Hermione and Harry showed up thirty minutes later.
“How’d you know?”
“Snakes,” Harry said.
Figured.
“So,” Hermione said. “Dumbledore’s gone.”
“He’ll do anything for the bloody Boy-Who-Lived,” Neville grumbled.
Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t like him any more than you, but—with him gone, who will keep Umbridge in check?”
“We will,” Harry said. “And the other teachers. We’ll work it out.” He tugged his journal out of his pocket and flipped it open.
“I don’t… can we do this tomorrow?” Neville said. “I’m not really up to a planning session. Lot on the brain lately. And tonight was—a lot.”
“Like what?” Hermione with the insatiable curiosity, again. Neville glanced at Harry—can I tell her?—and Harry nodded minutely.
So Neville did.
She was gaping by the time she was finished. “So… Professor Dumbledore, he… examined them. And said they were—that he couldn’t…”
“Fix them, right,” Harry said absently, nose buried in his journal. He was scribbling away every few seconds. Writing someone, or multiple someones.
“Harry!” Hermione swatted him.
He looked up, blinking poison green eyes at her. “What?”
“That was insensitive!”
“It’s fine,” Neville said. He was well used to Harry’s—emotional difficulties at this point. If he ever came across as empathetic or considerate, it was most likely fake. Neville was mostly flattered that Harry trusted him enough to not bother with a façade around him.
Or… much of one, anyway, because occasionally he caught a glimpse of something else lurking behind even the Harry here tonight, which was the version he only showed to his immediate friends: a clever, ambitious, lonely boy carrying far too much responsibility and doing so much better than most adults could manage. Neville wasn’t sure he liked the something else but it never seemed to get out of control and, hey, if Harry didn’t want to share, that was his choice.
He shook off those thoughts. “Hermione, stop staring at us, it’s not that ridiculous a thing to say.”
“You,” she snarled at Harry, “have the emotional range of a tablespoon, and I only say tablespoon because I used teaspoon on Ronald last year. And you—” She rounded on Neville, somehow managed to look frightening even as she visibly softened. “Neville, I… don’t understand how this—happened. How they—haven’t gotten better.”
“She gives me gum wrappers.” The words fell out of Neville’s lips unbidden and he watched the ripples they made in the silence. “Every time I go… to visit. Crumpled tinfoil. I could probably paper my walls with them.”
Harry, for once, looked very uncertain. Hermione just threw herself forward and into Neville’s arms; he caught the bushy-haired girl and relished the comfort of her presence. She had been his best friend in Gryffindor for years and this was… familiar.
“Is this… where I… join in?” Harry said.
Neville actually grinned at that, even though he hadn’t felt less like smiling in a good while. “Normal two-person hugs confuse you enough, mate, I don’t think we need to explode your brain by making it three.”
“I feel like I should be offended.”
Hermione pulled away. “Yes, but you’re not, because you know Neville is correct and you have serious issues with physical and emotional vulnerability due to an abusive childhood. Shut your mouths, I read in the summers and most of what’s available to me is Muggle science once my book allowance runs out.”
“You can always borrow—” Harry and Neville said simultaneously, and broke off, grinning at each other.
“I know.” Hermione grimaced. “But…”
“What?” Neville said when she didn’t keep going.
“My, er. Parents prefer if I… focus on Muggle subjects in the summer… also, Mum picked up a book I left out one time, and it, you know, noticed she didn’t have a magical core.”
Harry sighed. “Who’d you borrow it from?”
“…Daphne.”
“Oh Merlin,” said Neville, who could only imagine what kind of nastiness you might find on a book from the Greengrass family. “What did it do?”
“I had to take her to the Leaky so I could regrow her fingernails without setting off the Trace.”
Harry dropped his head into his hands. “Hermione, you know better than to leave books like that out around Muggles, even if they are your parents—”
“Yes, all right, I know it was stupid, but I literally just went to the bathroom and it was sitting on my desk—”
“Speaking of books,” Neville said loudly, because Harry and Hermione or Theo and Hermione could argue for literal hours about almost anything that involved the intersection of magical and Muggle worlds. “I found some really interesting ones in the Room today, hang on, they didn’t even think to have me turn out my bag, the tossers. I haven’t gone through them yet but I asked for things that talk about Dark magic. Unforgivables, specifically.”
Hermione and Harry both perked up. “Oh?” Harry said.
“I’ll bring them to the Chamber tomorrow,” Neville said with a grin. Bloody predictable, both of them, for all Harry liked to play the impenetrable Slytherin puppetmaster.
“We, ah. Might not need them… to test… this particular spell,” Harry said delicately.
Neville’s body caught up to that statement before his brain did. Every muscle went tense and he twisted to fully face his friend even while blank shock still radiated through his head.
“You—you—what?” Hermione shrieked.
The noise cut through his confusion like a knife. Neville put things together. “Meaning you’ve confirmed it,” he said quietly.
Harry’s nod was very slow.
Part of Neville was aware of exactly how much trust this was, and aware of the Slytherin tendency to test people’s trustworthiness, and that part was yelling for him to watch his step here. Most of him was appalled. His stomach was sick. Unforgivables were bad, they were evil, irredeemable—
“On rats,” Harry said. “Not people, Circe, both of you calm the fuck down.”
Neville took a very deep breath. Hermione was as pale as he’d ever seen her.
“Why?” he said.
“It’s powerful.” Harry didn’t flinch or falter. “Enough to shatter any shield other than heavy conjured stone without losing its force on the target. But it doesn’t kill, like Avada Kedavra, and it’s more immediately debilitating than Imperius, and one brief use has no long-term side effects. The Cruciatus is… a last resort, I suppose. I learned it for safety purposes.”
Okay. That made sense. Neville tried his best to wrap his head around that. Magic is intent, they’d all been saying for years, and it wasn’t like he’d balked at learning the entrails-Expelling Curse as a powerful last resort spell, so…
“Could you cast it on a human?” Hermione said cannily.
Harry frowned. “Possibly. Probably. It takes—quite a mental headache. I’ve been working on the Unforgivables as absolute last-resort options since Fake Moody’s lessons. It took most of fourth year before I could cast any of them even on a small rodent without getting a migraine. But—sufficiently pissed off, or terrified for my life…”
“This might… take me a bit,” Neville admitted. “To—accept.”
“I know.” Harry spun his wand absently around his fingers. Amazing how he that gesture could be a nervous tic or a threat depending on the context. Right now it was the former. “I—wasn’t sure how you guys would react.”
“Is this going better or worse than expected?” Hermione said.
Harry half-smiled. “Better.”
Harry
“Sirius Black.”
Harry only had to wait a few minutes before Sirius picked up his mirror. His godfather’s grinning face filled the glass. “Harry!”
“Hey, Sirius, how are you?”
The entire mirror shook, and Sirius looked over his shoulder. “I’m, ah, well I was. On a date.”
