Veronica
Riasmoore was simultaneously very like Diagon Alley and yet nothing like it at all.
It was magical, of course, in that way Veronica couldn’t quite put her finger on, like every other magical place she had ever been. It felt more real than anywhere in the Muggle world. More vital. She could practically feel magic pulsing under her feet.
But when she looked closer… maybe it was the way Riasmoore felt less touristy, maybe it was the fact that she could see open sky between the buildings, but it felt like a community in a way Diagon didn’t. None of the buildings even pretended to look Muggle—they jutted in odd directions; one of them pulsed gently as though breathing; several appeared to be made of living wood; most were painted or charmed absurd colors—and none of the people pretended at being Muggle either. The occasional broomstick rider passed overhead. Streets twisted and turned and were rarely wider than ten feet—no pretense of accommodating cars.
The exception to the narrow streets was Riasmoore’s Heartlane, which, or so Harry had told them, ran along one of the three ley lines that passed through the area. The nexus sat directly underneath the manor. The town itself lay almost due north of it, along a ley that, if she looked at a map, Veronica thought she would find ran to Hogwarts. Heartlane was twice as wide as any of the streets Veronica saw angling away from it.
Still crooked, though.
Anxious as she had been about visiting an ancient and all-magical enclave, Veronica stuck close to Graham and spoke little as they walked from the Floo point in a tavern called the Crooked Oak to the town hall, where Harry had to meet Riasmoore’s tithings and its Reeve. A shop selling protective amulets caught Veronica’s eye as they went. Then there was one that promised music that would “knock your socks off,” which was intriguing because with wizards, that slogan might be literal. And a place with hats in the window that appeared to chatter— “in Godric Gryffindor’s own tradition!” —and bookstore, and a publisher, and a barber, and—
The town hall sat at the south end of Heartlane like Gringotts at the end of Diagon, with the same air of finality, as though this building was the reason the rest of the town existed. It was a single story, long and low, with a shingle roof and stone walls set with large stained-glass windows. The front doors were carved with intricate Celtic patterns that moved and shifted languidly. As they approached, the doors opened.
Inside, three half-circles of benches were arranged facing a dais that sat square in the middle of the building’s long side, to her left. In the middle of the dais was an enormous tree with a chair either grown or caved into it. Herbology wasn’t Veronica’s best subject, and she didn’t recognize what kind, but it was clearly alive, twisting and warped to make a smooth seat even as it grew up through the roof and down through the floor of smooth wooden boards.
About twenty people waited on the benches and stood when Harry walked in. “Merry meet,” Harry said. He didn’t bow, because he was the Heir, but Veronica, Graham, Rio, and Dylan did, being children; and so did Justin, being underage and not a Black. The community leaders did too.
“Merry meet,” said a very old witch, straight-spined and white-haired, holding a gnarled staff that clunked on the floor as she stepped forward. “It is an honor to host an Heir to the House of Black, after so long.”
“My family has long neglected its duty to Riasmoore and the surrounding lands,” Harry said. There was a formal cast to his voice that Veronica rarely heard. She instinctively stood up more. “You are the Reeve?”
“Reeve Edwina Jarlborn of Riasmoore,” she said. “I have held this post since Lord Arcturus confirmed my appointment.”
Harry tilted his head. “An honor, Reeve Jarlborn.”
“And will you be taking your seat this day, Heir Black?”
The question was a loaded one, judging by the other people’s tense expressions. Veronica wished she understood more of what was going on here. Harry’s fingers tightened fractionally behind his back and she suspected, for all his normally rigid self-control, that he was feeling out of his depth too. “I will not. The Oaken Seat is for a Lord in session, and I come here not to govern but to learn.”
He must have said something right, because they relaxed, and the Reeve smiled thinly. “You speak well, lordling. Sit with us, then, and we will speak of your adopted legacy.”
Harry gestured, and Veronica fell in next to Graham as everyone shifted towards the seats. They all fit on the innermost ring. The Reeve sat in the center, in a place evidently set aside special for her, directly across from what Veronica guessed was the Oaken Seat; Harry sat at the end of the half-circle so he could see everyone. Justin was immediately to his right, then Graham, Veronica, Dylan, and lastly Rio, who sat down with a nervous look towards the person—tithing?—on his right.
“My friend, Justin Finch-Fletchley, first of his line,” said Harry, gesturing at Justin, “and my wards, Graham Pritchard, Veronica Butler, Dylan Worple, and Rio Ingram.”
“You are young to have care of so many children,” said a middle-aged wizard.
“Their stories are their own to tell,” Harry said.
The Reeve waved a hand. “We are not here to interrogate you. What do you know of the governing structure of Riasmoore?”
“Little,” Harry admitted, “save that it predates the Norman Conquest, and that my family has avoided interference. I know you are largely self-governing and I have no intention of stepping on anyone’s toes.”
“Each tithing you see here represents ten households,” the Reeve said. “‘Tis indeed a remnant of Anglo-Saxon times, as am I, who sits in judgment of disputes. My rulings can be appealed to your Lord Father, of course, but by common agreement, none such appeals have been pressed since Lord Arcturus crossed the Veil.”
“And are there that anyone will want to press now that there is a Lord Black who isn’t incarcerated or violently insane?” Harry said drily.
Several of the tithings covered up laughter.
“We shall see,” said the Reeve with a smile of her own. “I have been informally reelected every seven years since, though without the formal confirmation of a Lord.”
“I cannot see why Lord Sirius would not confirm someone so obviously respected by the community.”
Veronica saw it in the way the Reeve’s shoulders loosened. They were afraid of some arrogant twat like Draco Malfoy storming in here and trying to take over as suited his whim. Silly of them, really. Harry was much too smart for that.
Plus if he tried Hermione would come down on him like a ton of bricks about civil liberties.
The Reeve introduced the tithings, though Veronica struggled to remember all their names. She had galleons in her pocket and wanted to run and explore but they had to do this first and it was important. Someday she wanted to go into wizard politics. She’d have to know about stuff like this.
They discussed the condition of the land and the tithe situation. Veronica hadn’t been able to find specifics about magic taxation in her schoolbooks, but she listened as they spoke, and understood that in lieu of taxes paid, the Riasmoore residents leased land from the House of Black, paying a yearly tithe of labor, goods, or gold to the House in exchange. Leases could be sold when someone moved or died, with a percentage of the ‘sale’ going to the House as well, and you didn’t need the Lord or Lady Black’s permission to do so, which meant it all seemed to work pretty smoothly as far as Veronica could tell. House Black got its dues and the residents could look after themselves. Harry asked how often they required the Aurors to intervene in local disputes—rarely, as the Reeve had a dozen constables and a small gaol, all maintained by the funds the House of Black allocated for the public welfare—and the situation of the croplands—poor, without a Lord or Lady to oversee the seasonal rites—and whether they had any complaints that they wanted to see brought before the Wizengamot.
The last question brought a ringing silence. Speaking looks were traded. Veronica tried not to fidget; Justin was watching with sharp eyes, and even Rio and Dylan were staying perfectly quiet and still.
“We have long preferred to avoid the Wizengamot’s notice,” one of the tithings said finally. “Can I speak freely?”
“By all means,” said the Reeve.
