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Harry Potter: The Artisan's Path Chapter 90
🕑 Added 2024-11-01 07:48:44 +0000 UTCHi all,
Here’s the next chapter. Another late chapter, but I promise to get two more chapters out over the weekend. So, I made a mistake with the last chapter. It was supposed to be chapter 89, but I called it chapter 88. This explains why Chapter 88 appeared twice in the collections tab.
Chapter 90
22nd May
Harry wanted to investigate Archibald Fawley immediately, so he used Remus and his artisan's business as an excuse to leave the school after classes on Monday.
He left Remus at the Leaky Cauldron, promising to return shortly. He called for Fawkes, who appeared in a flash of flame. The phoenix transported him to an alleyway in Muggle London, a quiet street lined with terraced houses that had seen better days.
Number 47 stood apart from its neighbours, its garden overgrown and windows grimy. Harry approached the front door. Before he could knock, his instincts screamed a warning. He dove to the side as a jet of red light shot through the mail slot, scorching the path where he'd stood.
Harry rolled to his feet, drawing his wand. Another spell burst through the door, but Harry was ready. He deflected it with a Shield Charm, noting how the attack fizzled out easily. The spells weren't particularly powerful.
"Stop firing!" Harry called out. "I just want to talk!"
The only response was another spell. Harry dodged and retaliated by throwing an Incarcerator spell card through the mail slot. His accuracy was on point. He heard a muffled curse and the thud of someone falling.
Harry entered the house after casting an Alohomora charm to unlock the door. The hallway was dark and musty, filled with the smell of old books and tobacco. An elderly man lay unconscious and bound on the floor, a metallic device lying next to him. Harry grabbed it and tucked it into his pocket for later examination. He had a suspicion as to what the device was, given that Archibald was supposed to be a Squib.
“Renervate,” Harry said, waving his wand. The old man's eyes opened and he immediately focused on him.
"Go on then," the man spat. "Finish it. Don’t bother trying to interrogate me because I'm not going to say anything."
Harry frowned, studying the man's face. His eyes were clouded and unfocused, darting around without really seeing. "Why would I want to kill you?"
The man squinted up at Harry's general direction. "Aren't you with Obsidian?"
Harry felt his blood run cold. "Obsidian? No, I'm a student from Hogwarts. Harry Potter."
The tension seemed to drain from the old man's body. "Bloody hell. Sorry about that, lad. My eyes aren't what they used to be. Saw robes through the peephole and thought the worst."
"You’re lucky I wasn’t a Muggle," Harry said, freeing the man from the ropes that bound him. "That could have been awkward."
"Then I'd be in a right pickle with the Ministry," the man admitted, accepting Harry's help to stand. "Though they don't pay much attention to us Squibs unless we cause real trouble."
Harry guided him to a worn armchair. "Mr Fawley, I presume?"
"Aye, that's me. Archibald Fawley, failed scion of the noble House of Fawley." Archibald's lips twisted. "What brings Harry Potter to my humble abode?"
Harry leaned against the wall. "I'm looking for information about a group that used a golden dragon as their symbol. A resistance group during the war."
"Never heard of them," Archibald said quickly. Too quickly.
Harry pulled the device from his pocket. "Interesting piece of equipment. It lets a Squib cast spells, doesn't it? I've only ever seen one other like it. Belonged to a man named Lewis Rosier."
The colour drained from Archibald's face. "How do you know that name?"
"He helped me when I was younger. Before someone drove him out of his shop. Turned it upside down."
"Obsidian," Archibald muttered. "Always poking their noses where they don't belong."
"You seem to have a history with them," Harry observed. "Why are they after you?"
Archibald was quiet for a long moment, his rheumy eyes fixed on some distant point. "They're looking for information about Lewis. He’s the one with the real knowledge."
"What do you mean?"
"Lewis was our leader," Archibald said. "Called ourselves the Knights of the Round. A modern-day version of the old Autharian legend. Bit pretentious maybe, but it gave us a purpose. Lewis provided the artifacts that let us fight back. Gave us a chance to prove we weren't useless just because we couldn't wave a wand."
Archibald pulled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo of the same dragon symbol that Harry had seen on Lewis' arm.
“So you used them during the war to help the Muggles and Muggleborns?”
“Aye. They needed help the most, especially the Muggles. They didn’t have a clue what was going on, did they? Had to be clever about it, though. Even with the devices, we’re outclassed by most wizards.”
