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Chapter Thirty-Three

The Philosopher's Prophecy

"Mister Potter!" Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall glared down at Harry in front of the main Hogwarts gates. Her lips were one thin line. "Where have you been? Do you have any idea the worry you caused when you just disappeared after the trial like that?"

Harry's face took on the look of the mildly curious. "No, I do not. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

McGonagall's nostrils flared. "Your parents were greatly concerned when no one could say where you'd gone."

Harry snorted.

"So?" McGonagall asked, looming over Harry as only a middle school teacher can. "Where have you been?"

"I was in Diagon Alley."

"What for?"

"Shopping."

"Shopping for what?"

"A new set of robes so I can appear in your classroom like the tidy and responsible young wizard I am. It seems the ministry won't be returning the ones the DoM took as evidence until it passes through three sets of departments and gets stamped in triplicate ."

Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to be cheeky, Mister Potter?"

Harry's voice became so dry it could soak up an ocean. "No, Professor. I'm sure I'd do a better job of it if I actually tried."

"Detention, Mister Potter."

"Yes, Professor."

"Get along to your common room."

"Yes, Professor."

— DP & SW: TFoP —

"—And then Bole tried to bully me into siding with him against Keendle, but Keendle had already told Richardson that I'd told him about the business with Parkinson, and then Gibbons and Carthile started threatening to blow the whole thing open if I didn't side with them against Keendle, but they still refused to have anything to do with Bole because of that time before Christmas!" Tracey was slouched in one of the armchairs near the Slytherin throne in the Slytherin common room, half on and half off, glass of pumpkin juice in one hand, hand over tired eyes with the other.

Daphne and Hermione listened attentively, sitting opposite their friend in the unofficial student throne of the Gray and a small sofa respectively. The general hubbub of the common room washed around the small Gray grouping.

Tracey swigged back her drink in a most un-lady like fashion before reaching for the ceiling with both hands. "I mean, come on!"

Daphne smiled to herself. Oh, the joys of leadership. One thing she hadn't missed much during their seven week evacuation. She leaned forward. "But you did solve it."

"Oh, I solved it, sure, but it took so much stupid stuff."

"Welcome to the world of politics."

Tracey eyed her like a drowning man eyes another, more buoyant looking, drowning man. "Well, you can keep it, Daph — it's all yours again."

"As you wish, Miss future Lady Davis."

Tracey groaned. "Please don't remind me. I don't know how you and Hermione find the energy to do all the stuff you do on top of all the political stuff we have to worry about." She straightened on her chair. "Now, are you going to tell me what the hell happened at the trial? And why isn't Potter back yet if he got off?"

Daphne gave a small wry smile. "We'd have told you earlier, if you hadn't immediately decided to unload on us."

"Well, I'm sorry!"

Suddenly, the door creaked open and all attention seemed to draw, inexplicably, towards it.

Harry stepped through the common room door, as though he'd just got back from lunch. He looked around, walked past their court, giving her a small nod as he passed, and sat down several chairs away where the Dark had their little court going.

"Why," Tracey whispered, "is Potter sitting with the Dark? If he's Gray, I mean."

Hermione leaned forward and whispered, "Recruitment."

"Recruit— Hermione, you can't seriously believe that he'll be able to bring any of them over to our side, do you?"

Hermione smiled.

Daphne smirked.

"Possibly." Hermione looked over to where Harry sat.

Daphne followed her eyes. Harry sat among the Dark as though he belonged there. Moments later, he stood up and made his way over to them. He sat himself down with a grin. "Just saying hi to our friends over the way."

Tracey looked incredulously at him.

"What?" said Harry, a small twinkle in his eye. "No welcome back? — no, 'I'm glad you were exonerated?' — not even a, 'Why the hell didn't you tell me you were Gray before so I might not have looked so silly for several months?'"

Tracey snorted. "I'm insulted you think I might not have worked that last one out on my own."

Daphne reached into her pocket and handed over the tiny trunk Harry had entrusted Hermione with from before.

Harry took it with a smile. "So, what's been going on while I was away?"

Daphne and Hermione winced.

Tracey took a sharp intake of breath. "Oh! let me tell you…"

— DP & SW: TFoP —

Harry sat down in one of the three chairs in his trunk. "Wow, that girl knows how to weave a story. It's a pity we don't still have bards as a tradition. I'm sure she'd make a fine one."

Daphne smiled apologetically as she and Hermione mirrored him and the three made themselves comfortable. "Tracey's always been like that — ever since we first met — must have been when we were three or something like that."

"I'm not knocking it," Harry said. "It's a useful skill. But now let's talk about other things."

