Jules
“I can’t believe Hagrid’s on probation!”
“Bloody ridiculous.” Ron didn’t seem to mind Lavender’s shrill voice, somehow. “That old hag’s had it out for all Dumbledore’s people since the beginning.”
That Jules could get on board with. He looked around the common room, noted only Fred and George sitting nearby mucking about with one of their Headless Hats, and cast the anti-eavesdropping spell Moody taught him.
It took a second before he noticed Neville, curled up by the windows with a book that he didn’t seem to be reading. Jules felt bad.
“You need to train the DA harder,” Toby said, voice low. “Jules—it’s a great thing you’re doing and all—we need to know how to defend ourselves—but it’s got to be more. And now there’s this lot on the loose.”
“You okay, mate?” Ron said.
Parvati peered at Toby. “You’re looking a bit peaky.”
“I’m fine,” Toby said, brushing their concerns off. “Had a bit of a crash in a pickup Quidditch match a few days ago, it’s nothing.”
“And now we have to deal with that new Educational Decree,” Lavender sighed.
“The teachers are being decent about it, though,” Jules said. “I keep seeing them talking in corners—the staff room’s not safe with the toad lurking around. And I saw Flitwick tell Umbridge during his inspection that he couldn’t teach us about the Ministry’s awesomeness because it “wasn’t relevant to his class” or whatever the latest decree was.”
That got a round of laughs.
“And the DA is doing better,” Parvati said. It was kind of hard to focus on what she was saying instead of on her lips. Jules pinched himself on the leg, hard. “If nothing else the breakout motivated people. And the older Ravenclaws made those parchments we can use to pass times along, that’ll help coordinate.”
“You’d think that catastrophe at Azkaban would motivate her,” Ben Creed said, “but nooo… Umbitch.”
Jules snorted.
“What?” Ben said.
“Ah… just… you call her that and so did Harry last week.” Did Toby just flinch? Weird.
“Don’t compare me to him,” Ben said, disgusted. “I know he’s your brother, mate, but he’s bloody creepy.”
Jules kicked his own reservations about Harry aside. “He’s not got it easy, you know, dealing with the snakes all the time.”
“Sure doesn’t seem to have problems,” Ron muttered.
“Get over it, Ron,” Parvati said. Jules grinned at her.
“And what about Ethan?” Toby again. “Jules, I saw that letter you got this morning…”
The anger he’d been pushing down all day almost snapped. Jules’ fists clenched.
“Sore subject,” Ron advised.
The group fell silent.
“Azkaban,” Jules finally growled. It came out thick and forced. Something hot was choking his throat.
Everyone gasped in unison. “No,” Ron said, eyes wide.
Jules slammed his eyelids shut before he either started shouting or crying. “Yeah. For… a year. He’ll be out February fourth.”
One year. Twelve months in Azkaban.
“Black managed twelve years,” Parvati said determinedly. “Ethan’s got some Occlumency, right?”
“He does.” Ron nodded and started unwrapping a chocolate frog. “James told me last summer.”
“Fucking Occlumency,” Jules half-snarled. The lessons with Snape left him tense and aching mentally and physically.
“Dumbledore knows what’s best,” Lavender said, sounding a bit lecturing.
Jules glared at her. “Yeah, well, Dumbledore says what’s best for me but he can’t be bothered to talk to me can he!”
His voice had risen to a shout by the end of the outburst and everyone stared at him.
“Jules, calm down,” Parvati said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Dumbledore is a great man. If he’s avoiding you, I’m sure he has his reasons. He’s probably busy with the Order and fighting… fighting You-Know-Who.”
“I know,” Jules grumbled, slumping a little. She was right. Dumbledore was great and leading the Order against Voldemort was a lot for anyone to handle, especially while also running a school. “Still. He’s always been around, ever since I was little… Teaching me spells and talking about history. It’s just… weird to have him so distant. And Dad’s a mess ‘cause of Ethan.”
“Well.” Parvati stiffened her spine. “If Black can survive twelve years then Ethan will be fine after a year. He’ll stuff his face with chocolate, laze around Potter Manor for a month or two, and be right back in fighting form.” She yanked out a piece of parchment. “In the meantime, you need to sort out what the DA’s working on next.”
“Stunners,” Jules said reflexively—he’d been thinking about this last week. “We can work on Stunning Spells and Protego Charms together, teach people how to put more power into both spells. And it’s good practice with Cushioning Charms. I was thinking about having the sixth and seventh years try it all silently—probably too hard for under NEWT level students.”
Eager smiles took over his friends’ faces. Jules sat up straighter and forced away his worry about Ethan, Dad, Dumbledore, Voldemort, Harry. This he could do. He could teach people to defend themselves and have a group of friends he trusted to fight with him.
Because war was coming and everyone needed to be ready and if he had to sit in school while Voldemort ran around recruiting werewolves and giants, then Jules was going to do whatever small part he could from inside Hogwarts’ walls.
“Anyway.” Parvati leaned forward. “I was thinking we could even talk about potions in the next DA meeting.”
Ron, Jules, Toby, and Lavender made faces in unison.
“Why’s that?” said Dean, who’d been silent up until now, like usual. He and Seamus were sitting close together just inside the silencing spell.
“Potions can be used in battle.” Parvati tossed her hair. Jules’ eyes got stuck on its sleek black length and the way it draped over the back of her sofa… “If you down a Strengthening Solution beforehand, well, that’s obvious. Stamina Draughts can be great if you’re in a long period of high stress. Pepper-Up, Invigorating Draught… catch my drift?”
“But then we’d have to make them,” Ron said.
Toby shook his head. “I’m not doing anything to do with that greasy bat’s class. I get enough of Potions in the dungeons, thanks.”
“It doesn’t make sense to pass up a chance like that just ‘cause we hate the git who’s been teaching it to us,” Jules said firmly. “Parvati, maybe you could take point on that? Only if people want to.”