Harry leaned forward. "These artifacts, they were created by Galahad, weren't they?"
Archibald's head snapped up. "What makes you say that?"
"I've been finding his artifacts. Following his trail. But the man is illusive."
"No one finds Galahad," Archibald said. "He finds you. If he wants to."
"Do you know where Lewis is now?"
Archibald shook his head. "Lost contact years ago. After the war, we all scattered. Some wanted to keep fighting, but most of us were tired. I just wanted to live in peace. I kept in contact with some, but Lewis went completely off the grid."
"Obsidian won't let you live in peace," Harry said quietly.
"They're obsessed with finding Galahad. Think we know where he is." Archibald laughed harshly. "Even Lewis didn't know that. Galahad just appeared sometimes, gave Lewis what we needed, and then vanished again. He only interacted with Lewis, so he was more than a legend in the minds of the rest of us."
“Did you tell Lewis?”
Archibald shook his head. “I didn’t know where to look, but that didn’t matter to Obsidian. Why do you think I attacked when I saw you? Obsidian has been targetting us. Haven’t been able to contact the other members for almost two years now. They’re either in hiding or are already dead.”
“But they already found Lewis once,” Harry said. “Assuming it was Obsidian.”
“It probably explains why they haven’t bothered me."
Harry absorbed this information, his mind racing through the implications. If Obsidian had been hunting Lewis all this time, it explained the man's hasty departure from his shop. But didn’t Lewis ever consider that Obsidian would return to look for him? Harry could have run into them, and he doubted they would have treated him well. Maybe Dumbledore visiting the store, which had sent Harry running, had been a blessing in disguise.
Harry frowned when something occurred to him. He walked over to the window and parted the curtains, scanning the street for anything out of place. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t watching you.”
Archibald gulped. "It’s probably best that you leave, lad."
“It should be fine. I’m probably one of Obsidian's primary targets. If they knew I was here, they would have already stormed the place.”
Harry dropped the curtain but remained by the window. "Were all the artifacts you used during the war like this one?"
Archibald nodded. “It lets us cast rudimentary spells. Lewis understood how they worked better than the rest of us. We were just happy we could do magic?"
"Can I keep this?" Harry asked. "I'd like to study it."
Archibald waved a hand dismissively. "Take it. I've got another one hidden away.”
Harry stood to leave but paused. “Do you have a clue where I could find Lewis?”
“I know a few hideouts where he might stay, but it’s unlikely he would use them.”
“Could you write them down for me?”
Archibald nodded. He got up and grabbed a quill and some parchment. After scribbling down the locations, he handed it to Harry.
Harry browsed the list, but he hadn’t heard of any of the locations. He would check them out later. “If Obsidian comes —"
"I can handle myself," Archibald interrupted. "Been doing it for years. But... if you find Lewis, tell him I miss him."
"Thank you for talking to me. Would you mind if I called my companion to take me away?"
"What companion?" Archibald asked, his rheumy eyes narrowing with suspicion.
In response, Harry sent a mental call to Fawkes. The phoenix appeared in a burst of flame that briefly illuminated the dim room with golden light. Archibald let out a startled yelp, nearly toppling from his chair.
"Merlin's beard!" the old man exclaimed, steadying himself. "Is that... is that a phoenix?"
But before Harry could respond, Fawkes had already gripped his shoulder, and they vanished in another flash of fire. They reappeared in one of the private rooms at the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry found Remus at the bar, nursing a pint of ale while chatting with Tom. The werewolf looked up as Harry approached.
"I trust your business is finished," Remus said.
Harry slid onto the bar stool next to him. "All sorted. Afternoon, Tom."
"Hello, lad," Tom replied, polishing a glass with his ever-present rag. "Can I get you something to eat? The shepherd's pie is fresh out of the oven."
"Thanks, but I'll pass. Need to visit the alley before heading back to Hogwarts."
Tom nodded and shuffled off to tend to a group of wizards who'd just entered the pub.
Remus turned to Harry, lowering his voice. "Care to share what this was all about?"
"Need to speak to Grandfather first," Harry said. "Though I'm sure you'll hear about it eventually."
Remus groaned, running a hand through his greying hair. "Your grandmother is going to have my hide for this, isn't she?"
"Relax," Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder. "As far as they need to know, we're here looking at potential locations for my new shop. Which isn't entirely untrue—we should probably actually do that while we're here."
Remus checked his watch and grimaced. "Then we'd better get moving. Your grandmother has us on a rather short leash."
