Eriss found him about halfway up to the entrance hall. “Why are you angry?”
“Fred and George are… being reckless.” He wandlessly swept her up without breaking stride and settled the four-foot snake around his shoulders.
“Fiendfyre twins.”
Harry grinned at Luna’s nickname, although it was partly a grimace, because lately it had been all too clear why she came up with that. “Yes. Them.”
“You will tell them to stop.”
“It’s not that simple. Their father just died.”
Eriss made a discontented noise. “I will never understand humans’ attachment to their egg-mothers and egg-fathers.”
“And I don’t have absolute control over them. Just more than most.”
“You are the strongest. You are the leader. They do as you wish.”
“Humans don’t work quite that easily.”
Eriss prodded him with her tail. “Snakes are simpler. If there is a conflict, the stronger is dominant. Be more of a snake and less of a human.”
“I’m working on it,” he grumbled. “If I just take an absolute control stance—they’re anarchic. They’d just fight me harder.”
“Then they are foolish.”
He left her to her grumbling.
The Marauders’ Map showed a number of people near the entrance hall, so Harry took the dungeon exit, and hurried through the damp quiet passages on a normal route. He’d look like he just came out of the Slytherin dorms. The Map showed the twins still in Filch’s office with Umbridge; if they didn’t come out in twenty minutes—
“Black!”
Dammit. Harry schooled his features and turned around. “Yes, sir?”
“My office,” Snape said, already striding away.
Harry swore again in his head and followed his professor. If nothing else this would kill some time before he needed to stage a diversion and figure out what the hell was going on in Filch’s office.
Actually—
“Go to Filch’s office,” he hissed under his breath. “Stay hidden, enlist a smaller snake if you have to, and if the twins are being—tortured or something, call me.”
“Can I bite the flabby toad woman?”
“I’d prefer that you didn’t.”
“Humans are soft.” With that parting shot, Eriss slid down his leg, hit the floor with a soft thud, and took off back the way he’d come.
Harry lengthened his stride and caught up to Snape outside the Potions Master’s office. Snape wordlessly pointed inside. Harry sat down in the deliberately uncomfortable chair in front of the desk and deliberately adopted a posture that suggested it was the most comfortable thing he’d ever seen.
Snape sat down across from him and glared for a few seconds.
“Have I done something, Professor?” Harry said politely.
“No doubt,” Snape said. “You are frequently doing things, Black. Most of them I have no desire to know about, as teenage inanity kills enough of my brain cells already without me voluntarily seeking more of it in my spare time.”
Harry’s lips twitched. “Indeed, sir.”
“I was pleased to see that Mr. Malfoy is doing a fine job upholding the honor of Slytherin House as a prefect.”
“As was I.” Harry doubted Snape had only called him in here to talk about the Malfoy-as-Prefect issue.
“You are stepping into quite a leadership role in Slytherin.”
Harry inclined his head. “I do what any Slytherin would.”
“No,” Snape said slowly, “you tend to do rather more.” He raised one eyebrow.
Harry sat back a little and let the tiniest of cruel smirks play over his face. Wasn’t his problem if Snape knew or suspected about the Vipers. He couldn’t do jack shit without proof and the Chamber was inaccessible to anyone except Harry and his Vipers. If they were even accompanied by anyone who wasn’t keyed into the wards, the passages wouldn’t open. There was no proof other than their word against his. And that was only if any of them actually betrayed him and spilled to a teacher, which Harry highly doubted was the case.
The silence stretched and grew. Harry blithely ignored it.
“I had noticed an increase in… non-pureblood Slytherins this year,” Snape drawled, barely moving his lips. “Several study groups organized by your… particular protégés.”
Harry said nothing. Snape was well aware of the politics in Slytherin. Of the Heads of House, Flitwick and Sprout both took by far the most hands-on approaches. McGonagall essentially worked three jobs—professor, Head of House, and Deputy Headmistress—which left very little time for actively ruling the lions’ den. Hermione ranted about the chaos in the common room on a regular basis. Snape, on the other hand, took a hands-off approach because Slytherin more or less ran itself. The internal politics and house rules meant no one shamed the House and the students mostly disciplined themselves. That said, he was fully aware of the in-House hierarchy.
Snape would’ve noticed the shifting allegiances this year.
Again, Snape left a few seconds for Harry to reply before continuing. “Yesterday I happened to overhear a Howler erupting in a little-used auxiliary dungeon. A Howler sent to one Graham Pritchard from his father, who is furious that his son is a ‘blood traitor’ and a ‘deviant runaway.’ I was only slightly surprised to learn where Mr. Pritchard went.”
Ah. “Slytherins look after our own,” Harry replied.
“They do.” Snape watched Harry through heavy-lidded eyes, impassive. No wonder this man had survived as a spy or double agent or whatever for so long. Harry still couldn’t sort out his true loyalties. “Thirty points to Slytherin for your House loyalty and proactive response to a fellow student in danger.”
Harry struggled not to gape. This from Snape, who doled out points like it pained him whenever Harry turned in a perfect potion, which was every class.
“A pity you cannot hold an official leadership position,” Snape said with a sneer. “As things stand—I presume you have a plan to deal with the situation?”
“I do.” Anger made his voice cold, anger aimed at Graham Pritchard’s fucking family. “The… state… Graham arrived in made it perfectly clear that he was in danger at home. I simply documented that. His father will want to avoid a public child abuse scandal, especially after even James Potter could not dodge the social stigma for such a heinous crime. Graham will be spending the remainder of his vacations with me or Sirius until his majority.”
Snape nodded very slightly. “Should you require any assistance with the responsibility you have taken on, I am of course available. As your Head of House.”
“I appreciate it, sir,” Harry said, and he really did. He and Snape had their differences, always had and probably always would, but they had some interests in common, including Slytherin House.
“Had you anything to do with the… scene in the Great Hall this morning?” Snape said with distaste.
“You mean the resident Ministry diversion suddenly discovering the joys of weightlessness?” Harry said wryly.
Snape smirked. “I do.”
“I didn’t.” Harry sighed. “Although I wish I could’ve seen it. For the sake of such impressive spellwork, of course.”
“You wouldn’t have been on your way to… interfere with the discipline of those responsible, would you?”
“Of course not,” Harry said innocently. “I was on my way to make sure that no disciplinary action was taken without evidence.”
Snape’s smirk widened ever so slightly. “As you were, Mr. Black.”
“Thank you, sir.” Harry nodded respectfully and left the office. He hadn’t gotten any particular sensations from Eriss, which he took to mean that it wasn’t a big problem, yet.
Enough time had passed since dinner that he didn’t see anyone on the way up to the entrance hall. Most students were back in their common rooms by this point, or in the library for some last-minute evening studying. He did pass a couple of Hufflepuff girls hurrying out of the Great Hall. They giggled when he smiled at him and vanished down the corridor towards their common room.
