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Time's Usurper Chapter 10 (The Nameless Professor)
🕑 Added 2025-10-30 23:50:12 +0000 UTCHarry Potter - Last Night
The pipe swallowed Harry whole.
His stomach lurched as gravity seized him, pulling him down through ancient plumbing that smelled of rot. The slide was slick beneath his palms, too smooth to slow his descent, and Harry had just enough presence of mind to tuck his arms close before the pipe spat him out into darkness.
He hit stone hard, rolled twice, and came up with his wand already drawn.
"Lumos."
The light bloomed and brightened up the place like a second star. Water dripped somewhere in the distance—a steady, lonely rhythm that echoed off unseen walls. The tunnel stretched ahead of him, massive enough to drive a lorry through, though Harry doubted Vernon had ever imagined his freak nephew would one day crawl through a thousand-year-old sewer to chat with a giant snake.
The thought almost made him laugh.
His boots squelched against something soft as he moved forward, wand raised. The smell intensified, musk, dry scales, and underneath it all, a hint of decay that never quite left places where dangerous things lived. Harry's Auror training kicked in automatically: exits, sight lines, anything that could be used as cover. Not that cover would matter much against a basilisk's stare, but old habits died hard.
Something pale caught his eye along the tunnel wall.
Basilisk skin. A massive sheet of it, translucent and delicate despite its size, draped across the stones like some grotesque tapestry. Harry approached carefully, reaching out to touch it. The texture surprised him, not slimy as he'd expected, but dry, almost papery. Strong though. He could feel the residual magic thrumming through it, faint but present.
This could be useful.
He pulled out his wand and carefully severed a section, folding it with more care than he'd ever shown his Hogwarts robes. Basilisk skin was worth a fortune on the black market, but more importantly, it was nearly impervious to most spells. The kind of thing you couldn't exactly purchase from Flourish and Blotts.
Harry moved deeper into the tunnels, collecting two more patches as he went. The path twisted and turned, clearly designed to confuse intruders. Or maybe just to give the basilisk plenty of room to maneuver. Hard to say with Slytherin, the man seemed to have had a flair for the dramatically paranoid.
The tunnel opened suddenly into a wider space, and Harry's wandlight fell across a massive circular door.
He stopped.
Serpents. Hundreds of them, carved into the stone in intricate, interlocking patterns. Their eyes glittered in his wandlight—actual emeralds, unless Harry missed his guess. Slytherin really hadn't done anything by half measures.
But the door was closed.
Harry stared at it, memory crashing over him like cold water. In his timeline, this door had been open. He'd run through it chasing the voice, following the blood on the walls, desperate to save Ginny before it was too late. The door had been standing wide, waiting, almost welcoming.
Because Tom left it open, Harry realized with a jolt. Through Ginny. He wanted me to find the Chamber. Wanted me to come down here and die.
"Bit too clever for your own good," Harry muttered to the closed door. "As usual."
He stepped forward, raising his wand slightly. The serpents seemed to watch him, their carved eyes tracking his movement in a way that was probably just shadows but felt intentional nonetheless.
Harry took a breath and felt that familiar sensation in his throat.
"Open," he hissed.
The serpents moved.
Not carved anymore, moving, slithering across the stone door with a grinding sound that set Harry's teeth on edge. They unwound from each other like a complex lock, clicking and shifting until the massive doors began to swing inward.
The sound echoed through the tunnels behind him.
The Chamber of Secrets opened before him like a cathedral built by someone with a serious snake fixation.
Merlin's balls.
Harry had forgotten how massive it was. The ceiling soared somewhere overhead, lost in shadows his wandlight couldn't reach. Enormous stone pillars lined both sides of the chamber, each one carved with more serpents.
But it was the walls that caught Harry's attention.
Runes. Everywhere. Carved into every available surface, layered over each other in some places, standing alone in others. Harry recognized some from his Auror training, preservation spells, structural reinforcements, the kind of magic that kept a place intact for a millennium. Others were familiar from his desperate, sleep-deprived research sessions: protection wards, detection charms, anti-detection charms, even what looked like a nasty curse designed to discourage unwanted visitors.
And some... some Harry didn't recognize at all.
He moved closer to the nearest pillar, tracing one particularly complex string of runes with his eyes. Ancient magic, older than anything taught at Hogwarts. Darker too, probably. Slytherin hadn't exactly been known for his light and fluffy approach to spell craft.