"We could live dangerously," Harry suggested, grinning. "Take our time, maybe grab an ice cream at Fortescue's..."
"I notice you said 'we'," Remus replied dryly. "But we both know you'll get off easy while I'll be transfigured into something unpleasant. Your grandmother can be quite creative when she's annoyed."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Eight waited impatiently by the fireplace in his private study, his remaining hand drumming against the armrest of his leather chair. Something was wrong. Normally, Gilderoy would have stuck his head through the flames within moments of being summoned, eager to demonstrate his subservience.
Minutes ticked by on the grandfather clock in the corner. Eight's irritation grew with each passing moment. Lockhart might be a fool, but he'd never dared to keep Eight waiting before.
With a growl of frustration, Eight grabbed a handful of Floo powder from a silver box on the mantle and thrust his own head into the black flames. His vision swirled before settling on Gilderoy's quarters at Hogwarts.
The sight that greeted him was jarring. Gilderoy sat in a high-backed chair before the fire, one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His usual gaudy robes had been replaced by simple black ones, and his ever-present smile was gone. Gone too was the constant nervousness, replaced by an air of cold authority that seemed wholly foreign on the man's face.
"What game are you playing at, Lockhart?" Eight demanded.
A smile spread across Gilderoy's face, but it wasn't his usual vapid grin. This expression held an edge of cruel amusement. "I'm afraid Gilderoy isn't available at the moment."
Even the voice was wrong—softer, more cultured, with an underlying hint of something dangerous.
Eight's eyes narrowed behind his white mask. "Who are you?"
"You may call me Tom." He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward slightly. "I'm temporarily in charge of this vessel, and I believe we have matters to discuss."
"Why should I waste my time with whatever you are?"
"Because," Tom said, his voice dropping to a silky whisper, "I've accomplished what your puppet couldn't. The Centaurs are ready to revolt against the school. More importantly, I can offer you a way into the castle that doesn't involve charging across the grounds."
Despite himself, Eight couldn't hide his interest. "A secret passage? Where?"
Tom clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "That's not how negotiations work. Thanks to our mutual friend's memories, I understand quite a bit about your organisation. My aid comes with conditions."
As Tom listed his demands, Eight's eyes widened behind his mask. The price was steep. But the potential advantages... He weighed the options carefully, knowing this wasn't a decision he could make alone.
"I need to consult with my associates," Eight said finally.
"By all means." Tom's smile widened, showing too many teeth. "You have one week to decide. After that, the offer expires." He paused, then added with a hint of amusement, "I'm sure you understand the value of time, especially given your recent... setbacks."
Eight withdrew his head from the flames, his mind racing. What manner of magic had taken hold of Lockhart? Possession seemed likely, but this was unlike any possession he'd encountered before. The entity calling itself Tom exhibited a level of control and coherence that should have been impossible.
More importantly, could they trust this unexpected development? The offered aid could prove invaluable—a secret passage into Hogwarts would solve many of their problems. But dealing with unknown factors was always risky, especially ones that seemed to know too much about their organisation.
Eight stood and walked to his desk, pulling out a special communication mirror. He would need to call an emergency meeting. Whatever this 'Tom' was, his offer couldn't be ignored—but neither could the danger he represented. Time was short, and they needed to decide quickly whether this opportunity was worth the obvious risks it carried.
Eight had a feeling that either way, things at Hogwarts were about to become very interesting indeed.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
23rd May
Harry frowned at the Marauder's Map spread before him at the Gryffindor table, his breakfast going cold and forgotten. His finger traced the familiar corridors and classrooms, double-checking every hidden passage and secret room he knew about. Something was wrong. Gilderoy had been on the map when they'd last checked it before bed—Harry distinctly remembered seeing him in his quarters—but now he was nowhere to be found.
The professor usually appeared for breakfast by now, strutting into the Great Hall with his usual theatrical flair. But his absence from the map was far more concerning than missing a meal. Disappearing completely from the castle meant something entirely else. Had he fled, or was he just attending to some business elsewhere? Given recent events and their suspicions about his involvement with Terry's attack, this sudden vanishing act seemed too convenient to be coincidental.
"You should ask the headmaster," Gabrielle suggested, "instead of burning a hole in the map with your staring."
Hermione nodded in agreement. "She's right. Professor Flitwick should know if one of his staff has left the grounds."
Harry folded the map and stood up. He approached the head table, where Flitwick was engaged in conversation with his grandmother. "Headmaster, did Gilderoy mention anything about leaving the castle?"