And here he’d thought Jules’ popularity would eclipse his own with girls outside Slytherin.
Several of the secret passages connected to the corridor outside Filch’s office, which was probably not a coincidence. Harry eyed them on the Map for a few minutes, guessed which one the twins were going to use for getting back to Gryffindor Tower, and pressed the right stone. Walls rumbled aside and he slipped in to wait.
A thought, and witchlight sprang to live above his head. It was much more refined now than when he’d been nine years old huddled in his cupboard with a library book desperately trying to forget his bruises. The light was steady now, and a cleaner white, and stronger. It lit up the inside of the passage and he could read the Map with no problems.
Filch and Umbridge let the twins go ten minutes later. Harry waited long enough to be almost certain they’d be coming into his passage, wiped the Map, and slid it into a pocket just as the wall rumbled aside.
George was first in, Fred on his heels. They didn’t pause when they saw him, and silently lined up facing him. Their brown eyes had lost any and all warmth.
“You need to be more careful,” Harry said in a low voice.
“That bitch works for the Ministry,” Fred snarled. “If their heads weren’t up their asses Dad wouldn’t have been down there doing their fucking jobs!”
“And Dumbledore’s the one who sent him poking around the Department of Mysteries,” George finished. “The most dangerous part of the entire fucking Ministry.”
Harry glared. “I know both of those things. I am not going to stop you,” he hissed. “You need to not get caught. I only have so much influence—if you get caught assaulting Umbridge, I won’t be able to do jack shit. You could go to Azkaban.”
That seemed to give them pause. Neither backed down but at least they didn’t fire back.
The silence stretched and grew. Harry waited them out. He was really not sure how to deal with this. The grief of losing a parent was—nothing he’d ever experienced. And Fred and George didn’t respond well to orders.
“Umbridge serves a purpose,” Harry said finally. “I’d prefer that you not run her out of the school just yet.”
“Do you support the Dark Lord?” George said bluntly.
Harry blinked. “What?”
“You heard us.” Fred crossed his arms. “Do you support the Dark Lord.”
“I don’t support mass killings, or genocide.”
“That’s not an answer.”
In all honesty… “I don’t know,” Harry said evenly. “I disagree with most of the last three hundred years of Ministry policy. I’m against Dumbledore and the Ministry, at least.”
“So you’re forming a fourth side,” Fred said.
Harry shrugged. “I’m looking out for my own interests. I have opinions about our world and I’m going to do my best to push things in the direction I think is best.” And I intend to have considerable political power at the end of all this.
George nodded. “We want in.”
“That’s the price of us backing off Umbitch and Dumblefuck for now,” Fred said.
“You were already in,” Harry said. “You know that, right?”
“Make it official.” Fred flashed his Vipers ring. The basilisk scale set in gold reflected Harry’s white witchlight.“You think we don’t know what this little club resembles?”
“Can you stomach the political objectives?” Harry countered. “You’re pissed and grieving now, so don’t misunderstand me. I want Dark magic and blood magic to be legal again, I want to bring back the old customs, I want to push for better integration of Muggle-borns and separation from the Muggle world. Your mum and some of your siblings are going to be on the other side.”
The twins met each other’s eyes, then looked back at Harry. “We’re in,” they said.
“Fine. Welcome to the official anti-Dumbledore movement,” he said with a mocking bow. “Piss him and Umbridge off all you like but I’d prefer we not run her out of school.”
“And in the long term?” George pressed.
Harry grinned. “We’ll destroy Umbridge eventually, or certain other parties will. In the long term, we destroy her and Fudge and Dumbledore and everything they stand for.”
George and Fred returned their nasty smiles and vanished down the passageway.
“I should probably be more worried about them,” Harry said, glancing down.
“But you are not because they are useful.” Eriss lifted her body off the ground; he picked her up and she settled around his shoulders while he pulled out the Map and checked it again. Filch and Umbridge were ensconced securely in Filch’s office still. Clever move on her part—getting Filch on her side. He slipped out of the passage under a Notice-Me-Not.
Pansy threw open the door to the study. “Fishy took the bait!”
Harry looked up, distracted. “What are we fishing for?”
“Goblins,” she said, smirking, as she strode inside and tossed a parchment on his desk. While he unrolled the message, she grabbed her chair, waiting off to one side, and pulled it up with a smug expression.
Harry read the letter and smiled very slowly. The Silvertooth goblin clan had, at Stonemace’s suggestion, found the patent for their journal design valuable enough to participate in Harry’s little scheme. “Excellent news,” he said. “Where’s Blaise? Theo?”
“I briefed Blaise in the common room. Under spells, don’t worry. He’s busy with a thing for his mum, wouldn’t say what, so I left him to it.” Pansy shrugged. “Not sure about Theo but you can catch him up later.”
“Luna?”
“Her cousin twice removed something something I don’t remember does in fact exist and will definitely tell the Ministry under Veritaserum that he never sent us anything.”
Harry nodded. “Even better because it’s all true.”
“The best lies are based in fact,” Pansy agreed, flicking through the papers on his desk. “This all looks horribly boring. Your tutor?”
“Yes,” Harry said with a sigh. “And it’s not actually boring.”
“He must be a hard master.” She shot him a knowing look.
“Indeed,” Harry said, smirking back. Someone had probably told Pansy or hinted who his extracurricular tutor was, although Barty had been coming only once a week since the holidays ended, citing a temporary increase in his other duties.
“Shall we give them the go-ahead on the fake evidence?” Pansy said, already reaching for a quill.
“Do it.” Harry cracked his knuckles. “I’ll have, oh, Aaron confiscate Luna’s fake journal soon, and from there the rest of ours…”
“Don’t you just love how much goblins enjoy fucking over the Ministry?” Pansy said with a happy sigh.
Harry pictured the chaos and grinned. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
“Mr. Black?”
Harry blinked and looked up. “Yes, Professor?”
McGonagall peered disapprovingly down her nose at him. “We were discussing the theory behind animate conjuration. Not the implications of Fibonacci patterns in potion-making.” She looked pointedly at the book open on his table next to An Intermediate Guide to Transfiguration.
“Sorry, Professor,” he said, closing The Unnoticed Patterns of Potion-brewing with a contrite smile.
Her nostrils flared ever so slightly. “And?”
Some of the Hufflepuffs winced. Draco was smirking ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, Professor, I don’t follow.”
“What was the last thing I spoke of?”
Harry called up his memories of the last few minutes. A few phrases stuck out. Enough for him to make a good guess. “Goiter’s experiments in temporary conjurations of biotic material. The power level to keep a construct in existence for the same amount of time increases with each degree of complexity.”
“Indeed. Conjure an animated construct of sixth-degree complexity that will last at minimum ten minutes, Mr. Black.”
