Jules
“We have to do something.”
“What do you want to do, Parvati?” Ron snarled, kicking a desk. “Fred and George are gone, fucking prats, no one can figure out where the hell they got the gold for a Diagon Alley lease, Mum’s blaming their escape on me somehow, and now Umbridge has the run of the school. We can’t do anything other than what we’re already doing.”
Jules leaned forward. His hands were clenched tightly together more of their own will than anything else. “We have to start the DA up again. I don’t care about Umbridge, or that she caught us before. We just have to be more careful this time.”
“And maybe not leave the parchment lying around?” Hermione snarled, dropping into a seat across from Parvati.
Parvati glared at her.
“And vary our meetings more,” Jules went on, to head off a fight. “And maybe set up watchers. I can get Dobby to help out, probably.”
Hermione crossed her arms. “You’ll ask him, and he’ll agree, and he’ll end up hurting himself for breaking the Headmistress’ orders. We use my elf.”
Ron frowned at her. “You know, we’ve never met this elf of yours.”
“She called Winky to help Dobby when they ambushed our meeting,” Jules said.
“I thought Muggle-borns couldn’t have elves—it takes a family to support one…”
“Winky!”
Hermione’s voice cracked almost as sharply as the sound of the elf appearing at her elbow. It bowed neatly. “Mistress called?”
Ron gaped.
Jules rubbed his forehead. Hermione’s elf was indeed Crouch’s old one, just like she’d said, except it—she—looked a lot different clean and well-fed and wearing a sheet toga instead of a filthy tea towel like last time. “Ron, are you happy now?”
“But—how?” Ron said.
“Sorry, Winky, just proving a point,” Hermione said, glaring at Ron still. “Would you be willing to be a lookout during our Defense club meetings?”
“Of course, Mistress Hermione,” the elf said. “Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you.” Hermione waved a hand and Winky disappeared again.
“I’ve never heard an elf talk like that,” Jules said.
Hermione shrugged. “That’s because most people don’t bother to educate them. They don’t grasp language quite like we do—she still uses third person to refer to herself all the time—but with a bit of effort they’re perfectly capable of speaking more properly.”
“What effort?” Ben muttered. “Shoving a dictionary down its throat? Wait, my bad, that’s what you do to yourself.”
“It’s called reading, Creed, you should try it. You might’ve gotten higher than As on your OWLs,” Hermione said tartly. Ben fumed.
“Stop it,” Parvati said. “We were talking about the DA!”
“Right. So now we have a lookout,” Jules broke in, shooting her a grateful glance. It was nice having Hermione around because she was one of the best duelists in the DA, but she could be really annoying. And argumentative. “That’s good, ‘cause only Dobby saved any of us last time.”
“Also, I’ve been thinking.”
“You’re always thinking,” Ron muttered.
Hermione ignored him. “—and this time, if Umbridge shows up, we should just stay inside the Room and ask it not to let her in. It does what we want. If someone’s in there and doesn’t want to be found it doesn’t work.”
“How d’you know?” Jules said.
“I tested it.”
He frowned. “With who? We all said we wouldn’t tell…”
“The twins, before they left,” she said coolly.
“Good idea,” Parvati said grudgingly. “And it works?”
Hermione nodded.
“Awesome.” Jules ticked another thing off his mental list. “And we really have to be more careful about the membership this time.”
“No more Cho,” Parvati said firmly.
Jules hesitated. He liked Cho. A lot. But—it was her friend… and those excuses about Marietta’s Ministry mum pressuring her seemed kind of flimsy. “Fine. We don’t invite Cho back. Luna doesn’t like her, so we don’t have to worry about her telling Cho.” Hermione made some kind of aborted motion. “Will any of the other Ravenclaws be a problem?”
“Nah, we just explain,” Parvati said briskly. “They’re logical, they’ll get it. Anything else?”
“Don’t think so.” Jules checked his pocket watch and winced, digging for a packet of Floo powder in his robes. “Also, I’m almost late, I need to go.”
“Meeting?” Ron said knowingly.
He nodded.
“How’d you get Floo permission?” Hermione asked. “Umbridge has the fireplaces on lockdown.”
“Dad claimed Heir business,” Jules said. “Old Wizengamot rules, for Heirs of noble Houses. Ministry can’t interfere. Umbridge threw a right fit but she’s stuck.” It had been very satisfying.
Hermione shrugged. “Have fun, then.”
“I probably won’t but I need to go anyway.”
He felt eyes boring into his back as he walked away, but Jules didn’t turn around. Everyone watched him lately. Umbridge, Dumbledore, his other teachers, all his classmates whether they thought he was insane or the prophesied Chosen One. This was nothing new.
“You have one hour,” Umbride had said when she grudgingly authorized the Floo. He checked his watch. Four exactly.
“Potter Manor!” he said, throwing down the powder.
A few seconds later, he stepped out into his entrance hall. The ancient family wards doused him in their magic and he closed his eyes and relished it. Home.
“Jules!”
“Dad,” he said, falling into his father’s embrace.
Harry’s never felt this, a little part of him whispered. And now he never will.
Jules silenced the voice. Harry had had his shot, and Dad had fucked it up, but it was done now and they all had to make the best of it. Harry had Sirius. Jules had Dad. They all had Voldemort to deal with so family issues needed to take a backseat.
“How are you?” Dad said.
“Good,” Jules said. It was a lie but his face was buried in Dad’s shoulder and Dad only picked up on his lies when they were face to face.
“Glad to hear it.” Dad squeezed him once more and let go. “C’mon, everyone’s in the living room.”
He wrapped an arm around Jules’ shoulders as they walked. Jules leaned into the contact. They hadn’t been able to even write more than empty vague letters this whole year. The last time he had a real conversation with Dad was at Christmas break.
Now they didn’t even have time for one.
Half the Order was in their living room, it seemed like. Mad-Eye, Molly, Dung Fletcher looking twitchy as usual, Mrs. Tonks and Nymphadora-call-me-Tonks-or-I’ll-hex-you, Dedalus, Lady Bones, and—
“Remus!” Jules hurtled across the room and grabbed his pseudo-godfather in a hug.
“Jules,” Remus said, hugging him tightly. Jules could feel all his ribs through his patchy robes. “How are you?”
“Good, you?” Jules said, beaming at him. Remus had never been around, never even owled them, during Jules’ childhood, but Dad explained that he had a rare and painful magical disease and trauma from the war, and he’d wanted to be left alone. Jules still heard endless stories about quietly witty, clever Remus and mischievous, canny, loyal Peter growing up. The day Remus showed up at Potter Manor out of the blue two summers ago had been awesome, and he might not be Jules’ godfather, but he was still a piece of their family.
When they announced him as the new Defense professor, and Remus winked over at the Gryffindor table, it was the first time Jules saw any of the prankster spirit from Dad’s stories.
“Eh… I’m all right,” Remus said. His smile was thin and tired. Behind him, Andromeda sidled closer and rested a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment. Dad’s expression darkened as he took in Remus’ generally battered appearance.
Jules’ eyes narrowed.
“Umbridge’s anti-werewolf legislation from a few years back has made it almost impossible for me to find a job,” Remus explained softly. “She just forced through a new one and it’s worse now, I need registration to buy food.”
“Live Muggle,” Jules suggested, horrified. “Also, how the hell didn’t that make the papers?”
“Language,” Molly scolded from the sink.
Conversation among the rest of the Order stilled for a second, then picked back up.
Remus sighed. “I can’t live Muggle when I need to take almost a week off every month. There’s almost no job that I could hold for long. James has been changing my galleons to Muggle money so I can buy… food and necessities. And it didn’t make the papers because the Ministry has the Prophet under its thumb.”
“Maybe you should mention that in another little radio talk,” Tonks said, flopping into a seat across from them. Her hair was purple today. “Brilliant, by the way.”
