Harry
“Sir? Do you have a moment?”
Selwyn looked up and blinked several times before his eyes focused on Harry. “Ah, yes, Mr. Black, of course.”
“Thank you.” Harry stepped fully into Selwyn’s office—a slightly cramped space in an out-of-the-way corridor near the clock tower—and closed the door.
“I presume this is related to the unfortunate incident with your quidditch team?”
Harry took to the chair across from Selwyn’s desk with relief: walking all the way up here had not been easy. “Yes, sir.”
Pushing aside the parchments that littered his desktop, Selwyn leaned forward and fixed Harry with a meaningful look. “Please speak freely.”
“I have reason to believe it wasn’t a prank.” Harry chose his words with care. “The… lack of a response… from the Headmaster seemed like something you might find relevant.”
“Would you like to lodge an official complaint?” Selwyn said with equal deliberation. “It would, of course, be taken before the Board of Governors.”
Harry hesitated.
Part of him wanted nothing more than to say yes. Yes, lodge a complaint, take it before the Board, get Sirius and Celesta’s family and Noah’s and Millicent’s and Ginny’s for good measure, kick up a fuss until they had no choice but to sanction Dumbledore or better yet remove him outright.
But he didn’t know the agendas of everyone on the Board. More to the point, he didn’t know who they’d install as Dumbledore’s replacement. McGonagall would at least be no worse, Selwyn fantastic, Slughorn mediocre and Snape a disaster considering his dubious status as a double agent. Or possibly triple agent, who knew. And that was only considering the likely candidates from Hogwarts’ current staff.
“I’m not sure,” he said finally, “what the best course of action would be, sir. I know that your investigation is ongoing and Hogwarts is in a precarious position. The last thing I want to do is destabilize the school and the lives of all the students here.”
Selwyn nodded slowly. “Very well. My official advice, as it were, is that all students follow Hogwarts’ own rules and procedures. There are channels for complaint and staff accountability and those channels will function as intended.” Now that I’m here went unsaid. “Unofficially,” Selwyn went on, with delicate emphasis, “I might advise that certain figures of authority both inside and outside these walls might prioritize order and consistency over any change, whether positive or negative.”
Harry wanted to scream. “Understood, sir.”
“I’m glad that you’re here, at any rate,” said Selwyn with an abruptly businesslike tone. He placed a few things on the desk in front of Harry: the latest edition of the Soothsayer, turned to the article about the school’s inadequate support for Muggleborns; and next to it, Hermione’s detailed report on Hogwarts’ institutional bias. “This publication has been causing a bit of a stir, as I’m sure you’ve heard. Naturally, I found myself curious. Imagine my surprise when several of the ideas here were familiar to me.”
Fuck. “Oh, well, I wasn’t,” Harry said with a rueful grin. “Surprised, I mean. I know Lady Greengrass and Dame Longbottom read Hermione’s research report and found it intriguing; they both asked Hermione’s permission to share it with some of their associates. I couldn’t begin to guess who all has seen it by this point.”
“I see. And how did Miss Granger feel about… I suppose not plagiarism, but at the very least, a lack of credit for her ideas?”
Harry shrugged. “She’s not prideful, sir. Mostly I think she was just happy to see that someone else agreed with her enough to publish it, even if they did so in a fringe circulation like this.”
Several seconds ticked by in which there was no sound beyond the tapping of Selwyn’s fingers on the table.
“Miss Granger is a very bright young witch,” Selwyn said at last, “with enormous potential. She’s convinced me, at least, that Hogwarts is handicapping itself by ignoring the challenges Muggleborns face here. However, I have to tell you that others don’t always share my concerns, and I have no power to force either the Board or the Hogwarts faculty to maintain any of the changes I recommend.”
Now Harry was beginning to understand the purpose behind Selwyn’s change of topic, and the implications sent his stomach plummeting somewhere down between his shoes. “Hermione knows that it’ll likely be some time before any real change—”
“You misunderstand me, Mr. Black.” Selwyn leaned forward slightly. “There is every possibility that the light Miss Granger and this Soothsayer have shed on the issue will drive the Board of Governors to choose a replacement likely to uphold a more… traditional order among the students. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that the situation for young witches and wizards in Miss Granger’s position leaves much to be desired, but could also be a great deal worse.”
Harry studied Selwyn’s expression: tight, focused, earnest. No shifting eyes or tiny muscle tics that might indicate a lie or a threat. This was a warning, then.
“Thank you, sir, I’ll think on what you’ve said,” Harry said as evenly as he could.
Selwyn nodded once and sat back. Tension drained from him until he was once more the mild-mannered inquisitor who had managed to audit almost every single professor without any major drama. “Very well. If there was nothing else?”
Harry could take a hint. “No, sir, that was all. Thank you for taking the time.”
Once in the hallway, he stopped and leaned the back of his head against the stone.
Fuck.
The others were not going to be happy about this, but Harry had to talk to them before they did anything. Hermione had been all for sending an owl to Skeeter and splashing the attack and Dumbledore’s cover-up across the front pages of the Prophet, but if they couldn’t guarantee that the replacement would be an improvement over Dumbledore, then that was out of the question.
Harry quickly double-checked that he was alone in the hallway. No sign of people or of paintings: he wouldn’t put it past Selwyn to have chosen this office because it had no nearby artworks, or to have removed what art previously hung here. Either way it now gave Harry an opportunity to pull out his journal in safety and open it to Neville’s page. The only person Harry knew on the Board was Augusta Longbottom, and at the very least it couldn’t hurt Neville to ask her what was going on with the other governors.
Neville responded almost immediately to Harry’s brief explanation and request. Confident that he’d be able to put off any decisions until Augusta wrote back, Harry tucked the journal away and steeled himself for the grueling task of making his way back down to the Slytherin common room.
Jules
Every eye in the Gryffindor common room turned toward him.
Jules climbed up onto the nearest table. The only sound was the last dying echoes of the firecracker he’d set off. “Mate,” Ron whispered, so quiet surely only Jules heard it, but Jules ignored his best friend too.
“Right,” he said loudly, glaring around the room. “Anyone want to fess up?”
“To what?” someone shouted.
Jules scowled. “That prank that’s been pulled on the Slytherins.”
Whispers went around the room. And—Jules was ashamed for his House—some sniggers, quickly stifled. It had only been a couple of days since Dumbledore stood up at dinner and told the whole school that the Slytherin quidditch team had been the victims of a prank that got out of hand and had all been put in the hospital wing. Jules’ blood had run cold with fear. And colder still when the next day’s rumor said a few people had gone to St. Mungo’s. Fawley and Malfoy were up and walking, so that was at least partial comfort, but no prank should ever go that far.
If a Gryffindor had done it then Jules wanted to know. And even if they hadn’t, Jules wanted them to fucking stop acting like it was funny.
“Why d’you want to know?” This was Toby Pritchard, one of Jules’ least favorite Gryffindors. Not least because his own little brother was on that team. Was lying up in the hospital wing alongside Harry.
“Because if it was a prank, it was sick,” Jules said, raising his voice to be heard over some muttering, “and an embarrassment to fu—” Hermione made a warning jerk of her hand, and he corrected— “flipping Gryffindor!”
“So some snakes got a taste of their own medicine, so what?” muttered a third year whose name Jules didn’t remember.
Another older lion seemed to agree: “They’d have just cheated in the match anyway.”
Jules flicked his wand and sent a furiously crackling stream of sparks arcing through the air. It didn’t hurt anyone, he made sure to aim well above their heads, but a bunch of people flinched and he couldn’t stop the sick lurch of satisfaction he felt. “And what if it had been the Gryffindor team, huh? Would you say it was just a prank then?”