Harry was still thinking about using Fibonacci patterns to modify Polyjuice past its current one-hour-per-dose limit. Each batch took a long time to brew and it could only be tested on humans, which meant it was unusually difficult to experiment with…
McGonagall. Right. “Yes, Professor,” he said, flicking his wand into his hand. Sixth-degree complexity was the first to include vertebrates. He pictured a good-sized rat. The wand motions were pretty ingrained as muscle memory by now. “Animatus conjures,” he said.
Magic channeled out of his wand. A second later, a rat almost the length of his forearm sat on his desk.
Several Puffs gasped. Harry blinked at them, then at Theo, who was subtly facepalming behind McGonagall’s back, and Pansy, who was rolling her eyes, and Draco, who just looked annoyed.
McGonagall pursed her lips. Harry swallowed a grin; she hated when he outperformed Jules. Saw it as an affront to Gryffindor or something. She waved her wand over the rat, probably checking on the magic in it to see how long it would last. Harry had pumped enough magic in there to maintain the construct for somewhere between ten and twelve minutes, so she couldn’t call him on anything and had to walk away with an irritated expression.
He tuned out her lecture. Opening the Potions book again would probably get him in trouble but he could think about what he’d read, and Fibonacci spirals in stirring patterns held a lot of potential to modify Polyjuice…
Shuffling feet warned him that class was ending. Harry stuffed his books back into his expanded bag. He could show Theo his ideas over lunch.
“That was really cool, Harry.”
Theo snickered. Harry frowned at him. “Thanks, Hannah.”
The Hufflepuff girl looked at him questioningly.
“What?” Harry said, annoyed.
“We aren’t supposed to be able to do six-degree animate conjurations yet,” Theo said, smirking evilly.
Oh. Fuck. Harry closed his eyes momentarily. “She was trying to humiliate me for not paying attention.”
“I will forever treasure the look on her face when you pulled off a perfect animatus conjurus,” Blaise said dreamily.
Hannah looked between them. “Harry, where did you learn that?”
“I work ahead a lot,” he said, smiling at her. “Especially in McGongall’s, she’s not fond of me.”
“Oh, okay. Well, good job,” Hannah said with a grin. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you,” Pansy called after her as she walked away with the other Hufflepuffs. Macmillan shot Harry an unhappy glare over his shoulder.
“Well, you slipped up,” Daphne said.
Harry frowned at her.
Rumors of the episode in Transfiguration spread quickly, at least among the upper years. Harry got interested glances from older Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins, especially Slytherins outside the Vipers. He ignored them, having plenty of practice with people staring. At least this time it was for something more or less positive instead of press allegations that he was mad.
“This is what you get,” Pansy said gleefully.
“Oh, fuck this,” Harry muttered, finishing his lunch. “We’re free this afternoon. I’ll be downstairs brewing.” He had to start a new batch of Veritaserum antidote today; they were running low. It also wouldn’t hurt to have some Polyjuice on hand, and with plenty of healing potions waiting for blood additions to clear up Umbridge’s Blood Quill marks, he had a free cauldron.
Intermittent explosions came from inside Fred and George’s mad scientist chamber. Harry didn’t know if they were being productive or blowing things up to relieve stress. He looked at the door for a few seconds and decided not to ask.
ETHAN THORNE, BARRISTER AND FRIEND OF LORD JAMES POTTER, ARRESTED FOR USE OF BLOOD MAGIC
Ethan Thorne, thirty-four-year-old Law Master, has been arrested by the Auror Corps on charges of using illegal blood magic on minors, says an anonymous Ministry source.
“I can’t give details as of yet, the investigation’s not complete,” one source told Daily Prophet correspondent Chris Kyle. “But I can say that highly illegal blood magic was involved, and that the case doesn’t look good for Thorne.”
Most readers will know Ethan Thorne as the Potter proxy on the Wizengamot and the Potters’ legal representative, as well as Lord James Potter’s best friend. “He was involved at every step of the disinheritance case in 1995,” recalls Orla Gambol, Assistant Deputy Head of the Wizengamot’s Legal Advisory and Research Department. “And when Potter went on trial for neglect and all that after the Black case was closed, Thorne was in here every day, seemed like.”
Details are hazy at this time but if rumors are to be believed, Thorne used blood magic, and this correspondent’s Ministry contact hinted that the attack was aimed at a minor or group of minors. Blood magic of all kinds has been illegal in the United Magical Kingdom since the comprehensive 1803 ban on dangerous magics, spearheaded by Artemisia Lufkin, first female Minister of Magic. Lufkin, backed by the now-defunct Progressive Magic Party (PMP), pushed the comprehensive bill through the Wizengamot, citing the potential for blood magics and other branches of Dark Arts to be used for evil was too great. The party’s central platform involved acknowledgement of Muggle technological advancements, and a key plank of Lufkin’s preelection talking points was banning blood magic. Much of the PMP’s progress was undone by Josephina Flint, Minister of Magic 1819-1827, but every Minister since Lufkin who tried to take down the 1803 ban has failed.
For an in-depth history of blood magic and relevant legislation, see page 5.
For a biography of Ethan Thorne and detailed coverage of his various court cases, see page 11.
For a look back at the Black, Potter, and Dumbledore trials, as well as the disinheritance of the child now known as Heir Hadrian Black, and the roles of Ethan Thorne in each, see page 17.
Harry folded the Prophet with precise motions and set it next to his plate. Then he went back to eating breakfast.
“Well?” Blaise said, eyeing him. Harry’s back was to the wall, meaning the whole Great Hall could see all his facial expressions. Including Jules, over at the lions’ table, who hadn’t opened his paper yet. Blaise sat with his back to them and could afford to be a bit less cautious.
Carefully, he adopted an expression of upset and confusion for the Gryffindors’ benefit. “Do we know this Chris Kyle?”
“Father’s partner knows him, loosely. So do the Malfoys,” Daphne said, leaning around Theo at Harry’s right. Her voice dropped. “He’s… affiliated.”
Silent communication rippled around the group. Message sent and received.
Hestia, Adrian, Flora, Everett, and Noah tended to sit on the side of Harry’s group opposite the staff table. The year-group seating order had gotten a bit disrupted lately, with some seventh years and third years mingling with Harry’s immediate circle, who stayed in the fifth years’ usual place. So far Harry didn’t think any non-Slytherins had noticed. Their seating order wasn’t a thing other Houses copied. From this position, it was easy for Hestia to catch his eye and tap the paper.
He raised an eyebrow.
She nodded slightly.
Harry pasted an aggressively innocent mask onto his face.
Hestia laughed lightly and returned to her previous conversation.
“You didn’t arrange this, did you?” Blaise said, fluttering his own copy of the Prophet slightly to get Harry’s attention.
