CHAPTER 88: PERSPECTIVE, PT 2 – PLANNING


It was all over the paper, of course. "MAD MUGGLEBORN SENT TO AZKABAN" and "WIZENGAMOT MAKES AGE EXCEPTION FOR HEINOUS CRIME". The breakfast table was abuzz with talk. Many people were saying how they had never expected it. Others were dragging up anecdotes explaining how they could totally have seen it coming, that Harry Potter had been turning her dark all along. Many of the vicious things which were now repeated everywhere were those which Padma herself had made up earlier that year, before the ghost of Salazar Slytherin had set her straight and Hermione had become a friend. But no one believed her now when she said they had just been lies.

The papers didn't say anything about Harry Potter's threat, or Hermione's response to it. The papers never wrote anything about Harry Potter anymore, not since the Ginny Weasley article, because including him in any article was sure to make nobody believe in it. But this, too, was repeated in whispers on all the House tables, as enough of the students had family in the Wizengamot for the tale to spread. At the Ravenclaw table, it was seen as a sign of redemption; the hero's love interest, having fallen into darkness, going to her death to stop the hero from following her on this path. At the Slytherin table, the more typical response was sneering at Potter's crazy threats. Only some of the Gryffindors seemed to think that declaring enmity to House Malfoy and to Malfoy's political section, was a good idea.

Harry Potter himself was sitting at a side of the Ravenclaw table, looking so utterly broken and destitute that nobody dared to go anywhere near him. He was just staring ahead with empty eyes, and occasionally lifting a spoonful of porridge to his mouth. Some of the times he missed.

Harry Potter had failed. He had tried to save Hermione, for whom he would do anything, for whom he would defy the Headmaster and Professor Snape, make pools of blood seep out from under the doors, or glue forty-four bullies to the ceiling. And he had failed. It was an incredibly sad sight to see, like something in the world was fundamentally broken.

Most parts of her wanted to leave the Boy-Who-Lived alone with his grief, like everyone else was doing. But surely he had heard the rumors, surely he had seen the papers, and he was probably thinking that he was the only person in the world who believed Hermione was innocent...

She took a deep breath and stepped up towards him.


Harry was staring into space, not really seeing anything, not tasting whatever food was in front of him.

It had been a terrible night. In his dreams he had seen, over and over, the phoenix burning up and disappearing. Or sometimes, the phoenix turning away from him in disgust, as he'd taken the selfish choice, postponed doing the right thing yet again, thrown away this one chance of making a difference here and now.

And those had been the good dreams. For he had also revisited Azkaban in his sleep, walked those corridors, heard the screaming and sobbing.

No, I didn't mean it, please don't die.

But this time, it had been Hermione's voice begging, and he'd wanted to release her, to free everyone, but his hands were tied, he couldn't believe that he could do it anymore, he'd failed. He would never take the fortress down as he had once promised himself, for he would always find excuses to postpone. And he felt in his dreams the despair brought by the Dementors, but he couldn't cast the True Patronus Charm anymore, as his guilt crushed in on him because he had given up the conviction that every life was worth fighting for –

It was hard to shake the feeling that he had failed, that he would never amount to anything, that this was the point in life where it was too late to turn back. And maybe he could still go to Azkaban, even without a phoenix to help him (for Fawkes was no longer interested in him in that way, Dumbledore had said), and open the floodgates and tear the place down, but it was almost certain that he couldn't that and survive, not without a phoenix to sustain him. And all his reasons for not killing himself still applied, but wasn't that still selfishness and fear talking?

A figure appeared beside him.

"I believe," Padma Patil said. "That Hermione is innocent. We all do, in S.P.H.E.W."

She didn't know about the phoenix. How could she? But she must think he was grieving for Hermione, and that was probably for the best. How would an innocent Harry respond? A Harry who hadn't helped Hermione, who hadn't seen the phoenix?

"Good," he just croaked.

Padma stood awkwardly beside him for a few moments more, and then turned to leave.

"Wait."

Come back in six months. That's what he had told the phoenix. When he had had the chance to raise an army of True Patronus casters, when he could expect to take on Azkaban and live. He might have been able to do that last night, if he'd only realized, but that chance was gone. Was he going to wallow in self-pity now? Or could he at least be the person he'd promised the phoenix he would be?

"Can you meet me this evening, after dinner?" Padma had not been able to cast the normal Patronus Charm, even though her wandwork had been declared perfect. And she had been borrowing his books. Maybe, she could learn what Hermione had also learned.

"Okay."

She left then, looking slightly confused, and Harry felt a bit better. It wasn't the best kind of answer, it wasn't like going back in time and taking a different choice before it was too late to turn back. He would still never have a phoenix by his side to help him turn on the evil in the world and bring it down. But maybe he could still be a good person. Maybe the sensible choice could still be the right one. Or a right one, at least.


Hermione huddled under her blanket.

