Everyone was plagued by headaches the next morning. Even Harry, because he didn’t drink much and had a low tolerance. He found the stock of Hangover Cure in stasis jars he’d kept from the holidays and passed them out before anyone left the room.
They neatened their robes, the girls sneaked back to their own dorms, and everyone showed up at the common room only half an hour late. They were well ahead of the rest of the House. Snape was standing by the entrance with a long-suffering expression and a cauldron of Hangover Cure.
“Ah, so some of you had the sense to abstain,” Snape drawled.
Harry glanced over the boys; Pansy, Daphne, and the other girls would be a little behind since their hair took longer. Everett, Draco, Blaise, Goyle, Crabbe, Theo, Noah, and Jordan were all perfectly put together. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“That’s exactly what happened,” Jordan agreed, throwing an arm around Noah’s shoulders. Laughing, the two of them jostled each other on their way out of the common room.
“Had nothing to do with one of us having the sense to stock up on a certain useful potion,” Everett said with a smirk.
Harry returned it. “See you in class, sir.”
“You’d best have a quality essay for me,” Snape threatened.
“I will.” Barty had assigned it.
Speaking of which…
But no, that could wait for their session the next day.
Harry braced himself for the Great Hall.
It was, as he’d predicted, worse than the day before. Two Slytherins, five Gryffindors, and a Hufflepuff ended up in the hospital wing, both Slytherins dragged there by a teacher who witnessed the incident. Slytherins plotted revenge with determined anger instead of cheerful mischief.
People got drunk again that evening. Harry put his shrunken trunk into his pocket and conjured a bed in one of the abandoned back rooms of the boys’ dorm so he could sleep in peace.
Neville waved a newspaper in Harry’s face. “Can you explain this?”
“You were here when we planned it,” Harry said, confused.
Pansy rolled her eyes and looked up from her cauldron. They were down in the Chamber laboratory and she’d taken the time to do a remedial Potions assignment Snape set her after a failure in the last class. He’d never scold a snake in front of the Gryffindors but he would and did hold her back and make it very clear that he expected a passable Skin-Growth Salve on his desk on Friday. “He wasn’t listening, Harry, remember? That was the day his Gran sent that weird plant they found up in like, Siberia or something.”
“Do plants even grow in Siberia?” Justin asked. “Harry, what’s this annotation on the Veritaserum antidote, I can’t read it—”
“Add two counterclockwise stirs at the end of the Burke pattern, before you add the beetle carapaces.” Harry eyed his work for a moment, decided it was passable, and accepted the newspaper from Neville.
ETHAN THORNE TO BE TRIED FOR ILLEGAL USE OF BLOOD MAGIC ON MINORS
In what is coming to be known as the Thorne Scandal, Lord James Potter finds himself in a corner for his defense of his longtime best friend.
“Ethan would never do this,” Lord Potter insisted just two days ago. “He’s been framed or something. There’s no way he would use blood magic! And definitely not on minors!”
Thorne is representing himself in this case, as is his right as a legal expert, with the full backing of Houses Potter, Macmillan, and Vance. The defense collectively insisted upon Thorne’s innocence, but when the evidence was presented to a trial subcommittee of the Wizengamot convened yesterday morning, all representatives of House Potter and its allies were unavailable for comment.
The prosecution, led by Law Master Terren Morris of Greengrass, Tate, & Morris, presented a much stronger case than it seems anyone expected. A collection of plain leather-bound notebooks were confiscated from a group of Hogwarts students including Heir Hadrian Black and an undisclosed list of others. Each notebook was inlaid with highly illegal runes that would interact magically with the user’s blood over time, and allow for the caster of the runes to track the people who had used the notebooks. The runes work rather like a Class F blood quill that causes no external harm to the user and merely imbues the object with a small amount of blood to tie the user with the contract signed or runes written. It is a benign and passive method of magical tracking that has nonetheless been banned since 1803.
Inside sources have implied that the defense will be arguing for a lighter sentence on the grounds that the spell used was entirely harmless to the targeted students. Whether this will be a successful approach remains unknown, as the Wizengamot trial committee and its staff have been very tight-lipped on the subject. Regardless of the harm done or not, Thorne still dabbled in illegal magic.
When asked to provide proof that Thorne actually sent the spelled objects, the prosecution presented the letter that accompanied them. They were delivered as a gift from a distant relative of the Lovegood family. The Lovegoods are known to travel often and maintain few close relationships beyond their immediately family members, so it comes as no surprise that Heir Lovegood didn’t question the gift from a relative she had not seen in years. The relative, whose name remains confidential for security purposes, provided Veritaserum testimony that they had nothing to do with the gift.
An Unspeakable was brought before the Wizengamot to determine the real sender. Buried under a bevy of spells deigned to mask one’s magical signature, traces were found that provide a sixty-four percent match to that of Law Master Ethan Thorne. Seventy percent is the cutoff for incontrovertible proof of guilt. However, the Unspeakable involved testified that there is almost no chance of getting a proof positive match when efforts are taken to mask one’s signature.
Incidentally, spells to disguise magical signature on enchanted objects are also illegal, for this very reason.
The court is expected to rule on the case and the appropriate punishment this evening.
Harry grinned down at the newspaper. Neville took a step backwards. “Simple, really,” he said, folding it and handing it back. “We wrote the notes, enchanted the journals, faked Thorne’s magical signature based off a letter I lifted off Jules a few weeks ago since I know he uses this special legal-caliber sealing spell on all his envelopes, pretended to wipe the signature, and then had Luna “accidentally” leave her journal in Flitwick’s classroom. He has this sixth sense for spells and enchantments—if you look up old interviews, he says it’s what helped him be such a good duelist. It never picks up the journals with a horde of students and their wayward spells bouncing around his class but with no one else to distort the magic, he realized it was blood magic and asked her about it, and called the DMLE, and then they confiscated journals from some of the rest of us…” He trailed off suggestively.
“But—that’s—oh, fuck it,” Neville said, throwing his hands dramatically in the air.
“Watch it,” Justin said. “Delicate potion here!”
“Sorry.” Neville set the paper aside.
“Nev, we went over this when we came up with the contingency plan,” Pansy said. She glanced at Harry. “Which we’ll have to modify, by the way.”
Harry shrugged. “A self-destruct option would honestly be simpler. I realized that last week when we were planning out this Thorne mess. I’ve already worked it into the runes.”
“Of course you have,” Justin said with a grin.
Neville set his expression. “Because he deserves it.”
“Exactly,” Harry agreed, keeping his frown hidden. Sometimes… Hermione had a ruthless streak a mile wide and it was usually fairly easy to get her to go along with his less morally upright plans. Neville… deep down, Neville was good. In a way Harry and most of his other friends weren’t. Even Justin, whose loyalty was less… conditional.
He really needed to talk to Barty. Good thing they had a session tonight.
“Wait,” Neville said. “It’s impossible to fake someone’s magical signature. Even with a sample. Those spells to mask it are standard-issue for criminals for that reason.”
Harry and Pansy swapped a smirk. “Might be impossible for people who don’t have access to Slytherin’s library and those of several very old pureblood families,” Harry said smugly. The Black and Nott libraries had yielded some very interesting results when he was tracking down a way to do this.
“Yeah, yeah, Heir of Slytherin, très importante,” Neville said in a very bad imitation of a French accent. “I’m gonna go find Hannah, I think she said she was having trouble with Herbology.”
Pansy, Harry, and Justin watched him go. “I don’t think he totally approves,” Justin said.
“Stick to potions,” Pansy said in a fake-kind voice. “If we needed someone to state the obvious we’d have let Draco keep Vince around.”
Justin managed to throw a Peruvian snail shell at her head without messing up his stirring pattern. Harry eyed them both for a few seconds to make sure they weren’t about to blow up his laboratory and turned his attention back to his Polyjuice.
Harry was waiting in their classroom when Barty came in.
The Death Eater paused halfway through the door. He varied his arrival times from two to forty minutes before their sessions, according to the snakes Harry had set on him way back in November. So Harry had just shown up an hour ahead of time and worked on a Charms essay, and packed it away neatly when Kesstey showed up hissing about the wheat-headed two-legs coming.
She wasn’t the brightest of his reptilian scouts.