“We’d need some kind of Unbreakable Charm on the vials.” Parvati whipped out a notebook and bent over it, her long, graceful fingers wrapping around the front cover to stabilize it while she scribbled. “I’ll get Angelina to cast that for me… Ooooh, and lots of cauldrons… I wonder if the Room will keep potions brewing while I’m not there…? Can I recruit other people?”
Jules blinked and mentally slapped himself. “Er, yeah, of course… Who d’you have in mind?”
Out of the girls’ line of sight, Toby leered and made a crude gesture. Jules scowled at him. Ben, Ron, and Toby laughed silently and Jules had to fight back a grin.
“Dean.”
The Muggle-born jumped and looked away from Seamus. “What?”
Parvati pointed her quill at him and Dean looked vaguely alarmed. “You’re good at Potions, right?”
“I’m… all right,” Dean said uncomfortably. “Neville and Hermione are better.”
“Yes, I’m aware, I’ll be dragging them in too,” Parvati said. She appeared to be jotting down a list of names. “You’ve been working with Black lately, haven’t you?”
Toby blanched and glared at Dean.
“I mean. Sometimes I sit at the same table as him,” Dean said. “Usually ‘cause Neville saved me a spot.”
“Details.” Parvati dismissed that with a wave. “You still work with by far the top Potions student in our year. Keep note of any tips he drops, we can probably use them.”
Dean shifted a bit, and Seamus glanced at him with a slight frown. “Yeah, okay, I can do that,” Dean said.
“Great!” Parvati beamed at them. “I think that’s it for tonight, guys. Lav, want to help me with this?”
“Eugh, no.” Lavender sniffed. “Potions smell nasty and clog my pores, thanks. I’ll help manage the logistics of it and that’s it. But I would love your input on the uniforms.”
Jules blinked. That was new. “Uniforms?”
“Yes,” Lavender said, looking down her nose at him. “It’s very important for a group to have a sense of unity! And if we ever get into a real fight, we’ve got to know who’s one of us!”
“Er. Okay,” Jules said.
“No masks,” Ron added.
Everyone nodded.
Jules took down the privacy spells and the group scattered. It was late, and Jules had homework he hadn’t done, but the DA was frankly way more important than his grades. He’d charm notes out of Parvati or Hermione before the exams.
Speaking of which. “Parvati,” he said, catching lightly at his ex-girlfriend’s wrist to stop her.
She paused. Jules tilted his head towards a nook by the windows, a question in his eyes. Parvati sighed and nodded, following him over to the secluded spot.
“What?” she asked. “I’ve got things to do…”
“Parvati, I…” Jules ran a hand through his hair like he’d seen Dad do a million times. “Things got awkward between us but… I miss you.”
“I’m right here.” Parvati looked coolly at him. “We’re better off as friends, Jules. I told you that when I broke it off.”
“But…”
“No. Listen.” She sighed, and softened a bit. “I’ve known you since we were kids. I like you. I trust you. I believe you and I’ll fight at your back against You-Know-Who. But there was just no… spark. And I want that.”
“No spark?” Jules stared at her. She hadn’t gone into details during their break-up—had said it was too painful, and then started crying, and he was bloody useless around crying girls so he hadn’t pushed the issue too hard. But this was ridiculous. He was the bloody Boy Who Lived. “You—I’m not interesting enough!”
Parvati made a frustrated noise. “Of course you’re interesting! Things are always interesting around you. I just know you too well. We are friends, and that’s too important to throw away on a relationship that just wasn’t working. I love you, Jules, but as a—cousin or something. Not a boyfriend. Okay?”
Jules swallowed. No, it wasn’t okay, he still cared about her and couldn’t stop thinking about her and—but if she felt that way then that was her call and he would deal with it. “Okay. Friends.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, smiling. For a second she looked like she’d hug him, just like when they were younger, or like when they were dating, but then she seemed to think better of it and just rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Remember to clear your mind before you sleep. Snape’s an arsehole but Occlumency is still really useful and it’s good to know.”
Jules fought down a scowl as his anger at Snape came roaring back. Honestly, sometimes he didn’t know how Dad managed not to kill the bastard in school. “I’ll try.”
“Good. See you tomorrow,” Parvati said, and then she was slipped up the staircase in a whirl of robes. The orange practically glowed against her brown skin.
Jules watched her go and swallowed his rioting emotions and went up to his own dorm.
FW
Harry, we overheard an interesting conversation in the dorms tonight.
HB
Do tell
GW
Well, we had to take down some of Jules’ privacy spells first.
FW
Nasty work. We think he learned it from Moody.
GW
But anyway. They were talking about the DA…
Harry
Barty picked up the box. “What’s this?”
“Letters.” Harry sat down in his usual seat. He’d gone back to the normal arrangements after the confrontation over the Longbottoms and Barty never mentioned it. “From people whose families just escaped.”
“You’re playing owl?” Barty said with a smirk.
Harry snorted. Barty knew perfectly well what this move meant in Slytherin politics, and why Harry had played it.
“Who’s in here?”
“Ah… there’s one for Iona Nielsen, Septimus Travers, Danica Bulstrode, Felix Rowle, the Gables, Bryanne Carrow and Ericus Burke from the Carrow twins, and Culan Fawley. Oh, and Corvus Viridian, I reached out to Iris. They’re warded for their recipients.”
“Nicely done.” Barty tapped the box with his wand, shrunk it, and tucked it into his pocket. “Did you finish the book on arithmancy in different cultures?”
Harry put said book on the table. “I had a question about the bit in chapter four about the Middle East’s mixture of arithmancy techniques. Why would the Silk Road have affected wizarding knowledge? Binns said it was almost exclusively a Muggle trade route.”
“Good question.” Barty leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “It has to do with magical products needing much more power to Floo or Apparate, which in turn makes the products unstable.”