She had spent a bit of time last night trying out her new wand, until the bracelet had heated up to warn her that someone was approaching. She'd quickly canceled her Patronus and put the wand away. A man in the bright red Auror robes had come in, followed by a Lioness Patronus, waved his wand, and a plate of food had appeared (bread with ham and cheese and some carrots, with a jug of water of the side). Then he'd left again without saying a word. Not a minute later, the bracelet had cooled down. He'd gone down the stairs the other way, she had guessed, to feed the other prisoners.

Hermione had carefully finished the food (she was hungry, she'd hardly been able to eat the mashed potatoes with sausage and lettuce they'd given her shortly after she arrived, and it tasted pretty terrible cold), but she hadn't dared to take her wand or any of the books out again. Not while the Auror was still below her, and would have to come back past her cell. So, she had lain down again, and fallen asleep quickly.

She had still been asleep when Auror Li had come in to bring the food this morning (a bowl of porridge with berries, with another jug of water), but woken up when he draped a blanket over her. He had just smiled at her, tucked her in, and gone on his way. Some time later, after the bracelet had told her the Auror had come back from the depths of the prison, passed her cell, and gone on towards the headquarters, the lioness Patronus that had been in her cell when she woke up had disappeared, and was instantly replaced by the badger.

Now, she sat under the blanket, which was warm and comfortable even if it looked rather old. She could just cast Thermos, but she might have to answer whether it was warm enough like this, and for that, she'd need to know. One by one, she took out the books in the pouch, scanned them, and put them back. It was hard, for a Ravenclaw, because they all looked intriguing, but she had to know which one to read first.

Ah. That was sure to be a winner.

She carefully laid aside the Timeless Physics booklet, checked the rest, and then took it up again. It was time to learn the science behind partial transfiguration.


Someone tapped Harry on the shoulder at lunch, and a boy in green-trimmed robes handed him a sealed parchment envelope.

The note inside said:

Classroom to the left of Transfiguration, 1 in the afternoon.

- LL.

This time he did figure out the initials, and he had a pretty good idea what the boy would say, too. He sighed, pocketed the note, and went back to finish his lunch before 1pm.


It was interesting to notice the subtle differences between just having a normal Patronus in her cell, and the great bright humanoid. It didn't feel cold anymore, and she was happier, somehow, more optimistic that everything would turn out alright. Although that might have been because she was holding on to the bright thought that fueled the Patronus Charm, the shining future where the world would be wonderful. But even so... Somehow, it seemed, the Dementors could still reach you through a normal Patronus. She had felt that, before, but she'd thought that was just nerves caused by seeing them, and being afraid of what would happen when there wouldn't be a Patronus anymore.

She turned another page in the little book. It was a very interesting read. Written for a complete novice, and just right to get the intuition. Plus, it wasn't very long; she'd probably have learned it by heart before the day was over.

It was definitely a sign of Harry, though. He had tried to explain her about this before, but in between the hand-waving and the exclamations about the universe standing still for a million years and it not mattering at all, she had given up. It was just too much of a coincidence for her anonymous benefactor to just happen to include this book with the other physics textbooks. And it made sense.

Harry would always come to save her.

She sighed. The hard thing was, she was grateful. Really really grateful. She probably wouldn't get exposed to Dementors even without the help – the Aurors certainly seemed to be planning on keeping her protected – but all the same, having her own Patronus was reassuring. And the Cloak – woah. And most of all, the books, and the wand... Take away the Dementors from Azkaban and you'd still have something as bad as the worst kind of Muggle jail: a dimly lit, smelly cell without any natural light, with little space to move around and absolutely nothing to do other than being grateful that she was spared the worse fate. If it wasn't for the pouch, she might just go mad with boredom, instead of Dementation.

It was just that... well...

Would she always just be someone for Harry to save?

She had tried so hard to be her own person. She'd worked like mad to stay ahead in all her classes. She had become an army General, and won many victories. She had named herself a heroine, banded together with her friends, and fought bullies.

But when the people gossiped about her, Harry had set ghosts on them. When the bullies she fought had tried to get revenge, Harry glued them to the ceiling. When some unknown entity had framed her for murder (she was starting to believe that it hadn't really been her, now), he'd declared enmity on an ancient House and threatened to kill off half the Wizengamot for her. And now that she had been sent to Azkaban, Harry had broken in to make sure she was fine and given her some tools to pass the time while he went about gathering evidence to prove her innocence.

Harry was the hero, Dumbledore had said, and the story revolved around him. And whoever she might have been otherwise, she had been swallowed up, and now she was just the girl he had to save, over and over.

It had been important to her before. It still was. But somehow, the idea seemed more childish to her now; it all paled in comparison to being eaten by Dementors. How many people were in this fortress, suffering day and night, like she had thought she would, too? She had heard that man sob, yesterday, and just because she couldn't hear him from here didn't mean he wasn't there. The suffering was still happening. So nearby. Wouldn't those people give anything to have a friend like Harry, who would come save them no matter what?

Her Patronus wavered and brightened, wavered and brightened again, and she quickly dropped her wand, as the otter had told her to do. There was a soft touch of emptiness at her mind, almost imperceptible but still there, but she knew where it was coming from and disregarded it. She picked up her wand, but didn't recast the Patronus Charm. Not now.

She carefully reread the last paragraph in the book, and turned the page.