“Harry,” Barty said, closing the door slowly. “You’re early.”
He looked a bit wary. That wasn’t surprising. Harry had done little to disguise the fact that he had something rather… important on his mind. Then there was the fact that he’d taken Barty’s normal seat behind the desk, leaving Barty with a choice of either forcing Harry out of the seat or taking the one across from him.
If Harry had been in his place, he’d have vanished the plain students’ chair and conjured a nice armchair instead. Barty completely disregarded the entire scheme and sat in Harry’s usual chair like he hadn’t noticed anything was out of the ordinary.
Actually, he might not have. Bloody Ravenclaw.
“Something’s on your mind,” Barty said.
“You could say that.” Harry fished out a copy of the Prophet from the breakout and flipped it around, pointing to the pictures of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. “You may’ve forgotten but Neville Longbottom is a good friend of mine.”
“A friend?” Barty said shrewdly.
“We’ve been over this. I do have those.”
Barty smirked. “Most of your type of Slytherin prefer minions.”
“Is that what you are?” Harry shot back.
“Only partially,” Barty said. “But I’m the exception. I take it by your continued magical presence that you haven’t revealed my identity to the Longbottom boy.”
Harry didn’t dignify that with an answer.
Barty shifted a bit in his seat. An obvious tell. He would’ve been bloody terrifying if he went to Slytherin, with his brain and the training of common-room politics. You could only learn so much at home from parents’ stories, as evidenced by one Draco Malfoy. As it was, Barty was still pretty damn intimidating.
That was probably a factor of spending time with Riddle and then as a Death Eater.
“You know I didn’t participate,” he said.
“Just watched.”
“Don’t you dare condemn me for something you cannot understand,” Barty spat.
Harry raised an eyebrow. Apparently he’d hit a touchy spot. “I wasn’t.”
Barty eyed him for a few seconds, absently tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. Moments like this Harry really felt his intellectual inferiority. He was smart, but that was mostly because he’d been working his ass off since first year. Barty was something else entirely and you could feel it sometimes. He would get the look of a chess grandmaster playing games on a board you couldn’t even see.
“You know the Longbottoms killed Rabastan.”
“Yes.” Hm. Bellatrix and Sirius were about the same age, although she was one part of Sirius’ past that he refused to talk about no matter how much Harry prodded. Which meant Rodolphus and Rabastan were probably in school around the same time. Regulus, Sirius, Bellatrix, the Lestranges—oh, hell, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy too—that must’ve been a hell of a time to be in school.
The point being, Rabastan and Barty probably knew each other.
Oh. Duh. Harry wanted to smack himself in the forehead.
“Rabastan and I were…” Barty took a breath. “We were engaged.”
Harry blinked. “I, ah. Didn’t realize wizards accepted…”
“You’re such a Mudblood sometimes,” Barty complained.
“Excuse you?”
“Culturally inept.” Barty frowned. “I suppose it’s not your fault, more the Ministry’s…”
“Care to explain?” Harry wasn’t sure how this had become a history lesson but he hated being called culturally inept like—Merlin, like one of the insufferable Creevey brothers, haring about with a camera like a bloody tourist.
No thank you.
“Sometimes I forget you essentially grew up a Mud-ggle-born,” Barty said. “Muggles have some rather backwards ideas about sexuality. Wizards, on the other hand, have not cared.” He grimaced. “It was a problem, before the witch hunts got particularly bad in the ninth and tenth centuries A.D., but there simply weren’t enough of us to ostracize same-sex couples. We needed them to blood adopt orphaned children and continue their families’ lines.”
“What changed?” Harry knew Sirius had had romantic and sexual flings with guys as well as girls in the past, and he’d mentioned something in their last mirror conversation about a German wizard he met in the Leaky Cauldron and swapped Floo addresses with, but— “I’ve never heard of a same-sex magical couple. I kind of just… thought you lot treated it like the Muggles.”
Barty made a face. “How degrading. No, it’s—approximately three percent of our population ends up in a same-sex relationship. Or used to. The problem is the blood adoption restrictions. Those date back to around the seventeen fifties. Line inheritance is paramount to purebloods and blood adoption is necessary to get the family magics to accept an Heir. It used to be a same-sex couple would simply blood adopt Muggle-borns or orphans from magical families. When the Ministry banned that…” He shrugged. “Nowadays, for gay wizards and witches, they’ll enter into a marriage with the understanding that they’ll produce an heir and a spare and from then on turn a blind eye to one another’s sexual infidelities. If you go to enough pureblood weddings you’ll notice when they kind of quietly drop the line about staying true to your spouse. The Ministry never notices and the rest of us pretend not to.”
Harry sat in silence for a few seconds. “So… you and Rabastan…”
“I had the biggest crush on Sirius for a few years there,” Barty said. “Didn’t help I knew he was into guys. But Regulus might actually have murdered one of us if that went anywhere. Rab… we were together from sixth year on.” Pain was evident in his voice, but the old, quiet kind that you simply had to live with. Nothing jarring, and nothing that could easily be exploited. “Only our close friends knew.” Harry took that to mean the other aspiring Death Eaters. “I’d planned to father a child with a witch who knew the plan, support her financially and emotionally through the pregnancy, name the child my Heir, and be done with it. Rab had a marriage contract with a Hufflepuff in our year, Mackenzie Smith. She preferred women, and when she and her girlfriend walked in on Rab and me in a broom closet, she proposed to Rab on the spot.”
Harry grinned. “She sounds like quite something.”
“Oh, she was,” Barty said. “No one who met her would ever claim Puffs were pushovers.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“You asked,” Barty said. “The story is relevant to my explanation. Emotions are, in essence, neurochemical con jobs, and once properly managed, they can’t be used to manipulate people. Also, look, I’m not proud of the Longbottom mess—no, actually, that’s a lie. I am. I didn’t think they’d end up permanently insane, though.”
It was weirdly refreshing to be around someone who didn’t mince words. Slytherin word games were fun but only up to a point.
And that bit about their insanity. “Sirius said something similar. About—how many times did they go under Crucio?”
“Three each. The Selwyns,” Barty said.
Harry nodded. “Do you have any idea why they’re permanent members of St. Mungo’s mental ward?”
“Oh, loads,” Barty said dismissively. “Ranging from approximately one in four to one in a few million odds of being the true explanation. Which is all complicated by the possibility of combinations of those various explanations.”
“What’s the most likely, then?” Harry said patiently.
Barty grimaced. “Bellatrix’s self-control is, ah, questionable. She loved Rab. More than Rodolphus, I sometimes thought. Their marriage was a political one between two friends, but Rodolphus was always busy with his duties as Heir and that Bellatrix’s family wasn’t the main Black line. She had more time. Rab was like her brother. She learned Legilimency from the best. The Dark Lord’s orders were to not cause permanent harm. If she misjudged the effects of Legilimency attacks plus the Crucio…”
“Can’t you ask her?” Harry said.
“I suppose.” Barty cocked his head. “I’ve been busy with other things. It hadn’t crossed my mind, to be honest.”
Harry resisted the urge to rub his temples. It was almost as bad as dealing with Luna. “It’s quite an interesting unsolved question,” he prompted.
“Yes, it is indeed… Hm. I’ll have to see…” Barty’s distant gaze suddenly snapped back into focus and he let out a raspy laugh. “Oh, very good.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, grinning and unrepentant. Barty had been teaching him manipulation techniques, for Circe’s sake.
“Just for a good attempt at applying our lessons, I’ll even tell you what she says.” Barty smirked. “Probably. You did attempt it on me. Has that answered all your questions?”
Not quite. Harry really wanted to know if and when the Dark Lord was planning on going after that blood magic ban, which he was becoming more convinced by the day was a stupid reactionary tactic against powerful magic. However, he doubted Barty would answer that question, and it also might tip too much of Harry’s own hand, so he nodded and allowed the lesson to be redirected into dueling.
Barty was apparently nursing a bit of a grudge about Harry bringing up sensitive subjects. He had never used curses quite that brutal before. Harry dodged everything except a Bone-Breaker and a vicious Apathy Jinx that took almost two hours to wear off.