The Map can't see this place, Harry realized suddenly.
In his timeline, the Marauder's Map had shown most of Hogwarts in impressive detail—secret passages, hidden rooms. But never the Chamber of Secrets. Harry had always assumed it was because the Marauders never knew about it, couldn't map what they'd never found.
But maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe the Chamber was hidden from detection magic entirely. Protected by Slytherin's own paranoid genius.
Which meant there were exactly two places in Hogwarts where the Map couldn't track him: here, and the Room of Requirement.
Good to know.
Harry continued forward. At the far end of the chamber, dominating everything, stood an enormous stone face.
Salazar Slytherin. Or at least, what some medieval sculptor thought he looked like, thin, clever features, a pointed beard, and eyes that seemed to follow Harry as he approached. The mouth was carved open in a permanent expression that could have been speech or a scream.
Harry stopped about twenty feet from the statue and closed his eyes.
His hand tightened on his wand. This was the dangerous part. The part where trusting a giant murderous snake would either be brilliant or fatally stupid, and Harry wouldn't know which until it was far too late to matter.
Just like old times, then.
He took a breath and felt the Parseltongue rise again.
"Speak to me, Slytherin," Harry hissed into the darkness. "Greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then the mouth moved.
Stone ground against stone with a sound like bones breaking, and the carved lips parted wider. Harry kept his eyes screwed shut, his other senses sharpening in compensation. He heard it then—the slither of scales against stone, massive and slow, echoing through the chamber like a whisper grown monstrous.
The basilisk was waking up.
The sound grew louder, closer. Harry could feel the displacement of air as something enormous moved through the chamber, could smell that reptilian musk intensifying until it was almost choking.
He held still.
"Who dares enter the Chamber of my Master?"
The voice was a hiss so deep Harry felt it in his chest.
Harry swallowed and answered in the same language. "I dare. I am Harry Potter."
Silence. Then: "You speak the tongue of serpents." The basilisk sounded surprised, which was somehow more unsettling than anger would have been. "Yet you do not smell like my old Master. You smell of... different magic. Newer. Warmer."
"I am not Tom Riddle," Harry said carefully, keeping his eyes closed. "I am his replecment."
"You claim to speak for the heir of Slytherin?" The basilisk moved—Harry could hear the massive body shifting, coiling, probably getting into a better position to strike. "Are you descended from his line?"
"No. I'm a half-blood."
The hiss that followed was pure shock. "Half-blood? Master Salazar would never—" The basilisk's voice sharpened, taking on an edge. "Where is Tom Riddle? Where is my Master? He was here, decades ago. He commanded me. Why do you come instead?"
Harry chose his words carefully. Truth, but not all of it. "Tom Riddle is dead."
The chamber exploded with sound.
The basilisk shrieked—an ear-splitting noise that echoed off stone and sent ripples through the shallow pools. Harry heard the massive body thrashing, tail striking pillars with enough force that dust rained down from somewhere overhead. =
"DEAD?" The basilisk's voice cracked with something that might have been grief. "My Master is DEAD? Who killed him? Tell me so I may avenge him!"
Harry waited for the thrashing to subside, patient despite every instinct screaming at him to defend himself. Finally, when the chamber settled into tense quiet, he spoke.
"The man who killed Tom Riddle... is a man calling himself Lord Voldemort."
"Where is this Lord Voldemort you speak of, tell me where to find him. I will tear him apart." The basilisk demanded.
"I am afraid that I don't know where he is. Lord Voldemort is dangerous, and he keeps himself hidden," Harry explained, and he wondered what the Basilisk was thinking right now.
"Why have you come here?" The voice was quieter now, less hostile. "Why disturb me in my Master's Chamber, half-blood who speaks the serpent tongue?"
"Because Tom Riddle and I share something," Harry said. He kept his eyes closed, but his hand relaxed slightly on his wand. "We share the same blood, in a way. The same wounds. We are connected by magic I didn't choose and he didn't understand. I came here because I need your help."
The basilisk didn't respond immediately. Harry could almost feel the weight of that ancient gaze, even through closed eyelids.
"What help could you need from me, Harry Potter?"
That felt like progress.
"I need one of your fangs," Harry said bluntly. Honesty seemed like the safer play here. "And permission to take some of your shed skin from the tunnels."
