Author's note: Sorry for the long wait, fellas. High-school had me by the balls!
"Trouble in paradise with you and Potter, Draco?"
It was Pansy, and Draco could hardly not notice that her shirt was only loosely buttoned.
He felt confusion tickle his insides but he roughly shoved it down, and forced a chuckle he was hardly feeling. "Sodding Draco, again, is it?!"
Pansy rolled her eyes, and slid into the seat next to him. Draco cocked his neck around, and shrugged at Theodore's questioning look. 'Naughty-boy' snarled and plumped down next to Greengrass—who scowled but didn't make a peep about the arrangments.
Pansy sighed and massaged his shoulders, leaning in. "Yes, Draco." Draco stiffened at her warm breath tickling his ears. "I'm free tonight, you know..." Draco glanced at her sharply and she coolly cocked a brow at him, and wagged a brow, teasing him.
Draco glanced away and feigned interest as Flitwick went off on what he expected from them this year.
This was most unexpected.
Most unexpected.
Draco'd figured his actions over the summer had rendered his true allegiance common knowledge. And it probably was—judging from the reception he'd received in the Dungeons and, especially, on the train ride here.
Why, even Slughorn had actually sent out an invitation to the Slug Club! That had been quite the slap in the face. Ey mate, here's a treat for getting your parents killed—you can join the fucking Slug Club. Simply bril, that.
So—just what the bloody hell was Pansy playing at?
Draco grabbed Pansy by her arm, and she gave a moan of pain, her eyes flashing wildly. "What're you up to, Parkinson?" he asked as the two grouped around their mug.
All around them, shouts of "Aguamenti" went off and screams went off right after—
"Non-verbally!" Flitwick squeaked out. "And it's more of a worm-like hand-movement, actually, Mr. Weasley!"
Pansy frowned down at the mug—purposely biting her lips, he was sure!—as she wrenched her arm away from him. "Dunno what you're on about, Draco. Do I really deserve this treatement, now, d'you think?" She glanced up at him, pouting—rubbing her arm.
"Don't give me this garbage, Parkinson!" he hissed back at her.
She went ahead and actually had the nerve to try looking hurt, and it really became a toss-off, of sorts, whether he was gonna curse her magically or verbally for Draco.
"You've always been brilliant at Charms, Draco—why don't you have a go?" she offered, taking a step back.
It was just, as well, because Draco had been thinking up the most creative "adjustments" he could discreetly make to the girl's appearance.
Draco frowned down at the mug and gave his wand a sharp jab to the bottom, wiggling his wand all the way back to the top, and then he thought hard, Aguamenti.
An icy blue streak of light sprinted out of his wand into the mug—and just like that, the mug was full with water.
"Oh, well done, Mr. Malfoy! Take ten points! Keep on trying, Ms. Parkinson; Make sure to start from the bottom of the mug, Mr. Nott—you were very close... Oh, well done, Ms. Granger, take five points!"
Draco rolled his eyes at the huge grin that overcame Granger. He sneered at her as her eyes landed on him, making sure to silently communicate how unimpressed he was with her—and he felt his heart tingle with warmth as her beam faltered and she averted her eyes.
Pansy snarled as she fumbled yet another attempt at the Water-Making-Charm grabbing Draco's attention. "However did you make it to N.E.W.T. Charms, Pans?" He smirked as she gasped.
Pansy glanced around, looking furious—but of course nobody had heard him. It was one of the reasons why Charms was his second—well, favourite, now!—class at Hogwarts. One could make plans, hex, curse, or enchant someone without anyone the wiser what with of all the shouting going around. Though, it was rather odd that it was still the case considering it was suppose to be non-verbal casting but Draco wasn't gonna get his knickers in a twist about all of that.
"Never mind that!" Pansy—obviously noticing that Flitwick was a tad pre-occupied with MacMillan and Longbottom, who seemed to have properly fucked up their mug—dropped to her chair, looking tired already.
Draco chuckled. "You do realize it's just the first period?"
"Well then, Draco, what's your advice for Potter over there?"