Harry choked. “You were what? Why didn’t you tell me you had a date?”
“I met her in a club in Knockturn two nights ago, calm down.”
“Wait, there’s clubs in Knockturn?” Harry couldn’t decide what he should be focusing on here.
Sirius frowned at him. “Yeah, what, did you think they just lurked under Diagon? Or we went out to Muggle bars?”
“I… didn’t think about it, to be honest.”
“Good. I’m a total hypocrite for saying this, of course, but you shouldn’t be thinking about clubs. Or going to clubs. There, I’ve hit my adult person responsibility quota for the month, planned any pranks recently?”
Put two people in the hospital wing, gave another few vicious muscle cramps whenever they say ‘junior Death Eater’ or ‘spawn’ or ‘slimy,’ helped my best friend clean up the mess he made torturing some fellow students. “No, been too busy.”
“Ah. Pity.”
“Tell me about your date, then,” Harry said.
Sirius winced and looked over his shoulder. “Yeah… so turns out she’s just a glory hound. Also, morbid as fuck. Started asking me what my worst memories were and what it was like to almost be Kissed and she was trying to be seductive while she was at it? Which, no. And then she started asking about you, and… started hinting at—actually, I’m not going to finish that sentence. Anyway. I pretended that a friend just had an emergency and I bolted.”
Harry felt his lips twitch. “Lord Sirius Black, who endured the Cruciatus Curse as a child, fought Death Eaters, survived twelve years in Azkaban, won a legal battle against Dumbledore and the Potters, and cleaned out Grimmauld Place… ran away from a fangirl.”
“You shut up,” Sirius said, scowling. “I did not tell you this so you could make fun of me.”
“What in Merlin’s name were you expecting? Sympathy?” Harry snorted. “Surely you’ve got Hufflepuff friends for that.”
“I hate you sometimes,” Sirius muttered.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Sirius looked over his shoulder again. “Fuck, she’s following me. Who does that?”
“You’re a wizard,” Harry said. “Apparate already.”
“I wanted to go to Magical Notes,” he grumbled. “Weird Sisters have a new crystal out. But nooo, I’ve got a stalker wandering around Diagon.”
Harry gave up trying to hide his amusement.
“Wipe that grin off your face,” Sirius muttered. “Hang on.”
His face tightened in concentration. For a second, the mirror flashed black, and the image jittered and resettled on Sirius with Grimmauld Place in the background. “Want to say hi to Kreacher?” he said. “He’s doing better but… I’d still prefer to have you deal with him.”
“Can’t hurt.” Harry would take any chance to reinforce the house-elf’s loyalty.
“Right, hang on.” Sirius opened the door and yelled, “Kreacher!”
A muffled crack came through the mirror, and then indistinct words. The image jostled wildly and then Kreacher’s ugly wrinkled face filled the mirror.
“Hi, Kreacher, how are you?” Harry said.
The elf’s ears quivered. “Kreacher is good, Master Harry,” he croaked, performing some kind of spastic half-bow that made the background image jerk. Harry caught a glimpse of Sirius halfway through rolling his eyes.
“Glad to hear it. Do you need anything? For the house?”
“Some of Master Harry’s potions stores may be spoiled,” Kreacher said, doing another spastic jerk. “And Kreacher thinks there is a boggart in the airing cupboard. Kreacher can’t do it because elf magic doesn’t hurt boggarts.”
“I’ll ask Sirius to see to it. Thanks,” Harry said.
“Yes, Master Harry.” Kreacher’s eyes were wide by the time Sirius took the mirror back.
Sirius was silent for a second, then he looked down. “What did you say? He just ran into the drawing room and I think he’s crying.”
“The elves that haven’t been treated well are really lonely,” Harry said. “Just offer some kindness and they’ll flip. He says there’s a boggart in the airing cupboard.”
“Of course there fucking is,” Sirius said. “I hate this house sometimes. I’ll do it tomorrow. Oh—I need to ask you something.”
“No, I won’t help you hide a body,” Harry said instantly. “Just Apparate somewhere weird and dump it, it’s not that hard.”
Sirius snorted. “Nothing to do with murder. Vanessa and Hazel’s house has a jarvit infestation and they need somewhere to stay while the place is getting decontaminated. They’re planning to rent somewhere and I was thinking… we could, you know, offer them. A room. At Grimmauld Place.”
Harry opened his mouth—
“Not permanently,” Sirius said in a rush. “I mean, obviously, but we have a ton of empty rooms on the second and third floors, and the house has a ton of wards built in so it’s not that hard to create some extra space and put more rooms in if we have to, and also I was thinking you could—some of the old families would be weird about it if any of your friends stay here over the summer, especially the younger ones, since I’m, you know, the only adult in the house and not exactly known for being responsible and shit—”
“As entertaining as this ramble is, you don’t have to convince me,” Harry said drily. “I was going to say yes.”
“You—what? Oh. Okay.” Sirius blinked a few times.
“Were you expecting me to say no?”
Sirius shrugged, scratching behind his ear. “I… well, it’s only our—third summer. There. And I didn’t know if you’d, you know, not want other adults around. And then there’s… whether you’d trust them.”
“I trust them to an extent,” Harry said slowly. “I like them, and want to trust them, and I know we worked well with Vanessa in the trials.” He’d have to be discreet about some things, probably, and it’d be annoying to have to cast anti-eavesdropping wards more often than he usually did when he was home, but he could work with it. “Just… maybe don’t key them into the library wards.”
Sirius nodded. “Done. And let’s not tell them about Black Castle—they might want to see it and I don’t even want to know what kind of weird Dark shit my family’s got stashed in there.”
Harry would absolutely be using it when he was older. They owned a fucking castle. Also a manor in the south, and a town—which he would absolutely be visiting at some point, too. Not for a while, probably, but in a few years, when Sirius was in a better headspace and dealing with his Lord Black duties, maybe when Harry was working on his potions Mastery. He’d go down to Riasmoore, set Kreacher loose on Black Manor, spend a few months brewing and experimenting and exploring in peace.
He shook off the dreams. It was a nice plan, but it would probably be a while before he’d have the kind of peace and quiet he needed to feel comfortable just spending a month off in the countryside. “Good, then. Yeah, I don’t have a problem with that at all.”
“Awesome, I’ll write them.” Sirius grinned widely. “Some of our friends will probably… drop by. On the weekends.”
“Meaning you’re probably going to throw parties,” Harry said.
“Maybe.”
“Give me advance notice when you can, and keep it confined to the basement,” Harry said. “With sound wards up. I don’t really want to expose Graham to your kinds of parties. Or, honestly, myself.”
Sirius stuck his tongue out.
“Very mature,” Harry deadpanned.
“Yes, that’s me, mature and responsible and shit,” Sirius said. “Oh crap I left a potion brewing, be right back.”
The mirror clattered on the kitchen counter and settled on a view of the ceiling.
Harry actually laughed.
