Theo
“Quite an intriguing group of friends.”
Theo slumped in the chair across from his father, exhausted. They’d just spent a brutal hour dueling and he really just wanted to shower. “Thanks.”
Father smirked at him, five times more relaxed than he ever was around anyone who wasn’t family. “Hermione Granger, hm?”
Theo found himself fumbling for words. It was not a familiar sensation and he didn’t like it.
“Did you really think the elves wouldn’t tell me why you took so long to join me in the dueling hall?” Father examined a parchment. Theo recognized the upside-down seal of Borgin and Burkes at the top. “I’ve no objections, so long as she is truly one of ours.”
“She is,” Theo said softly. Hermione didn’t like to talk about it but she sucked at hiding things, and he could tell her relationship with her birth parents had gotten progressively more strained over the last few years. It was unfortunate, but also for the best. Living with one foot in each world was exceedingly difficult and posed a danger to the magical population.
Although Justin seemed to be doing all right. His parents had even met the Malfoys on the platform and managed to win rapport with Narcissa and grudging tolerance from Lucius. Theo had almost tripped on his own feet when he saw the four adults having a civil conversation.
“And then there is Hadrian Black.” Father set the paper aside, his attention snapping into place. This was what he’d wanted to talk about. “You weren’t kidding about his power.”
Theo smirked. “No, I wasn’t.”
The Notts were possessed of the very rare hereditary ability to sense other magicals’ power levels. It was similar to Filius Flitwick’s ability to sense spells and enchantments shot at him, although the general theory was that his gift was from his goblin heritage and the Notts had no creature blood. Theo had been taught Occlumency from a very young age despite the dangers it posed to an unformed mind for the sole purpose of controlling his ability. It could cause headaches and an inability to function in crowds if left unchecked. By the time he was eleven years old and shopping in Diagon Alley, he’d been fully able to turn his sixth sense off and on. So when he had gone to buy a telescope and met a sharp-eyed messy-haired kid in filthy Muggle clothes with as guarded an expression as Theo had seen on any pureblood heir, the first thing he did was feel out the other boy’s magic.
If he hadn’t been looking right at Harry, he’d have thought he was meeting a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old. It had caught Theo’s interest right then, interest than only grew when he learned how malnourished Harry was—malnourishment tended to stunt magical development.
Needless to say, he’d immediately been certain that this was someone to watch.
Harry and his father had met before, but only in crowded environments, or only for brief snatches of time. Their extra sense required proximity, took a few minutes of concentration before it worked with any kind of accuracy, and got diluted by crowds, so Father wouldn’t have been able to gauge it before.
“He’s certainly stronger than his age would indicate,” Father mused. “Stronger than you.”
Theo shrugged. He’d known that from dueling, even though the one quirk of the Nott sense was that he couldn’t turn it on himself. “And the rest of us. Although Daphne and Neville come close.”
“He’ll one day be one of the foremost wizards in the nation,” Father predicted. “You did well to befriend him.”
“It’s a genuine friendship,” Theo said. “I mean—at first, I was trying to get a sense of him as a rival, but by the time we got to the bookstore I actually liked him.” And by the time he met me on the train and handed me a herbology book restricted for being Dark, I was sure.
“I know. It was still a clever initial move.” Most people idly toyed with a quill or something when concentrating. Father just got more still the harder he was thinking. Theo had always tried to emulate that habit. Harry sometimes did, but he tended to forget and spin his wand around his fingers. Although sometimes he went for the wand-fiddling on purpose. Theo had always been amazed at how bloody threatening his best friend could make that simple gesture.
“His loyalties?” Father asked finally.
“To himself.”
“The Dark Lord?”
Theo hesitated. “I’m honestly not sure.” Technically, he hadn’t lied. He and Harry had never explicitly talked about this. He couldn’t say for sure where Harry would fall in the war, if the war broke out into open fighting, which was looking increasingly likely. But he was almost sure Harry was at least neutral with sympathy for the objectives of the Dark.
He rubbed a thumb over the ring on his right index finger, silver and set with a single green basilisk scale. Theo might have his suspicions about Harry’s opinions, he might be privy to most of Harry’s plans, but there was only so much of that he was willing to share with his father.
“He’s left that toad alone all year,” Father said, making a face at the thought of Umbridge.
“That’s an insult to toads,” Theo said with a small grin, remembering Neville clutching Trevor protectively.
Father raised an eyebrow.
“Inside joke, sorry. Neville has a toad.”
“Odd choice of pet.”
Theo shrugged one shoulder. “His family thought he was a Squib for the longest time. He got it as a present when he got the Hogwarts letter. Sentimental value. Also I think he likes sticking it to them by keeping such a backhanded gift, even if he won’t admit it.”
Father’s second eyebrow joined his first. “They thought that boy was a Squib?”
“Idiots,” Theo agreed. It was the main reason he’d never seriously objected to Harry collecting Neville. The kid was a Longbottom but, more importantly, Theo had always been able to feel his potential. He’d been a worthy connection.
Then, somehow, they’d ended up friends. Theo hadn’t been expecting that any more than he’d been expecting to date a Muggle-born but expectations tended to be defied around Harry.
“Father, what do you know about the Pritchard kids?” he asked suddenly.
Father looked up from another stack of financial reports. “Marcine interns with the Wizengamot. Lucille is five years older than you, works in the DMLE. The younger two are still in school. Why?”
“Graham—the youngest—will be staying at Grimmauld Place from now on,” Theo said. “For… reasons best left alone, for now, but if things escalate—the Blacks would appreciate our support against them.”
“Why did Hadrian and Sirius step in?” Father said slowly.
Theo considered how much he could say. No details, not yet, because the Dark Lord was back and Father was one of his Inner Circle. Harry didn’t want this coming to light yet and the Dark Lord could order Father to use it. But he could hint. “Their childhoods left them with a particular hatred for certain types of parents.”
Father’s hand tightened on his quill until Theo worried it might snap. “You know, I was considering tossing Pritchard a bone in the Wizengamot and letting his proposal on farming regulations through, but now there’s no way.”