Harry seemed one-hundred-percent out of it. He'd laid his head on the table, and his eyes were shut full close and his chest was rising up and down. Clocked out, for sure.
Draco shrugged. "He's done with his, though..."
Pansy scowled. "What happened between the two of you?"
"None of your business," said Draco with an eye roll. "Go stick your nose somewhere else, yeah?"
"So, something did happen, then?"
Draco just sighed and ignored her for the duration of Charms class.
She was right, though.
Things between him and Harry were... awkward—to say the least!
Harry vehemently insisted that Snape'd indeed got him with a cutting curse—and he'd most certainly not abandoned them on purpose—but Draco wasn't so dense not to recognize that bollocks for what it was.
Snape was good, yeah. He could wipe the floor with Draco. But Harry...
Harry was insane!
Draco shook his head, as memories ran past his eyes.
His creativity, extensive knowledge of curses, jinxes, and hexes—and most of all, his unbelievable reactions... By Merlin, the lad'd gone toe to toe with the friggin' Dark Lord.
Draco snorted.
And then he had the nerve to feed him this bullshit about Snape getting one up over him.
And—as if that wasn't enough—Harry'd actually driven the drivel further down the track, showing off an admittedly nasty-looking gash across his torso.
Theodore'd ate up all the bullshit, right there. And Draco did grudgingly admit to himself that things did look pretty fucking legit and all—he just couldn't shake this feeling... this niggling feeling that something, somewhere just didn't add up.
The bell rang.
"Five inches of the advantages, disadvantages, and uses of the Water-Making Charm. To be presented by the next class. Extra points if you can tell me about the wand-movements and how to actually do the Charm, of course."
Draco quickly bent down and collected his things and dashed out of the classroom, tailing Harry from afar. He was going to find out for himself just what Harry had swept under the rug—the bastard!
Of course, there was always a good chance that the whole thing went to the dogs—it was Harry bloody Potter, after all. The guy was very highly sensitive to magic—as if he didn't have enough magical abilities to begin with, the twat!
The good news was they were at Hogwarts—where there was so much magic in the atmosphere that it should be able to properly mask his magic as he kept tabs on Harry.
That was the plan, anyway.
"Going up, then," Draco muttered to himself and drew Harry's invisibility cloak.
Supper found Harry in a right foul mood.
Ginerva was doing a pretty fucking good job avoiding him. She'd spent three weeks carefully stepping around him at every turn.
To be fair, though, Harry hadn't put in all too much effort into cornering her the first week. He figured she was just playing hard to get, and if he just chased for a few more days, she'd break down.
The fact that Draco, especially, seemed hyper-alert these days, his eyes burning into any and everybody Harry went up to talk to or came up to talk to him.
It was really lucky, really, that Draco and Theodore had detention every-fucking-night—it was the only thing that Snape had done so far that Harry actually appreciated—but after the first three days, Snape started giving Draco and Theodore off to Filch which meant that the two had been skiving off detention and planting memories of them actually doing the detentions every night in the squib's head.
It was brilliant on their part, no doubt about it—but also a fair bit of karma because Harry was actually the one who'd thrown them that idea, but that had been a couple of years ago.
It also meant that Harry hadn't made any actual fucking progress with cornering Ginerva. And now, it'd been three weeks since he'd actually gone ahead and stuffed her. Three weeks and nothing'd changed.
Harry made sure to pack the Map along today—Ginerva had the first two hours off on Wednesdays, see, and Harry fully intended to put an end to this whole cat-and-mouse game skirting shite that they were playing with each other.
At least, that had been the plan.
Before Ginerva had actually gone ahead and disappeared right off the Map on the seventh floor. Harry had been pretty fucking sure his eyes were just playing tricks on him.
But then there was indeed nobody on the seventh floor when Harry climbed his ass up there.
He'd been far from pleased.
Plus, somebody'd been tailing him all day—he was fucking sure of it!
There'd been this buzz tingling around him, all freaking day, and even though all his detection charms had yielded forth naught, Harry was still convinced that someone had spent his day following Harry!