“Soooo. Harry.” Pansy plopped down across from him at the table with a grin. “Who are you taking to Hogsmeade?”
“What?” Harry blinked at her over his breakfast.
“Valentine’s Day, idiot. It’s in two weeks. Who are you taking?”
He frowned. “How in Merlin’s name did a Muggle saint’s day end up a wizarding holiday?”
“Sweet Circe,” Daphne sighed, elbowing him. “Just when I think we’ve got you caught up, you go and ask questions like this.”
Harry glowered at her. Blaise was clearly not awake enough to help, Theo had his nose in a very dusty book of runes, and Draco was nowhere to be seen. Probably still working on his hair.
“Saint Valentin was a wizard,” Hestia said, leaning around Daphne. “The Muggles thought he was two men—a Roman emperor executed him twice, three years apart. First time he survived—no one’s quite sure how.” She sneered. “Whatever Muggle religion called him a martyr and named him saint. There’s rumors Valentin was attacking the Romans’ bloody celebration; it involved sacrificing animals and then beating women with them for fertility.”
An appalled silence followed. “What?” Harry said.
“’S true,” Blaise said, looking marginally more awake. This may have been because of the coffee in his hand or the gory nature of their conversation. “The Muggles had this bastardized version of a fertility rite for newlyweds. Turned it into this disgusting mess. Valentin was going after them for mocking magical traditions.”
“Then later religious leaders combined it with this other holiday to ‘convert the pagans’ or some bullshit and now we have this commercialized disaster,” Pansy finished. “Most wizards don’t even celebrate it anymore, unless they’re newly married or struggling to conceive.”
“Then why…” Harry waved his hand at the Valentine’s-themed food, the pink candles, and the hearts flashing all over Dumbledore’s robes. It wasn’t as bad as second year when Lockhart got involved, but that didn’t mean much.
“Have a guess,” Everett said with a smirk.
Harry sighed. “Dumbledore.”
“Give the boy a prize,” Everett said.
“Not sure a prize from you means much, as you’ve yet to best me in a duel,” Harry said with a cutting smile.
Everett sneered, but they all knew who’d won that round.
“If you’re finished playing with the children, care to answer my question?” Pansy’s tone was dangerously sweet.
“No one,” Harry said.
She squeaked. “No one—! Do you have a functioning brain in there? Have you even realized how people look at you?”
Harry looked over her shoulder at the Ravenclaw table and caught a random girl’s eye. It turned out to be Diggory’s girlfriend, Cho Chang. He made like he’d just been skimming the table, jerked his eyes back to hers, and let the contact draw out for just a second before offering his best charismatic smile. Chang blushed, looked down, and peeked back up at him under her eyebrows. Seeing him still looking, she blushed harder.
“I think he’s got it, yeah,” Blaise said drily. “Appreciate you not trying that on Iris, mate.”
“Aren’t you still snogging Luna?” Pansy said innocently.
Blaise twitched. Interest and quiet snickers spread around them. “How—never mind. Of course you knew. And yes, but still. Luna and I are just snogging. No emotions involved.”
“Riiiight,” Pansy said.
“So glad you agree,” Blaise said with a perfectly innocent smile. Harry wished Theo were here; he’d have looked at Harry with a smirk that said he’s probably killed someone wearing that smile.
Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. Blaise serenely ate a bowl of cut fruit.
“Harry, please just put Pansy out of her misery,” Daphne said with a small grin. “Why are you going stag?”
“No one I’m interested in,” Harry said. “It’s not that complicated.”
Pansy heaved a theatrical sigh. “Fine. Daph?”
“I have a date.”
“Who?”
Daphne let out a dainty gasp. “Does the gossip queen not know? Pansy, dear, you’re slipping.”
“I am not.”
Harry tuned out their bickering. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal to go to Hogsmeade on his own, if there was no girl he particularly cared for.
He was sitting in the Three Broomsticks with a crowd of assorted Vipers from second year to seventh when the interview happened.
“Hey, everyone, shut up!” someone bellowed.
Sam and Mason cut off their spirited argument about how far back Flitwick’s goblin blood came from. Hestia and Flora’s heads snapped up in unison, eyes narrowing at the bar as Madam Rosmerta cranked the radio in response to her customers’ loud demands.
Harry wanted to groan or drop his head into his hands as Jules’ voice came over the radio.
“…good to be on your show, Mr. Rhyme, thanks for having me.”
“How the hell did he get on Rhyme and Reason?” Theo hissed.
“Do you actually listen to that conspiracy-theory shit?” Blaise said incredulously. “Even Luna thinks it’s ridiculous.”
“Their theories are wild but it’s still fun to make fun of them—”
Harry leveled a scathing glare at them and shut them both up.
Mr. Rhyme was speaking now in his awful, nasally voice. Whenever Theo tuned his wireless to Rhyme & Reason, Harry made him put up silencing charms. “…an honor to speak with the Savior of the Wizarding World!”
“Thanks, Mr. Rhyme.” Harry could hear the smile in Jules’ voice. He really was good at public appearances, even though they’d been few and far between in the last year or two.
Mr. Reason’s oily, excitable voice came next. The Three Broomsticks was quieter than Harry had ever heard it. Even Rosmerta had quit her work behind the counter. “We’ve some questions to ask you today, dear boy, if you’d be so kind?”
“Of course. That’s why I’m here, after all.”
“Indeed, indeed…”
Rhyme jumped back in. “First up! How has the recent ream of Ministry stories made you feel? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?”
Harry’s fingers itched for his journal.
“None of the above,” Jules said. “Only more determined to make sure I can protect myself and other people in the face of what’s coming. I’ve always had people who don’t like me—comes with being in the press all the time. When I was eight, I tripped down a set of stairs, and there were some stories about how the Boy Who Lived shouldn’t be such a klutz.”
