"Invite Harry Potter?"
Lucius froze. He glanced at his wife's anxious face, lips parting as if to speak—then closing again without a sound.
He desperately wanted to tell her that Draco was only a child, that she couldn't possibly believe every word the boy said. Yet reason prevailed. Outwardly he was the head of the family; in practice, there were times when one simply had to… respect Narcissa's wishes.
Narcissa, however, was past caring about such niceties. As a mother who loved her son fiercely, how could she sit idle while the Dark Mark polluted the child's arm? She was desperate enough to grasp at any hope. If Mr. Potter had been able to notice the Mark on Draco's arm, perhaps he might also know a way to deal with it. Even the slightest chance was more than she was willing to risk missing.
Draco's eyes brightened. See? Mother really does love me—she believed what I said!
"Cissy." Lucius drew a deep breath.
He had meant to talk her out of the idea, but the sorrow in her gaze made him swallow the words already rising to his throat.
"I'll write the invitation myself. Personally."
The atmosphere at Malfoy Manor was heavy. At Hogwarts it was little better.
The moment Snape received the news, he went straight to Dumbledore. Now he sat in the Headmaster's office.
Lucius had never imagined that Snape would take the matter to Dumbledore—despite Snape being Head of Slytherin and Potions Master. In the minds of every Death Eater, Severus Snape was a loyal servant of the Dark Lord, incapable of betrayal. Lucius certainly did not believe a former obsession with Lily Potter could ever outweigh that loyalty. That was precisely why he had turned to Snape without hesitation.
"Ah, Severus." Dumbledore yawned, clad in a nightshirt patterned with stars and moons and wearing a matching nightcap. "It must be rather late. I trust you have something important to tell me, or you would not disturb an old man's sleep."
The implication was clear: this had better be worth it.
"A Dark Mark has appeared at Hogwarts," Snape said flatly. "Two students have had the Mark branded onto their arms."
Dumbledore blinked, briefly startled.
"A Dark Mark?"
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't recall Professor Quirrell placing any student in detention alone. What exactly happened? Who are the two students?"
Snape's voice remained even. "One is a second-year, Joseph Rowle. The other… at the request of the child's parents, I am obliged to keep the identity confidential."
"Thank you, Severus." Dumbledore understood the unspoken meaning at once. In all of Slytherin, the only person who could compel Snape's silence was Lucius Malfoy himself.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Dumbledore asked, a little more at ease. As long as it was not Harry, the matter was manageable. Both the Rowles and the Malfoys were Death Eater families; they were unlikely to make a public fuss. As for events inside Slytherin House, Dumbledore was not omniscient—he was nowhere near as all-knowing as the public often imagined.
Snape spoke quickly, without his usual drawl, relating everything he had heard from the Malfoys.
Dumbledore calmly opened a drawer and took out a jar. It was full of cockroaches, crawling over one another in a dense, seething mass.
Snape's eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Would you care for a Cockroach Cluster, Severus?" Dumbledore plucked one out. The creature's long antennae twitched furiously; its six legs kicked wildly in the air as it tried to escape the Headmaster's fingers.
Snape's expression contorted with pure revulsion, as though Dumbledore were holding not a sweet but James Potter himself.
"If you ate fewer sweets, your hard-working Potions Master might not have to waste time brewing dental potions—he already has enough trouble dealing with those talentless little trolls."
"My apologies, Severus."
Dumbledore sighed in mild regret, popped the cockroach into his mouth, chewed twice, and looked thoroughly content.
"Life is already bitter enough. That is why we need a little sweetness now and then."
"Besides," he added, "the cost of those dental potions comes from the Board of Governors' funds, does it not?"
Snape curled his lip. "Perhaps we might return our attention to the diary, Dumbledore."
"Ah, the diary… I actually knew its original owner." Dumbledore screwed the lid back onto the jar and returned it to the drawer. "Cassandra Malfoy, wasn't it? The year I started at Hogwarts she was a seventh-year… though the other students said she never finished sixth year. She left to study Divination under the Seer Cassandra Trelawney—Sybill's great-great-grandmother. Later, for reasons never made public, the then head of the family, Septimus Malfoy, published a notice disowning her. After that… nothing more was ever heard of her."
"Is that so?" Snape's mouth twisted in a thin, sarcastic smile. "How touching to see the Malfoys' famous devotion to family."
"None of that matters now. What matters is the diary itself." Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles glittered in the moonlight. "From what I can tell, this is an extremely advanced piece of Dark magic. If I am not mistaken, the woman who called herself 'Merope' was a young Voldemort."
He frowned slightly. "Merope… I feel as though I have heard that name somewhere before."
Snape did not interrupt. He simply waited in silence.
After a long moment Dumbledore still could not place the name. He set it aside and continued: "If my guess is correct, Voldemort used some form of dark magic to split his soul and conceal a fragment of it inside that diary."
"That may not be the most urgent point, Headmaster," Snape said, the familiar sneer returning to his voice. "If I am right, we may soon be dealing with two Voldemorts. Two."