“Has Harry had any issues because of it?” Andromeda said.
Jules frowned. “I dunno, we don’t talk much at school. Part of his cover.” Though he wasn’t convinced it was a cover at all. “Why would he?”
Remus frowned and eased into a seat next to Tonks. Andromeda sat down on the other side of her daughter. Jules immediately plopped down across from them. “Well… he’s in Slytherin,” Remus said. “You publicly announced that he actively fought You-Know-Who and killed one of his Death Eaters, and you also implied that he’s so mentally unstable he doesn’t remember it. The Slytherins would take advantage of both those weaknesses.”
“I… didn’t… think of that,” Jules said, feeling abruptly nauseous. “He didn’t say anything.”
“He wouldn’t.” Andromeda pressed her lips together. “I’m a Slytherin myself, you know. I know how we think. Never ask for help because you’re unlikely to get it. It’s a sign of weakness if you can’t solve your problems on your own.”
“I’m his brother,” Jules protested. “Him being… disowned doesn’t change that.”
“From his perspective, you and James have treated him pretty badly,” Mrs. Tonks said evenly. “Of all the people he’d go to with a problem and ask for damage control, you’re near the bottom of the list.”
“We talked about this,” Dad protested. “We tried to help him.”
Andromeda shrugged. “I’m just explaining how he likely sees all this, not what I actually think of past events.”
Jules gripped his knees.
“He can deal with it,” Dad said. “We have bigger problems.”
“Dad,” Jules said.
“You-Know-Who? Big evil baddie out to kill you? Ring any bells?” Dad raised both eyebrows at him. “Jules, I know you care about Harry, and that’s nice of you, but seriously. That interview needed to happen. People need to know the truth.”
Jules bit his lip. “I know.”
He still didn’t want to do anything to hurt Harry. The thought that he’d caused that much trouble—
“Anyway, Dumbledore has a plan we need to discuss,” Dad said. He whistled and waved at the rest of the group; they broke off their conversation and gravitated toward the seats Jules, Remus, the Tonkses, and Dad had taken over. “To draw out You-Know-Who.”
“Why?” Dedalus said. “He’s not doing anything—hasn’t done anything except break his followers out.”
Andromeda leaned forward, all business. “And that’s the problem. He’s no doubt trying to repair the fourteen years of dementor damage done to the people he broke out. The sooner we can force a fight, the weaker he’ll be.”
“But we can’t bloody find them,” Charlie Weasley said, frustrated.
Molly whacked him with a spoon. “Ow, Mum,” he complained.
“No, we can’t find them,” Andromeda said. “At a guess, they’re using one of the old family manors that’s warded to high hell and out of Ministry jurisdiction. Lestrange or Malfoy would be the most obvious but several of his other followers have viable options in their names. Gringotts won’t release bank statements and we can’t easily surveil the Knockturn Alley entrance to the bank. That leaves setting a trap.”
“And we have something he wants,” Jules realized. “The thing in the—Ministry.”
He’d almost said Department of Mysteries, which he wasn’t supposed to know about. Snape probably told Dumbledore that Jules had asked about it, but he didn’t have to say anything else.
“Right,” Dad said. “And… it can only be accessed by you or him.”
“I’ve got to go, then,” Jules said. It was a relief. To do something instead of sitting around training—
“No,” about five different people said at once.
He looked around in disbelief. “But you’ve just said—”
“It’s not safe,” Molly snapped. She was pale and her grip on the wooden spoon was shaking. Charlie wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she shoved him off. “You are a child, no matter that you’re—the Boy Who Lived.”
“She’s right,” Dad said.
“You’d have gone!” Jules said hotly, glaring at his father. “If it was you—”
Remus put a hand on his knee. “We made a lot of foolish choices when we were fifteen, Jules,” he said, voice heavy with regrets.
He’d talked about the dangers of three animagi and a werewolf running around the Hogwarts grounds in the same tone.
“Fine,” Jules said. “Then how are we going to do this?”
“We put in word at the Ministry that you’ll be coming to see the item,” Mrs. Tonks said. “We’ll do a credible job covering it up, so it looks real.”
“I’ll make sure it leaks,” Lady Bones said, sipping tea. “A dropped file, a misfiled copy of some paperwork, and one of his plants. None of them is particularly well-placed in the Ministry hierarchy but high enough to be dangerous.”
Mrs. Tonks nodded. “Then we send in a double—”
“That’d be me,” Tonks said, smirking. Her hair shortened and darkened until it was a carbon copy of Jules’. “I can’t change my sex but I have a little leeway in height and weight to work with. Enough to pass as Jules Potter. Oooh, I could walk up Diagon Alley, have all the pretty girls fawn on me…”
“You will not,” Molly said, scandalized.
Tonks pouted.
Andromeda sighed. “Nymphadora will take your place in transit. James and Hestia will pick you up at school with some Ministry representatives. We can’t assure the Ministry people’s loyalty, so you’ll have to find a time to swap with Tonks outside their view. The rest of us will make our way inside while the upper echelons are distracted by ensuring your security.”
“So I’m just bait,” Jules muttered. “Not even me.” No, it’d be Tonks taking the risk. Tonks pretending to be him.
He was the one in danger. No one else should have to take that on.
“I don’t want anyone else to die for me,” he said.
“I won’t, don’t get your boxers in a wad,” Tonks said, kicking him. “Seriously. I’ve got mad dueling skills.”
Molly made a little noise that everyone ignored.
“Is there anything else?” Jules said.
Dad and Andromeda exchanged looks. “Keep training your friends,” Dad said. “It’s a brilliant idea.”
“We’re all very proud,” Dedalus said, beaming at him.
“Keep in touch with Harry,” Remus said. “I think it’s—best if you and he continue to have a connection.”
“I’ll try,” Jules said, watching not Remus but Andromeda. Her expression said she thought rather the opposite. She was the Slytherin, the one who knew how Slytherins operated better than Remus—what did she know?
“I’ll bring you home for the final discussion sometime in late May, probably,” Dad said. “With a date, time, all those details. We just wanted to let you know now.”
“And you can’t tell me what it is he wants,” Jules said.
Everyone shook their heads. “It’s not safe,” Dad said. “Snivellus says your Occlumency still isn’t good enough. Just telling you this much was a risk but we’ve done it because we need you on board and Dumbledore thinks You-Know-Who hasn’t noticed the connection yet, since there haven’t been any side effects.”
“Since the graveyard, anyway,” Jules pointed out.
Dad nodded. “Since the graveyard. Which was probably just a passive reaction to you two being close together.”
“Okay.” Jules nodded. Made his choice. “I’ll do it. I’ll tell Ron and Parvati and the rest enough so they can cover for me, help out if something goes wrong.”
Remus smiled, a little wistfully. “It’s good you have friends like them.”
“Any… any word on Ethan?” he said, almost afraid to ask.
Dad’s face darkened. Molly looked at her lap. Most of the rest looked grim or worried in turn. “He’s not allowed visitors,” Dad said. “They’ve got him in a magic-dampening cell that has less dementor presence. It should only take a few weeks of mind healer visits for him to be well again when he’s out, but…”
“There’s no way he did it,” Charlie said. “Not one of us. Blood magic’s evil.”
“Not really,” Tonks said, throwing and catching an apple. “I mean, the stuff on the notebooks was passive. Skeeter kept harping on that so I looked it up and she was telling the truth for once. Some blood magic doesn’t hurt anyone.”
Jules should maybe research that. He’d thought it was all just about hurting people.
“He still didn’t do it,” Dad said.
Andromeda opened her mouth.
“And please don’t keep insisting Harry framed him,” Hestia said instantly.
Jules looked between them. “Am I… missing something?”
“They’ve had this argument before,” Mad-Eye growled without looking up from some weird device in his lap. He’d spent the whole meeting staring at it in silence.