Hermione perked up. "The stone."

Harry nodded. "The stone, indeed."

"What are we going to do about it?" Daphne asked.

Harry tapped his fingers idly on the low table between them. "We've only got a few weeks until the end of the year and exams—"

Hermione nodded fiercely.

"—And it's important that both of you score top in them."

Hermione started. "What about you?"

"I mean top apart from me."

Hermione relaxed and nodded.

Harry continued. "You will, however, have to beat out John."

Hermione scoffed.

Harry grinned. "Which I know you'll be able to do, but do remember that he does have four years on both of you, and the last time I checked, you, Hermione, were only just starting fourth year spells, and you, Daphne, were only just starting year three."

Daphne glanced to her side and caught Hermione's eye. They'd both solidified into twin burning embers. She turned back. "And the stone?"

Harry sat in silence for a moment before speaking. "Dumbledore will be getting more and more suspicious. I think, we'll need to wait until he can do little to no harm and then use an already proven method."

Daphne frowned. "What proven method?"

Harry reached into his pocket, drew out a small bottle containing a single white hair and set it down on the table. "The boy who lived, of course."

— DP & SW: TFoP —

Lord Smith sat in the large armchair that was the seat of the Noble House of Smith. The seat of the Noble House of Smith sat in a corner of a sitting room, which was itself situated on the second floor of a three story monstrosity of pure granite, carved into the side of Ben Nevis, and hidden from muggles by an ancient set of wards mostly untouched since they'd been set up over seven hundred years ago.

The seat now creaked as Lord Smith shifted his considerable weight, most of it muscle, despite his age, and made only heavier by the steel armour he wore. He wasn't nervous. No, he damn well was not nervous! He'd survived everything that life had thrown at him. Even He-whom-it-was-unwise-to-name. Not something many of his peers could say — certainly not where they were now. So what reason did he have to be nervous of some little upstart lord who wore a mask? None at all!

The chair creaked again.

He rose irritably from the ancient oak seat like a building taking flight and started pacing.

A ping shot through the wards.

He stopped pacing.

A house elf popped into being by the sitting room's front door. "Master, Lord Slytherings has arrived."

Lord Smith's moustache twitched. "Good. Show him up please."

A minute later, the door opened and Lord Smith found himself gazing into the now famous green and black mask. "Ah, Lord Slytherin, come in, come in, please sit down, why don'cha?"

The masked lord swept into the room behind him. "Thank you, Lord Smith."

The two sat themselves down.

Smith smacked a goblet filled with red wine down in front of Slytherin. "I dare say you know why I requested this meeting?"

Lord Slytherin inclined his head. "I dare say you know why I accepted."

Smith barked a laugh. "I've got some questions to ask before I'll sign my family into your alliance."

"Fire away."

"Who are you?"

"I am Lord Slytherin."

"You trust Lord Greengrass with your identity."

"Jacob is family."

Smith smirked. "I'm not signing Sally over to you just to see your face."

"I wouldn't ask you to. I have quite enough on my plate to be getting on with."

"Smith snorted. "Rather you than me. I love Margaret, but I wouldn't be able to handle two of her — not a chance."

Slytherin said nothing.

Smith turned serious. "Okay, you don't want others to see your face, I get that. But there is one thing I insist on knowing before joining."

"Go on."

"What is all this for?"

"All this?"

"The secrecy. The Wizengamot blockade. What's it all in aid of? Several years ago the Gray didn't even exist, it was just a bunch of families who didn't want to get too involved doing what little they could do to stop the more extreme policies of the Dark and Light becoming law. Now it's this rising third power. But rising for what?"

Slytherin swirled his goblet idly before taking a sip.

Smith watched the way the mask's lips moulded themselves around the goblet, forming a small mouth as it went. It was an impressive piece of magic.

Eventually, Slytherin spoke. "I don't agree with the way the Light does things. I don't agree with the way the Dark does things either. They are both on the path to bring our world to ruin. And both are led by overly powerful wizards capable of speeding up that ruin if they are not neutered first."

"Dumbledore? I wouldn't have believed it a month ago, but now…. He seems to be trying to keep as low a profile as possible after the debacle at your boy's trial — couldn't even arrange a meeting of my own with him, and I know plenty of the other heads of houses have tried and failed too — never a good sign, that."

Slytherin nodded. "Dumbledore is one of them."

"And the other is?"

"A wizard believed by many to be dead, but who, unfortunately, has a bad habit of not quite making it all the way across the river Styx."

Smith frowned. "Who?"

"The Dark Lord."

Smith's heart clenched in his chest. His breathing felt shallower. "He's alive?"

