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Chapter Twelve—Expensive Gifts

“Ginny.”

The whisper was small and heartbroken, and it made Albus bow his head. He had no answer to this grief, not when it had been eleven years since any children so young had died in the war. And he did not think that one so young had ever died at Hogwarts.

“What did it, Albus? What killed her?”

Albus sighed as he looked at Arthur. He knew full-well that Arthur had heard Madam Pomfrey’s pronouncement, and the pronouncement of the Healer that Albus had paid to come from a private Diagon Alley practice to give a more in-depth evaluation. That particular Healer, Bethany Barebones, specialized in diseases of the brain and heart that were more likely to affect young Muggleborns than most young purebloods, who usually died of magical diseases instead.

“An aneurysm.”

“I know that, but I don’t know what it is!”

Arthur looked so heartbroken that Albus put a hand on his shoulder. They were standing beside the bed in the infirmary where Ginny lay, small and motionless, as she always would be now. “Let Bethany explain it to you…”

As Bethany took over, although with clipped words that Albus thought could have been kinder, Albus stepped forwards and stared down at Ginny Weasley. Her sightless eyes were closed now, her hands folded on her chest.

The daughter Molly Weasley had hoped for so intensely, the youngest child of a family who had lost so much fighting against Voldemort. It cracked something clean through in Albus to know they had lost, again, and the end of the war had not been the ending of their troubles.

He suspected it was worse for Arthur, who had prided himself on his understanding of Muggle things for so many years, not to have heard of the essentially Muggle disease that had killed his daughter.

If that is what did it in truth.

Albus had his suspicions, after the trail of Petrifications that had stretched through the school, and what had happened to poor Myrtle Warren the last time this had occurred.

On the other hand, Ginny had died in a corridor near Gryffindor Tower, far from the site of any of the attacks, and she had died demonstrably of an aneurysm in the brain, not in the unmarked state that had slain Myrtle. The cause of the Petrifications, the last time, had never created an aneurysm in its victims.

On the other hand, that could be an action taken simply to throw pursuers off the trail. Albus knew it had been Tom Riddle last time, despite Armando’s lack of belief; he knew it was Tom this time, despite the lack of proof.

But he would not bring that up to Molly and Arthur, when there was every chance that they would not be able to catch the perpetrator.

Albus must be the one to do that. And he swore to himself, as he turned to comfort Molly, who simply sat in broken silence beside Ginny’s bed, that he would make sure Ginny had justice, if she could not have life.

*

“It doesn’t make sense, why would Slytherin’s Heir kill a pureblood?”

Harry kept his reaction to himself as he walked past the whispering fourth-years on the couch in front of the fire, but he did want to roll his eyes. Whoever was going around Petrifying people obviously had a mad grudge of some kind, and probably not as much control over the monster of the Chamber as they’d thought. It wasn’t surprising that it had gone wrong, and fairly early on.

And given that Harry refused to believe there was really a magical or genetic difference between Muggleborns and purebloods, a pureblood victim wasn’t surprising, either.

The difference between me and a pureblood is power and money and respect. Not magic, not worth.

“Harry.”

Theo was sitting on a couch not far from the one that the fourth-years occupied. Harry walked over and sat down. They were probably going to discuss Weasley’s death, because Theo had a sharp look on his face.

“What do you think killed Weasley?”

“It was probably the beast in the Chamber of Secrets, wasn’t it?” Harry cast his eyes down and made his voice soft and uncertain. He had won some concessions from Theo and Draco, including that they wouldn’t use the word “Mudblood” anymore. He had no reason to challenge them on this. “It would be too much of a coincidence if there were two murderous beasts roaming around, wouldn’t it?”

“But the Headmaster’s announcement said that it was an explosion of blood in her brain.”

That had been the phrasing Dumbledore used, although Harry wasn’t sure that it had been the best choice. He thought that Dumbledore might mean an aneurysm, but maybe a lot of the students wouldn’t have heard the word. He shrugged, carefully. “Maybe, but they were already denying that anything in particular was happening, weren’t they? No articles in the Prophet about it. So it makes sense they would deny this, too.”

“Do you think they’ll lead an expedition to clear the monster out of the Chamber?”

Harry didn’t gape, but it was close. He wouldn’t have thought Theo would ask him anything like that, anything that might imply Harry had a level of insight into the way Hogwarts worked that Theo’s pureblood self didn’t have.

“They might want to,” Harry said carefully. “But can they? They haven’t managed to discover the monster, either this time or fifty years ago when it killed a student.” Those particular rumors had started floating around after someone, apparently Granger, had questioned Binns about the Chamber. “I don’t know if they will this time.”

“They caught the culprit last time. There were no more Petrifications past a certain point.”

“But it’s started again. Which suggests that maybe they had the wrong culprit.”

Theo paused. Harry just waited with his face patient and solemn and his hands folded in his lap. If Theo hadn’t noticed that he was treating Harry like a near-equal, Harry wasn’t going to point it out to him.