“Nope.” He’d known there’d be media backlash, but this included more of an anti-Thorne bias than Harry had expected with so little information. Possibly Thorne just wasn’t well liked—the man was an unctuous sleazeball, after all—but if he was affiliated…
Pansy and Daphne swapped a conspiratorial look. “I have it on good authority that this little piece was leaked out yesterday,” Pansy said. “Certain circles greatly enjoyed it, and encouraged Kyle.”
That explained it. Harry smirked very slightly. So nice when that his enemy’s other enemies jumped on board this little crusade. He hadn’t even asked, so technically there was no favor owed.
Justin ditched Hannah in Herbology as soon as the Slytherins walked in. Harry saw him disengage from the clot of badgers and elbowed Theo, who split to work with a different group.
Theo’s fake put-upon sigh was still fading when Justin took his place next to Draco across from Harry and Blaise. Harry knew Theo wouldn’t be disappointed: he was not fond of the Malfoy heir.
“Sooo,” Justin said in an undertone as they attacked their Dissolving Devilweed. “Did you bribe the reporter?”
“Nope,” Harry said.
Draco grinned. “He’s just not overly fond of Ethan Thorne.”
“What are you doing with this, Harry?” Justin said. “Just getting him off the field?’
Harry shook his head. “I’ll be surprised if they actually convict him.” His voice was equally soft. Herbology was always chaotic and a great time to talk unheard, especially with the sound-canceling wards he’d cast around their table as soon as he put his bag down. “Reputation blow…”
“And something else.” Justin grinned at the look on Blaise and Draco’s faces. “You lot really need to stop underestimating me ‘cause I’m a Puff. Look, Harry’s not surprised I worked it out.”
“Have you sorted out what it is?” Harry said, smirking. It was always amusing when Slytherins forgot how cunning Justin could be.
Justin worked on the Dissolving Devilweed for a few minutes in silence. Just as well; the plant tended to spit very noxious acid when annoyed, hence its name.
“Oh,” Justin said, very suddenly.
Sprout happened to be walking behind him. “Oh what, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?” she said with a bright smile for him, a warm one for Harry, and then a lukewarm glance over Blaise and Theo.
“I just realized the answer to an interesting question Harry asked a minute ago,” Justin said easily. He held up a bowl full of the acid secretions; it was made of corundum, one of the only substances the acid didn’t attack. “Corundum can react to magic and corrode human tissue—does the acid not react to the corundum because it has such similar magical properties?”
“Five points to Hufflepuff for the insight,” Sprout said with a brisk nod. “And three to Slytherin for a clever question. Carry on, boys.”
She bustled off to stop Sophie Roper getting acid sprayed in her eyes. Harry wouldn’t have bothered.
“Thanks for the points, Justin,” Blaise said with a straight face.
“Where’d you learn to lie like that?” Draco said.
Justin grinned. “Technically I didn’t, she just assumed the thing about corundum was a response to Harry’s question. I read that last night.”
Harry grinned back. “This is why we’re friends.”
“Well, Justin?” Blaise said with an anticipatory gleam in his eye. “Stop beating around the tree.”
Harry choked on air and almost dumped a bowl of acid on himself.
Blaise and Draco both looked at him oddly. “You all right there?” Draco said sneeringly.
“Yes,” Harry said. He definitely wouldn’t be correcting Blaise on that apparently Muggle idiom anytime soon. Justin’s expression was sunny and innocent and gave nothing away but it had almost definitely been him.
Justin cleared his throat dramatically. “Wellll… you’re setting public opinion of the Potters and their allies against the public opinion on blood magic.”
“In one,” Harry said, mock toasting him with the bowl of acid still in his hand.
Draco nodded along. He hadn’t been told of the plan, not in detail, but there was a definite smirk on his face and he didn’t look pissed to have been kept out of the loop. “The Potters’ reputation is already weakened from the trials,” he mused. “So this could either make Potter dump Thorne as deadweight, and show his true colors… or be forced to argue that blood magic’s not always as awful as the Ministry says it is.”
“That article was definitely a little more antagonistic than I’d expect with how little they know,” Justin said, looking between Harry and Draco. “They’ve been attacking Jules as an unstable nut job but the trials have gotten waylaid by more recent stories, and Thorne’s never been dragged through the mud.”
“Interesting observation,” Blaise drawled.
Harry shrugged lightly. “A third-party influence may have spoken to the reporter. I had nothing to do with that. Serendipity I suppose…”
“Enemy of my enemy,” Justin agreed.
Harry was quite sure he wasn’t imagining the pleased smirk on Draco’s face.
“Do you need something to tell them?”
Harry looked between Pansy, Theo, Hestia, and Everett. “Tell who?”
“Don’t be coy,” Hestia said.
“I don’t need anything,” Harry said. He’d been passing on trivial and seemingly useful information once or twice a week, none of it really meaningful but enough to seem like he was trying. “But if you’ve an idea…”
“Something’s about to happen,” Pansy said, examining her fingernails. Astrych sat at her feet and fixed his creepy black eyes on Eriss, who was coiled on the sofa next to Harry.
Theo smirked very faintly. “Something big.”
“Tomorrow,” Everett said.
“And how will I look after passing on this information?” Harry said, settling back into the chair he’d begun to think of as his. This had just been a normal evening in the common room until Hestia and Everett came over from the upper years’ court nearby and chased Graham, Vasily, and Astoria away with nothing but a cool look from Hestia. Theo and Pansy hadn’t seemed surprised in the slightest by the intrusion.
“Good,” Everett promised.
Harry looked at Theo and waited for his nod.
“What is going to happen?” he said, already pulling out his (real) journal, and not the one that had been confiscated by a stern-faced Auror wannabe from the DMLE’s Search and Confiscation Division the day the Thorne article came out. Irritatingly, there had been no new information since, though the tabloids and Prophet were going crazy. Then again it had only been three days since his arrest.
Three days in which he had a session with Barty and received a very roundabout compliment on the Thorne Affair.
Several silent questions and answers flicked between his senior Vipers while Harry crafted a quick message to Jules. “Something big,” Theo repeated finally, glaring at Pansy and Hestia, who’d apparently put their feet down. “Plausible deniability and all.”
“We don’t actually know what,” Pansy said, and Harry revised his interpretation. That was Theo being pissed in general that none of them had been let in on the secret.
“Well, our mail’s probably getting searched,” he said idly. “Figures they wouldn’t write you lot letters detailing their dastardly plans. How’s this look?”
The others leaned forward as he flipped the journal around and showed them the draft.
HB
I don’t have anything conclusive but—Jules, something big is about to go down. Not sure what exactly. I keep seeing Malfoy and the Carrows and Fawley talking and Theo’s being cagey. I wouldn’t have anything more than a suspicion but he feels guilty about keeping secrets; he let slip some comment about tomorrow being crazy.
“Looks good,” Pansy said.
Everett nodded. “The scrawled handwriting is a nice touch.”