Theo nodded. For as long as he could remember, Father had taught him about the Wizengamot, its members, and the Notts’ various enemies and allies. Nedwin Pritchard was one of the elected members of the Wizengamot, and a perennial thorn in Father’s side. Not particularly powerful, but he could be counted on to support proposals like the Muggle Protection Act that Father and Lucius were currently keeping bogged down in the research department.
Father considered for a few seconds. “You’ve gone through the blackmail files more recently than I have—what is there on that family?”
“Nothing other than this. Well, and Pritchard’s fondness for this one brothel in Amsterdam, but that’s not illegal, just reputation-damaging. And then not very—it’s a tame brothel.” Theo had actually updated their blackmail files when Pansy passed that bit on to him and Harry a few months ago; she’d dug into all the younger Vipers’ families. “I can go look again, but if they’ve got other skeletons, they’re well hidden.”
Father cursed. “If it comes to it, our faction could push him out of the ‘Gamot entirely, but that might burn favors best spent elsewhere and it’s hard to know who’d replace him. I’ll make some pointed remarks next time I see him. There should be no issues keeping the boy with the Blacks.”
“Thanks.” Theo hesitated. “Will there be a conflict of interests?”
“We’re not moving that strongly in the Wizengamot at this time,” Father said.
In other words, the Dark was keeping a low profile. Convenient. Theo nodded understanding and took the pile of papers Father handed him. Being the sole Heir to a nearly-extinct House came with a bevy of responsibilities, including an intimate awareness of all their assets and financial ventures. At a glance, this looked to be a packet on the progress of the new expanded greenhouses they were testing for increasing crop yields in their southern farms.
“I’d like your thoughts on that over breakfast before I meet our solicitor,” Father said.
“It seems to have been a great investment,” Theo said idly, paging through the stack. “Paid off the price of enchanting the greenhouses in five years.”
“Yes, but the enchantments have to be renewed periodically.”
“Mmm.”
They worked for two hours in companionable silence broken only by the occasional question or comment. Theo had his own study down the hall, but when they dealt with the joint business of the Nott family, he often ended up in here. It was easier.
Finally, Father declared their business finished, and Theo said goodnight and headed off to bed. The manor’s familiar empty stillness surrounded him.
Sometimes he caught Father drinking in his study, holding a moving photograph of a laughing woman with Theo’s hazel eyes. Sometimes he wondered whether the manor would be different if she’d lived, if laughter and colorful paintings filled the halls instead of simple decorations and silence. Sometimes he wondered how Father could stand to face Dumbledore in the Wizengamot and not kill the fucker.
Theo mentally reviewed his Shit List. Dumbledore, obviously. James Potter and Ethan Thorne, for what they’d done to his best friend. Ben Creed and Libby Borage. Gladys Fenwick, who couldn’t go a year without trying to get Father kicked off the Wizengamot for some ridiculous charge or other. Jules Potter, whose time at school was only not a living hell because Harry still had a soft spot for him and so Theo restrained himself. Andromeda Tonks. The entirety of the Pritchard family, as of a few days ago. Harry’s filthy Muggle relatives. The Montague family, who’d been at loggerheads with the Notts for years, although their only son Vance was now graduated and temporarily out of Theo’s reach.
Nothing to be done about any of them quite yet, but there was a war coming. Things happened in wars.
Harry
Harry flipped open the journal with one hand and kept eating with the other. Justin had gone home the previous afternoon, and Hermione was busy with Christmas, and he’d seen most of his friends recently, so this was probably—
JP
Hey—so there was an impromptu meeting at the Burrow last night. We figured you’d be busy. Anyway, after the kids got kicked out, I sneaked around outside and tried to listen at the window with Susan. We couldn’t hear much but they were definitely talking about the Department of Mysteries. I got a peek at a bit of parchment talking about the DoM’s different departments. Time, death, space, love, and thought, apparently? Doesn’t make much sense to me but you read a lot more than I do—could you do some research?
“What is that evil smile for?” Sirius said.
Harry looked up at him and Graham, who were both looking back with some trepidation. “Let’s just say I went fishing, and may have just gotten a bite,” he said with a smirk.
Graham shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”
“Probably for the best,” Sirius muttered.
HB
Probably for the best I wasn’t at the meeting—I don’t think most of your Order likes me much. I can definitely look into that for you. I can’t promise much. The DoM is really secretive and most of what they study is almost impossible to understand.
How are the Weasleys holding up?
JP
Not well. The twins are a bloody nightmare, locked up in their room all the time blowing things up. Molly cries at the drop of a hat and Ginny snarls at everyone for no reason, and Percy’s locked himself in his room, and Ron just seems kind of… lost. It’s miserable but I’m over here a lot for Ron’s sake. Bill and Charlie came home.
HB
The cursebreaker and the dragon tamer, right?
JP
Yeah. You’d like Bill, I think. He’s cool. Although now is—probably not the best time.
HB
Molly’s still mad the twins and Ginny came over here, is she?
JP
Yeah
HB
She certainly knows how to hold a grudge.
JP
Yeah
I sort of don’t blame her
But I’m glad you were there for them.
HB
And how are you?
You were close with Arthur, right
JP
He was like an uncle. Or grandfather
It’s hard
I knew people were going to die. It’s a war, and that’s what happens. But it didn’t feel real until—this. And somehow I didn’t think it would be Arthur.
HB
He didn’t deserve this
Harry even meant it. Arthur had always been kind and Harry might not love all the Weasleys but neither did he think they deserved to end up casualties of a war that started before Jules came along and complicated it.
Happy Christmas, Jules
JP
Thanks
Happy Christmas to you too
Harry shoved the journal away with a slight grimace. So Molly was still pissed. He wished that the price of his decisions wasn’t losing the Weasleys. The Burrow was the second place he’d ever felt at home, and the first family to ever welcome him.
“Boy Who Lived To Be A Git?” Graham asked.
Sirius choked on his water.
“Some of the younger years call him that,” Graham said with a smirk.
“I mean,” Sirius said, “I can’t disagree.”