“Yes, it might mean that,” Theo murmured. His eyes were distant, and Harry knew that he probbly wanted to be by himself so that he could think about this. Harry gave a little nod that Theo could take as pure respect if he wanted to, and stood.

“I did have a question that wasn’t about the monster or the Chamber.”

“Yes?”

Theo looked as if he were struggling with something, but Harry didn’t know what it could be. He just waited, and finally Theo said, in a tone that made it sound as if he were choking on thorns embedded in his throat, “Which person—which of us do you think is wiser, Draco or me?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Wiser” was an odd word to use, he thought. If Theo had said “smarter” or “cleverer,” that would have been more what Harry expected.

But Theo was waiting for an answer, even leaning forwards as if something Harry said would let him win an argument with Draco. Harry ducked his head and murmured softly, “I can’t really tell, Theo. You both know so much more than I do, more than anyone I ever met before I came to the magical world. I can’t tell the difference because I’m so far down the ladder.”

“Don’t talk about ladders that way. That isn’t the way a wizard would say it.”

“Thank you. How would a wizard say it?”

Theo opened his mouth and then shut it. Finally, he said, “It doesn’t matter. Just continue to emphasize that you’re less powerful and less clever, and people will know what you mean. They’ll know that because you’re a Muggleborn, anyway.”

“Thank you for the advice.”

Theo kept looking at him, but even if he did want to ask his question again, he would look sort of stupid asking it when he had just been disparaging Harry as a powerless, witless Muggleborn. Harry gave him another meaningless smile and turned away to go up to his dormitory.

He had Defensive charms to read up on anyway.

*

Theo watched Harry depart with narrowed eyes. He was already regretting the impulse that had made him ask whom Harry would rather follow. Of course Harry would say that he didn’t know. He would want to preserve two roads of influence, one controlled by the Notts and one by the Malfoys, open for as long as he could.

But Theo had the impression that it was—something else. That something else had happened, something that wasn’t merely Harry dancing around the question the way that any Slytherin worth their House would.

Annoyingly, he couldn’t grasp why he thought that.

At least Draco hadn’t been in the common room to hear the question or Harry’s answer to it, and Theo didn’t think Harry would tell Draco about it, either. Harry was—well, he knew to keep his head down and not interfere in debates between purebloods.

“Why were you speaking to him?”

But now Draco had come back. Theo turned his head, smiled, and prepared to make Draco feel as insecure as possible.

At least he could get some entertainment out of the afternoon.

*

“He’s all right.”

James leaned back against his desk and closed his eyes. After Lily had Flooed him that morning to tell him about Ginny Weasley dying, he’d been waiting anxiously for some word about Harry. Lily hadn’t seen Harry that day, since Albus had ordered all classes canceled so the students would have time to recover from the shock.

But whatever was really happening at Hogwarts, their son hadn’t been hurt. Although what it must be like there right now, as a twelve-year-old who thought he was a Muggleborn and a target of the monster…

James swallowed and opened his eyes. “What does Albus think is happening with the creature?”

“He doesn’t know.” Lily’s face was pale, even given the green tinge that the Floo would always lend it, and her words soft and slow. “He did tell us that the last time this happened, fifty years ago, Hagrid was caught with an Acromantula and expelled for it.”

“Hagrid?”

Lily nodded grimly. “I think one reason Albus has been keeping this quiet is because he thinks the Ministry would want to blame someone, and Fudge would try to get Hagrid arrested and taken to Azkaban.”

“But it’s obviously not an Acromantula. They can’t Petrify people like that.”

“Of course not, but do you think Fudge would listen to reason?”

James grimaced and shook his head. Honestly, he was coming to despise Fudge so much that it was a struggle to go into work some days. Only his hope that either Amelia Bones or Rufus Scrimgeour would be the next Minister kept him motivated. “Have you managed to reach out to Harry at all?”

“No. He sees me coming and avoids me. And he doesn’t look at me the way he did sometimes when he’s in the Great Hall. I think his friends have told him not to.”

“I just wish we knew what the Malfoys were planning to get out of him.” James dragged his hand down his face. “Lucius never does anything without an ulterior motive, and neither does Victorinus Nott. But what can they want with a powerless Muggleborn?”

“You don’t think…”

“What?”

“They can’t want to brew a potion or conduct a ritual that would use human skin and blood, a human sacrifice…”

James shuddered, but he had to shake his head. “I could see them going after a Muggleborn child who hasn’t received their Hogwarts letter yet, but at this point, it’s two pureblood families who’ve taken notice of Harry, and he’s on the Quidditch team, and people know that a Muggleborn was Sorted into Slytherin. He would be notable if just for that. People would ask questions if he disappeared.”

Lily bit her lip and nodded. “I feel so hopeless,” she whispered. “So helpless. I would have a chance if he were going to take Muggle Studies next year, but I think we both know he’s not.”