“They’re Death Eaters! Or as good as!” someone else shouted. A bunch of the seventh years were on their feet now. Seamus looked uncomfortably between them and Jules but Jules didn’t have time for him right now.
“That’s messed up and wrong,” Jules said, “and even if some of them wind up joining that dark bastard in a year or two it isn’t an excuse to attack people who haven’t done anything wrong. Kids.”
“Just ‘cause it’s your brother—”
“He’s not his brother, he’s disowned!”
Jules scowled at the speakers. “Look, it doesn’t matter who’s got family with the Slytherins! It’s still not—” Andi’s voice rang in his head, and he faltered momentarily— “it’s not right. So if one of you did this then that was cowardly and messed up and you should be ashamed, alright? And so should all of you who’re laughing at it. Alright, so maybe some of the Slytherins are untrustworthy, it’s still not okay. We’re supposed to be better than that.”
Some of them looked uncomfortable, he was glad to see. But others had their jaws set and their eyes flinty with anger. Jules’ stomach sank as he climbed down off the table and let the House go back to whatever else they’d been doing before he got sick of hearing the rumors and jumped up there.
Merlin, what was he even doing?
“Jules, what are you doing?” Parvati hissed.
“I just didn’t want to listen to their shite anymore, okay? Lay off.”
Ron looked around. “Jules, you know what Ethan said about saying stuff…”
Right. He was under strict orders not to do, well, pretty much exactly this—make big public statements that no one had thought through. Well. Jules squared his shoulders. Too bad for Ethan because Jules meant every word of that and he wouldn’t be much of a Gryffindor if he just kept his mouth shut out of fear that people wouldn’t like what he had to say.
The silence stretched out. Jules stared resolutely at the nearest fireplace and ignored the people who were very obviously talking about him.
Parvati sighed. “Have you even been to see Harry?”
“I… went up there,” Jules said reluctantly. “They, um, wouldn’t let me in.”
Mostly true. He’d put on the Cloak and gone to check. Just to see if Harry was okay. No one saw him come in and at first he’d thought the victims were just lying there, unprotected, until he peeked through a gap in one set of curtains and saw Greengrass sitting back in a chair next to the bed, doing something involving wire, beads, and an abacus that Jules dimly recognized as something from NEWT Arithmancy. Her chilly eyes had flicked up within a second of Jules pausing there and looked around like she’d sensed his attention.
Jules had retreated when she slowly reached for her wand.
Coward, he thought now, and flinched.
“Hmm.” Parvati didn’t entirely seem to buy it. “I hope he’s alright, then. And that Pritchard kid’s still stuck up there, isn’t he?”
Ron leaned forward and said lowly, “Anyone else notice who walked off mostly fine? Fawley. Malfoy. Both Death Eaters, aren’t they, or close enough as doesn’t matter.”
“You think one of them did it?” Jules said.
“I dunno…” Ron’s freckles always stood out more, somehow, when he was thinking. “But even if they weren’t in on it, a Death Eater wouldn’t want to hurt their own, right? You said Malfoy was talking about stuff… sounding all suspicious.”
“Yeah…” Jules thrust a hand through his hair. Malfoy was definitely up to something. But if nothing else Jules had learned never to take what a Slytherin said at face value. Maybe Malfoy was just bragging, trying to impress Parkinson—but no, Parkinson was one of Harry’s friends, wasn’t she? And she and Malfoy were both publicly going on dates with Muggleborns, and he was sure Hermione was too smart to just let Malfoy use her. Finch-Fletchley probably was too although Jules didn’t personally know him well enough to say. It didn’t seem like pretending to work for the Dark Lord would impress Parkinson at all.
But there’d been other people in the compartment. Malfoy might have been trying to impress one of them.
Well, Zabini had been there, hadn’t he? And Goyle and Crabbe. Jules’ eyes widened minutely. Last year, it was Crabbe who he and Ron used to “leak” the news of the doppelganger plot to the Death Eaters. They knew Crabbe reported stuff back. What if Malfoy had been bragging for them? But why would he care so much whether Crabbe was impressed by him? Crabbe was so dumb Jules was surprised he hadn’t had to repeat fifth year and Malfoy didn’t seem to be spending any time around him and Goyle anymore. If there was anyone Malfoy seemed like he wanted to impress, it was Slughorn, who pretty obviously didn’t like the Death Eaters.
“One thing,” Ron said, interrupting Jules’ thoughts, “is Harry’s probably not working with the Death Eaters. I know Mrs. Tonks said that, but—”
“What?” Parvati said sharply.
Jules grimaced. “Andi and Ethan… I talked to them a lot about Harry, you know? Her sisters…”
“Yeah, I guess she’d know. But… they were both older. Weren’t they? And they married Death Eaters… Harry’s,” Parvati grimaced, “kind of an arrogant prat, but my sister likes him.”
“Likes him, does she?” said Ron, flushing red.
“Not like that!”
Jules hesitated, but— “D’you think you could ask her to, I dunno, keep an eye on Harry? Not like, stalk him or anything, just… tell you if it seems like Harry’s… up to something?”
“Is he up to something?” Parvati said.
“I don’t… think so. But. Andi thinks he can’t be trusted. He’s a Slytherin, and whatever else he’s done, he’s spent the last five years living with them. His best friends are Death Eaters’ kids. He’s close to that side, really close, and I don’t know, I’m worried.”
Parvati raised an eyebrow. “You want to know if Mrs. Tonks is right, or if you could still save him?”
“Not—save him.” Jules shrugged. He couldn’t meet her too-knowing eyes. “But, yeah, I guess if there’s still a chance.”
For me to have my brother back.
“So, wait. You think it was a Death Eater attack?” Jules said suddenly.
Ron nodded. “I mean, probably. Who else would go for Harry and the Pritchard kid and leave Malfoy and Fawley alone? Or, I guess not alone, but let them off easy.”
“The Death Eaters tried to kill Harry, then, right? Or at least really hurt him?” Jules couldn’t deny the swell of hope. Thoughts of Malfoy suddenly seemed colossally unimportant. “Doesn’t that mean Andi’s wrong, and he isn’t working for them?”
“They might still be trying to threaten him into cooperating,” Parvati cautioned, and Jules slumped a little. “That’s what they’re doing to the Wizengamot, after all.” She leaned over and put her hand on his. “But, Jules, if they have to threaten him—”
“Then he’s not cooperating,” Ron finished, frowning the way he did in the middle of a tricky chess match. “Urgh. We might have to work with the slimy wanker, then? Really?”
Jules kicked him. “Ron.”
“What? Look, he might not be a Death Eater, but I don’t have to like him,” Ron muttered. “He’s a wanker.”
That wasn’t a war Jules would win. He bit his lip. “Right…”
“I have an idea,” Parvati said suddenly. “What if I invited Hermione to the DA meetings?”
“Are we doing it, then? For sure?”
“People still want to,” she said. “I don’t think we need the training any less now than we did last year.” Yeah. If anything, they needed it more. “And I think we could benefit from Hermione’s input.”
Which would be, Jules knew, Harry’s input, at least indirectly. After all, Harry ran his own little defense club. It wasn’t like the DA. Whether it even had a name Jules wasn’t sure. It was more secretive, and mostly Slytherins, and they didn’t just take anyone who’d sign the contract like the DA did. But it was there and they were, as they’d proven in the Ministry last spring, good.
Hermione would be an asset. And—
“I think we should,” Ron said unexpectedly.
Jules looked at him. “You hate them. You said you didn’t want to be—”
“I don’t like them, alright?” said Ron, flushing again, darker. “And I won’t. But Parv’s right, it would help to have Hermione there, and if Harry’s not one of them yet, then it can’t hurt to try to keep that door open.”