Graham
“Hey,” Veronica said. “Guys, check the Prophet.”
Liam shook his open and his eyes bugged. “Holy crap.”
“What?” Malcolm said, trying to lean over his shoulder.
“Get your own,” Liam said, slapping at him.
Graham leaned across the table and snatched Liam’s Prophet. Neither he nor Malcolm noticed, too busy fighting. As per usual.
Ethan thorne sentenced to one year in Azkaban
Though examinations of the evidence have dragged out the Thorne Affair, a sentence has finally been leveled. Thorne faces one year in Azkaban for use of illegal blood magic on minors and impersonation. Representatives of his backers, Houses Vance, Macmillan, and Potter, were not available for comment.
“Azkaban,” Veronica murmured. “I… wow.”
Graham could only nod. That was serious. He sneaked a glance up the table at the fifth years’ section; Blaise and Pansy were nearly radiating smugness while Harry, Daphne, and Theo were unreadable like always. Other Vipers had either guessed or been told about the plan. It wasn’t hard to figure out, not when each of them had a blood-bound notebook disguised as class notes.
Harry looked up at that second, saw him staring, and smiled for about half a second.
Laughing a little, Graham looked back down at the Prophet, thinking for the millionth time how grateful he was to have met Harry.
“Turn the page,” Veronica advised.
“What else is there?”
She winked at him. Graham’s face felt hot for some reason. “You’ll see.”
“Oh Merlin,” he said, when he’d turned the page. “Skeeter? Didn’t Hermione do something to her?”
Veronica kicked his ankle. Across the table, Malcolm and Liam’s argument had somehow devolved into whose family home had worse décor. “Sh.”
“Right, sorry.” Graham ducked his head. He was surrounded by Vipers, the four of them plus the second years, but she had a point.
THE POLITICS OF HOUSE POTTER
By Rita Skeeter
Child neglect and abuse, illegal blood magic, lying to a court, accessory to malfeasance of office—the crimes committed by House Potter and its associates just keep piling up in recent years. Hardly a single person in magical Britain wasn’t shocked by the trials of Lord Potter and Albus Dumbledore two years ago for leaving young Harry Potter, now Heir Hadrian Black, in an abusive Muggle home for eleven years. Just as horrifying was the conspiracy arranged between Albus Dumbledore and James Potter to condemn Lord Sirius Black to Azkaban for twelve years for a crime he never committed. Suspicions abound that Ethan Thorne has been aware of the conspiracy for some time now outside the oaths of a solicitor, but he has never been tried.
Law Master Thorne has, however, been tried for the use of illegal blood magic—and been found guilty. The magic he used was benign and passive, a tracking spell placed on journals given to minors. What’s suspicious is the minors he targeted. Young Heir Black, an abused child cast out of his family and taken in by his wrongfully imprisoned godfather, has fought against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to save his brother’s life. Yet still, it seems, Thorne distrusts him and the school friends who for three years were Heir Black’s only support.
“We had to take matters into our own hands and rescue him from the Muggles when he was twelve,” Fred Weasley admitted just last week. “They locked him in his rooms with bars on the window, took away his wand and all his stuff, and fed him through a cat flap. He was let out once a day to use the bathroom. We only noticed when we started talking and realized he hadn’t answered any of our letters.”
Mrs. Molly Weasley, when pressed, corroborated the story, adding that her sons brought Heir Black to their family home for the rest of the summer, and that “he was so frightfully thin, I suspected something was wrong…”
Even beyond the disturbing aspects of a grown wizard illegally and secretly tracking children, the Potters have always been outspoken opponents of ministry restrictions on dangerous magics. Lord Potter gave a particularly vehement speech in the Wizengamot five years ago in which he stated “All magics that use the blood, hair, skin, et cetera of a witch or wizard should be banned or at the very least restricted!” Albus Dumbledore, then Chief Warlock, gave a speech immediately after that built on Lord Potter’s argument. Yet Ethan Thorne, Lord Potter’s close friend, managed to find a benign branch of so-called dangerous magics, and it seems he was willing to compromise the principles of his patron House and the man he’s called his role model, Albus Dumbledore.
With Azkaban escapees on the loose, the Boy Who Lived possibly an unstable gloryhound, and the Potters and Dumbledores compromising their supposed principles, the politics of House Potter appear to be far more complicated than the “Light versus Dark” narrative they have forced down our throat for the past ten years.
Graham’s eyes were wide by the time he finished. “This is… really good.”
“Yeah, it is,” Veronica agreed, grinning.
Liam finally left off the argument with Malcolm and looked around. “Hey, give me my paper back, twat.”
“Hey,” Vasily said from the second-year group. “C’mon, let’s be polite.”
“Sorry. You twit.”
Graham hit him on the head with the paper before he handed it over with a sunny smile.
“Boys are all brutes,” Veronica said.
Liam batted his eyelashes at her. “But you still love us.”
“I do,” she agreed. “Not sure what that says about me…”
“Good things,” Graham said. “Good things.”
Harry
“This is a direct result of Dumbledore leaving.”
Draco nodded, looking at his hands. “First thing she told me to do? Target Mudbloods.”
Hermione’s hair abruptly burst free of its styling charms and exploded into a frizzy cloud around her head.
Daphne sighed and smacked it with a charm from behind. “Hermione, hair.”
“I am too irate to care,” Hermione hissed. “That. Woman.”
“On the plus side, I got to take points off Bones and Weasley today,” Draco said with a shadow of his normal malicious grin. “And a bunch of their cronies.” He flicked the little silver I pin on his collar.
“Tell me that included the precious Boy Who Won’t Get Off His High Hippogriff,” Pansy sneered.
“Of course. You’re joining, right?”
Pansy frowned. “I’m… publicly linked with Harry in a way you’re not. She might suspect.”
Harry snapped his fingers. “Draco, rope Crabbe and Goyle into this. Bulstrode, too—Pansy, you leverage her if you have to. And her brother from third year, Anita Strickland and Shawna Rayburn from sixth. Celesta already has an in.”
“Rayburn?” Blaise said. “She’s… not your biggest fan.”
“Seaton will almost definitely join, and we need at least a few sincere members,” Harry said. He looked at Pansy. “Keep Rayburn and Bulstrode in line. Draco, you’ve got Crabbe and Goyle, since they’re Malfoy vassals or some other painfully antiquated thing.”
Blaise tapped his long fingers together. “I’ll feel Seaton out.”
Harry grimaced. “I can’t decide if he was just testing me or actually wants me knocked down a few pegs.”
“I’m not sure… yet,” Blaise said. “Rule one won’t come in to play here with her technically being a Slytherin. He could go telling her tales.” He paused, tilted his head back and studied the rough ceiling of the Chamber above. “It may be better to have Everett go to him, actually… Everett’s clever, and they’ve been friends, loosely, for some time… also, he’s not known to associate with you.”