Probably Albus fucking Dumbledore—Harry figured the Headmaster was the only person inside the castle who could one-up Harry.
It hadn't been the best of days for Harry—so he'd come in to supper looking to get in a quick meal and be out of there as soon as possible. Preferaby before anybody noticed just how pissed off he was.
Theodore made sure to shite all over that plan the moment he saw Harry making his way down to the table.
"In a bit of a tizzy, are you?"
Harry didn't reply. He just scowled and got on serving himself.
Theodore huffed. "Fine—would you at least tell me why Drcao stormed off to? Nobody's seen hide nor hair of him since Charms."
Harry shrugged and got started on dinner.
That was thankfully more than enough of a hint for Theodore because he didn't have any more questions for Harry.
Obviously, not everyone could be as observant as Theodore—it was a right shame.
"Oi, Potter—I hear you sent Weasley to the Hospital Wing today; what'd he do to you?"
"Exist, and he's a right lucky bastard—he's still got his bits, doesn't he?" Harry growled back to the fifth-year who'd asked him across the table. "You'll find yourself in the Hospital Wing, as well, soon enough—if you don't shut it right about now! And you'll definitely not have your bits to show for it—I assure you!"
The fifth-year's eyes bugged out as people shifted nervously in their seats all around, warily keeping an eye out on proceedings as chatting kinda stalled. But then, the fifth-year obviously got it into his skull that he couldn't afford to take such an embarrassment, and decided to sit up and actually try looking Harry in the fucking eye.
"Is that a threat?"
Harry didn't even respond, just raised a brow—but after awhile, the boy was a blushing mess.
The table was rather lively that night. Well, in comparison to how dull it usually was—which Harry wouldn't have particularly minded.
It wasn't to be, though. By the time dessert rolled around, chat was pretty heavy all around him and Harry was gritting his teeth together, trying to calm himself but he just ended up coming back to hexes to use...
"So, Potter, play Quidditch?"
It was this boy that Harry vaguely remembered to be in Ginerva's year. She'd complained about him once—or twice... He hadn't really been paying attention at the time. His eyes had been somewhere else.
Harry sighed.
Ginerva...
Funny, she hadn't made it to supper either.
"Mr. Potter."
Well, well, if it isn't the esteemed Headmaster... "Headmaster." Harry's cool reply seemed to confuse the Slytherins, and whispers exploded around him, narrowed eyes watching the exchange.
"If you would please accompany me to my office..."
Harry raised a brow. They'd had a Riddle meeting just yesterday and Dumbledore, himself, had told Harry—in no uncertain terms—that he could hold those meetings but once a week.
"Can I finish my treacle-tart?"
"Really, Harry?!" Theodore hissed in his ear.
A twinkle went off in Dumbledore's eyes.
Harry sneered at Theodore and rose to his feet, following the Headmaster out of the Hall, the whispers somehow steadily growing louder until Harry whirled about and leveled a glare at the entirety of the Hall, hovering between the doorway—and, for that one second, it was blissfully quiet and then the gamekeeper laughed his booming laugh and everyone seemed to take it as a cue to speak again.
Imbeciles!
Harry tried to wriggle information out of Dumbledore before they made it to his office. But Dumbledore remained tight-lipped about what this was all about. Instead, the Headmaster decided to use their walk to work on his whistling skills.
And somehow they didn't end up in Dumbledore's office but right outside the Hogwarts gates, Harry prickling from confusion.
"What's the meaning of this, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore just carried on whistling—obviously keeping Harry abreast of things was rather low on the Headmaster's list of priorities!
They came to a stop before Hog's Head Inn, and Harry took the opportunity to have a look around; after all, he hadn't been to Hogsmead since they'd staged the whole "Death-Eater kidnapping" thing—it'd been what? three weeks, already, hadn't it?
The ashes that were under Gladrags Wizardwear looked untouched. Harry winced at that. He knew Mrs. Gladrags, the hag that owned the store; she had enough issues, already, and he figured her losing her store wasn't exactly helping matters. Harry made a mental note to send her a neat donation one of these days.