He came out of it sitting up against the wall. Harry snarled at Barty as he shook the last of the cobwebs out of his head. Apathy Jinxes were nasty business; they basically turned you into a puppet with its strings cut for as long as they lasted. And that had been a really strong one. It broke right through his Occlumency shields like paper.
“A lesson in caution,” Barty said.
“Right,” Harry said. Caution his arse; that was payback. “Homework?”
“None this week.”
Judging by the interested gleam in his eye, he was having fun analyzing Harry’s negative reaction to any kind of mental control. Harry promptly set himself the unofficial homework of working even harder than usual on his Occlumency barriers. They were defenses built up over time that got stronger the more time you spent on them, and he had a good feeling he’d be dodging more Apathy Jinxes next week.
“Still just once a week?” he checked.
“I do have other duties.”
“Right,” Harry said. He hesitated. Barty hadn’t had to be—honest. Then again it could all have been a lie but Harry could corroborate pretty easily through Draco or Sirius. “Thanks.”
Barty jerked his head in some kind of imitation nod. Harry took that as his cue to escape.
Fuck, he wished he could talk about this with Sirius.
But he was afraid his godfather wouldn’t understand.
Ethan
This was ridiculous. This was not possible.
But it was happening.
Ethan’s thoughts kept circling back around to that one point, like a boomerang to its owner. Every other minute found him half-convinced the whole disaster was a cruel dream or a convoluted Death Eater ploy but it wasn’t. It was real and happening and awful.
James had come to see him, twice with Remus and four times alone. They were supportive and helpful and Ethan could barely stand to see either of their fucking faces.
“It’ll be fine,” James said stubbornly, “Albus will sort this out, you’ll be fine.” But he was wrong and Ethan knew it.
Remus knew it, too, which was a whole other kind of unbearable. He just stood there while James went off on one of his idealistic rambles of which Ethan was usually so fond, and Remus’ expression was an awful mix of resignation and sympathy. Not pity, which was good, because Ethan might actually have decked him. He supposed it came from Remus’ experience with dementors. The werewolf knew what Ethan would be facing and, unlike James, he knew there was no chance of it not happening.
There were other visitors, too, Order members all, and Albus himself a few times. Ethan was grudgingly grateful for Albus’ few appearances because the man was legitimately and exceedingly busy. Their pity—not from Albus, though that was no surprise—grated on his nerves, and their idealism was as bad as James’.
But the real reason his fists clenched when he saw any of them was that they just would not listen.
“It was Black,” he insisted, “it was Black that did this, he framed me, not the Death Eaters.”
“He wouldn’t,” they all said. “He couldn’t. He’s fifteen, and uneducated, and a child was the first in our entire history to figure out how to fake a magical signature?”
“He’s brilliant,” Ethan said. “He’s Lily Potter’s son, and she was brilliant, and he’s got access to multiple ancient Dark libraries, and Merlin only knows what else down in the dungeons, I wouldn’t put it past him! And how would the Death Eaters have even learned about the journals?”
“Crouch, masquerading as Mad-eye,” they’d say promptly. “Those teens weren’t subtle about the journals—Ron and Ernest and Susan, they all saw Black’s friend group carrying those journals around.”
When Ethan tried to convince Albus, he at least considered it. Ethan had to give him credit. But he still decided Ethan was wrong.
“I understand,” he said quietly, sitting across from Ethan in the Ministry containment cell. Its Department of Mysteries runes dampened his magic, and he was pretty helpless without a wand anyway. Not being able to cast spells made him itchy and restless. “You are angry, and frustrated, and looking for someone to blame.”
“No,” Ethan said. “Albus. Albus. If I just wanted someone to blame I would have Voldemort. That’s not the issue here! It’s Black that did this! You have allowed him too much leeway and he’s using it against us!”
It was too much of a coincidence. The journals, the blood magic, the Parseltongue, Death Eater libraries. Everything. Hadrian Black hated Ethan and Ethan didn’t have the protection of being a former blood relation like James. He didn’t have the protection of being a valuable member of magical society, not for nobility, not for power, not for intellect or position.
He never had.
“He is a child,” Albus said firmly. “He would no more have been capable of doing this than Jules. Ethan, I have not been able to reverse-engineer the process of a falsified magical signature. Harry Black could not have done so! No matter how gifted, no matter he is Lily’s son!”
Ethan gritted his teeth and held Albus’ gaze for a long moment.
He wasn’t going to change his mind.
“Fine,” Ethan said, slumping back on the bed. He hadn’t felt this—this helpless since the Healers told him about Mum’s illness. “Just—fine. You’re going to regret this faith in him, Albus.”
“I genuinely do not believe so,” Albus said gently. He stood, and rested a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “But I understand your concern about him and I will endeavor to watch the boy.”
It wasn’t enough, but it was something. “Thank you,” Ethan said, bitterly, sincerely.
“Anything.” Albus rubbed his eyes under his spectacles. “Ethan—I cannot save you from your sentence. I’ve made certain you will be placed in a high-level cell with minimal dementor presence, and that you will have rather more comfort available than the average inmate, but you must serve a full year. The announcement won’t be made to the public for a bit but I’ve managed to find out your sentence, as a courtesy.”
Sick dread coalesced in Ethan’s stomach. His contracted and he tasted bile, swallowed it back down. Apparently he’d been clinging to a last thread of hope that Albus could stop this, and now—
“I understand,” he said. “I’ll get through it.”
Others had done so. Ethan could, too.
“I know you will. You’re strong,” Albus said. “And your mother—James and Remus offered to continue visiting her, I understand?”
“Yeah.” Ethan closed his eyes and let himself be grateful for them now, since gratitude would be sucked out as dementor food soon enough. “They’re—pretty great.”
“She will be well looked after,” Albus promised.
That, at least, Ethan knew he would do. “I know. Thank you.”
Albus hesitated. “Ethan… I am sorry.”
Ethan looked up at him. “It’s not your fault.”
“I’m still sorry,” Albus said quietly. Ethan was glad he left immediately after that because then Ethan didn’t have to hide how bad his last words tasted. He hated having to lie. Especially to Albus.
Andromeda visited not two hours later.
The DMLE guards took her wand and searched her with eight different runic arrays and enchanted devices to make absolutely sure she wasn’t smuggling so much as a potato chip into the cell block. Ethan could hear her irritated tones from all the way down the empty hall. Albus had gotten him one of the nicer containment cells, which meant the other four in this area were empty, since petty criminals and thieves got the dingy cells two levels down.
Ethan was standing at the front of his cell by the time Andromeda got close enough for her voice to form distinguishable words. “—thank you to keep your hands out of my purse.”
“Andromeda,” he said.
“Ethan.” She glared impatiently over her shoulder until one of the guards finally unlocked the cell. For a second, while she had the door open, the itch of no magic lessened, but then Andromeda closed it behind her and the tiny reprieve disappeared.
“Thanks for coming.”
Andromeda lowered herself into the same chair Albus had occupied earlier that day. “Of course. How are you? They treating you all right?”
“For an inmate,” Ethan said, bitterly.
“Mm.” Andromeda glanced around. The cell was fairly spacious, equipped with a bed, chair, end table, and privacy screen to shield the toilet, but none of that disguised the fact that it was still a bare stone box carved with runes to keep him magically helpless. “When do they take you to the prison?”
Ethan closed his eyes. Inhale, exhale. “Tomorrow.”
“Not beating around the bush, then,” she said. “Unsurprising. Such a prominent figure, using blood magic against children… no wonder they’re eager to prove themselves a proactive justice system.”
Her tone could’ve withered an entire forest. Ethan grimaced. “It’s as neat a frame job as I’ve ever seen,” he admitted grudgingly.
“A clever ploy,” Andromeda agreed. “Worthy of a Slytherin. Particularly a Slytherin who had help.”
Ethan’s eyes snapped up to hers in a painfully obvious tell he couldn’t quite prevent. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ve spoken with other Order members,” Andromeda murmured, eyes ticking over to the cell door to make sure no guards were close enough to hear. “I’m saying I know you’re convinced it was Black behind this, not the Death Eaters.”
“Come to talk me out of it?” Ethan sneered.
Andromeda leaned back and crossed one long leg over the other. “The opposite. I’m here so you have a chance to convince me that you’re right.”