A round of chuckles echoed tinnily out of the speakers. “Quite right, quite right,” Reason said. “We’ve had our share of detractors too, and I imagine we always will. The balance has been a bit different here, far more detractors and fewer supporters…”
“Although that’s changed recently,” Rhyme said with a light laugh.
Jules echoed it. “Well, so goes public opinion, I guess. But I do still have plenty of loyal supporter and I am so thankful for all their help. The Ministry might be trying to keep things hushed up but anyone who’s believed me, anyone who’s willing to face hard truths… Thank you. Our world needs you.”
HB
Jules is on Rhyme & Reason right now giving an interview. Tune in if you can.
Hermione—do you still have Skeeter in a jar?
“And what hard truths might those be, Mr. Potter?” Reason’s voice was practically quivering with anticipation.
Jules paused for a long second in which the only sound in the pub was the wireless’ hum of ambient magic.
“Voldemort is back.”
Multiple people gasped, flinched, shrieked, dropped their food, or slopped drinks down themselves. One of the waitresses dumped an entire tray of butterbeer on the ground. Madam Rosmerta, Harry noted, was one of few who didn’t react with more than a twitch.
“I know a lot of people don’t want to hear it.” Jules was undeterred but at least he’d had the sense to pause so people could recollect themselves. “I know the Ministry’s calling me an attention-seeking fraud, a glory hound, um…”
“An unstable, dangerous lunatic in need of a private room in St. Mungo’s mental ward?” Rhyme said. “I read that one last week.”
Jules’ chuckle would probably sound real to anyone who didn’t know him. Harry was reluctantly impressed. “That one was pretty good, yeah. But I saw him. I don’t know if anyone knows Auror Alastor Moody personally but if you do, you’ll probably notice he’s even more paranoid lately. That’s because last year, Death Eater Barty Crouch Jr. escaped his father’s control and took Auror Moody’s identity all year. He taught us at Hogwarts, using Polyjuice and Veritaserum to be a perfect fake. He turned the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey.”
“I do remember an interview with Mr. Bagman during the third task that the cup was supposed to collapse the hedge maze and freeze all challenges within,” Reason said.
“Exactly. That was the plan. Crouch messed it up,” Jules said.
“But this is all the same as the Ministry’s story,” Rhyme prompted.
“Yeah… well, when we got to the graveyard… it wasn’t Mulciber waiting for us. It was Peter Pettigrew and Voldemort.”
More gasps.
“Peter Pettigrew,” Reason said. “The very same who betrayed your family and framed Lord Sirius Black for the crime?”
“Yep. He bolted as a rat—he’s an illegal Animagus, probably just so he could spy, Dad reckons Voldemort used Dark magic to influence Pettigrew’s animal form—and went straight back to his master.” Jules’ disgust was obvious in his voice. “Harry—my estranged brother, Heir Black—he and I were tied up. Pettigrew used some kind of potion to bring Voldemort back from a… well, he wasn’t really dead, but he wasn’t fully alive. Some kind of weak half-state in a child-sized body. He’s been possessing various animals for years. Sometimes people. Barely hanging around. They used… the bone of the enemy, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy to make Voldemort a new body.”
“Incredible,” Reason breathed. “That’s advanced Dark magic of a sort very, very few can practice…”
“Were you scared?” Rhyme butted in.
Jules laughed. “Terrified.”
Amusement rippled through the pub.
HG
I let her out over the holidays, actually. She’s writing under a pseudonym and nothing inflammatory. Daphne and I have her on a tight leash. Why?
“You? Gryffindor’s scion, Heir Potter, the Boy Who Lived, terrified?” Rhyme said.
Jules snorted. “I’d be an idiot if I wasn’t. It’s Voldemort, and I was tied up and wandless. But courage isn’t not being afraid, it’s acting even when you’re so scared you think maybe you can’t even move.”
“Wise words,” Reason said.
“However did you escape?” Rhyme said.
“Eh, Voldemort summoned his Death Eaters and grandstanded a bit, explaining where he’d been for so long. He looked into their minds and made sure they were still loyal, using Legilimency. Then he was about to kill me but Harry had a burst of accidental magic, and undid the ropes. I grabbed my wand. And then… we dueled.”
“You and the Death Eaters?” Rhyme said breathlessly.
Jules snorted again. “Nah, Harry distracted them, destroyed half the graveyard. He only lasted a few seconds but it was enough for—for a stray curse to hit Macnair.”
Several Vipers shot Harry worried looks. Graham, Veronica, and Malcolm were the most obvious about it, being the youngest and least experienced at hiding their emotions. For his part, Harry kept his rage carefully tucked away. Jules was keeping some lies in the narrative. But then again, Harry had committed murder. It didn’t matter so much which name Jules stuck with. And Jules was bound by the Order’s story, which hadn’t been Jules’ decision to make.
And in this case, he was clinging to the Order’s version.
“And for me to fight Voldemort. Our wands have the same core,” Jules said.
“Idiot,” Blaise whispered. “Who just announces that?!”
“He shot an Avada at me. I tried to disarm him. Our spells connected and… something happened, like a cage of light. Professor Dumbledore says it’s the Priori Incantatem effect. Harry was out at this point but me dueling Voldemort distracted them, so he was just immobilized on the ground.
“Then the Priori Incantatem broke. Everyone was distracted, Voldemort and I were both unconscious, and Harry grabbed me and summoned the Cup and Portkeyed us back to school.”
Silence fell.
“That’s… quite the story, Mr. Potter,” Reason said delightedly. “And it’s all true?”
“Every word.” Credit where credit was due and all—Jules actually managed to sound confident and in control. “Lots of people don’t want to hear it, but I swear it’s true—every word.”
“In that case, why has your brother not spoken up?”
Jules hesitated. “He… it was a terrifying night. The whole fight reminded him too much of some things that are hard for him to talk about. We agreed that I’d take point with the press so he could keep a low profile.” Cue self-deprecating laugh. “Neither of us likes the attention very much, but he’s lucky; he can dodge it better than me.”