"My shed skin?" The basilisk almost sounded amused. "Take all you wish. It is nothing to me, merely waste left behind." A pause. "But my fangs... my venom is the most deadly poison in existence, Harry Potter. One drop will kill even the most powerful wizard. It destroys anything it touches. Why do you need such a thing?"
"There are dark magics," Harry said carefully, "that can only be destroyed by your venom. Objects that should not exist. I intend to find them and end them before they can cause another war."
"Dark magics?" Interest now. "What manner of dark magics?"
"The kind that tear at the fabric of what magic should be. The kind that kill without mercy."
Another long silence. Then: "What do you offer in return, Harry Potter? Nothing worth having comes without price."
This was it. The moment Harry had been planning since he'd decided to come down here. He took a breath.
"What do you want? You have been down here for centuries, alone in the dark. When was the last time you felt grass beneath you? Or wind? Or saw moonlight?"
The basilisk went utterly still. Even the constant background sound of breathing stopped.
"What are you saying?" The voice was barely a whisper.
"I'm saying," Harry continued, "that you could leave this chamber. At night, when no one would see you. Deep into the Forbidden Forest where there are no humans to harm. You could feel the wind. See the stars. Maybe even feel sunlight again, I can help you feel all that."
"Master Salazar's command was clear." The basilisk sounded... conflicted. Lost, almost. "I must remain here, protecting his Chamber. I am guardian to his legacy. If I venture out, I might accidentally kill a pureblood. Master would be displeased."
"Master Salazar has been dead for over nine hundred years," Harry said gently. "And you would only go at night, only into the deep forest. You would harm no one, pureblood or otherwise. You could enjoy freedom, even if only for a few hours. Wind. Moonlight. Living things growing around you instead of stone."
The silence stretched so long Harry started to wonder if he'd miscalculated. If the basilisk's loyalty to a long-dead founder was stronger than any desire for freedom. If—
"I will close my eyes," the basilisk said suddenly. "You may open yours, Harry Potter."
Harry's heart stuttered. That was—that was trust. Enormous, terrifying trust. A basilisk's gaze was its greatest weapon, and it was offering to disarm itself completely.
He muttered a quick shield charm first, wandless, just in case. The magic settled around him like a second skin, not enough to stop a basilisk's stare entirely, but enough to buy him a second if something went wrong.
Then, slowly, Harry opened his eyes.
The basilisk filled his vision.
It was massive; it was the same basilisk he killed nine years ago. But her eyes, those deadly yellow eyes, were closed. Shut tight.
Harry's breath caught. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for this trust."
"I am the one who is thankful, Master Potter." The basilisk's voice was softer now, almost gentle despite the inhuman quality. "No one has offered me kindness in... I cannot remember how long."
"Not Master," Harry said firmly, taking a careful step forward. "Just Harry. If you'll have it, we're friends."
The basilisk's head tilted slightly, processing this. Then, with what might have been the serpent equivalent of a smile, it said: "My name is Zynathra. I am pleased to meet you, Harry Potter."
Zynathra. A she, then. Somehow that made sense—something about the voice, the way she moved. Harry had always assumed the basilisk was male because Riddle had commanded her, but that said more about Riddle than the snake.
Harry approached slowly, giving Zynathra time to sense his movement, to pull back if she wanted. When she didn't, he reached out and placed his hand on her scales.
The texture surprised him, smooth but not slippery, warm despite the chill of the chamber. And underneath, thrumming through her like a second heartbeat, he could feel ancient magic.
"Would you like to go outside now, Zynathra?" Harry asked. "Tonight?"
The massive head nodded, a gesture so delicate it seemed impossible for a creature of her size. Almost hesitant, as if she was afraid the offer might vanish if she moved too quickly.
"There's another way out," Harry said, already moving toward the wall he remembered. "A tunnel that leads directly to the Forest. Salazar Slytherin built more than one entrance to important places. Just in case."
He raised his wand, focusing on the spell he'd researched specifically for this. "Revelare Ostium."
Magic pulsed through the chamber, seeking, searching. A section of wall began to shimmer, stone fading like morning mist to reveal darkness beyond. Another tunnel, narrower than the main entrance but still large enough for Zynathra.