“The Ministry can’t tax what it doesn’t know about,” the same tithing said. “Used to be, we’d pay the House in gold or goods or labor as we could, and the Ministry’s taxes came down on the House ‘stead of on us. Fifty years or so gone” —he looked easily old enough to have seen the change— “they ruled to tax us direct, but we don’t import so much now, and most of what’s local’s done in barter, not in gold. They can’t tax a trade.”
Justin murmured something. “Is there a reason for the decline in imported goods?” Harry said.
“Price,” said another tithing, this one a youngish witch, bluntly. “We’ve lost out on potions ingredients, enchantments, even print material for ages now because prices have gone up. The Ministry takes a cut whenever someone brings something into the country and again when it’s sold to an independent township like us. Imports go to Diagon, Edinburgh, Dublin, Holyhead, Hogsmeade—richer communities who can afford the extra.”
Harry nodded slowly. “I’m given to understand that magical towns have been on the decline since the Statute for the same reason.”
Another tithing shrugged. “We don’t mostly to go Hogwarts, Heir Black, what with tuition what it is now. The scholarship funds go almost entirely to muggleborns. We can go and shop in Diagon, o’course, but the Knight Bus charges extra for out o’ th’way places like this, and the Floo toll’s ridiculous, and most of us don’t bother paying fifty galleons for an apparition license. I can’t speak to other townships but Riasmoore’s been isolated from th’rest o’ magical Britain near as sure as we are from the Muggles.”
“May I ask how many muggleborns are residents?” Harry said delicately.
The Reeve shrugged. “A significant minority, though most are aging. Fewer of our children attend Hogwarts every year and the school teaches that Hogsmeade is the only truly magical town in Britain. The wizarding areas in Holyhead, Appleby, Tutshill, and Abergavenny are where they tend to settle. If muggleborns even learn of this place, it’s likely they assume it to be a bastion of blood prejudice, and those that live here are subject to the same problems as the rest of us in traveling outside. Used to be loads of ‘em came to the townships for employment—Ministry don’t employ ‘em—but not so much anymore.”
Harry was silent for a long moment. “What would you have the House of Black do, then? We have a duty of care—to be your voice in the Wizengamot and the Ministry. If you wish to continue on as you are, I will not force either your wand, or the Ministry’s.”
“In the current situation, we believe you have larger priorities than the stability of magical townships,” the Reeve said, her voice bone-dry.
“The Dark Lord,” said Harry.
“Indeed.” This was the young witch tithing again. “The Black wards shielded us from the worst of his excesses, but we felt the economic effects—we still do. None of us wants to see him rise again. Lord Arcturus respected our wishes and chose to hold himself neutral from the Dark Lord’s rise. To protect us, he spoke little of Riasmoore. We’re not sure how much the Ministry even knows about us—they really don’t even know a household exists to tax it, if it’s not registered in the Floo Network or with the Department of Education.”
Harry looked floored. Veronica felt pretty much the same. Her head spun as Harry went through the motions of thanking the tithings for meeting him and asking the Reeve to again send weekly reports on the situation in Riasmoore to him on behalf of Lord Sirius. Finally they stepped outside, blinking, into the sunlight.
“How many more townships like this are there?” Harry said, almost helplessly, looking at the quiet street in front of them. “How many of them would’ve signed on with Voldemort just for a chance to not have to hide?”
Veronica was wondering the exact same thing.
<>
Harry turned them loose, of course, to run around the town.
“This way,” Graham said, “I saw a bookshop and I wanna know what they have.”
Rio held Dylan’s hand and stared around with wide eyes. It was sleepier than Diagon. The colorful, overtly magical nature had blinded Veronica at first to just how… provincial Riasmoore seemed in comparison. There were fewer people in the streets. At least half the shopfronts were closed up and dark. The ones that were open had clerks equal parts delighted and surprised to have customers at midday on a Friday. “Do I know you?” asked the witch staffing the talking hat shop.
“We’re not locals,” Graham said. “Are the hats really, like, sentient?”
“Not quite, but they will be! A good hat’s your companion for life,” the witch said. “Wear ‘em and talk to ‘em for long enough, and they get smarter, more aware. We do all the custom enchanting here, and they come out a bit different every time—that blue one’s got a temper, but the brown one in the corner’d be good for a scholarly type, I think, it’s a bit academic.”
Graham wound up buying a dark green hat with an androgynous voice and that knew a lot of swear words. Veronica hung back while the boys clustered around him—the instructional packet that came with the hat said you had to wear it and talk to it a lot so it’d develop its own real personality.
“How long have you worked here?” Veronica asked the witch. “I’m Veronica, by the way. Butler.”
“Since I was a girl. Name’s Bessie Collerving. It’s nice to meet you. Butler… I don’t know that name.”
“Muggleborn,” said Veronica.
“Oh! Wow, I can’t think the last time we had a real muggleborn your age through here. Are your parents with you?”
Veronica shook her head. “I’m staying with an older friend for the summer.”
Bessie winked. “A beau?”
“Ew! No, he’s way too old,” Veronica said firmly. “He’s like… he’s a prefect at school. He sort of looks out for a bunch of us. Graham and Dylan and Rio couldn’t stay with their families for one reason or another, and mine work a lot, and I wanted to be a witch full-time, so they said I could move in with them so long as there was a chaperone.”
“Well, that tall lad’s looking at you,” Bessie said with a grin. “Maybe you’ll have a suitor sooner than you think. A prefect, you say? Do you go to Hogwarts?”
“Yeah. Did you?”
“No, tuition was a bit much, but I’m learning enchanting from my great-uncle, he went back in the day. Still has his old books and everything.”
“I don’t think they still teach enchanting,” Veronica said. “Just charms. They don’t really teach about places like this, either. I thought Hogsmeade was the only all-magical town in England.”
“Oh, Hogsmeade,” scoffed Bessie. “Overblown tourist trap, if you ask me. I went once when I was little. Everything costs three times what it should. No, we’re better off here, even if we have to keep to ourselves.”
“It’s weird seeing how this place works. Muggles don’t really go in for the lords-and-vassals thing anymore.”
Bessie shrugged. “I don’t remember how it was with the old Lord but my parents said he was fair. I’m just glad… well, you’d know, I guess. The Blacks since then haven’t been the sort we’d trust.”
“But there’s a new Lord now,” said Veronica.
“There is.” Bessie paused, and looked at her a little more closely. “Well, here’s hoping he does his duty, anyway. Or leaves us alone.”
After that, she clammed up a little, and Veronica made small talk until the boys were done with the hats and took off, Graham chattering to his new vocal headwear as they went. Veronica herself hung back. She’d grown up a city girl and she remembered on holidays in the countryside how small-town locals closed ranks against outsiders. Really, it wasn’t surprising that Bessie hadn’t wanted to spill her thoughts on the new Lord Black to some kid she didn’t know. Especially if she put the pieces together that Veronica was at Hogwarts at the same time as Lord Black’s heir.
It was curious, though, and over the course of an afternoon exploring the shops, Veronica asked questions and listened as best she could. Things got a little livelier as the day dragged into evening. By the time they made their way back to Heartlane it was busy enough for a teenager to go unnoticed. Veronica told the boys she’d meet them at the Crooked Oak at eight like they’d agreed with Harry and let herself just wander.
Snatches of overheard conversation built up a picture for her of an insular community. Word was spreading that the Black heir had visited today and lots of people were talking about it one way or another. Some were anxious about him. Some whispered that a Black might be sympathetic to Voldemort. Others insisted he wouldn’t be, on account of their Lord was falsely accused of supporting Him and spent ages in prison for it; others said that that prison sentence wouldn’t exactly endear a wizard to the bureaucrats, now would it?