Oh, you bastard. Lots of fake-furtive looks sneaked Harry’s way from around the pub. His Vipers pulled a bit closer, glowering around, but he cast a quick glare around the group so they’d back off. It was only to be expected.
This group in the pub, he didn’t give a shit about. The problem was going to be the fallout in Slytherin. Chapman might be a problem, possibly Seaton, since Harry was moving in to the upper echelons of the Slytherin hierarchy and they’d look to shoot him down. Jules had just painted a neon arrow pointing straight towards Harry’s shit childhood, which was a weakness the older Slytherins hadn’t tried to exploit yet.
Harry rubbed his temples. It wasn’t Jules’ fault; he was oblivious to Slytherin politics and this was a rebellion against the Order’s deliberate attempts to paint him as the useless and unstable afterthought in that battle, whose attempts to help included accidental magic, an unintentional homicide, and a Summoning Charm, and who wouldn’t talk about it because he had jumbled memories.
Theo stomped on his foot under the table. Harry refocused.
“…recommended course of action?”
“Well, people just need to be aware of the danger,” Jules said. “That’s the most important part. Brush up on defensive spells, strengthen your home wards, stock food and water in your home, maybe start a dueling club or something in your town. Any little bit helps and there’s plenty of people out there who are brave, and good, and ready to stand up for themselves, if they only have a chance to prepare.”
“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” Reason said. “It’s been a delight to speak to you today. Perhaps again sometime in the future?”
“As opposed to in the past?” Rhyme said with a laugh. Harry raised an eyebrow; the man had actually sounded a bit sinister there instead of airy and harmless.
Jules laughed, too, and it only sounded fake. “Well, I’m pretty busy this year, but I’ll keep you guys in mind. Thanks again!”
Rhyme and Reason fell into their usual sign-off spiel. The pub promptly exploded into conversation with not a few patrons staring unabashedly in Harry’s direction.
“Bugger,” Daphne sighed so only Harry and Theo could hear.
HP
I think it’s time we let her off that leash a bit. Just make sure she’s pointed in the right direction.
“Black!”
Harry closed his eyes for a half-second, checked his step, and glanced over his shoulder. “Melvin, hello.”
“None of that bullshit,” Melvin sneered. He was a sixth year but a mediocre and unimportant one Harry had never bothered with. It was confusing for a second until Harry caught the glint of Seaton’s eyes, watching from the fireplace.
Instead of rise to the bait, Harry merely raised an eyebrow and said, “I’ve just had a rather long day and I’d prefer to go work on some schoolwork, so if this isn’t urgent…”
“Oh,” Melvin said, “it’s urgent, all right. What’s this about you fighting the Dark Lord?”
Harry stared at the boy. “What’s this I hear about you being re-sorted into Gryffindor?”
Melvin froze. So did about half the common room—ha, so much for pretending not to listen. That was a deadly insult in the snake pit.
“What did you say?” Melvin said.
“Oh, sorry.” Harry knew he didn’t sound very sorry. “It’s just, I heard a rumor, and I discounted it, of course, because the Sorting Hat’s had a thousand years of practice, but behavior like that would suggest you really do belong in the lions’ den.”
Melvin sputtered. “You—! You dare!”
Harry rolled his eyes and started to walk away. His close friends hadn’t even bothered to get up, knowing he could handle Melvin of all people, but Hestia and Flora and Adrian were watching with canny intention. Waiting to see if Harry slipped up.
Only a reflection saved him. Harry caught the flicker of motion in a silver portrait frame near the entrance to the boys’ dormitory and cast a wandless, wordless protego without even turning. Whatever Melvin had shot at him reflected into the ceiling.
Harry stopped dead. The entire common room held its breath.
Slowly, he turned around. Melvin appeared to have been shocked into silence, which was the only smart thing he’d done tonight. “How very stupid of you, Melvin,” he drawled. “Attack the Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black from behind in full view of about forty witnesses.” He swept an amused grin around the common room. “I honestly think he’s ended up in the wrong House. What d’you all say? Take him to Dumbledore and demand a re-Sort?”
That got lots of muffled laughter.
Melvin made some kind of choking noise of indignation, apparently beyond speech.
“Leave off, Melvin,” Harry said kindly, just to rub it in.
He went to his room, dropped off a vaguely interesting history book he’d picked up in Hogsmeade, collected two books spelled to look like fifth-year Charms work even though they were in fact NEWT-level, and took his usual spot in the common room. Everyone made a point of pretending the impromptu challenge never happened.
The only time it came up was when Harry said offhandedly, “Melvin enjoys flying, doesn’t he? Joins in some pickup games with the Ravenclaws occasionally?”
“Yeah,” Draco said, “he does…”
“Hm.” Harry didn’t look up from his book. Pansy changed the subject.
Harry was running late the next morning thanks to an issue involving Eriss and two other castle snakes that, apparently, required his moderation because Eriss disliked killing another member of her species. It left him with a complaining stomach, a foul mood, and two minutes to get to the Great Hall.
So when Seaton accosted him right as Harry stepped into the common room, he could already tell this wouldn’t end well.
“Morning,” he said, forcing a cheerful expression onto his face.
“Morning, Black.” Seaton was standing directly in his path. “You heard your brother’s interview yesterday, I take it?”
“I imagine everyone has by now,” Harry said drily. “Subtlety is not Jules’ strong point.”
Seaton inclined his head. “Too true. You really did take all the intelligence from your parents’ gene pool.”
“Not that there was much to take, going off James’ example,” someone said in a nearby group of sixth years.
Seaton looked closely for offense, but Harry just grinned and nodded in the direction of the insult. “Fair point. Guess I’m an anomaly.”
“In more ways than one,” Seaton said. “Here we were thinking you’d been neutralized for most of that little skirmish last year, and all along you were just keeping your mouth shut. It’s quite impressive that you survived a battle against our greatest son.”