“Have you ever even spoken to him?” Harry asked.
Sirius glared down at his plate. “Nope.”
“Figures.” Harry got up and sent his dishes flying into the sink with a thought. “I’m going to go brew for a bit. Graham, want to come?”
“Can you show me something that’ll make Snape give me points?” Graham said.
Harry smirked. “What do you think?”
“Right behind you.”
Ginny began filling up the journal with messages to Harry. All of them detailed Order members and overheard snippets of conversation. She didn’t explain why the sudden interest in sharing and Harry didn’t ask, but he suspected it had something to do with the Vipers rings he’d given her and Fred and George for Yule.
He took note when she mentiones a shouting match from three days after Christmas over whether Divination was more than a load of tripe. It seemed a bit out of place given that the other conversations she sent along centered around scheduling conflicts, logistics, and recruitment.
Two days before going back to school, Harry was neck deep in Black library history books and records he’d requested from the Ministry archives when he made the connection.
Jules’ request that Harry look into the Department of Mysteries. Ginny finding an archaic record of a Seer by the name of Franceska Vablatsky and her prophecy witnessed by a French noblewoman visiting Haiti in 1578, stamped with what looked very much like an early precursor to the current Department of Mysteries seal. Shouting matches about Divination, the study of time, which was coincidentally one of the Department of Mysteries’ main areas of research.
Harry would bet his trust vault that there was a prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. Either about Riddle, or Jules, or both.
No wonder Riddle wanted it. True prophecies were rare, and if it was valid…
Spinning his wand around his fingers, Harry sat back in his chair. Maybe the prophecy was the reason Riddle went after him and Jules in the first place. It was the only thing that made sense—every bit of his personal experience with Dark-sympathizing magicals indicated they were strongly opposed to harming children. He could only see Riddle trying to murder a couple of children if he was insane, which Harry no longer believed, or if he really, truly believed that said children would one day be a threat. For example, if a rare true prophecy told him so.
And there was no way Jules knew.
How interesting.
JP
What do you know about Occlumency?
HB
It’s the art of learning how to protect your mind, why?
JP
Snape came around. Apparently Professor Dumbledore’s ordered him to teach it to me.
HB
…I don’t see that ending well. Can’t Dumbledore teach you?
JP
He won’t talk to me.
HB
That’s weird.
JP
And bloody annoying. I’m supposed to say I’m taking Remedial Potions. Dad’s pissed. He and Snape got into a shouting match. I thought Snape was going to Crucio him when he called him Snivellus—I’ve never seen the greasy git that mad.
HB
Good luck with that.
Occlumency is legitimate, though. And really useful. It’d be worth you learning it.
JP
I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t imagine Snape being good at teaching it to me
There’s no way I’m letting him in my head.
HB
Maybe that’s why Dumbledore wants him to teach you. Motivation
JP
Motivation to smash up his office maybe
Fred informed him that the Order was having difficulties guarding whatever they were guarding, as the Ministry was now on high alert. Luna informed him that her father thought the runes burned into Arthur Weasley’s skin were the result of hypersensitive wards reacting to the presence of an intruder. Harry informed Fred, George, and Ginny of this secret. Jules informed Harry that the twins had begun causing hell for everyone in the Burrow to the point that Order meetings moved to Bones Manor.
The adults thought they were just acting out from grief.
Theo sat down hard enough to make the entire sofa bounce slightly. Harry ignored him and squinted at the heavily annotated potions book in his lap. He was trying to transfer things into his grimoire but this book had gotten an experimental Fireproof Potion splashed on it at some point and smeared some of his notes.
“Problem,” Theo said.
“What is?”
A copy of the Prophet landed on his textbook.
Harry skimmed the cover. “Yes, I’ve seen this already.”
“If this passes, they’ll be able to search manor homes at will on unproven suspicions of Dark artifacts,” Theo hissed. “It’s a disgrace.”
“I’m aware.” Harry folded the Prophet and set it aside, movements precise. He looked up at Theo and raised both eyebrows expectantly.
Theo glared back for a few seconds before his ire dissolved. “You’re already working on it, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t you?” Harry said. “Heir Nott?”
“Father is.”
Harry nodded. “And Sirius. I can’t do anything he’s not already working on—not as a fifteen-year-old schoolboy, anyway.”
“Of course.” Theo leaned back, the picture of boredom. “I should’ve known you Blacks would be hiding your secrets, too.”
It was a backhanded apology, but Harry accepted it with a smirk. “Seen Graham and Veronica?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Pansy may have mentioned something.”
“There’s a betting pool on whether they date next year.”
Theo glanced across the common room. Several upper years had gravitated towards Harry but hovered on the periphery of his friends’ usual circle of chairs and sofas, unwilling to interrupt his work. The second years preferred a spot by the windows into the lake. Veronica and Lillian Pym appeared to be exchanging verbal barbs while Malcolm Baddock watched impassively.
“Interesting split in that year,” Theo mused.
Harry nodded slowly. Pym might be a problem later. Then again, she might not; that was more an internal issue for their form than an indication she might turn on older Slytherins. Pym had the sense to be respectful of Harry and the other upper years of high social standing, at least.
“Want help?” Theo asked, gesturing at the book in Harry’s lap.
“Not at the moment.” Harry set the book aside. “I might need to try some restorative charms on this; the spilled potion’s left it a mess.”
“Mmm.” Theo prodded the stained pages with a slight curl of his lip. “I heard back from Astoria—she’s got the hag wrapped around her finger. Lisa Turpin’s next on the docket for Veritaserum interrogation.”
Harry ran through his Ravenclaw Vipers in his head. He considered Lisa a loose friend but he didn’t trust her enough to hand her antidote. It would come better from an older Housemate, and someone with authority who could tell her to keep quiet about it. “I’ll have Aaron slip her some antidote tomorrow,” Harry said. “And warn her to not make a fuss, we just have to wait her out.”
Theo nodded. “I’ll have Blaise make sure he gets some tonight.”
“Why Blaise? I thought he and Iris broke it off. Again.”