“It’s too big a coincidence,” Ethan said immediately. This was not an opportunity he could afford to miss. “The Death Eaters have nothing to gain from taking me down right now. It doesn’t do much to James—he could just cut me off and say he had nothing to do with it if he believed this whole bullshit. Even though he hasn’t people aren’t that angry. The blood magic wasn’t actively harmful and enough people have pointed out that I was trying to protect the children by tracking them to derail the worst attacks.” He smiled bitterly. “We both know I’m only a threat to the Death Eaters because I’m attached to the Potters. They have bigger problems than me. Hadrian Black, though—he hates me, he has cause to hate me, he has at minimum four old Dark pureblood libraries at his disposal, a whole network of little friends to help him, and he’s apparently brilliant. And a Slytherin. As you pointed out—this plan has Slytherin written all over it.”
The whole time he was talking, Andromeda’s eyes remained fixed on his. She sat perfectly still with an unreadable expression even after he finished. Ethan fought the urge to squirm in his seat like a fourth-year in McGonagall’s office.
“Lily Evans certainly was brilliant,” she allowed. “You make a good point about the libraries. And the hatred.”
“You don’t have to believe that I’m right,” Ethan said. “Just that I might be. That’s enough. Albus considered it, and dismissed it.”
Andromeda’s lips curled. “Albus is an idealist. It makes him an excellent leader but a poor tactician on occasions such as these. He wants so badly to save the boy he damned fourteen years ago that he’ll rationalize his way out of seeing Black as a threat. I think it’s more likely you’re right than he is, in this instance, but, Ethan, there’s very little I can do.”
Believing me is enough, Ethan wanted to say, but the gut-wrenching relief that someone believed him had no place here. Sentiment meant almost nothing to Andromeda if it didn’t come from one of the few people she genuinely cared about and Ethan knew full well he wasn’t one of them. They just had similar goals. “Watch him. Keep a handle on how much the Order gives him. Try to convince some of the others to at least be suspicious instead of just following Albus’ lead. And—” He hesitated. “Try to keep Jules from getting too close to him.”
“I have very little influence with Julian, but the rest is manageable.” Andromeda offered him a ghost of a smile. “Frankly, it’s what I intended to do anyway.”
And that’s why Ethan was trusting her. “Remus has influence with Jules, and you with Remus.”
Andromeda raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
“A Slytherin and a Black, who married a Muggle-born and forged a good life using the things other people judge you for, not despite of them,” Ethan clarified. He’d picked up on some things in the last few months of getting to know Remus better, of late nights in James’ study with the three of them talking and sometimes passing around bottles. “Obviously very different circumstances but he looks up to you more than he’ll admit. And he sees something of Sirius in you.”
“Of course he does,” Andromeda muttered. “Well. I’ll see if I can… speak to him… we weren’t friends in school, exactly, but I found him more tolerable than James, to be blunt. And I’m sure both he and James could use the support right now.”
Ethan knew she meant she could use the emotional gap created by his imprisonment to ingratiate herself with James and Remus. He also didn’t care. It would provide James and Remus legitimate emotional support, and help keep Jules from getting too close to Harry Black, and it would mean he’d have allies waiting for him when he came back from Azkaban. “Thank you.”
“Mm.” Andromeda uncrossed her legs and stood. With their negotiations complete, she’d no more reason to stay. Neither of them needed to bother pretended she’d come here for Ethan’s sake. It was sort of refreshing, that lack of pretense. “Don’t underestimate the dementors, Ethan. Force of will doesn’t mean much. Neither will clinging to plans for the future. And I know you know those things, rationally, but I’m also sure part of you is stubbornly convinced you can tough it out. Gryffindor.” Her lips quirked without humor. “Try to kill that conviction, if you can. It will only make it harder. You can’t resist them—all you’ll be able to do is endure.”
Ethan watched her go without really seeing anything. She had a point, he knew. There was no way to just tough out the dementors. And once Andromeda said it, he realized she was right—about a little part of him believing he could just withstand them through sheer force of will.
But she was wrong, too. Ethan remembered what Black had said about surviving twelve years in there with his sanity remarkably undestroyed. It had taken mind healers and time to start putting the man back together but he wasn’t entirely gone and he’d said it was the thought of his false imprisonment that kept him together in there. Being unpleasant, the dementors hadn’t been able to take it.
Well, Ethan hadn’t been betrayed by his mentor and best friend, but he also wasn’t going to be stuck in there forever. He was wrongfully imprisoned. Harry Black had done this. Even once he forced himself to accept the truth of Andromeda’s last words, he knew he could at least hang on to that.
Harry
“You—absolute—fucking—bastard.”
The familiar voice brought Harry and Pansy up short.
They exchanged a glance. Harry cast a nonverbal silencing charm followed by a Notice-Me-Not and they jogged off in the direction it had come from.
Both of them stopped dead when they rounded the next corner.
Thank Merlin this section of the sixth floor was almost never used, because Theo had apparently been at this for a few minutes and there was blood absolutely everywhere. Including on Harry’s best friend’s face.
Theo, injured. Something cold and angry snapped to life in Harry’s stomach.
He took in the rest of the scene.
Graham Pritchard, curled in a ball on the ground, surrounded by blood and the fragments of torn robes.
Three older students, all Gryffindors—no, actually, that was a Hufflepuff, except his tie had been soaked red from a gash above his collarbone.
Theo hadn’t noticed Harry and Pansy. He lifted his wand, but he was facing them, and Harry saw the syllables forming on his lips and knew what spell he was about to cast—
“Stupefy!” Pansy shouted.
Theo slumped, surprise lingering on his unconscious features.
Harry slashed his temporary charms down and stalked forward.
“Thank—you—thank—you,” one of the Gryffindors choked out, squinting at Harry through swollen eyes. He cocked his head and examined the boy clinically. That looked like seventh year Victor Delvin to him, underneath what was clearly the result of several precisely aimed Bludgeoning Hexes to the face.
“I wouldn’t thank us just yet,” Pansy said, stepping on Victor’s stomach and grinding down her heel.
His mouth gaped open. Harry got off a silencing charm and then a Stunner for good measure.
Actually, on second thought…
He stunned the other two with quick wand flicks and joined Pansy at Graham’s side.
“Hey,” Pansy said, laying a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “You conscious? Graham?”
The younger boy let out a moan.
Harry ground the heel of one hand into his eyes. He had blood on his shoes and a situation to deal with and—he didn’t want this now. The day had included a Defense lesson of Umbridge needling everyone while he and Daphne took turns silencing Hermione from under their desk and then comforting a shaken Dylan Worple after a “tea” with the ghastly High Inquisitor. And now this.
“Oi,” Pansy said.
“Right. Sorry.” Harry fished out his journal and stared at it for a few seconds. Gold page. This was close Vipers only.
HB
Anyone in the Chamber?
Thank Merlin he got a prompt response.
JF
Yours truly
Harry switched to Justin’s silver page.
HB
5 vials unkeyed blood healing potions, 3 of dittany, 1 each Verit. and the antidote, 5 of Blood-Replacer. No one outside the inner group, and not Neville. Hurry.
JF
On my way
“Justin’s coming,” Harry said. “Nice stunner, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Pansy set about cleaning the blood off the walls and floor.
Harry eyed Theo for a few seconds before pointing his wand. “Renervate.”
Theo blinked and looked up at him. “Oh, hey, mate. Fancy seeing you here.” The casual words were at direct odds with the vicious snarl and bloody streaks twisting his face.
“What happened?”
“They happened.” Theo pushed himself up and leveled such a glare at the older kids Harry thought he might have to stun him again. Luckily Theo restrained himself and continued his explanation. “I was looking for a quiet place to practice… something… what with everyone else down in the Chamber lately. Heard someone yelling. I thought it might be worth investigating, slipped around the corner, and they had Graham on the ground.” Theo’s glare darkened. “Unimaginative bastards were just taking him apart with Slicing Hexes.”
“Unimaginative, but effective,” Harry pointed out.
Theo snorted. “So of course I stepped in.”
“Are you and he even friendly?” Harry said.
“He’s a Viper.” Theo’s tone of voice said he thought this should be obvious. “He’s one of y—of us.”