For a moment, Jules studied them, two of his closest and oldest friends. Parvati had gained a bit of weight recently, her jaw stronger and body fuller; Ron was starting to grow into his arms and legs, a new sort of seriousness to his face that hadn’t been there before. Both of their eyes had shadows that weren’t always there. Both of them were starting to look like adults.
What did Jules look like, from the outside? More adult? How much, he wondered, did he still look like Harry? Would either of them, as adults, look—he stumbled, even now, over the emptiness, the lurching feeling of a missed step on the stairs—like Dad?
It was also possible that Jules wouldn’t live long enough to find out.
“Alright. Parvati, you talk to her? You’re on the best terms, I think,” Jules said. “And… Neville, too, maybe.”
Ron huffed but didn’t protest.
“Yeah.” Parvati smiled at him. “Thanks, Jules. I’m… glad you’re not—I know you trust Mrs. Tonks, but Harry isn’t her sisters. And you’re not her.”
Jules nodded, slowly. Prodded at the cautious optimism unfurling in his chest like poking at the sore spot left by a missing tooth: it was foreign, painful, irresistible.
It scared him, what he might do to keep it.
Maybe that was what Andi really meant about the danger. Maybe it wasn’t so much what secrets Harry could steal—maybe the real risk was what it would do to Jules if he got distracted. This was a war. He had to think about the bigger picture. Not just about one person, no matter how much he might want to.
But for now… He watched Parvati get up and walk over to where Hermione was sitting with some younger students, helping with their homework. For now he could at least try. What kind of Gryffindor would he be otherwise?
Harry
Hogsmeade was a small town, not even an enclave proper, falling as it did within the confines of the millennia-old perception wards surrounding Hogwarts. It didn’t have much in the way of public spaces or shopping. Students frequented the Three Broomsticks or, if they were feeling romantic, Madam Puddifoot’s. The town’s two more upscale restaurants generally catered to visitors who came to enjoy a day in an all-magical town with tolerable prices, while the Hog’s Head served anyone who didn’t care where the food came from or whether their plates were clean, only that prices stayed low. As for outdoor activities, there was really only the Shrieking Shack—of interest mostly to third years who’d never seen it before—and the Whispergarden.
Harry rather thought it a pretentious name for what amounted to an acre or so of half-wild land wound through with narrow footpaths. Sure, it was pretty enough, but climate spells couldn’t keep it warm year-round or else they’d disrupt the plants’ growth cycles, which meant the garden wasn’t any nicer than anywhere else in Scotland’s November weather. He would much prefer to poke through Hogsmeade’s shopping lane, spend a bit at the Broomsticks, and then go back to school.
Not that it mattered. Just getting around to classes in the week since he’d gotten out of the hospital wing left him constantly sore and exhausted; there was no way on Merlin’s isle he’d be walking all the way to Hogsmeade and back, when instead he could rest in the Knight’s Room for all of Saturday. Here there were no prying eyes eager to spot weakness. No rumors about just what had happened to the Slytherin quidditch team and why.
So he wasn’t there when Draco asked Hermione consent to court. He only heard about it afterwards when his Vipers made it back from the village.
Pansy was the first one in the door. “Word’s already flying around. I might have used a charm to make sure his voice carried,” Pansy said with a little grin. “Must’ve been, what, a dozen other people in the garden?”
“Fourteen,” said Justin, following her in. He tossed a winter cloak and scarf in the direction of a wrought-iron cloakstand that bent to catch both articles of clothing.
Blaise and Daphne were the last, Blaise snorting at Justin. “Counted, did you?”
Justin just shrugged.
“They’re off to be seen sitting together in the Great Hall before dinner starts and they go back to their tables. I told them to just act normal. Tell me there’s food somewhere in here, I’m starving,” Pansy said.
Harry grinned. “Sure is. I asked Pomfrey to send me something so I didn’t have to brave the stairs and the house-elves delivered enough for a small feast.”
“Thank Merlin.” Pansy dug into the hamper Harry pointed to. “Catch!” she called, pegging a bottle of butterbeer at Daphne, who caught it one-handed with no more reaction than a halfhearted roll of her eyes. Harry would never not be grateful that they’d worked out whatever resentment used to sit between them.
The others finished shedding layers and took their seats as Pansy shuffled around for food.
“Theo and Neville?” Harry said.
“They’re not coming—oh—Neville heard back from his Gran about the Board,” Pansy said, “and he told me so I could tell you what she said while he’s busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
Justin shrugged. “Nev has some project in the greenhouses he needed to check on and Theo went with him, dunno why. You know this stuff isn’t all that interesting to them anyway. We took our time on the way back, listened around a bit.”
“How did it go over?” Harry asked.
Pansy passed him a butterbeer with a grin. “Most people are thinking it’s, you know, romantic, Draco polishing off his old fashioned manners. Ooooh, courting, never mind most of us don’t really bother with it anymore. It’s just dating with extra attention.”
“Saw that girl, what’s her name?” Justin said. “Colly something?”
“Collywode,” Blaise supplied.
“Right, yeah. Saw her whole face pinch up when she heard, and then she ran off somewhere.”
Harry wasn’t surprised. “Probably straight to Seaton.”
“They’ve already made some… comments… about Draco and Hermione,” Pansy said, “that were not in good taste. Some of the younger years are being difficult about it. Not Ginny’s lot, but below them.”
It figured. Harry might need to have a word with Veronica and Graham. See if anyone in their year had been giving them problems. When they were firsties there had been at least one girl who sneered at Veronica; Harry had forgotten her name but wouldn’t be surprised if she’d grown bolder recently, started that feud up again.
“As for Seaton,” Pansy went on, “his family’s really not that interesting. History of opposing what they see as dilution of magical culture. Nothing illegal and for what it’s worth they don’t seem hung up on blood purity so much as, you know, ideology. Muggleborns are fine in theory but in practice they’re uppity and demanding and ignorant and all those fun words.”
“And you don’t agree, Pans?” said Blaise acerbically.
Pansy’s lips thinned. “Maybe once, but people grow up.”
“So Hermione got to you, is what I’m hearing.”
“Hermione’s gotten to all of us,” Daphne said, “and don’t go acting like you’re not a posh bastard yourself.”
Blaise didn’t quite glare at her, but it was a near thing. “I am an equal opportunity posh bastard. Please don’t mix them up.”
Harry cleared his throat. “Blaise, have you looked into the Seatons?”
“Yes.” Blaise paused to collect himself. “I haven’t turned up much. Couple of squib cousins.” Blaise waved off the gently steaming plate Pansy levitated in his direction. “They seem like the type to make sure their squibs don’t reach majority, if you catch my drift.”
“Any proof?” Harry asked.
Blaise shook his head. “Can’t tell yet whether they bought off the Aurors or really just kept it so clean a Legitimate investigation turned nothing up. Or if… well, some people are too willing to look the other way when it comes to squib children.”
As Harry knew too well from his own family history. “The Blacks used to do the same, usually before they got to eleven. I think the Lord before Sirius put a stop to that. The only squib I know about from recent generations got set up in the Muggle world.”
“Are you going to track them down?” Pansy asked.
She knew him too well. “I’d like to, eventually. They’re people who know all about our world, getting the boot because of something stupid? They could tell any Muggle about us,” Harry said. “It’s a security risk and idiotic besides. There’s plenty of jobs that have to be done without magic. Weaving. Some forging. Whatever. But right now, no. That’s just asking for trouble.”
