Yu Yu Hakusho Fan Fiction ❯ Higher Learning ❯ Cursed Scars; Harry Dreams ( Chapter 7 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Author's Notes:
1. Note on the creatures mentioned so far - they've come mostly from Final Fnatasy 8 (except the wyvern, which was taken from an old Nintendo game called 'Dragon Warriors' - if I describe it, that's where the descriptions will come from). It's not really important, but I don't want anyone to think I'm claiming them as my own. I own nothing in this story except the dialogue and bits of the plot (the rest is drawn right from HP and YYH).
2. About Hermione, she's only had a few days to figure things out. Considering it took months for the gang to find out Draco knew nothing about the 'heir of slytherin', and even longer to figure out what kind of creature can petrify people (basilik is the only one I've ever heard of - Piers Anthony, anyone?), Hermione would be out of character if she just 'bingo' knew it all. And with her rational, logical, book-based mind (everything she knows about magic she's learned from books and Hogwarts - she spent 10-12 years as a normal human)...I just see her having trouble believing the strange and 'secret' reality of demons. We're talking about things even adult wizards don't know unless they're aurors, professors, or old-bloods. Plus, Dumbledore and the professors aren't telling her jack. That never happens in the books, so it's unprecedented for her. I think she's doing her best, considering the circumstances. It would help if she could ask questions of someone who'd actually answer her (Lupin, Kurama...even Hiei, though no one ever asks him anything...I wonder why...). As it is, she's driving herself nuts thinking the answer to everything can be found in a book. I like that. ;p
3. A note on Trelawny, I’ve assumed that once the ministry was booted from Hogwarts’ business, she’d take her place as professor again. That’s not to say there can’t be two classes (since Firenze didn’t teach anything like the stuff she teaches). I just don’t imagine anyone learning anything from the centaur’s class, so I doubt Dumbledore would keep him around. All he did in his class was drone on about how superior magical creatures like himself saw things infantile humans could never see or understand. That’s nice for a slap in the face for snooty wizards, but it doesn’t teach students anything at all. To me, he’s a much worse teacher than Trelawny – she might fake her own abilities, but the actual methods of ‘scrying’ and reading leaves are real methods that do work for some people. Firenze’s methods don’t work for anyone but centaurs. Since Hogwarts doesn’t teach magical creatures, those methods are completely useless for human wizarding students. Imagine him still teaching his class alongside Trelawny, if you like, but I won’t write it into this story.

Category: Harry Potter-YYH crossover
Warnings: spoilers for book 6, lots of dialogue
Author: Arigatomina
Email: arigatoumina (a) hotmail . com
Website: www . geocities . com / arigatomina

Higher Learning

Part 7: Cursed Scars; Harry Dreams

Kurama smiled as he took another sip from the steaming mug. Watchful eyes were locked on him, so he was careful not to grimace.

“It’s sweeter than I expected,” he admitted. “I thought it would be tart.”

“Too much time spent with Dumbledore,” Lupin smirked. “He has a definite sweet tooth. You get used to it after a while.”

“At least it’s not pumpkin juice,” said Kurama. “I was surprised to learn that wizards drink so much of that here. I didn’t know you separated yourselves from normal human society to such an extent. Black tea is supposed to be an English tradition.”

“Some of the professors do drink it regularly,” said Lupin. “Don’t hold me to this, but I suspect pumpkin juice is particular to Hogwarts. Few of the wizarding families I’ve seen drink it so much. And I understand western witches are quite fond of apple cider, though the adults usually drink coffee as their beverage of choice.”

Kurama nodded at that, venturing another sip over the overly sweet tea. “It would be interesting to learn how the traditions came about. I find it curious that there are no asian covens affiliated with your Ministry of Magic.”

“They were kicked out over eighty years ago,” said Snape.

The two glanced over to where Hiei and Snape were seated at the little table across the room from them. Hiei glowered at the interruption.

“I knew you weren’t trying,” Hiei spat. “Stop paying attention to them.”

“We can go in the other room,” Lupin said quickly, “if we’re disturbing you.”

“Maa, maa,” Kurama drawled, waving a hand at Lupin. “We don’t want to miss anything.”

Snape bristled and snapped over to glare heatedly at Hiei. “I am fully capable of doing two things at once, providing they are both things in my ability to do. I’ve already told you I get nothing from this. It’s a waste of time.”

“And yet you can read any human in this school,” Hiei mocked. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

Snape let out an odd, hissing growl, his glare darkening until his eyes were mere slits. “I know my limits.”

“And they are?” Hiei prodded.

“I get nothing from you,” Snape said sharply. “Even the Dark Lord gives a well of death when I look into his eyes. You give nothing. I can’t pierce your barrier. It isn’t a matter of finding lies and truths. There’s nothing at all.”

“There’s everything,” Hiei countered. “Read Kurama.”

Kurama’s eyes widened when Snape turned to glare over at him. For a moment he wasn’t sure what Hiei expected from him. Then he relaxed and returned Snape’s stare, his lips twitching into a slow smile.

“He agrees with me,” Snape said, his voice directed at Hiei. “He finds your tenacity pointless.”

Hiei stood and moved to stand next to the black-haired wizard. “Does he? Or is he lying to you? Look harder. Forget that he’s a demon and look the way you would with one of the students.”

Snape jerked his eyes away, glaring at Hiei. “Forget he’s a demon? The entire point is that you’re demons. The only reason I can read him at all is because his human body allows me entrance.”

“And his mind?” Hiei pushed.

The man fell silent, his jaw closed in a stubborn line. Hiei felt a twitch pull at his eyebrow, but he held back his need to growl. He imagined this was as difficult as educating an idiot like Kuwabara. Why did he have to be the one doing it?

“My mind,” Kurama called, his tone far too pleasant for either Snape or Hiei’s patience to tolerate, “allows you to read only what I want you to read. I don’t find Hiei’s tenacity pointless, I find it amusing. You read the lie because that was what I wanted you to read.”

“It’s no different from your spell,” Hiei said to Snape. “How can a demon use a spell? Without so much as a wand? It isn’t magic. It doesn’t require thought or words or waving a stick around. It’s instinct. Use your instinct.”

It was disturbing to see how tightly Snape was holding himself, his frustration and anger mixing to a tangible level. As difficult as it was for him to admit failure, he’d been open about it from the beginning. Hiei simply wouldn’t accept that.

“You have to understand,” Lupin said quietly. “What you’re saying goes against everything wizards are raised to believe. Magic does exist in the person, this instinct, the potential, but it is drawn and harnessed through spells. Very few wizards can do any bit of wandless magic. Most instances happen by chance or accident.”

Kurama shook his head, distracting Lupin from the silent battle of wills across the room from them. “He’s been using this spell, this occlumency, for years. Dumbledore claims he is the best wizard he’s found when it comes to this skill. He has to know he’s using his energy to do it. All we want is for him to acknowledge that and use it to its full extent.”

Lupin opened his mouth to correct Kurama, but Snape beat him to it.

“They are two entirely different spells,” Snape spat. “Reading and guarding against invasions are not the same. I never claimed to be an expert in Legilimency.”

“Especially without a wand,” Lupin put in. “To get past someone who blocks his mind, you need more than simple eye contact.”

“No one is using a wand on me,” Hiei snapped.

“Then I’m not reading you,” Snape snapped back.

“Is this even necessary?” Lupin asked Kurama. “If Hiei can get past Severus’ defense, that’s all that matters.”

Kurama shrugged and made himself comfortable on the couch. He could have explained the ethics, but he didn’t feel like having Hiei angry with him for the rest of the month. Besides that, someone as sympathetic and…decent…as Lupin should have been able to figure it out on his own. Hiei wouldn’t dig into Snape’s mind without giving him a chance to do the same.

Hiei and Snape were still glaring at each other, but it was impossible to tell if Snape was trying to read, or just expressing his anger. Kurama sighed at the two of them.

“Why don’t you try making eye contact with the jagan,” Kurama suggested.

Hiei twitched, a very disgruntled look passing over his face. Snape raised an eyebrow at him.

A slow smile drew over Kurama’s face, and he almost winked at Lupin. Hiei was very quick and a borderline genius when it came to most things. But even he missed the obvious at times.