Harry nodded; that did explain it. “What did you do to them?”
Theo’s grin was, frankly, unsettling. “They were stupid, and unimaginative.”
Harry nodded again. “Do we need anything other than general healing and Blood-Replacer potions?”
“You’re healing them?”
“We can’t kill them,” Harry said.
“Why the hell not?”
Pansy got rid of the last big blood splatter and turned on them with a scowl. “If it was just one, maybe, but three students vanishing at once? Including Tobias Pritchard, right after Harry de facto kidnapped his brother, which everyone in the right Ministry and other circles knows by now?”
Theo deflated. “I take your point. Anyone else know Obliviate?”
“I suck at it,” Harry admitted. Occlumency he was damn good at but Mind Arts that involved going into someone else’s head were so not his alley. Barty still wouldn’t stop ribbing him about the failed dog Obliviation and that had happened almost right when they got back from break.
“Fucking fine,” Theo sighed.
Harry checked his watch. “Justin should be here in a minute or two. Is Graham stable?”
“Seemed like it,” Pansy said. Her face was dark. “They were cauterizing the wounds as they went.”
“No, that was me. What?” Theo demanded in response to their expressions. “I had about ten seconds to stop him bleeding out while those three recovered from getting blasted down the hall.”
“Some of those will probably scar.” Pansy poked at a long gash down Graham’s chest and stomach with a faint expression of revulsion. Maternal she wasn’t.
Harry conjured a cloth and bucket, filled the bucket with a jet of water, and shoved the lot at Theo. “Clean yourself up, you look like some kind of demon.”
“Nah,” Theo said. “If we have to wipe their heads then I’m at least going to scare them first.”
“Oh good,” Pansy said with a smile.
Harry rocked back on his heels and cast a few diagnostic charms at the group of attackers. They weren’t going to die before Justin got here. Good thing, too, because healing spells were complicated. Harry made sure every one of the Vipers got proficient at diagnostics and superficial healing of shallow cuts and bruises, that they could immobilize the area around a broken bone, and for the older set, put a person into a stasis not unlike Draught of Living Death that would slow progression of physical or curse damage almost to a halt. The problem with that was that it was a constant drain on the caster’s power to hold them under, so it was pretty much just a stopgap measure until a real Healer could be found.
Healing was much easier with potions than with a wand.
Justin showed up, panting from his run, a little less than five minutes later. Eriss and Draco of all people were right behind him. Eriss went straight for Harry without hesitation but Justin and Draco stopped in their tracks.
“What the fuck,” Draco said.
Harry snapped his fingers. “Healing potions. Now.”
“Right. Sorry.” Justin fumbled a magically expanded pouch out of his pocket and tossed it over, eyes still fixed on the bodies on the floor.
Good thing Pansy had cleaned up most of the blood.
Harry cast a Cushioning Charm and upended the pouch. Vials and flagons clinked out onto the floor, caught an inch or two above it by the charm. He fished out a full flagon of his special Blood-Replacer and a vial of a healing potion waiting to be keyed to someone’s blood.
“Get that in him,” he said, passing the former off to Justin.
Justin nodded and scrambled over to Graham. Surprisingly, he’d recovered a lot faster than Draco and just gotten down to business, not minding the blood that streaked his knees and hands from the area around Graham, who was still slowly leaking red. Draco was even paler than usual and propping himself up on the wall.
While Justin worked on the Blood-Replacer, Harry carefully uncorked the vial of generalized healing potion and aimed his wand at Graham’s blood. Uncontaminated was best for this, so he funneled a thin stream of it straight out of the largest gash on his chest. The boy’s back was a mess of cuts, bruises, dust, and stone chips; nothing taken from there would be pure.
Pure. Ha.
Harry corked the vial again and shook it, feeling and seeing the potion’s latent magic kick into gear. Matteo’s lecture about blood magic over the summer helped explain why blood-keyed healing potions were so much more effective. The blood itself shaped the potion’s magic to best affect the person in question.
Justin leaned back, exhaling. “It’s all down. He’s swallowing.”
“Good.” Harry took his place and carefully poured the healing potion down Graham’s throat, hitting him with a healer’s charm to make him swallow. Graham’s throat convulsed. A bit of potion dripped out of the corner of his mouth but almost all of it went down. Harry flicked his wand and spelled away the spill.
“We wait?” Pansy checked.
“Shouldn’t be more than a minute or two. Draco, pull yourself together, it’s just a bit of blood and no one’s going to die.”
“Shut it, Black,” Draco snarled. Anger and wounded pride stiffened his spine at the direct order. He pushed off the wall and stalked over to stand next to Pansy.
She smirked at him. Draco seemed to realize he’d been played and deflated a bit but he didn’t slouch back into the shell-shocked posture from before. A definite improvement. None of the Vipers, least of all Harry, was stupid enough to think their little extracurricular club would make it through this whole mess without seeing some fighting. Better that Draco get the squeamishness out of his system now when it wouldn’t cost him or another Viper their life.
“He’s healing.” Justin pointed, rather unnecessarily, at Graham’s chest. The muscle and fat tissue visible inside the clean gash were slowly knitting together. It was a slightly paler shade that indicated hyperactive scar tissue, a survival trait evolved by magical and nonmagical humans alike. Harry knew the results wouldn’t be pretty but they were remarkably effective.
“Won’t the gravel in his back… oh.” Draco squinted at the mess of cuts in Graham’s back. As he healed from the inside out, debris was pushed out of the body. Contaminated blood mixed with stone dust and chips from where curses had gouged up the floor dripped off his body, a trick Barty had taught him. Harry would eat his wand if Graham hadn’t been writhing in pain and grinding his shredded back into the equally shredded stone.
The cold, angry feeling was getting stronger. He reminded himself to breathe, and reminded himself of all the reasons Pansy had given Theo for why these people couldn’t die.
Today, at least.
Color returned to Graham’s skin. He shifted and the tattered remnants of his robes fell away. Harry’s eyes narrowed; he’d bought those robes for Graham to replace all the clothes the boy hadn’t had time to gather from home. In fact, they’d had to replace nearly all Graham’s things, including his books and trunk. It was fortunate the kid had done like all the Vipers and kept his wand on him at all times because Harry was not at all sure the family would’ve returned even that much. And it was criminal to deprive a witch or wizard from their wand.
“Graham,” Justin said gently. “Hey, buddy, can you hear me?”
Buddy? Draco mouthed. Pansy elbowed him hard enough for the blond to make a choking noise and clutch at his ribs.
Graham blinked open his eyes. “Wha… Justin. Harry. Hey… where’m I?”
“What do you remember?” Harry said, deliberately shifting so Graham’s view of the older students was blocked.
“Er… I was… there’s some unused classrooms up here,” Graham said, frowning. “An’… V’ronica and Malco’m were gonna meet me… work on Charms homework. I came early. And then…”
His eyes blew wide suddenly and he struggled to sit up. “They—they—out of nowhere—”
“Calm down. You’re safe.” Harry injected as much command into his voice as he could without veering into threat territory. Graham quit struggling to sit up and flopped back, breathing hard. Delayed panic still had the kid’s heart pounding hard enough they could all see it in his throat.
“Theo came along and helped you,” Justin said. “Then Harry and Pansy, and they called Draco and me.”
“Oh,” Graham said, squinting suspiciously up at all of them. Harry grinned; he was living up to his green-and-silver tie. Even when injured.
“Vipers,” Justin said, rolling his eyes. “And I, at least, don’t have an ulterior motive.”
Neither did the rest of us, Harry thought. For once.
“Who was it?” Pansy said.
Graham shifted. The bodies were down by his feet. Harry pressed Graham’s shoulder to keep him down. It’d be better for some of the panic to subside before they let him see what Theo had done. “Eh… that Hufflepuff. Something Carmichael.” Eddie, Harry’s brain supplied, one of the seventh-year prefects. “And Victor Delvin. And…” A cross between a sob and a snarl tore its way out of Graham’s lungs. “My brother.”
Well, shit. Harry had hated Toby Pritchard for years. He hadn’t even recognized him among the bodies.
Not bodies, he corrected himself. They were alive.
“Are they alive?”