"No, why do you ask, Mr Potter?"
Harry spread the map out on the table before them. "Because he's completely disappeared from the map."
Minerva leaned over to inspect it with Flitwick, her lips pressing into a thin line as she scanned the parchment.
"He's right," Flitwick said, frowning. "Could he be outside on the grounds preparing for a class?"
Harry couldn't suppress a derisive snort. "This early? Gilderoy?"
Minerva shot him a severe look but didn't comment on his disrespect. After all, they all knew Gilderoy's habits by now. "We can't ignore this. We should check both outside and his quarters."
"What about the Room of Requirement?" Harry suggested, lowering his voice. "He's still our primary suspect in Terry's attack. The map doesn’t show the room."
"But we don't have access to it," Flitwick replied, tugging thoughtfully at his beard. "And why would he abandon his role as professor now? The term is nearly over."
"Because he doesn't plan to return?" Harry ventured, glancing at his grandmother. "Or whatever he's planning doesn't require the pretence anymore. It's not like he's actually teaching anything worthwhile in his classes."
"Let's search first before making assumptions,” Minerva said. “Filius, could you organise some of the staff to check the grounds?"
Flitwick began quietly conferring with other professors, and they headed out to search for the professor.
Harry returned to the Gryffindor table just as the morning owl post arrived in its usual flurry of wings and feathers. Daphne grabbed her copy of the Daily Prophet, absently reaching for her water goblet as she unfolded the paper. Her eyes widened as she read the headline, and she promptly spat out her drink, spraying Susan, who sat opposite her.
Harry looked at the newspaper over Daphne's shoulder. "Bloody hell."
The Great Hall erupted in shocked murmurs and gasps as other students received their copies. The noise level rose steadily as people began reading aloud to their neighbours, voices filled with scandalised delight.
"NO!"
Draco's shout cut through the growing chaos like a knife. The boy stood rigid at the Slytherin table, his face drained of what little colour it usually held. His hands trembled as they gripped the newspaper, knuckles white. Several of his housemates reached for him, but he jerked away from their touch.
The entire hall fell silent, watching as Draco stormed out, his footsteps echoing in the sudden quiet. Snape rose smoothly from the staff table and followed his student, his black robes billowing behind him.
Harry turned his attention back to the article and began reading.
SCANDAL IN ONE OF BRITAIN'S MOST PROMINENT FAMILIES: MALFOY HEIR'S TRUE PARENTAGE REVEALED!
By Rita Skeeter
In a shocking development that has rocked wizarding society, Lucius Malfoy, a prominent member of our society, has filed for divorce from his wife Narcissa, citing infidelity. But the true bombshell, dear readers, is the revelation that young Draco Malfoy is not, in fact, the son of Lucius Malfoy at all!
According to documents filed with the Ministry, magical paternity tests have confirmed that Draco's biological father is none other than Hogwarts' own Professor Gilderoy Lockhart! Lucius Malfoy has not only initiated divorce proceedings but has also formally disinherited Draco as the Malfoy heir.
This reporter must ask: how long has this scandalous affair been ongoing? Sources close to the family suggest the relationship between Narcissa and the dashing professor dates back to their Hogwarts days. "Gilderoy always had a way with the ladies," reveals a former classmate who wishes to remain anonymous. "And Narcissa wasn't the only married witch to fall for his charms."
Indeed, whispers of other affairs have begun to surface. The wives of at least three other prominent wizarding families are rumoured to have succumbed to Lockhart's advances. One must wonder if there are more secret children waiting to be discovered!
This reporter promises to dig deeper into these salacious developments...
"Well," Tracy said from across the table, her voice dry. "I suppose this explains why Draco's been so unstable lately. Finding out Lockhart's your father would drive anyone round the bend. Do you think he knew beforehand?"
"Tracy!" Daphne hissed, but Harry could see she was fighting back a smile despite her attempt at disapproval.
The Great Hall had erupted into excited chatter again; students at every table huddled over their copies of the Prophet, dissecting every word of Rita's article. Harry noticed several people shooting glances at the Slytherin table, where Draco's usual supporters sat in shocked silence.
Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Draco, despite their long-standing animosity. He wondered if Draco had known beforehand. If not, learning about it from Rita Skeeter's gleefully malicious article, in front of the entire school no less, was beyond cruel.