She moved immediately, excitement evident in the way her body flowed forward. Harry followed, his wandlight barely adequate as they wound through passages that spiraled upward. The air grew fresher, less stale. He could smell earth now.
The tunnel opened suddenly into the night.
Harry stepped out into the Forbidden Forest, and Zynathra followed.
The moon was nearly full, bright enough that Harry could make out details, old trees, undergrowth, the distant rustle of nocturnal creatures going about their business.
Zynathra froze.
For a long moment she simply stood there, her massive head raised, eyes still closed. Then, slowly, she began to move. Her scales brushed against grass, through ferns, over moss-covered stones.
"The grass," Zynathra whispered. "I had forgotten... how it feels. Different from stone. Soft. Alive."
Harry watched as she explored, keeping his distance to give her space. She moved deeper into the forest, careful despite her size, avoiding the smaller plants when she could. The wind picked up, rustling through the canopy, and Zynathra went still again.
"The wind," she breathed. "It carries so many scents. Living things. Growing things. I had forgotten there was a world beyond stone and darkness."
"You'll never be locked away like that again," Harry said. "I swear it, Zynathra. Whenever you want to come out, just let me know. I'll make sure the path stays clear."
The basilisk turned her head toward him, eyes still carefully closed. "Thank you, Harry Potter. I have been alone for so long. So very long."
They spent nearly an hour in the forest, Zynathra exploring while Harry kept watch for any students stupid enough to be wandering. None appeared—it was late enough that even the Marauders should be in bed.
Eventually, reluctantly, they returned to the Chamber. Zynathra settled herself near the statue of Slytherin, and Harry approached carefully.
"I still need that fang," he said. "If you're willing."
"Take it," Zynathra said simply. "Take what you need."
Harry used a severing charm, and one of her enormous fangs came free. It was the length of his forearm, curved like a scimitar, still glistening with venom that could kill with a scratch. He wrapped it carefully in basilisk skin—one of the few materials that could contain the poison safely.
"I will return," Harry promised. "Soon. We can go out again."
"I will wait," Zynathra said. "I am good at waiting. But now... now I have something to wait for."
Harry left through the girls' bathroom, emerging into the castle proper with his prizes hidden in an expanded pocket. The corridors were empty, silent except for the portraits snoring, armor shifting, the occasional ghost drifting past.
Back in his quarters, Harry set to work immediately. The basilisk fang went into a specially warded box, protected by every shielding charm he knew. The skin he divided into sections—some for future use, some to be stored, all of it hidden behind wards that would make even Dumbledore think twice about investigating.
It was past midnight when he finally collapsed into bed, exhausted but satisfied.
One step closer. One weapon secured against the future that hadn't happened yet.
James Potter - Now
The door to the sixth-year boys' dormitory swung open with more force than necessary, rebounding off the wall. James Potter strode in first, scanning the circular room. Seven-poster beds, trunks at their feet, the usual detritus of teenage wizards scattered across surfaces. Most importantly: empty.
"Clear," he announced, already heading for his trunk.
Sirius Black kicked the door shut behind them and threw himself onto his own bed with theatrical flair, arms spread wide. "Finally. I thought Flitwick was going to keep us there all bloody night discussing the theoretical applications of the Summoning Charm."
"It was fifteen minutes past the bell," Remus Lupin pointed out, setting his bag down with considerably more care than Sirius had shown. "And the discussion was actually quite interesting."
"You would think so," Sirius said, grinning. "You actually enjoy homework."
"I enjoy understanding magic properly, yes." Remus crossed his arms, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Which is why I'm going to say this again: this is inappropriate. We shouldn't be spying on a professor."
James knelt by his trunk, flipping open the lid. His Quidditch gear occupied the top layer, carefully maintained and smelling faintly of leather polish and grass. Beneath that, wrapped in an old Transfiguration essay he'd gotten an A on, lay the Marauder's Map. His fingers closed around it with a thrill.
"Relax, Moony." Sirius propped himself up on his elbows. "It's not like we're doing anything terrible. We're just curious."
"Curious," Remus repeated flatly. "You want to use a piece of highly advanced magical surveillance to track a professor's movements because you're curious."
"Exactly!" Sirius beamed as if Remus had just agreed with him. "See, you do understand."
Peter Pettigrew hovered near the window, wringing his hands in that way he did when he was nervous but trying not to show it. "It is a bit strange though, isn't it? That he doesn't use a last name?"