“They did,” Theo said with a massive, shit-eating grin. “You shouldn’t have skipped dinner. Missed all the drama. Blaise and Luna are going out now.”
Harry choked on air and stared at his friend. “They… are?”
“She waltzed right up to him at the table, made some comment about expelling his wrackspurts, and laid one on him.” Theo closed his eyes, relishing the memory. “Then she just walked away. I have never in my life seen Blaise Zabini speechless. It was beautiful.”
“Huh.” Harry blinked a few times. “I actually did not see that coming. The meeting tomorrow should be interesting.”
“Very,” Theo agreed.
Ginny
She couldn’t wait to get back to school.
In Slytherin, she had a place in the hierarchy and people knew not to antagonize her. In Slytherin, if they did anyway, testing her position, she could hit them with a Bat-Bogey Hex or a vicious insult in return, and she’d be respected for it. Not shunned. In Slytherin, she could escape Ron and Percy’s overbearing concern for the silence of the dungeons.
In the last week, Ginny had already developed a compulsive habit of turning her Viper ring around and around her right index finger.
Mum hadn’t allowed her to see any of her friends over the holidays. Ginny stepped out of McGonagall’s Floo, endured the Transfiguration professor’s stiff disapproval of a Weasley in Slytherin, and bolted straight down to her common room. Nat took one look at her face and pulled her into a hug. Alex awkwardly patted her on the back and Finn cracked seven ridiculous jokes in a row and Evalyn sat next to her in quiet support.
Then she tugged them into a corner of the common room, in a circle of chairs loosely adjacent to the one Harry’s circle had claimed last year.
“Silencing wards,” she said quietly.
Evalyn and Aria went to work.
Ginny took a deep breath when they’d gone up and told them what Harry had found out. Dad died because he went somewhere he shouldn’t have, tested one set of Ministry wards too many, and he’d done it on Dumbledore’s orders.
She’d cried herself out already in her room. She had no more tears. Only the grief, heavy and unending. It pressed her down until it was all she could do to function as a normal person.
At home, she had no one to lean on. Ginny allowed herself one moment of weakness and slumped sideways, until Nat and Alex were helping support her.
Jules
He wished he was almost anywhere other than Snape’s bloody dungeon.
Coming down here alone felt like asking for trouble. The dungeons were Slytherin territory. Not that Jules had actually ever come down here alone and been set upon by a pack of snakes, but then again, he almost never came down here alone. Or at all, outside Potions class.
Almost as bad as the risk of running into a random Slytherin was the risk of running into Harry.
Jules shook that thought aside and knocked firmly on the classroom door. Harry was pretending to fit in with them, to gain their trust. He wasn’t actually as bad as Malfoy or Nott or that Parkinson bint that Parvati hated so much.
The door creaked open grudgingly. Jules stepped into the familiar, hated room. He scanned it, but there was no sight of Snape, just the usual shelves bearing slimy things in jars, the potions cupboard—
Dumbledore’s Pensieve?
“Shut the door behind you, Potter.”
Jules jumped, caught sight of Snape in the corner, and did as he was told with the horrible feeling that he was imprisoning himself.
“Why has Professor Dumbledore decided that I need to learn this?” Jules said.
“This may not be an ordinary class,” Snape said malevolently, “but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me ‘sir’ or ‘Professor’ at all times.”
“Yes… sir,” Jules said.
“Now, Occlumency. As I told you in the Weasleys’ kitchen…” Since Dad won’t let you in our house, Jules thought vindictively, “this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence. Surely even you could have worked out by yourself why you need to learn it—despite your brother evidently having taken all the intellectual gifts from your parents’ gene pool. The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency.”
Jules’ fury took a sudden nosedive into horror. “He can read minds?”
“You have no subtlety, Potter,” Snape said, eyes glittering. “You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker.”
He paused for a moment, which Jules took to control his mounting anger. Fucking Slytherin bastard. Snape was the worst of the lot and a Death Eater besides.
“Only Muggles talk of ‘mind reading.’ The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter… or at least, most minds are… It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so utter falsehoods in his presence without detection.”
“Sounds a lot like mind reading to me,” Jules said. “Sir.”
Snape’s scowl deepened.
“So… how close does he have to be for it to work?” Jules asked, trying to hurry things along. He’d spoken without thinking and it was satisfying but also Dumbledore would be mad if Jules mucked his up in the first lesson. Dumbledore was already not talking to him for—some strange reason. Jules had to do this right.
“So you do have some capacity for attempting to ask an insightful question,” Snape mused. “I confess myself shocked… The Dark Lord is presently at a considerable distance, and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within. Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency.”
Jules resolved to avoid looking Snape in the eye from now on. “Well then, why do I have to learn Occlumency?”
“The usual rules seem not to apply to you, Potter,” Snape sneered. “In this circumstance just as every other.” Well duh, Jules thought. I’m not exactly normal. “The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord. The Headmaster is worried that when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable—when you are asleep, for instance—you may begin to share the Dark Lord’s thoughts and emotions. He thinks this inadvisable and wishes to teach you to block the connection before it becomes a danger.”
Jules’ heart was pumping. “So… I have a connection to him,” he said slowly. “My scar—that’s why it hurt around Quirrell, right?”
“That is the prevailing theory, yes.”
“But why does Professor Dumbledore want me to stop it?” Jules didn’t exactly like the thought of sharing Voldemort’s head, but he could just imagine Harry’s sneering contempt if he learned Jules shut off an opportunity like this. Seeing into Voldemort’s head. “It might be useful, mightn’t it?”
Snape stared at Harry for a few moments, idly tracing a finger over his jawbone. When he spoke again, it was very deliberate. “You are aware of my position in this war.”
“Yes,” Jules said stiffly.
“Then you will understand why I am in a position to know that the Dark Lord has begun investigating the precise nature of the connection between you.” Snape’s lips twisted. “He has found himself bested by you several times now. He does not fully understand how any more than we do.” Jules’ stomach did something funny. He didn’t like being reminded that in the graveyard, it was Harry who got their asses out of there alive. “It is only a matter of time before he discovers the connection and attempts to use it.”