“Good point. If he becomes a problem, we sic Theo and Daphne on him,” Harry said.
Draco paled a bit. Theo and Daphne exchanged a smirk.
“I’ve got Millicent,” Pansy said. “Rayburn might take a bit of work but between Millicent and me we can either keep her away from anything important or convince her not to say anything.”
Harry nodded. “Good. Draco, you’ve got the Malfoy name, Umbridge’s confidence, and the rest of us if you need more help. Keep the Inquistorial Squad in line. Pass on the people she’s targeting, play the role, have some fun, but don’t press people so hard that you make permanent enemies. Outside my brothers’ little club, anyway, because we’re past that already.”
“I don’t like this,” Theo muttered.
Draco slumped a little. “It’s like the prefect thing. Slytherins in positions of power…”
“She’s not doing it on purpose, though,” Justin said, joining in for the first time. “Dumbledore hoped you’d go off the rails, get power-drunk, piss people off and alienate your House. Umbridge just likes the power.”
“She’s not subtle,” Daphne agreed. “Disgrace to the House.”
“Remind me where Hermione and Neville are?” Pansy said.
Harry rubbed his nose. “Keeping the twins in line. I don’t even want to know what the Umbitch said to make them that angry. Neville can talk them down and Hermione said she’d curse them if he failed.”
“Luna?” Blaise said.
“Shouldn’t you know?” Theo said with a bit of a leer.
Daphne hit him.
“Thank you, Daphne,” Blaise said. “We’re not together anymore, Theo, do try to keep up.”
Harry tuned them out as the argument devolved into Blaise needling Theo and Theo getting progressively more vicious in his responses. Daphne watched them go like a tennis match and occasionally jumped in to keep things interesting.
This Inquisitorial Squad could be a problem. Would be a problem. Especially if Draco didn’t live up to the test Harry had set him. Pansy and Blaise would cover him from behind the scenes, being the best with people, so if he flubbed it they wouldn’t have too big an issue, but he was starting to like Draco under all the assholery. In all his snobbish, haughty, intelligent, lonely, meticulous glory.
A very distant vibration surged through their feet.
All conversation cut off and the seven of them turned their eyes up to the ceiling. Nothing had changed; no dust fell or rocks clattered, but they hadn’t imagined it.
The familiar bond pulsed. Harry closed his eyes, cleared his mind, focused. It had stabilized lately at a point where he and Eriss could pass rudimentary intentions as well as emotions. Right now she was broadcasting urgency and get here now.
“Eriss wants us,” he said, already on his feet and moving. “We’ve got to go, something’s happening.”
“Journal’s going crazy,” Justin said. Pansy clamped onto his elbow and kept him from running into any walls as they jogged into the passage that led up to near the entrance hall. “‘Talked the twins down from murder to a major prank, general mayhem, and quitting school. Entrance hall, now.’ From Hermione.”
“This should be fun,” Blaise said.
Harry picked up the pace.
They paused just inside the passage. Eriss was on the other side; dim safety pulsed through the bond so Harry knew the hall was empty. He willed the passage open. It responded to Slytherin’s Heir, rumbled aside, spilled them into a little-used corridor off the entrance hall.
They heard the unmistakable rumble of a good-sized crowd as soon as they stopped.
“Go,” Eriss said. Harry didn’t need the encouragement.
Fifteen seconds later, they slid into the back of what seemed like three-quarters of Hogwarts packed into the edges of the entrance hall. On the stairs stood Umbridge like a mockery of justice in pink. And in the middle of the crowd, grinning like mad things, were Fred and George.
“Fiendfyre twins,” Luna murmured. Harry twitched—where had she even come from?
She smiled at him.
“Ma’am!” Filch croaked, hurtling down the stairs. “It’s spreading!”
Umbridge’s hair was wild as she whipped around. “Then do something! Fetch teachers! With my authority!”
Filch turned and booked it back up the staircase.
“They took the nickname to heart, didn’t they,” Justin complained. “Merlin dammit. If they burn down anything important…”
“Whose definition of important?” Pansy said. “Because I wouldn’t mind, say, the Inquisitorial Squad’s meeting room going up in flames.”
Breathing heavily, Umbridge bore down on the twins. “I will see you two expelled for this,” she snarled.
Fred grinned. “Only for this?”
“You’d think she’d care about some of the other shit,” George said lightly, hands in his pockets.
“Language, Gred!” Fred said, shaking his finger. “There are—”
“Quiet!”
Both boys turned on Umbridge, expressions condescending. “You’re the one shouting,” George said snidely.
Most of the assembled students laughed.
Umbridge glared around furiously but with no specific target she was impotent. She raised her wand threateningly. “I have the Minister’s authority to reinstate some of the old punishments for unruly students,” she hissed. “You’ll soon see expulsion is merely a trifle compared to what I can do!”
A bang came from somewhere over their heads.
“And setting fires is only—”
“—the start of what we can do.”
There was a shriek, and a flaming Catherine’s wheel firework cartwheeled down the stairs. It barely missed Umbridge— “You’d think their demon fireworks would aim better,” Theo sighed—slammed into a wall, and burst into four slightly smaller Catherine’s wheels, which shattered two windows on their way out to the grounds. Screaming from floors over their heads suggested that there were more fireworks.
Harry had been kept in the loop on the twins’ product development. He knew these fireworks—works of genius, really—and he knew full well they wouldn’t be going anywhere until the significant amount of magic in them wore off. Several people nearby saw his grin and edged away.
“Ah, you wish to take on the Hogwarts High Inquisitor within my very school?” Umbridge recovered some of her usual sickly sweet composure, smiling. “Be my guest.”
“You know, Feorge? I don’t think we will,” George said.
“Yeah, Gred, I’d say we’ve somewhat outgrown full-time education,” Fred replied.
George smirked. “Time to test our talents in the real world?”
Umbridge drew her wand.
“Glacius,” Harry whispered. She temporarily froze.
“Definitely.”
Fred winked in Harry’s direction, then the twins raised their wands and said in unison, “Accio brooms!”
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Harry narrowed his eyes and prepared for something a little stronger than glacius; that would wear off any second, especially since he’d done it wandlessly—
With a crash from the door, two brooms shot out of the nearest entrance to the dungeons and into their owners’ hands. George’s was still trailing ten feet of chain.
“We won’t be seeing you,” George said.
“Yeah, don’t bother to keep in touch,” Fred said, as he and his brother mounted their brooms.
“Glacius,” Harry whispered again, before his first spell could wear off. It would die again soon since he couldn’t use his wand but it was enough.
George looked around at the crowd. “If anyone fancies buying some Weasleys’ Wildfire, as demonstrated in our High Inquisitor’s office, a Portable Swamp, as can be tested in the east wing’s fifth floor corridor, or our prototype Freakish Fireworks, come to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” he yelled.
“Number ninety-three Diagon Ally, our new premises!” Fred finished, and with that they kicked off.