"Unfortunately."

Smith's hand gripped the goblet hard enough to leave marks in his palm. So that's why Slytherin didn't want his identity known. The room suddenly felt a lot colder than before. Suddenly everything made a lot more sense. The man was preparing for a war against someone who would quickly have him killed if his identity was known. "How is the he not dead?"

"Dark magic."

Figures. "Why not go public with this? The Light would surely fight against the Dark."

"You forget I'm not only fighting against the Dark. There are forces within the Light who would also be happy to see my personal destruction if they could wrangle it."

Okay, now that was interesting.

The two sat in silence for a moment.

Smith took a gulp of wine. "Fine." He put down the goblet with a thump. "Got any other explosion curses to land on me?"

Slytherin reached into his pocket. "Take a look at this." The young lord chucked him something round and metallic.

Smith snatched it out of the air on instinct. His eyes widened as his mind caught up with what his eyes were seeing. It was a small sphere of aluminium, perfectly round and engraved with hundreds of what looked like tiny geometrically perfect runes. He looked up at Slytherin with incredulity. "There's no way these are accurate to the necessary precision."

"I assure you, they are."

Lord Smith felt a slight sweat form on the back of his neck. The implications of something like this… "How? Who?"

"A family secret. Friends of mine." The metal ball flew back into Slytherin's gloved hand with a small smack sound.

Smith stared. His mind whirled. Weapons. Shields. Armour. Oh, the possibilities. "Okay, now you've got my attention." He gave Slytherin a small wry smile. "Still sure you wouldn't consider taking another consort?"

Slytherin chuckled. "No, Lord Smith. I'm quite happy, thank you very much. But I'm sure our houses can work together in the future."

— DP & SW: TFoP —

Inside the mirror room at the end of the third floor corridor, Harry pointed his wand at yet another broken mirror. "Diffindo." The mirror started to separate until the top half of it's tall bronze frame was completely separated from its bottom half. He took another angle and once more started another cut. The metal cleaved itself under his wand and soon the broken mirror was in four — much smaller pieces than before, but still not small enough. He looked around.

Across the room, Daphne levitated the remains of her forth or fifth mirror into his trunk before collapsing on the ground, panting heavily.

Hermione, it seemed, had given the magic a break for the moment. She carried her latest piece of bronze mirror frame to the trunk, chucking it in with a loud crashing noise. She turned around and wiped her brow before suddenly frowning, as though struck by a confusing thought. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do we even have to do this? Why can't we just bring the Mirror of Erised to your brother, rather than bringing your brother here?"

Harry smiled and ambled over towards the girls, happy for the chance to let his magic rest a bit. His own pile of scrap bronze already dwarfed Hermione and Daphne's. "An excellent question. You tell me."

Hermione bit her lip and descended into deep thought.

Daphne looked between him and Hermione before getting up off the floor and brushing herself down. She paused. "Is it something to do with the fidelius?"

Harry nodded. "Well done."

Hermione looked at Daphne, mildly annoyed.

Daphne continued. "It's the secret, right? I remember when I came through here when we first took down the original fidelius and put up the new one. The secret said that the Mirror of Erised was hidden in this room."

Hermione's face lit up in understanding. "Oh! I see! So, if we took the mirror out of the room, the fidelius would fail?"

"Yes," Harry said, "and only I could do that anyway — as it would constitute as, 'telling the secret,' to the whole world — although breaking the mirror would have the same effect."

Hermione nodded before looking around and then into the trunk. "So, what are we going to do with all this bronze?"

Daphne smiled wryly. "How about a life-sized statue of Lord Slytherin on the front lawn of Slytherin Manor?"

Harry made a disgusted face. "I'd go through the veil before letting that happen."

Hermione giggled. "So, that's a 'yes' then?"

"It's just an expression."

"What about one of Harry Potter?"

"No."

"Perhaps in an overly heroic position, like holding a sword straight up in the air?"

"No."

"While Daphne lays at your feet, clutching one of your legs?"

"N—"

"—Or" Daphne cut in, eyes narrowed. "The girl could be you, kneeling before your lord swearing life long fealty."

"Um," said Harry.

"I wouldn't mind that," Hermione said, slightly smug.

"What about before your Lord and Lady?"

"Oh, that is—!"

Harry let out a brief flare of magic, cutting both of the slightly startled girls off in mid flow. He smirked. "How about a statue of you two and the others in mid-fight against that troll at Halloween?"

Hermione and Daphne looked at each other before turning back and nodding. "Okay." / "I'm good with that." Then they both giggled.