There was an intake of breath. The common room was noticeably emptier than the previous night but word of this episode would spread before lunch. Harry grinned again, but it had been warm before, and now it wasn’t. “Funny, I don’t remember fighting Merlin anytime lately.”
Seaton sneered. “Merlin was Sorted as an honor; he was a grown wizard past his prime by the time Hogwarts began. So much for Slytherin loyalty, if you stood up to the truest member of our House we’ve seen in centuries.”
“If you’ll recall, my brother fought him directly, and survived,” Harry drawled. “Again. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the compliment you just paid him. I just… kept us alive. And got us out of there.” He smiled, with teeth.
Seaton smiled back. Harry knew that look; he was readying the knife. “And you didn’t say a word about it, did you? Even to defend yourself from the Order when they made you out to be the helpless, unstable spare. Poor little Harry, the fight was so stressful, gave you some flashbacks, maybe some tears when you tried to tell anyone what really happened… Muggles really did a number on you, hm? Left some damage in their wake?”
For a brief second, Harry was so angry he couldn’t feel his hands.
For a brief second, he imagined casting a torture curse.
For a brief second, he was a toddler wracked with nausea and crawling back to his cupboard because he was too disoriented to stay upright, thanks to a cast-iron frying pan hitting him in the head. Deliberately.
“Oh, Seaton,” he said instead, feigning pity. Slytherin valued words, not hexes, for all those flew every other day. Injuries healed. Humiliation, verbal defeat—that didn’t. “Everyone’s seen the trial records by now; that I’m damaged is no secret. Apparently you’re just too blind to realize that damage didn’t leave me crying in the corner, it just helped me leave a corpse on the ground.”
Seaton actually stepped back half a step. Someone took a sharp breath behind Harry.
He glanced over his shoulder and his stomach did something unpleasant. It took all his self-control to not flinch when he saw Crabbe standing there. Of all people. Goyle behind him, but that hardly mattered; Crabbe was staring at Harry.
Shit.
“Hey, sorry,” Harry said easily, stepping out of the way.
Seaton wore his shock uncensored for a second. He almost definitely knew the truth of what happened in the graveyard. Harry nodded cordially to the boy whose father he’d murdered and waited for him to pass without comment. Relaxed. Confident. Looking for all the common room to see as though he didn’t give a shit he was talking to a classmate whose father he had murdered.
Really put Ronald’s idiotic dislike into perspective, actually.
“…right,” Goyle grunted, following Crabbe across the common room. Eyes tracked them, calculating and cool.
“Lucky strike?” Seaton suggested. He was smiling now, though, and his tone had turned light. Challenge rescinded.
Harry matched him, and let tension bleed out of his posture. Mostly. “Well, given I was holding off about ten Death Eaters, and that I only lasted about fifteen seconds? Probably.”
That got a bigger smile and a measuring look from Seaton, laughs from around the common room, and an end to the problem there.
Over breakfast, Jules received piles of mail, more than a little attention, and another week of detention with Umbridge. Harry sighed as fifty points drained from the Gryffindor hourglass. It was good for Slytherin, of course, but honestly, Jules needed to be more careful.
He found his brother lazing about in the common leisure rooms instead of doing homework like everyone else did on Sundays.
“Harry?” Jules said. They didn’t generally seek each other out in public like this. Ronald geared up for a fight behind him, though Patil didn’t do any more than look wary. Lucky the room was otherwise empty.
“Relax, I’m not here to hex you,” Harry said tersely. He pulled two bottles out of an expanded pocket. “Blue potion’s a generic healing potion. The clearish thing is essence of murtlap. Have two standard medical measures of the healing potion after each of your detentions, and then soak your hand in the murtlap.”
Jules didn’t take the bottles. “How d’you know?”
“You think you’re the only one she’s targeted?” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Slytherin has its undesirables too, brother dear, and as you may have noticed, Umbridge isn’t fond of Muggle-borns.”
“…thanks.” Jules took the bottles and jammed them both into his horrifically disorganized book bag.
Harry caught at Jules’ hand before he could flinch away. “I must not tell lies,” he read.
Jules wrenched his wrist out of Harry’s grasp. “Happy now?”
“Not particularly,” Harry said. “If you run out of potion, or if any of the Gryffindors need more, find me.”
“I could brew it,” Patil said suddenly.
Harry remembered the conversation the twins had reported to him. “You’ve been competent in Potions,” he said. “What’s your grade?”
“High E average,” Patil said snippily.
“Okay. One second,” Harry said, conjuring parchment, quill, and inkwell. The inkwell floated next to him and he braced the parchment on the wall. He was careful to disguise his handwriting as he worked.
“Here.” He handed her a scroll. “That’s the healing potion recipe. It’s modified a bit, so if you look it up, the steps won’t be quite the same.”
“Thanks.” Patil tried to take the scroll, but Harry didn’t let go. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Intellectual property rights,” he said softly. “These are my modifications. Study them all you like but this recipe doesn’t go past your little defense club’s assistant brewers, and it’s my patent. If anyone asks, you found it slipped in your bag one day.”
Only when she nodded did he let go.
“Thanks, Harry,” Jules said.
Ronald glared suspiciously but kept his mouth shut, thank Circe.
“You owe me.” Harry was already walking away.
“Slytherins,” Ronald said in disgust. This time, Harry let it slide.
Umbridge’s response showed up Monday morning.
— — BY ORDER OF — — —
THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
Any student found in possession of a sound crystallinked to the Wizarding Wireless program Rhyme & Reasonwill be expelled.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Seven.
Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge
High Inquisitor
“Stupid,” Pansy sighed, eyeing the entrance hall notice board with distaste. “Everyone’s going to get their hands on a recording now.”
“No one accused the hag of being brilliant,” Draco said, offering her his arm with a smirk and a flourish. “Breakfast, my queen?”
