The Sorcerer's Apprentice
by jacquez h. valentine
Year Two, Chapter Two: Blood and Bindings

The day before the start of term Potter and I made a trip to Diagon Alley for 
supplies and books; Potter also needed new clothing - he was not inclined to abuse 
his wardrobe, but he was, evidently, still growing.  Madam Malkin clucked over him 
and added the silver-and-black loop of a second-year apprentice to the left 
shoulder of his new robes.

Afterwards, we visited Knockturn Alley to fetch a number of items from Borgin & 
Burkes. "Won't these have to be reported to the Ministry?" Potter asked as he 
helped me sort through the stacks of human bones.

"They are supposed to be," I answered, "but I would not put money on it. This is 
hardly a reputable establishment."  I frowned at a femur with a deep split up the 
side.  "I must say, the quality has dropped of late.  Most of these seem to be 
from grave robbery." 

"As opposed to fresh corpses, field-butchered?" Potter murmured, and I bared my 
teeth at him.  He grinned and handed me a spectacular humerus.  "Excuse me, 
Master; I've my own supplies to see to."  He took a roll of parchment from his 
robes and corralled old Skrake between a ceremonial drum and a sarcophagus.  I 
made a neat pile of rib-bones and watched them from the corner of my eye.  Skrake 
looked suitably intimidated at having the famous Harry Potter in the shop; he kept 
casting appealing looks at me and at his employer, but we both ignored him.

"If you think I'm paying two Galleons for this Acromantula venom, you're mad," 
Potter said.  "It hasn't even been *stored* properly - don't know your preserving 
charms, do you?  Now, if you had one fresh--no?  Well, I'll get my own, then."

I raised my eyebrows, wondering how he was going to manage that, but said nothing.  
He completed his purchases and went out to browse through the street vendors. As 
Skrake began wrapping my bones carefully for transport, I heard a familiar voice 
booming in the street. "Harry, what are you doing here?" 

I could not hear Potter's answer.  

"That so? Well, where is he, then?  Borgin & Burkes?"

I winced; had the man no discretion? I stepped into the street and frowned at 
them. 

Hagrid burst into a sunny smile at the sight of me; a trick he had learnt from 
Albus, no doubt. "Oh, there you are, Professor!"

"What do you want?"

"Well, I just saw young Harry here, and thought he oughtn't be down here by 
himself, now--"

"Hagrid," Potter interrupted, "get me some Acromantula venom, will you?  The 
fresher the better."

"Sure, Harry," Hagrid said, beaming.  "No problem.  Have it for you tomorrow.  
Now, you'll excuse me - on Hogwarts business, you know."  He nodded to me amiably 
and wandered off.

"Hagrid has a source of Acromantula venom?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Former pet.  Lives in the Forbidden Forest.  Almost ate Ron and me, actually."

"Wonders never cease."

* * *

That year's Sorting went off rather well; Slytherin boasted thirteen new students. 
"An auspicious number," I murmured to my apprentice, who merely raised his 
eyebrows.

Egg frowned at us, down the long table, and I nodded to him cordially before 
setting my goblet on fire.  "Master," Potter said, as I lifted it. 

"I enjoy the taste of fire," I said, answering the question he had not asked, and 
sipped.

"And what non-human blood do *you* have?" he asked.  "If mine's vampiric, what 
about you?"

I snorted and turned my attention to my meat.  "That is no concern of yours, 
Apprentice Potter." 

He reached out and ran his finger over the edge of my goblet, where my lips had 
touched it.  "Careless," he said, showing me the saliva on his skin. I caught his 
hand in mine and bared my teeth over his knuckles.  My Mark shot pain up my arm.

"Or a trap," I said.

His eyes blazed.  "I know the mortal bindings, Master; with this I could have all 
your secrets."

I squeezed my hand sharply and felt his fingerbones crack; he went white, but did 
not cry out. "Tell me," I said, "what *are* the mortal bindings, by which a witch 
or wizard may steal power?" 

He kept his voice even, although I did not release his hand.  "Blood, flesh, 
saliva, tears, bile, fingernails, hair, semen, milk."

"And how does one protect oneself, Mr. Potter?"

"The fluids may be diluted with water or waste to an unusable state; hair and 
nails spelled or burned.  Flesh is usually taken only by hostile action."

"And if I introduce your blood?" I said, and twisted my hand, forcing bone through 
his skin.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Albus and Minerva watching us; we 
were too far from the students, and too quiet, to attract their attention.