Maybe history would just remember her as the Mad Muggleborn who had attacked Draco Malfoy for no good reason. Maybe Harry would pull a marvelous stunt and she'd be the innocent girl he saved from Azkaban. Maybe she would never have her own story. But maybe that was alright. The best thing she could do was to just to be herself, and accept wherever that led. And right now, that meant to study hard, and apply herself to learning anything she could from the books she had.

People grow up by being put into grown-up situations, Professor Dumbledore had said. And that was true, she knew now.

She had a lot of growing up to do.

Hermione turned another page.

It might not have been Harry, she considered. Or not just Harry. The cloak he had lent her before wasn't The Cloak of Invisibility, and he could hardly have two, could he? It had just seemed like it was made in imitation of this one, or maybe that was just how all invisibility cloaks felt.

Or maybe that memory was altered too, a little voice in the back of her mind said.

That was the terrible thing about the wizarding world. Not even your thoughts were safe. You couldn't trust your emotions when Dementors might be nearby; you couldn't trust your memories when someone might have changed them. Only cool logic remained, at least as long no one confunded you. And whatever you thought, felt or remembered, someone might pluck from your mind with Legilimency. Maybe going with Professor McGonagall, that first day, had been a mistake, and she should have just said no, stuck to the powerless, safe Muggle world. Like her mother had obviously wanted her to do.

She sighed and turned another page.


When Harry walked into the classroom, the older boy was already there. As he closed the door, Lesath started casting various incantations of privacy. Then he dropped onto one knee.

"My Lord." His voice was shaky, but he pressed on. "I am sorry... about what happened."

"Were you involved?" Harry asked quietly.

"No, my Lord, I would never hurt your friends. Unless you asked me to."

"Then you have no need to be sorry," answered Harry, choosing to ignore the addition for the time being. "And I continue to insist that I not your Lord."

"Yes, my Lord. But what I wanted to say... If you need my help to break her out... Just say the word, and I will do anything you ask of me. Even if it means getting her before father... I will do what you ask." His voice broke, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt for not taking any steps to help Lesath's father yet. Like I could have done yesterday.

It was touching, how loyal the boy was. Just like his mother. Although for very different reasons. Had Lord Voldemort seen this in her, when he decided to subvert Bellatrix for his own purposes?

He opened his mouth to gently turn the boy's help down, but then his mind caught up with what he was doing and he closed it again, reconsidering.

Of course the boy wasn't just offering to help Hermione, he was still hoping that Harry would get his father out of Azkaban as he had done for his mother. Maybe he even hoped to help with that. Lesath probably didn't know that he was the product of rape, that his mother had been given as a "reward" to the Lestranges, and Harry certainly wasn't going to tell him.

And while there was little the boy could do to help Hermione, he might perhaps be able to help his own father, and the other prisoners of Azkaban. It wouldn't even be using him, for if there was anyone who was motivated to do something about Dementors, it would be the boy who'd been agonizing over them for all his life. But would he be able to cast the True Patronus Charm?

"Get up, and take a chair." Harry gave the example himself by sitting down on a chair the wrong way, folding his arms across the back. Lesath slowly, respectfully, followed suit. "Tell me, Lesath, if you want to share... How did you grow up?"

The boy swallowed.

"After they took away my parents, they sent me to a Muggle orphanage. It was okay, I guess. I stopped slipping up and saying things about magic quickly enough, as the others just made fun of me when I did."

"What do you think happens when we die?"

Lesath blinked at the non-sequitur, but didn't question it. "Nothing, my Lord. We just cease to be." He shrugged. "No pain or misery, at least."

Well, at least half of that was promising. "Have you learned the Patronus Charm?"

Another confused blink. "No, my Lord."

"Why not? For someone like you I would imagine opposing Dementors would be at the forefront of your mind."

"It's – I couldn't really show up to the lesson. The Gryffindors would never me accept there, and it's not really a thing you're supposed to try when you're in Slytherin anyway."

Harry nodded. Of course, someone like Lesath could not be seen doing anything out of the ordinary, or he'd be beaten up again.

"Would you like to learn?"

Lesath looked surprised. "Anything you ask of me."

"No... I'm not asking it of you. I just want to know whether you, personally, would like to be able to cast a Patronus Charm."

Lesath seemed to consider the question for a moment.

"Yes, I think I would like that."

Harry smiled. Even if it wouldn't work, if his mindset of accepting death as a release would make him unsuitable to perform the True Patronus Charm, just knowing the normal version of the spell would be a good thing for the boy. And if it did work...

"Meet me here tomorrow, at 8pm."


Draco was lying on the luxurious bed in a private room in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He was staring at the ceiling, a sick ball of guilt churning in his stomach.

His father had not been pleased, when Draco told him everything that happened this year.

It had taken Lucius Malfoy almost no time to point out where Draco had been tricked. A prediction of "about seven" magical children, which turned out to be close to the real number, wasn't actually proof of anything. Even if the whole genetics thing was accurate about things like eye color (and it probably wasl Harry couldn't just have faked all those books), there was no reason to believe that magic followed the same rules. Most magic didn't seem to obey the rules of physics from Harry's books. But Harry had gotten him to accept the "evidence" while he was distracted by the much worse possibility, and then he hadn't realized he should reconsider afterwards. And Harry had told him he couldn't make himself believe something else, and so he hadn't tried. But that had been a lie too. You could make yourself believe that blue was green if you tried hard enough.