— DP & SW: TFoP —

Hermione stood next to the pensieve in her trunk, watching as the members of The Founders Club emerged from the courtroom memory one after the other.

Justin Finch-Fletchley looked at her with a worried expression. "And he's our magical guardian?"

Hermione nodded.

Sophie Roper dusted herself down after almost falling over. "It was almost like he wanted Harry to go to prison."

"No almost about it," Justin said.

Kevin Entwhistle stood in the middle of the room, the only one seemingly unaffected by the spinning pensieve trip. "You'd have to be blind not to see Harry was all right. What's his game?"

The three looked questioningly towards Hermione, just as Dean finally emerged from the memory bowl. "Okay, what the hell was all that about?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Dumbledore has built up a picture in the wizarding world as being this great good wizard who fights for justice and equality." She looked into each of her fellow muggleborn's eyes, each pair fixed unmovingly on her, before continuing. "The reality, however, is quite different…"

— DP & SW: TFoP —

And before long, the exams were on them. Harry took great pleasure in watching the memories of Hermione and Daphne utterly obliterate every practical exam they took. He'd spent several years working with them by now and it was amazing to see just what several years of prep work with Tom Riddle developed occlumency could accomplish. He found it deliciously ironic that he, Harry, had built his power base in part with the techniques that Voldemort had been the most unwilling to share with anyone else.

Professor McGonagall had them all turn a mouse into a snuffbox. Harry decorated his snuffbox with gold filigree and tiny opals, depicting a scene of a Nemean lion and a runespore teaming up to battle a chimaera — a chimaera with the head of a goat and the body of a wolf. She'd given him a level gaze, a congratulations on an excellent transfiguration, and a mild warning to respect all his professors.

Professor Flitwick had almost fainted with excitement when Harry had made his pineapple not only tap-dance, but then also perform as far as Odette's first revelation in Swan Lake before needing to stop for the next examinee. "Most well done, Mister Potter. Not even your brother managed something quite as wonderful."

Potions had been a surprise. Instead of the Headmaster, they'd walked into the potions lab on the day of the exams to find an un-petrified and extremely short tempered Professor Snape. He swooped around the classroom glaring at Harry's yearmates and occasionally shooting him a calculating look. No doubt someone had shown him memories from the tournament or similar.

History had been boring and easy. So had astronomy.

For defence against the dark arts, Harry had hid under the Potter invisibility cloak and followed Hermione and Daphne into the classroom when they had their practicals. He wouldn't put it behind Tom to try to pull something this close to the end of the year, but he needn't have worried. Quirrellmort seemed to be on his best behaviour for some reason. The man did look extremely sick though. Far worse than this time in the last timeline. Even his skin seemed to be sluffing off.

Then came Harry's own turn at defence.

"Why don't you try and impress me, Potter?"

"What would you like me to do, Professor?"

"Why don't we start out with spell swatting?" Quirrell fired a rapid chain of spells at him, which he swatted out of the way — every single one.

"Good." Quirrell made a motion for him to go.

Harry eyed him warily. "That's all, Professor?"

"Yes, Potter. You are an advanced spell swatter. There are likely no more than two dozen people in the country that are at your level and a good number of them are aurors who've been working on it for years with access to restricted books from the department of mysteries. Only the top professional duellists can pull it off perfectly, and that's not for lack of wide-eyed hopefuls who'd like to be able to. Giving you anything less than an O with full marks would be an insult. Now go. I'm sure you've got more productive things you could be doing."

Harry nodded, thanked the rapidly deteriorating dark lord, and left.

— DP & SW: TFoP —

"I have learned that Dumbledore is scheduled to address the ICW conference on international magical crime in two days."

Across the table from Harry, Hermione and Daphne exchanged glances.

Hermione raised a hand. "I thought we didn't want to use that strategy because Dumbledore would link it to Lord Slytherin?"

Harry nodded. "We haven't, but less than twelve hours after he leaves, the board will meet to discuss his contract renewal. Once that meeting is concluded, and we're all back on the train less than forty-eight hours after that, the headmaster will no longer be headmaster."

Daphne pursed her lips. "So, in other words, we don't care."

"Exactly."

— DP & SW: TFoP —

Harry sneaked through the corridors of Hogwarts as quiet as a ghost — or at least, as quiet as the ghosts who weren't talking, shouting at each other, or rattling chains up the astronomy tower.

He made his way to the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office and carefully let himself in, checking all the while for hidden runes and concealed trip-lines. He found none — at least until he got to the very top of the stairs and opened the door. His magical sensing drew his attention to a minute amount of magic swirling through the doormat, sat innocently on the floor in front of him, emblazoned with the words, 'Home Sweetie Home'.