“—let us do the harvest rites.”
Veronica turned: the speaker was a ruddy-faced wizard in sturdy robes that went to his knees over heavy leather boots that looked like they’d seen a lot of wear. He clustered with a few other wizards and witches dressed similarly, one of whom made a ‘keep it down’ sort of gesture, in front of a small restaurant called Padraig’s with indoor seating and a counter out front where a few people waited to order drinks. Veronica got in the queue and listened hard. She couldn’t control the superauditory charm well enough to use it in a public space like this but ordinary eavesdropping should be good enough.
A witch in the same group looked around as if she expected to see Lord Black himself spring down upon them. “Harvest rites’re illegal.”
Well, now Veronica’s interest was very piqued.
“An’ the Blacks’re so fussed ‘bout what’s legal?” said the wizard who’d spoken first. “Land needs it, Vindy.”
“Hush,” the witch—Vindy—hissed, and then said something else that Veronica couldn’t catch.
The queue edged forward, and Veronica went with it, straining to pick out their conversation from the background noise without being obvious.
“...feed,” she heard, and “harvest” again, and then “petition him,” but then she was at the counter and had to order a butterbeer. It cost four knuts for a butterbeer, a sickle if you wanted a conjured glass that you didn’t have to return. She paid the sickle and walked off, wondering what the harvest rites were and why they’d be illegal.
Maybe it was like those old blood sacrifice rituals Graham and Liam and Malcolm talked about. Evelyn Travers, a year ahead, knew about them too. None of them could (or would) tell Veronica much, though.
Evelyn might know more than she was letting on. Liam too. His family were old Irish stock.
If she was going to take this to Harry she was damn well going to know what she was talking about first.
***
Harry
He packed Sirius off through the Floo to Ian’s with an internalized grimace. Ever since the meeting with Riasmoore’s tithings Harry had been researching the network and discovered what an excellent control tool it was. Independent townships—of which there were no less than eight, if you knew how to look—had to pay per trip as well as the monthly maintenance fees for a public Floo access point like the Crooked Oak or the Leaky Cauldron. You were also usually denied a personal home Floo permit if you lived on an independent township instead of like the Weasleys and Diggorys in loose gaggles of wizards in the same general area, intermixed with Muggles. It was only the tip of the iceberg of transportation policies that kept the townships isolated. It was something that would take months to unravel and he just didn’t have the time.
Noah Bole’s aunt and uncle had been given a year in Azkaban for possession of ‘dark artifacts’ after their home was searched. Reaghan Fawley likewise—right after her son and nephew had been returned to her from that forsaken place, no matter how illegally. The Greengrasses, Bulstrodes, and Viridians had escaped similar punishments by the skin of their teeth and a whole lot of galleons. Harry was fielding the Azkaban mess and trying to keep up with his extracurricular potions work and struggling, with the help of the Vipers, to get a handle on the political situation. Every new bit of information added layers of complexity to the whole thing and Merlin knew Sirius hated every second of it. If Harry was going to be at the helm of his House, he didn’t want to steer into the shoals.
He didn’t have the time today for any of that. All his experiments were under stasis, if they could be, or left at an intermediary stage, if they could not. Files had been organized and books shelved or at least stacked in the study—Kreacher was forbidden from moving anything around in there except to dust. Instead, Harry would be spending the day at the Longbottom home for a meeting whose subject had not been disclosed. The only clue was that the invitation had been from Lady Longbottom to Heir Black, not Augusta or Neville to Harry, which implied a House matter. Harry had spent the morning reviewing records of the House of Black’s business, social, and political relations with the House of Longbottom. Aside from an unimportant cadet Black cousin marrying an equally unimportant Longbottom cousin in the forties, both of whom had moved to Chile and largely cut ties with their families, there was nothing of import.
Hopefully Harry wasn’t about to find himself on the receiving end of a blood feud or anything similarly dramatic. He wouldn’t be worried if it was just Neville, but Augusta wore a vulture on her hat.
“Longbottom Manor!”
The lovely summer Floo room greeted him on the other side, and Harry spelled soot from his high-formal closed navy blue robe with a quick turn of his wand before stowing it away in a wrist holster. A house elf bowed and bade him follow her inside.
Longbottom antecedents whispered from the walls, many of them bearing Neville’s nose and square, solid jaw. He was English stock to the bone, like the Bulstrodes, Flints, Burkes, and some others—rooted deeply in this land. The Blacks had been here as long, of course, but there was something more of the continent about them, what with their Roman origins and frequent intermarriages with Mediterranean purebloods.
Harry shook those thoughts away as the elf paused with a bow indicating Harry was to walk on into the solarium it indicated. He stepped inside, and of all the things he’d been considering as possible explanations for this mystery meeting, a collection of Hogwarts students his age was not one of them.
“Well met, Heir Black. Please have a seat.” This was a fair man, tall and angular, with an Irish accent and concordant freckles.
“Well met. I don’t believe I’ve had the honor,” Harry said slowly, taking an empty seat, his eyes ticking around the round table. Augusta was present, and Neville, as well as Anthony Goldstein, Padma Patil, Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, Hermione, and Pansy. Two students from each House. They had not, tellingly, chosen only the prefects.
“Ah, forgive me. Nestor Selwyn of the Ancient and Noble House of that name.”
“Tea?” Augusta said with an unnervingly canny smile.
Harry accepted the cup that floated over to him and politely turned down the offer of milk or sugar. Too many potions could be covered up by the taste of one or the other. He was not comfortable in this company. Only the pointedly visible placement of Neville’s hand, the one bearing his Vipers ring, kept Harry from being genuinely alarmed.
Seriously, he’d plunked it down on the table with a slightly-too-loud-to-be-polite thump as soon as Harry sat down, smack in the middle of a patch of sunlight and directly in Harry’s line of sight on Selwyn. Not subtle.
“Now that we’re all present, can we know what this is about?” Susan Bones said with some asperity. She was, Harry remembered, friendly with Jules—probably the reason she kept shooting him, Pansy, and Hermione suspicious looks.
“Yes, of course. You have our apologies for the subterfuge, but it was somewhat necessary.” Augusta serenely sipped her tea. “As some of you know, I am a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. It is an institution created after the Statute of Secrecy was signed as a compromise between the Ministry and Hogwarts, which at the time refused to concede authority over curriculums, staffing decisions, and the like to the new government. However, the Ministry administers the OWL and NEWT exams, and determines what material is on them, thus influencing Hogwarts’ curriculum, and as the school has faced mounting budgetary challenges in the last, oh, half century and change, Ministry funding has often made up the shortfall. It is for those reasons that you were last year saddled with that horrid excuse for a witch as an Inquisitor.”
“Rather an unfortunate name but we can’t change the terminology laid down two hundred years ago,” Nestor Selwyn said with a polite moue of distaste. “I do not have a position on the Board but I have studied education extensively in the magical and Muggle worlds.”
“We’ve decided to hire him as an outside investigator,” Augusta said. She set down her tea and looked sternly around the circle of teenagers who looked, in Harry’s opinion, more opposed than not. “We understand after Umbridge’s crimes that none of the students of Hogwarts will be much inclined to have another outsider coming into classes and evaluating the school. Moreover, we want to make sure the position actually serves its purpose, which is to ensure the safety and well-being of the students as well as the quality of your education. For that reason, it was decided that some of the most influential members of the Hogwarts houses would be selected for some… preemptive conversations.”