But the thing was... even if the first step to losing his belief in blood purism had been a lie, there was still all the rest. Once you knew what you were looking for, you couldn't stop seeing it.

It wasn't just that Hermione Granger was the most powerful student of their year, except for himself. As his father had pointed out, you got exceptions in every group; Hermione Granger might be an exceedingly rare case, and highly awkward for Malfoy's politics, but a Mudblood like that would pop up every century or so, and Draco just had the bad luck of having one in his year.

But if you looked at the other Mudbloods in his year, they didn't seem any worse on average than the purebloods or halfbloods. Justin Finch-Fletchley was normal, for a Hufflepuff, and Dean Thomas was also around average. Anthony Goldstein, the son of two Muggle-borns, was near the top of their year. Gregory Goyle, pureblood though he was, was magically quite weak, and the purebloods in the first year were overall not doing any better than the halfbloods. It really, really, looked exactly like the way you would expect the world to look if there was no difference between Muggleborns and purebloods whatsoever.

He'd explained all these things, as his father listened patiently, with a sad look on his face. He'd had to, because of the Veritaserum. And his father did listen, and pointed out that these observations could just have been coincidences, and came up with half a dozen anecdotes of Muggleborns getting Squib children, or being so weak that they'd had to leave Hogwarts after their fifth year because they'd earned no O.W.L.s. But those were just anecdotes, and Draco couldn't stop himself from thinking that there were probably equally many such stories about purebloods, if his father only looked... Draco couldn't be convinced just by stories anymore, he needed proof. And that, his father could not give.

Lucius Malfoy had considered Obliviating his son. Harry's dangerous game, it seemed, had worked. Draco's style of thinking was permanently altered. But if he could just forget about science, forget about questioning your beliefs and all that Harry told him, he could be the boy again who he had been last year. He could grow up to be like his father, become a Death Eater, and lead House Malfoy's political battles for blood purism, like he'd always wanted.

It would just mean forgetting everything that happened this year.

Harry's teachings hadn't just affected how he looked at blood purism. They'd been in everything. The way he led his army, talked to his friends, the way he had acted towards Hermione Granger and Millicent Bulstrode. The way he thought. And if his father removed the very beginning, none of that would make any sense to himself anymore. You could permanently damage someone, by removing the most crucial memories that everything else built on. So the only way for Lucius Malfoy to get rid of the mad ideas Harry had planted in his son's mind, was to remove the entire year, except maybe for the classes.

And he would have done that. It would have meant taking Draco out of Hogwarts, teaching him at home, relinquishing the political advantage of being at Hogwarts together with the other heirs of pureblood families, and the chance of his son growing into the leadership. But Lucius Malfoy would have done that, if Draco hadn't begged him not to.

On seeing the possibility to just forget everything, Draco had felt hopeful for a moment. But then he realized what it would mean.

The person he was now, that's what it would destroy. He would not remember having been an army General, or how to think creatively. He would no longer know that he had it in him to inspire and lead the best people of all houses. If he eventually did return to school with a plausible excuse for his absence, he would take leadership of Slytherin, the House of bullies and losers, and never question it or even consider it a bad thing.

He would not have guessed this even a day earlier, but when given the choice, he realized that being the person he now was meant more to him than being the next Lord Malfoy. And that's why he had begged his father not to Obliviate him. And his father loved him, so he hadn't. There was just one thing he had removed, because, apparently, Draco had been an idiot and done something that would have given Harry Potter and Dumbledore power over him, but Draco had agreed to that.

And he was still the next Lord Malfoy. Despite everything, his father didn't disown him. Lucius Malfoy hoped that his son would grow wiser in time, and use his new-found desire for proving everything to see the obvious proofs that blood purism was true. But if not... Lord Malfoy was willing to gamble everything he believed in on his son turning out well regardless.

It had brought tears to Draco's eyes, and he'd told his father about the Patronus, and showed him that he could cast it. If Lucius Malfoy was dismayed by this new skill, he didn't show it. He also accepted Draco's word that Salazar Slytherin could cast this spell without an argument.

Draco had been in a magical sleep for most of the rest of the day and the following morning, as his body restored from the effects of the Blood-Cooling Charm. He was still feeling weak, but the Healer had said he'd be able to go back home by the end of the week.

The door opened, and Lucius Malfoy came in.

"What happened?" Draco croaked. He hadn't seen any newspapers, and the Healers hadn't given him any news. His father sat by his bed, a gentle smile on his face, and stroked his son's hairs.

"Don't worry, Draco. You have been avenged." A look of grim satisfaction briefly drew over his father's face, before softening again. "She is in Azkaban."

What?