Harry’s spell wore off. “Stop them!” Umbridge shrieked, but with Filch gone no one seemed inclined to help her. Not too far away, Seaton shifted his weight a bit, but Harry pinned him with his iciest glare and the creepy sixth year very deliberately clasped his hands behind his back.
The twins shot twenty feet into the air. The iron peg on George’s broom swung dangerously. Umbridge tried to summon or Stun them, but racing brooms came spelled against accio, George cut the chain off with a slash of his wand to clatter to the floor, bodies couldn’t be Summoned, and Harry insisted all the Vipers spell their clothes against Summoning, too. No one else so much as pulled a wand.
Fred and George looked back at the poltergeist bobbing over the crowd. “Give her hell from us, Peeves,” Fred said.
And Peeves, who had never been known to take orders from anyone but the Bloody Baron, swept off his hat and performed an elaborate aerial bow.
Fuck Umbridge, Harry thought, and as Fred and George shot out the two smashed windows, he enthusiastically joined in the tumultuous applause.
It nearly drowned out Umbridge’s furious shrieking.
They had to spend two hours standing in line for Umbridge to check every person in the entrance hall’s wand. Harry wore his most obnoxiously innocent expression when it was his turn. She glared and hissed “Priori incantatem” so venomously that spittle flew from her wide, fleshy lips, but of course nothing came up, and Flitwick stepped in when she tried to get him for using the alohomora charm a few hours before, saying it was assigned practice for class. Harry smiled at the tiny Professor to thank him for the lie and left the hall without so much as looking at Umbridge. Horrid old bat.
Umbridge’s office had been gutted by something that seemed suspiciously like a highly controlled version of Fiendfyre. Harry hadn’t known about that and wondered what else the twins were cooking up in their Chamber laboratory.
The entire fifth-floor corridor in the east wing had been turned into a swamp complete with flesh-eating fish, and Filch had to spend a week punting people back and forth across it, which meant the competition to take the twins’ place as Troublemakers in Chief got off to a roaring start. Nifflers got into the trophy room and Umbridge’s rebuilt office three times in the last two weeks of March, Flitwick halfheartedly tried and gleefully failed to remove the swamp, the fireworks caromed around the school setting things on fire and generally causing mayhem for a week and a half before they died, and everyone walked around with Bubble-Head Charms in place to avoid the constant smell of Dungbombs and Stinkpellets.
Meanwhile, Fred and George’s new products were making the rounds. A case of Weasley Wildfire had to be redirected out the window by Flitwick when it got dangerously near Ravenclaw Tower, where it happily scorched a few acres of lawn and the edge of the Forbidden Forest before it burned itself out. Fainting, bleeding, vomiting, or feverish students left class in droves, especially Umbridge’s, and told her only that they had “Umbridge-itis.” She put four successive classes in detention, although she didn’t dare use the Blood Quill on so many at once, but impressively, no one talked.
Harry sat out the pranking and insisted most of the Vipers do so as well, especially their Muggle-born members. “I know you’re out for blood,” he said one day, after stopping Veronica and Liam halfway up to the fourth floor, the first-year Slytherin Muggle-borns in tow. “I don’t care. I can only heal blood-quill marks so many times before someone catches on, and if you get caught she might even try something worse than that. Don’t give her the satisfaction of catching Muggle-borns in open rebellion.”
Veronica glowered but Liam and the firsties had the sense to drag her back to their common room.
The professors even joined in where their students couldn’t. Harry definitely saw Snape bungle several potions he was brewing for the hag, Flitwick refused to do more than twirl his wand without asking permission, and rumors were going around about McGonagall advising Peeves on how to best sabotage various light fixtures in the school.
Barty laughed himself nearly sick when Harry told him all the stories. “Glad to see our youth haven’t lost their fighting spirit,” he said. “I might have to drop by your friends’ new store. In disguise, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Harry said with a smirk. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t dare offer a Nosebleed Nougat to Riddle.”
“Maybe Dolohov.” Barty’s eyes darkened for a second, but then he shook off the odd mood.
Harry leaned back and kicked his right ankle up on his left knee. He thought he knew Barty well enough by now to detect a significant lie. It helped he’d cast a lie detection spell on a plain silver ring currently hiding on his right hand, the strongest he knew. Also, Eriss was slowly learning how to scent lies, as she got older and stronger. Between all his contingencies he had reasonable confidence he could pick up on it if Barty lied to him about this.
“Barty. If you win this war… what do you plan to do about Muggle-borns and Muggles?”
Barty’s shoulders tensed and all the residual emotion drained out of his face. Harry watched him closely, felt Eriss coiling into ready position beneath his chair. Before he threw his weight one way or the other—he had to know.
“You’ve no doubt heard we want to kill the Muggles and Muggle-borns.”
“That, or slavery was mentioned, I think,” Harry said.
“Propaganda.” Barty made a face. “Doesn’t help my lord had some—more radical ideas in his youth. No one is logical at fifteen. Except maybe me. And there were—circumstances. He said some things to certain people—” Dumbledore, Harry inferred—“that have been held against us. But we, as a political movement and later what I’m well aware could be considered a terrorist organization, never advocated for genocide or mass enslavement.”
The ring didn’t heat up, and Harry didn’t spot any lies, but there were some glaring holes in that story. “Mass enslavement.”
Barty frowned at him. “Fucking Slytherin. Any enslavement. Slavery never works in the long term, particularly not when the enslaved have as much magic and intelligence as the slavers. Magic’s such an equalizer that even wandless slaves could effectively resist. It died out among our kind nearly a millennia before the Muggles caught on and it’s still a problem for Muggles in Africa and Asia. It doesn’t work so great for them, either, but especially not for us. And even setting aside the issue of trying to enslave a human who can do magic—slavery just creates resentment, inefficiency, population and propaganda control issues, and ruins any moral arguments one might make for the sake of persuading foreign witches and wizards to our side.”
“And this time around?”
“Why are you asking this?” Barty snapped.
A sneer twisted Harry’s face. “You know why.”
Barty nodded slowly. “There’s been talk of simply abducting Muggle-borns at birth, but a big part of our problem is the Ministry of Magic trying to control our magic and, therefore, us. In the end we’re too leery of handing it excuses to increase its workforce to take that route.” He paused. “I assume I don’t have to tell you that this doesn’t leave this room.”
“And some associates of mine,” Harry said. “Should they ask.”
“Trusted associates?”
“Obviously.” Harry realized as he said it that he’d sounded exactly like Snape, and winced.
Barty’s lips twitched but he didn’t comment. “Fine. The present plan is to find ways to introduce Muggle-borns to our world earlier and erase the conflict of interest. For starters, we need to get the wizarding culture class requirement reinstated, but there’s a lot of pushback in the Board of Governors, which our dear friend Albus has mostly under his thumb. The exception is Malfoy but he has to tread carefully since he’s so outnumbered. And Muggles can be left alone as long as they leave us alone. The problem is laws like the Muggle Protection Act. Anyone who’s not hopelessly naïve knows a Muggle can seriously injure even an armed wizard—we need serious battle shields to block projectiles moving as fast as their—firearms?—can produce. Battle shields ninety percent of our population can’t cast because it’s a specialized skill that you don’t usually need outside the Aurors and Hitwizards.”