He blinked. Graham was looking between Harry and Justin with a cold expression that didn’t quite hide something else lurking underneath. Pain. Grief. Something a lot more raw. Like when they faced off with his father, Harry was impressed by Graham’s mask.
“Shockingly, yes,” Theo said darkly from behind Graham. The kid didn’t try to turn. “It’s only thanks to Pansy’s timely intervention.”
For the life of him, Harry couldn’t figure out if disappointment or relief flickered across Graham’s face.
“Okay.” Graham swallowed. “I’m gonna sit up now.”
Harry shrugged. If Graham thought he could handle it—again, the Vipers weren’t stupid. He had to know Theo wouldn’t react well.
Graham pushed himself upright on slightly trembling arms. Looked around Harry and Justin. Blinked. “Theo, what the fuck did you do?”
“Harry, you have got to keep Black from teaching him that kind of language,” Draco said, appalled. “It’s not proper manners for a—a thirteen-year-old!”
For a few seconds, this so flabbergasted all of them that they forgot the unconscious bleeding people on the floor and stared at Draco.
He glared back even as he turned a slow, dull red.
Pansy broke first. “Oh—my—fucking—Merlin,” she choked out, cackling. “I actually cannot deal with you sometimes.”
“What?” Draco demanded. “Manners are important.”
“Right,” Graham said blankly. He stared at Draco like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. “Like I’ve never heard worse words while my dad used me as a tablet for wand burns.”
Draco blinked. “He what?”
“Did no one explain to him?” Theo said to the group at large. His evil smile was aimed at Draco now and had a lot less active malice in it.
“I mean. I knew they had some kind of fight,” Draco said, staring at Graham with not a little horror. Harry resisted the urge to rub his temples. He’d allowed the story to get back to Draco because Theo said the Death Eaters wouldn’t use it against Pritchard at the moment. This still wasn’t how he’d have preferred Draco learn the details. “And he showed up at the Black house all freaked out. They—wand burns?”
Graham wordlessly shoved up his sleeve. Most of the burns had left faint silvery circles on his skin, healing potions be damned. Draco’s horror visibly progressed to the nausea stage. His mouth gaped open but no words came out.
Harry gave in and pressed a finger to his left temple. “Draco, did you even pay attention to James Potter’s trial? Like, at all? Or have you ever seen me shower?” His skin was a little darker than average white, and that only made the countless little nicks on his arms, knuckles, back, and calves stand out more. It was hard to miss.
“Well. Those were Muggles.”
“James and Dumbledore knew,” Harry said wearily. “Or at least Dumbledore. He had his little Squib follower spying on me my whole life.”
Pansy snorted. “Draco, honestly, it’s not like Muggles have a monopoly on awful parenting.”
“Still. A magical child. Hell, any child. Muggle children shouldn’t—children are…” Draco waved his hands a bit hysterically.
“Oi,” Justin said loudly. “I know it’s dramatic but can we maybe have a meltdown about the existence of shitty parents later? Like, maybe when there’s not people bleeding on the floor? Unless you’ve decided to let them die.”
“Nope,” Pansy said. “Like I said. They can’t just poof all at once. Be handy if that basilisk was still alive, actually, it could eat them.”
“Right,” Harry said, climbing to his feet and hauling a still-unsteady Graham up after him. Healing potions were good but not that good. Graham would probably need another one tonight and two more the next day to heal him fully. “Healing potions.”
Draco handled Devlin, Pansy took Pritchard, and Justin dealt with Carmichael. Harry would’ve jumped in to help key the healing potions but Graham didn’t seem inclined to get more than a foot away from him and he didn’t want to make the kid get close to his attackers. He also didn’t want Theo too close to them, but for an entirely different reason.
Theo looked at them like Eriss did one of Harry’s Imperiused rodents, seconds before he ended the spell and she ate it.
Judging by the smugness pulsing down the familiar bond, magnified by Eriss being right there on his shoulders, his snake had sensed that comparison in his mind and was very proud of it.
“If you were human, you would have the evilest smirk ever on your face right now,” Harry murmured.
“Yes, well. I am magnificence. He is an appropriate friend if he reminds you of a viper.”
“We’re all vipers.”
“Some more than others.” This was accompanied by a person-sense that Harry vaguely associated with—stutters and slow courage and earth and steadiness. Neville. Of course.
“True.” Neville was—not a viper. A bear, maybe.
Eriss poked Harry’s ear. “Worry about him another time.”
Harry blinked and tuned back into the world. The healing potions were ready, held in his friends’ hands.
“Here goes,” he sighed. “Renervate.”
They woke up groaning and unhappy. Of course, they only froze when they saw Harry crouching in front of them, deliberately making his posture unthreatening because he knew the contrast of that with their fear would drive them nuts. He’d also lifted the invisibility off of Eriss, seeing as they were going to forget this anyway. Theo, Pansy, Draco, and Justin were behind him somewhere, and looking appropriately threatening if Harry knew them at all. Graham had come to stand next to him like a very small watchdog.
“B-Black,” Carmichael rasped. His brackish eyes were huge and flick-flick-flicking between Harry and the other Vipers. Harry didn’t bother to hide his disgusted sneer.
Devlin coughed up blood. “What… are you…”
“Oh, just asking a few questions,” Harry said with his most charismatic smile. The one that had charmed Babbling into giving him a Restricted Section pass, and gotten most of his teachers to get over their reflexive horror that a Potter had gone to Slytherin.
All three attackers recoiled slightly. Eriss’ delight pulsed at him through the familiar bond, mingling with his own until he might have forgotten where he ended and she began if he hadn’t kept such firm order of his own mind.
“Graham. Please.”
“Look at that.” Pansy’s voice was just a little sharper than usual. Just a little meaner. “It speaks.”
“It?” Justin asked.
Harry could practically feel Pansy’s sickly sweet smile. “Well, I’d hardly classify it as a wizard, would you? Not nearly… worth that.”
“I am a wizard, bitch,” Pritchard managed to snap despite the clear pain wracking his body. Harry eyed the slashed tendons that kept his legs more or less useless. Theo had been precise indeed.
“Not a good one, clearly.” Draco’s drawl was as derisive and oily as Harry had ever heard. “Can barely use a wand if a fifth year could take him down… even with two of his friends backing him up.”
“Pretty ignoble,” Justin agreed apathetically. “I thought lions were the brave ones.”
“He’s got it coming.” Pritchard managed to flop onto his back, propped up on both elbows. “C’mon… Malfoy… Parkinson… you know what it’s like. Having… family…” coughing, “expectations. Graham… betrayed ours. Even if we’re… not your side… can’t you get that?”
“See, the difference is that my father would never leave me to stumble out of a fellow House mate’s Floo covered in wand burns,” Draco hissed. “No matter what I did to let the family down. He understands that magical children are precious.”
Pritchard twitched.
“Cottoned on yet?” Theo said snidely. All three of them flinched again. “No help from us.”
“Why’d you do it?” Harry said, still conversational. “Carmichael, Devlin… why are you even involved in this?”
“Fuck you,” Devlin spat, clearly having decided that pleas for mercy were useless.
Harry grinned at him. Right here… his friends were behind him. He could drop the mask for once. Let loose the part of him that was twisted, broken, wrong.
Judging by their sudden pallor, it wasn’t pleasant.
He wasn’t feeling particularly pleasant. Harry twirled his wand around his fingers. He was pretty sure he could Crucio them right here without a hitch, no matter he’d never done it to a person other than a few seconds to Barty—he was that pissed. It didn’t really matter. The school wards would definitely pick up an Unforgivable up here without the interference of the dungeons and the Slytherin magic, and if not those, then Dumbeldore’s monitors.
Instead, he leaned forward and whacked Devlin’s foot with his left hand. The foot attached to the shin presently exhibiting a textbook compound fracture.
Devlin screamed.
“Someone remembered silencers, right?” Justin said over the noise.
“Yep,” Harry said cheerfully. “Theo, portraits?”
“Checked before I started in on them, obviously. They put up some wards before.”
As expected. Theo wasn’t so careless.
Devlin’s scream died off. “Get the picture?” Harry said. “No one’s coming to help you.”
“Fuck you,” Devlin said.