“This took serious magic,” Hestia said. “Faking a magical signature is supposed to be impossible. There’s no way a fifteen-year-old figured that out.”
“You’re underestimating him,” Andromeda said. “And underestimating all the reasons you’ve given him to hate James. And Ethan. Family matters to a Slytherin, which protects James somewhat, but his lawyer best friend? Fair game.”
Dad sat stone-still, eyes dark. They never talked about this, not really; Jules wasn’t even sure Dad knew he blamed Dad for them losing Harry. It wasn’t worth fighting about—not when they had bigger issues.
“We might have been too cavalier about Hadrian, but James is right that he couldn’t have done this,” Dedalus said.
Mad-Eye grunted agreement.
“We should assume it’s the Death Eaters, but keep a closer eye on Harry anyway,” Remus suggested tiredly. “Does that work for everyone?”
Andromeda frowned, but nodded. Dad just looked angry.
Andromeda
“Remus. Wait a moment.”
The werewolf paused in the Potter gardens. “Yes?”
Andromeda looked around. “Where’s James?”
“Had an appointment at Gringotts,” Remus said, more relaxed now in her presence than he had been during the meeting. Andromeda felt herself doing the same. She’d been a few years older and in a different House and that meant she was never friends with any of the Marauders in school, but now that she’d spent a bit more time with Remus and James, she found herself genuinely liking the quiet werewolf. It was an unexpected bonus. Even James was fun and entertaining. She’d been prepared to put up with them for the year it took Ethan to get out of Azkaban, but it seemed the plan might be less of a chore than expected.
“Ted’s making a huge dinner tonight, a recipe he picked up in Ethiopia last month,” Andromeda said. “Want to come over and eat with us? You and James both. It’s way too much food for three people.”
“I… maybe,” Remus allowed. “I can… make up some lie for the other wolves.”
And he appreciated a free meal, but neither of them was tactless enough to say that. “Wonderful. Will you let James know? I promised Dora I’d go with her to Diagon, she wants my help finding a new wand holster.”
“Sure.” Remus rocked on his feet and suddenly looked uncomfortable. Andromeda hid her own amusement with practiced ease. She was no idiot and she’d noticed the way those two gravitated towards one another at Order meetings and sometimes on their own. Nymphadora didn’t have a subtle bone in her body and Remus wasn’t much better. “I’ll let him know, I was dropping by Potter Manor anyway. Oh, and did Ted get the recipe on his Healing mission? I thought that was in Ukraine.”
“It was, originally. There was an outbreak of some rare disease and the Uagadou Magical Hospital sent a request for volunteer aid to the ICW. Ted signed up. Said it was one of the most fascinating trips he’s ever been on.” Andromeda huffed a quiet laugh, remembering how he’d come home and rambled for literal hours about working with the African Healers, and how many different magical theories and Healing practices flourished across the massive continent.
“Hufflepuff,” Remus said drily. Andromeda laughed for real and he grinned.
“Dinner’s at seven, feel free to arrive any time after six,” she said, flicking her wand under cover of her robes as she spoke. “Floo will let you in.”
“James and I will probably get there around six-thirty. Why did you put up anti-eavesdropping spells?” Remus said.
Andromeda blinked. “You…”
“Noticed them, obviously.” He shrugged. “I’m… not normal but I’m still a good wizard.”
“Right,” she said. “Consistently near the top of your class. It drove Sirius nuts.”
They both stood in silence, remembering.
“Have you… spoken to him?” Remus asked.
Andromeda shook her head. “He doesn’t want to see me. I stuck with the Order.”
“Yeah, same,” Remus said quietly. “He… always held grudges.”
Just like everyone else in their cursed family. Grudges, darkness, callousness—Andromeda had always been frightened by the lot of them. Bellatrix with her moods and whims, quiet vicious Narcissa, creepy Regulus, and then wild Gryffindor Sirius. Even when they were kids he had a streak of cruelty as bad as his parents—never knew when to stop. It got better when they were in school and he had his Marauders to help keep him in line but even then many of their pranks took things too far.
She’d retreated into the quiet of Slytherin, where people let you alone if you showed your claws and didn’t hurt the House. Watched, held her tongue, gotten good enough grades to ensure she could get any job she wanted, made few friends. Among them a certain Muggle-born Hufflepuff. Ted had originally been a teenage rebellion, she would readily admit, but it had soon grown into something real.
Also, it pissed Bellatrix off to no end, and she always enjoyed doing that.
“He’s cut you off too?” she asked, when she realized her trip down memory lane had stretched awkwardly long.
“Sort of. We’ve had lunch in pubs and such, though not recently—since he adopted Harry.” Remus shoved his hands in his pockets. “He hasn’t invited me over. I haven’t asked. It’s… awkward.”
“Speaking of Harry…”
“We’ve already argued about whether he was behind the Ethan thing,” Remus said. “James agrees with you two but I’m not convinced.”
He looked tired and certain and like he didn’t want to be having this conversation. Andromeda, though, had spent seven years in Slytherin and more than twice that playing the Black family’s games, and she knew how to spot a bluff. Remus wasn’t convinced yet but he wanted to be. It was unconscious, it was subtle, but it was there.
“That kid is hiding something,” she said softly, insistently. “I’m a Slytherin, Remus. Every House has its own mindset and I’m the only one of the Order from his. Slytherin gets more than its fair share of children from abusive or otherwise bad households—growing up hiding from adults, doing everything for yourself, doing what you have to to survive, that all tends to foster Slytherin traits. We hold grudges, take things personally. We know how to hide our talents and play the long game.”
Remus frowned. “But… hiding a magical signature. Scholars haven’t been able to figure that out.”
“He’s a highly motivated teen no doubt holding a hell of a grudge against Ethan Thorne, with access to the Hogwarts library, the Black library, and several other old Dark family libraries through his friends,” she said flatly. “Name one scholar with all those resources. And he’s been at the top of his class for years now, and we both know how brilliant Lily was. I’d say it’s certainly far from impossible.”
“Yes,” Remus said slowly. “You’ve said all that before, though. It’s… definitely possible but I just don’t see him putting someone in Azkaban. And if it comes down to family libraries, the Death Eaters have access to more than Harry, not to mention You-Know-Who is quite the magical prodigy according to Albus.”
Time to push a little harder. “What do the Death Eaters gain from taking Ethan out of the picture?”
“Taking the Potters down a peg.”
“It does nothing in light of the trials,” Andromeda said flatly. “What’s one more scratch on a cauldron that’s already covered in them? James could easily have written Ethan off and condemned him, at least in public, for using illegal blood magic.”
“He didn’t, though,” Remus pointed out.
“That’s a moot point. He could have, and the only reason he didn’t was that you and Ethan convinced him to back Ethan, point out that the blood magic was harmless and try to spin it as Ethan protecting those kids by keeping an eye on at-risk children.” Which Andromeda thought was stupid; they should’ve written Ethan off to start with in public and then quietly brought him back into the fold once the tumult died down. James backing him made the trial that much more dramatic and kept Ethan in the public’s attention. “Ethan’s no danger to the Death Eaters on his own—the Potters are, but Ethan, no. Getting him out of the picture does nothing except give us another, more personal reason to hunt them down. Not to mention it seriously deviates from their strategy of lying low and recovering.”
Remus hesitated.
“You were always the most logical of all your little group,” she said. She had to make him understand. “Hadrian is dangerous, Remus, and the rest of the Order doesn’t want to see it.”
“If we alienate him, we’d have to worry about him as well as Voldemort,” Remus said. “Not that he could do a ton of damage, but some, certainly.”
Andromeda tapped her wand on her thigh. “Remus, think. We’ve already lost him. He’s a Black, he’s close friends with the children of confirmed Death Eaters, he’s predisposed to the Dark anyway—a Parselmouth, by Morgana. We cannot continue assuming that he’ll work with us unless we further alienate him. We have to assume we already have.”