“How come I haven’t seen what Voldemort’s thinking already, then?”
“Do not say the Dark Lord’s name!” spat Snape.
There was a nasty silence. Jules glared at his father’s nemesis and bit back a number of insults based on Snape’s past as a Death Eater, or the nickname Snivellus, or both.
“Professor Dumbledore says his name,” he said finally.
“Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard,” Snape said. “While he may feel secure enough to use the name… the rest of us…” He rubbed his left forearm, apparently unconsciously, where Jules knew the Dark Mark was burned into him.
“I just wanted to know,” Jules said, forcing his tone back towards politeness, “why—”
“The Dark Lord is a master Occlumens as well as Legilimens,” Snape said. “Most likely he has simply not noticed the connection, as his mental shields would take three standard master Legilimens to break, and he keeps them active at all times. When he does, however, you will be in danger.”
“Of… possession?”
Snape nodded stiffly.
Jules’ dinner abruptly tried to fight its way back out of his stomach. He swallowed hard.
“Which brings us back to Occlumency.” Snape drew his wand and Jules tensed, but Snape just raised the wand to his temple and started extracting memories. Jules had seen the process a few times when he was a kid and Dumbledore was showing him memories for their history lessons, most of which focused around old Order of the Phoenix meetings since he wasn’t about to show a nine-year-old any battle scenes. No matter how much Jules begged.
He watched with interest as the silver memory strands fell into the Pensieve and decided to brave a question he’d never thought to ask when Dumbledore was using one. “If the memories are going in the Pensieve, then do you still have them in your head?” he asked.
Snape glared at him. “Indeed, but only the most talented of Legilimens could uncover the fragments I retain in my mind, and I cannot consciously show them to another.”
Jules really wanted to know what Snape was putting into the Pensieve, and why Snape was worried Jules might see into his head when Jules had barely even heard of Legilimency before tonight. The hostility rippling off the greasy dungeon bat warned him to not ask either question unless he wanted to be decapitated.
“Stand up and draw your wand,” Snape ordered.
“And what are you going to do?” Jules said, eyeing Snape’s wand. He flicked his own out into his hand and braced himself.
“I am about to attempt to break into you rmind,” said Snape softly. “We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown some aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse… even if you were not the most successful in that regard… You will find that similar strength of mind is needed here. Brace yourself, and clear your mind.”
Jules thought that clearing his mind of the anger pounding all through him would be like chopping off a leg but he did his best.
Snape pointed his wand. “Legilimens.”
He’d struck before Jules was ready—before he had any kind of resistance—Jules really wished he hadn’t thrown a tantrum to avoid meditation lessons when he was little—
The office swam before his eyes and vanished. Image after image raced through his mind. He was eight and leading his Quidditch Kids’ team to victory, ten and smiling happily on a stage next to Dad while people asked them questions and took pictures, eleven and watching his father storm out of the house to collect the not-actually-a-Squib Harry Potter, fifteen and flirting with a random girl under the mistletoe…
He felt a sharp pain in his knee. Snape’s office snapped back into view. Jules had fallen to the floor, one knee colliding painfully with the leg of Snape’s desk. He looked up. Snape was rubbing one wrist with an angry weal on it.
“Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?” asked Snape coolly.
“No,” Jules snarled, getting up. Fucking bastard.
“I thought not,” Snape said contemptuously. “You must order your mind, Potter. You let me in too far. You lost control.”
“Did you see everything I saw?” Jules asked.
“Flashes of it,” Snape said, lip curling. “Did your moronic father truly believe Hadrian to be a Squib?”
“Yeah,” Jules said sullenly, hating Snape.
“For a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been,” said Snape. “You wasted time shouting and you have no awareness of your own mind, nor control over your emotions, which are key components of passive Occlumency. Your father was appallingly remiss to not get you tutoring.”
Jules flushed. No way was he telling Snape that Dad had actually gotten that meditation tutor, which looking back was probably supposed to come before Occlumency, until Jules decided it was boring.
“Remain focused this time. Repel me with our brain and you will not need to resort to your wand.”
“I’m trying,” Jules snapped, “but you’re not telling me how!”
“I have just done so, Potter,” Snape said dangerously. “Control your emotions. Clear your mind. Close your eyes.”
Jules threw him a filthy look before shutting his eyes. This only made him more tense. Standing in front of a bloody Death Eater with his eyes closed, voluntarily, was one of the stupidest things he’d done in a while.
“Clear your mind, Potter,” said Snape’s cold voice. “Let go of all emotion…”
He tried, he really did, but anger was pounding through his veins like venom.
“You’re not doing it, Potter… you will need more discipline than this… Focus, now…”
Jules tried to empty his mind, tried not to think, or remember, or feel…
“Let’s go again… on the count of three… one—two—three—Legilimens!”
He blinked and he was nine and getting on his first Quidditch-class broom, six and playing in Bones Manor with Ernie and Susan and Ron, fourteen and hiding from a dragon, eleven and seeing his family plus a decent Gryffindor Harry in a mirror, fourteen and watching beads of light slide toward him and knowing somewhere his brother was fighting for their lives—
“Nooooo!”
He was on his knees again, face buried in his hands.
Not that again. Jules could not go through that again.
Fuck, he’d been so pathetic.
“Get up!” Snape said sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are utterly failing to control your mind, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”
Jules clambered to his feet. His heart was thumping even harder now. Snape was paler than usual, and angrier, though not as angry as Jules.
Fucking Slytherins, always with the emotional control shit. Dumbledore always said emotions and the ability to love were what made you strong. Not this—this stupid tripe.
“It doesn’t matter if I fear them,” he said through gritted teeth.”
“Yes, it does,” Snape hissed.
“Courage is acting despite fear. Not an absence of it. Sir.” Jules was actually quite proud of himself for remembering that one. Neville had stuck a bit of parchment with that quote on it up on the wall in their dorm last year. Jules hadn’t recognized the handwriting.