“So repeal the blood magic ban, the Muggle Protection Act, overhaul the introductory process for Muggle-borns,” Harry said. “Anything I’m missing? No little nested clauses about Muggle-borns being second-tier citizens, or restricting their legal rights?”
“None.”
Harry waited a second. He saw no lie; neither Eriss nor the enchanted ring reacted.
Merlin damn it, this complicated things. He’d almost wanted to have a reason to stop heading down this path—but Barty wasn’t giving him one.
“I always thought the werewolf alliance made no sense,” he said under his breath. “If you lot were the purity snobs I heard you were…”
Barty shrugged his thin shoulders. “Well. Some of us are. The Malfoys are pretty bad—or Lucius is, at least. Carrows, too. The Flints, what’s left of the Shafiqs… They don’t like associating with werewolves, necessarily, but they still think werewolves, even Muggle werewolves, are a damn sight better than Muggles. Also, frankly, it was a simple matter to gain their support. Promise legal rights and human status, and get ninety percent of an extremely dangerous group backing you up.”
Harry nodded. He’d probably have done the same. “Umbridge,” he pointed out. Her anti-“half-breed” prejudices were legend in the school. Someone had been following her around and casting illusion spells of centaurs, goblins, and merpeople jumping out at her. Several times he’d stepped in to cause a distraction while the caster slipped away. Patil thanked him for it the last time they met to pass potions, so he suspected the culprits were DA.
“Necessary evil. The worse she gets, the more support we have,” Barty said. “How many members of Dumbledore’s Order are Muggle-born? Or even Muggle-raised?”
“Few. I’ve been aware of that for some time.”
“Choosing sides?” Barty said with a smirk.
Making my own. “Gathering information, I suppose. For now.”
“Mm.” Barty steepled his fingers. “Here’s some more, then. I spoke with Bellatrix.”
Harry sat up straighter. “Did you now.”
“She hadn’t thought about it in years,” Barty said. “Azkaban did a number on her. We have several master Legilimens from around the world helping with—recovery. My lord finally got a clear answer out of her. There’s no way with the spells they cast that Frank and Alice ended up permanently insane.” He went quiet, looking down at his hands. “I wouldn’t have stood there if that’s the way Bellatrix and Rodolphus took it. I—Alice killed Rabastan but it was a war, and they were always decent in school.”
The ring heated up a little at the last bit, and Eriss stirred. Harry wondered whether the whole wouldn’t-have-stood-there routine was fake or just the very last part about Frank and Alice being decent. It didn’t matter. “Most likely theories?”
Barty held his gaze over the desk for almost a full minute. He was completely unreadable. Thin, hollow-cheeked and razor-edged, still in a way that wasn’t quite human. Harry wondered if Barty had always been like this or if it was Azkaban and then nearly a decade under the Imperius that caused it. Where Harry was broken on the inside, Barty was just empty.
“Someone did it deliberately,” he finally said, so softly Harry almost didn’t hear. “My lord believes that’s the only possible answer.”
It hung between them—the mutual awareness of who had most likely done it.
“Why?” Harry said.
“At first they were brainwashed schoolchildren, but then… they learned some things. Frank was a Selwyn as well as a Longbottom. Augusta taught him to be more—open-minded than some of his peers. He and Alice learned some things, changed their minds. My lord hoped to turn them, but then Alice got pregnant, and that—no one wants to raise a son in a war zone. They were negotiating for neutrality,” Barty said. “Alice reached out to us. They were going to swear neutrality oaths in exchange for one from my lord promising safe passage to the mainland and a free pass from any and all Death Eater interference for their son’s and future children’s natural lives. They wanted him to go to Hogwarts, so they had to be able to safely come back someday, but they didn’t want to live in a war zone even if they were neutral.”
It felt like Harry’s entire body had been doused in cold water. Not anger this time—that would come—but shock.
Even after everything else, somehow he hadn’t completely believed… but it made sense. Other atrocities just as serious had been waved away in the name of this war. Losing the Longbottoms would seriously damage morale. It couldn’t happen. And once Jules defeated Riddle—once the war was temporarily won—the Longbottoms might have turned into political dissidents. Popular, powerful, and influential political dissidents.
“Do you have proof,” he whispered.
Slowly, Barty nodded. “It’ll take time, but I can get it to you.”
“You’re doing me a lot of favors,” Harry said.
“You and your brother are pieces in this game,” Barty said bluntly. “We used to think you were pawns. Don’t get conceited, neither of you is anything very powerful yet, but you can both tilt the scales, and no one’s quite figured out what color you are yet.”
Neither have I. At least this answered his question, though. The Dark Lord wanted Harry on his side, wanted the young Slytherin with intelligence, inside channels to the Order, and a network of varyingly loyal people inside Hogwarts. Mostly Slytherins, to be fair, but at least two from every House.
“I’m going to do what I can to verify your evidence, you know,” Harry said.
Barty shrugged. “It won’t be faked, so verify away.”
Fair.
“We don’t really have time for a lesson anymore,” Barty said, checking his pocket watch. “Spent too long laughing about the hag, as you’ve so charmingly named her.”
“Speaking of, how much longer does she have to stay?” Harry said. “She’s really starting to get on—certain people’s nerves.” He was worried, also, that she would do something drastic. Their dear High Inquisitor was looking more frazzled every time they saw her, and her Inquisitorial Squad wasn’t much help, given that over half of them were directly influenced by Harry and the rest could be either frightened, bribed, blackmailed, or coerced into being useless to her. Even the DA was starting to notice that the IS was mostly for show, and Harry was ninety percent sure they’d started acting to play along.
Barty frowned. “It’d be best if you could hold off until the end of the year.”
“No promises.”
“Understandable, she’s insufferable,” Barty said.
“You’ve met?” Harry said.
“…Father had her over for tea on occasion.”
Harry cocked his head. “You know, the more I learn about your father, the less I like him.”
Barty’s eyes got a bit distant. “Common occurrence, believe me. Same for your Muggle family.”
Vernon’s purple face flashed through Harry’s mind. He nodded.
Then he realized they were wearing identical expressions. Barty caught on at the same time and they both smirked a little.
Blaise slouched out of Snape’s office with a smirk.
“That was quick,” Theo said, as Draco went inside.
“Went something like this.” Blaise cleared his throat and sneered down his nose in a credible imitation of Snape. “‘You’ll be graduating in two years but until then I still have to pretend to care about your future. What do you plan to do with your useless carcass after that?’ ‘Oh, you know, start a gardening club, possibly a network of pen pals.’ ‘Poisonous gardens and information hidden in ciphers, I presume.’ ‘I don’t know anything about any such topics.’ ‘Of course you don’t, Mr. Zabini. Get out of my sight.’”