Harry hoped she could be back up in about a month—just in time for Halloween. Fucking hell, September had gone by quick, hadn't it?
Dogweed and Deathcap, as well, looked like it'd never return to it's glory days. But Harry didn't mind that much. Of course, Blaise was gonna be devastated when she found out that her favourite store had been burnt to the ground; after all, where else could you purchase poisons without any age-restriction on the Isles? But Harry figured she'd have much more pressing issues once she finally awoke from her coma.
Andrew claimed she was doing better. Even though he'd hardly sounded convincing over the Mirror talk they'd had yesterday, Harry was feeling a tad bolstered.
Of course, Draco had dismissed it as pure garbage but the Malfoy heir had been in a right foul mood lately; Theodore said it was the boy's "time of the month"! Harry was inclined to agree.
The others seemed to have made it right back to their previous state, which really wasn't so surprising. Madam Pudifoot's Tea Shop was mad popular so it stood to reason, really, that she'd managed to get her store up and running again so quickly.
It was rather shocking to note that Spintwitches Sporting Needs had gotten themselves back up so quickly, as well.
Maybe he'd check them out sometime.
"Your hand, Harry!"
Harry looked up into Dumbledore. "Side-along?" He received no answer, just the fucking twinkling eyes.
Grumbling, Harry entwined his hand with Dumbledore and felt his body compress as the usual sensation of Side-Apparition overcame him.
They landed without a pop, and Harry immediately began glancing around, trying to figure out where the hell Dumbledore'd brought him. It was very familiar, actually—
In fact, he'd been here just a month ago or so.
12 Grimmauld Place. Funny, that. Harry'd been certain when he'd cajoled Fudge into letting him go in the summer that he'd most definitely not be sitting foot within this place ever again.
Holy Merlin, this place was depressing!
There were literally cobwebs and shit dangling from the roof. Harry even thought he made out some spiders. Now, Harry generally wasn't much of a wuss but the spiders—and the whole place really—really brought back some rather shitty memories to mind.
And the curiousity on the people's face seated around the dining table was hardly helping.
Dumbledore had gone to take a seat at the head of the table. Harry, however, chose to go to stand with Fred and George, who'd been smiling up at him. Harry exchanged quick fist-bumps with the Twins, and gave a sneer at Fletcher, chuckling when the midget glanced away sharply, a shudder going through him.
"Wanna introduce us, Albus?" The speaker was a man, a scarred man. It was harder to find parts of his face that didn't have scars than parts that did. Half of his nose was gone, he had a freaking magical eye that had been spinning around wildly but was now pretty focused on him, getting wider as it took him...
Harry slowly began smiling. "Really think that's necessary, Mad-Eye?" He was fully smirking now. It'd been a while since they'd run to one another, yes—couple of years, actually—but Harry didn't think Mad-Eye'd forgotten him that quickly. It really wasn't at all surprising that Alastor, freaking "Mad-Eye" Moody found himself in the Order of Phoenix.
Mad-Eye's eyes narrowed, and Harry felt his insides squirm. "Do I know you, kid?"
Harry smirked, bristling on the inside. "I don't know, Mad-Eye. Do you...?"
Mad-Eye was quiet now, observing Harry with rapt attention. Harry chuckled and turned to the Twins. "Only took 'em four years to forget the Silver Boy, and you wonder why they retired his arse..." he muttered under his breath.
Fred and George snorted at that, earning themselves a sullen glare from Mad-Eye.
"Come, now, Harry—you told me you wanted to be treated like an adult, not some "common student"..." Dumbledore held Harry's eye. "Well, this is the Order of the Phoenix."
Harry glanced around.
He didn't recognize a whole lot of people. He picked out the Twins' Mum, looking at him with this look of disapproval which Harry chuckled at. It was more surprising to see parents looking at him with approval than without it.
"What's he here for, anyways Dumbledore? How old is he, the poor dear? Seventeen? He's just a child!"