“Yeah…” Remus rubbed a hand over his face. “You have a point. I just… a year in Azkaban.”
“It’s entirely possible that some of his friends manipulated him into believing the sentence wouldn’t be that serious for non-malicious blood magic.” Possible, but improbable. Andromeda remembered looking into Hadrian Black’s eyes and suppressed a shiver. There was something wrong with that boy. He hid it very, very well, but she had grown up around people who were all different kinds of fundamentally twisted. And Ethan had crossed him in a very personal way.
Andromeda was certain that Hadrian would feed Ethan to the dementors himself given half a chance.
“That makes sense,” Remus said slowly. “What do you think we should do about it? I don’t—entirely agree that it was him, but I will say it’s possible. So assuming that it was…”
“Keep Jules from getting too close to him,” Andromeda said instantly. “James will keep pushing for that because Albus wants him to but I think it’s too big a risk.” How James managed to agree with her about Hadrian while still dancing perfectly to Albus’ tune she did not understand, but then again he’d always been riddled with cognitive dissonance. “He has good friends in the Light. Convince him to focus on them. I don’t know him well enough for that, but you do.”
“I’ll try,” Remus said. “I already have been—different reasons, but yeah.”
Andromeda could read between the lines. Remus had been betrayed by a close friend, by two if you counted James lying to him about Sirius, and never wanted that to happen to Jules.
She could use that.
“Thank you,” she said, softly, letting herself visibly relax, like she was immensely relieved and comforted by his help. Remus softened an unconscious fraction in return. Compassionate people were easy to play and he’d be even more willing to help her with this now that he’d seen how much it meant to her.
“Of course,” Remus said. “Jules still cares about him, but some of the fights those two have had… I don’t know if they can ever completely move on.”
“That’s a start. And I suspect their… differences will get worse, not better, with time.” She couldn’t quite hide the pain that sprang back to life as she added, “Trust me, fights between siblings cut deep.”
Remus watched her for a few seconds. “I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“And I’ll keep an eye on Harry. Between the two of us… we’ll notice the signs.”
She nodded. “See you tonight, then?”
“Six-thirty.” Remus hugged her quickly, skin and bones under his robes, and then Disapparated with a crack.
Andromeda stared unseeing at the space he’d just occupied. The truth was, none of the Marauders was perfect. No one could truly be friends with Sirius Black for long if they were as uncompromisingly upright as, say, Kingsley or Hestia. Remus had a ruthless streak he usually tried to hide, James never changed his mind once it was made up and he was brutal to people who violated his worldview or principles, and Peter… well. Peter was Peter. Remus was quiet, and logical, and principled, and he would help her watch the Blacks.
If Hadrian Black’s personal grudge curdled—well. She was pretty much the poster child for hating your family so much you did the opposite of what they’d want in every aspect of your life. James Potter and Ethan Thorne abandoned Harry to an abusive Muggle home at the age of one, and Julian, too young to think otherwise than James, turned on him as soon as the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin. She had to cut Jules away from him before things got too far.
Jules
He chewed his lip and stared at the open journal.
Harmless. Innocent. Blank pages edged in silver stared up at him. The only weird thing about it was the plain handwriting across the top that said Harry Black.
Unreadable, complicated, impossible Harry.
Jules never knew how to deal with him. What to say. Never understood him.
Their brief exchange from thirty minutes ago flashed across his mind.
JP
Astronomy tower, 30 mins?
HB
I’ll be there.
They needed to have this conversation, and it was happening any second, and Jules still didn’t know what to say.
The door creaked open and Harry stepped out onto the roof of the Astronomy tower. His hair was neat and short, robes clean-cut and perfectly tailored, the Slytherin crest bared proudly on his left breast. He looked like a picture, not a real person.
“Something going on?” he said.
Jules ran a hand through his hair. “Did my wireless interview cause you problems?”
Harry blinked. “What makes you ask that?”
“Someone… pointed out that I, um. Might have caused you some issues with how I talked about—that night.”
“Perceptive of them.”
“So you did have issues.”
Harry shrugged. “Did, yes. Past tense. It’s been handled.”
“I’m sorry,” Jules said truthfully. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You never do,” Harry said.
The hell is that supposed to mean?
He counted four breaths of awkward silence before Harry spoke again. “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No.” Jules took a steadying breath. “Just—I’m being kept out of the loop.”
“Your little Order meeting not go as planned?” Harry said mockingly.
Jules threw up his hands. “How do you always know everything?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re the Boy Who Lived. When you pull one over on Umbridge and get Floo access out for an hour, people notice. It wasn’t hard to guess why dear old Dad wanted you.”
“Fine,” Jules muttered. There was some not-quite-hidden bitterness in his voice when Harry talked about Dad now that he was looking for it. Andromeda apparently had a point.
Well, Jules loved his father and all but he wasn’t just a mini-James. “Yeah, there was a meeting. And they have a plan, and I can’t talk about it, but—they’re not telling me everything and I need to know what’s going on.”
“And you think I’m any more likely to know what the Order’s up to than you?” Harry said. “Really?”
“You know a lot of things you shouldn’t,” Jules said. “Just—what’s in the Department of Mysteries that might link me and Voldemort? I thought it might be a weapon—we talked about this—but they said only me or him can touch it.”
Harry’s expression didn’t change. “Do you know some people call you the Chosen One?”
Jules snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause they’re idiots. Voldemort chose me. And what have I done?”
“You’re no slouch with a wand,” Harry pointed out. “You’ve fought him off, what, three times now?”
“Didn’t stop him coming back,” Jules said. “Didn’t save Quirrell.”
“Yeah, but he hasn’t gone on a murder spree,” Harry said. There was some kind of undertone to the words but Jules couldn’t figure out what. As per fucking usual. “I don’t think you’re actually this mad just because they’re not telling you things. It seems like they gave you a dangerous amount of intel, frankly.”
Jules scowled. “Fine. Someone else is taking risks for me again and I hate it.”
“It’s not a bad idea to hang back sometimes, you know,” Harry said. “You’re fifteen. Not equipped to go up against Death Eaters.”
“You did,” Jules said. “And you—” Killed one.
Harry’s expression darkened. “I lost. If Voldemort didn’t want me alive for some reason, I wouldn’t be.”
“I’ve been training!”
“They are adults,” Harry snarled.
“I don’t want to be a coward and hide,” Jules spat right back.
A muscle jumped in Harry’s jaw. “Coward. Right. Of course hiding from a fight is always cowardly.”
“That’s the definition of cowardice,” Jules said. “Or part of it.”
“Right.” Harry smiled like it hurt. “For a second there, I forgot how you see me.”
“No—Merlin damn it, Harry, that’s not what I meant!”
“No? So you don’t think I’m a coward for suggesting you do the smart thing and hang back and wait?”
Jules paused. “I don’t want people taking risks for me! How is that a bad thing?”
“It’s noble of you,” Harry said, turning noble into an insult. “So very noble, and so very likely to get you killed, and then where will your side be?”
“They’ll keep fighting,” Jules said. He knew it like he knew the feel of his wand in his hand. “They’ll always fight.”
Harry rubbed his forehead. “Yeah. I know. They’re still not wrong to try to make you hang back. Just because they’d keep fighting without you doesn’t mean they’d stand a chance.”
“Look, just tell me what it is,” Jules said. “You’re not my mind healer and we’re not going to agree on this anyway.”
“My best guess would be a prophecy.”
Jules blinked. “What?”
“Are you confused because you don’t know what that means, or because you didn’t think I’d tell you?” Harry said.
“I know what a prophecy means, you prat, I just—why would you think that?” Jules wasn’t about to admit he hadn’t really expected an answer.