Hiei jerked the band off his jagan to reveal a calm, dark blue pupil. The two men went back to staring at each other, this time with Snape peering into the third eye.

“So,” Kurama drawled to Lupin. “What’s this about asian wizards being kicked out eighty years ago?”

“I’m not sure,” Lupin admitted. “I know the Ministry doesn’t approve of them. It may have to do with groups like yours, wizards dealing directly with demons. I didn’t know the rumors were true. No one really speaks of the happenings in that part of the world.”

“Ah, so that’s it. I wondered why I never saw any of the typical wizarding wards during my years as Shuuichi. We don’t consider them wizards in Japan. Most youths learn to harness their energy in temples, and no one uses wands.”

“So there’s a lot of this instinctive magic there?” asked Lupin.

“I wouldn’t say a lot, but there are a good number of humans with sufficient reiki to perform well at a school like this one. Some channel their energy through weapons that are similar enough to your wands. But very few perform the sort of everyday magic that goes on here. They don’t separate themselves from humans the way typical wizards do, so they’ve no need to rely on magic for everything.”

“And that’s why you wanted the lamp,” Lupin smirked, glancing over at the object in question. “You’re lucky Arthur likes to dabble in muggle electronics. Normal muggle devices don’t function properly on Hogwarts grounds.”

“He was quite kind to have given me something from his private stash,” Kurama agreed cheekily. “I got the impression he didn’t like me very much, so I was surprised at his offer.”

“He’s really a very nice man,” Lupin said seriously. “He just hasn’t done much field work as an auror. I suspect you and Hiei were the first demons he’s ever been in contact with, so he wouldn’t know how to react to you.”

“He asked about you,” said Kurama.

“Did he? I should expect a visit from him, then. Molly is probably worried sick about me.”

Kurama grinned and nodded. “That’s exactly what he said.”

“How…how old are you?!”

Kurama and Lupin jerked a little, turning to stare over at Snape. The wizard was leaning back in his chair, his face pale and dotted with sweat.

“Don’t ask that question,” Kurama said quickly, wincing a little at Hiei’s dark expression.

Hiei ignored that, an evil but smug smirk curving his lips. “I told you that you could read me.”

Snape shuddered, his hands curling into claws. “I’m never doing that again!”

“Like I’d invite you to,” Hiei snorted, rolling his eyes. “What did you expect to see in a demon’s mind?”

“Don’t answer that,” said Kurama.

Hiei twitched and sent a glower at the redhead. “Will you stay out of this?”

“I just don’t want the two of you to launch into another bickering session,” Kurama frowned. “We have work to do.”

“I never…bicker,” Hiei glared.

“Right,” Kurama nodded, “you just poke and prod till he snaps back.”

“Are you going to begin now, then?” asked Lupin.

Hiei scowled a moment longer, not quite ready to get over Kurama’s accusation that he ‘bickered.’ That was a word better matched to Kuwabara and Yusuke, or even better, Yusuke and that controlling female of his. But they did have quite a bit to accomplish, and only eight hours to do it in. If it took any longer than that, they’d be hard pressed to get Snape to the infirmary before the students were up and about.

“I’ll begin now,” Hiei said, warning Snape more than anyone. “If you want to cast a spell on yourself, do it before I start.”

Lupin almost bolted from his seat, driven by the accusing glare Snape shot in his direction. As curious as he was to see exactly what Kurama and Hiei had planned, he didn’t want to add insult to injury by watching.

“I’ll leave you three to your work,” he said quickly.

Kurama nodded to the man as Lupin disappeared into the other room. He pulled a chair over so he could sit beside Snape, his hand delving to pull a seed from his hair. Hiei was standing in front of the wizard’s chair, putting the two at eye level.

Snape glared at the two of them and cast a quick silencing charm on himself. Hiei smirked in reaction, following his glare at the doorway.

“You think he’ll spy on you?” Hiei drawled.

“He won’t,” Kurama promised. “But I can ward the door if you like.”

He received a very nasty glare for that offer. With a light shrug, Kurama dropped his eyes to the miniature plant he was cultivating in his palm. “The physical pain will be minimum, but we don’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than necessary. You were the one who decided it should be done tonight. If we’d waited another day, you could have had more privacy.”

Hiei’s jagan pulsed with a pale green light, his voice soft and monotone. “Leave it, Kurama. He can’t hear you anymore. And he was right. Now that they’ve made the first move, we need to sever their hold over him. There’s no point guarding him if he can be compelled to take his own life through that mark.”

“I didn’t know it had that much power over him,” Kurama blinked, glancing at Hiei. “He said it only passed suggestions and urges.”

“He can’t see inside it,” said Hiei. “It’s connected into everything…very well crafted…”

Kurama winced a little at the interest that rode Hiei’s voice. If Hiei considered the curse worthy of respect, then it was nothing to underestimate.

He focused his eyes and hands on the little plant curling between his fingers. He was petting its smooth head and conning it to keep its mouth closed so none of the acid would drip onto his skin. It wasn’t going to age beyond an infant, so its intelligence was limited. But that made it easier to gain obedience. He wouldn’t force it to help him, he’d encourage it to.

A twitch passed over Snape’s hand, and Kurama let his gaze move to the two of them. He rarely had a chance to watch Hiei do this sort of work. There really wasn’t much to see aside from the glow of youki being channeled through the jagan and into Snape’s wide, vacant eyes. But Hiei’s expression was concentrated, determined. And a little irritated…?

Kurama ducked his head with a quick grin. As he’d suspected, Snape wasn’t cooperating. The wizard had chosen to allow Hiei and him to remove the mark’s curse, had named the time if not the place. But now that Hiei was actually working his way inside his mind, Snape’s instincts were to fight back. That was the skill they’d tried to explain to him earlier.

Whatever the wizards chose to call it, occlumency was a survivor’s instinct. It didn’t require the use of a wand to channel the energy into a spell because it wasn’t a spell. The energy never left the body. It was more a kekkai than anything so cute as a spell. It was a mental block formed of a person’s energy that protected his sense of self from any outside invasion. If it had been a normal spell, Snape never would have been able to use it while working as a spy. The entire point was that he could instinctively protect his thoughts while appearing to have his mind open and honest.

So why hadn’t that ability prevented the mark from having such a tight hold on him?

Kurama really didn’t understand what sort of curse the mark represented, and he reminded himself to ask Hiei for details later. If it were complex enough to be woven around Snape’s mind – into everything, as Hiei had put it – then it sounded more like brainwashing than a simple trigger.

That was the spell, Kurama decided, his eyes shifting over to the dark tattoo on Snape's forearm. It would take a while for Hiei to undo the non-physical bind, but the physical mark itself was the real catalyst. That symbol, burned or perhaps even woven into the man's skin, was what identified him and let the control in through his instinctive defenses. Kurama had seen it react twice since he and Hiei had volunteered for this assignment. There was a burning glow over it, followed by searing pain. Snape had explained it flatly as the result of Voldemort summoning his Death Eaters. The mark connected them all like brands on cattle.

'How crude,' Kurama thought. 'And very foolish for a cynical man. He should have feared we would use it to strike back at him. No real dark practitioner would expect us to keep the spy alive when we could use him to gain an advantage over the enemy. A simple cut would take the arm off. With their magic, they could probably regrow it, or at least create a prosthetic limb. Why is Voldemort so confident we won't harm him? He must know...whatever personal importance Snape is to Dumbledore. I want to know what he knows.'

Another twitch set up on the arm next to him, drawing Kurama's gaze and the curious attention of his plant. Snape's fingers had curled down to clutch the arm of the chair, and they didn't let go. A glance found Hiei's mouth pulled into a terse frown. Kurama shifted in his seat, prepping the little plant with a few tickling brushes near it's pointed mouth. As soon as Hiei reached up to hold Snape's wrists, he'd start his own work.

Destroying the mental connection wasn't enough. They had to get rid of the physical link as well. It wouldn't be pretty. Whether it was burned or woven, the mark was a ward literally carved into Snape's flesh. It couldn't be removed without destroying the flesh along with it.