“One step at a time,” Justin said, laughing. “Can’t argue there. Worlds don’t change overnight. Which reminds me, do people actually believe that shite about squibs happening because Muggleborns stole their magic? I thought that was, like, a scare story for kids, but—”
“It was Grindelwald’s propaganda originally,” Pansy said, “when he was just gearing up, in the 1910s and 20s—”
Harry tuned them out. Daphne was likewise ignoring the conversation in favor of staring listlessly at her stuffed mushrooms. He stretched out a foot, nudged it against hers, and made a what is it? sort of gesture when she looked up.
Daphne shook her head slightly. Harry’s lips pressed together and he tilted his head at her. The other three, alerted to the change, paused.
“She wanted to ask him,” Daphne said lowly, “but I talked her out of it.”
“Who? Hermione?” Harry said.
She nodded.
“And you… regret that?” he guessed.
“It would’ve been a bad move.” Pansy’s tone was flat, but her hand, laid on Daphne’s, softened the blow. “Too many people like Seaton are muttering about Muggleborn social climbers already. Like I said. Degrading our culture, seducing upstanding purebloods.”
A realization struck him. “They probably said that about my mother, didn’t they? When she married James.”
Daphne and Blaise shrugged, but Pansy, whose mother was the definition of socialite when not cavorting around in Death Eater robes, made a face. “Yeah, a little. I don’t know details, but I think it was blunted because Potter spent years publicly declaring his love in wildly dramatic ways—” that tracked— “so it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he went after her, not the other way around. I think there were some rumors that she used love potions on him, though. That's the sort of thing my great-aunt would’ve said. Don’t tell Mum but I really wasn’t too upset when she passed on.”
“I wish Hermione could have asked him.” Daphne ran a hand through her hair. “Honestly I think he’d have liked that, too.”
“Peacock that he is,” Justin said, not without fondness.
Knowing Hermione she’d come up with an eighteen step plan calculated down to the minute, just like the one she’d already drawn up to whip the lions’ little defense club into shape. Harry smiled, imagining Draco’s reaction to Hermione’s big reveal, for just a second, before he realized they’d gotten distracted talking about their friends’ courtship. “Back up, we need to talk more about the Board and the investigation.”
“You mean the lack thereof?” said Justin.
“I told you I talked to Selwyn.” They nodded. “Right, well, he basically told me that if Dumbledore’s out, it opens the field for the Board to install someone who might prioritize order, which basically means make sure everyone’s too frightened to speak up about the problems in the school.”
“Didn’t they just send Selwyn here?” Justin threw his hands up. “Should make up their bloody minds already. Fuck.”
Harry looked to Pansy.
“Well,” Pansy said, “from what Neville got out of his gran, it looks like they thought he’d share Umbridge’s goals but use more sensible ends to achieve them and they are not happy with how even-handed he’s been so far.” She huffed. “I hate that Lucius is, you know, away. Used to be Draco could get Board business out of his father or at the very least I could break into Lucius’ study when I went over for tea—”
“You did what?” Daphne demanded.
Pansy rolled her eyes. “It’s not even hard, he has intent-based wards that fixate on people who are physically large, or male, or both. And who have… well, more magical power.” A small smile sat unpleasantly on her lips. “The magic never took much notice of little old me.”
Justin took her hand, and her bitter smile melted into something softer and more real. “His loss, your gain,” Justin said.
“Yes, well, now I don’t even have that much access anymore. Hadn’t heard anything substantial about them in ages before Neville gave us this. It fits with what Selwyn told you, Harry—between Umbridge last year, and the publicity around Selwyn’s appointment, and now things getting stirred up about how the school treats Muggleborns… It’s made Hogwarts look bad.”
“The Prophet ran a few letters to the editor about Hermione’s and my thing in the Soothsayer,” Justin added.
Harry didn’t remember that. “When—”
“You were in the infirmary, I’ll get one for you later,” Pansy said impatiently. “The point is, Augusta told Neville to tell you that they’ve got their collective knickers in a twist—”
“There is no way Augusta Longbottom said that,” said Blaise.
“I’m paraphrasing, will you be quiet?” Pansy glared at him for a second. “Yes? Great, thanks, that’s very generous of you. As I was saying, they’re starting to turn towards calming things down and restoring order around here whatever the cost, and she worries that they’ll pick someone more like Dippet, which could be anything from an incompetent moron to some traditionalist old biddy who thinks Muggleborns should be grateful they get to come here at all.”
Harry rubbed at his eyes. “And Augusta doesn’t think she can sway them?”
“It was hard enough getting them to send Selwyn in here—some of them thought it would just be calling attention to minor issues, and now that what they think isn’t a big deal has turned into a small scandal…”
“Those voices are gaining traction and might persuade the others to try something else,” Harry finished. Pansy nodded. “Great. Well. I don’t like Dumbledore, and I sincerely hope Selwyn convinces the rest of the staff to dig their heels in and make him keep Selwyn’s changes past this year, but I don’t think any of us wants to deal with a smarter version of Umbridge.”
Justin cleared his throat. “And… we’re not worried You-Know-Who might get to the Board?”
“It’s… possible,” Pansy said slowly.
Wood creaked as Blaise shifted in his chair. “I don’t want to think it would be that easy… but yeah, it’s a possibility. Which might… be worse, really.”
“At least the Dark Lord has goals,” Daphne muttered, “other than just turning us into good little homunculi who don’t threaten the status quo.”
Privately, Harry rather sympathized with her, but the more he thought about it— “Whoever he picks would be hard to deal with in other ways. Right now, Snape doesn’t interfere and Dumbledore doesn’t give a hippogriff’s arse for what Slytherins do among ourselves. There are several students—especially Slytherins—whose only real refuge right now is Hogwarts.” Theo. “I’d start to worry about whether the Vipers can even protect ourselves if we had a Headmaster capable of figuring out what we’re doing.”
An uncertain silence settled over the room as they all thought about that.
“You can’t ask… you know, your friend?” Pansy asked him quietly. “About who would…”
“I… could, but just asking the question is a clue that I think it’s relevant information.” And wasn’t it disheartening to realize Harry couldn’t trust Barty with this. “For now I think it’s best we do nothing. Make sure it doesn’t leave us that it was anything more than a prank.”
A chorus of agreement went around the room. Harry nodded. “Right. I don’t think Noah or Millicent will be too hard to convince. Pans?”
“No, both of their families actively avoided the Dark Lord’s attention, good or bad, the last time around. They won’t want to change that stance now. Might not be a bad idea to send a business contract or something from the House of Black towards the Boles and Bulstrodes, though,” she said with a pointed look.
Harry jotted that down on his running to-do list under the item Talk to Sirius. “Graham’s obviously not an issue, same with Draco, clearly the Order’s got Molly handled, Sirius will agree with me on this one… which leaves Celesta.”
“You need to talk to her,” said Daphne. “She’ll listen to you.”
Pansy nodded. “Right now all anyone knows is that it was a prank potion brewed wrong. Most people are assuming, parents included, that it was mixed in with the restorative potion from Pomfrey and they reacted badly which in turn fucked up everyone who took it. Unfortunate, yes, but nothing to get stirred up over, Gryffindors and Slytherins do this shite to each other all the time.”
“Celesta hasn’t told her mother yet.”
Justin squinted at Daphne. “And how do you know that?”
“I asked her not to—” And Celesta listened to her? That’s new— “but she’s going to need a better reason.”
“I agree. The Fawleys, unlike the Boles and Bulstrodes, do have, you know, certain ambitions,” Pansy made an evocative hand gesture, “and a tip that someone tried to kill the Slytherin team and that Dumbledore’s keeping it quiet could be valuable.”
Looked like talking to Celesta would be another thing on his never-ending to-do list. Harry needed to transcribe all the things he hadn’t done yet onto a new sheet of parchment: this one had begun to look a bit ratty around the edges. “Not to mention that the attacker’s still out there. Unless we’re all wrong and it was the Dark Lord’s doing.”