“Courage is all well and good but it is useless for this art. Fear is a chink in your mental armor, Potter! All emotion is weakness when learning Occlumency. You must empty yourself of emotion. ”
“Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,” Jules snarled.
“Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!” said Snape savagely. “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily—weak people, in other words—they stand no chance against his powers! He will infiltrate your mind with absurd ease!”
“I am not weak,” Jules said in a low voice. He was so angry that he thought his magic might lash out and attack Snape on its own.
“Then prove it! Master yourself!” Snape spat. “Control your anger, discipline your mind! If you cannot do so when facing me, how do you have any chance whatsoever before the Dark Lord? We shall try again! Get ready, now! Legilimens!”
The world vanished.
Jules fought it. He tried to pummel his anger into a box—tried to think of nothing at all—for some reason Harry’s face swam into mind, that faint smirk and cold gaze that Jules was only now realizing might be nothing more than a mask—was Harry an Occlumens?
Thinking about his brother brought a wild swirl of emotions to life. Jules’ control slipped.
He was five and surrounded in Diagon Alley by reporters and fans and clicking cameras, terrified, only his father’s hand on his shoulder keeping him still, five and looking up and seeing Dad’s face, so delighted and pleased and proud. He was six and visiting Riasmoore and there were loads of people staring at him in the windows but this time it felt a little hostile and he was angry because didn’t they know who he was? He was eight and crashing off his broom ashamed of having lost the game and half-blind with pain from a broken arm. He was thirteen and staring at a dementor on the train.
Jules felt the memory approaching. A pile of papers forgotten on the table, marked with things he wasn’t allowed to know. Paired with the memory of spidery handwriting and the initials HB scrawling across an open notebook.
Snape could not see that.
Something shattered.
Jules blinked, hard. This time he’d ended up on all fours, panting heavily.
Too close. Too bloody close. In this one area, Jules thought Dumbledore’s judgment was suspect, and he didn’t trust Snape to save Jules from anything less than a fatal accident. It would be just like the man to find out about Harry and Jules trying to figure out what the hell the Order was doing, and then tell Dumbledore and Dad, and Jules couldn’t have Dumbledore disappointed in him right now, they’d told him to get Harry’s trust but he was pretty sure they hadn’t meant to actually work with him, just use him—
So he said the first thing that came to mind. “What’s in the Department of Mysteries?”
“What did you say?” Snape asked quietly.
“I said, what’s in the Department of Mysteries, sir?”
“And why,” Snape said slowly, “would you ask such a thing?”
“I heard Dung say it over break.”
Snape looked expressionlessly back at Jules. Belatedly he remembered what Snape had said about Legilimens being good at knowing when someone was lying, and tried to think about how absolutely pissed he was at the man and how much he hated Dad’s nemesis and also Voldemort—
“There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you, do I make myself plain?”
“Yes,” Jules said mutinously. “Does any of it concern Voldemort?”
“I have told you not to say the Dark Lord’s name!”
They glared at each other. Jules wasn’t faking the tremble in his fists. He was barely holding himself back from the bastard. Snape was keeping secrets and attacking his mind and not teaching and—
“Enough,” Snape said softly. “I want you back here same time on Wednesday, and we will continue work then.”
“Fine.”
“You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep—empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?”
“Yes,” said Jules, barely listening. Maybe if he went to Dumbledore’s office… he’d grown up with Dumbledore coming ‘round once a month, after all… he liked Jules, he was friends with Dad…
“And be warned, Potter… I shall know if you have not practiced…”
“Right,” Jules said, slinging his bag over his shoulder and bolting.
He didn’t run through the dungeons no matter how he wanted to. That was a fantastic way to either slam into a wall or get lost, seeing as Hogwarts liked to shift around a little. The dungeons’ changes were sneakier and less dramatic than the staircases in the towers, but they all looked the same. How the Slytherins ever found their way up to breakfast Jules had no clue.
“Watch it!”
Jules stumbled back, scowling even deeper. He’d just stormed around a corner and run straight into an older Slytherin boy flanked by a few other snakes. “You watch it,” he spat.
“Oho,” the boy sneered. “Ickle Potty’s got himself lost in the snake pit, hm?”
“Are you lost, Potty?” a girl said. Jules thought that was Fawley, and the boy in the lead was—Everett Kinney. The other two were unknown sixth years.
“No,” he snarled.
“Spying on some snakes, then,” one of the unfamiliar boys said with a smirk.
“No.” Jules’ fists clenched.
Kinney flicked out his wand and twirled it around his fingers in a weirdly familiar gesture. “Then what—”
A new drawl cut through the tension, one Jules recognized. Nott. “Potter’s taking remedial Potions.”
The Slytherins laughed meanly. Jules stepped to the side so he could take in the newcomer without turning his back on the four in front of him. Unknown Boy One raised his eyebrows, which was the only indication of any Slytherin noticing his gesture.
“Relax, Potter,” Nott said with a cruel grin. Jules’ hands were really shaking now. Of all the Slytherins, Nott was probably the worst. How Harry could be friends with this cold, vicious asshole he had no idea. “We don’t take down lions wandering on their own without provocation. We’re honorable like that.”
“What would you know of honor?” Jules snarled.
Nott raised an eyebrow. “More than you.”
“I was going to show him the way back to the entrance hall,” Fawley whined, pouting her perfect lips.
“Mhm,” Nott said. “And you’d have taken the shortest route, I’m sure.”
For a second, Jules thought the other Slytherins weren’t going to back off—
Nott sighed and crossed his arms, tapping the fingers of his right hand against his left elbow.
Jules frowned. For some reason, that made all the other Slytherins sheath their fangs in unison. Unknown Boy Two jostled Jules on the way by and he had to actively grip his robes to keep himself from drawing his wand.
Nott paused, eyes lingering on Jules’ forehead.
“Like what you see?” Jules challenged, shoving his hair back so his scar was there for all to see. He was just glad it hadn’t been hurting like last year. “A nice physical reminder your precious Voldie has a weakness.”
“No one’s perfect,” Nott said. Jules faltered a little as surprise cut through his fury. “Not you, and not even Harry.”