Theo was laughing and Harry grinning by the end of it. “We already did the career meeting thing with Lord Nott,” Theo said.
“Speaking of.” Harry raised an eyebrow at Blaise. “Your mysterious family business wouldn’t have anything to do with poison and information trading, would it?”
“I’ll tell you someday,” Blaise said. Translation: yes, but I’m not supposed to talk about it. “In the meantime, have fun with Snape. The hag is in there. Apparently she’s insisting on supervising all these things.”
Pansy turned away from a conversation with Goyle. “I heard it’s giving the Heads aneurysms with scheduling, since none of their sessions can overlap.”
“You hear all sorts of things you’re probably not supposed to,” Theo said.
“What can I say, I’m talented,” she said, tossing her hair. Goyle followed the movement. For a second, Harry considered warning him off, but honestly it would be amusing to watch Pansy grind him into the ground with words and then stiletto heels if he tried anything, so he kept his mouth shut.
Theo snorted. “Talented my arse. You’re evil.”
“Same as you,” she said with a narrow smile. Goyle looked mildly alarmed. Maybe he had more sense than Harry had given him credit for.
Draco stalked out rolling his eyes. The door slammed behind him. He’d been even faster than Blaise. “Harry, you’re next.”
“Excellent,” Harry said.
Snape looked like he really needed Headache Cure. “Sit down, P—Black,” he all but growled.
Harry did as told. “Good morning, sir.”
“Oh, an excellent one,” Snape snarled. If he’d been any more sarcastic his words might have caught on fire. “Dare I inquire after your plans for after Hogwarts?”
“World domination,” Harry said.
Snape blinked. Umbridge, lurking in the corner like an appallingly camouflaged toad-thing, stirred.
Harry smiled sunnily.
“Do not jest,” Snape said with a scowl.
“Apologies, sir,” Harry said. “I’ve no desire to rule the world, that sounds like entirely too much work and I like my free time. I intend to pursue a Potions Mastery, possibly one in Runes or Spell Creation as well, and eventually join my godfather so he can prepare me to take up our family’s obligations in the Wizengamot.”
“Severus, if I may,” Umbridge simpered. Harry didn’t flinch, didn’t turn to look at her. Snape’s eye twitched. “I’m curious if Mr. Potter—apologies, Mr. Black—has quite the disposition for a Potions Master.”
Snape’s mouth twisted like he tasted something foul. “It is only natural that you might wonder, I suppose, as you have not known Mr. Black very long at all.” He looked back at Harry, whose cheerful smile didn’t slip an inch. “A Potions Mastery. You’ll need O’s in OWL and NEWT Potions, obviously, as well as Runes, Arithmancy, and preferably Transfiguration in case you ever intend to foray into alchemy. An E or O in Herbology would also be highly recommended, though unnecessary for all but the most prestigious Mastery programs. All of which I imagine you’re well on your way to achieving, thanks to your—extracurricular studies.”
Extracurricular is such a wonderfully versatile word. “I am.”
“How are those studies proceeding?”
“Quite well, sir.”
Umbridge gave one of her horrid little coughs. “Professor Snape, I must remind you that all student research must be conducted with the authorization and supervision of a Professor. As no such paperwork has been filed this year, I find it… unlikely… that Mr. Black has engaged in any legal extracurricular studies.”
Snape sneered down his nose at her. “Mr. Black has not been known to participate in any illicit activities whatsoever, whether they be extracurricular studies or otherwise.”
Never been caught, Harry interpreted.
She shifted her weight. “Furthermore, I was under the impression that in order to obtain a Potions Mastery, one must complete an apprenticeship with a Potions Master.”
“You are as well-informed as ever, Professor,” Harry said, channeling Lucius Malfoy until his tone and bearing nearly dripped oil. He half-bowed in her direction.
“Well.” Umbridge shuffled her parchments. “Such apprenticeships, Mr. Black, are difficult to obtain, and given your… behavior in my class, I highly doubt you might be able to convince a Potions Master to take you as their student.”
Harry half-turned in his chair so he could give her the blandest expression he could summon. “I had not known you had any issues with my comportment in your class, Professor. I’m very sorry for any disrespect I may have accidentally displayed.” Since he’d tried quite hard to hide how little he respected her.
Her eyes narrowed to mere slits.
Snape placed his hands on his desk with a little more force than absolutely necessary, drawing attention back to him. “As the only certified Potions Master in the room, I believe my own advice may be relevant to this discussion?”
Umbridge nodded curtly.
“Mr. Black, having taught you for all five of your years at Hogwarts, it is my belief that you will have little difficulty finding a Potions Master who will accept you.”
“Actually, Severus—”
Snape looked at Umbridge with enough disdain to kill a small rodent on the spot. “Dolores, you may find that the temperament required for Potions is rather specific. Mr. Black has been nothing but inquisitive, deliberate, cautious, inventive, and respectful in my classes.” He looked back at Harry. “Have you begun researching Potions Masters to whom you might write requesting an apprenticeship?”
“I’d like to spend a year or two studying under Katya Dimitrova in Moscow if she’ll take on another student,” Harry said instantly. “But her laboratory has four other Masters and nine apprentices already.”
“She’s one of the best in the world,” Snape said. “I would, however, recommend you gain your Mastery before applying there. Master Dimitrova tends to allow fellow Masters studying with her much more flexibility in their research. You should also learn Russian or Bulgarian.”
“Who would you recommend for my initial apprenticeship, then, sir?” Harry said.
Snape’s lips thinned. “There are few Potions Masters in the world, and fewer I think you could effectively work with.”
Harry frowned a bit. “How so?”
“You enjoy experimentation,” Snape said.
Umbridge leaned forward. “Mr. Snape, I must again point out that experimentation in any subject is forbidden in accordance to the very first Educational Decree!”
Snape didn’t even look at her. “And to the best of my knowledge, Mr. Black has engaged in no experimentation since that Educational Decree came into effect. I spoke only of conversations he and I have had in the past in which we discussed possible alterations to student potions.”
Umbridge fumed but there was nothing she could do. Academic discussion of theoretical potions experimentation was perfectly legal, especially as Snape had a Mastery which came with certain leeway as far as personal experimentation and research. Harry was having a really hard time not turning around to grin at her.
“As I was saying,” Snape drawled, “many Masters are very strict with their apprentices, particularly in the early stages of their studies. Potions errors have the greatest potential for disastrous consequences of nearly any field of study and we tend to be cautious.”
“So I would need to find someone willing to allow incentive in an apprentice,” Harry said.