“No motive,” Pansy said, as she had pointed out already, several times.
“And he’s never used poisons much,” Blaise added.
Pansy turned to him, considering. “Any news on that, by the way?”
“How do you even pull that off?” Justin said. “I mean, I sort of know how Muggles do it, so it must be the same, right, all word of mouth? You can’t exactly put a Help Wanted: Assassinate Seven Teenagers ad in the Prophet.”
“How do you know how Muggles hire assassins?” said Pansy.
Justin grinned. “Trade secret.”
“Your family does not hire assassins,” she said, aghast.
“What, ‘cause they’re Muggle?”
“No! They’re—nice!”
“Get a room,” said Daphne loudly. Justin reddened a few shades, but his grin only grew wider, and Pansy, true to form, didn’t react at all.
Harry kept an eye on them but mostly his attention stayed on Blaise. At times, an expression too controlled, too studiously blank, could be its own giveaway: not of what was being hidden, necessarily, but certainly that there was something hidden. Right now that’s what Blaise’s face looked like. Surprising. He usually didn’t make that kind of amateur mistake.
Justin made a Sorry, go on sort of hand gesture, and Blaise said, “No, nothing yet. I’ve put out a few feelers. I’ll share as soon as I know anything for sure.”
It probably wasn’t the Dark Lord. Probably. Harry feverishly hoped not, anyway.
Still lost in thought, he leaned over to take the plate Justin was holding out with another round of snacks on it.
He’d forgotten to be cautious. Harry’s fingers spasmed and he watched the plate slip through them as if in slow motion. Fuck—
It stopped in midair, the pudding half-slipped off the side, caught at a forty five degree angle. The others fell silent.
Harry gritted his teeth and levitated the whole thing up into his lap. Wrapped shaking fingers around the arms of his chair.
“Harry, you need to rest more,” Justin said lowly. “You could’ve gotten a pass for the week—”
“And have everyone know that stupid plot nearly worked? No thank you.” It was all Harry could do to tolerate the Vipers knowing how vulnerable he was right now. The student body had been whispering all week. It’s not that Harry was ashamed, or at least, he tried not to be, but objectively speaking, there were multiple powerful people who might be tempted by the Black heir’s inability to defend himself. “And besides, the attacker’s still out there. If they see I’m—not at my best—it might embolden them to try again.”
“All the more reason for you to rest so you can heal faster,” Pansy said. She made an enormous show of checking the time on her pocket watch. “Look—Harry, if we go now, we’ll beat everyone back to the commons, they’ll still be at dinner.”
“I can’t just vanish,” he argued.
“You can and will just go back to the dorm for one night.” She fixed him with a steely look. “Daph and Theo and, I don’t know, Celesta can sit in the common room and deal with it if anyone picks a fight. You need rest.”
Harry’s jaw locked up. It took everything in him to say “Fine” through gritted teeth.
“See? Was that so hard?” Blaise said, dripping condescension. Harry scowled at him but his friend just looked back unimpressed.
Hiding secrets, but that was all right, Harry was fine with it, he could let it go for now.
He could.
He’d learned his lesson about trust. Mostly.
At least the trek down to the common room distracted him from Blaise’s secrets. Harry had forced himself to ignore it after that first night in the hospital wing under Blaise’s watch. Reminded himself that Blaise might be hiding things but that didn’t mean he would misuse Harry’s trust. So Harry could lean on Blaise on the way down the stairs, could talk to him as well as Daph and Pansy about the spells Daphne had been looking up that would reduce Harry’s weight enough to improve his mobility without making it obvious to everyone else that he was lighter than he should be. Personally Harry would prefer a potion but all the potions he knew with that effect were finicky and almost impossible to dose with the precision he needed.
Daphne and Pansy went into the common room first, checking that it was empty, and then Pansy came back out to give the all clear. As he passed the threshold, the magic on the concealed entrance washed over Harry’s skin with just a hint of home, just a dash of welcome, and he savored it for the half-second that it lasted; the Gaunts’ family magic was far weaker than the Blacks’ after so many generations spiraling into madness, isolation, and hate, but enough of it lingered here to know him.
The only other person in the common room was Alex Rowle, Ginny’s friend, the one passed over for prefect, which was likely why he was here instead of up in the Great Hall with his friends. Harry lifted a hand to the younger Viper. Saw firelight glinting off Alex’s ring when Alex waved back. Like the rest of the Vipers, Alex knew Harry wasn’t at his best, and looked back down at whatever was in his lap without expecting a conversation.
Harry could at least walk the rest of the way under his own power, and did, seeing as he was under instructions to walk (slowly and on smooth, level surfaces) where he could to gently stimulate muscle recovery. Even so, the effort, combined with the trip down from the Knights’ Room and the whole week of maintaining a normal schedule, left him shaky and worn by the time they actually got to the dorm.
“Point taken,” he muttered as he passed Pansy on the way to his bed.
“Boys,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “C’mon, Daph, let’s go find some intelligent company.”
“Send Draco in, if you see him?” Harry called, and Daphne waggled an affirmative hand over her shoulder on their way out.
Blaise paused. “Want company, or…”
Harry weighed having his friend here against the necessity of the Vipers maintaining a presence in the common room in his absence. “No, it’s alright, go sit with the girls for a bit.”
“Put wards up,” Blaise said quietly. “If Crabbe or Goyle comes back here—mostly Crabbe, really—and we’re still tied up…”
It was a good point, and Harry took his advice as soon as Blaise was gone and the door shut on his heels, casting a couple wand-wards around his bed and then adding a few drops of fresh blood to the runes carved on and around his bed frame to strengthen the wards he didn’t always leave active these days, now that most of Slytherin knew the consequences of a direct attack on him.
Working magic didn’t tire him but the physical effort of bending and crawling to reach the different runes did. Badly. Harry’s legs almost didn’t want to push him up off the floor when he was done but he gritted his teeth and wandlessly levitated his clothes to help lift his body into a standing position.
He’d give a lot to be back in fighting condition again.
Harry’s eyes popped open.
It took a second to orient himself. Merlin, he’d fallen asleep on top of his quilt, still wearing his day clothes. That explained the weird ache where a button had gotten smashed between his collarbone and the bed. At least he’d kicked off his shoes.
Why had he woken up? So suddenly, too? Harry listened, carefully, and heard… nothing. Which—okay, it was probably late; he popped his wand out of its holster, cast a silent tempus. Just past two in the morning. Silence would be normal at this hour. But something about it didn’t seem right.
He pushed himself up, shifting around until he was sitting with one leg folded underneath him. The rest had helped bring down soreness in his muscles to a low-grade twinge of warning that he wasn’t at full strength. Distracted by evaluating his condition, it took Harry a second to realize that the rustling of his own movement in the bed sounded… louder than it should.
Almost like it was being reflected back at him by a sound ward.
Harry kept silencing spells on his bed to keep sound in. He’d never wanted to keep it out.
Homenum revelio, he cast silently, and then swore when the spell washed his mind with awareness of at least nine other people in his immediate vicinity. Assuming his dormmates were all here that meant four intruders.
“Eriss?”
His familiar grumbled, sound asleep next to his pillow. Harry prodded the familiar bond with a wash of urgency. “Eriss. Wake up.”
“What?” She uncoiled, and he saw the instant she realized there was danger around, her body wrapping into a tighter, defensive posture and tongue flickering madly. “There are strangers in our nest!”
“I know. I can’t risk attacking alone with the state I’m in,” and Merlin didn’t that fucking rankle, “can you get to Theo and wake him up?”
Eriss darted for the edge of the bed.
Magic crackled. Harry grabbed for her. Too late: a spark of electricity flung her backwards as soon as she passed the edge of his mattress. “Eriss!”