His gaze swept across the Slytherin table, where whispered conversations had already begun, punctuated by furtive glances at Draco's empty seat. Politics in Slytherin House were ruthless at the best of times—Harry had learned that much from Blaise. Now, Draco's entire world had unravelled in the space of a newspaper article. His identity, his heritage, his very place in pureblood society—all of it stripped away in an instant.
"His position in Slytherin is finished," Daphne murmured, following Harry's line of thought. "Without Lucius Malfoy's influence backing him..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
"They'll turn on him like sharks scenting blood," Blaise agreed, approaching their table. "Half of them only tolerated him because of his father's money and connections. Now?" He gestured to where Crabbe and Goyle sat, already distancing themselves from their former leader's usual spot.
Harry watched as several older Slytherins huddled together, no doubt already plotting how to take advantage of this shift in house dynamics. "He's not anything to them now, is he? No money, no influence, not even the Malfoy name to fall back on."
"Just Lockhart's son," Hermione said softly, and he could hear the mix of disapproval and pity in her voice.
Harry felt a vibration from his two-way mirror. He excused himself from the ongoing discussions about Draco and stepped away from the table, pulling out the mirror. Sirius's face appeared, looking unusually serious despite his early morning stubble.
"Hey, pup," Sirius said. "Have you read the Prophet yet?"
Harry nodded. "Did you know this would happen?"
"Yeah. Lauren learnt about it from one of her contacts yesterday."
"Didn't Lauren want to run the article in her newspaper? It's the kind of exclusive that could boost circulation."
Sirius's expression darkened. "She refused. Said she wouldn't be responsible for destroying a child's world, no matter how much of a prat he might be. Rita Skeeter had no such qualms."
"If you knew beforehand," Harry said, "why didn't you warn Draco? Whatever his faults, he's still part of the Black family."
"Because I wanted the little shit to be humbled," Sirius admitted, though he had the grace to look somewhat ashamed. "I thought if he's going to get any help from me, he needs his ego taken down a few notches first."
Harry pulled back, conflict evident on his face. A part of him understood Sirius's reasoning. But the memory of Draco's face when he read the article—that moment of raw devastation—made Harry's stomach turn.
Sirius winced at Harry's expression. "You disapprove. Lauren felt the same way. Called me a heartless bastard, among other things. I'm back in the doghouse."
"You deserve it," Harry snorted, though without real heat. "What are you going to do about Draco now?"
"For the moment? Nothing," Sirius replied. "I'll wait—"
A voice interrupted from somewhere out of sight, and Sirius's head turned. "I've got to go, Harry. My dear cousin is here."
"Andromeda?"
"No," Sirius said flatly. "Narcissa. It’s the first time she's deigned to visit in a long time. Three guesses what she wants."
"To be reinstated into the Black family," Harry said.
"What do you think I should do?"
Harry considered for a moment. "Hear her out. You're Lord Black—time to start acting like it. Make the decision that's best for the family, not just based on old grudges."
"Some help you are," Sirius grumbled. The mirror went dark.
Harry pocketed it and returned to the Gryffindor table, where Daphne and Neville had been watching curiously.
"What was that about?" Daphne asked.
"My worst nightmare is coming true," Harry said, dropping back into his seat. "Soon, I might be sharing family gatherings with Draco Lockhart. Need to protect poor Rosie from his corrupting influence."
Neville patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I feel sorry for you, mate. Though maybe not as sorry as I feel for Draco right now."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Narcissa cooed over Rosaria, who slept peacefully in Lauren's arms. The baby's dark curls were unmistakably Black, a stark contrast to her mother's blonde hair.
"It's good to see another generation of Blacks, Sirius," Narcissa said, her fingers ghosting over Rosaria's tiny hand. There was a hint of longing in her voice that made Lauren hold her daughter closer. "She's beautiful."
"Even if she inherits the Black Lordship over your precious Draco?" Sirius asked, watching his cousin carefully from his position by the fireplace.
"The Black family is patriarchal," Narcissa replied. "She can't inherit even if you wanted her to."
"Yes, she can," Sirius said firmly. "I'm Lord Black. I can change the family rules whenever I wish. Harry's already said he has no interest in inheriting, and I agree with him. With his new status as the Founders' Heir, he doesn't need more titles to worry about."
"I didn't come here to discuss this," Narcissa said, smoothing down her expensive silk dress with trembling hands. "No doubt you've already heard about the scandal."
"Gilderoy Lockhart, Cissy?" Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I thought you had better taste."