“What’s Harry got to do with this?” Jules snapped.
Nott’s lips twisted into a weird little smile. “He’s your brother, isn’t he? Despite Lord Potter’s… interference.”
“I… suppose,” Jules admitted grudgingly. “And you’re his friend, so what?”
His friend. Which meant—if Jules wanted any hope with Harry, at all, it was probably a bad idea to keep antagonizing the bastard.
“So Harry didn’t grow up with a family.” Nott’s eyes left the scar and locked onto Jules’. “He’s rather protective of what he’s got left. It would hurt him if you merrily follow your father’s footsteps, so for his sake, I’m warning you. Don’t do that. And quit being such an arrogant prat, if you can manage it.”
Jules stared at the other boy. Nott had always unnerved him. He wasn’t particularly handsome, and his sandy brown hair and brownish eyes didn’t exactly stick out, but something about his quiet stillness always…
Jules didn’t trust him. And far as Jules was concerned, Nott was a big part of the reason Harry had gone to Slytherin in the first place and got them all in this mess. But—Harry’s friend.
“My dad—isn’t perfect,” Jules ground out at last. “I don’t… want to lose Harry as thoroughly as he did. We’re working on it.”
For a split second, he thought he saw an actual emotion on Nott’s face. Surprise, suspicion, something more positive, Jules wasn’t sure, and then it was gone before he had a chance to figure it out. “Being civil with one of Harry’s friends? I’m shocked and delighted to see you finally using your brain.”
“You lot don’t make it easy,” Jules snapped, crossing his arms.
Nott smiled, bright and cold like winter sunlight. “If we did, then I wouldn’t know you meant it.”
Jules made a face and left. If he hung around any longer, he was going to either say something angry or throw a punch. He’d been given explicit instructions from the Order to not antagonize anyone with Death Eater connections if he could help it. Which, unfortunately, included Nott.
On the other hand, it made a weird sort of sense that they were assholes because they thought Jules was faking.
Dumbledore’s statue snidely informed him that the Headmaster was busy and could not speak to Jules at this time.
Between Snape and Dumbledore he was in a towering rage by the time he made it back to the dorms and snapped at a group of younger Gryffindors who were clustered near the portrait hole. They took a frightened look at him and bolted. Nott’s comment came back and Jules felt worse than ever.
Theo
“Hey.”
Theo looked up from Umbridge’s latest ream of homework with relief. “Yeah?”
“Remember our contingency plan for the journals?” Harry said, sliding into a seat across from him.
Theo raised an eyebrow. Intriguing. “Yes.”
Harry smiled slowly. “I have an idea. It’ll involve the goblins and a patent on the journals.”
“I’m listening.”
As Harry laid out his plan, Theo couldn’t hide his delight. Finally they were making a move.
Harry
“Like this, Liam,” he said, correcting the younger boy’s wand movements. “More of a flick, less of a jab—yes, there you go, much better!”
Ten feet away, Celesta scowled. “Remind me why I’m playing target practice for Stinging Hexes?” she snapped.
“You lost a bet at Quidditch practice,” Harry said without missing a beat, pointing Liam at the dummies and calling Veronica over. “And how can they know it’s working without a live target?”
“I hate you,” Celesta muttered.
Harry winked at Veronica.
The second-year grinned back at him and pointed her wand at Celesta. “Volculeus!”
Celesta flinched and scowled harder.
“Be glad we’re not doing Incontinence until next week,” Harry advised.
Veronica snickered and Celesta rolled her eyes.
Harry looked over; all the other second and third years had stopped their drilling on the Stinging Hex and moved on to the Choking Curse, using dummies. “All right, Celesta, you’re done.”
“Delighted,” she drawled, stalking past him with a glower. Harry wasn’t fooled. He and Celesta actually got on quite well these days. She just liked irritating everyone around her.
“How’s your other project going?” Harry said.
Veronica shrugged. “We’ve got two Muggle-borns, and a couple of halfbloods, and another kid whose family’s like Graham’s. Astoria and Romilda are helping me run a study group for them and they’ve gotten good at dodging the Umbitch with Notice-Me-Nots. It seems to be going well.”
“This is the Muggle-born and halfblood thing, right?” Graham said, leaving off target practice and joining their conversation.
Harry decided it was likely to go on for a few minutes and flicked his wand, conjuring three chairs. They sat down and ignored the shouts of spellwork and dueling challenges ringing through the Chamber. “Yes. There’s been a slight but noticeable increase in our non-pureblood population already.”
“Actually, Graham, you should come help with the study group,” Veronica said. “Malcolm sucks at teaching and you could help Mylie Roper from Ravenclaw. Her whole family’s sort of dysfunctional.”
Graham’s eyes darted to Harry. “How dysfunctional?”
“Not moving out dysfunctional,” Veronica said, “but I think she could use some support.”
“I’ll come.” Graham’s fist, visible only to Harry, clenched.
They both looked at Harry.
“Go for it,” he said. “Veronica, keep an eye on who might be catching flak from the other Houses. Give Daphne names of anyone being particularly awful. And next year we can think about bringing a few of them into the Vipers so consider who might be suited for that versus who’s best left as a peripheral contact.”
“Got it.”
“All right, back to practice,” Harry said. “You don’t get to try ango on people until you’ve got the spell down on the dummies.”
“Thanks,” Veronica said, beaming.
Graham lingered a bit. Harry vanished the chairs and shot him a questioning look.
“Dad sent me a Howler.”
“Of course he did,” Harry sighed. “You used Blaise’s spell to freeze it, I assume?”
“Yeah,” Graham said. “Opened it in an abandoned classroom in the dungeons.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Harry said quietly but firmly. “I had Sirius contact him with regards to your living arrangements two days ago; he was just taking out his anger. Theo and Lord Nott are going to back us. You don’t have to go back to them.” He paused. “And if it doesn’t work out legally, you can ‘run away’ and we’ll kidnap you. Polyjuice you into some Muggle kid if we have to go to Diagon.”