Cool, soft scales slid over his hands when he picked her up. She was still moving. Harry rotated through a few charms he’d picked up from a book on magizoology years ago. Reptilian diagnostic charms. Breath shuddered out of his lungs; she was going to be okay, just lightly stunned. “Eriss, come on, wake up,” he whispered, casting the gentlest rennervate he could manage.
Her whole body lashed out like a whip as she woke up and rebalanced herself. “Harry—”
“It’s okay, I’m here. Are you hurt?”
“What did they do?”
“It looks like a stunner woven into a boundary ward.” Harry poked his wand at the edge of the bed, cast a charm meant to pick up on wards in the area, and wrinkled up his eyes as a veritable flood of feedback hit him like the Express at full speed. Way too much to interpret fully, but from what he could tell there was more magic wrapped around his bed than there should be, magic that wasn’t his. They’d left his wards alone. Meaning either he wasn’t the target or they didn’t think they could break his wards or both.
“Those rat-brained frog-skinned egg breakers—”
“You can’t get out yet. Just—hold on.”
Harry’s jaw tightened and he readied his wand. Claustrophobia battered at his shields but he held it at bay. Kept the fear and rage neatly detached.
Wanted to play, did they?
Fine.
Breaking complex wards was usually a time- and power-consuming endeavor. These wards were not very complex. Were really just the sort of thing a student would throw up. Cast with wands, not runes, and not intended to last, nor even to hold him for long, which meant whoever these people were, their purpose here was temporary.
Harry summoned his bag. He’d abandoned it by the edge of the bed earlier, and if he was right, these new wards wouldn’t keep out anything inanimate, and his own wards were mostly intent-based. Sure enough the bag pushed past the curtains within a second and landed in front of his knees on the bedspread. Harry dug for an inkwell. Two quick taps of his left thumb to the pad of his middle finger opened a neat puncture wound that welled immediately with blood. Harry held his finger over the inkwell and counted ten or so drops falling into the ink. That should be enough.
A charm murmured over the inkwell and three deosil swirls primed it for use as a ritual base. Not as stable as a potion but it would last a few minutes. Harry healed his finger, touched his wand to the inkwell, and lifted it into the air.
A fine trail of ink followed it. Harry wrote runes of ink that hovered in front of him. A basic wardbreaker array, nothing that would work on, say, Snape’s office, or even Harry’s own wards, which were bound in runes and blood. Wand-cast wards, though—those weren’t very strong.
When it was done Harry flicked his wand to send the unused ink back to its jar and held up a hand between him and the array. Focused on the ink, bound to him with blood, shaped by runes and ready to channel magic into a usable shape.
He snapped his hand out and locked his elbow, shoving power through his fingers as the runes flew backwards through the air. They stopped against what he assumed was the ward line, about a half inch inside of his curtains. Steam and smoke appeared instantly as energy coursing through the ink started to burn it off. It was working, though; Harry could feel the runes sinking into the ward, overwriting its purpose with Harry’s intent, tearing—
Sound returned with a pop. Not much. Rustling. No voices, nothing identifiable, but there were definitely people out there. The runes sank into another ward, the stunner maybe—
Someone whistled, a sharp two-tone note. Must be some kind of signal. Maybe they felt the first sound ward come down. Harry pushed harder. If he could eat through both ward layers in time to catch one of them, or at least catch a glimpse, there was a chance he could figure out who they were.
The tips of his inked runes were gone. Burned away to nothing. He should’ve used more blood. Harry glanced at Eriss, coiled miserably in his lap, and hardened his resolve.
The fuckers weren’t getting away.
Crumbling—the ward was crumbling. Bright red sparks of half-formed stupefy flickered and died in his peripheral vision as the ward containing it fell apart.
A last surge of magic sent the ink and blood up in a hiss of acrid smoke, leaving charred ashy remains that were definitely going to stain the curtains, not that Harry cared because he was free to swipe them aside and lunge out of bed with as much caution as he could.
Only to draw up short. The echo of the door being slammed shut hadn’t quite died but it was the state of their room that held Harry in place for a string of frozen heartbeats.
He snapped out of it and ran for the door. Found that it, too, was warded shut. A hasty and sloppy job that would still take far too long to take down, and without knowing what was on the other side—
In the state he was in, Harry couldn’t just go charging blindly into an unknown fight.
Fuck. He leaned his forehead on the inside of the wood. Gave himself to a count of ten to steady himself.
“Expecto patronum!” he cast, and as the wolf formed on the floor next to him, said, “Go to Professor Snape, tell him our dorm’s been attacked and most of the beds are warded shut, along with the door.”
The wolf dipped its head and then shimmered into nonbeing. Patroni didn’t quite travel instantly, but near enough to it for practical purposes. Snape would be here in minutes.
Most wand-cast wards were unidirectional. Harry had been stuck on the effect-side, in his bed, but from the cast-side it was much easier to take them down. He went to Theo’s bed first and wasn’t surprised to find his best friend had been, if anything, even more tightly warded in than Harry. The wards came down in seconds, between Theo’s efforts from the inside and Harry’s countercurse; he stepped back and shielded when he felt them begin to crumble, knowing Theo would come out cursing.
The protego deflected two curses before Theo realized who was standing there. “Harry? What’s—”
“Yeah,” Harry said, watching Theo’s expression darken as his eyes took in the carnage around them. “Help me get the others out?”
“Who,” Theo demanded lowly.
Harry shook his head. “Just missed them. They’ll be long gone by now, and Snape’s almost here.”
Judging by Theo’s carefully controlled expression, he wanted to take a crack at whoever did this just as badly as Harry, but like Harry he was pragmatic enough to know it would have to wait. He went to Draco’s bed and Harry to Blaise’s.
An angry string of pops sounded as someone shredded the wards on the door. Blaise and Harry turned towards it, wands up; Theo paused in his dismantling of the spells keeping Draco trapped and took cover behind the curtains, in case—
But the door snapped open hard enough to rebound off the stone wall and it was just Snape standing in it, wearing half-fastened dueling robes over his pajamas in what had to be the single funniest fashion statement Harry had ever seen. “What,” he demanded, and then, like Theo and Blaise had both done, froze upon seeing the mess that Harry and the others hadn’t touched.
“My wards woke me,” Harry said. “There were intruders in the dorm. They had us all wrapped in one-way silencing spells and stun wards. Extra strength, in Theo’s case.” Which bore further consideration, when he had a chance. “By the time I broke them down they’d done all… this,” he gestured, unnecessarily, around him, “and left. The door was warded as well. It didn’t seem worth the risk of potentially running into an ambush—” considering my injuries went unsaid— “so I contacted you and started trying to get the others out.”
“Ten points to Slytherin for clear thinking under duress.” Snape set in on the wards around Goyle’s bed with a controlled sort of viciousness that reminded Harry why Snape was one of the Dark Lord’s most feared duelists. Harry and Blaise went at Crabbe’s in unison, while Theo finished setting their sixth roommate free.
All of them finished at about the same time. Crabbe and Goyle hadn’t even woken up—Snape sighed and shot off a noise reminiscent of a firecracker from his wand that had both of them stirring and blinking groggily. It wasn’t Goyle’s confusion or Crabbe’s poorly hidden glee that concerned Harry, though.
Draco was much more controlled at sixteen than when Harry first met him. But he’d just been woken in the middle of the night by Theo breaking into the protections on his bed and surrounded by his roommates and an irate pajama-clad Snape. In light of all that, Harry wasn’t surprised that Draco looked, for just a moment, like a lost, wounded little boy, as he took in what had given Harry such pausea shock.