"But I thought you were just going to have her sent to Nurmengard?" In a small part of his mind he had already worried that that might be excessive; he would have been content with having her permanently exiled from the wizarding world. But she had done something totally, absolutely, horrendously bad to him, and he'd been burning with that feeling of betrayal, so he had agreed that it was only right. But this

"The Wizengamot was more open to justice than I expected them to be."

"How did Potter respond?"

Lucius Malfoy shrugged. "Badly. I do believe I was mistaken about him. He is not who I thought he was."

"Who did you think he was?"

Draco's father just shook his head. "It doesn't matter. He has declared enmity on our House, and I am all too willing to grant it. You are not to talk to him again, son."

Draco nodded. That was to be expected anyway. After what Harry had done to him... There was no way they could still be friends.

"He also," Lucius added with an amused smirk, "threatened to take control of the Dementor in the room and have everyone who voted in favor of imprisonment Kissed. I did think he was better than making ridiculous bluffs like that."

Draco's eyes had widened, his throat was suddenly very dry. "Father, I don't think that was a bluff."

"You jest."

"No. Harry never makes empty threats. I've tried calling his bluff seven times on extremely ridiculous occasions, and he was serious every single time."

"The power of a single Dementor almost killed him in January, as I understood it. How would he control one, when he cannot even cast a Patronus? Like you can?" There was even some pride in that smile, but Draco wasn't in the mood to appreciate it. He was terrified by what might have almost happened to his father.

"He can. He didn't want to show me at first, said it was some big secret, but I wouldn't help him fix Slytherin House unless he did. So he had me look away while he cast, and I saw the light. It was... there aren't really words for it." And he told his father about the scene on that balcony, with Harry's insane speech and the Patronus light that felt like a sun shining brightly right next to him.

In the end, Lucius looked thoughtful.

"Was this also on the occasion when you got him to swear the vow to take Dumbledore as his enemy?"

"Yes. My vow in exchange for his."

His father nodded. "That seems to have worked out. Potter certainly did not seem very friendly towards Dumbledore yesterday. You did well there, son."

Draco suddenly had a lump in his throat.

"And you truly think that he was serious in his threat."

"Yes! Why... why didn't he?"

"The Granger girl refused his help." Lucius stood up. "I suppose this confirms that Potter is not who I thought he was, although I have no idea who he is, then. Thank you, son. But now I must leave you. I will return tonight."

He gently laid a hand against his son's forehead once more, and then departed the room.

Draco stared at the ceiling.

Hermione Granger in Azkaban.

He could still see her, in his mind's eye, clinging desperately to his hand as he stopped her falling from the roof. When they'd trained their armies together, they had worked like a fluent team. When he'd helped her against Flint, the main point had been Slytherin's reputation, but there had still been that sort of connection between them... not quite like friends, but... people who didn't mind each other, at least. Allies.

It actually hurt, to think of her in Azkaban, having the life and magic drained out of her. Despite what she had done to him, he didn't wish that on her.

Why had she done that? She had somehow been convinced that he was plotting against her. Why, all of a sudden? They'd been fine just two weeks before. And no matter how angry and frustrated she had seemed in their duel in the forest, how had she come to the point of cold-bloodedly trying to murder him? How could Hermione Granger have figured out a way around the wards, and not told a teacher about it before? Or had she made this extremely cunning method that had evaded headmasters for over 500 years up on the spot?

It didn't make sense, it didn't make sense. She didn't have the tiniest bit of Slytherin in her! Hell, she'd been too much of a Hufflepuff to fire a simple strike hex. She shouldn't even have been able to come up with such a plan, let alone execute it!

Draco noticed that he was confused.

But that was Harry thinking, and Harry was his enemy now, so he pushed the thought away.

Harry, who would have sent a Dementor to take his father's soul. He felt tears of anger burn in his eyes now. He had thought Harry was his friend, in that strange way Harry had of being friends with anyone. But Harry never lied. He actually would have done that, if Granger hadn't stopped him.

He thought of Granger screaming in Azkaban again. No, she didn't deserve that. At that moment, he would have gladly let her go, murder attempt or not.

As long as Harry Potter would take her place.


"Why did you want to go here? It seems a bit... random?"

Harry smiled, and continued casting his privacy spells. "Because it's private, and we'll notice people coming from quite a distance. Besides... this place means something to me."

The two of them were standing on top of the Ravenclaw tower. Padma didn't say anything through the whole sequence of privacy charms. They weren't as many as Mr. Bester or Professor Quirrel could make, but they would have to do. If someone was spying on them here, well, they might already know about Harry's "special ability" anyway, and Harry wasn't planning on speaking any secrets out loud tonight.

"Tell me, Padma," he said, when he was finally done. "How do you feel about Azkaban?"

She shivered. "It must be hell there. Poor Hermione."

"Leaving out Hermione, though... How do you feel about Azkaban being used as a place to punish magical criminals?"

"I... never really thought about it."

"Could you? Consider it for a few minutes. I would like to hear your opinion."

She was silent for a while, with a frown deepening on her face. Eventually, she took a deep breath.