This time, instead of a physical swat, Harry pointed his wand at Devlin’s foot. Concentrated. Slowly rolled his wrist to the outside.
The screaming was even louder this time as Devlin’s foot twisted in tandem.
Harry let the magic drop. “Just answer the question already.”
“What does it matter?” Draco said. “Just wipe them already.”
“I’m curious.” Harry reminded himself of Barty for a second and fought the absurd impulse to laugh.
“Because—he’s…” Devlin trailed off, glaring furiously at Graham.
“You’re angry.” Graham’s voice had the tight kind of control that said he was barely keeping it together. “That I—did something bad. That I don’t fit your little picture of what people should be like.”
“Yes,” Pritchard hissed, glaring at his brother. “We’re Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. We’re good. We help people.”
“So do we,” Harry said, grinning. “Just, you know, not you.”
Carmichael spat at him.
“Creative,” Pansy sneered. “Harry, can we finish this up? I need to redo my nails, I’ve got blood under them.”
“Right, sorry.” He flicked one hand over his shoulder and took a long breath. The Dursleys and then Dumbledore and James and Thorne had broken something and it was hard, sometimes, to pretend otherwise. Especially when it came out like this. When someone hurt one of his friends and his entire body turned to ice. Even now a little part of him couldn’t stand the thought of them seeing him like this and calling him a freak.
Draco, Justin, and Pansy stepped forward in tandem, brandishing the healing potions. Harry pulled his wand and started throwing healing charms at Devlin. The older boy screamed again as his compound fracture slid back into his leg and realigned with its other half, tearing skin along the way. Pansy and Justin sucked at healing magic but Draco was the best of all of them, hilariously. Between him and Harry they got the three older boys into a decent enough shape that the healing potions should be able to take care of them.
“We’ll tell,” Carmichael said. “What you—what you did—Nott, that was Dark magic, you fucking Death Eater spawn—”
“If you do tell, you’ll have to admit that Theo only attacked you because you attacked Graham Pritchard in the first place,” Harry said. “All it would take is a memory modified by someone who they don’t know is a skilled Occlumens to show only the extent of Graham’s injuries. And then where would you be?”
“The Occlumens is him, by the way,” Justin said helpfully.
Devlin made a frightened noise.
A part of Harry wanted to leave them with their memories and let them wander around in terror so he could just know how they were stewing—but that was stupid. It would invite revenge; it was an idiotic risk.
But it wasn’t necessarily all or nothing. “Let them keep their fear,” Harry said, standing.
Graham stepped a little bit closer to Harry, enough that he was just barely leaning into Harry’s side, as Draco and Theo and Pansy moved in. Pansy was best at Obliviate, and loved having a bit of wand-magic that she excelled at for once. Theo and Draco and Daphne were all quite good as well. Barty said that Obliviate was a strictly guided rudimentary form of Legilimency, and talent with the former indicated talent with the latter. The problem with Legilimency was that, unlike Occlumency, you really needed to be taught instead of teaching yourself.
Harry knew three Legilimens and he didn’t trust any of them in the slightest.
“Obliviate,” Draco and Theo said almost in unison. Their eyes and Devlin’s and Carmichael’s slid out of focus. Pansy took her time, fiddling with her wand and enjoying Pritchard’s stilted, wandless efforts to crawl away from her.
“Don’t be nice,” Graham said suddenly.
Pansy eyed him for a second, her bob cut swinging around her ears. “Wasn’t planning on it. Obliviate.”
Her eyes and Pritchard’s went glassy, too. Unlike his cronies, Pritchard twitched and whimpered while Pansy sorted through his brain. She’d practiced on Harry a few times, using her not-nice approach. It felt like a hurricane of razor-sharp ice shards tearing through your mind.
Graham flinched just a little.
Harry glanced down. The kid’s eyes were closed. “Do you need to leave?” he said, softly, so he didn’t interrupt anyone’s concentration.
“N-no.” Graham clenched his jaw, resolute. The effect was somewhat diminished by the baby fat he hadn’t quite grown out of but still a good effort. “They did—worse to me.”
Not quite true, but as Graham had never been subjected to either an Obliviate or a Legilimency attack, he didn’t know just how utterly creepy and dehumanizing it was to have someone sorting through your head. Harry didn’t correct him.
“Done.” Pansy stepped back, letting Pritchard fall to the ground with a thump. The marks on his body were already fading thanks to the blood-keyed healing potion. He’d be sore for a few days and so would the others but Pansy, Draco, and Theo knew to include an aversion to hospitals in their memory patches. It was weak, and wouldn’t last, being implanted by Obliviate rather than proper Legilimency, but it would keep them away from Pomfrey while the single dose of potion did its work.
Draco finished second and Theo last. A few reparos on their robes and the job was done. Harry stuffed their wands in his pocket. “We mobilicorpus them to the library.”
“Twins?” Justin said. “For a diversion.”
Theo was already digging out his journal. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate the outlet,” Harry said.
And did they ever. The explosion an hour later rocked the whole castle and set off thick, roiling greenish fog that filled every corridor and room so thickly it was difficult to walk without running into something. If you didn’t know the countercharm, it would swallow any and all light. Barty had seen the twins’ notes and suggested a tweak that would take all light energy and boost it back into the spell itself, so attempts to see through the smoke only made it last longer. The masterstroke was that if you breathed it in while asleep, you stayed asleep for ages with no side effects.
Eddie
He woke up with a pounding headache.
For a few seconds he thought he was dreaming. But no, that made no sense, when you were dreaming you never realized it was a dream, so that meant he was actually in the library despite having no memory of getting there, and he was actually surrounded by vaguely noxious green smoke.
He frowned. He didn’t remember coming to the library… or… something else. Something he’d forgotten. Something that happened before this?
By squinting, Eddie could just make out two other people slumped over the table with him. Toby and Vic, right. They’d been doing… something this morning. Important. He looked at the books spread around the table. Homework maybe? Except homework didn’t usually make him full of self-righteous anger. Well, actually, sometimes, usually when that horrible Snape wrote him nasty comments about his “deplorably rigid thinking,” which had happened just this morning, so maybe it was that?
He batted at the fog. Reached for his wand and panicked for a second before he realized it was in his right pocket instead of his left. Weird. He’d been left-handed his entire life, that wasn’t something you just forgot…
“Hey,” he said. “Toby—Vic—wake up.”
Toby was the first one to come around, groaning. He looked about as shitty as Eddie felt. “What… the fuck… happened?”
“Weasley twins, probably,” Eddie said. “They’ve been quiet for a few weeks, prob’ly planning this.”
“Huh.” Toby blinked a few times. “That… makes sense, actually. Hey, Vic, wake up, check out this prank!”
“Wha…. whoa.” Vic stared around with stupid amazement. Eddie sometimes wished his best friend was smarter but then again Vic had always been nice to him. Vic was his best friend. Vic couldn’t help it if he wasn’t the brightest; Eddie would stick by him regardless.
Even if it meant putting up with Tobias Pritchard, who for all he came from a great family, wasn’t the nicest guy ever.
Eddie shook that thought away, too. Toby was Vic’s friend, so he was Eddie’s by extension.
“Ow,” Toby said, laughing as he got to his feet. “Damn, guys, I am sore. Pickup Quidditch yesterday must’ve taken more out of me than I thought… Oi, Vic, let’s go, we can finish that game of chess.”
“Right,” Vic said, getting to his feet too.
“In the—your common room?” Eddie said.
Toby glanced at him. “Yeah, of course, where else? Although if it’s as foggy as this we might have a hard time seeing the board.”
“I dunno, Toby.” Vic frowned, glancing at Eddie.
Vic clearly wanted to go, though, and he’d confided in Eddie about his family pressuring him to get closer to the Pritchards. “Go on,” Eddie said, smiling brightly. It was about ninety percent sincere. “I know you’ll have fun. See you at dinner, yeah?”
“Of course.” Vic grinned at him and collected his stuff, following Toby out of the library.
The fog seemed to muffle sound. Eddie hated how alone he felt isolated in this corner—which wasn’t his usual study corner, and wasn’t that odd? He jammed his things into his bag and hurried out as quickly as possible. In the Hufflepuff common room, it was impossible to be alone, even in fog as thick as this.