It made Kurama wonder how many Death Eaters had tried to break the tie by digging the mark out. Without a way to break the spell itself, he was certain they'd gone insane. No one made a curse without a fail-safe mechanism. Someone as powerful as Voldemort wouldn't be so sloppy.

'And that's where you come in,' Kurama murmured to the seedling, communicating through a combination of touches and energy. 'You can smell the one who cast this. It seeps down into the flesh. Don't leave a drop of it. If you hit metal or find no more of this scent, cry for me and I'll get you out. Don't dig back the way you went in. You don't want anything that doesn't have that scent. It's not good enough for you. You deserve better than petty wizard flesh.'

A smug little clitter of razor jaws answered the praise, earning a smirk from Kurama. He didn't just control plants, he earned their loyalty. It helped that his plants were often just as conceited as any youko.

"Kurama."

With a quick grimace at Snape's closed eyes, Kurama urged his plant to rise on his palm. Hiei wasn't holding the man down yet, but he must have finished the majority of his mental efforts. He wouldn't need to maintain eye contact to crush any fail-safe Kurama's plant set off once it began devouring the dark mark. It was unfortunate Snape had to be conscious during it, but his reactions would lead Hiei to whatever hidden impulse remained.

"There's always a fail-safe..." Kurama sighed.

"There is," said Hiei, "but I can't undo it unless it's active. Don't make him wait, Kurama. It's...cruel."

"Ah..."

-.-.-

Harry's first coherent thought was to wonder how and why he'd gotten on the floor, bent so that he was doubled over almost entirely beneath his bed. His back hurt from the strange position, his ears were numb from the noise, and his head was burning red behind his eyes. He swallowed the coppery taste in his mouth and squirmed free, his dazed eyes half blind in the dim room.

"Don't hit me, okay?"

The words were given in a hushed whisper that brought flashes to his mind, whimpers that swelled into muffled screams, the brittle yet damp sound of an arm being ripped free, sizzling scorched flesh and a ranting fury that made him throw his hands up in front of him. He clutched at his burning forehead, barely aware of the quick scuffling as Ron got away from him.

"It's not over yet?" Ron ventured, his voice even smaller than before. "Should I get someone? You won't...hurt anyone if I go, will you? Harry?"

He recognized his friend, as well as his location, but his mind was swarmed with scenes and sounds, even smells that he couldn't place. Some he was certain came from a dream. Ron must have woken him up in the middle of it. But the thoughts, those were current. He could hear what Voldemort was thinking, the venomous sound of his voice issuing orders to whimpering followers. And he was so disoriented he couldn't focus on anything beyond the heat radiating from his scar...and the sound of his best friend asking him if he'd hurt the others.

"Ron...?"

An almost dramatically relieved sigh answered him, Ron scooting a bit closer to peer down at his face. The reddish orange hair was blurry in the darkness, only dim spots telling him where Ron's eyes were. Harry scrubbed a hand over his eyes and reached up to fumble for his glasses.

"Here," Ron said quickly, fetching the item. "You really had me scared this time, Harry. I thought you were going to use an Unforgivable on me...!"

That broke through Harry's daze like a fist to the stomach. He choked and almost broke his glasses in his fist. "What?! Why would you think I would-"

"You said cru," Ron blurted, his voice softening again. "Before I got your wand away, you said cru - and I took it before you could finish. You tell me if there's another spell that starts like that, because I don't know of any. Maybe Hermione would, but you and me, the only spell that starts like that is-"

"It wasn't me," Harry said quickly, his voice wavering a bit. "I must have been doing what I saw in the dream. But...why did I have my wand?"

"Don't ask me," said Ron. "I woke up because you were thrashing around and mumbling stuff. Whatever it was, you sounded really angry. I thought it was another of your dreams so I was going to wake you up, but the moment I touched you it was like you went nuts on me! Nearly poked my eye out with your wand, probably gave me a nice shiner, too. I haven't looked yet. When did you learn to hit so hard, anyway? All I know is that must have been one awful dream, and you're not sleeping anywhere near your wand, not when I'm in the bed next to yours. You couldn't pay me enough to try waking you up like that again."

Harry stared for a long minute, just processing his friend's heated words. Then he blinked and straightened his glasses, rubbing his thumb over the scar on his forehead. "Ron, I'm really sorry. I could swear I put my wand with my books at the end of my bed. I don't know how it could have gotten in my hand while I was sleeping. And if I...if I really tried to cast crucio on you...I..."

"You must have accio'd it," said Ron. He blinked at the scowl Harry sent him. "Your wand, I mean. It must be nice to have your magic down so well you can do stuff like that without waking up. Then again, if you go attacking your friends, it can't be too nice. I don't know, Harry. That was a hell of a thing to wake up to."

Harry hadn't really expected his apology to be enough, but he had thought Ron would at least listen to it. Now he rubbed a tired hand on his forehead and pushed himself off the floor. "I should see Dumbledore...before I forget what I dreamed. Only...I don't really remember much of it."

"Tell me what you remember on the way," Ron volunteered. "That'll keep it fresh, and I'm going to head over to the infirmary and get something for my face, anyway. A real shiner wouldn't be a bad thing, but I don't want anyone hearing I got it from you. That's just embarrassing."

"I could beat you in a duel any day," Harry scowled.

"Sure," Ron smirked, "but I have a lot of brothers. I could have you crying in your robes before you even found your wand."

Harry rolled his eyes, grateful for the change of tone, but not buying Ron's boasting a bit. "Speaking of that, where is my wand?"

Ron stopped a few feet from the beds, his hands twitching at his sides. Harry was immediately suspicious and a little uneasy that the boy didn't look back at him.

"Ron, what did you do with my wand?"

"Er..."

"Ron...!"

"We can find it later," Ron blurted, turning back to catch Harry's shoulders and propelling him toward the door. "I knocked it over that way, so it's probably in bed with Neville at the moment. Don't want to go disturbing him, now do we? Come on, Harry. Have to keep your dream fresh and all."

"I'll accio it, then," Harry scowled. "If I can do it while I'm asleep, I can do it now."

"No time for that," Ron said quickly, pushing harder on Harry's back. "Tell me about your dream. As bad as it looked, I'd think you-know-who was torturing someone."

"He was," Harry admitted, forgetting his wand as he let himself be directed out of the room. "And then he wasn't. I really don't know what he was doing..."

"Well, what did you see?"

"They brought someone in to him, one of his own people. And they, well, I think they tore his arm off. It was wet and brittle at the same time...weird that, the sound it made..."

Ron shivered and shot a disgusted look at Harry's dreamy expression. "You sure you weren't dreaming about that guy and what he did to that monster?"

"I'm sure," Harry said, shaking his head. "That was why it was so weird. I thought it would sound...sucking like. But this was brittle, wet and all, but like the bone came right out of the socket. I guess that monster didn't have joints like we do..."

"That is really gross," said Ron. "You know that, right?"

"Then he did something to it," Harry continued, frowning a little as he caught glimpses of what he'd seen. "They took the man away where I couldn't see him, but he kept it and did something to it. I don't know what he did, some spell, but he didn't say anything..."

"It...? What's it?"

"The arm," Harry scowled. "Weren't you listening? He had them tear it off for him so he could do something to it. Whatever he did, it hurt all of them. But it must not have worked, because he was even angrier afterward. He started doing it more just to make them scream, and one of them...I think he cast crucio on Malfoy..."

"What?" Ron barked, his eyes wide. "What was he doing there?"

"Not Draco," said Harry, "I mean his father."

"I sort of gathered that much," Ron snorted. "But Malfoy's in Azkaban with the rest of them. You weren't dreaming about the prison, were you?"

"Definitely not. It was a dark place, cold, but I'm sure it wasn't a prison. I think it was more like a basement. Voldemort-"

Harry sighed and waited for Ron to get done shivering and glaring at him. "He...was sitting in that same chair I saw him in last year. Wherever he is, he must have taken it with him. Unless it's like Dumbledore's and he creates it himself. That's probably it..."

"So what you're telling me is that you saw him, with his Death Eaters, including that git Malfoy, outside of Azkaban. Right?"

A slow, slightly confused nod answered him. Ron abruptly sped up, almost shoving Harry down the hall. Harry stumbled before breaking into an unsteady jog.