"I think it's a pretty bad place at all. I mean, if you steal or make a "mud pie" or something or you just have a terrible temper, you're not automatically an evil person. You're just an idiot. And even if you actually try to murder someone, if, if someone like Pansy Parkinson had done what Hermione was accused of, then you're a pretty bad person who deserves a lot of punishment, but getting your life sucked out of you for ten years might be... too much?"

Harry nodded. "I agree. How about the really evil people? The Death Eaters, who were sent there for life? Do they deserve their fate?"

"I don't know!" Padma exclaimed frustratedly. "Why are you asking me this?"

Harry wasn't going to let her get away with not deciding. "Suppose you were Minister of Magic or something, and you had the power to disband Azkaban, and set up a more merciful prison. I want to know whether you would do it."

"I – I –" Padma stammered for a bit, but then closed her eyes and thought about it again.

"No," she said eventually. "Without Azkaban, what will you do with Dementors? It's horrible, and even the really evil people probably don't deserve it – you could just execute them like the courts do in India – but it's better that they get eaten by Dementors than a village full of innocent Muggles. I think that's why Azkaban was made in the first place."

"Ah." Harry nodded. "And if Dementors could be banished so they would never feast on humans again?"

She gave him a very weird look. "Well, obviously you'd do that. I bet even the Minister for Magic would prefer them gone."

"You'd be surprised." Harry said dryly. "Okay, change of subject... You couldn't cast the Patronus Charm in January. Do you have any idea why not?"

"I... what? I don't know, it just doesn't work for everyone. Maybe I'm just not a good enough person."

Harry shook his head. "It has nothing to do with goodness. It might not even be happiness. Could you try casting it, and tell me what you feel? Does it feel like your happy thought isn't enough? Or do you feel afraid?"

She frowned, probably considering whether this wasn't too private to tell him. But then she shrugged and made the motions.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A Patronus completely failed to appear.

"It feels wrong," she decided. "The spell doesn't connect, but it seems like – like I'm trying to do something not-me somehow."

Harry smiled brightly. Gotcha.

"I felt the same way. There's a certain kind of person who can't cast the Patronus Charm, and can probably never learn. It has nothing to do with how good or happy you are... it's more about the way you think."

"How do you know?"

"Do I have your word not to speak of this to anyone, unless there is a really good reason, like someone's life being at stake?"

She considered for a moment. "Okay."

"Expecto Patronum!"

The enormous humanoid sprung from his wand, and lit up the entire balcony. Padma jumped back in shock, shielding her eyes.

"What is that?" she gasped, when she could find her voice again.

"The True Patronus Charm," Harry said, and willing her to have the spell, like he had done with Hermione. He could feel it, the little spark of magic as she gained the spell, even if she might not be able to cast it yet. "This form of the spell allows you to put as much strength into the Patronus as you want, without any blocks from within yourself. In fact, you have to be careful, for if you put too much into, it can drain all your life force, and kill you. But given just the right amount of strength, it can destroy Dementors."

Padma looked awed as she stared at the Patronus. There were tears in her eyes, Harry noticed.

"Can I learn that?"

"I believe so. That is why I'm telling you this."

"And you want me to help you destroy the Dementors of Azkaban, so the prison can be reformed. That's why you were asking me."

"Yes. I'm willing to teach you anyway. But I hope you will help me."

"So Hermione won't be exposed to Dementors anymore."

Could he tell her? She was not an Occlumens, but he was already gambling a lot on nobody being interested enough to use Legilimency on her. There were not many Legilimenses at Hogwarts, and once he told her the secret of Dementors there'd be a world of trouble anyway if any of them should read her mind. But if she knew about Hermione being okay, could Padma really act like she would if she didn't know? And if she didn't know, could she act like she wasn't aware that a solution to Azkaban might exist?

"So nobody will be exposed to Dementors anymore." He stared into the night, to the spot where the Phoenix had disappeared. "You shouldn't do this for Hermione. It will take a while to learn this spell, and even then I don't know how we are going to deal with Azkaban. I hope to get Hermione out long before that, anyway, and she knows a secret that should make it easier to deal with Dementors." Technically, that was true, even if it wasn't the whole truth. "Don't tell anyone I said that, not even Susan or Daphne or any of the others."

"What? How?"

"I can't say. Just don't talk about it, okay? It's Hermione's life that's on the line if you even think about it too loudly."

She opened and shut her mouth a few times, but then seemed to make up her mind. "Okay. Will you teach me your spell now?"

"It'll take a while." Harry had decided, when he thought this session over during History of Magic, that it would be too dangerous to tell her immediately. She'd first need to appreciate that death could really be defeated. He'd selected a variety of science fiction books working with this premise that she could read to prime her mind. That would be the very minimum preparation that he ought to do to make sure that he wouldn't harm her by telling her the secret. "And if I tell you the instructions, you might not be able to cast this true form of the Patronus Charm, and yet you will never be able to cast the normal form again, no matter how much you change. Are you willing to take that risk?"

She was silent for a while, looking at the spectacular sight of the humanoid Patronus still patrolling the balcony.

"I am," she said eventually.

"Then, I have a few books I will want you to read."


Wednesday evening.