“It wasn’t hard to figure out. They study thought, time, love, death, and space.” Harry ticked off five fingers. “The nickname Chosen One, some weird connection between you two, Voldemort’s strange fixation on killing a specific baby. There isn’t much known about the Department of Mysteries, but in certain circles it’s common knowledge that they keep prophecies and if one is made about you, you can view it.”
Jules reeled. A prophecy. “So—I might actually be—some kind of Chosen One?”
“More likely it’s just vague and half-assed, and you’re the best fit,” Harry said. “You take Divination, does Trelawney really strike you as predicting a fixed future?”
“She couldn’t predict rain if she was staring at heavy gray clouds.”
“The future changes, Jules. There’s a prophecy, I think, because it makes sense, but you’re not bound by it.”
Jules cocked his head and thought all this through. Harry was unreadable. All these word games weren’t Jules’ strength. Something just didn’t add up. “Why are you being so helpful?”
Harry let the silence drag out for a few seconds. “You’re my brother. Like it or not,” he said finally. “I’d as soon not see you hurt. So listen to me and stay out of this. If I’m right, you’re more important than just something you did in the past.”
“I defeated Voldemort.”
“How?”
Jules flinched.
“That’s right,” Harry said, eyes intent. “You don’t know. I always thought Mum did something. But if there’s a prophecy, then you need to stay alive.”
“Okay,” Jules said, looking down. “Okay. Fine.”
Harry said something else, about cowardice versus self-preservation, probably normal Slytherin wordplay to justify his own cautious nature. Jules didn’t listen. He was too hung up on the thought of a prophecy.
It made sense. Merlin, but it made sense. Dumbledore always coming by when Jules was young, teaching and training and grooming him… Dad’s pride and affection, going beyond even just happy for his son’s fame, reveling in what Jules meant to people… how he’d managed to defeat Voldemort in the first place. And now, like Harry said, Voldemort’s strange fixation on killing Jules.
“Thanks,” he made himself say, and Harry hovered for a few more seconds before he left. Jules thought he caught a glimpse of slit-pupiled eyes staring back at him from the door but he dismissed it as a trick of the mind. Harry was a snake. But—Jules didn’t think he was lying.
They were brothers, after all. And they—this year, they’d made some progress. Had actual conversations, worked together. Harry was trying like he had been all along, and Jules had finally realized he should be trying too, and it was working. Nott and Greengrass had even been civil lately and Jules thought he might have misjudged them, that their awfulness all these years really had been protectiveness over Harry.
Well, Dad and Dumbledore might want Jules safe and protected. They wanted to keep their figurehead hidden away until it was time to use him. Jules’ jaw clenched and he stared at the starry sky without seeing it.
In all his life, none of them had ever told him about this stupid prophecy. Jules had even asked, several times after about eight when he started putting pieces together, why him. Dumbledore deflected. Always not until you’re older or when you’re ready until Jules just quit asking. Maybe he’d meant it, maybe he really did plan to tell Jules about the prophecy when Jules was some random age, but they didn’t have time to wait anymore. Voldemort was back in his body, the Death Eaters had escaped, their whole world was threatened.
Jules had to find out the truth for himself if no adult was going to tell him. And apparently, the only person who’d be willing to help, the only one who’d tell him hard truths and not treat him like a child, was Harry.
Harry
Aguamenti, Harry thought, slashing his wand. Glacio.
The spray of water froze under Barty’s feet. He slipped, laughing. Shot off a crucio and something Harry didn’t recognize. The first missed but the second connected, and felt like it set his right leg on fire.
Wincing, Harry returned with a hail of overpowered cutting curses, forcing Barty to shield while he laid one hand on his leg and poured wandless cooling magic into it. The curse could’ve been just a nerve thing that didn’t cause physical damage—it wasn’t the one that literally burned you up from inside, because Harry knew incremo very well. This should help.
It at least kept him functional.
Barty got enough time to conjure a solid block of stone instead of a magical shield. Harry Disillusioned himself instantly, even though the spell wasn’t perfect yet, and slid off to the side.
“Left,” Eriss said, and he went that way instantly, stepping around the left side of Barty’s conjured barrier just as his teacher stuck his head around the far edge.
Consangui, decutex, stupef—
Barty dove around the corner right after the blood-freezing curse hit him. Harry heard a choked noise. Instead of walking back around the edge, he conjured his own stone block, jumped on it, and poked his head over the original barrier.
A jet of red light hit him in the forehead.
He woke up on the floor. “My back is one giant bruise,” he complained.
“Then don’t go climbing on things until your Disillusionment Charm is better,” Barty said, busy vanishing the stone and repairing the room. “It was a clever idea but I’d already performed the counter to consangui.”
“Need a healing potion?” Harry said. Countercurses stopped the magic, and the one for consangui also unfroze the blood, but it acted fast and the counter didn’t heal the damage.
Barty shook his head. “I’ll get one later, I got it off quickly enough. A Flaying Curse? Really?”
“You sent decutex at me first,” Harry said.
“I didn’t anticipate you would be able to fire it back.” Barty left off his repair work and turned back, expression serious. “I’m not angry. Impressed, if anything. That one… takes intent.”
Harry knew exactly where he was going with this, but Barty was going to have to say it. He raised one eyebrow. “All magic is intent.”
“Some spells more than others,” Barty said. “That spell, for example, is considered only one tier below the Unforgivables. That only because it’s physically damaging, not mentally.”
“Oops.”
Barty nodded, like he’d just confirmed something. “More extracurricular practice, I take it.”
“I’m usually doing some kind of extracurricular practice,” Harry said.
“You got around the wards, then?”
Harry shrugged.
Barty smirked at him. “In a certain… Chamber?”
“This school has lots of chambers,” Harry said, giving nothing away.
“My lord may have mentioned some of Slytherin’s safeguards,” Barty said. “I’m sure your Founder would be pleased to see an Heir using it so well.”
“I’m sure he would,” Harry agreed. “That it for today?”
“Yeah, I think we’re good.” Barty produced a book from his pocket. “Dueling techniques of the formal kind. I generally like to teach by forcing students to develop their own style and experience before having them study other people’s dueling styles. First three profiles by next week, and we’ll discuss similarities to and differences from how you and I duel.”
Harry nodded and slid the book into one of his own expanded pockets. Eriss returned to him from a corner and he had to stop himself wandlessly lifting her to his shoulders—Barty didn’t need to know about that little hidden ace just yet. Instead he bent down and collected her in his hands.
“Oh—almost forgot.” Barty fished a box out of his pocket. “Envelopes.”
The box went into the same pocket as the book. Harry had been facilitating communication between escaped Death Eaters and their children since the escape. None of them would be surprised to get an envelope slipped to them sometime over the next few days. He always staggered the handoffs, so they wouldn’t be able to pin down his off-grounds contact to any specific day of the week.
“See you next week,” Harry said.
Barty waved absently, already digging something else out of his pockets. Harry shook his head at the Ravenclaw’s busy mind and left the classroom.
He didn’t even bother with the Marauder’s Map anymore to get back to the common room. Eriss and the other snakes guided him, hissed instructions and warnings just barely reaching his ears from the shadows. Eriss’ control over the rest of the castle snakes had grown, something she was very proud of. Harry made a point to compliment her on it this evening, as he often did. She preened.
“Excited for the match this weekend?” Everett said when he got back to the common room.
“It shouldn’t be too dramatic,” Harry said with a shrug. “Gryffindor will have to beat Ravenclaw by at least sixty points to edge us out for House Cup and I don’t see that happening.”
“True that,” Peregrine agreed with an evil smirk. Celesta matched it. “Especially with the Weasley Terrors and the Git Who Lived gone.”
And they would have—if Ronald Weasley of all people hadn’t suddenly discovered his previously dormant talent.
The new Beater, Kirke, fouled Draco. Hooch called it but McLaggen, the reserve Seeker, had already caught the Snitch and ended the game.