“But we’re not prefects,” Anthony said. “At least, not all of us.”
“No.” Selwyn smoothly retook the conversational reins. “We chose the students with the most influence among their peers. That is not always synonymous with those bearing a prefect’s badge. My own House, Slytherin, frequently finds itself under the care of prefects trusted to be neutral rather than those who have the most sway. Ravenclaw prefects are often the most diligent with their grades but as often as not the person with the most respect from their House mates is someone with a passion so overriding they lack the multidisciplinary focus for such a position of authority.”
“May I ask what criteria were used to evaluate ‘influence’ within our Houses? And I can’t help but notice we are all rising sixth years,” Hermione said, sipping tea with all the poise and delicacy of Daphne at her most rarefied.
Selwyn smiled at her. “Astute. It was decided that NEWT students would be rather too busy and OWL candidates are as yet fifteen, a bit on the young side for the kind of House-wide leadership we sought. As for our selection criteria, those of us with children in Hogwarts asked them. All of you here were recommended by students both in and out of your own Houses. The Heads of House also came to consensus about all of you.”
That caused a stir. It was Bones who said it, though: “What about Jules—Heir Potter, then? Oughtn’t he be here?”
“The matter of Heir Potter was… somewhat debated. In the end, we thought him a poor choice for several reasons. His recent bereavement, of course, not to mention the other concerns facing him. In the interest of transparency,” Selwyn paused as though choosing his words carefully, “I will also tell you that many of the Board doubted his impartiality.”
“So you thought you’d pick doormats?” Bones said.
“Nothing of the sort, Heiress Bones, I assure you.”
“What sort of advice were you hoping for us to provide? Hogwarts certainly doesn’t cover education as a topic of study, outside of maybe a unit in Muggle Studies,” Harry said.
Selwyn held up his hands, palms up, fingers splayed. “We don’t plan to tell you what to tell us. We want to know what you think, as responsible, well-respected leaders of your Houses. I thought we could start by going around the table and asking each of you one, or perhaps the top three, things that you think need to be investigated or changed at Hogwarts. Miss Patil?”
Padma Patil frowned slightly. “I… well, History of Magic is… Professor Binns was a well respected historian in life but he hasn’t updated his curriculum since the nineteen sixties. He never reads or grades student essays properly, often calls them by the wrong name, and… frankly he has a very imperialistic and short-sighted view of other magical communities and traditions.”
“Very well. History. Anything else?”
“A sexual education class,” she said bluntly. “We discuss biology in Transfiguration, but not human biology specifically, and not everyone’s parents can sit down and talk to them about… that sort of thing. And I know this is probably not something you can fix in one year, but more professors would be nice. We just don’t have enough time in class and most students can’t get by on self-study. Especially the younger years—so much of NEWT studies is independent research, but when you’re still doing the foundational work, lots of us struggle and the professors just don’t have enough time to help.”
Anthony added that Divination and Care desperately needed an overhaul as well as History; he also commented on how out-of-date the library indexing system was and how frustrating it was to have nowhere to study in groups with other Houses unless you found and cleaned up your own little nook somewhere unused. MacMillan complained about Madam Pince and how Heads of House had no time on top of teaching seven years of classes to look after House matters. Bones spent a few seconds staring fixedly at the table before citing inadequate class time and Snape’s favoritism as her problems. Then Selwyn turned to Hermione and Harry braced himself.
“I’m very grateful to have been invited,” Hermione told him earnestly, “and for your efforts to actually ask students what we think is needed. In my opinion one of the largest problems with the school is Muggle Studies.”
“Really?” Selwyn made a note. “It’s one of the more popular electives, as I understand it.”
“Well, yes, but it’s absurd. Professor Burbage is a wonderful witch but, much like Professor Binns, she hasn’t updated the curriculum since possibly the nineteen sixties if not earlier, and Muggles have made enormous technological and social leaps since then. I’m not sure she’s even stepped foot in a Muggle city in the last ten years. Moreover, the class dithers around with inconsequential trivia such as recognizing specific kitchen appliances rather than discussing broader societal differences between our society and Muggle government, social beliefs, fashion trends, and way of life. It’s useless for purebloods insofar as instilling a working ability to relate to and understand Muggles, and even more useless for Muggleborns, who often find themselves dismissed and even punished for attempting to correct outdated or even false information as presented in the texts. Honestly, Hogwarts and wizarding society as a whole would be much better served by a mandatory comparative cultures sort of course that aims to help students understand one another across the cultural divide.”
For a few seconds, the only sound is the scribble of Selwyn’s quill.
“And then there’s the matter of anti-Muggleborn bias,” Hermione went on. Her spine was still ramrod-straight, her hair behaving, but her eyes blazed. “Even if you account for the smaller number of Muggleborns than magic-raised students at Hogwarts, Muggleborns have approximately a one in twenty chance of being appointed prefect, at least over the last hundred years, per Hogwarts’ records. For magic-raised students with at least one wizarding parent, the odds are one in nine, and for purebloods, one in three.
“The average OWL score for a Muggleborn is a mid- to low-range A whereas for purebloods the average is an E no credible evidence existing that purebloods are more intelligent or better at using magic. The pattern becomes even more apparent when you examine in-class test scores at the beginning and end of the school year. I haven’t been able to access data for all the classes in this manner yet, but Professors Sinistra, McGonagall, Vector, and Sprout allowed me to see the average test scores on assignments in September and for comparison in May of the same school year going back the last two decades. Professor Binns makes all the rankings public so I was able to access those as well. Muggleborns score between ten and forty percent lower than children of any blood status living in a magical household on tests set in the first month of the academic year but their scores are comparable with magic-raised students by May. If you track the same age cohort across several years, the pattern repeats itself—even academically high-scoring Muggleborns fall behind over the summer months and catch up over the course of nine months of consistent lessons, wand use, and access to magical libraries.”
Selwyn set down his quill and fixed her with a stern look. “I hope, young lady, that you would be willing to write this all up in a report on your methods and source materials.”
“Oh! Yes, I have it here—thank you for writing and telling me to bring my data, Neville. I’d intended to present this to the Board of Governors at some point this year in tandem with Daphne Greengrass and a few other students who’ve assisted me on the project—they are all credited in the introduction and byline.” Hermione dove under the table and came up with a scroll on top of a large stack of paper. “The scroll is a formal report with sources cited; beneath I’ve used the Gemino Curse on the source documents, all anonymized of course. Prefect appointments are a matter of record. For the few students whose blood status was inconclusive I added them to the statistical calculations as Muggleborns if there were no records of wizarding families by that surname or indication of fostering. You are welcome to ask the professors who assisted me to view their score records as well, though I had to spend quite a bit of time collating the data. Oh, and the last fifteen or so pages are a guide to the Muggle statistical mathematics I used, as I haven’t found anything directly analogous in Arithmancy yet. Professor Vector looked it all over and found no errors in my work.”
Nestor Selwyn unrolled the scroll, which appeared to be several feet long at least, giving the top ten inches a cursory once-over. Then he re-rolled it and placed it carefully back on top of the papers neatly tabbed and organized in front of him. “Miss Granger, I had heard rumors of your academic prowess, and thought them perhaps overstated. Now I think that if anything the opposite is true. You are a credit to your House, your parents, and the House of Greengrass.”