“No. But you can keep an eye on him, and step in if he does seem to be in danger. He might warm to you then. To a professor who protected him.”

“I think Horace would probably take any position like that in his life.”

“He must be looking for a mentor, someone he can trust to guide him through our world without just wanting to use him. He’s too smart to not suspect the Malfoys and Notts of that. Our boy would be.”

He won a faint smile from Lily, who nodded and looked as if she were winding her fingers together in front of her. “You think that Harry would—accept me, after the missteps we’ve already made?”

“I think that you just need to wait. Let more time go by, let Harry forget his worry about you. And then you’ll be there when he needs you to be.”

Lily smiled at him and then looked over her shoulder. “Albus is at the door. I’ll tell you later what killed Ginny. What’s terrorizing the school. If we ever figure it out,” she added, with a grimace, and then disappeared.

James sighed as the fire flared and vanished. He had already used most of the time that he was supposed to be eating his lunch to talk with Lily, but he couldn’t regret it. He had wanted to know Harry was safe as much as she did.

And he wanted to dream of the home that they would be able to offer Harry someday, as a family who cared if not as his blood family. Knowledge that he didn’t have to fight for or trick out of people. Books without strings attached. A potions lab of his own, one that he didn’t have to beg to use.

James might not understand his son’s fascination with Potions, but he would do his best to support it.

*

Harry stared curiously at the small pile of four gifts at the bottom of his bed. He’d made sure to buy proper gifts for Theo and Draco this time, a set of expensive sweets for Theo that he complained he could never get in Britain, and a quill from an eagle-owl for Draco, since he had an eagle-owl.

He hadn’t got any gifts for anyone else, and he didn’t know who else would have sent him any.

He hoped that he wouldn’t have to spend more of his stock of Galleons, or alternatively, spend time frantically brewing and mastering new potions during this holiday the way he had last year.

He cast a few detection spells on the presents to make sure that the extra ones weren’t a joke, and then Levitated them onto the bed and opened them.

The first extra gift turned out to be from Flint, and contain a set of expensive Quidditch gloves. Can’t have our Seeker missing the Snitch, his note said.

Harry nodded slowly. He would brew a Default Draught for Flint, but the gloves were partially a gift to make sure the team excelled. If Harry was understanding the nuances correctly, he didn’t have to do more than a small favor in return.

The second one was from Professor Slughorn. It was a leather-bound notebook filled with notes about potions, and the piece of paper tucked into the front of it said To my most promising Potions student in many a year, the kind of notes that he otherwise couldn’t see until NEWTS!

Harry hesitated. He knew that it was Slughorn’s job to help his students, and that he was betting on Harry eventually becoming the kind of prominent brewer he could brag about, but Harry didn’t know if that meant he was expected to reciprocate the gift now.

I’ll be extra humble and grateful to him the next time I see him, and let his reaction guide me.

Decision made, Harry set aside the book and reached for the gifts from the two boys who thought they were his friends.

Draco’s was a thick cloak in the same rich wool as the scarf he had got Harry last year, but looking enough like an ordinary school cloak that Harry knew he could wear it without changing anything. So you don’t shiver wherever you go, Draco’s note said.

Harry couldn’t help smiling. Draco was arrogant and prejudiced and calculating, but at least he chose useful gifts.

He opened Theo’s with a little more curiosity. Since Theo had got him the Tarot cards last year, Harry wondered if his gift this year would be as interesting or beautiful.

It turned out to be a small glass globe that Harry mistook for a crystal ball at first. He wondered if Theo really thought he should take Divination for some reason. But then Harry turned over the note and read Theo’s explanation about how it was a globe that would warm up when placed beneath a cauldron. To give a more even and predictable heat than a fire.

Harry had to smile, again. It would be useful, and it was indeed beautiful, with shades of purple and green shifting around inside the crystal so that it didn’t look blank.

When he got out of bed to go down to the common room and read before the Christmas feast, he paused. There was one more gift, in a black lacquer box, on the floor at the foot of the bed. It wasn’t wrapped, and the dark color of it probably explained why Harry hadn’t noticed it before.

But he couldn’t afford to be careless. Harry cast some more detection charms, and it didn’t really lessen his frown when they proved the box was harmless. He still opened it with his wand instead of his hands.

Inside lay something dark green and fragile. Harry thought it might be a scarf at first. Then he came closer, close enough to really look at it, and he caught his breath. It was a scrap of glowing snakeskin, big enough to drape across his arms, and—

He picked up the card inside with a shaking hand.

To my favorite informant. Basilisk skin. Use it well.

Everett.

Harry closed his eyes. Basilisk skin was fantastically rare and expensive. He could sell it on. He could make wonderfully expensive potions with it, once he had the skill.

He would wait. He would become someone who could make potions that would use the skin well.

But now he had another thing to worry about.

What could he get the bloody Dark Lord for a Christmas gift?