"What's with you?" asked Harry.

"Don't you get it?" Ron blurted. "They're out of Azkaban! They broke out, and you have proof of it. I don't know why he'd want to play with the arm of one of his Death Eaters, but if they're out, you have to tell Dumbledore about it right now!"

"There was something else," said Harry. "I'm sure of it, something important..."

"Don't tell me, tell Dumbledore. You know I'm as curious as the next, but now's not the time for that. Blimey, just wait till the Ministry hears this. If Fudge thought them breaking into the Ministry was bad, you can bet he'll be tearing his hair out when he knows they got out of Azkaban, too. And here I thought this year was going to be dull."

"Sirius."

Harry froze in place, and Ron jolted, almost pulling them both over. Neither of them had mentioned that name since they'd parted at the end of the last school term. It was an unspoken agreement that had started with vague references in their letters that summer and had turned into outright avoidance of the subject.

"What?" asked Ron.

"It was Sirius," Harry whispered, his gaze distant. "A picture of him, in his Gryffindor robes. He was holding a book, but he was...threatening, like he knew Voldemort was the one looking at the picture. Why would Voldemort have such an old picture of him?"

Ron choked a little, fighting back his instinctive shudders at that name. "I don't know, Harry. Whatever the reason, it can't be anything good. Let's get you to Dumbledore, okay?"

"He's already killed him," Harry continued, his voice wavering as it rose. "What does he think he's going to do when Sirius is dead? You can't hurt the dead. He can't do anything to someone who's-"

"Right," Ron said quickly, "he can't do a blasted thing. You know that and he knows that. Don't let him get to you. You'll tell Dumbledore what you saw and he'll-"

"I'll handle everything as smoothly as I always do," Dumbledore drawled.

Ron flinched, a heated blush swamping over his face. Harry was slower to react, and far less embarrassed to find their headmaster standing behind them in the dim hallway.

"P-professor," Ron blurted, "Harry had a nightmare, so we were-"

"Coming to see me," Dumbledore finished. "I assumed as much. I was just heading to my office for a little pick me up before breakfast. If you'd like to join me, Harry?"

Harry gave a vague nod, his expression a mottled mix of anger and need. He wanted to scream and tear something to pieces, but he also wanted to have Dumbledore explain the dream and tell him it didn't matter, that everything would be fine.

"You might want to head down to see Poppy," Dumbledore said to Ron, smiling at the boy's dark blush. "That eye looks like it could use a bit of tending. Was that your work, Harry? Quite a right hook you must have, and so early in the morning, too..."

Ron sighed as he watched the two disappear down the corridor that led to Dumbledore's office. He'd thought that maybe, since he had walked Harry there, he could sit in on this meeting. It was one of the downfalls of being best friends with the Boy Who Lived. He got a share of the grief, and none of the attention or consideration. He just got a shiner, a close encounter with crucio, and a trip to the infirmary first thing Saturday morning.

"It may suck to be you," Ron muttered, "but being me isn't that much better. I can't remember the last time Dumbledore called me by my first name, when he calls me anything at all..."

He was still mumbling under his breath when he reached the infirmary, his scowl directed at the floor. So he nearly walked right into the sentry standing guard outside the door. One glance at the hand that reached out to halt him, and Ron was jumping away with wide eyes and a pounding heartbeat.

"What are you, a bloody vampire?" Ron demanded. "Lurking around in the dark scaring people half to death...!"

Hiei raised an eyebrow, his arms folding over his chest. "What do you want?"

Ron scowled, his irritation from that morning making him nearly invulnerable to his former unease toward the stranger. "That’s the infirmary, isn’t it? I'm walking toward it, aren't I? What do you think I want? I want to see the bloody nurse."

"I didn't know she was injured," Hiei sniffed. "The only one bloody in there is her patient. Come back later."

"I'm not coming back later. I'm here now, and I'm going inside. What? Is the infirmary off limits now? Dumbledore told me to come down here so he can have his private time with Harry, so if you don't like that, you can take it up with him. I'm injured. That's the infirmary. I'm going in it. So don't even bother trying to scare me off."

Hiei stared for a long moment before snorting and breaking into silent laughter. All of Ron's bravado crumbled at the sight, heat flying up to his face again. It didn't help that Madam Pomfrey picked that moment to poke her head out the door.

"Whatever happened to your face, Mr. Weasley? Come in this instant. Thank you, Hiei, but you needn't wait the day. He should be asleep for a few hours at the very least. Now, Mr. Weasley, do stop blushing. I can't see how badly you're bruised when you blush like that."

Ron growled a little at the remarks on his already hot face, but her comments filtered through to his brain long enough to make a connection. He pulled against Madam Pomfrey's hold, glancing back to the dark stranger.

"Is your name really Hiei?" asked Ron.

Hiei raised an eyebrow, not bothering to enter the room. "Yes."

"But you're not really an alien, right?"

If anyone else had said that to him, Hiei would have reacted with severe annoyance. He'd had to listen to the taunts for months after that incident with the ningen tabloids. But Ron's face was such an interesting medley of embarrassment, exasperation, disbelief, and outright confusion, that Hiei couldn't get angry. He snorted again, a real grin pulling at his lips.

"Not that I know of," Hiei drawled.

"Thank Merlin for that much," Ron sighed, slumping and giving over to Pomfrey's pull on him. He sent a miserable look up at the nurse, almost sniffling in despair. "I've had a really bad day, and I've only been awake an hour. You won't make me drink anything awfully foul, will you?"

"I'll try to find you something less foul than usual," Pomfrey promised, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Ron sank onto the cot and waited for her to fetch a potion or whatever it was she used on bruises. His attention wandered over the room to pause on the curtained cot across from him. A glance found Hiei still standing in the doorway, those dark red eyes watching him.

"Your friend sick?" asked Ron, keeping his voice down in case the other person was sleeping.

Hiei stared at him silently, then turned his face so he was looking out into the hall. It only took a few seconds for Ron to figure out that the jerk had as much as turned his back on his question. He scowled at Hiei and folded his arms in unconscious mimicry of the rude stranger. Then he turned to look in the other direction. Two could play the silent shoulder game.

So it was that Madam Pomfrey had a nice smirk when she came back into the room to find the two of them pointedly ignoring each other. It almost made up for the emergency she'd been woken to tend. Almost.

-.-.-

Dumbledore's ears were throbbing by the time Harry ran out of steam. He did his best not to rub them while the boy was looking. Instead, he folded his hands calmly in his lap and rode it out, nodding and occasionally wincing at Harry's jump from complaint to complaint.

It was his fault Harry was so upset, so he accepted the blame and took the rant as a well deserved - and expected - outcome of their talk. He should have been more careful to keep the worry off his face when Harry had described the details of his dream. Of course he'd understood immediately that Voldemort was using the severed arm to directly stimulate the dark mark. He would have realized his tie to Severus had been broken mere seconds after it happened. And the timing of his reaction - Harry's dream - fit perfectly.

And he really should have looked at least a little surprised when Harry told him the Death Eaters had escaped from Azkaban. He had an idea Harry had realized he'd known all along, and that he was once again withholding information from him for his own good. It was almost inevitable - protect the boy and get yelled at, just hope he doesn't knock poor Fawkes over during his rant. So far his phoenix had stayed high and safe on a bookshelf, so that was one less thing to worry about.

The real crux was, of course, the picture. That detail had taken a few moments for Dumbledore to understand. Harry was naturally infuriated at the thought of Voldemort trying to harm Sirius, even after instigating his untimely death. He seemed to have convinced himself that there wasn't anything that could hurt his godfather now, but the way he railed on about it...Dumbledore supposed he would have to confirm Harry's conviction. He did so with a solemn nod that, as he'd suspected, only served to work the boy up even more.

Harry gasped in a ragged breath, his shoulders shaking in the aftermath of a somewhat stilted cyclone around Dumbledore's office. Oddly enough, he remembered it being bigger last year...

"Can't you tell me anything at all?" pleaded Harry. "Do you want to repeat last year? Didn't you say the secrets were over?"