Either mud or excrement had been splashed and smeared across his curtains, along with some noxious sort of slime and sprays of wizarding confetti, which stuck to everything it touched and often left colorful stains behind. Deep gashes scarred the beautifully varnished wood of Draco’s trunk where someone had apparently tried to break into it. But the worst—the worst was the bright red paint on the curtains, the trunk, the floor around his bed, spelling out blood traitor, mudblood fucker, scum, and the like.
Over and over.
Then the moment was gone, and the wounded, vulnerable expression hardened into flinty aristocratic rage. “Who did this,” Draco snapped out.
“We are as yet uncertain.” Snape pressed his long fingers to the bridge of his nose for a moment. “All of you, get dressed. I need to summon the Headmaster. Black, you’re in charge. No one touches any of this… scene, am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said.
Crabbe let out a rumbling guffaw as soon as the door clicked shut again on Snape’s heels. “Never thought it’d be a Malfoy, huh.”
“Stop,” Harry said, forestalling whatever venom Draco had been about to spit. “Crabbe, get the fuck out.”
“Who’s gonna make me? I didn’t do nothin’,” Crabbe said. He rounded on Harry and oh, right, he of all people had good reason to hate Harry’s guts.
Maybe if he was a less hateful person Harry could’ve been arsed to care. But he wasn’t, and it was the middle of the fucking night, and Harry didn’t even consider interfering when Theo took a step forward.
Some threats didn’t need to be verbal. Crabbe looked from the wand in Theo’s hand up to Theo’s face, and whatever he saw there made him turn around and stomp back to his bed without another word.
“You gonna be a problem?” Blaise drawled, pinning Goyle in place with his eyes.
Goyle shook his head. “I’ll just, uh. Robes.”
“Yes, good idea.” Blaise’s voice didn’t waver from friendly, but still, Harry didn’t think Goyle would be causing any problems tonight.
Theo might have been in a difficult position as far as the Death Eaters went, but he still had Harry’s trust, so Harry left him in charge of keeping the scene tamper-free while Harry quickly changed inside his bed curtains, and then took up his watch again while Theo did the same. Both of them finished with more than enough time to erase any signs of having used blood on their own wards. It was probably frowned upon to have carved runes into Harry’s bed frame that would level progressively stronger stinging hexes at anyone who attempted a forced entry. As an afterthought, Harry vanished his blood-infused ink, and set out another inkwell from his bag. He doubted they’d investigate the scene that closely but Dumbledore was pathologically suspicious of Slytherins and students from certain families. It couldn’t hurt to be paranoid.
All six Slytherin boys were dressed and waiting, albeit with varying levels of patience, by the time Snape led Dumbledore and the other Heads of House into the room. They were visibly shocked, and Dumbledore in particular aged ten years in the two seconds it took him to evaluate the room. “It remains untouched?” he said wearily.
Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Silence. Dumbledore was looking at—at Snape.
“It is as I remember it,” Snape said, with a very faint touch of displeasure deepening his hollow face.
“This cannot go unanswered, Albus,” said Professor Sprout with surprising vehemence. Well, maybe not that surprising, Harry amended, thinking of the rare occasions on which Justin could be roused to true anger. “This is the exact—”
Dumbledore raised a hand, and she fell silent, although she didn’t look happy about it. “Were any of you able to identify the students who did this?” Dumbledore said, looking around at them.
No way had Snape not explained already, but okay. “No, Headmaster,” Harry said, careful to stay respectful. “They felt their wards start to fall, I think, and left before I could see anything.”
“Were you able to hear them speak?”
Harry shook his head. “They weren’t talking, I would guess for that very reason. One of them whistled to the others when I broke through the sound layer on the ward, but that doesn’t tell us much.”
“No… it does not. Severus, do the dormitory wards—”
“Unfortunately not.” Snape’s tone was clipped. “There were no after-curfew activations of the common room entrance. I can determine only that the students who did this remain within these walls and as such are themselves Slytherins. The spells they cast on the door to delay Black’s pursuit bought them time to return to bed. Unless any of them has a roommate who noticed their absence and will reveal as much to us, we are unlikely to find any evidence.”
“We should still investigate,” Sprout argued.
Snape shrugged. “I don’t disagree. I only caution you not to set high expectations.”
Flitwick finished casting whatever dizzyingly complex diagnostic enchantments he’d been working through while the others spoke. “We can rule out anyone below fifth, maybe fourth year if they are unusually precocious. These wand-cast wards had a decent bit of punch to them.”
“Very well,” McGonagall said. “I think it best if you might investigate the dormitories of fourth, fifth, and seventh year Slytherins—yes, Severus, I know not to expect much, but that’s no excuse not to try.”
Dumbledore moved to leave with them, but Snape turned around and glared at him. “Albus, if you of all people stick your nose into some of these students’ rooms at this hour, they will go on the defensive and you know it,” he said.
“Very well,” Dumbledore said, turning a sympathetic smile on the sixth years. “Perhaps Professor McGonagall and I might speak with you young men individually?”
It wasn’t like they could argue.
Harry went last, fully expecting the wait to be short, seeing as he and Theo had been the only ones paranoid enough to put up wards that woke them just for movement in the dorm.
Actually— “Why didn’t you have alert wards up?” Harry asked Draco, while they waited for the professors to wrap up talking to Blaise in the hall.
Draco sneered. “Because I don’t want to wake up every time Goyle goes to take a piss, what do you think?”
Fair.
“I will now, though,” Draco said, in an almost-whisper. He had come to sit on Theo’s bed with Theo and Harry while they waited, pointedly putting his back to the wreck of his own.
Harry met Theo’s eyes over Draco’s hunched torso, both of them grimacing. This was more Blaise’s or, even better, Neville’s comfort zone. But Draco was a Viper, so Harry raised a hand and patted Draco’s shoulder. “I’ll ward the whole room more carefully. Snape will help—they shouldn’t have even been able to get in the door.”
In fact, it was impressive that they had.
“That won’t stop it,” Draco said. “If they can’t get at me here they’ll do it in the halls. My father—”
“Is in prison,” said Theo.
Draco let out a sound that might have started its life as a laugh. “If you think he’ll stay there, you’re mental.”
Harry didn’t want to say it, but— “If you wanted to—”
“Absolutely not.” Draco’s head jerked up. Centuries of ingrained, arrogant pride settling over him like a second skin. “These—insects do not dictate my actions. I’m courting Hermione Granger and the only person with the power to change my mind on that matter is her.”
“I knew there was a Slytherin in there worth knowing,” Theo said, almost cheerfully.
Draco elbowed him. “You’re such an arse.”
“Excuse you, that was a compliment.”
The door cracked open. “Theo,” Blaise said. “They want you next.”
Theo nodded and rose fluidly. His eyes caught on Harry’s again, for a fraction of a second, words flashing between them unspoken. And then all Harry could see was the back of his head.
His entire being rebelled at allowing Theo to be alone with Dumbledore and McGonagall. Irrational—it was irrational and Harry knew it. Dumbledore was dedicated to opposing any hint of blood purist ideology with a kind of quiet fervor that in Harry’s opinion put him only a couple of steps this side of being an actual cultist, but he wasn’t cruel. Nor was he foolish. Doing something to Theo in this situation would be both, not that Harry could even really think of what that something might be.
Still.
“They won’t find anything,” Blaise said quietly, sitting on Draco’s other side close enough that their shoulders touched. Draco visibly leaned into the contact and Harry realized in a bolt of belated clarity he probably should’ve done something like that. “Whoever did this, they were smart, they were prepared. They’d have set up a plan to cover their tracks. Probably sleeping charms, even, so they can give every appearance of waking up normally.”
“Fuckers,” Draco muttered.