Hermione blushed. “Oh, well, that’s very kind of you to say. This project was… rather personal, actually. I began looking into the matter of prefect appointments when a fellow student made a… comment about how I… was just the token Muggleborn prefect and didn’t really deserve it.”
“Merlin, Hermione,” Neville said. “I’m so sorry you… who was it?”
“I reported them for… but nothing came of it, really.” Hermione took a deep breath and turned to Selwyn. “I have a lot of opinions about how to bridge the academic gap between Muggleborns and magic-raised students but I’m not sure if the solution I personally favor falls within the purview of the school itself. I hadn’t known Hogwarts was having budgetary problems, but if that’s the case, I frankly think it’s even less likely for the solution proposed in the report to work. In summary, I had thought that a supervised summer program, allowing for the use of one’s wand at leisure as is the case during term, hosted by the school, would allow Muggleborns some of the freedoms and exposure to magic as a part of daily life rather than an academic subject and a tool. We get called racial slurs for faux pas no one told us not to make. It’s grossly unfair and… but that sort of program would be expensive and require Ministry approval, so…”
“For what it’s worth, I fully support her conclusions and the summer program idea,” Harry said. “I myself was Muggle-raised and spent my summers in a Muggle household until recently. Granted, I was sort of an extreme case, but I was not even allowed to access my textbooks for weeks on end—if I had them out I risked the Statute of Secrecy, let alone being able to use my wand as so many children do at home.”
“You’re correct, Miss Granger, that such a program would be an effort likely years in the making,” said Selwyn, “but it’s an excellent idea and I can see clearly that you have given this much thought. I confess I was relieved to see a Muggleborn represented among the students chosen for this meeting, and I had wanted to ask you if there are any insights from the Muggle educational system that you think might be applicable to Hogwarts.”
Hermione sat up straighter. “There are a number of ideas I could tell you right now, but I’d hope to speak to a few of my peers and do some research first. Could we arrange to meet for tea or correspond via owl on the matter?”
“Certainly. I’ll look for an owl from you in the next few days.” Selwyn made another note in front of him and turned to Neville with a smile. “And you, Heir Longbottom?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have twelve feet of prepared statistical analysis,” Neville said, drawing laughter from around the table and a blush from Hermione, “but yeah, I can think of a few things. Um, I think it would be good if there was better supervision in the dorms. Professor McGonagall is a treat teacher and all but she’s Deputy Headmistress and a Professor and Head of Gryffindor. We never really… see her, and the prefects can’t keep things controlled in the tower on their own, so it gets… pretty rowdy sometimes. No one had a meeting with her about c-careers until fifth year and… it wasn’t great for anyone, but I bet that’s probably not great for anyone who doesn't have magical adults to ask for advice, right, Hermione?”
“Definitely. In second year, when I was choosing electives, I had no idea what my career options were beyond the broadest strokes let alone which OWLs might be required for them.”
Selwyn nodded. “Perhaps a live-in adult supervisor? Those of you in other Houses, do you think your Heads are more attentive?”
Harry exchanged looks around the table, and spoke. “Honestly, I think it would be fine if there were more teachers per subject. This is one of my big issues with Hogwarts currently, and it’s already been mentioned—it’s unreasonable to ask a single professor to teach seven years of classes every week on top of the out-of-class grading, lesson planning, and other work that goes into it. Most Muggle schools for teenagers are organized so you take each subject for an hour a day, five days a week, and usually at least a few of those would be different cohorts of the same grade and subject.”
“I agree. Professor Flitwick is an excellent Head of House, but overworked. The prefects often step in to help organize his lesson plans so he has adequate time to grade papers on top of meeting with students, and he deputizes a lot of the disciplinary and monitoring stuff to us,” said Patil. “It’s mostly alright but sometimes we struggle to balance our duties with classwork, especially in OWL and NEWT years.”
“Professor Snape does his best but he’s in a similar situation,” Pansy said. “I was going to mention his class specifically—in order to make sure no one gets hurt, he has to have students brew in pairs, which isn’t how we work on the OWLs but it’s physically impossible for him to watch twenty cauldrons at once. Between teaching, grading, and his own research and responsibilities brewing for the school, he’s not got a lot of time to be Head of House. I hadn’t thought of it but I like the idea of having more professors per subject.” She paused. “And I think we can all agree Professor Snape’s better off teaching just NEWT-level Potions.”
Almost everyone laughed at that. “No kidding,” said Neville fervently.
“Heiress Parkinson, Heir Black, we’ve been a bit derailed, but do you have any other ideas?”
Harry and Pansy glanced at each other. “More electives would be nice,” Harry said, “and I agree with you, Anthony, that we need more inter-House study and socializing areas; we can’t really talk in the library and that’s the only public area common to all Houses aside from the Great Hall. I’d also appreciate more extracurricular clubs and activities that aren’t separated by House. Even the Gobstones Club and the choir are split by House—Charms Club is the only one I can think of that takes all four, and only because it’s so small that it makes no sense to arrange it otherwise.”
“Personally I’d like to have more social events,” Pansy added. “The Yule Ball isn’t something we can always do, unless it’s held before the end of term; most students go home for the holiday season. Houses throw parties and whatnot in their common rooms but never anything school-sanctioned that’s open to all four Houses. There’s not even a place to hold a student event for all four Houses outside of the Great Hall.”
Selwyn finished noting this down and set aside his quill. “I’m hearing from several of you that there’s a serious lack of opportunity for students to meet and interact with other Houses out of class, whether it’s in extracurriculars or social spaces. I’m also getting the sense that Professors Trelawney, Burbage, Binns, Hagrid, and possibly Snape should be reviewed for a variety of conduct and competency issues. Would you all agree those are the main points?”
They all looked around at each other and nodded.
“I do have one idea,” Hermione said hesitantly. Selwyn gestured encouragingly. “Well, it’s—it would be difficult, I think, after how… poorly the Inquisitorial Squad plan went last year, but—many Muggle schools have a student government of sorts, where students elect a representative from each year cohort to… liaise with the administration on behalf of the student body. If this group is to go on assisting with the Board’s investigation into Hogwarts, that’s fine for this year, I suppose, but going forward… it would be good, I think, to make sure students can bring concerns like these before the Board at its regular meetings. Then none of the problems would get so bad that an investigation is even necessary.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea and could be implemented quite easily,” Selwyn said. “Perhaps as soon as this academic year.”
“As the Board representative present, having students to tell us what is going on in the school would be a gift from Merlin,” Augusta said primly.
Selwyn sent her a sharp look, and Harry wondered what they weren’t sharing. “Indeed. Is there anyone present who would be unwilling to receive follow-up owls, or to continue meeting over the course of the summer and possibly during the school year?”
It turned out that not a single one of them wanted to drop the project. Selwyn didn’t linger, gathering up his notes and Hermione’s report in a pocket that did not appear large enough to hold any of it and excused himself with a dramatic sweep of blue-and-green robes. Augusta excused herself as well while politely thanking all the students for their time; freed from obligation, Anthony, Bones, and Macmillan left almost immediately.
Patil lingered. “You knew in advance?” she asked Hermione.