Graham looked like a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Rule one,” Harry said with as gentle a smile as he could manage. “And if that Mylie Roper kid has it bad, tell her she can come to me.”
The kid beamed at him and jogged back to his target, in between Liam and Veronica.
Harry watched them for a few moments, until Noah came over for his turn supervising the kids. They exchanged a nod and Harry caught the older boy up on what the younger set was working on, and then he headed back up to his study.
He had to dodge several duels on the way. Harry paused to watch Hestia and Daphne go at it; spells flew furiously and it didn’t look like it would be ending soon. Although Hestia had a slight upper hand.
Aaron, Iris, and Blaise were clustered up talking to Sam Graves; it was Sam’s second full Vipers meeting-and-dueling-session and Harry had instructed the others to make his introduction as easy as possible. Blaise caught his eye and nodded. Harry paused with a warm smile to welcome Sam back down to the Chamber. “Thanks for this,” Sam said, flashing his bronze scale-patterned ring with a grin.
“It’s a pleasure to have you,” Harry said. “I’m sure you’ll be an invaluable part of the group.”
“They’re good.” Sam nodded at Daphne and Hestia.
All five of them turned to watch the girls’ vicious duel for a few seconds. Jordan Harper, Hestia’s boyfriend Adrian, Mason, and Flora paced around the dueling wards, silent but watching intently.
“Yeah, they are,” Aaron agreed. “Pro tip: don’t piss either of them off.”
“Noted,” Sam muttered.
Harry laughed along with the rest and excused himself.
He found Pansy in the study. “Stealing my chair?” he said, leaning on the doorframe.
“It’s temporary, don’t get all possessive,” she drawled, flicking through the papers strewn over the top of it. “This is the goblin negotiation, isn’t it?”
“Brilliant deduction. Was it the Gobbledeygook translation charms that tipped you off?”
“Funnily enough, it was.” Pansy finally looked up and grinned at him. “It’s an excellent plan. What do you have in mind for James?”
“Something a bit later,” Harry said. He conjured a second chair and Pansy switched to that one. Harry’s favorite in the office was the thousand-year-old armchair upholstered in dragon leather and absolutely smothered in preservation charms. Salazar Slytherin had good taste. “Ethan is most of James’ political acumen.”
“True. You’re sure about the patent though?”
“Everyone’s agreed, and I’ll give them each a payout from my vaults. Not a huge one, but enough to offset the loss. We didn’t design the journals with a patent and manufacturing in mind anyway.”
Pansy nodded. “Good point. Neville says you’ve even got his Gran involved.”
“I have,” Harry said with a thin smile. Getting Augusta on board had been a stroke of luck. “She was quite eager to help take down Ethan Thorne. Seems to see him as a new-money ass-kissing abuse-excusing usurper.”
“She’s not wrong.”
Harry laughed a bit. “No, she’s not.”
Running footsteps sounded on the balcony outside the study. Pansy and Harry drew their wands in unison; she withdrew until she was half-shielded by his body since he was by far the stronger duelist—
“Harry, sorry to—interrupt but—it’s the twins,” Demelza panted.
“Fuck,” Pansy hissed.
Harry rubbed one temple. “What’d they do now?”
Demelza sucked in a few deep breaths. “Third prank in—as many days. Umbridge is floating up near the ceiling of the Great Hall. She knows it’s them, she’s had Filch confiscate their brooms.”
“He can’t,” Pansy said. “Dumbledore should step in.”
“New Decree, from this morning.” Everett had followed Demelza in, expression grim. Harry remembered that he and the twins were on at least cordial terms now. “She can step in for crimes against her person with much greater authority. We’re pretty sure they pushed it through after her mysterious fall down four flights of stairs earlier this week.”
That was definitely a headache forming. Fred and George had been on a bit of a rampage since they came back to school. McGonagall had gotten it a few times, and Snape, known Order sympathizers, and even Dumbledore had had the bones in his left foot regrown after he stepped on a rune-trap and all of them were crushed into gravel. “If she has no evidence she’ll have to release them,” Harry said. “Has she any evidence?”
“Not this time.” Everett ran a hand through his hair. “But it’s only a matter of time. And the brooms will piss them off even more.”
“I’ll see if I can rein them in,” Harry said. It went unsaid that he was the only person in the castle with a hope of doing so. “Pansy, can you finish off that last letter to Stonemace? Show it to Theo before you send it off.”
“No problem.” Pansy snagged a quill and several parchments.
“Go join the others, Demelza,” Harry said, ushering her out of the study ahead of Everett. “Theo’s got the fourth years drilling blinding curses today.”
“Thanks,” Demelza said.
Harry and Everett lingered as she jogged down the balcony steps and vanished out into the main Chamber. “They’re becoming a problem,” Everett said quietly. “Telling them how their dad really died…”
“I wasn’t going to keep it from them,” Harry said. “They’ve been loyal. They deserve that much.”
Everett shrugged. “I know why you did it. Just—control the fallout or we’re all at risk.”
Harry’s posture shifted slightly as he turned. He wasn’t particularly tall and he had to look up to meet Everett’s gaze. It didn’t matter. Everett only lasted a few seconds in the face of Harry’s silence before he backed down. “Sorry.”
“If they make the hag’s life difficult, I won’t complain,” Harry said, softening just a little. Everett couldn’t quite hide his relief. Harry wanted people who would speak their minds but Everett was not in a position to call Harry out like that, and he needed to know it. “So long as they don’t get caught. And if they do, it won’t connect back to us. They wouldn’t let that happen.”
“True.” Everett shoved his hands in his pockets. “Need me to do anything on this one?”
“Not today.” Harry started walking along the balcony and Everett fell in at his side without hesitation. “I’ll go sort out this mess and hopefully drum a bit of caution into their skulls. Theo’ll be in charge.”
Everett nodded and left it at that.
He broke off to duel with Adrian and Peregrine in the main Chamber. Harry paused just long enough to give Theo a condensed version of the latest Weasley drama with the instruction to end the meeting in half an hour if Harry wasn’t back by then.
Opmerkingen