“I know,” Harry said, copying the message onto Jules’ bronze page. The chunk of silver pages was a lot thicker now, having been expanded to include every one of the Vipers and unlimited personalized-group pages. The gold one remained only for his original group.
Magic pulsed from the runes anchoring the journal’s enchantments.
Harry closed the journal. “Is that everything? Because I was in the middle of helping the kids with their Transfiguration theory.”
“Sorry to interrupt your lesson, O wise one,” Theo sneered.
Harry grinned at him. “You shouldn’t mock the person who’s kicked your arse on every exam except Herbology since first year.” He paused. “And, you know, that was only our first two years.”
“Oh, fuck you, asshole,” Theo said with a scowl.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Theo flipped him off and stalked away with a scowl.
Harry couldn’t wait for the next part of the Thorne exposé. Or the… whatever was to come the next day.
In the common room, nothing was different. Harry was on the alert and saw nothing to suggest any kind of dramatic upheaval in the outside world. Nothing to imply the kind of event Theo’d mentioned.
Then again, it was only morning.
He made sure to give no sign that he was expecting anything out of the ordinary, and noticed four younger students clustered up by the fire with what Harry privately considered the standard Slytherin plotting face. A couple were Vipers, but not all. In fact—he smirked a little—Veronica and Graham appeared to have gotten a few of the firsties together for some therapeutic revenge, who he hadn’t personally met yet. He heard “Gryffindor” and “knee reversal.”
“Knee reversal’s a bit hard to cast sometimes,” he said, pausing. “I find it helps if you add a little extra jab at the end of the wand motion. They never put that one in the books.”
“Thanks, Harry,” Graham said with a mean little smile.
Harry returned it. “If this happens to be aimed at your brother or one of his little cronies, give them a little something extra from me? The Incontinence Jinx is invesicae.”
"Invesicae," one of the firsties mouthed, concentrating.
"What's your name?" Harry asked.
The kid looked up. "Oh, er, sorry—Rio Ingham."
He looked at the other one, eyebrow raised.
"Yvette Mirren," she said.
“They’re the Muggle-borns of this year,” Veronica said.
“Ah.” Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “Putting together a support group, I see.”
She grinned unrepentantly.
"What's the wand motion for that second one?" Mirren said hesitantly.
"Graham and Veronica know," Harry said. "Just don't practice it on each other. The results are messy. Best of luck."
“He’s a little scary,” he overheard one of them mutter as he walked away.
“Yeah,” that was Graham, “he can be,” and then Harry was out of earshot.
His smirk lasted all the way up to the entrance hall.
“Move, Borage,” he sneered, “you’re blocking the view.”
This was a ridiculous claim, since this was the entrance hall and one person couldn’t block it unless they were in multiple pieces, but Borage had a permanent spot on his Shit List and Harry never passed up an opportunity to needle her. Or curse her, as it happened, but without an excuse those instances went few and far between.
“I’m not blocking anything, Black,” the older Hufflepuff snapped back at him. “I am the view.”
Harry made a face like he’d just had the world’s biggest epiphany. “Ah, so that’s why I was getting a headache.”
Borage opened her mouth. Harry tsked and snapped off two quick spells. One was a langlock and the other just kind of dismissively swept her to the side. She made indignant choking noises as he walked through the specific space she’d just occupied and into the Great Hall.
“Good morning to you, too?” Blaise, somehow already at the table, raised an eyebrow at Harry’s cheerful mood.
“Ran into Borage in the entrance hall,” Harry said, smirking ever so slightly.
“Ahhh,” Blaise said. “Yes, I imagine that’d be an opportunity to either ruin or make your morning.”
Harry smiled and poured himself a mug of tea.
The Great Hall filled gradually. He read a Muggle fiction novel—distaste for Muggles in general hadn’t made him appreciate their fiction any less—while he waited for Theo to arrive.
His best friend seemed a little tense but nothing anyone outside the Vipers’ inner ranks might notice.
“Prophet,” he said softly without prompting.
Harry glanced up. Owl post hadn’t arrived yet. “Hmm,” he said, serving himself oatmeal.
The flurry of wings as the owls poured in didn’t elicit any particular response from the Slytherin table. At least, none that an outsider would notice. Quiet messages passed between certain people in the know, just slightly tightened eye muscles, a certain anticipation tucked into the corners of their smiles. It wasn’t letters or packages but newspapers that the Carrow twins and Theo and Pansy and Draco and Alex and Evalyn and Celesta watched in their peripheral vision. Harry caught Snape’s miniscule glance but couldn’t read surprise or anything else in the potion master’s gaze. Couldn’t tell if the man was surprised or worried or just bracing himself.
Harry really had no fucking clue where the dungeon bat’s loyalties lay. Sighing, he picked up the newspaper Alekta dropped in front of him, fed her a bit of bacon, and froze.
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN
MINISTRY FEARS BLACK’S ESCAPE GALVANIZED DEATH EATERS
The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.
Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, confirmed that six high-security Death Eater prisoners, fifteen lower-security Death Eaters, and an unconfirmed number of lower-security miscellaneous inmates escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening. Minister Fudge has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.
“We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in a similar position to the one two and a half years ago when Lord Black escaped,” Fudge said last night. “With the unfortunate footnote that none of these prisoners is innocent.”
When asked if Lord Black’s escape had anything to do with this one, Fudge seemed hesitant. “Certainly, given Lord Black’s innocence, I doubt he spent much time… socializing with his fellow prisoners. The guards were to tell them that he’d died while the others were asleep. It’s possible they didn’t believe that, in which case I guess they may have been encouraged by knowing escape was even possible.”
The escaped high-security Death Eaters include Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange (notorious for the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom), Augustus Rookwood (former Ministry Unspeakable), Antonin Dolohov (convicted of the brutal double murder of Gideon and Fabian Prewett), Carter Avery, and Septimus Travers.
“The magnitude of the breakout suggests outside help,” the distinguished Amelia Bones told this reporter early this morning. “Bartemius Crouch Jr.’s ill-conceived attack last year proved there are still Death Eater malcontents at large, and Crouch himself remains uncaptured. It’s possible the escapees have rallied around Crouch, or perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange, Septimus Travers, or Antonin Dolohov—once You-Know-Who’s closest lieutenants—as their leader. We are doing all we can to round up the criminals and we beg the magical community to be alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached. Should you see someone you believe to be involved with the escapees, hold your wand and say “DMLE Emergency Sighting” and professional Hitwizards will Apparate to your location.”
Fortunately, the emergency prison lockdown and headcount last night revealed that the high-security escapees were Death Eaters only. A number of deranged murderers and serial rapists are currently serving life sentences in Azkaban, including halfblood Ulgar Crafts of Shrewsbury, and all of them remain in their cells.
For detailed profiles and trial transcripts of each escaped high-security prisoner, see page 5.
For a full list of the Death Eaters who escaped, see page 4.
Harry’s shock was not faked.