Hermione shook her head. “Not details. Though I suspected something like this, when I received a formal invitation from Lady Longbottom and then immediately after it a note from Neville telling me to bring my research on educational statistics.”
“How long have you been working on this?” Harry asked.
“A while. I didn’t want to tell you until I had something to show for it—not with how busy you’ve been,” Hermione said with a faintly apologetic grimace.
Harry waved it off. “Perfectly understandable. It’s brilliant work, ‘Mione. Could I see a copy of the report?”
“Of course, I have several.”
“Might I have one as well?” Patil asked.
Hermione duplicated her master copy a few times and passed the report around. Harry tucked his away to review later though Patil unrolled it right there and began skimming.
“Daph helped, I presume?” Pansy asked.
“Yes, and Justin, with the maths. It was rather fun actually. I wish there was somewhere to publish articles like this.”
An idea tickled in Harry’s mind. He didn’t press—if he did, it might disappear. Best to let his subconscious stew for a while. It would come. “Would you run for a student government if there was one?”
“Who, me? Absolutely,” Hermione said. “Would you?”
“Honestly, no. I’ve got enough going on, like you said, and to be blunt, I have enough connections that I don’t need to make more through contact with the Board.” Patil snorted, proving she was still paying attention despite being hidden behind the report.
“Blaise would,” Neville said with a grin.
Pansy cackled. “Yes, if only for an excuse to have people wear badges with his face on them.”
“He’s pretty enough,” Patil said, emerging from behind the scroll to smirk at Pansy’s surprised face. “Come off it, Parkinson, I have eyes. This is really good work, Granger.”
“Hermione’s fine,” said Hermione. “Would you want to be involved if we continue the project?”
“Padma, then, and I’d be glad to. I’m expected at home but I’ll be seeing you,” Patil said, standing up. “My thanks for your hospitality, Heir Longbottom.”
“Of c-course, Miss Patil. Can I escort you to the Floo?” Neville said.
“No, thank you, I can manage. Merry part.”
Harry watched her go for lack of any better option, and was rather abruptly struck by the fact that Padma Patil was actually beautiful. Even—his brain cringed from the word—sexy. Fucking Merlin, he’d thought it was bad trying not to stare at Daph, now he was doing it with a girl he barely knew? They shared a number of classes and she was in the top ten students of their year, but he’d never noticed her before.
Still internally griping, Harry turned back around, and paused. Neville was staring at him.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, instead of all the other things Harry could see swimming behind his eyes. “And for… I think this is gonna be good. For Hogwarts.”
“I agree. Selwyn’s an excellent choice,” Harry said.
Hermione made a huffing sound. “Open-minded enough to tolerate Muggle educational innovations and from a family as old as the Selwyns?”
“Four Selwyns were Death Eaters,” Pansy said conversationally.
“Oh–!” Hermione waved a hand. “This one wasn’t, and honestly, if all the Death Eaters looked that interested about student-teacher ratios and the schedule that most promotes adolescent learning, I’d be much less afraid of them.”
“I can think of at least one who’d be equally interested,” Harry said.
A test. Possibly a foolish one: Neville’s entire face tightened, but then he visibly sucked in a breath and looked away, brow smoothing out.
Hermione looked between them. “Is there something I’m missing here?”
“Just the identity of Harry’s mystery tutor.”
Harry kicked Pansy under the table. She turned on him and batted her eyelashes. “What? I’m an instigator at heart.”
“You’re a pain, is what you are,” he muttered. “Your call, Nev.”
“Barty Crouch, Jr.”
Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh… oh, Harry.”
“It’s worth mentioning,” Neville said, “that Crouch is also the reason we figured out how to heal my parents. Bit complicated. Oh, you didn’t know?”
“I told you, I didn’t open it,” Harry said. His chest felt very tight. “He didn’t… tell me. Anything. I asked him about it, because what he told me didn’t match up with—they were under orders to be—moderate. Three bouts of that spell is… awful but… survivable.”
“The healers didn’t even know to look for anything else,” Neville said in a near-monotone. His eyes fixed on his hands, which were laced together, white-knuckled, on the table. Hermione and Pansy appeared to have stopped breathing. “It was… apparently really specialized mind magic, the kind that doesn’t show up on… normal healer’s diagnostic charms. Looks like he broke into St. Mungo’s—”
“That shouldn’t be possible,” Hermione said.
“—and yet he did it, alright? He’s some kind of bloody freaky genius.” Neville’s angry look at Harry was one hundred percent sincere and it one hundred percent made Harry wish this conversation wasn’t happening. “So anyway, he broke into the ward and took some incredibly detailed scans of them and recorded the results with a note that he didn’t understand them but he was pretty sure it didn’t just point to Cruciatus damage and a specialist would be able to tell us more. And then there was a list of specialists. And a vial of memory verified with Auror charms of… that night… confirming that… well. They didn’t… drive my parents… out of their minds.”
“He broke in and took readings? That’s incredibly dangerous and an invasion of privacy and—and—how did he learn the diagnostic charms? I haven’t been able to find them anywhere! They’re supposed to be almost impossible to cast!” Hermione almost wailed. Then she took a deep breath. “Sorry, I was babbling, wasn’t I?”
“A little,” Pansy said. “It’s alright, we love you anyway.”
“I know you were being sarcastic but that was actually very sweet,” Hermione said.
Pansy pointed at her. “Keep it to yourself. I have a reputation, Granger.”
“I can’t even be that mad about it.” Neville paused. “Although it’s k-kind of horrifying how easily a bloody Death Eater broke into the Janus Thickey Ward. He could’ve just—murdered them. Or. I dunno.”
“Freaky genius,” Pansy said. “Tallies with what I’ve heard about him, anyway.”
“Harry, you are introducing me to him,” Hermione said threateningly.
“I’ll link your journal to his,” Harry said. “Just promise me you won’t burn the Ministry down or… something equally catastrophic.”
Pansy whipped around to glare at him. “That is a terrible idea.”
“Or a brilliant one. I’m gambling.” Harry turned his most charming smile on Hermione. “Promise?”
“Frankly, I think the Ministry would be improved by some fire damage,” she said darkly.
“Oh Merlin.” Neville put his face in his hands.
Harry broke helplessly into laughter.
<>
It was the first time Harry had called all the Vipers together outside of school. The first time they’d had a group meeting that wasn’t related to Umbridge or the general problems of last year. Already, though the group was just crowding his drawing room and devouring snacks prepared by an ecstatic Kreacher (“Master Harry is hosting! Kreacher is making only the best, yes, Kreacher is impressing Master Harry’s guests—”) there was a charge in the air.
Hestia, Flora, Everett, Peregrine, Adrian, and Aaron were bunched up in one corner, presumably commiserating about life as a recent Hogwarts graduate. Or—Harry eyed Adrian and Aaron—just flirting. His core friends his own age weren’t as cohesive a group; Hermione and Daphne were surrounded by the girls from Ginny’s year while Justin held court to all the rising seventh-year Vipers. Judging by the way he was scribbling on a piece of parchment, it was probably something to do with finance. Celesta Fawley in particular looked intrigued.
Theo was the first to notice Harry standing by the door, and cut off his low conversation with Pansy, Luna, and Blaise, sitting up with a grin.
“Fashionably late, there, Heir Black?” Blaise said with a smirk.
The rest of them quieted down, realizing, and Harry came all the way inside. “Yes, Blaise, but I’m glad to say the party can start now,” he said, waving his wand through a complicated motion and tugging on the house wards as he did. A privacy spell went up and Grimmauld Place absorbed it smoothly into the walls.