Harry only landed when his frustration had cooled enough for him to not curse someone.
On the bright side, Jules, Toby Pritchard, and Parvati were nowhere to be seen, so they couldn’t rub it in his face and make things worse.
June arrived, and with it, OWL fervor. Every Slytherin was relieved, even the fifth and seventh years, because exams distracted the Gryffindors from their tactless, unsubtle gloating. Harry alone of the Slytherin fifth years remained unaffected. He studied, of course, going back over old exams to make sure he knew the OWL-specific information, but most of his time was spent on Barty’s stuff.
Snape sat the fifth and seventh years down on June 2. “As on the schedules you were given last week, you will begin tomorrow with your Theory of Charms exam,” he said in his characteristic icy sneer. “The written theoretical examinations will take place in the morning, and the practicals in the afternoon. I will warn you that the most stringent Anti-Cheating Charms have been applied to the exam papers, and Auto-Answer Quills, Remembralls, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs, and Self-Correcting Ink are banned from the examination hall.” He paused. “I have no doubt that some of you have already considered how you might get around those rules. I recommend that you not try. The risk is far higher than the reward, and should any of you be caught cheating, I will be most… disappointed.”
Several NEWT students made faces.
“Look,” Daphne hissed, elbowing Harry, “it’s the examiners.”
“Ow,” he complained.
She glared at him.
“Of course, it’s all who you know,” he could hear Draco saying behind them, just loud enough for Ronald, Patil, and Jules to hear. “Mother’s been friends with the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years—Griselda Marchbanks—we’ve had her ‘round for dinner and everything…”
“Hope you can put in a word for me, then,” Justin said. Harry bit back a smirk.
Draco and Justin caught up to them in the entrance hall, the former smirking and the latter grinning.
“I see you have an accomplice now,” Neville said, slinging an arm around Draco’s shoulders.
Draco shoved him off with a scowl.
Neville just grinned. “Funny you should say that, actually, ‘cause Griselda is friends with Gran and she’s never mentioned your family.”
“I know,” Draco said. “I just like pulling the Gryffindors’ tails.”
“They have it coming,” Neville agreed, waving at a short witch yelling at Umbridge. She waggled her fingers in his direction.
“They’re talking about Dumbledore,” said Pansy, who’d been ignoring the rest of them and eavesdropping. “C’mon.”
Harry let her work their whole group through the crowded entrance hall toward the examiners. Most of them were older and crusty-looking, the sorts of people you’d expect to have ink stains on their fingers and quills jammed in their unstyled hair. Also, kneazle hair on their robes.
“Have you heard from Dumbledore recently?” Umbridge simpered as Harry got closer. “I understand the two of you are acquaintances.”
“No, no, haven’t heard from him,” Madam Marchbanks practically shouted. “She’s hard of hearing,” Neville whispered. “No idea where he is, I suppose?” the old lady added, peering around the entrance hall as though he might spring from a broom cupboard.
“None at all,” Umbridge said, with a malevolent look in the Gryffindors’ direction. Ronald was pretending to do up his shoelace like there weren’t four different charms for that. “But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough…”
“I doubt it,” shouted tiny Madam Marchbanks, “not if Dumbledore doesn’t want to be found! I should know… examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did NEWTs… did things with a wand I’d never seen before…”
“Yes, well,” Umbridge said stiffly, “allow me to show you to the staffroom for a cup of tea?”
Justin’s mouth was open slightly as Umbridge led them away. “She examined Dumbledore? How old is she?”
“Old,” Neville said simply.
That evening, Ginny got a standing ovation for selling her brother dried doxy droppings with the lie it was powdered dragon claw nicked from an older Slytherin. Hermione wrote in the journals that she confiscated it before any harm was done but she admitted that she’d considered letting him eat it.
None of the fifth or seventh years talked much the next morning. Blaise was reading Achievements in Charming over his toast, Daphne mumbled incantations under her breath, and the seventh years relentlessly quizzed each other at their end of the table. All the Slytherins picked up on their intensity and the whole table’s mood was serious and focused. The Ravenclaws were worse—half their table was asleep in their breakfasts and the other half were either reading or debating loudly on topics ranging from complex spell theory to who had worse bags under their eyes. A sort of frantic nervousness emanated from the Gryffindor table; only the Hufflepuffs seemed calm. Justin waved cheerfully at Harry’s section of the Slytherin table when he came in.
“I hate him,” Draco muttered.
Theo squinted in his direction. “Is that your second cup of coffee?”
“Shut it, Nott, I know for a fact you’re on your third,” Draco snarled.
Harry grinned into his tea.
They milled about in the entrance hall after breakfast until everyone else had gone to lessons. Finally, at half past nine, they were called back in.
The four House tables had been replaced with dozens of single tables, each bearing a plain brownish quill, an inkwell, and a packet of parchment turned face-down. Professor McGonagall waited sternly at the staff-table end of the Hall while they sat down facing her.
Harry would never admit it but he was a little nervous. He knew he was ridiculously overprepared for this exam—but still.
“You may begin,” she said when they were all quiet, and turned over a massive hourglass.
With a quiet breath, Harry flipped over the booklet.
a) Give the incantation and b) describe the wand movement required for levitation.
His nerves melted away. A few rows ahead, Hermione and Theo were already scribbling; Ernie Macmillan alternated between staring at Hermione’s frantic writing speed and trying to beat it.
Harry started to write.
Hermione barricaded herself in an abandoned classroom as soon as they got out, two hours later, and grimly started reconstructing the entire exam. Daphne just sighed, conjured a chair, and waited outside while she practiced various charms. Theo, Neville, and Harry found them after leaving Blaise and Pansy and Draco to a heated argument over Cheering Charms and wordlessly joined in the practice.
After lunch was the practical. They were called into the Great Hall in groups of four students by last name. Harry put his back to a corner so none of the frantically practicing students could accidentally poke him in the back or eye like they kept doing to each other. Macmillan came over at one point, probably to badger Harry about his study schedule like he’d been doing everyone else, but Theo and Harry glowered in unison until he went away.
Hermione’s hands were shaking as they waited, and Daphne touched her shoulder lightly at a moment when almost no one was paying attention. Harry saw it because he and Pansy were both looking at Draco look at Hermione.
“How sweet,” Pansy said, quiet and mocking.
Blaise followed her gaze, then elbowed her. “Jealous.”
Pansy sniffed. “Hardly. I would never begrudge them their friendship.”
“Yes, you would,” Draco and Justin said in unison.
Neville laughed.
The group’s attention shifted to reviewing Color Charms. Only Harry seemed to notice that Pansy was sitting it out and looking a little pale. Wandwork wasn’t her strong suit.
“You’ll be fine,” he said quietly. “These exams are designed so that if you nail the theory part, you have some leeway on the practical, and I know you know charms theory.”
“I know, too,” Pansy hissed. “Doesn’t make it easier.”
Harry grinned. “There’s the Pansy we all know and love. No Dark Arts in the exam, now.”
She returned an expression that was not at all reassuring.
“Black, Hadrian” was called early, right after Jessica Banderas. “Good luck,” Blaise murmured. “Not that you need it.”
“See you on the other side,” Harry said with a fake-flirty wave. He’d be the first of their group to head in, with Banderas, Susan Bones, and Lavender Brown.
Harry walked into the Great Hall already twirling his ash wand around his fingers.
“Professor Tofty is free, Mr. Black,” squeaked Professor Flitwick, just inside the door. He pointed Harry toward the oldest and baldest examiner, in the far corner next to Madam Marchbanks.
“Black, is it?” Tofty said, examining Harry under fluffy flyaway eyebrows. “The estranged Potter?”
Harry caught a badly concealed snigger from one of the students behind him and resisted the urge to make a comment about the eyebrows. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well. Now, if you could just take this teacup and make it do a few cartwheels for me…” he said encouragingly.