"Yes. One is already more than enough of a headache." Dumbledore sighed. "Once term begins, I would like you to look carefully into Slytherin House and make certain nothing similar happens again."
"I will," Snape replied, lifting his eyelids. "And I hope the Headmaster will keep his eyes out of the honey pots long enough to prevent them from becoming sugar-glazed and useless."
After Snape left the office, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black spoke up in a sly, drawling voice from the wall.
"If I were you, Albus, I wouldn't worry about this Voldemort fellow at all."
Dumbledore ignored him. In his view, a Black who worshipped blood purity was unlikely to offer useful advice on the subject.
Phineas fell silent after that single remark, settling back into the painted sofa with his legs crossed, privately hoping Harry Potter would give Voldemort a proper taste of ancient magic.
Snape had gone only a few steps when he turned and came back into the office.
"Was there something else, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.
"I should remind you, Headmaster," Snape said slowly, "that the parent in question has no idea I came here tonight."
"Rest assured, Severus." Dumbledore smiled gently. "He is, after all, a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. I am quite willing to leave him that particular dignity."
Early the next morning Harry climbed out of bed.
Early rising was a necessary discipline for a young wizard if one wished to stay healthy and clear-headed.
He stretched, shuffled into his slippers, and went to wash. Afterwards he stepped outside, bought a generous amount of food, and returned to the room.
Because Pobby was still in the trunk, he had bought rather a lot. Tom worried it might go to waste, but Harry assured him that, with all the growing he was doing, he could easily finish it.
"Time to eat, Pobby," he said, opening the trunk.
"You look exactly like a smuggler of magical creatures," Pobby said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Well? Has anyone discovered you're smuggling a unicorn?"
"No." Harry rolled his eyes. "I should remind you that I am still an underage wizard. I don't have the strength to subdue a unicorn on my own."
"Oh? So what then?"
"So a wicked unicorn kidnapped a poor first-year student."
Harry seized the initiative, stuffing a sandwich into Pobby's still-open mouth.
"Just eat your sandwich."
Pobby, mouth full, was forced to swallow her next remark along with the food.
"What are your plans for today?" she asked once she had managed to chew and swallow.
"I need to go to Gringotts again. You'll have to stay here a while longer. Once I've finished business there, I can take you back to my aunt and uncle's house."
"Yay!" Pobby cheered.
She had heard that the Dursleys' house had gardens and lawns front and back. It had been far too long since she had last had a proper graze.
After breakfast Harry sent Pobby back into the trunk. He swallowed another Ageing Potion and returned to the appearance of a seventeen-year-old.
What he failed to notice was that the lid of the trunk lifted a fraction, leaving a narrow gap. Only after he had left the room did it slowly close again.
Inside Gringotts the goblins continued their usual busy bustle. Yesterday's incident had not disrupted operations; the bank's crisis management was nothing if not efficient.
The moment Harry entered, several goblins in impeccable suits hurried forward.
"Esteemed Mr. Potter, this way, please."
Harry nodded and followed them to the VIP lounge.
A short while later Bodrick and Scadder, the senior manager, entered.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter." Both bowed.
"Good morning." Harry inclined his head in return.
"If I may, Mr. Potter…" Scadder approached. "May I sit?"
"Of course."
Scadder exhaled quietly and placed a sheet of parchment on the table before Harry.
"After an emergency meeting of the Gringotts Board yesterday, and in order to make good the losses suffered by Mr. Potter and Miss Grindelwald, as well as to express our sincere apologies, we have unanimously decided to offer substantial compensation."
He glanced up at Harry, then continued. "We acknowledge that the loss was caused by our failure to provide adequate security. The Board has therefore resolved to transfer a seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors to Mr. Potter as compensation."
Harry was mildly surprised.
A governorship?
A century earlier he had rather envied Cassandra for precisely that reason—her father had been a Hogwarts governor.
He gave no outward sign of pleasure or displeasure, remaining seated with the same calm expression.
The goblins exchanged a quick look; their spirits sank a little. Unable to read the young man's reaction, they produced their second offer.
"In addition, the Board is prepared to offer certain rare alchemical materials by way of further compensation—ghost's tears, for example."
Ghost's tears?
Harry had no idea what those were used for. What he needed most at present were angel feathers and basilisk fangs.
Vivi had once stored angel feathers in the vault, but Gellert had taken them along with other materials when he emptied it. Those feathers were essential for saving Vivi.
The gold itself mattered little to Harry, nor did the antiques or the other alchemical ingredients. Only the angel feathers were truly important.
"Mr. Potter," Bodrick asked carefully, "does this proposal meet with your approval?"
"Gringotts is an ancient institution," Harry said casually. "I imagine you still hold certain materials from basilisks?"
Scadder relaxed slightly.
"We do. At present we have only a quantity of basilisk shed skin left. If Mr. Potter requires it…"
"I need basilisk fangs," Harry said, "and angel feathers."
"I am sorry, Mr. Potter. Every basilisk fang in our possession was sold fifty years ago." Scadder looked genuinely regretful. "As for angel feathers… Gringotts has never held such a treasure."
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