It was brilliant. An unprecedented master stroke. Last he checked, going through trial transcripts, there were nineteen Death Eaters in Azkaban. That was almost the entire membership of the Order. And those were only the people confirmed to be Death Eaters; the lower ranks’ Marks didn’t reveal themselves to an outsider unless the person was caught wearing Death Eater robes and mask, or unless an accuser had incontrovertible proof of the accused’s dealings with Riddle. The article specifically didn’t mention how many petty criminals, Death Eaters accused of other crimes, or low-security prisoners had escaped. Harry could just imagine looking at four more years of a five-year sentence, and then being offered freedom to work for Voldemort.
If he spent a year in the care of Dementors, he’d probably take the offer, too.
This was… well, for one thing, proof that Riddle wasn’t too far gone to show loyalty to his people in return for the loyalty they gave him. A good sign. If he was insane enough to leave them in prison there was no way Harry could ever negotiate with him if it came to that.
He remembered to fake horror along with his very real shock.
Celesta looked up. Her eyes fixed on nothing in particular, and her back was to the rest of the school, so only Slytherins could see the burning triumph that flared there for a few seconds.
Draco’s knuckles turned white with his hidden grip on the edge of his chair.
Down the table a bit, Ginny had her arm around Natalie’s shoulders; Harry remembered that Natalie’s mum had been in Azkaban. Evalyn sat with them as usual and her eyes looked like chips of ice. For her, it was an uncle, Septimus Travers.
Alex Rowle steadily began eating his breakfast. If you weren’t sitting at precisely the right angle, you’d never notice the tremor in his hands as he lifted a goblet of pumpkin juice.
Angry shouts and gasps started rippling through the rest of the school. Harry willed himself to get a bit pale and sat back in his seat as if the thought of food disgusted him, mind spinning a thousand miles a second. Ticking off Slytherins who had relatives who probably just escaped.
Evalyn. Natalie. Alex, his aunt, uncle, and father. Celesta, an older brother and a cousin. The Carrow twins, a cousin. Bulstrode, her mother. Iris, her father—she was the only non-Slytherin on the list. Draco’s aunt and uncle.
Once people read that list, it was going to be war on Slytherin.
At the staff table, Sprout was reading the Prophet so intently she appeared not to notice the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap. Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking with grave expressions. Snape’s attention was on the Slytherins, and unreadable. Umbridge steadily ate her way through a bowl of porridge but she couldn’t hide her scowl, or the glares she kept sending Dumbledore’s direction.
Something drew his attention back to the Gryffindor table. Harry scanned its length. Fred and George were absent, which was slightly concerning. Even more concerning were the absolutely vicious glares some Gryffindors were starting to aim at the Slytherin table.
Including Jules.
Although his anger included betrayal and worry when he looked at Harry.
Harry looked back expressionlessly for a few seconds and returned to his breakfast. “Pass the word along,” he murmured so only the people sitting immediately around him could hear. “Third years and below travel in groups of three at minimum. Upper years don’t go anywhere alone.”
There was a sudden flurry of activity at the Gryffindor table. Attention swung to Neville, sitting with Hermione and Dean, as he shouted something at Ben Creed that went unheard in the noise before storming out.
Harry looked back down at Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange’s photographs. Both were gaunt and Azkaban-haunted, a look he was all too familiar with from Sirius. They’d both been attractive people once but the dementors had stripped that away. Rodolphus leaned on the edge of his frame with a nasty sneer and Bellatrix alternated between making faces at the camera and dramatically sighing in the corner like a damsel in distress.
Convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.
The Gryffindors had gotten a bit quiet in Neville’s wake. Harry looked at the still-closing doors of the Great Hall. He felt a bit odd.
Neville didn’t know the identity of Harry’s tutor. Didn’t know Harry had been training for months now with one of the people who was there for his parents’ torture.
Harry had known, objectively, that Barty had been involved. His time in Azkaban had been too short to really ravage him like Sirius and the Lestranges, so it was easy to see traces of the teenager from the old Prophet photos in his face.
It just hadn’t mattered. He was an opportunity to learn and get stronger.
Hopefully Neville would never find out, because Harry didn’t think he’d be quite so good at setting aside his vendetta.
It was worse than the Heir of Slytherin disaster.
Hisses, invectives, insults, and curses both magical and metaphorical stalked the Slytherins through the corridors. No one could retreat to the common room because hiding from the public eye would invite suspicion, so they shouldered the stares and anger and went about their day with icy masks. Even the firsties were handling it pretty well.
“Death Eater spawn,” someone snarled at Theo on their way out of Charms.
“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Flitwick squeaked. The third year who’d said it scowled but scampered off. Harry made a note of Flitwick’s attempt at fairness. He was one of few teachers who’d even been trying lately, with Vector, Babbling, Sinistra, and Binns. Although Binns hardly counted, since he never seemed to notice his students at all, let alone to take or give points.
Messages telegraphed from one Slytherin to another, a silent flow of communication hidden in quick glances and miniscule head shakes and questions posed to teachers at the right moment to head off an argument. Be careful, they told each other. Be quiet. Don’t draw attention, don’t take the bait, be discreet, watch your words.
Do you need help? they asked each other, and want me to run him off? and how are the teachers responding?
It was the first time Harry had ever appreciated Umbridge’s horrific Defense classes. At least under her, no one dared whisper “Murdering snake” or “slimy Slytherin” whenever they answered a question.
Returning to the common room was a relief. “House meeting,” Adrian said tersely when Harry stepped inside, “don’t go anywhere,” and Harry nodded. A group of official and unofficial House leaders were congregating by the fireplace; Celesta had saved an empty chair to her left. She caught Harry’s eye and jerked her head towards it. He settled easily in as the only fifth year in the group.
Theo showed up and smirked at Harry before making a beeline for the fifth years’ usual circle of seats.
Lillian Pym hobbled inside five minutes later, sobbing and covered in welts from head to toe. Blaise was on his feet in a second, beating Lillian’s friends Tyler Redwood and Liza Marks to her side. “What happened?” he demanded.
“H-Hufflepuffs,” she said, breath coming in short, pained gasps. “I—dunno who.”
Everett and Harry swapped a glance; Everett waved Blaise over. He towed Pym into the group of older students. She looked around them uncertainly.
“Hospital wing?” Celesta said.
Harry shook his head as Adrian said, “No way—with how things are Pomfrey might just blame one of us.”
“Can’t show weakness” came from the seething clot of students forming around them.
“Rayburn and Chapman?” Harry said.
Hestia nodded. “Shawna, Katherine.”
“Not what I thought I’d be using Healer training for,” seventh-year Chapman snarled, pulling her wand and setting to work. The welts visible through tears in Pym’s robes began to fade. “Bloody fucking badgers.”