"I'm not keeping anything from you that directly concerns you," Dumbledore said calmly, his tone just a little reproachful. "If not for your scar, you wouldn't have been involved at all. And yes, I can tell you something, a few things, actually."

Harry waited, but Dumbledore waved him to take a seat across from him. With a very frustrated glare, Harry complied.

"Now, then," said Dumbledore. "We did know that the Death Eaters had escaped Azkaban. The Ministry of Magic has chosen to keep this information as quiet as possible, so I would appreciate it if you not spread that news around. I'm sure Ron Weasley already knows, and I imagine Hermione Granger will know as soon as you return to your House. But it would be best if they were the only ones who know. We don't wish to cause a panic."

"All right," Harry grumbled. "What else?"

"No wizard can harm a deceased person using a picture. You are entirely correct in that, and have no need to worry."

"So why did he have it?" demanded Harry. "He wanted to do something with it, I know he did. And he couldn't. That's why he turned on Malfoy the way he did. Because whatever he was trying wasn't working."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said softly. "I do not assume to know the workings of Voldemort's mind. I can't tell you why he had that particular picture, or what he planned to do with it. I can, however, settle your concern about it. You asked why Sirius stayed in the picture? The deceased are often bound to hold their place in photos, far more than the living are. As to his expression, I can only venture a guess. Some wizards have supposed the deceased know who is looking at them. It's one of the reasons your parents look so happy when you browse through the photo album and remember them. The same is true for negative feelings. For example-"

He reached back and beckoned a thick book to his hand. With Harry watching closely, and suspiciously, he showed him a picture of a dark-haired woman. She stared up at Harry with wary eyes, but the moment Dumbledore touched the clear cover, she was baring her teeth and brandishing her wand.

"This," Dumbledore explained, "was one of Voldemort's first Death Eaters. She never cared much for me in her life. This picture was taken shortly before she left Hogwarts, and not once did she stay in the frame when I flipped through this book. After her trial, that animosity was cemented into her essence. Naturally she doesn't enjoy having me look at her now that she's trapped in the frame."

"Oh," Harry sighed. "I get it."

"Also," Dumbledore continued, "the picture sounds like one taken on Hogwarts' grounds. I doubt you've spoken to Colin Creevy about his penchant for photography, so I'll explain the rules to you. Every photo that is developed of a student at Hogwarts is protected by the school. The photos taken home are duplicates. So even if there were a spell to be used on a photograph, it would fail on a duplicate. We keep the originals quite safe."

"But Voldemort would know that, right? Why would he get so angry if he knew it was a duplicate?"

Dumbledore raised one bushy eyebrow. "Didn't you say he punished Lucius when his attempt failed? I imagine he thought it an original picture, possibly stolen from the school. He wouldn't know the protections I put in place to prevent the theft of originals. Describe the photo again, please."

Harry scowled, closing his eyes as he tried to remember as much as possible about the picture. Now that he'd spent a good twenty minutes in frustrated anger, his memories of the dream were fading fast.

"He was wearing a Gryffindor uniform," said Harry. "Outside, in front of the lake. He was holding a book, and his wand."

Dumbledore nodded, flipping through a different photo album. "Do you remember the book? Or about how old he appeared?"

"It was a gray book," Harry frowned. "I don't think it was a textbook. It didn't have any words on it. I guess he looked about the same age he was...when I saw him in Snape's pensieve."

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore corrected. "And I believe I have your photo. Would this be the one?"

Harry leaned forward as Dumbledore turned the album around to show a page of familiar faces. His eyes glinted over smiling images of his father and friends, along with one that showed a young, scowling Lily in the background. The Headmaster tapped a photo toward the bottom, and Harry jolted a little in recognition.

The lighting was the same, along with the background. And Sirius was standing a little ways to the left, just about where he'd been in the dream photo. There were three striking differences. Sirius was grinning in a flashy pose for the person taking the picture, he wasn't holding the gray book, and he wasn't alone in the photo. A young Remus was sitting on the grass a ways behind him, his face half hidden in the open book.

"He wasn't there," Harry said quickly, lifting wide eyes to Dumbledore. "It was just Sirius in my dream. Lupin wasn't in the picture."

"I don't imagine he would be," said Dumbledore. "My photo-self rarely sticks around to let my enemies look at me. Then again, my photo-self is always jumping from picture to picture...he's quite active for such an old fellow..."

Harry grimaced at Dumbledore's tone, eager to hold the wizard's attention on the serious matter at hand. "What spells can a wizard cast on a photograph? If the one he had was an original, what would he have been able to do with it?"

"Any number of things," Dumbledore said airily, waving a hand. "Some believe a part of your soul is trapped when your picture is taken. Wizards know this to be true, given that our photographic selves are mobile and as autonomous as we are. Photographs are good for tracking people, learning essences, all sorts of interesting things. But it only works with an original photo, and you can't attack anyone through a photograph. No need to worry about that. Here, have a lemon drop."

The old wizard hadn't so much as paused, or even changed his serious tone. Harry slapped a hand over his face and promptly winced as his glasses dug into the bridge of his nose.

"No, thank you," he said tightly.

"If you’re certain.” Dumbledore popped one of the candies into his mouth and savored it with a simple smile, seeming oblivious to Harry’s slumped shoulders. When he was finished, he waved a hand at the album.

“Would you like to have a copy of these, Harry? I understand Hagrid gave you quite a few photos of your parents, but considering the circumstances, he had very few pictures of James’ friends. I must say, Sirius was quite photogenic in his younger days. I have more photos of him than I rightfully should have of a single student. I wonder if there were more cameras that year…”

Although Harry’s anger had led him to speaking openly about his godfather, he didn’t want to listen to Dumbledore talk about him in such a whimsical tone. He shifted uncomfortably, not looking any higher than his clenched hands. “I’d like a copy.”

“And in exchange,” Dumbledore smiled, “perhaps you’d deliver a package for me? I would ask Fawkes, but I’m afraid our little talk has left him rather ruffled.”

Harry’s eyes darted upward, and he flushed at the reproachful glare the phoenix was giving him from its spot on the bookshelf.

“I’ll do it,” Harry said quickly.

Their talk was obviously finished, so there wasn’t much point hanging around. Harry stood and watched Dumbledore pull a small cloth bundle from the shelf behind him. He accepted the bag, hefting it in his palm and wondering briefly about the contents. He couldn’t feel the texture through the soft cloth, but he imagined this might be what floo powder felt like.

“If you’ll take that down to Lupin, I would be quite grateful,” said Dumbledore.

Harry’s head snapped up, and he gave a quick frown. “I don’t know where his office is this year. I asked him the other day, but-“

“Yes,” Dumbledore said smoothly, “he hadn’t quite settled in, I take it. His office is near the infirmary, in what was…I believe it was the old Defense classroom. That’s rather ironic in a way, I hadn’t thought about it. But no matter. He should be there by now, setting up a bit before breakfast. The weekend has gotten a rather early start, you know.”

With barely a nod, Harry edged away from the headmaster’s desk. He’d already given up on getting any more information from Dumbledore. Now he beat a hasty retreat, eager to find Lupin and ask him the dozens of questions that had been beating his mind for the past week. He was surprised that Dumbledore had as much as asked him to visit his friend, considering Lupin had seemed hesitant to even tell Harry where his office would be. But he wasn’t one to dissect a gift broom for hidden curses. He’d leave that sort of paranoia to Hermione.

It wasn’t until he saw how much brighter the halls were that Harry remembered Ron. He suffered a brief flash of guilt that he was leaving his friend out, especially given what he’d accidentally done to him that morning.

A glance down at the heavy little bag reminded him that he had a perfect excuse. He wasn’t just going to visit Lupin, he was delivering a package for Dumbledore. That probably wouldn’t hold up very well when he explained it to Ron, but it was a good enough excuse for the moment.

Dumbledore’s directions turned out to be a little vague. Harry passed the last two defense classrooms before he found the right one. Since the defense teachers changed yearly, the classes were almost never held in the same rooms. Lupin’s new office turned out to be the room that he’d taught class in during Harry’s third year. He probably should have guessed as much – Dumbledore had called it ironic.

The door was open to the hall, soft voices carrying from inside the room. Harry hesitated just out of sight, his brows drawn down in surprise and not a little confusion. He recognized Lupin’s voice immediately. The other person, though, didn’t seem to be speaking the same language.