“Oh, it’s that kind of meeting,” said Everett. “I was wondering.”
“I presume we’re here to establish just what this group is now that Umbitch has been summarily locked up?” said Iris, crossing her long legs at the knee.
Harry took a seat, and they settled down so everyone had a spot, Ginny on the floor leaning up against Luna’s armchair. “Precisely.”
“I don’t think any of us imagined that these,” Hestia turned her hand so her Vipers ring caught the light, “were a mark of a temporary sort of thing.”
Harry looked around: no one showed signs of disagreement, or even discomfort. A good sign. “I didn’t intend them as a temporary measure, either. At this point, we’re still rather informal. I have—a strong vision of what I’d like to see in our world and most of you have expressed that you agree to some extent. If you don’t want to be part of actively working towards making that vision a reality, now is the time to say so.”
No one said a word.
“Right. With that out of the way—we’ll be discussing confidentiality,” Harry said, resizing a case from his pocket with a whispered charm and clicking open the latch. It obligingly shoved the parchments he wanted into his hand, and he closed it again and set it aside, thumping a stack of contracts down on the table.
Theo, Hermione, and Pansy had helped him write the oath, so the three of them didn’t so much as skim it, but everyone else took one and read carefully. “This wouldn’t defend against a concerted legilimency attack,” said Mason Goshawk. “Or take our magic should we break it.”
“No, but you would ever after be known as oathbreaker.”
Harry had chosen a very old liege-spell to work into the secrecy vow. It did not take anything. But, when broken, it left a stain. A permanent miasma of untrustworthy, whispered into the ear of every magical being who met the oathbreaker for the rest of their life. An insidious thing that would keep anyone from fully trusting the victim, even their closest family, even those who knew why and for what the oath was broken. Only the liege to whom the oath was sworn could erase it. For a pureblood, whose family honor was paramount, it was tantamount to a death sentence.
Looking around, he met their eyes one by one, and let them all see how little mercy he would show.
Hestia Carrow snapped her fingers and a quill appeared in them. Flora got out an inkwell. Hestia signed first, then handed the quill off to her twin while sitting back and meeting Harry’s gaze with a lift to her chin. “I admit, I didn’t like you.”
“You tried to curse me in the back,” Harry corrected.
She smirked. “We sure did, and you turned around. Didn’t even try to run or talk us down. It was almost Gryffindor, really, but we Slytherins are proud creatures, and that was the first time we thought perhaps your Sorting hadn’t been some kind of fluke.”
“I took longer to convince,” Everett said. Flora rolled her eyes at him.
“You are a credit to Slytherin and it is our honor,” Hestia said, gesturing between herself and her sister, “to follow you, Heir Black.”
It was not an oath, or a vow. They were not his vassals. Yet Harry felt something just the same—formal, weighted with centuries of tradition.
“I’d prefer if you were a Hufflepuff but I suppose you’ll do,” Justin said, putting fountain pen to parchment.
The tension broke, and several others laughed. Writing implements were shuffled around until everyone had signed the vows, copies of which would appear in Harry’s study upstairs.
“Thank you.” Harry resisted the urge to smooth his robe over his knees. It would look anxious. “Now that that’s out of the way—this year, the school will be playing host to a new High Inquisitor.”
Quickly, before those who hadn’t been at the meeting with Selwyn got too upset, Harry filled them in on the details—who had been invited, what they’d suggested, his impressions of the new Inquisitor. Hermione, Neville, and Pansy chimed in with their own observations.
Blaise broke the thoughtful pause when Harry finished speaking. “I can look into Selwyn. Best not to go in blind again.”
“My father vouched for him,” Pansy said, which was telling.
“So did Gran,” said Neville.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “As we thought, then—he will appeal to… multiple perspectives.” Adrian sniggered. “It will complicate things this year for those of us returning to Hogwarts. The Headmaster is not going to appreciate another invasion of his castle.”
“His,” scoffed Hermione.
“He thinks it is, anyway,” said Daphne coolly.
“We’re all going to do our best to cooperate with him and spread it around that he’s not like Umbridge. Hermione, Neville, Justin—I expect you’ll face the most opposition in your Houses. There were several Marked Death Eaters by the name of Selwyn.”
Justin nodded. “He sounds like a decent enough bloke. Can’t be too bad if he’s asking about Muggle education programs.”
“I liked him,” Hermione said.
“Excellent. As for those of you who are graduated…” Harry looked over the group, sitting mostly together. “I know you all have different plans.”
“Potions, the family business,” Adrian said. “I’m wearing Mother down about Muggle business school.”
Justin sat up straighter. “You’re planning on applying?”
“Figured it couldn’t hurt. Don’t really need the—degree, I think it’s called? But just to take some classes, ask for recommended books, that sort of thing.”
“My parents both went to business programs, I can talk to you later if you want.”
Adrian nodded. “Sure, I’d appreciate it.”
“Ministry,” said Everett. “Wizengamot Administration Service. It’s dead dull, but it’ll get me into a law program.”
“Private security,” Peregrine said when Harry looked her way. She smirked. “I get paid to hex people who come too close to my assignment and I’m learning about defensive warding.”
“Nothing so interesting for me—I’m at the Ministry too,” Adrian admitted with a grimace. “Wanted to try out for the professional leagues but my parents wouldn’t have it.”
Harry nodded slowly. He’d considered telling them about Flint, but they had only sworn to keep the secrets of the Vipers and stay loyal to the group. Any one of them could still act upon what they learned from here—one plausible scenario was one of them needing to redirect Voldemort’s attention for some reason and casting suspicion on Marcus, knowing that, if Voldemort looked too hard, there was indeed something to find. “Some of you may be feeling pressure from your families to join a certain rather exclusive group of political activists.”
That went over exactly no one’s head. Harry wasn’t worried so much about the younger years—Ginny and Evelyn’s group was tight-knit and wouldn’t be of use until they were older. But Hestia and Flora’s aunt and uncle had been among the escapees. Everett’s family wasn’t noble but they were a distinguished mostly-pureblood line. Peregrine was probably alright, but he suspected Pucey’s family would want to make nice with the Dark Lord as well.
“Our father mentioned something to that effect,” said Flora in her quiet voice.
Hestia shifted as if preparing to guard her twin. “Fortunately our family is involved in other ways. Flora and I are the legal Heirs to the House of Carrow, through our father. It wouldn’t be seemly for us to tie ourselves to such a radical group at this time.”
In other words, Alecto and Amycus were already Marked, and the Dark Lord didn’t want to risk Flora and Hestia getting exposed as Death Eaters too. Harry nodded at them. “If that changes, and you don’t want in, let me know.”
They shared the kind of look that he’d only seen from the two of them and the Weasley twins. “We will,” said Hestia.
“Do we think he’ll win?” Everett said.
The question fell like a stone into still water, leaving silence in the wake of its splash. Ripples spread outward: all the other things no one had asked. The hopes and fears no doubt many of them were afraid to air.
Harry looked at Theo.
“He certainly thinks so,” Theo said in a low voice. “I am… unsure.”
Which spoke volumes.
“I have sympathy for the Dark Lord’s political goals,” Harry said, “but not for the means his people have sometimes employed.”
“I should hope not,” Hermione muttered.