He’d always intended to do his best on the exam, but Harry never liked being talked down to and he took a special delight in outperforming every task. The teacup did five perfect cartwheels and then a back handspring for good measure; his Levitation Charm was performed in silence and the wine glass he was levitating stayed perfectly steady; his reparo charm was cast verbally but otherwise perfect so he didn’t seem too good; his Color-Change Charm sent his rat through a timed series of shades. Tofty sent him off with wide eyes and a whispered promise of “excellent marks.”
Transfiguration had always promised to be one of the hardest OWLs. It didn’t disappoint. There were just so many little theoretical nuances and definitions, and Harry had studied so much that he found himself struggling to recall relatively simple things like the technical definition of a Switching Spell. He left confident that he’d gotten an O, of course, but not sure if it would break any school records, which he very much wanted to do. Especially given whose name was on the OWL high score trophy at the moment.
If Riddle had a problem with Harry beating his scores, he could shove it off a cliff somewhere.
At least the Transfiguration practical went off without a hitch.
Herbology was the least interesting of all their exams. Harry liked studying magical plants and their properties, but not so much their care, and he almost got bitten by a Fanged Geranium. Only Neville and Theo were perfectly happy after that exam, spelling dirt off their robes and talking about Chinese Chomping Cabbage.
During the Defense exam, every single member of the DA and the Vipers gleefully watched Umbridge get redder and redder as they performed every jinx, counterjinx, and defensive spell they were assigned. Almost no one had a hundred percent success rate, but they did significantly better than could be expected given they hadn’t had any practical experience in class all year.
“Oh bravo!” cried Tofty, who’d made a point of examining Harry as often as possible since Charms. This was in response to a perfect boggart-banishing spell. “Very good indeed! I think that’s all, Mr. Black… unless…”
“Yes?” Harry said.
Tofty leaned forward. “I hear you can produce a corporeal Patronus?”
“I can, yes,” Harry said, carefully keeping his smirk hidden. This would definitely get him extra credit and it was nice to know he had a bit of a reputation spreading already.
“If you would, then…? For a bonus point?” Tofty said with a conspiratorial wink.
Harry raised his wand and concentrated. “Expecto patronum!”
A silver wolf exploded out of his wand and loped a circle around the Great Hall. Everyone stopped to watch. It came to rest at Harry’s feet, looking around with interest.
“Excellent!” Tofty cried, clapping his hands. “Most excellent, Black.”
“Thank you, sir. May I release it?” Harry said, gesturing toward the wolf.
“Release…”
“It won’t disappear until I end the connection, but I can’t maintain it forever,” Harry said, with a fake-joking smile on his face. Humor connected people.
Tofty blinked. “Oh, of course.”
Harry neatly severed the flow of magic and his Patronus faded away. He slid his wand back into its holster.
“Impressive control,” Tofty muttered, scribbling on his parchment. “Very well, Black, you may go.”
“Good day, sir,” Harry said, bowing neatly.
On the way out, he spotted several other Vipers turning on their examiners with a question, and a burst of silver came from Justin’s station right before Harry left the Hall. He smiled at Umbridge on the way out.
She scowled back.
Friday was the Ancient Runes exam. Tofty wasn’t there, but a witch who vaguely resembled an ancient but still functional battleaxe tested Harry on the practical, which was a much simpler task than some of the runes-based exercises Barty had set him. “Full marks,” she whispered to him with a wink at the end of it. Babbling cheerfully waved to him on his way out of the Great Hall.
By mutual agreement, Harry’s fifth-year friends all took Saturday morning off, lazing about by the Black Lake with food from the kitchens and taking turns creating light shows with their wands. After lunch, though, they were back at it, cracking years of stained Potions textbooks and quizzing each other on recipes, ingredients, laws, and principles. Harry’s stack of books was twice as high as anyone else’s, and he had random students from all four Houses come up and ask him questions in the library. Mostly he answered correctly, since them scoring well wouldn’t hurt him, although Macmillan and a few others got misleading answers that left Theo hiding laughter behind his own books.
The exam on Monday was a breeze. Harry handed his modified Fatiguing Infusion in and listened to a Madam Hawthorne exclaim about it for ten minutes before she finally let him leave.
Tuesday was Arithmancy, the second-hardest exam for Harry, and Wednesday morning they sat the written Astronomy section. “Can you believe Weasley forgot about Pluto?” Pansy said gleefully that afternoon.
“How do you know that?” Blaise said.
Pansy smiled.
“Why do you even bother asking at this point?” Theo said, slinging an arm around Pansy’s shoulders. She promptly squirmed away. As his other arm was already wrapped around Hermione, all three of them got yanked to the side before Pansy got free, laughing.
Hermione poked Theo in the ribs and he yelped.
“Wait,” Neville said. “Are you ticklish?”
Theo scowled. “No.”
“He’s normally a better liar than that,” Justin said, setting aside a star chart from January with an evil glint in his eye.
“I’m not ticklish,” Theo insisted.
Justin, Hermione, and Pansy made eye contact before all three of them dived on Theo at once.
“Yeah, he’s ticklish,” Harry said over Theo’s shrieks.
Neville
Mr. Tofty and Madam Griselda oversaw the Astronomy practical that evening. Neville blearily set up his telescope, quill, and inkwell. All they had to do was fill in as much of their star chart as possible, which wasn’t the hardest thing ever as two of their four Astronomy classes per month were spent doing exactly that, but it was a lot of rote memorization. Painfully boring like most of his exams. Although it had been really, really fun to whizz through the Defense one.
He grinned again, just remembering the look on Umbridge’s face when he cast a Patronus and a giant silver bear exploded into the Great Hall. Five people had screamed. You can suck it, Umbridge. Uncle Algie too.
He was filling in Canis Major with a slight smile when, far below, light suddenly spilled over the lawn. Several students along his edge of the tower paused to look. Six people set off across the lawn. He recognized one.
There could be no good reason Umbridge wanted to take a stroll at midnight accompanied by five others. Neville frowned at them for a few seconds, but then someone coughed and he remembered with a jolt that he was in the middle of an exam.
He was just inking Venus’ trajectory onto his chart when a faint booming bark echoed up to the tower.
Fang.
No no no no. He knew he should’ve stopped Lee putting that second niffler into Umbridge’s office, but without the twins around he and Hermione never got advance notice of Lee and his best friend Marisa’s pranks—
Neville looked around on instinct. Harry was already looking back from the other side of the tower; he couldn’t see what was going on but he was frowning already. Neville did his best to telegraph his panic.
Harry’s eyes flicked to the far side of the tower and his expression changed subtly.
Down below, Hagrid’s door opened. Six tiny but sharply defined figures walked inside. The door shut again.
Nerves churned in Neville’s stomach worse even than before the Potions exam.
Harry raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch. Neville shrugged jerkily. He couldn’t say anything—didn’t know what was going on, even—
Madam Griselda coughed pointedly, and he jammed his eye back to his telescope again.
He stared at the moon even though he’d marked its position as soon as he started.
A distant roar jerked him away from it less than a minute later. Several people said “Ouch!” as they poked themselves with their telescopes trying to look down at Hagrid’s hut.
Hagrid’s door burst open with a bang that he heard clearly even from this distance. The light flooding out of his cabin showed seven people clearly; the six looked like ants around Hagrid’s big frame. Jets of red light bounced off him from all directions. Neville clutched the edge of the parapet as Hagrid roared and spun and swung at them. Yes, he willed, fight back.
No one was paying attention to their tests. Tofty was yelling at them to get back to their examination but even the kids on the far side of the tower had left off what they were doing and crowded around to look. Harry elbowed his way into the mess by Neville, Hermione and Theo and Blaise right with him, and Neville managed to relax just a little bit.