Pansy whacked him with a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet. “I’m not your anything, Malfoy, we broke it off.”
Harry and Theo snickered.
“And you two can shut it,” she snarled, turning her glare on them.
They schooled their expressions in unison. “Whatever do you mean, Pansy dear?” Theo simpered.
“I hate all of you. Someone get me coffee,” she muttered.
“Right this way, my lady,” Harry said solemnly, and dodged her swat as they moved into the Great Hall.
Her prediction turned out correct. By the end of the day, though not a single sound crystal was seen, the entire student body was buzzing about Jules’ interview. Daphne and Hermione even reported that girls were discussing it in the bathroom when they stopped before heading to Runes.
Gryffindor’s lost points were made up by Tuesday evening. Blaise sighed at the hourglass and Slytherin kept up a general underground grumble of complaint about favoritism all through dinner.
Melvin ended up in the hospital wing that Thursday with half his bones crushed to gravel and several internal organs ruptured. His broom had suffered a catastrophic failure of its enchantments in the middle of a pickup game of Quidditch and dumped him onto the pitch from seventy feet up. Pomfrey transferred him to St. Mungo’s, where the healers would be vanishing and regrowing his bones and doing multiple organ transplants.
“Interesting book?” Harry asked Daphne, seeing a title that had to do with brooms and cursing in her bag that evening.
She exchanged a conspiratorial smirk with Theo. “Yes, Theo and Hermione and I found it fascinating. And… relevant.”
“Such a pity about Melvin,” Blaise said, glancing over Harry’s shoulder and speaking a touch louder than absolutely necessary. Harry looked in the reflection of the dark windows out into the Black Lake; that was Seaton looking back at them. Ha.
“Pity indeed.” He hummed a bit and pulled out the Disillusionment Charm work. He was so close to reconstructing the charm’s base and then he could finally add it to his repertoire. Stupid Ravenclaw theory-before-practice approach. “He should know better than to trust so blindly. In his broom, obviously.”
He definitely hadn’t meant the broom. His friends all smirked knowingly. Seaton didn’t but when Harry glanced over his shoulder a second later, the older boy’s expression said all he needed to know.
Harry still had to deal with petty squabbles. Several sixth and seventh years took it upon themselves to test him over the next week, but never quite at Seaton’s level. The first and second year Vipers got into a number of spats with their year-mates who made sneering comments about Harry, until he took to glaring at the perpetrators whenever he saw them. They stopped fairly quickly.
Hufflepuff thrashed Gryffindor. Jules, Ronald, Fred, and George didn’t even go to the match. One of the replacement Beaters hit Angelina Johnson in the face with his bat; the other fell off his broom when Zacharias Smith zoomed at him. A seventh year named something like Towers or Towler had taken over as Seeker, but he seemed to have no idea what he was doing. It was a miracle they only lost by seventy points.
The twins hung Smith upside down by the ankles in the entrance hall the next morning, and the rest of Hufflepuff, halfway through breakfast, found themselves unable to speak in anything other than Mermish. For three days, the castle was full of ungodly shrieking from a quarter of the student body. Harry double-checked but George and Fred had covered their tracks well.
Pansy
“Mr. Malfoy, Miss Parkinson. Stay after class.”
Pansy smiled sweetly at Professor McGonagall, hiding her distaste with practiced ease. “Yes, Professor.”
Draco just nodded in the patented Malfoy I’m-doing-you-a-favor-by-existing style. McGonagall’s nostrils flared slightly but she said nothing, spun on her heel, and stalked over to rip into poor Millicent’s shoddy wandwork. Transfiguration was not the other girl’s strong point, although she had a dab hand at Charms.
“What d’you think she wants?” Draco hissed.
“Well, my first thought was to compliment our hairstyles, but if that were the case she wouldn’t have held you back,” Pansy said.
Draco drew himself up, offended. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” Pansy said kindly, and promptly turned her back on him. Honestly, she should’ve known better than to sit next to him in class, but they tended to shift seats and today this was how it worked out.
Harry leaned around Neville and caught her eye. You good? he mouthed.
Pansy shot him a withering glare.
Harry raised his hands and sat back, returning to his conversation with Neville.
Pansy and Draco packed their things with the rest of the class, but they approached McGonagall’s desk rather than file out with the rest of the class. The strict Head of Gryffindor steepled her fingers under her chin and eyed the Slytherin prefects. Pansy kept a polite expression fixed on her face with some effort. Morgana, but she hated this woman. McGonagall thought herself a paragon of fairness and justice and morality but she was mostly just what Hermione might have grown up to be without interference. Rigid, holier-than-thou, thinking herself open-minded when really she was the opposite, unwaveringly convinced of her own righteousness.
“I’m sure you’re both aware of why I am speaking with you.”
“Not really, no,” Draco drawled.
Again with the little nostril-flare of irritation. “Miss Parkinson?”
“I’m afraid the reason quite escapes me as well, Professor,” she said, and called up a faint blush.
McGonagall’s lips thinned. “Allow me to explain, then. There has been a rather… unprecedented number of students ending up in the hospital wing of late, and of typically talented children turning in remarkably poor work.”
“Perhaps everyone’s just a bit… put off by the Azkaban breakout,” Pansy suggested innocently. “I imagine that would put all of us on edge, and distract even the most high-performing students.” Including Libby Borage, those Gryffindor third years, Sophie Roper, Ravenclaw sixth year Timmy Nguyen, and… who else was it this week? Oh yeah, Ben Creed. Again. Fucker just won’t learn.
“I might be inclined to agree, Miss Parkinson, were it not for the fact that none of these students come from Slytherin House.”
Below McGonagall’s sight line, Draco’s right hand started twitching. Pansy controlled her anger. “Your point, Professor?”