He knelt down and felt for intent. There was none. He frowned. That was odd. There was certainly magic there, but no spell. He lay down on the floor, withdrew a folded piece of parchment from his pocket, folded it twice more, and carefully slid his make-shift spatula under the mat.

Nothing.

He started to lift it.

Suddenly, a spell started to form.

He quickly dropped the mat.

The spell died.

Interesting. He glanced around the office. What would happen if he turned it? He tried. The mat refused to turn. Mmmm. He stepped over the mat, constantly checking for other possible traps, and crouched down facing the mat again. He then slowly started to transfigure the floor around the mat to a transparent glass and what he saw increased his grudging respect for the old man another notch.

The mat was attached to two thin, flat, and rectangular metal plates, each one covered in runes, and slid into two slots in the floor. The very floor below the mat was likewise covered in runes, and as the plates lowered or rose as someone either stood on it, or tried to pull it away, the runes would align in different patterns forming different spells and using the minute amounts of magic pulled from the wizard who stood atop it. Ingenious.

Harry let out a silent sigh. As much as he'd like to spend hours examining the mat, he did need to sweep the rest of the room, and Dumbledore was asleep not fifteen metres away. It certainly wouldn't do to be caught in here.

— DP & SW: TFoP —

The morning of the truth dawned. Harry woke up, climbed out of bed, put on his muggle exercise clothes, disillusioned himself, and went for a jog around the lake, making sure to stand out of the way as he passed his brother going the other way. He arrived back at his dorm room to catch his year mates in various states of readiness for the day.

Nott looked up as he walked back in. "Merlin, Potter, you do know we're finished for the year, right? You should be relaxing!"

Harry smiled. The reactions of the Dark children since he'd returned had been one of cautious friendliness with attempted hidden undertones of awe. "You can relax if you like, I've got stuff to do."

Draco also looked around from where he sat in front of his mirror, wanding down his hair. "Let him be, Theo. Potter can do whatever he wants."

"Indeed," Harry said.

On his bed on the other side of the room, Goyle was reading a comic book titled, 'The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle.'

Crabbe still hadn't woken up.

Just then, Blaise Zabini walked in from the dorm bathroom, naked from the waist up and wrapped in towel. "Oh, hey, Harry. Tag you're in."

"Thanks." Harry walked into the bathroom.

"Hey!" Goyle called from behind him. "I was next!"

Twenty minutes later, Harry and Blaise had dressed and made their way down to breakfast. Harry sat himself down in the medley of Gray students at the near-end of the Slytherin table and helped himself to a slice of toast. Everyone happily made space for him. "Morning all. Where's Tracey?"

A few people said morning in reply and Hermione shrugged. "Don't know. We think she went off to do something."

"Well, could you let her know that I've got something to discuss with her if you do see her will you?"

Hermione nodded.

On the other side of the table, Daphne was deep in conversation with Flint about quidditch. Slytherin had squashed Ravenclaw in the final match, but Gryffindor had still been ahead on points and so had taken the cup, much to Harry's annoyance. Flint also wasn't happy.

Romulus Volf, on the other hand, sitting all the way at the other end of the table with the Dark students, was happy. After Harry had been led away in handcuffs by Regent Bones, the Slytherin duelling team had gone on to dominate their Gryffindor opponents, with many of their seeds taking their upper year opponents and the Slytherin sixth year successfully defeating the Gryffindor seventh year.

The entire castle had that end of year feel. Everyone was relaxing and enjoying themselves — even the fifth and seventh years, who'd finished their OWLS and NEWTS just days earlier.

All around the table, plans for summer were being drawn up. Trips to people's houses were being negotiated and even the occasional group holiday came up in the flow.

"You should really drop by some time," Blaise said to him. "I'm sure my mother would love to meet you."

"I'm sure she would." Harry said, making sure to leave even the tinniest hint of drollness out of his voice. Mrs Zabini had what could only be described as a 'reputation' — five dead husbands, all of them rich. Lord Slytherin would no doubt be considered the ultimate prize for the black widow. "I'll see what I can do — no promises though — there's a good chance I might be tied up this summer with other projects."

Blaise nodded and returned to his breakfast.

Harry didn't say what those projects were, but he certainly knew what he hoped they would be.

— DP & SW: TFoP —

Deep in a trunk, hidden in the fidelius charmed spot in the Hogwarts Library, three children gathered around a small vial of muddy looking liquid.

"You ready?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded.

"Good luck." Daphne added.

Harry took a small white hair out of another glass jar and let it settle into the vial of polyjuice. The potion bubbled. He drank.