“If anyone could sway things away from those—tactics,” Hestia said, “it would be you, Heir Black.”
“Lord Arcturus saw fit to shield our House by keeping its patriarch neutral. I’m hesitant to go against his wisdom.”
“I for one am concerned he would relegate Muggleborns to second-class citizens,” said Iris. “The wizarding world needs them to survive. Already we are few in number compared to the Muggles; we’ll fall behind and be discovered if we handicap ourselves on purpose.”
“For now we work to preserve a functional government,” Harry said. “Another war would be good for no one. We protect and support each other. It’s a… complicated time, and to be blunt, I don’t intend to place any losing bets. In the meantime, if anyone has any ideas for things they think this group could do now, I’m open to it.”
“I do,” said Pansy. Harry gestured at her to go on. “Well, the Prophet is more or less in the hands of whoever controls the Ministry, and it changes direction faster than the wind. People are losing trust in the Ministry but it’s harder to convince them not to trust their paper.”
“There’s the Wireless,” said Anita.
Pansy shook her head. “Mostly sports, business, and international news. I suppose you could get an illegal signal going, but better to stay on the right side of the law, so, Luna, do you think your father would let us rent his printing presses?”
Slowly, Harry started to smile.
“I do believe so,” Luna said. “I’ll have to owl him, he’s in Nepal at the moment looking for yeti.”
“Doing what?” said Mason, who, as her fellow Ravenclaw, probably had reason for looking like he feared the answer.
“It’s possible the crumple-horned snorkack cohabitates with them in the winters.”
“But it’s… not winter.”
“Well, of course not, it’s a bit silly to go wandering into a yeti’s den in the winter. They’re particularly fussy when it’s cold out.”
“Why are you smiling?” Blaise said to Harry, suspiciously.
Harry flicked open his case again with a flourish and retrieved a bundle of flat parchment sheets bound into stacks. “This was a plan I meant to introduce today. Though the thought of Luna’s family’s printing presses hadn’t occurred to me.”
Pansy took hers, read it, and cackled.
“Oh, this is why you asked about buying a Muggle press,” Justin said, reading over her shoulder with a grin. “I’d wondered.”
“A newspaper?” Iris said slowly. “You need Ministry licensing.”
Harry smirked. “Well, as it so happens, Portly Black—”
“I’m sorry, you have an ancestor named Portly?” Theo said, sniggering.
“You’d like to comment, Theodore Cantankerous?” Harry said.
“Oh, fuck you.”
“As I was saying. Portly Black purchased a publishing token from the Ministry fifty years ago and then unexpectedly died because his brother poisoned him—”
“What?” said Hermione.
“—and the token has just been sitting in the vaults ever since. I tracked it down. It’s valid, it’s legal, and it doesn’t need renewing until 2010. All we have to do is conform to Ministry guidelines about age-censorship charms and so on. Oh, and one person on staff has to be an adult with wand rights, but I’m just going to hire a secretary to field the mail.”
Mason smiled. “The records of who owns the token could disappear, if you wanted.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at him.
“Friend of my grandmother’s who works in the archives.” His eyes glinted. “Knowledge is power, isn’t it? Or the lack thereof.”
“Anonymity could be quite nice,” Theo said. He’d tilted his chair back and balanced it on the back legs with a combination of magic and skill. “But keep me out of it. Occlumency only does so much.”
That, Harry thought, was going to be a problem this year. One he and Theo needed to discuss.
“So it would be a magically valid publishing token with no record of ownership?” Harry tilted his head. “Perhaps… Justin. How’s your crash course in wizard finance going?”
“Well. It’s not that different from Muggle—bit less complicated, on account of there’s fewer wixen, but magical law and finance has the same roots that the modern Muggle equivalents do. You’re thinking of tweaking the records?”
Several of the older Slytherins gave Justin appraising looks, and Harry grinned. “Yes, exactly. The Blacks own a number of businesses. Some quite old. Most aren’t known to associate with the House in any way. Mason, could the records be altered to reflect that some side company owns the token?”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult, provided the company’s old enough.”
“I’ll find one that suits,” Harry said. “Justin, I’d appreciate your help.”
“Sure. Draco could be useful too.”
That got even more attention. Evidently some of the older Vipers hadn’t known how close Justin and Draco were getting. Harry nodded, once. “Set up a time to discuss with him and let me know. I’ll be there. Pansy, since you cooked this up as well, I’m assuming you have some ideas about how to expand on it?”
“I planned to speak with Luna. Yes, I know the Quibbler’s not exactly reliable news,” she said when Hestia and Peregrine snickered, “but she’s got experience with printing and writing for press, anyway, and presumably with distribution as well. We can publish a mix of academic content and news that the Ministry wouldn’t want to see in the Prophet…”
“I’d be happy to help,” Luna said with a smile.
“I’ve research that wouldn’t be… ah, particularly nice for either side to have come out,” Hermione said, looking shifty.
Pansy eyed her. “Well, if it’s all anonymous, we can push that angle.”
“Anyone else want in on the project? Or have opinions about what to do with it?” Harry said, looking around.
Everett gestured at himself. “I mentioned my job’s deadly dull but seeing the internal workings of the Wizengamot is quite interesting. I can assist.”
In exchange for editorial influence, no doubt, Harry thought. He’d be a fool to assume just because his Vipers were his that they abandoned all their other agendas. But he liked Everett and having an inside track to the Wizengamot administrative records was a plus, so he nodded and Pansy added Everett’s name to her list.
Anita and Mason indicated their interest too, which rounded out that project nicely. Harry handed the whole mess off to Pansy and Luna’s capable hands with some relief. Just because he had strong opinions about having a functional press didn’t mean he wanted to add it to his own plate.
There wasn’t much after that. Celesta hung back for a word about the plan for some kind of rival newspaper. Specifically an offer to help him fund it. The cold witch had always struck him as too selfish to be reliable—honestly he was surprised she’d signed the secrecy contract with no resistance—but her subtle deference now, and her efforts to contribute, spoke volumes.
Predictably, Graham and Veronica ambushed him as soon as Harry saw Celesta off. “What happened?” Veronica said.
“Not much.” Harry eyed them. He didn’t love the idea of binding third years to him in secrecy… and if he was honest, he rather wanted to be able to trust the kids he’d taken into the Black house. “You know all Vipers business is confidential, yes?”
They looked insulted. “Duh,” said Graham.
“Well, in that case, come on.”
Harry led them to his study and sketched the broad strokes of the plan for their as-yet-unnamed paper. “I’ll be funding it at first—Celesta Fawley offered to help with that and I expect a few others might as well. Pansy and Luna are handling most of it.”
“That’s so cool,” Veronica said. “Can I write for it? Please?”
“Talk to Pansy,” Harry said with a grin. “I don’t see why not. Could make it friendlier if there’s a column for student contributions, or something.”
Veronica’s eyes gleamed.
“What can we do?” Graham said.
“You’re thirteen,” Harry said. “Your job is to go to school and get good marks.”
“But we want to help! Rio does too but he’d never say it. We’re not too young,” Veronica said hotly.
“Alright.” Harry hid a smile. It was so weird remembering how determined he’d been, at their age. How independent, how sure of himself. It’d be hypocritical to insist they were too young to help at all. “There’s something you can do. In fact, the two of you are especially suited for it. Dylan and Rio can be in on it too.”
They both leaned forward eagerly.
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