Although it turned out that the fog was impeded by the common room entrances, so there was only a faintly greenish haziness to the air once Eddie got past the barrels. He breathed a sigh of relief.
He really did feel awful. His whole body was aching like hell. Maybe he was getting ill or something; those weird kneazle viruses from the States always made him feel achy when he caught one.
Across the common room, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Eddie’s stomach did something unpleasant. Justin Finch-Fletchley, Muggle-born, not that you’d know it to look at him. He was reclined in a chair with all the insouciant grace of a pureblood heir, chatting with Hannah Abbott and Zoey Hughes. Finch-Fletchley’s robes were of fine make, tailored, and looked well-worn. Eddie frowned. He’d never liked the kid much. He befriended far too many Slytherins.
The fifth year looked up just then and locked eyes with Eddie across the common room. Eddie blanched and terror took a vicious grip on his lungs and his pulse skyrocketed—
Finch-Fletchley’s face broke into a grin and he waved briefly before going back to whatever conversation he’d been having with the girls.
Eddie took a steadying breath, barely noticing that several other badgers were staring at him with worry, or that he was stopped dead in the middle of the common room clutching his book bag like a lifeline. That was stupid. Clearly he wasn’t sleeping enough, or maybe he had low blood sugar, or both of those plus the onset of a kneazle virus. Finch-Fletchley hadn’t glared at him or anything; had been perfectly nice, just like he always was. There was no reason for that stupid fear response.
It was probably just another weird part of this already weird day. The stupid Weasley Terrors’ latest prank was having some side effects, Eddie decided, and stumbled off to his dormitory. He’d sleep it off and be back to normal the next day.
It took a while for his awful, irrational fear to subside.
When he woke up a few hours later for dinner, Eddie climbed out of bed feeling not at all rested. “You were having some awful dreams, mate,” his roommate said. “Thrashing and twitching all over the place. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Just… coming down with something, I think.”
“You should go to Pomfrey. Get a checkup.”
That made sense, but—“No, I’m good.” Eddie just didn’t want to go to the hospital wing. He was fine, dammit, he just needed more sleep and a few days to get over this virus. “I’ll tough it out, I’ve got some Pepper-Up in my trunk.”
“If you’re sure. C’mon, we’ll miss dinner.”
He let himself be dragged up to the Great Hall for dinner and didn’t even notice that he avoided looking at the Slytherin table all the way through.
Theo
They made it back to the common room without a hitch, burned Theo’s bloodstained robes to get rid of any possible evidence, changed, and made it up to dinner. He watched Pritchard, Carmichael, and especially Devlin throughout dinner in a way that Daphne said made him look like a predator. He playfully snapped his teeth at her and she laughed.
(She was a predator, too, underneath the pretty hair and ice queen mask.)
All three older boys avoided looking at the Slytherin table. Theo knew full well he was practically radiating smugness by the time they finished dessert.
“What’s up with him?” Everett asked at one point, eyes on the faintly green Eddie Carmichael.
“Had some fun this afternoon,” Theo said with a wide smile.
Harry looked between him and Everett. “Just a spot of extracurricular spellwork.”
“Ah.” ‘Extracurricular’ was practically Slytherin code for ‘illegal and/or dangerous.’ Everett understood perfectly well and returned to his food.
After dinner, Draco chased the beefcakes out of the dormitory, Daphne and Pansy came over with Pansy’s demon fox in tow, and Harry relayed the whole story in a perfectly even tone.
Daphne glared. “And you didn’t invite me?”
“You didn’t respond in the journal,” Harry said.
She glared harder. “Next time, invite me.”
“Done.” Harry ran absent hands over Eriss draped around his shoulders.
“Graham?” Pansy said.
Harry sighed a bit. “Got him back to the younger Vipers. Veronica and Malcolm were freaking out with worry. He’ll… he’s adjusting but he’ll be fine.”
“He’s not going back to that house,” Draco said. “Right? Father will back you, I’ll write him first thing in the morning. Theo—does this have anything to do with the recent spat between your father and Lord Pritchard?”
More observant than you seem, Draco, maybe there’s hope yet. “Maybe.”
Draco nodded.
Theo
Theo woke up sometime that night, blinking sleep out of his eyes. For a few seconds he wasn’t sure what had woken him, and then a bit of light shot across his curtains for a few seconds as someone opened and then closed the door.
He followed without a thought.
Harry was sitting by the fire, Eriss on his shoulders. She stirred when Theo stepped into the otherwise-empty common room. Playfully, he snapped his teeth at Eriss, and she flashed her razor-sharp fangs back at him, their own little gesture of greeting. He was pretty sure Harry didn’t know about it.
Fire danced in his friend’s eyes when Theo stepped around the couch, turning them from green to crimson. Theo sat down and waited in silence for Harry to either tell him to leave, say something else, or just let him stay.
Harry seemed happy with the silence so Theo just dragged a blanket over his legs.
Then again… he was curious. “Do you enjoy it?” he said eventually.
“Hurting them?”
Theo nodded.
“Not in and of itself.” Harry shrugged. Eriss hissed at him for the movement and sulkily slid down to rest in his lap. “They hurt Graham. So I don’t regret it. I didn’t hesitate. I’m glad I did it because it’ll keep my people safe.”
“Mm.” That was more or less what Theo’d figured.
Harry blinked and looked away from the fire. For once, all his masks were gone, leaving nothing but the broken, hungry, power-starved boy Theo had first met in Diagon. When he got like this his eyes looked kind of dead and empty even though they gleamed as creepily green as ever. “You do.”
“Yep.” No point denying that. Theo smiled involuntarily, reliving hurting those three boys. His father had seen this smile on his face one time and promptly ordered him to never let anyone see it again.
“Sadism.”
“Problem?”
“I’m hardly one to talk.” Harry raised one hand and the firelight caught it and turned his skin reddish for just a second. “Aim it in the right direction.”
And that didn’t even need an answer. Theo knew perfectly well that he could be pretty fucking twisted. Father had seen it and drilled into him from a very young age that actions rather than abilities or desires were what mattered. It wasn’t like he was out of control, or addicted to hurting people. Theo was just careful to draw lines in his head that he would not cross and hold himself to them, lines that kept his behavior in reasonable boundaries and made sure he wouldn’t end up a front-page headline: Nott Heir Discovered Torturing Animals or some such. It might not be a socially acceptable moral code but it was his and it worked.
“Thank you. For being there for Graham.”
“He’s a Viper,” Theo said.
Harry nodded. Then one of his many masks slipped back into place and he smirked, transformed in a second into a typical mischievous teenage boy. “So’s Hermione.”
“Sod off,” Theo said, hitting his best friend with a pillow.
“Nah, c’mon, how are you guys?”
Theo huffed and flopped back on the couch. Hermione’s bushy hair and bossy voice drifted in his head and he smiled again. “Good. We’re good. We argue, though. A lot.”
“You always have,” Harry agreed, snickering. “Too academic, the both of you.”
“Hey. Books are great. You can learn a lot from books. And you’re hardly one to talk, Lord Traveling Library.”
Harry laughed. “I concede.”
“I dunno if we’ll last, though,” Theo admitted.
“Why not?”
He considered how to put it for a few seconds. “We’re almost… too similar? Too stubborn. Too academic. I… care about her… but.”
“Always the buts,” Harry said morosely. “I’m starting to think romance is a waste of time.”
“We’ve got plenty of it,” Theo said. “Unlike some other families, mine’s always been careful about inbreeding, and the Potters haven’t batted an eye at halfbloods or foreigners marrying in. Nothing to shorten our life spans. You and I have many decades ahead of us.” He could just see it, too. Whether the Dark Lord won or lost, Harry would come out of it with Theo at his side, and they’d get their Masteries and take their Wizengamot seats and worm their way into the upper echelons of power. Power that was Theo’s by birth and merit.
“Plenty of time,” Harry agreed. “Plenty of things to learn and people to outwit.”
Theo laughed softly. Eriss slipped across the sofa between them, butting her head happily into Theo’s leg. He ran a hand over her cool scales and she allowed him the contact before returning to Harry.
“Vipers was a good name.”
“Wasn’t it just?” Harry scooped up his familiar. “Clever of Justin.”