Harry dug in one of his expanded pockets. It never hurt to keep supplies on hand…
His fingers closed around a small vial. He checked its contents before tossing it to Pym. “Pain relief,” he said.
She knocked it back without hesitation.
The potion kicked in within seconds. Her body relaxed so much that it became obvious how hard she’d been fighting to stay still. Impressive pain tolerance for a second year.
“That worked fast,” Rayburn said critically.
Harry shrugged one shoulder. “I may have made some modifications.”
“Potions Master in the making?” Chapman said nastily.
Harry smiled back, perfectly polite. “Snape thinks so.”
Chapman blinked. Backed down.
“What do we do?” Peregrine said. He was mostly only sitting in this group because he was Everett’s best friend and right hand.
“What we always do,” Flora said. “Look after our own.”
“We might not just be able to weather this storm,” Everett said. The rest of the House talked quietly; students were still trickling in from dinner and the library. No one would be stupid enough to stay outside the dungeons for long. “Today was…”
“We have at least eight people with family members in that breakout,” Celesta said. Including you, Harry thought. “The school will be reading our mail and—Circe, some of the first years got attacked today.”
“So much for the Light’s moral high ground,” Adrian growled.
Harry shifted his weight very slightly. It was enough to draw his Vipers’ attention and that in turn got the other upper years’ attention even though they didn’t know why. “I can arrange communication for those with family members in the breakout,” he said.
Silence descended. The Vipers knew how. The others didn’t.
“Black…” Chapman eyed him. “We’re supposed to trust you with that?”
It was Hestia’s measuring gaze Harry met.
“I will,” Hestia said.
Adrian shrugged. “Same. Celesta?”
“Obviously,” Celesta sneered.
Chapman looked around them. “…all right. That’s the mail issue solved, then. We still have the attacks to deal with.”
“Travel in groups,” Harry said. “Minimum four to a pack for third years and below, two or three to a group for fourth years and up.”
“Rayburn, Chapman, you’ll have your work cut out for you in the next few days,” Hestia said grimly. “We won’t be going to the hospital wing unless we absolutely have to.”
“I can supply healing potions,” Harry said.
Rayburn frowned. “Brewed here?”
He raised an eyebrow and silently dared her to press that issue.
“Never mind. I appreciate it.” She eyed him. “Can you do blood-based for more severe injuries?”
“Why d’you think his Muggle-born friends haven’t gotten scars from detentions with the hag?” Everett said.
Both Healers squinted at him. Harry smiled back at them, with teeth. They looked away.
Hestia rubbed at her forehead. “The group-travel rule Harry started this morning is official. We could even increase it to groups of four for third years and below.”
“I agree,” Chapman said. “Off you go, Pym. Get some sleep.”
“Thank you,” Pym said, still pale, and Blaise slipped away in their wake. Draco and Pansy came into the common room together and took the couch he’d been sitting on.
Harry flicked a glance over the rest of his House. They were clearly waiting for the impromptu leaders’ conference to finish, and unlike the Gryffindors, their rage was high intensity and low volume. A cauldron full of poison about to boil over.
“One other thing,” he said. “The castle snakes will serve as our lookouts.”
This was an even bigger bombshell than the fact that he could brew blood-based healing potions. Harry hadn’t even told most of the Vipers that he could get into the Chamber because he was the Heir, not because of being a Parselmouth. Speaking to snakes alone wouldn’t be enough.
“They’re snakes,” sixth year Jarred Seaton said. He was quiet and intelligent and pretty much scared the other students into leaving him alone, and he was constantly in detention even though they could never catch him outright, and Harry had never tried to reach out to him for the simple reason that he was pretty sure Seaton was a clinical sociopath. “There’s a reason we have a reputation for being backstabbing little shits. Can we trust your snakes, Black?”
There’s the sociopath, Harry thought. He smiled again with no kindness in it. “They will.”
“Black,” Celesta said slowly, “Parselmouths can speak to snakes. Not command them.”
Harry didn’t respond.
“Slytherin’s Heir can command the Hogwarts serpents,” Celesta said.
No one missed the way Blaise’s eyes very, very briefly flicked towards Harry.
Hestia examined him for a few seconds. “Okay. The snakes will act as our lookouts. How will that work?”
“I’ll speak to them,” Harry said. “Best guess, if you see a snake sitting in the middle of a hallway, don’t keep walking. They’re warning you off of continuing that direction. Not all of them understand English well so just find a different route to wherever you need to go. We should all know the secret passageways well at this point.”
“I like it,” Adrian said. “Hestia, do the honors?”
The prefects plus Chapman, Rayburn, Seaton, Harry, and Everett all shifted so they were facing the common room as a whole. Harry noted with some amusement that the seat Celesta had saved for him was the only single-person armchair in the group of furniture they’d claimed.
Hestia stood. “Slytherin House!” she called, voice ringing over the assembled students.
The house had been waiting. Silence fell immediately. Harry raked his gaze over the assembled Slytherins, assessing. Years of war had left the student population smaller than it once was, and while the first and second forms were showing the post-war population boom, they still had only between eighty and ninety Slytherins. It didn’t feel like that many until all of them were in one place like this, fixed on a common issue.
“Nothing of tonight’s events will go beyond Slytherin and our allies,” Hestia said flatly. Allies was a nice little loophole. Technically, the Vipers counted as allies.
“Obviously,” someone called from the third years. “Rule seven.”
Wordless agreement swept through the common room.
“Firstly: we have a tacit rule to travel in groups. That rule is now officially rule eight,” Hestia said. “Third years and below will not be seen outside the classroom, Great Hall, or common room in a group of fewer than four people.”
“Can they be non-Slytherins?” That was Astoria. Harry remembered that she and Romilda had been befriending Charlie Spangle of Gryffindor and Dylan Worple of Hufflepuff in their year, both casual members of the dueling club and victims of bullying in their Houses.
“And what about meetings with professors?” one of the second-years called.
Adrian didn’t bother to stand up. “Trusted non-Slytherins are fine. Use your judgment. For meetings with professors, if it’s Snape you’re fine. Otherwise, have the rest of your group hang out nearby and join them when you’re done, or find an upper year to take you there and back. Try to pick a sixth year.”
“Second thing,” Hestia said. “Those of you who have family members in that breakout—should you wish to contact them, we have a way. Stay behind when the House meeting is over.”
Interest perked up after that statement, as did the tension. Celesta twirled a bit of hair around her finger.
“Taking advantage of this opportunity, or not, neither condones nor denounces what your family members may have done,” Chapman said coolly. Good caveat. “And only family members will be able to pass messages through us. If anyone, for whatever reason, needs to contact one of the escapees that they are not related to, give it to that person’s nearest family member for approval. If that person doesn’t have a family member here, tough luck.”
“Finally.” Hestia lifted her chin. “Courtesy of Black, we have a built-in warning system.”
She stepped aside, looking pointedly at Harry.