“But you did hesitate.”

“Iya, nan demo nai. Hiei wa…”

Silence fell over the room and a head poked out the door to blink at Harry. Wide green eyes stared at him so close the dark lashes almost touched his glasses. Harry jumped and landed on his backside, biting his tongue with a muffled groan.

“Ohayo gozaimasu,” Kurama grinned. “Good morning. Early to be eavesdropping, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t,” Harry blurted. “I mean, I was just-“

Lupin came out from behind Kurama, a pleased smile breaking over his face when he saw who it was. “Good morning, Harry. I didn’t think you’d be awake so early.”

“I had a dream,” Harry said, shooting a wary look at Kurama. “Dumbledore asked me to deliver this to you.”

Luckily he hadn’t landed on the little bag. He pushed himself up and handed it to Lupin, his gaze moving again to the smiling redhead. He hadn’t counted on having an audience.

“Is this a bad time to visit?” he asked quietly.

“Not at all,” said Lupin. “We were just setting a few things up.”

Harry followed him inside, noting with discomfort that Kurama remained leaning against the door. It was almost as bad as having Snape spy on him in the classroom when he’d tried to sneak a few words with Lupin. Why was it so hard to get privacy this year?

“Dumbledore asked you to bring this to me?” asked Lupin.

Harry gave a quick nod. Lupin pulled the string on the bag so he could peak inside. Whatever he saw must have amused him, telling Harry that it probably wasn’t the floo powder he’d suspected it to be.

“I wonder if he could have been confused,” Lupin murmured, sending a smooth look over at Kurama. “This isn’t for me, but for Hiei.”

“Really,” Kurama remarked. “I’m surprised Dumbledore would make such a pointed mistake.”

Harry blinked in confusion, feeling more than a little left out of the knowing look the two were exchanging. Kurama crossed the room and palmed the bag, something in his expression proclaiming a joke was being played. Since Harry had no idea what the joke was, he didn’t think he’d catch the punch line. The redhead plucked something out of the bag and ate it. Harry felt a bit of sweat break out on his temple. It definitely wasn’t floo powder.

“I’ll just bring this to Hiei, then,” said Kurama. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” Lupin returned. “Harry and I have a few things to catch up on.”

“Nice to see you outside of class, Harry,” Kurama nodded.

The redhead slipped out the door, closing it behind him. Harry stared after him, wondering how he’d gotten so familiar as to use his first name. But he was alone with Lupin. That quickly took precedence.

Lupin had no more than sat down across the desk from him, than Harry launched into the first of his many questions. He was so excited to finally talk with his friend, that he blurted something he hadn’t planned to ask.

“Did you come into money? Your robes are much nicer than I remember.”

Startled by the question – and the way Harry slapped his hands over his mouth in visible embarrassment – Lupin leaned away from the desk.

“Not exactly,” Lupin said slowly.

“I didn’t mean to ask that,” Harry blurted, scowling at himself. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you all week, I don’t know why that was the first thing to come out of my mouth.”

A slow smile made it back to Lupin’s face, and he relaxed in his seat. “It’s all right, Harry. It has been brought to my attention that appearance is very important for first impressions. As honest as my worn clothing is, it does not give a good impression of me or my position as both an auror and a professor at Hogwarts. And I do admit, threadbare robes get rather drafty at times.”

Harry grinned at the wry smile Lupin gave him. “So you didn’t just cave to peer pressure?”

“Now that’s an interesting term,” Lupin blinked, “peer pressure. It fits surprisingly well. No, I didn’t cave to pressure from my peers. I merely agreed with a few well coined terms from our wise Headmaster.”

“Whatever the reason, you look better than you did the first day of class. Were you ill? Ron said he hadn’t seen you at the Order. We were really surprised you’re teaching again. Not,” Harry blurted, “that I don’t think you’re a great teacher. You’re definitely the best Defense professor we’ve had. I just didn’t think the Ministry would let you come back.”

“There were a number of things involved in that,” Lupin admitted. “Mostly I have Dumbledore to thank for my return here. But I must say, that while having my best student praise my teaching skills is quite flattering, we’re both a little biased.”

“We might be biased,” said Harry, “but I bet even the Slytherins learned more from you than they did from anyone else teaching Defense. But really, how did Dumbledore convince the Ministry to let you come back?”

“He didn’t convince them, he told them. He was rather high handed about it. I suspect the need for a willing Defense professor helped his cause.”

“Especially now that…well,” Harry frowned, “you know about the Death Eaters, right?”

“Yes. I take it that was part of your dream?”

Harry nodded, his expression falling some. “I didn’t think they’d get out of Azkaban. It’s like we can’t just catch them and lock them up…”

“Not now that the Dementors have abandoned our side,” Lupin finished. “They were the ones holding prisoners. Alone, it would take merlin class wizards to maintain that level of control.”

“What is the order planning to do, then?”

Lupin blinked, a surprised frown crossing his face. “Harry…you know I can’t tell you that…”

Harry’s first instinct was to get angry, but one look at Lupin’s sad, almost reproachful expression had him deflating. He knew better. It wasn’t just for his own safety. His connection to Voldemort could put the order in danger – what he knew, Voldemort could likely learn.

“Right,” Harry ground out, wincing a little. “I wasn’t thinking. I guess there’s no point asking where you’ve been, then. I sent you two letters last month, but Ron said you never showed up to get them…”

“I was away on an assignment,” Lupin explained, smiling a little when Harry looked up in surprise. “I can tell you that much. I didn’t expect to be away so long, but…there were complications.”

“Was it bad…?”

“Yes,” said Lupin. “I don’t want you to misunderstand, Harry. Being an auror means taking a great deal of responsibility. It is something to be proud of. It’s also inherently dangerous. I completed my assignment, but due to things outside my control, the mission itself was a failure. Today is the first day in weeks that I’ve been able to use magic. I’m lucky to have made a full recovery. Anyone else would be dead now.”

“Why?” asked Harry, his eyes wide.

He wanted to ask for details, to know exactly what sort of danger Lupin had gone into. Becoming an auror was his chosen path after he left Hogwarts, so he had to be prepared for the sort of tasks he’d be given. But he couldn’t ask for more information, because he wasn’t a member of the order. That didn’t even consider that he could be used as an unwitting spy for Voldemort, via his scar.

“I survived because,” Lupin paused dramatically, leaning closer to Harry, “don’t tell anyone, but…I’m not entirely human.”

Harry couldn’t help the droll look that passed over his face. If Lupin were poking fun at him, then he wasn’t going to get much out of him.

“You’re not entirely sane, either,” Harry drawled.

Lupin gave a sad nod, leaning back in his chair once more. “You’re not the first to notice that.”

“I’ll bet,” said Harry. “When did you learn Japanese?”

The shift in subject caught Lupin by surprise, but he recovered quickly. “I knew a few words, but most of it’s a spell. Language charms are very handy for dealing with foreign correspondents.”

“I didn’t know we had language charms,” Harry frowned. “Fudge could have used one of those at the World Cup.”

Lupin grinned and shot a quick glance to make sure the door was firmly closed. “He’s never been one for charms. And before Hermione gets it in her mind to ask, there are no Japanese language charms in Hogwarts’ library. We have very few asian relations.”

“She probably would have asked, too,” said Harry. “Are those strangers some kind of secret? Dumbledore’s never had guests here without introducing them to us. There are all sorts of rumors going around about them.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a secret, exactly. They’re here to assist Severus and I, probably for a good part of the year.”

“Assist,” Harry repeated, “in your classes, you mean?”

Lupin paused for a moment, thrown by the suggestion and intrigued by the idea. A sly smile curved his lips. “Now that would be interesting. I’ll have to pass that suggestion on to Kurama. Hiei would throw a fit at the very idea, though I imagine Severus would throw a much bigger fit. It would be something of a contest…quite amusing, really..”

Confusion was clear on Harry’s face, but he did pick up the mention of ‘Hiei’ in relation to Kurama. Now that he thought about it, he was sure Lupin had mentioned that name earlier, too, before the redhead had left the room. Score one point for Luna, though he hoped she was wrong about the alien bit…

“If they aren’t here to help with classes, why are they here?”