"I'm a full-blown adult!" Harry was indignant. "I can do what the bloody hell I want, I'll have you know. And besides, the day any of you go and bloody duel the freaking Dark Lord, you give me a hoot, yeah?"
Mrs. Weasley was hardly impressed—neither were many of the rest. Harry couldn't be arsed.
Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling like mad and he was actually smiling like he found the whole thing pretty fucking funny.
"Molly, please—like Harry, himself, said, he is indeed an adult and more than capable of making his own... decisions." Harry scowled at the slight stutter. "And Harry, I will ask that you be more respectful towards our members..." The warning in itself was friendly enough but Harry needed just glance at Dumbledore to know how serious he was. His eyes weren't even twinkling anymore.
That girl that Harry'd cursed on his way to the Shrieking Shack was sizing him up with a frown. Or, at least Harry thought it was the same girl. She had the same heart-shaped face, and the same dark twinkling eyes—the hair was mousy brown, though.
"Hang on; it is you!" She looked a lot less angry than she sounded which amused Harry. "Merlin's shaggy balls—"
Gasps went off.
"Tonks!" someone said scoldingly.
"I thought I recognized you from somewhere! You're that bloody kid from Hogsmead! Why didn't you tell me it was Harry freaking Potter we were after, that night?" Harry smirked.
Quiet whispers shot off as people began discussing the revelation.
Dumbledore cleared his thraot and the place returned to silence, all heads dutifully turning to face the great Albus Dumbledore. Harry snorted and ignored the funny looks he got.
"Thank you. My guest on this occasion is indeed a one Harry Potter. He will be listening in on this meeting. Please..." And here Dumbledore seemed to focus on Snape
—Then on this man with a gaunt face, sunken skin, and there was this faint scent of stale drink around him, and his clothes were all crumpled like he'd had them on for like a week.
The man beside him nudged him and gave him something of a warning glance, and Harry took his eyes off the man, a tad unnerved and shaken by their staring contest.
"So what? He's not joining the Order, then? I noted that you said he'd be 'listening in'..."
Harry raised a brow at the man. His shabby wizarding robes and his properly zonked out state, as well—not to mention he was really pale and he definitely looked like was ill—didn't exactly suggest he was really all that there upstairs...
"Yes, Remus—Harry wanted to reserve judgement from an unbiased perspective. Isn't that right, Harry?"
Harry scowled as heads suddenly turned his way. He could legit smell the suspicion—Mad-Eye reeked of it—and confusion coming off them as they glared into him. He gave a sharp nod and glanced away.
Thanks alot, Dumbledore!
"Hang on—you're that kid!"
Harry couldn't help but grin at Mad-Eye. The man's magical-eye had snapped towards him so fast that it popped out of his eye and landed on the table wth a soft 'plop.'
Harry couldn't have held his snort in even if he'd tried.
Funnily enough—turns out, Mad-Eye's glaring was alright even with the one eye. Harry had very little difficulty admitting to himself that scared lil' seven year-old him would've legit straight-up pissed all over himself right there looking into the empty socket—no sweat!
Seventeen-year old Harry's heart was sprinting really fast—like he was on a broom, diving for a snitch or some other tosh. His arse was on a stool in a dining room with a bunch of idiots who probably thought anything more dangerous than a fucking stunner should be illegal, and yet his heart seemed to think he was dueling Voldemort a-fucking-gain.
Bril—the things looking into an empty eye-socket could to fuck up a lad.
"We're gonna have a really nice, long chat after this meeting, me and you—yer hear me, laddie? Just me and you—Merlin, I should've had yer ass carted off to Azkaban the minute I saw yer crawling in Knocturn."
Harry smirked. The way he spoke—Mad-Eye was blaming himself for what Harry'd turned into, was he?
Hilarious!
"Maybe if you'd gotten another crack at that silver before the Ministry retired your arse..."
Mad-Eye couldn't have glared any harder. "Oh, laddie—you'll be lucky to escape our meeting with all your limbs."