They had been at it for over an hour. The older boy was picking up the gestures of the spell with the speed you might expect from a fifth-year, and his wandwork had been perfect for the last ten minutes, but the spell required something more, and Harry could see that Lesath didn't have it.

Lesath paused, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I don't think it is working, my Lord."

Harry nodded. "What was your happy thought?"

"The moment I heard of mothers escape."

It might be a powerful thought, but was it the right kind to cast the normal Patronus Charm? To fuel the Patronus, you needed to take all the brightness of life, and put that into the spell as you turned aside your fear of death –

But Lesath had never had much brightness in his life, had he? He hardly remembered his parents, he'd never had friends. He'd never even triumphed in gobstones tournaments or quidditch, because if he drew too much attention to himself he'd get beaten up more than he already was.

Was it possible to cast the Patronus Charm just from hope?

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. In the end, it wasn't the normal Patronus Charm that he most wanted Lesath to learn. If the boy had to be pushed in a direction, it would be better for both of them if he could just learn the true form.

"Lesath... I have made a vow." He stood up and walked to the window, where the stars were just visible. It was frightening, saying it out loud, but if anyone would ever ask him his opinion about Azkaban, he wasn't going to make a secret of it. "I will tear down Azkaban. I will destroy Every. Last. Dementor. And if you are willing, you can help me do it." He turned around, and saw Lesath staring at him open-mouthedly.

"I'm not trying to give you false hope. I fully believe that we can do this, that the darkness can be broken. And I need you to believe the same." He tried to radiate as much confidence as possible.

"I believe, my Lord." The boy's voice ended in a sob.

"Hold on to that thought, and cast your Patronus Charm."

...

"Expecto Patronum!"

Nothing happened.

"It felt wrong, my Lord. Like... like the thought doesn't fit the spell."

Harry nodded. "That's because it is more a thought for the True Patronus Charm."

"What is that?"

"If I explain, you will never be able to cast a normal Patronus. No matter how much happiness you find, you won't be able to do it. But there is a small chance that you will be able to destroy Dementors. I don't know how small." Lesath wasn't like Padma, he didn't have the same preparation. But if he might never be able to cast the normal Patronus Charm anyway, if nobody would ever expect him to, because he was a Slytherin...

"I would give anything for a chance to destroy Dementors." There was a light in Lesath's eyes. Yes, Harry thought. He would.

Harry checked. All the spells of silence were still active.

"The Dementors are a representation of Death, cast into the physical world. That's why everyone feels they are so undefeatable. Because everyone has always believed that you cannot escape death."

"But... Death can't be defeated, can it?"

"People – Muggles – used to think that Smallpox or the Measles couldn't be defeated, but because of scientific research, they were." He saw Lesath nodding understandingly. The boy had grown up in the Muggle world, he probably knew about vaccines. "What's the chance, really, that we cannot get over something like old age?"

It was hard for the boy, Harry could see it. So he took out his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The bright humanoid leaped into existence. Lesath gasped.

"This form of the Patronus Charm can destroy Dementors. Never believe something is impossible just because everyone says it cannot be done."

"I – I believe, my Lord."

Harry smiled. "Cast your spell."

"Ex... expecto Patronum!"

Nothing. Harry hid his disappointment. "It's okay. This was only your first try."

"I... I don't believe I have it in me, My lord. I'm sorry, that I am such a bad servant."

"No." Lesath shouldn't believe that he couldn't do it. Confidence was essential for the spell. "You can. I am certain that you have it in you. Just keep practicing, and don't lose faith. Before the year is over, I predict that you and I will be able to go to Azkaban, together, and destroy every last Dementor. Hold on to that thought, Lesath."

"Yes my Lord."

Harry stood up and grabbed two science fiction books from his bag. "It's time to go back to our respective common rooms. I know it's O.W.L. year for you, and you shouldn't neglect your exams, but if you have some spare time remaining, perhaps you can try reading through these books."

"Whatever you wish, my Lord."

"I continue to insist that I am not your Lord."

"Of course, my Lord."

Harry wearily trudged back to the Ravenclaw common room, feeling guilty. He was using Lesath. He'd taken an enormous risk on an assumption that the boy probably wouldn't manage the normal Patronus Charm, but a lot could change over the course of a lifetime. Harry also had very little doubt as to how much effort Lesath would pour into reading those books – Harry could tell him not to neglect his O.W.L.s, but the boy would always prioritize what he saw as his Lord's interests.

And if it worked, he didn't even have a plan. He knew vaguely that he wanted to attack Azkaban, but could he risk Padma and Lesath's lives on that? There might be an age limit on Azkaban, but he doubted that the same would apply to the death sentence. For that matter, could he risk them getting exposed to Veritaserum? The damage would probably be limited to just a few Aurors, but that was already a heavy cost to be imposing on others.

There were, undeniably, many risks in the course he was taking, not just to himself but to others as well. However, it was either this, or continuing to do nothing forever. He didn't know yet how to finish it, but there were definitely more possibilities if Padma, Lesath or both of them were able to cast the Patronus Charm than if it was just Harry and an imprisoned Hermione. It might end badly, but taking the risk was still better than not doing so.

At the very least now, if he died, there would be others to carry on the work.