“They’re doing a favor for Dumbledore,” Lupin explained, “the nature of which I’m not at liberty to tell. You’d have to ask them yourself.”

Harry rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest and wrinkling his nose. “That’s just what Mr. Weasley said when Ron wrote to him. Some stuff about it not being his place to gossip. Do you know what people are saying about them? And what about Shoo-itchy Mean-uh-mean-oh? Who’s he ‘assisting’?”

If he hadn’t been so surprised, Lupin might have laughed at the way Harry struggled over Kurama’s last name. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and gave the boy a very close look. “How do you know that name, Harry? As far as I know, Kurama hasn’t given it to any of the students.”

“I saw it on the-“

Harry cut himself off, his mouth snapping shut and his eyes widening. He took a deep breath and broke into a wide, triumphant smirk. “Kurama is Shoo-itchy! That is his real name! I knew it. Darn Hermione making everything so complicated. She really thought-“

“Harry,” Lupin interrupted quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Harry, did you see Kurama on the Marauder’s Map? As Shuuichi Minamino?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Weirdest thing, too. That other guy doesn’t show up at all. We saw him when we were…er…”

Lupin gave in to the smile and tilted his head at the flustered boy. “Do I need to confiscate the map again? I know it begs for you to use it in rule breaking, but this really isn’t the best year to be sneaking around after hours.”

“We won’t!” Harry said quickly, a little too quickly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Lupin.

“Right,” Harry nodded. “So, um, are you going to be teaching your class Monday? No more Snape?”

“Professor Snape.”

Two seconds passed in silence. Then Harry cracked.

“Why does everyone keep doing that?” Harry cried, his expression exasperated. “I’m even getting it from you, now? No one ever corrects me when I call you by your last name, and almost no one corrects me when I say Dumbledore. It took five years to get Hermione to stop doing it, and now you’re doing it, too?”

Lupin gave a weak smile and moved so he could put a confiding hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s different when you say my name, Harry. Outside of classes, I’m not just your professor. I’m your friend, and a friend of your family. No one would correct you for calling my by my name. The same is true for Dumbledore, who doesn’t mind in the least if you address him by name. Did you notice how startled you were when Kurama called you by your first name, even though you’d never spoken to him? It implied a familiarity that you didn’t instigate.”

“I didn’t correct him, though,” Harry muttered. “It just surprised me. It’s not like I call Snape by his name where he can hear me.”

“It’s a matter of respect for your professor,” said Lupin. “You don’t have to like him. In fact, he’s given you every reason to hate him. He’s treated you horridly since you first came to Hogwarts, when you hadn’t done anything at all to deserve it. It’s as natural for you to resent him as it is for him to resent me. But he’s still a professor doing a very difficult job. You don’t have to respect him as a person, but as your professor, he’s the best in his field.”

“He’s biased!” Harry argued. “He lets the Slytherins get away with all kinds of mistakes and cuts points from Gryffindor for the tiniest thing!”

“And yet the scores for everyone, even Gryffindors like Neville, are better than they’ve been in forty years. I didn’t say I approve of his methods, Harry. The results speak for themselves. Surely you’ve noticed that Potions is one of the most difficult classes?”

“Not according to Hermione,” said Harry. “She was taking all kinds of advanced classes, stuff I don’t even want to touch.”

“She’s the exception,” Lupin smiled, “not the rule. Hermione is one of the brightest students Hogwarts has seen. But did you notice that you outscored her in Defense? Her skills lean themselves toward theory, while yours are practical. Potions involve having complete control over one’s self, patience, study, understanding of the principles of creating magic, rather than simply using it. A spell is a memorized repetition of something other wizards have already created for you to use. With potions you have a guideline – ingredients and theories – but you make the magic.

“The reason people like Neville have so much trouble with Potions is because it takes a different sort of control than practical magic does. The slightest distraction can ruin everything, and no amount of quick reaction time can fix it. You have to start from scratch. Do you remember how many times you tried before forming a clear patronis? Imagine if you had to do it the first time, with nothing but written guidelines to tell you how. Failure on the first try could result in harm not only to yourself, but to your classmates. That’s the difference between Potions and Defense.”

“Maybe it’s harder,” Harry scowled, “but it can’t be as important as Defense or he wouldn’t want to be the Defense teacher. He’s been obsessed with that job since I came to Hogwarts.”

“Potions isn’t as important,” Lupin admitted, “not with the rise of dark practitioners. Since then, Defense has become a matter of survival for students. The person who teaches that class is taking the responsibility of preparing students to face possible death and to survive. No matter what Dumbledore says in Severus’ defense, the Ministry will never accept a former Death Eater as a Defense teacher. Never. Even those who know he became a member of the order won’t trust him.

“If it were up to Dumbledore, and he could find a satisfactory replacement for Potions, Severus would have been made Defense teacher years ago. It just isn’t that simple. The reason he wants the position is because he knows he can’t have it. And it’s not because he isn’t qualified. Who better to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts than someone who’s been working with and surviving the dark arts for most of his life?”

“So why do you teach it?” asked Harry.

“I’m an auror,” Lupin shrugged. “I’ve dedicated my life to fighting the dark arts, so I have practical knowledge from the field. My experience makes me a better professor than those who teach only theory. I’m like you when it comes to that.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“We both learn better through hands-on experience and lots of practice. I was horrible in potions, just like you. The only difference is that I was terrible because half my potions were intentionally spoiled by my classmates. It wasn’t because I didn’t pay attention, or for lack of effort on my part. If I’d been on my own, I would have scraped by a little higher than you do. Not much, mind you, but a little.”

“Snape?”

“No,” Lupin blinked, a little taken back by the suggestion. “I don’t know what all you saw in that memory, Harry, but we kept our vendetta out of the classrooms. Potions was Severus’ favorite class. I don’t think he ever paid us the least bit of attention when we had that class together. And James wasn’t the sort to act up in front of professors, or to disrupt other students. No, mostly it was James and Sirius playing mischief-makers at Peter’s expense, and mine by default.”

“So…instead of picking on other students they picked on their friends…?”

Lupin winced at Harry’s shocked expression, a weak grin flashing over his face. “I wouldn’t call it picking on so much as teasing. Have you ever taunted Hermione about studying too much, said things to distract her just because you can?”

“Ron does that,” Harry frowned, “but I don’t.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow, doubt visible on his face. And Harry sighed.

“Maybe a little,” muttered Harry, “but never when she actually needs to study.”

“But you do it because otherwise she’ll keep her nose in the book and miss out on everything around her. That’s how I was. The difference is that I didn’t have her gift. No matter how long I spent trying, there were some things I simply couldn’t master. Potions was one of them. Like I said, I might have done a little bit better without the distractions, but it would have been a very slight improvement. So when James decided I was trying too hard, I was inclined to agree with him.”

He gave Harry a pointed, knowing look. “James was easily distracted in classes he didn’t like.”

Harry flushed a little, knowing he was the same way, but also pleased to hear he got the trait from his father.

“We all passed our courses,” Lupin continued, “and by the time we were in our sixth year, James had settled down trying to impress Lily. She was very good for him.”

“Everyone tells me that…”

Harry dropped his eyes, wondering how stark a change his mother had marked in James Potter, former Marauder and troublemaker. The only information he had on his father before her had come from Snape’s memories, so it was reassuring to hear a different point of view. Lupin was surely just as biased, but he’d never denied their flaws. Even Sirius had admitted they were excessive at times. They’d still been close friends.

He found himself comparing his own group of friends with them. Immediately he remembered the photograph Dumbledore had shown him. Lupin, with his nose in a book, playing the quiet student in a restrained version of Hermione. He could see himself as his father, getting all the attention, only in his case he got it without wanting it. Again, he was a restrained comparison. And he supposed Peter might have been similar to Neville, a part of the group, yet always in the background.

The only real problem he had was Ron. He couldn’t compare Ron with Sirius, not with the attention-seeking teenage Sirius who instigated cruelty when he was bored, or with the angry pent-up man who’d been restless at feeling useless in the order house, not even with the hungrily affectionate man who’d worried over him during those quiet moments. Ron was a confidante, and as much as Harry had been drawn to Sirius, he’d never found the same bond in him. Sirius had been a surrogate father. Ron was his best friend.