Potter, jaw tense from pain, poured his goblet over our hands: my spittle, his 
blood, and wine to render it harmless to us both.  "Those joined by a bond - 
parent and child, siblings, spouses, master and apprentice - with their joined 
fluids you can have them both, drawing power from the closeness of their magic."

I let him go, and he rose gracefully from his seat and bowed to me.  "If you will 
excuse me, Master."  He ducked out behind the table, and I closed my eyes and 
counted slowly to one hundred.

"Severus," Minerva said, in a heartbroken voice, as I got up to follow him.

I did not reply, but slipped out into back corridor.  I found Potter around the 
corner, bent over his own vomit.  I cleaned it up with a charm, then took his hand 
and checked it.  He had healed it himself; only the thinnest line in the skin 
showed where the bone had penetrated.

"Good," I said.

"Sometimes I hate you," he whispered, rubbing at his scar with his other hand.

"I know," I answered, and pressed my palm over his, over the scar.  "Believe me, 
Mr. Potter.  I know."


* * * 

Potter made tea in our quarters as I took notes on the wards. He set a cup by me 
and I looked up at him. "Sit down, boy."

He complied, his face pale and set. "Tell me. Why did you let me break your hand?"

He sipped his tea and stared into the fire before answering. "You always have a 
reason," he said, at last, his tone flat. "Even when I hate you, I know that." I 
studied his face; he looked half-angry, half...something else.

I shook my head. "Even friends can be corrupted. Even allies may turn against you.  
And I am neither."

"Master--"

I held up one hand. "You have seen me kill, Mr. Potter. You know I am capable of 
both treachery and murder."

He frowned. "I *know* you. In here." He tapped his fist on his chest. "I'd know if 
you meant me harm. Real harm, anyway."

Hrr. I thought of his bones snapping beneath my fingers; he had never been so 
trusting as a child. "Would you, Mr. Potter?"

He raised his chin and did not answer.

After a moment, he gestured at my notes and said, "So - I think the worst flaw in 
the wards is corruption of the foundational stone. The Chamber of Secrets is a 
natural way in for Voldemort, and it's likely that he's poisoned the stone there." 
He cast an image of the Chamber on the wall, hazy from memory. "If it were me, I'd 
poison here, and here, at the main sewer for the Chamber."

"With what?" I said.

"Basilisk poison, I expect," Potter answered. "Possibly his own blood, or animal 
blood - God knows what he had Ginny do."

I propped my chin on my hands and thought about the troublesome Miss Weasley's 
possession by the memory of Voldemort. "We would have to verify any such 
poisoning.  That would mean going back into the Chamber."

He shook his head.  "I doubt we'd have to. The Chamber is below the foundations; 
if *I* had access to the Chamber and were trying to damage the foundational wards, 
I'd use a stone-rot hex as a vector, embedded above the water line and following 
unbroken rock towards the surface.  If he did that - and we have to assume he's 
bright enough to have worked that out - we should be able to locate the end-point 
of the hex in the foundations and extrapolate."

"*If* he worked that out.  He was only - what?  Sixteen?"

Potter frowned at me.  "Do you think Hermione couldn't've worked that out at 
sixteen?  Or Fred and George?"

I inclined my head, acknowledging the point.  "But you can open it, should it be 
necessary."

I watched his jaw work.  "If I must.  Sir."  He took a deep breath.  "So, assuming 
foundational corruption originating in the Chamber, that gives us a rising 
vulnerability..."

* * *

I stood in the door of Egg's classroom, watching the fidgeting sixth-year 
Ravenclaws. Egg frowned at me, and I bared my teeth; Potter raised his eyebrows. 
"Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts," Egg said. "I am Professor Egg; this is 
Apprentice Potter, who by leave of his Master, will be assisting me." Potter 
inclined his head to the students, and they looked from him to me, and back again.

I leaned on the doorjamb and kept my eyes fixed on my apprentice. He did not seem 
unnerved by my presence; Egg ignored me once it was clear I did not intend to 
interrupt. I tapped my fingers on my sleeve as they began a lecture on the viral 
aspects of vampirism.

"Vampires," Egg said, "are a matter of considerable interest in Defence. The 
Ministry defines them as part-human magical Beings, but this legal classification 
does not tell the whole story.  Vampires are also one of the few magical Beings 
known to Muggles." He gestured at Potter, who took over the lecture much more 
smoothly than I had expected.

"Vampires, in magical terms, are humans infected with one of the two transmissible 
blood bindings - a binding spell encapsulated into a viral packet.  Among the 
effects of the infection are the well-known compulsive behaviors: biting, 
consumption of human blood, avoidance of sunlight."  He looked over at me; Egg had 
resisted his request to introduce the less well-known effects of vampirism to the 
class.  I bared my teeth at him, and he bowed slightly before turning back to the 
students.

