “Mind if we keep this?”
“You sent payment for it, didn’t you?” Croaker rhetorically questioned, his stoat-like smirk twisting at his lips.
Daphne’s expression shifted into one of surprise and Harry stared between the two of them. “This book cost that much?” Her lips parted. “But that was for you.”
“Banned knowledge has a steep price point.” Croaker paused, finishing his coffee. “And you’ve more than compensated with your information on the Malfoy’s summer home.”
“What is it about that bloody summer home that everyone wants?” Harry asked, unable to contain his interest after it had been mentioned so many times.
“It’s rumoured that Nicholas Malfoy hid the hand of Midas there after he stole it from the Goblins in the 14^th century,” Daphne clarified, rolling her eyes. “I’m guessing it’s true?”
Croaker’s smirk widened but he didn’t confirm or deny it.
Daphne let out a breathy laugh. “You and Johnson are incorrigible.”
“More ambitious than incorrigible, I’d say,” Croaker returned.
“Wait. The hand of Midas actually… exists?” Harry’s brows rose. “It’s real?”
“And everything it touches turns to gold,” the ex-Unspeakable happily confirmed with a nod.
“Including live human bodies,” Daphne wryly added.
Croaker waved that fact aside with a backwards sweep of his gloved hands. “Powerful magic always has a trade-off, you know that.”
“If you and Johnson end up as gold statues, I’ll sell you,” Daphne casually threatened, her words contradicting the amused smirk on her face.
“Just as long as I fetch a decent price,” Croaker quipped, matching her smirk.
Daphne snorted, shaking her head. “Incorrigible.”
“Ambitious,” Croaker corrected, checking his watch and sighing at the time. “And I apologize, but I must cut this delightful conversation short. I’ve another appointment rather soon.”
“No problem, sir,” Harry said. “Thanks for helping us.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Potter,” Croaker replied, standing up from his chair and reaching his hand across the table, which Harry politely shook. “I hope all goes well with the information I presented. And with the Department of Mysteries.”
“Thanks,” he repeated as Croaker waved his wand, undoing the powerful wards around him.
Croaker tipped his head toward Daphne. “Ducky,” he said with a droll stoat-like grin.
Daphne returned his nod. “Sausage,” she replied, smiling, and Croaker spun on spot, Apparating away with a soft ‘pop’.
Harry’s brows furrowed, reminded of the letter Hermione decoded. “Sausage?”
“Mm – he’s ‘the toad in the hole’. Used to run prison comrade schemes in Azkaban to gain information by making ‘friends’,” Daphne offhandedly explained, stubbing out her cigarette, shoving Secrets of the Darkest Art into her robe, and pulling out her vial of twinkling Signature Duplicating Potion. “Better put more of this on before we go back… No idea how long this stuff lasts.”

OoO

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