"I didn't sleep with him for his intelligence," Narcissa snorted, a flash of her old spirit showing through her carefully maintained facade. "And no, it wasn't at school. It was after my marriage, when Lucius was... particularly unbearable."
"Well, I suppose anyone looks good when you're married to Lucius Malfoy," Sirius said with a bark of laughter.
"Sirius," Lauren hissed, rocking Rosaria as she stirred. "Be polite. This isn't helping."
Sirius grumbled, and Narcissa sent Lauren a grateful smile. Her composed expression cracked slightly as she added, "I want my son and me to be reinstated into the Black family. We have nowhere else to go."
"After your actions, I don't know if I want to," Sirius said.
Narcissa's eyes tightened. Before she could respond, Dobby apparated into the room with a loud crack, startling them all. Rosaria whimpered but didn't wake.
Sirius growled. "Could you knock next time?"
Dobby nodded vigorously and began slapping himself with his long fingers. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
"Stop that," Sirius snapped. "I won't have self-punishment in my house."
"Why is Dobby here?" Narcissa asked, surprise evident in her voice. "Did you take him in, Sirius?"
"I work for Harry Potter!" Dobby bounced excitedly, his large ears flapping. "The greatest, most noble wizard!"
"And his extended family," Sirius said wryly. "Why are you here, Dobby?"
"Miss Narcissy is a good witch," Dobby said earnestly, his tennis ball-sized eyes wide. "You must reinstate her into the family. She was always kind to Dobby, even when Master Lucius was not. She even saved Dobby from being killed by the bad master."
Kreacher appeared with a crack, his aged face twisted in a rare show of emotion. "Stupid elf speaks sense for once. Miss Black is a fine pureblood witch. Would make Mistress proud."
Sirius groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Did you coach them before coming here, Cissy?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Sirius," Narcissa said, leaning back in her chair with practiced elegance. "I don't expect reinstatement for nothing. What if I were to provide information about my husband that would get him into serious trouble?"
Sirius perked up. "I'm listening."
"Well, two pieces of information would be of particular interest to you," Narcissa said, her tone hardening with suppressed anger. "First, he smuggled a cursed diary into the school, using my son. It's responsible for some of the incidents at Hogwarts."
Sirius and Lauren shared an uneasy glance. "What do you mean?"
Narcissa hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I don’t know the particulars, but I know the diary has some kind of influence over those who interact with it. But I only recently discovered that Lucius sent the diary with my son to cause trouble at the school. Draco sent me a letter after he was free of its influence. He told me about what he remembered of his actions."
Sirius glanced at Dobby, who was twisting his ears anxiously. "Why didn't you share this with me?"
"Dobby didn't know!" The elf wailed.
"He doesn't," Narcissa explained quickly. "Lucius regularly wiped Dobby's memories to remove any incriminating information that he may have overheard. Lucius is paranoid like that. Fortunately, Dobby got this information to me before his memory was wiped."
"What was the other thing?" Sirius asked.
"Lucius is a member of Obsidian," Narcissa said. "He may not be an inner circle member, but he wields considerable influence within their ranks. His gold opens many doors."
Sirius froze. "Does Obsidian know what he's been doing at Hogwarts?"
"I doubt it." Narcissa's lip curled in disgust. "Considering who the diary belongs to, Lucius would rather die than let that information slip.”
"Who?" Lauren asked, instinctively drawing Rosaria closer to her chest.
Narcissa closed her eyes briefly, as if steeling herself. When she opened them again, there was raw fear in her gaze. "The Dark Lord. The diary belonged to Voldemort himself."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Even the house-elves grew still, their large eyes wide with terror.
Sirius shot to his feet. "You're going to tell me everything you know, Cissy. Don't miss a single detail. Before that happens, I need to grab someone that needs to hear this as well.”
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry woke with a start, something having roused him from sleep. The memory of a strange dream lingered for a moment before slipping away entirely.
He turned to see Susan sleeping peacefully beside him. The blanket had fallen from her shoulders, exposing her stunning naked breasts in all their glory. It was a reminder of the activities they had done earlier, and his mouth went dry.
Before he could get further distracted, a sound caused him to freeze. Something was moving around in his dorm room. Footsteps. Harry covered Susan with the blanket and silently slipped from the bed. Drawing his wand, he peered through a gap in the curtains.
His eyes widened in shock.
So, what do you think? In the next chapter, things crank up a notch as the end of the year approaches.
Thanks for reading.