Harry snorted. "What're you going for, then? Coming out of anything with your bits intact must be a roaring success from where you're standing." Fred and George burst out laughing beside him and he could clearly see people deliberately trying to hold in their laughs all around the table.
Mad-Eye huffed. "Fucking Silver Boy!" he muttered.
The rest of the Order seemed to have loads to input to that, though. Harry couldn't help but wonder if they were usually this slow to react... If so, it definitely explained why Voldemort was having so much of a field day with the whole war debacle...
"What?!"
"...The criminal?"
"...Oh, the poor lad..."
"...Didn't they catch him a while back?" Harry snorted at that, catching Mad-Eye's eyes. Thankfully, he'd shoved his magical eye right back into the socket. It really helped sit Harry's stomach in order. He'd just had supper not half an hour ago—he really didn't fancy it coming back out so soon.
The Ministry'd really pushed that narrative far, though, hadn't they? Judging by the way Mad-Eye was frowning—he even managed to get the bloke who opened his mouth to spew such rubbish to squeak and duck his head much to Harry's and the twins amusement—Harry was going to go ahead and assume Mad-Eye was still seething 'bout the whole getting forcefully retired episode.
"Enough!" Dumbledore roared. "We'll discuss this at a later date, is that clear?"
"Woah, now, hold your hippogriffs—I never said any of this was true. You're just gonna go ahead then and assume that I'm the Silver Boy—one of the most notorious criminals of the century, by the way—just because this barmy old retired Auror said so?"
Harry felt a very warm feeling of pride cloud him as mutterings broke out.
"...He doesn't exactly look like 'em, now, does he?"
"I mean, what are the chances that Harry Potter's also the bloody Silver Boy?"
"He's just a child, after all, isn't he?!"
Harry scowled at Mrs. Weasley's words—but figured he was better off letting that particular one go, no matter how much it stung.
"We'll see, laddie..." Mad-Eye wagged his one good brow at Harry—his other one Harry'd singed off. He smirked at the memory. "I'm gonna be there at this "meeting", Albus, yer hear?"
Harry wasn't too sure if Mad-Eye was asking or telling Dumbledore. Either way, he wasn't too happy with it. "Now, hold on, one second—"
"Just why does Mad-Eye need to be there at all?"
"Well, Black—" Snape began.
"Oh, stuff it, Snivellus! No one asked you to butt in, how about you go take a good shower?" There was a bit of tittering and Harry struggled to look neutral. Snape was already doing his best to complicate life at Hogwarts, as it was. He really didn't need to put more wood under the fire.
"People!... Now that that's settled..." There was a bit of shuffling and shifting on chairs and a whole lot of blushing, and apologetic faces and Harry snorted. Dumbledore looked like a grandfather scolding his grand-children at the top of his table.
Dumbledore glanced to his left. "Severus, if you don't mind..."
Snape cleared his throat, and then took a moment to glare around as if he found it very important to show just how much he detested every single person present before he began speaking.
"The Dark Lord continues to insist that he most certainly doesn't have any knowledge of the Zabini girl. He has voiced his belief that this was a rogue Death-Eater holding a grudge against the Zabini family—Dogweed and Deathcap was one of the Hogsmead shops to be burnt to the ground, if you remember. It also happens to the only shop on the Isles that sells any potion with the Death-cap in it..."
That seemed to somber up the congregation, so Harry—following suit—bit his cheeks to stop from smiling.
Some people harbouring a grudge on the Zabini's. He was so gonna have to get that back to Andrew and the rest. Maybe if he and Draco and Theodore snuck out tonight... The big exchange was meant to be at midnight, tonight, either way, wasn't it?
Mad-Eye was speaking now with his gruff voice. "... checks out all very well and all, I know, Albus—but just think, these Death-Eater managed to best Snape over there—"
"Cheap shot!" Snape glowered at Mad-Eye.