“Lupin? What’s behind that curtain…?”

Lupin jerked against the desk, startled out of his own thoughts. His expression fell into a wary frown. “It’s in the Department of Mysteries for a reason, Harry. Only Merlin class wizards have information on the studies being done there.”

“I heard voices behind it,” Harry whispered. “If I went back, I think I could hear his voice behind there, too. I wanted to look…but no one would let me…”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

-.-.-

It was strange how quiet Hogwarts could be, even when a person walked through crowded halls of students eager to enjoy their free time. A few made greetings to him, quick, respectful or fearful words that melted into the rest of the background noise. Draco thought he might have nodded in response to them, but he didn’t stop to see if he had. If he stopped, he was sure he’d have frozen in place until Crabbe or Goyle found him and took him back to the dorm, or possibly outside to wake him from his seeming stupor. He didn’t want that.

He’d spent the last hour – or was it two hours – in the room of requirement, the only room he could be sure wouldn’t let him be interrupted – or found – until he was finished. Now the flow of students had slowed to a trickle. At first it had pushed him along, leading him toward his destination as students ducked into their dorms after breakfast. Then it had turned to an upstream struggle against the same students as they headed outdoors. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked so slowly down these halls.

A sharp angry voice broke through the haze, and he stopped in his tracks to stare at the open door ahead of him. A second, softer voice responded to the first, and he glared at the sounds. His hands curled, one crumpling the parchment in a tight fist, the other digging smooth nails into his palm. Then he stalked forward.

Snape spotted the boy first, his eyes immediately dropping to the letter. His manner shifted from irritated to empty in the space of a few seconds. He didn’t so much as blink when Hiei moved to stand between him and the doorway.

Some of Draco’s resolve crumbled when he spotted Hiei, a memory of that low voice whispering through his mind. He felt a tremor try to break out on his arms and stifled it viciously. His gaze snapped up to look at Snape, and he was careful not to blink.

“I know,” said Draco.

“I can see that,” Snape answered, his tone just as cold.

Kurama stepped forward slowly, very aware of how both Slytherins flinched at the movement. He crossed to stand next to Hiei, his curious gaze moving over Draco’s furious face. The boy was trembling. Oh, he had it controlled to the point where few people would see it, but Kurama could almost feel the vibrations in the air. But it wasn’t just anger. There was fear in his eyes.

“Do you need something?” Kurama asked politely.

“I want to speak to Professor Snape for a moment.”

The amount of control the boy had was impressive, in that his voice didn’t waver a bit. And his tone, as far as Kurama could tell, was every bit as polite as his had been.

Snape broke eye contact, long enough to give Kurama a slow nod. “If you’ll excuse us.”

“Of course,” Kurama smiled. “Come, Hiei, let’s leave the professor to his student.”

Hiei’s eyebrow twitched, the only sign that he didn’t want to go. He remained rooted in his spot until Kurama caught his shoulders and gave him a light push toward the door. Then he scowled, glaring heatedly at the way Draco snapped to the side to avoid touching so much as a thread of his cloak.

The moment Kurama closed the door behind them, Hiei jerked him further down the hall.

“What are you thinking?” Hiei demanded. “You know what he was holding.”

“Of course I do,” said Kurama. “I could sense the energy on that paper the same as you could. But we agreed, Hiei. Until we’re told otherwise, the only people we do not protect them from are Draco and Harry. If Snape feels confident to be alone with him, then it’s his choice.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t like him,” Kurama corrected.

“The two are the same,” Hiei glared.

“Only for you. What…Hiei, stop that. You can’t spy on them…!”

“I can and I will,” Hiei snapped. “Let go of my arm or lose your hand.”

“Have I told you that you’re overprotective of people you like?”

“Yes,” Hiei snorted, pulling the band off his jagan. “Now shut up.”

Kurama sighed and reached over so he could splay his right hand above Hiei’s open jagan. It earned him what would later settle into a nice third degree burn, and the sharp poke of a startled elbow in his stomach.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hiei blurted.

“Watching,” Kurama sniffed. “If you’re going to spy on them, I want to see it, too. So hurry up. This hurts…”

Hiei snorted, a smirk crossing his face. “Stupid fox.”

-.-.-

Draco stalked forward and handed him the letter. Snape read three times in silence before setting it down. He was furious, and frustrated, and concerned, and wary, and…he couldn’t stand to see the way Draco fidgeted when he finally looked up.

Vulnerability was painful on someone who lived with constant bravado. It fit Draco like a second skin so tight it might have easily choked the life out of him. The worst was in his eyes, too wide, panicky, and yet somehow removed in a glossy daze.

“Well?” asked Snape.

It was the first word since the demons had left them alone, and it seemed to shatter the last bits of Draco's strength. He sank down in the chair across from Snape’s desk and ducked his head into his hands.

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted. “I don’t know what to do…”

-.-.-
TBC
-notes-
A. There was a lot of conversation in this part, and a good portion of it may seem random and rambling. It’s not. I spent quite some planning to get all the necessary details into a natural flow. If it bores you or seems pointless, you’re probably better off skipping parts that have ‘dialogue’ in the warning.
B. Hiei’s jagan has numerous uses in the anime, among them we know he can control weak humans, and erase or rewrite a person’s memory. Whether or not this ability would work against a complex trigger like the dark mark is debatable. I think he could, so long as the host is willing and Voldemort isn’t expecting it (aka, so long as he isn’t reinforcing the spell). As for ‘remote viewing’ via his jagan, he does this when he’s first introduced to the series, letting him spy on Keiko and Yusuke. Whether or not a person can ‘hitchhike’ and watch is debatable. In this fic, it’s possible.
C. I respond to questions and corrections, so please feel free to leave either. They help me cement the fic, and catch my mistakes.

Reader Response:

oom, about Hiei's jagan, the pupil is usually dark blue (later in the series when he keeps it open without using it) but it glows a different color depending on what he's doing with it. I've seen his energy anything from pale blue (against the ice demon in the castle arc) to pinkish red (when he's being controlled in the longer movie), so I tend to shift the color of his jagan from scene to scene. I think it might be color-coded in YYH, but I haven't figured out the pattern yet, so I go with my imagination. As of this fic, his jagan glows green for telepathic purposes, and blackish purple for when he's using a kekkai or black flame. :)
Anomura, Thank you for the tips! I've never been good with proof-reading. If it's not right when I write it down, I'll probably miss it when I read it over. :( The only thing I won't change are capitalizations. I just find them loud and over-done when every other word is capitalized (House, Muggle, Dark, Spells, Arts, Pureblood, Half-Blood, Squib, Giant, Wizard, Magic, Professor, etc). I just don't like the way it looks on the computer (like the person is shouting or being priggish), so I'm taking the HP-incorrect but fanfiction-free choice to ignore that, unless I want to put emphasis on the word by capitalizing it. :)
Fuzzy Eared, I'm an English speaker (American), I'm just not 'England-English' like JK and the HP wizards. :) You're right about the 'seventh year' mistake. I was planning out my class schedule for this fic and I got very mixed up - Snape and Lupin are teaching 7 'grades' for each of the four houses, so I ended up thinking Harry and co were in the last year. I have to fix that and replace the last part. o.o;; A larger problem is that I don't think the 6th years are still taking History of Magic. They are in my fic, so I may have to put this as a Timeline-What-Timeline fic. I love how you noted all the little things that stood out for you in your review!
DarkWarLordofDoomness, thanks for the tips on Hagrid! And I remember Bins being surprised at the attention he got, but he's not allowed to discuss the transits with students (I'd say undergraduates, but students don't graduate from Hogwarts, they just leave...). It's part of the secrecy act I'm putting into the demon-wizard history. He'd know all about them, but isn't in a position to talk about them, especially in class. That website you mentioned, I think it's the HP Lexicon, or something like that - I've been there to look up a spell or two. :) But I don't really want to use a preset schedule - I need to have mostly double-classes for this fic, so it works better if I have them arrange the schedule to account for Snape and Lupin.