Egg smirked and narrowed his eyes; I ignored him and, as soon as the class was 
sufficiently distracted, slipped out of the room to prepare for Potions.

Potter came into our quarters in the late afternoon, just as I was completing the 
next week's lesson plan for my NEWT-level students. I looked forward to it; it was 
particularly difficult and I was reasonably certain of at least one explosion.

"So," I said, "have you traced *my* ancestry?"

"As if you don't know I tried," he answered.  "Slytherin's scroll doesn't 
disqualify someone as a pureblood for nonhuman ancestors, but it doesn't trace 
back any further than that, and once you find the nonhuman you have to look at 
Ministry records to figure out the rest.  *Your* family's records are sealed."

Hah. "Did you bother with your own ancestry at all?"

"Well, of course. Once I worked out what you meant last year about my eyes - my 
mum had a wizard in the family three generations back."  He folded his hands on 
the table and leaned forward.  "A quarter-blood vampire, if I've done my research 
properly, and Mum's grandfather was a Squib."

I looked up. "Good work, Mr. Potter."

He smiled. "Wouldn't I love to tell Aunt Petunia *that*," he said, and I raised my 
eyebrows.

"Don't get on with your aunt?"

"No," he said, sitting back. "I do wonder if Hermione's got any nonhuman 
ancestors, though."

"Goblin," I said, and his face tightened.

"That's unkind."

"I'm unkind."

"I don't think it's too much to ask that you give her the respect she has earned."

I laughed. "Believe me, Mr. Potter, I do," I said.
 
"Well, I'm owling her," he said, getting to his feet. "She'd be interested, I 
know."

"You mean you didn't have her do your research for you in the first place?"

"Give over," he said. "If there's one thing I learned from her being petrified my 
second year, it's that you can't rely on other people for all your research." He 
brushed by me on his way to the door, and my Mark flared into a burning itch under 
my sleeve.

I rubbed it and frowned. "A valuable lesson," I said. "When you've done that, come 
back and mark the fourth-year Potions essays."

"Yes, sir," he said, and slipped silently away into the corridor. I tapped my 
quill on my parchment, considering whether melting cauldrons or highly corrosive 
acids were more likely to keep the wretched fools in my class on their toes. Ah, 
students.

* * *

"Severus?" Minerva poked her head around my door.

"What on earth do you want?"

"Wards meeting."

I narrowed my eyes at her.  "I can ill-afford the time."

"Nonetheless.  Where's Mr. Potter?"

"How should I know?"

She pressed her lips together.  "No matter.  I'll find him."  She gave me one of 
her grim looks.  "My classroom, Severus, fifteen minutes."

I waved a hand at her.  "Yes, of course."

Fourteen minutes and fifty-two seconds later, I stalked into her classroom, spared 
a smirk for Egg, and shouldered my apprentice out of the most convenient shadow in 
which to lurk.  Seniority has its privileges.

Minerva frowned at me and rapped her wand on the desk.  "I expect we all know why 
we are here.  I believe Mr. Potter has something to show us, Severus?"

I nodded, and Potter once again projected his image of the Chamber and detailed 
the likely poisoning of the castle foundations.

Minerva looked thoughtful and Egg annoyed.  "With something this major, it might 
be best not to rely on extrapolation," he said.  "I still have contacts in the 
Department of Mysteries - there are a few things we can try that are a bit more 
reliable than standard arithmantics.  Even so, it's still all guesswork unless we 
can get into the Chamber." 

Minerva and I looked at each other; Potter tensed beside me.

"As far as I'm aware, Voldemort and I are the only wizards who not only know how 
to open the Chamber but are also capable of doing so," he said. "And if he's left 
himself a way in, it's probably not a good idea for us to pay him a visit."  He 
closed his eyes.  "And he'll be hard to detect, if he's down there.  He's bound to 
have hide-wards on it."

Minerva bit her lip, and looked at me; she would not force my apprentice, no 
matter how much she wished to.  I waved my fingers at her - *later*.  "We should 
proceed as if the foundations are compromised," she said.  "It's best to assume 
the worst case."

Egg grunted and the moment passed.

Afterwards, Potter and I walked back towards our chambers.  "Apprentice Potter," I 
began, and he hissed through his teeth.

"I'll open it," he said.  "I never said I wouldn't."

"Don't take that tone with me, Mr. Potter."

He bowed his head.  "You - how can I explain what it was like, down there?"

I had no answer for him.