"Can't believe the day's here—a Slytherin's actually whining about a cheap-shot." Harry allowed himself to show some amusement at that; after all, a fair amount of people laughed at the gaunt-faced bloke's jest. It was also probably really unlikely Snape could pick him out in such a crowd—after all, over here, he was hardly the only one Snape seemed to loathe.
Like the bloke who'd gone ahead and jested Snape about his getting cheap-shotted. Snape looked like he was trying to straight-up murder the geezer with his eyes—forget the wand!
"Point is, these rogue Death Eaters—whoever they are—couldn't possibly have slipped under the radar that long. I mean, one of them actually managed to make Fiendfyre—"
"That's not too difficult, though—"
"He had it under control, laddie!" The Weasley who'd dared open his mouth gulped and shut it right back up. He was rewarded for his trouble, though—this stunning witch behind him softly rubbed his shoulder, whispering things in his ear. It seemed to have worked, because the Weasley was smiling not long after, his eyes positively shining.
"... wretched control out of his hands—and that's another thing I would love to know; who were those people who fought them?"
"My brother informs me that they were having a drink at his Inn when they caught sight of the fire—"
"And they felt it was their duty to help out?" Snape sounded skeptical. Harry couldn't blame him. In his experience, that was generally never the actual driving force.
"Well, obviously, they wanted to help out!" The female looked affronted that somebody wouldn't want to help out.
Nobody bothered countering her and for a few seconds, silence weighed down on them.
"You don't understand, Hestia—most people cannot combat Fiendfyre. The recommended action by the Ministry when one sees Fiendfyre is to run...—"
"Yeah, I get that, Remus—but we all know the Ministry's just a bunch of tossers actually making life a whole lot worse for all of us!" The woman finished with a flourish. A round of "Hear, hear!" and general agreement went about. "No offense, Shackelbolt!"
"None taken—if the Ministry actually allowed us Aurors to do our job, we could at least keep Azkaban half full!"
"Hestia," the shrewd man from before began and Harry sat up, taking up interest, "whilst I do agree that the Ministry's just garbage—"
Noises of agreement, all round.
"We also must factor in the sheer number of people who have no idea how to properly handle Fiendfyre. Fleeing Fiendfyre isn't really special now, is it? I mean, in all plain honesty, how many of us here today can handle Fiendfyre?" Not many people dared to look into the man's feral eyes.
"Yes, well, not all of us can teach Defense..."
The man smiled and for a moment he looked almost normal, like someone in his late twenties. "Point taken, Arthur."
"So... so what?! So yeah, we've got two blokes who can control Fiendfyre—"
"Very advanced magic, Emmeline," Dumbledore said, fingers entwined. He was looking very serious for once, taking off his glasses and wiping them with his robes. "This is a big concern because these two are probably very talented wizards and if they are indeed siding with Voldemort... the scales are tipped even less in our favour."
Dumbledore's words seemed to have sucked all the hope and joy out of the room, leaving people exchanging gloomy glances with each other.
"Well, now, hold on one second—we've still got Harry bleeding Potter, haven't we? I mean, he's the Chosen One, right?" Harry scowled at that. He still couldn't believe the Ministry was actually going ahead with that.
He really needed to give Fudge a hoot. Maybe a Howler'd do it! For sure, he should be getting recompensation for enduring all of this bullshit. And he'd yet to explode, yet. Now, granted he'd just literally weeks ago found out about it because at Hogwarts, Theodore almost forced him to read the paper every fucking day. But still—Fudge and the Ministry really needed Harry, didn't they? Good publicity and all that good shite was really important to those guys high up there, wasn't it?
Chosen One! What a load of tosh!
"He's just a boy!" Harry scowled at Mrs. Weasley's words.
"I'm seventeen!"
"Practically a baby!" Mad-Eye growled.
"Oi, round the bend, are you?!" Gasps went off and muttering flailed him. "And you're scratching your head, wondering why the Ministry sat your arse on a bin—I fucking duelled Voldemort to a stalemate, you dense thck-headed—"
Mad-Eye leapt to his feet and his eye popped out of his socket again. And this time, Harry didn't even flinch inside all that much. "Oi, you best keep your tongue in check when you're talking to me, laddie! I will not be disrespected—"
"Respect is earned, not given!"