Snape nodded. “Precisely. I shall compile a list. Speak to me again before you graduate, and do not contact any of them until your seventh year at the earliest. Few would even consider an application without NEWT scores to examine.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Mm.” Snape’s lip curled. “As to your Wizengamot duties, I recommend speaking to your godfather, and perhaps any… other people with whom you are acquainted as well since he spent the greater part of his adult life in prison.”
Harry nodded. “I have begun exploring the responsibilities I’ll take on, yes. And developing my own opinions. Every Heir should be able to justify their beliefs, shouldn’t they?”
“Indeed they should.”
Umbridge stood up, breathing heavily. “Mr. Black, I must recommend against pursuing any career on the Wizengamot. You may find yourself opposed. The Minister wields considerable power and the Wizengamot—”
“Makes the laws the Ministry enforces,” Harry pointed out innocently. “And dissenting voices are really important in politics. I think that was Thomas Jefferson that pointed that out so vehemently, I know he was American but still.”
“And a Mudblood,” Umbridge hissed.
Harry grinned. “Oops.”
“That will be all, Mr. Black,” Snape drawled. “Send Miss Parkinson in next, if you please.”
As the door closed behind him, Harry grinned at Pansy. “Have fun. Umbridge is in there and she’s fuming.”
“I think I’ll tell Snape I want to be a stripper in a Muggle club,” Pansy said. She fished a mirror out of her purse, shoved it at Theo so he took it on reflex, and started tousling her hair. “I’ll even do the just-had-sex hair thing.”
“Tug your robes down a little,” Theo suggested.
Pansy glared at him. “Mirror-holders should be… neither seen nor heard, actually, just fade right into the background.”
“What?” He rolled his eyes at her. “I can’t even tell you how uninterested I am in your boobs, okay? Sure, you’re pretty, but you’re terrifying and I’ve known you my entire life, so no thanks.”
“Glad to know my appeal hasn’t faded,” Pansy said. She snatched the mirror back and hit him on the collarbone with it before she jammed it back in her purse. Which did not look big enough to contain the mirror, let alone the four textbooks she’d had cycling in and out of there all day.
She caught him looking. “Hermione charmed it for me,” Pansy said, patting the seemingly delicate white leather bag with satisfaction. “She’s very good at Undetectable Expansion Charms.”
“Hermione’s good at most magic,” Theo said.
Pansy waggled her eyebrows suggestively at him and sashayed into Snape’s classroom. Harry could almost feel bad for Umbridge.
Almost.
“Harry.”
Harry glanced up from his cauldron. “Yes?”
“I think you should come.”
“Why? I’m in the middle of this—Polyjuice is really hard to experiment on, you know that…”
“I know you’ve been fretting about it for ages. Use one of the spells and come with me.”
Harry sighed through his nose, cast the strongest stasis spell he knew, and left the Chamber laboratory. It almost definitely wouldn’t hold until he came back. Potions in progress were so volatile and reactive that they wore stasis spells out faster than nearly anything else. But Eriss knew not to interrupt his brewing unless it was important and he could feel her urgency.
She led him up and out of the Chamber, to the bowels of the dungeons, where almost every hallway was caked in dust and few people ever went. They weren’t far from Harry and Barty’s classroom, actually, which was now pockmarked with craters and scorch marks from their dueling and decidedly not dusty.
“Up ahead,” Eriss said, pausing at the end of a particularly gloomy hall. “Izzi heard them and found me. They are yours, so we keep an eye on them.”
Harry wasn’t sure if ‘yours’ meant Slytherins or Vipers or both, but he thanked Eriss anyway, cast a Silencing Charm on his feet, and soft-footed down the hallway.
“…living with the Blacks.”
Graham?
“I know, but… My parents.”
“They’d think of something.”
“I can’t ask.”
“Harry offered. Remember? At the end of last year.”
“Still. And what about Rio? I promised I’d keep in touch with him with Muggle ways and that would be hard to do from a magical home!”
“Ask. Harry.”
“Rio told me those things because I said I’d keep them secret, Graham.”
Harry had heard enough. He pushed the door open and sneered around at what once might have been a storeroom or even a cell at one point. “Nice meeting place. Really sets the atmosphere.”
Both of the younger kids stared at him for a few seconds.
“How much did you hear?” Graham said finally.
“Enough.” Harry conjured a chair and sat on it backwards, facing them. “You forgot the snakes go places humans tend to avoid. Veronica, I wouldn’t ask you to tell me what the Ingram kid told either of you in confidence. Secrets are valuable and trust rare in our House. I will say you should tell him to speak to me. Slytherin has… more than its fair share of kids from questionable households and if there’s anything bad going on at his…”
Veronica’s hands twisted together in her lap. “I—”
“Hands still,” Harry said, nodding at them. “Relaxed and open. Palms up is best but only if it looks natural. Learn your tells and control them.”
With a breath, she relaxed. Both hands fell open and still on her thighs, her shoulders loosened and lifted, and her face cleared. Graham twirled his wand in a familiar gesture, and Harry wondered when the kid had copied it from him.
“Better,” Harry said. “Now, what were you saying?”
“It’s not my secret to tell but—I’ll see if Rio might want to talk to you,” Veronica said quietly. “And I was—hoping to ask for a place… you said… we could stay at your house.”
“There’s plenty of room.” Harry was already preparing how he’d tell Sirius about this, making a list of all the orders he’d need to give Kreacher so the elf could prepare. He’d be ecstatic to have more people to look after. “Your parents…”
Veronica shrugged. “They’re both pilots. They’re gone a lot. We had a live-in nanny last summer but it’s expensive. And…”
“It’s hard to connect with people who don’t know our world?” Harry guessed.
“How would you know?” she said.
Harry’s lips twisted wryly. It was a genuine question, so he didn’t lash out even though he kind of wanted to. His was a different case from Veronica’s or Hermione’s. They actually liked their parents. “Hermione has had some similar issues. You’re welcome at Grimmauld Place as long as your parents are comfortable with it.”
“They will be,” Veronica said. “I asked already whether they’d let me stay with a school friend. I think they’d want to meet your godfather first.”
“Understandable.” Harry bit back a smirk. He’d have to help Sirius dress Muggle for that occasion. Maybe take him to get a suit fitted—that would be entertaining. “Is there anyone else I should be aware of?”
Graham and Veronica glanced at each other. “We’ll ask around,” Graham said. “I can think of a few people.”
Sirius would love having a bunch of young kids to corrupt. Harry nodded and stood up, vanishing the chair with a flick of his wand. “Send them to me. Anything anyone tells me is in confidence. I know some will be reluctant to say much, and that’s fine, but I do need to know at least the bare bones of their situations before I can spirit them away for a whole summer.”
“Makes sense,” Graham said. “Veronica, c’mon, I think Rio’s in the study group right now with the other firsties.”
Veronica nodded.
Harry stepped back and held the door for them. “I’ll start having rooms prepared. We only have a month and a half left of school.”
“Thank you,” Veronica said, beaming, and dashed off after Graham.