Hermione woke up with a scream. She didn't remember the dream, but it had been vivid and painful. And she was still sweating. The sick, worried feeling from her nightmare didn't abate, she was so afraid, but she didn't know what of –

It was very dark, she noticed. There was only the distant flickering glow of the oil lamp on the door. No Patronus.

Panic rose up in her. She'd been abandoned. The Dementors would take her. Death would take her, because that's what they were, she remembered all too well. But that knowledge could not protect her, could it?

She shivered. The blanket suddenly didn't seem warm enough. Her sleepy mind was reeling and she could hardly think, it was like when she'd been sick last year, and she'd been alternating between being really hot and extremely cold, and she'd been unable to concentrate on anything, and her memory had been slipping –

But then, her mother had sat by her bed, and comforted her.

She held on to the thought of her mother like a lifeline. It took a tremendous effort. She felt it, the drain from the Dementors, trying to pull the warm thought out of her, but they were far enough away, and with all her concentration, she could hold it. My mother is called Roberta Granger, she repeated to herself, as she shook her head, stumbled towards the jug of water and splashed some over her face. It tingled, but at least it made her more awake.

She probably doesn't even know you are here, a treasonous voice inside her whispered. The panic was abating, now, and it was replaced by a deep feeling of sadness. But she could deal with that.

Is there anything I can do?

There had been solutions, she knew. But it was hard to remember, which frightened her, until she remembered that the Dementors were interfering. So she just pushed her memory to bring up the right recollections.

What do I have?

She had the pouch. She looked inside it. There was the wand, but would she be able to cast the Patronus Charm in this state? No. She was almost crying from the miserable sadness inside here, there was no way she could envision and believe in that bright future that she couldn't even properly remember now. There were books too, mathematics and physics and spells and Occlumency... she couldn't think of a way to use them. And then there was –

"Cloak," she croaked as she held her hand over the pouch. A pleasantly tingling feeling ran through her body as her fingers touched the cloak that was rumored to hide the wearer from Death's gaze. She threw the cloak over herself, begging whichever higher creature might be listening that this would work.

And she was safe.

She spent a few more minutes crying, not from misery but from relief. The Dementors' drain was all gone; she sensed them, in the distance, but they had no effect on her anymore. Still, she had to eat two whole bars of chocolate from her pouch before she was feeling more like herself.

That had not been a pleasant experience. It had taken her far too long to think of the cloak. Of all times the Aurors could stop protecting her, did it have to be while she was asleep?

Her heart skipped a beat. The bracelet was heating up. An Auror was coming.

She would have to remove the cloak.

The Dementors are a representation of Death, she told herself. Death is nothing to be afraid of. Because Harry, and I, and our friends and family will stand up and fight it! She held on to that thought, as she pulled the cloak off herself and pushed it into the pouch. The Dementors' drain would harm it and the bracelet over time, but it would take days of exposure before they'd stop working, and she wasn't going to keep them unprotected for that long.

She sat down on the bench, and held on to the thought, projecting enmity and an absolute plan to destroy Death and all it meant to the Dementors down below. It took nearly all of her concentration, but there was enough left to notice that the bracelet got warmer, but not hot; the Auror was not passing her cell. And then, finally, it cooled down again.

She got her wand out. With her thoughts so concentrated, she thought she could do it.

"Expecto Patronum!"

And there it was, the bright silver humanoid. She took a deep breath, and relaxed. A few minutes later, the fox returned to her cell.

What had happened? The Aurors obviously hadn't stopped protecting her completely. The fox had been in her cell when she went to sleep; the same Auror was still sending it to her. So something must have caused the female Auror to call it back.

A new prisoner? That would explain why an Auror had entered the corridor, but not passed her cell. The new person would be in the other cell block in this corridor. And if other Aurors from the DMLE had come to deliver the prisoner, the Aurors on duty couldn't be seen to be missing a Patronus...

Was she going to have to repeat this experience every time someone visited the prison? No. It only got so bad because she was asleep when the Patronus left. She'd gone to sleep shortly after the evening meal (with no natural light, day and night seemed to sort of blur together), so around 7... Maybe if she stuck to sleeping during the night the chance of new arrivals showing up was smaller?

Or should she sleep under the cloak? It would be comforting, certainly. But it would be risky, and the bracelet would have her wake up in terror of discovery every time an Auror came by. No, she'd rather keep that option for emergencies.

She got the wand from her pouch and checked her watch. It was 10pm, and she was still tired, but she didn't think she'd be able to sleep right now.

Time to practice some more transfiguration.


"You request... an audience... with Professor Dumbledore." She stared at the young boy who was visiting her office.

"Yes. Is that strange?"

"Well," Minerva McGonagall said, adjusting her glasses. "It's just that it's rather unusual for you to ask first."

Harry shrugged. "I figured I might as well warn him beforehand this time. I want information, Professor McGonagall. If You-know-who is still alive and attacking my friends, I need to know everything. I need to know the prophecy, how we know he's still alive, and everything else that might possibly be relevant. Tell the Headmaster that I'm done humoring him and his crazy wish to keep me in the dark."