He hid his surprise and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The castle snakes owe their allegiance to House Slytherin,” he said, pitching his voice so that everyone could hear him clearly, but they had to be pretty much dead silent to do so. It was a trick he’d copied off Snape. Not that he would ever admit it. “They will watch over those of us in Slytherin, particularly the younger students. Should you see a live snake in a hallway, particularly when on your own, take it as a warning sign and find a different route, or just come back to the common room.”
Surprised whispers broke out immediately. “House Slytherin,” and “Black?” and “You don’t think…” and “was it the Potter line or the Blacks?” and “Not the Blacks, they wouldn’t keep that advantage a secret” and “Well, it would be very Slytherin…”
He thought he heard “Dark Lord” in there a few times too, but he might’ve been imagining that.
“Enough,” Hestia snapped. People shut up immediately, but Harry could feel the sharpened interest aimed at him.
Adrian opened his mouth, probably to dismiss the group, but Harry cut him off. “One more thing.”
Adrian closed his mouth with a click.
“If anyone is particularly… irksome… about this, come see me or one of the prefects,” Harry said, aiming this at the younger kids. The older set could probably handle it themselves but second years going after seventh wouldn’t end well, and less than half of the firsties and second years were in the Vipers. On the other hand, all the prefects were his, and that was unofficial rule.
Slytherin looks out for its own.
Plenty of malicious grins and approving nods were visible throughout the House.
“Rule seven,” Hestia reminded them all. “Study hard, stay at the tops of your classes, and be careful.”
The House meeting broke up immediately into swirling groups of students. Simmering outrage bounced from one to the other and only got stronger as it went. Harry and the other House leaders, official and unofficial, sat in silence for a few minutes, just watching the currents.
“It’s going to be open season tomorrow,” he said. “Worse than today.”
“It’ll have sunk in,” Celesta agreed.
Adrian muttered a swear word. “I’m drinking tonight, who’s coming?”
“Ward your dorm,” Harry advised, standing. “I’d rather not hear the explosions if you lot drown your control in alcohol.”
“You’d better have Zabini do the same,” Adrian snarled, but it was an empty threat and they could all tell. Harry waved a sardonic goodbye. Pansy and Draco followed him back to the other fifth years without comment.
“Booze?” Blaise offered, looking at the group of seventh years trooping into the boys’ dorms behind Adrian. “I have better than what Pucey’s got.”
Draco made a face. “Please, I can’t stand that swill of Goyle’s.”
“You’ve been drinking Goyle’s shit?” Pansy demanded. “Idiot.”
“Father won’t send me any,” Draco complained. “What with the post under watch.”
“And you haven’t figured out a smuggling route by now?” Theo said incredulously. “Just buy it in Hogsmeade and stick it in a shrinking box.”
Draco flushed.
“Come on over if you want to drink, I’ll ward our dorm,” Harry said before things could deteriorate farther.
Theo grinned at the girls. “Ladies?”
“No need to ask again,” Pansy said. Daphne nodded; her mask was slipping just a little. She looked tired.
Somehow Goyle, Crabbe, and Bulstrode ended up joining the little party. So did Celesta and Jordan, and then Noah stumbled in with the tiny fourth-year group in tow, and then Everett showed up with bottles of illegal American moonshine claiming that the seventh years were pansies who couldn’t handle real alcohol. Before Harry knew it he had almost all the Vipers above fourth year getting shitfaced in his dorm. He sighed, kept himself to sips of firewhiskey (although the moonshine was really something), and monitored the situation from his bed. Slytherins normally kept their drinking to a minimum and that in private; the loss of control was too risky in front of large audiences. You never knew what your drunk self might accidentally reveal. Tonight they mostly bitched about other Houses and biased teachers. At one point, Everett made a slightly slurred comment about the bloody Dark Lord’s shitty timing that had everyone in stitches even though it wasn’t actually funny.
Finn Sullivan tried to set off a crate of fireworks. In the dorm room. Harry vanished them and took his wand, overriding the kid’s complaints with a glare. Even drunk, Finn had the sense to back off when he saw that expression.
He ended up having to take all their wands except Theo’s, Evalyn’s, Alex’s, and Daphne’s.
“Do we let them stay?” Theo asked, looking around. Ginny, Pansy, Bulstrode, and Natalie had passed out in a pile on Pansy’s bed, fashion magazines and Dark Arts books from Pansy’s trunk strewn around them. Draco was likewise snoring in his own bed. Blaise had made it back to his bed too but Crabbe and Goyle were both unconscious on the floor. Noah, Jordan, and Celesta had stolen Goyle’s bed and Everett was propped up against it, drooling in his sleep.
“I am way too tired to haul them all back to their own rooms,” Harry said flatly. “Toss up some silencers and leave them.”
“Why silencers?” Evalyn said.
On cue, Crabbe started snoring.
She winced.
Harry stared at Crabbe for a minute. Maybe he was a little drunker than he’d thought, because usually he wasn’t bothered by being around the boy whose father he’d killed. But now he was caught staring and remembering Crabbe Sr.’s face in the pictures. It was a lot like his son’s, if older and even more firmly set in scowling lines.
Maybe bother was the wrong word for this sick fascination. Bother indicated—regret. Some kind of inability to let it go. He’d done that. His brain just wouldn’t stop superimposing the father’s face over the son’s and wondering whether Vincent Crabbe hated him.
“He knows it was you.”
Harry startled a little, looking at Evalyn.
“I overheard him,” she elaborated. She’d knocked back some of Everett’s moonshine like it was nothing and earned a gleam of respect from the older boy in doing so. “Talking to Goyle. He knows it was you.”
“Do I need to look out for a metaphorical knife in the spine?” he said tiredly.
“Always,” Evalyn said. “You’re Harry Black. But not from him.”
He stared at her for a few seconds. There was nothing but truth in her eyes and she seemed a little too drunk to lie well, so he went with it. “Take… ah, here,” he said, flicking his wand and conjuring a cot. It took two tries. “Daph?”
“I’m fine,” Daphne said, conjuring a cot of her own.
Theo mumbled something about hoping someone had Hangover Cure for the morning and vanished behind his own bed curtains.
Harry unraveled the wards on Theo’s trunk, borrowed his camera, and took several photographs of his passed-out Vipers. The shot of Celesta, Noah, Jordan, and Everett was particularly amusing, as was the sight of Ginny, Nat, Pansy, and Bulstrode in one tangled heap. And, of course, Draco Malfoy with messy hair, unkempt robes, and actual drool coming out of his mouth.
It was always good to have minor blackmail like this.
Harry popped out the film when he was done and replaced it with a fresh roll before locking Theo’s trunk back up exactly how it had been. He’d send the pictures off to get developed at the next Hogsmeade trip. If nothing else they’d be great for a laugh.
Hopefully the house-elves could fix the scorch marks and miniature craters in the walls.
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