"Strange doesn't mean it's our business," Remus said, but his voice had lost some of its conviction. James unfolded the map onto his bed.
"One look," James said, tapping the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Ink lines bloomed across the blank surface like veins spreading through pale skin, unfurling into corridors and classrooms, staircases and secret passages. Tiny dots appeared, each labeled with a name, moving in real time across the castle's geography. The Marauder's Map in full glory, showing Hogwarts in a way even Dumbledore probably couldn't see it.
All four of them leaned in. Even Remus, despite his protests.
James's eyes tracked systematically through the castle. Great Hall first. A scattering of dots, mostly prefects on rounds. Filch is in his office, probably cataloging his latest confiscations. Mrs. Norris prowling the third floor.
No Harry.
"Faculty wing?" Sirius suggested, his finger hovering over the parchment without quite touching it. Bad luck to smudge the ink while it was active.
James shifted his focus. The professors' quarters showed up as small private spaces off the main corridor. McGonagall in her rooms, probably grading essays. Slughorn's door was closed but his dot was visible inside. Flitwick, Sprout, Vector. Even old Dearborn, who taught the regular Defense classes.
Still no Harry.
"Grounds?" Peter offered, his voice going squeaky the way it did when he was uncertain.
The map showed the grounds in less detail than the castle proper, but it was enough. A few dots near Hagrid's hut, probably fifth-years sneaking out for a smoke. Someone by the greenhouses. The Whomping Willow stood alone and unmarked, which was probably for the best.
Nothing labeled Harry anywhere.
"Where the hell did he go?" Sirius sat up properly now, his casual amusement shifting to genuine confusion. "He can't have just left the grounds. You need special permission to Apparate from Hogwarts, and we'd have seen him walking to the gates."
James frowned, double-checking the castle. Sometimes the map took a moment to update if someone was moving quickly, or if they were in certain warded areas. But no, nothing. The man had simply vanished.
"Maybe he has a meeting somewhere?" Remus suggested, though he sounded doubtful. "At the Ministry? He did kill a very dangerous werewolf. There's probably paperwork."
"At this hour?" Sirius checked the small clock on his bedside table. "It's past ten. Even the Ministry drones go home eventually."
Peter leaned closer, squinting at the map as if proximity would make a difference. "Maybe the map hides his name? Like it hides ours?"
James shook his head. "Our names only hide when someone outside our group opens the map and manages to unlock it. Security measure Moony insisted on." He shot Remus a look. "Even then, the map just doesn't show us specifically. But Professor Harry isn't part of our group. The map has no reason to hide him."
"Perhaps he has some kind of anti-tracking spell on him?" Remus moved closer despite himself, his academic curiosity clearly warring with his moral objections. "It's possible for skilled wizards to shield themselves from detection magic. Aurors use them sometimes."
"You think he's an Auror?" Peter's eyes went wide.
"I didn't say that. I said it's possible he has similar protections." Remus traced a finger along the faculty wing corridor without touching the parchment. "If he's as skilled as he demonstrated in class, he'd be foolish not to have some kind of privacy wards."
James wasn't convinced. Something about this felt off, the way a Bludger felt off when it was coming at your head from the wrong angle. "Maybe. Or maybe 'Harry' isn't his real name at all."
Three pairs of eyes snapped to him.
"What?" Sirius's grin was starting to creep back.
"Think about it. He introduces himself as just 'Harry.' No surname, ever. Even Dumbledore only calls him that. What if his actual name is something else entirely, and he just goes by Harry? A nickname, or a middle name, or something?"
"That seems excessive," Remus said. "Why would a professor need to hide his name from students?"
"Maybe he's famous?" Peter suggested. "Like, properly famous, and he doesn't want everyone making a fuss?"
"He killed Greyback," James pointed out. "That's fairly famous on its own. Doesn't make sense to hide a name after that."
Sirius swung his legs off the bed and stood, pacing with the restless energy he got when a good mystery presented itself. "Maybe he's hiding from someone. Dark wizards, or enemies from wherever he came from."
"Or maybe," Remus said pointedly, "he simply prefers to go by Harry and we're reading far too much into this."
"Where's the fun in that?" Sirius stopped mid-pace, turning to face them with that particular gleam in his eye that usually preceded either brilliance or disaster. "So what do we do?"