“Two points from Slytherin for your cheek, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said. Pansy trod on Draco’s foot, disguising the motion as a slight shift of weight. “As Slytherin prefects, it falls to you to curb this disturbing trend. Which is why I bring it to your attention.”
Well, it was a decent attempt at Slytherin-esque wordplay, for a Gryffindor.
“I’m not sure what this has to do with Slytherin,” Pansy said.
Draco sneered. “We certainly aren’t responsible for the other Houses’ accidents.”
Impossibly, McGonagall’s lips got even thinner. “You claim this has nothing at all to do with Slytherin?”
Pansy chose her words carefully. “Slytherins don’t tend to lash out without provocation. And as you said, there have been no Slytherins in the hospital wing.”
“Except Shawna Rayburn and Katherine Chapman,” Draco said in a bored tone. “They’re interning with Pomfrey, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right.” Pansy smiled at McGonagall. Her teeth hurt. “I imagine they might fix any internal healing issues if they had to.” Like when three Gryffindors got Celesta from behind and left her to hobble down to the common room on goats’ legs, or unidentified parties hung Aria Cross and Alex Rowle in the trees by their ankles under Petrificus Totalus, or when some of the Hufflepuff third years pushed Dylan Worple and Vasily Sitch off a moving staircase. Vasily had hauled Dylan down to the dungeons and gotten Harry and Hestia involved, and Chapman had unhappily healed the Hufflepuff’s broken arm after she handled Vasily’s four cracked ribs and bruised kidney.
“It would be highly improper for apprentice Healers to attend to student injuries without supervision,” McGonagall said stiffly.
Pansy smiled again, with teeth. “I said might fix. It was hypothetical.”
“I see.” McGonagall leaned back and studied them. Pansy and Draco stared back, not giving an inch. Pansy would always see the vain, petulant child in Draco, having grown up with him, but she had to give him credit for becoming a reasonably competent Slytherin. And any reasonably competent Slytherin could outwait a Gryffindor any day of the week.
Sure enough, McGonagall was the first to give. “You understand that magic is not to be used in the corridors under any circumstances.”
“Except in self-defense,” Pansy said without missing a beat. Also revenge.
“There should be no circumstances in which magical self-defense becomes necessary. Hogwarts is perfectly safe.”
“Of course.” Draco made a show of looking at his heavy silver wristwatch. “Professor, I’m afraid we may be late to Charms if we linger too much longer.”
“You may go.”
Her eyes burned into Pansy’s shoulder blades on the way out.
“Hogwarts is perfectly safe,” Draco mimicked as soon as the door shut. “How fucking naïve can she get?”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “And ‘It would be highly inappropriate for an apprentice Healer to take care of students on their own.’ I’m not entirely sure what she was expecting us to say to that, confess?”
“Fucking lions,” Draco snarled.
“Most of them.”
“Can’t believe Harry found the only decent Gryffindors in our year that early,” Draco muttered.
Pansy smirked. “He recognizes talent.”
Draco tried to swat her. Pansy dodged easily. “C’mon, Drake, you’ve been using that move since we were four.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What? Drake?” She smiled evilly. “I could use Dray-dray instead… Hm, I bet Daphne and Theo would find those nicknames very entertaining.”
Draco paled. It was an open secret that Theo and Daphne only tolerated him because of Harry. “Don’t you dare…”
“Or what?” she said, twirling a bit of hair around her finger.
“I’ll think of something.”
“Yes, you will,” Pansy said contentedly. “I’ll think of something else first.”
“Bloody menace,” Draco mumbled, falling in step with her again. The corridors were empty and they were probably going to be late to Charms, but Flitwick was one of the least biased of the other professors. Pansy could probably talk them out of it. “I can’t believe our parents almost cradle betrothed us.”
“Good thing there was no contract,” Pansy agreed.
He propped an elbow on her shoulder as they walked. “Who’ve you got your eye on then, if not me?”
“Weasley.”
Draco choked. “Not funny!”
“It was, a little,” she said. “How about you? How’s courting Granger coming?”
“What?”
Pansy leveled an unimpressed glare on him. “You need to control that reaction, Draco dear. Your face is bright red. Did you really think we hadn’t noticed your little crush?”
“Does she…”
“No idea. Harry can tell. Actually, most of our year-mates in Slytherin have caught on. Not the rest.”
Draco’s eyes darted around the empty hall. “I… she can’t know.”
“I won’t say a word.” Pansy eyed him sideways. “Daphne might mention her… suspicions, if she has any.” She had plenty of suspicions. She and Pansy had discussed this, at length. Draco didn’t need to know that, just as Daphne wouldn’t hear confirmation of said suspicions from Pansy, who knew how to keep secrets.
On the one hand, she considered Draco a friend now that they were older and he was tolerable. On the other, this was excellent blackmail material. Far too useful to waste for the sake of a bit of girly gossip time. No, Pansy would be keeping it in reserve.
Draco nodded, jaw tight.
“Your parents?”
“Mother’s always been more… flexible in her thinking,” Draco muttered. “Ability over blood and all that. Father…”
Enough said. Fixed worldviews were the prerogative of Gryffindors and sanctimonious Hufflepuffs, or Slytherins like Lucius Malfoy whose families had enough wealth and influence to excuse a certain degree of mental rigidity. Narcissa, on the other hand, had come from the auxiliary branch of the Blacks, which had to rely more on cunning than money.
“Mother would talk him around. Eventually,” Draco said. “But she’s seeing Theo anyway.”
For now. Pansy didn’t say it, but round table discussions in the Knights Room with Hermione, Daphne, and occasionally Iris had given Hermione doubts about her sort-of-relationship’s future.
“This time last year, you were seeing me,” she said instead. “Kind of.”
Draco made an unimpressed noise, but they’d arrived at Charms and had to cut the conversation short.
Harry caught Pansy’s eye when she walked in. She made her explanations to Flitwick, slid into the empty seat between Harry and Blaise, and caught them up on McGonagall’s interlude.