“If they try anything else, we’ll catch them.” Blaise nudged Draco, and Harry felt it as the mattress shifted, despite the healthy ten inches of space he’d left between him and Draco when he sat down.
Draco didn’t say anything else. Harry couldn’t think of anything, either, so instead he turned to Eriss, who had been slowly investigating the room since the adults left. “Can you identify them by scent?”
“No.” The familiar bond vibrated with her frustration. “I cannot tell them apart. Only that there were strangers here.” Another pause; Harry could see her half under his bed, head lifted and tongue flickering in and out. “The taste is that of strangers after a very long time. Blurry. It is not natural.”
“A charm to warp their scents, then.” Harry rubbed a hand over his mouth. “That complicates things. It’s not your fault, Eriss.”
Still, he could feel her dissatisfaction, so Harry called her over to coil around his neck and shoulders while they waited for Theo to come back in.
No one outside the Vipers knew about Eriss. But his Parselmouth had been common knowledge since second year. It wasn’t surprising that someone had thought to use charms to muddle a snake’s olfactory sense when breaking into Harry’s dorm room—they wouldn’t assume he had a snake with him while he slept, maybe, but it was a reasonable precaution against him asking a snake to track them after the fact.
Harry couldn’t think of any way someone outside the Vipers might have learned of his familiar. No. The attackers had to have just been playing it safe with the scent-distortion charm. Thinking otherwise was just paranoia.
He and Blaise and Draco waited in silence broken only by Crabbe angrily shifting around in his bed until Theo came back. “Your turn,” he said quietly.
“Wait with Theo?” Harry asked. Eriss grumbled but assented: she knew Harry would never carry her while meeting Dumbledore like this.
When Theo took her, neither he nor Eriss did the teeth-snapping thing they both thought Harry didn’t know about. It was a grim night.
Dumbledore had conjured three squashy chairs and a low table, taking up almost the entire width of the corridor. Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on how much Snape would definitely hate this if he saw it. “Professors.”
“Sit down, please, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said genially. “We don’t want to keep you from your sleep any longer than absolutely necessary.”
Harry took the empty chair. “Of course. I’m not sure what other help I can be, though. I’ve already explained everything I know. It isn’t much.”
“I often find it helpful to go over such things closely. One never knows what irrelevant detail may turn out to be the lynchpin, after all!” Dumbledore gestured at a bowl on the low table. “Sour candy?”
“No, thank you, sir.” Why did he insist on offering sweets all the time? Was it just to disarm people? Did he like being seen as a dotty old man? Oh, actually, he probably did, now that Harry thought about it. “Where would you like me to start?”
McGonagall folded her hands in front of her. “Simply start at the beginning, please. Tell us everything you remember.”
The whole story took only a minute or two to tell. Harry left out only his use of blood in the ink. No one would be able to prove that he’d technically done what could be said was an illegal use of blood magic.
Both professors looked pensive by the time he was finished. “Four?” McGonagall confirmed. At Harry’s nod, her lips pursed. “Pity the homenum revelio doesn’t provide any more information than presence.”
On that at least they could agree.
“I do wonder,” Dumbledore began, and a frisson of unease went down Harry’s spine, “how you managed to tear down these wards from inside them. That variety of simple intent, wand-cast ward, as I’m sure you are aware, is difficult to unravel from the effective side.”
“Albus, surely,” McGonagall began, since Harry had already explained this, but Dumbledore coughed lightly and she stopped.
Warding, like runes and languages, was an imprecise art, and more complex wards were often compared to tapestries or enormously complicated clockwork. Powerful, yes, and a challenge—but simple unidirectional wards like the ones Harry faced got their resilience from being the exact opposite. A single, simple, well-defined purpose gave a wardbreaker no purchase.
Harry had basically just overpowered them. Using blood and runes strengthened his intent in a way wand-cast spells really couldn’t match.
“I used ink, sir, and runes,” Harry said. “I could recreate the array, if you want to see the specific one I used—I believe I learned it from one of the books I studied with Professor Babbling outside of class.”
Dumbledore didn’t twitch at the reminder of the extracurricular runes help Harry and Theo got from their professor. Harry knew for a fact that Dumbledore had gone to see her and confirm that those lessons actually happened. His eyes, however, did narrow ever so slightly. “Are you quite sure, dear boy? Filius informs me that those wards, ah, ‘packed quite a punch’. There would be no shame in using magic that might otherwise be frowned upon to escape.”
Maybe it wasn’t technically illegal. Maybe it wasn’t technically a violation of Hogwarts’ regulations. Harry didn’t want to find out, nor did he feel like giving Dumbledore any confirmation that Harry had studied magic the old man believed led to crime, exploitation, and antisocial behavior. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t really know any wardbreaking, other than what I’ve read about rune casting. I figured that array would work on a ward a student could cast. There wasn’t any ritual potion on hand—” lie, but as that potion was itself a controlled substance even when not blood-infused, he hadn’t risked it— “so I went with ink.”
“Mmm.” Dumbledore looked steadily at him.
Harry occluded so hard he began to feel like he was floating slightly above his own body, but he felt no legilimency, not even a creeping, passive scan.
“Very well,” said Dumbledore at last. “I thank you for your cooperation. You are all welcome to return to sleep. Rest assured, we will do everything in our power to find the students who have treated Mr. Malfoy so harshly.”
Right, like you’ve tried so hard to hunt down the people who nearly killed me. But Harry wasn’t stupid enough to say that, right now at least, so he just thanked them and stood and returned to the dorm.
Just inside the door, he leaned back against the wood, waved Theo off, and cast a silent amplius auri at himself. Bore up under the wash of sensory input with the ease of practice—this was far from the noisiest environment in which he’d ever used the spell. But he heard only a vague sort of faraway white noise from the other side. A ward, most likely. Harry ended the spell with a sigh. That had been maybe too optimistic of him, but worth a shot at least.
“They’re done with us for now,” he said, unable to quite hide his weariness. At least the others had cleaned up the paint and mud and whatever else had been strewn around; the damage to Draco’s trunk would be harder to fix, since it seemed the wood chips had been vanished and reparo couldn’t mend what wasn’t there. “Everyone go to sleep.”
“You alright?” Theo said quietly, pacing Harry back to his bed.
Harry nodded. He was hyperaware of Crabbe’s eyes on his back. Show no weakness. Even here where he slept he wasn’t safe. “They ask you about how you took the wards down?”
“I told him it was just ink.” Theo’s solution had been identical to Harry’s, both of them having studied the same books, shared research and spell practice for years.
“Me too.”
“Think he bought it?”
Harry huffed a laugh. “No, but is that really surprising?”
“He’s just written us all off,” Theo muttered. “It’s no wonder even someone who wants out wouldn’t go to him.”
That was so carefully phrased as a hypothetical that it could only be intentional. “Luckily he’s not the only option.”
“He’s the only option that can bear the risk.”
Harry looked sharply at his friend. “Theo—”
“Don’t.”
It galled him. Merlin, it hurt, letting that go. But Harry could do it, for Theo, could respect it when Theo told him to stop.
Wouldn’t keep him from finding a way to, as Theo put it, bear the risk in a way Theo would accept.
Theo left Harry for his own bed. Retreated behind its curtains without a single backwards glance. Draco had already hidden himself away again; Blaise shot Harry a worried, miserable look, but Harry only had so much patience for that, when Blaise too had his secrets.
Wards in place, wrapped safely in bespelled curtains, a recovered and murderously furious Eriss grumbling at his side, Harry had no reason not to sleep. Was, in fact, completely exhausted.
It took several minutes of staring up at the darkness inside his canopy to realize it wasn’t fear keeping him awake, but a creeping, unshakeable sense that his friends were all slipping away from him, one by one.
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