James looked down at the map, at the hundreds of labeled dots moving through Hogwarts, and the conspicuous absence of their new professor. He shrugged. "Does it really matter? Who cares what his full name is?"
"Oh, now I want to know even more." Sirius's grin went sharp. "You've made it interesting, Prongs. You can't dangle a mystery like this and expect me to just let it go."
"I wasn't dangling anything. I was pointing out facts."
"Same difference." Sirius dropped back onto his bed, but his mind was clearly working. James could practically see the schemes forming. "Next time we have class with him, we bring the map. Once class ends, we find the nearest hiding spot, pull out the map, and see what his name is. He'll have to be in the classroom or leaving it."
James considered this. It was actually clever. Simpler than trying to track the professor through the entire castle. "That's not a terrible idea. We'd know where he is immediately after class."
"Exactly!" Sirius looked pleased with himself. "Monday evening, then. Mystery solved."
"You two are impossible," Remus said, but there was resignation in his voice rather than real anger. He'd already lost this argument and knew it.
"I still think it's strange he doesn't use a last name," Peter said quietly. "Even if it's not his real name, it's strange."
James tapped the map again. "Mischief managed."
The ink retreated like a tide going out, lines dissolving back into blank parchment. Within seconds, it looked like nothing more than a piece of old, slightly yellowed paper. James folded it carefully and returned it to its hiding spot, burying it beneath Quidditch gear and failed essays.
"Next Monday, then," Sirius said, settling back against his pillows with his hands behind his head. "We solve the mystery of the nameless professor."
"Or we find out there's no mystery at all and feel very silly about it," Remus added.
"Where's your sense of adventure, Moony?"
"I left it in the hospital wing after the last time I followed your sense of adventure."
James grinned, shucking off his robes and reaching for his pajamas. The mystery of Professor Harry could wait until Monday. Right now, he had a Potions essay due tomorrow that he hadn't started, and Slughorn had been making noises about house points if people kept turning things in late.
Still. It was odd. A professor with no last name and the ability to disappear completely from a map that showed everything.
James fell asleep that night wondering what exactly they'd gotten themselves into with this new Defense instructor, and whether finding out was going to be nearly as entertaining as Sirius seemed to think.
Probably not. These things never were.
Then again, he'd been wrong before.
Slytherin Common Room
The Slytherin common room never truly quieted, not even late at night. Green-tinted light from the lake filtered through the windows. Tonight, the usual hum of conversation had escalated into something more animated, clusters of students gathered around the fireplace and scattered across the plush furniture, all discussing the same topic.
Professor Harry's first lesson.
"Did you see that compression hex?" A fifth-year girl named Alecto leaned forward in her chair, eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Absolutely brilliant. I've never seen anything like it."
Her brother Amycus lounged beside her, less impressed. "Showy. But effective, I'll grant him that."
Near the windows, a group of older students had claimed the best seats, their voices lower but no less intense. Thomas Avery, still smarting from being made an example of in class, swirled firewhisky in a glass he'd smuggled from home. "He's powerful, I'll give him that. But is he one of us? Or does he side with Dumbledore?"
"Does it matter?" Adrian Mulciber stretched his legs out, taking up more space than necessary. "He killed Greyback. That werewolf could have been useful to our cause."
"Greyback was a mad dog." This came from a sixth-year prefect, her tone dismissive. "Uncontrollable. You can't build a proper movement on the backs of creatures who can't follow orders."
"The Dark Lord thought differently."
"The Dark Lord uses tools as he sees fit. That doesn't mean every tool is valuable."
The debate continued, voices rising and falling. It was never about right or wrong in this common room. Only about power, advantage, and which side would come out on top.
On a plush sofa near the fireplace, positioned to catch both warmth and the best vantage point of the room, Bellatrix Black sat with her sisters. She'd kicked off her shoes, feet tucked beneath her, looking more relaxed than she had any right to be given the late hour. Her dark hair fell loose over her shoulders, and her eyes held a brightness that had nothing to do with the firelight.
"The lesson was extraordinary," she said, not for the first time that evening. "Professor Harry has knowledge far beyond what's taught here. Did you see the way he moved? Like the spells were nothing. The other professors are nothing compared to him."
Narcissa, seated beside her with considerably more poise, raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "You seem rather taken with him, Bella. I didn't know you liked them older."