“Be reasonable, Hagrid!” someone yelled distantly.
“Reasonable be damned, Dawlish, yeh won’ take me like this!” Hagrid bellowed.
“Take him?” Hermione hissed angrily. Her hair was so bushy it brushed Neville’s shoulder. He clenched his fists and she wrapped an arm around him without looking. “Take him where?”
Fang was leaping around Hagrid. Neville had never seen the gentle slobbery boarhound move quickly unless he was running from something, but now he was a blur of motion, and his snarls were faintly audible in between the humans’ shouts. Until a spell caught his ribs and threw him to the ground in silence.
“No,” someone gasped.
Hagrid roared in fury, lifted the culprit in one hand, and threw him. All the fifth years gasped and a few screamed as the wizard flew what looked like ten feet. Neville’s stomach felt weird. He’d never seen Hagrid in a real temper before. They all knew his giant blood made him strong, large, and spell-resistant, but this…
Another person threw open the front doors and sprinted down across the lawn. “How dare you!” the figure shrieked. “How dare you!”
“McGonagall!” Hermione gasped.
“Oh no,” Blaise muttered.
“Leave him alone! Alone, I say! On what grounds are you attacking him?”
“Go, McGonagall, go!” Justin whisper-cheered.
“He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such—”
This time it sounded like everyone screamed as six red streaks hit McGonagall in the chest at the same time.
Neville’s lungs stopped working as McGonagall flew right off her feet and then slammed down on the ground on her back. Even Harry made a shocked, furious noise.
“Galloping gargoyles!” shouted Tofty, who no longer seemed to care about the exam. “Not so much as a warning! Outrageous behavior!”
“COWARDS!” Hagrid bellowed, his voice carrying clearly to them. “HAVE SOME O’ THAT—AN’ THAT—”
“Damn,” Daphne said, as Hagrid took two massive swipes and sent another two attackers flying. Then he doubled over and for a second Neville thought Umbridge switched to nastier spells—but he stood up again with Fang draped around his shoulders, and turned around, and bolted.
“Get him, get him!” Umbridge shrieked, but her lackeys hovered. One of them actually backed up so fast he tripped and fell over. Umbridge herself sent another Stunner after Hagrid, but it went wide and he vanished into the forest.
There was a long minute’s quivering silence.
“Only… only six more minutes…” Tofty said weakly.
The rest of the exam was a blur.
Jules
“Well, that was horrible,” Ron said. “I couldn’t remember anything about Lichtenstein and the ICW, could you?”
“Honestly, Ronald, it’s not that complicated,” Hermione snarled, stomping up the stairs near them. “That’s one of the biggest events in the history of our world, you’d think you’d know about it!”
“Yeah, well, not all of us are freaky swots, okay, why don’t you go hang out with your Slytherin cronies,” Ron grumbled.
Jules rubbed his throbbing right eye.
“Leave off, Ron,” Neville snapped. When had he grown a spine? Why couldn’t things be easy like they used to? “She actually studied.”
“I studied!”
Hermione scoffed. “This morning!”
“Enough, Hermione,” Parvati hissed.
Neville latched on to Hermione’s elbow and dragged her onto a different moving staircase.
“Thank Circe,” Parvati sniffed. “Here’s hoping they sit somewhere in the common room not near us. Jules? Jules, are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” he said absently. No, no he wasn’t fine, not in the slightest. He felt like a potion two degrees from boiling over.
“…okay,” Parvati said. “Well. Padma and Jessica wanted to ask me some questions about the exam, I think, so I’m going to pop over to the base of their tower for a bit. Catch you later?”
“Sure,” Jules said.
Parvati pecked Ron on the cheek and hopped onto a different staircase. Jules was mildly surprised to realize he wasn’t jealous of that.
Maybe he was just too tied up in what was happening tonight for jealousy.
“Okay, what’s really up, mate?” Ron said. “I know you, something’s wrong.”
Jules looked around. “In here.”
He dragged Ron into one of several little side landings in Gryffindor Tower. The bottom few floors of the Tower were hollow and full of the moving staircases, lined with portraits; only the top two-thirds of it held the common room and dorms. They’d just look like they got stuck on a landing waiting for a staircase to come get them.
Jules cast a spell to deafen the portraits around them. “Look, I need to tell you something,” he said, and in a hurried whisper he relayed the Order meeting from a few weeks ago when they first came up with the Tonks-impersonate-Jules plan, his talk with Harry, the idea of a prophecy, and how the adults were keeping secrets to protect him.
Ron’s eyes were huge by the end of it, freckles standing out almost like blood with how pale he’d gotten. “Jules. That’s… some serious stuff.”
“I know,” Jules said. “I know. And—it’s all on me, all of this, I can’t have Tonks go out there as me! They’ll be trying to kill her. Plus I have to know. I can’t just keep sitting back and—and letting them plan everything. I’m too old to just trust that all the adults in my life know best.” He broke off and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Dad and Dumbledore—they’re my heroes but they’ve… they can fuck up. I mean, they did with Sirius, and if they hadn’t—hadn’t put him away then… maybe he’d have taken Harry in and stayed friends with Dad and we wouldn’t be in this mess, who knows, but I have to go, okay? I have to get that prophecy. I have to know what it—I have to know.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, nodding. He still looked shaky but his hands were fists. “Yeah. Okay. So when do we leave?”
Jules’ heart contracted suddenly, painfully. “Just me,” he said. “Just me.”
“What?” Ron yelped. “You—can’t be serious, mate, bloody fuck, it’s a mess in there! You need backup!”
“I have the whole Order,” Jules said, crossing his arms. “I’m not putting you at risk, too, okay? Forget it. I shouldn’t even be there, and I’m the Boy Who Lived.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Like anyone could ever forget.”
Jules brushed that off. “Look, I need your help, okay? Tonks is coming after dinner. She can’t impersonate me at the table, not well enough to fool Parvati and Toby and Lav and everyone who knows me—so we’re doing the swap before the Ministry people come pick me up. Dad’s meeting her in the Atrium. The rest of the Order will be inside.” He reached out and gripped Ron’s shoulders. “Ron, listen. You’re the only one I’m trusting with this, okay? I need you.”
For a second, their eyes met, and Jules could suddenly see what Hermione pointed out last year. He’d taken her word for it but until now he never picked it out himself. The weight of jealousy lay heavy on Ron’s shoulders—always coming behind his brothers, and then being the Boy Who Lived’s best mate…
Jules was the Boy Who Lived and he could never change that, never separate that from himself, but he could have friends too. Be a better friend than he had, anyway, when they were kids and he was blind.
“Yeah, you do,” Ron said, cracking a smile. “Dunno where you’d be without me, mate.”
“Suffering through Trelawney’s bullshit alone,” Jules said, grinning back. More out of relief than anything else.
Ron laughed. It was a little strained but mostly real. “Merlin’s balls, that exam was bad… but we never have to take it again. I don’t care if my tea leaves spell die, Ron, die, I’m chucking them in the bin where they belong.”
“And I don’t care if Uranus and Saturn join hands and dance the cancan over Potter Manor, Trelawney can stress over that,” Jules said.
“So what’s the plan?” Ron said.
“All right.” Jules took a breath. He had to be careful about his oath here. “I’m pretty sure we’re not the only ones who’ve figured out communication methods like our little papers for the DA. I need you to slip to the Slytherins that they’re planning to swap me out with a double. Not who, ‘cause that’d put Tonks in danger again, but that it’s happening after dinner. They’ll do something so I can’t make the swap.” He swallowed. “They’ll… Dumbledore will... send me anyway. He needs to—draw out Voldemort. He’ll use me as bait if I force it.”
Ron frowned. “You’re sure about this?”
“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything,” Jules said. “Except maybe flying.”
“All right, then. Let’s go pretend to let Crabbe eavesdrop on us,” Ron said.