Bellatrix laughed. "It's not about that." She paused, considering. "Though even if it were, Professor Harry is quite handsome. And he's only five years older than me, not a hundred like most of the eligible purebloods Mother keeps suggesting."
"Mother wants you to marry Rodolphus Lestrange," Narcissa pointed out. "He's not that old."
"He's boring. There's a difference."
Andromeda sat slightly apart on the sofa's edge. She'd been quieter than usual all evening, well, until now. "He's dangerous. I can feel it. There's something about his magic."
"Dangerous is interesting," Bellatrix said immediately. "Besides, he's going to give me private lessons."
Both sisters turned to look at her. Narcissa's expression shifted to something amused. "Private lessons? How did you manage that?"
"I didn't. Not yet." Bellatrix's smile went sharp. "But he will. He saw my shield modification. He knows I'm capable of more than what's taught in regular classes. He'll want to cultivate that talent."
"Be careful, Bella." Andromeda's tone held warning. "Some paths, once taken..."
"Don't lecture me, Andromeda." The warmth vanished from Bellatrix's voice. "I know what I'm doing."
A different voice cut through the tension. "Bella? Do you have a quill I could borrow?"
Bellatrix turned, annoyance flickering across her features, then softened slightly when she saw Regulus Black sitting in an armchair several feet away. Her younger cousin, barely sixteen, hunched over a notebook with the kind of focus that suggested he'd been trying to ignore the common room chaos for some time.
"Regulus," she said, not answering his question. "What did you think of your first lesson with Professor Harry?"
Regulus picked up a quill that Bella was not using, he looked up at her briefly. "He knows his stuff. More practical than most of what we learn here."
"Just 'practical'?" Bellatrix rose from the sofa, moving closer. "Surely you have more thoughts than that."
"Not really." Regulus's attention had already returned to his notebook, quill scratching across parchment.
Bellatrix peered over his shoulder, and her expression shifted from curiosity to disdain in an instant. The notebook was filled with symbols and diagrams, complex magical theory that definitely wasn't standard Hogwarts curriculum. And unmistakably related to house-elf magic.
"Why in Merlin's name are you reading about house-elf magic?"
Regulus's hand stilled. Then he closed the notebook and stood. "Mind your own business, Bellatrix."
He walked toward the boys' dormitory without another word, leaving Bellatrix staring after him with an expression caught between offense and genuine surprise.
"That was odd," Narcissa said mildly.
Andromeda's voice was thoughtful. "Regulus has always been different. More thoughtful than the rest of the Blacks."
"Different isn't always good." Bellatrix returned to the sofa, but some of her earlier animation had faded. "He's young. He'll understand what's important eventually."
"Will he?" Andromeda asked quietly, but neither sister answered.
The conversation turned to other topics, but it mostly remained on the same topic. A fifth-year boy wondered aloud if Professor Harry had fought in any wars. A seventh-year girl suggested he might have traveled abroad, learning magic in places where the Ministry's restrictions didn't apply.
"I heard he used dark magic against those Death Eaters who attacked him," someone said. "Killed two of them without hesitation."
"That's exactly what makes him interesting," another voice added. "He's not squeamish like Dumbledore. He understands that power requires certain sacrifices."
Bellatrix listened to it all, absorbing the speculation and theory, adding her own observations when appropriate. When someone suggested Professor Harry might be sympathetic to their cause, she smiled.
"He understands power," she said with confidence. "That's what matters. He'll see where the true strength lies."
Andromeda said nothing, but her expression was troubled. She'd felt something in Professor Harry's magic, something that reminded her of the temporal displacement she'd sensed in that brief encounter weeks ago. Something that suggested he was far more complicated than simple allegiance to Dark or Light.
But she kept those thoughts to herself. In Slytherin, information was currency, and some things were too valuable to spend casually.
The common room gradually emptied as curfew passed and students drifted toward their dormitories. Bellatrix remained on the sofa longest, staring into the dying fire with an expression that might have been anticipation.
Private lessons. Advanced magic. A professor who understood that greatness required walking paths others feared to tread.
She could be patient. She'd learned that much from her parents, at least.
But not too patient.
In the boys' dormitory, Regulus Black lay awake in his bed, his notebook hidden beneath his pillow. Regulus had wondered at first why Professor Potter had suggested this book to him, but now, he was glad.