"Oh, I'll earn your respect alright!" Mad-Eye growled—and then his wand was in his palm in a blink of an eye—
They didn't get much done in the way of progress after that. A furious Harry made towards the Floo right after the meeting was done but Dumbledore had other plans.
That gaunt bloke with the matted hair from back at the meeting was with him. His friend that looked ill was shifting nervously from foot to foot, remaining behind.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet, Harry."
Harry appraoched them with narrowed eyes. "Haven't I met enough people on your behalf?" Just last week, it'd been Slughorn at a "meeting to see how they could help him with Potions."
Now, granted getting that memory for Dumbledore had been relatively easy once Harry had turned all cold against Slughorn but still—there wasn't exactly too much common ground between persuading someone to give up a memory and a meeting to help with Potions.
Harry'd only kept it in because Dumbledore went ahead and assured him that the memory was crucial to this Hocrux mess. Next week's Riddle meeting was gonna be very interesting; Harry couldn't wait.
Dumbledore chuckled and made so that Harry followed him. Harry spared the gaunt-man a glance. "I think you'll enjoy this one."
Harry snorted. "Now, there's something you don't hear everyday..."
The man grinned, showing Harry his yellow teeth—but Harry could glimpse something of old handsomeness lurking behind the gauntness on his face. Dumbledore shuffled them into the library, and Harry began glancing around, taking in the dark tomes with some interest.
"My family were a real dark lot..."
That stole Harry's attention away from 101 Ways to Castrate a Man. "You're a Black?"
The man fidgeted, looking to Dumbledore for directions. "Harry—Sirius, here, is your godfather—"
"Sirius Black?!"
The man forced a grin. "In the flesh."
Harry just stood there, stunned, not exactly sure what to make of all of this. One thing, he did know, though—he couldn't get his wand out fast enough!
Harry and Andrew were leaning against the lamppost—like they'd planned. Liza and Emily were just round the bend, on the off-chance that things ended up going south. It was always nice having a throwback plan, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside when an absolute bellend decided to whip out a gun and make you stare down the barrel.
Draco and Theodore were actually lounging back at DHQ, ready to interrogate their kidnapee—sometimes, Harry really envied those two. Of course, they were absolutely useless when it came to muggle business but still—you'd think they'd at least just once have been forced to be exposed to the harsh reality of the Muggle street-life. You know, considering they'd been involved with them for about six years now.
"Bollocks," Andrew was saying, "you mean to tell me that Sirius Black didn't actually rat your parents out to You-Know-Who?"
Harry made a noise of agreement, rubbing his hands together. He probably should've had warmer clothes on than the jeans and the T-shirt he had on that read 'Can you smell what the Rock's cooking'—but there wasn't a whole lot he could do about that right now. "Turns out it was Pettigrew—another friend of my father's," he elaborated when Andrew started looking lost.
Andrew took a puff of his cigarrette. "Ain't that the one who snagged himself an Order of Merlin for getting blown up?"
Harry blew a breath out, his eyes skittering about, looking for any sign of Pyrites. There were like no cars on the road, and the only sounds at this time of the night came from pubs nearby.
"Yeah, First Class even—"
Andrew whistled.
"Apparently he staged the whole thing, though. It was pretty fucked up, man."
Andrew turned to frown at Harry. "What if Black's just faking the whole shit, man? I mean, it sounds unbelievable as fuck to me, man—Pettigrew living as an animagus for that long and Sirius Black breaks out just to catch him? How can you even be sure he's not just trying to take advantage of the whole I'm your god-father shit. Sounds a bit dodgy to me, if I'm being honest."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, but he actually just went ahead and showed me memories in his Pensieve so... What time's it anyway? It's getting awfully dark."
Andrew took another drag. "Almost midnight. He ought to be here soon. So, Black rotted away all them years in Azkaban for no reason, then?"
Harry made a noise of agreement; he'd had plenty of time to come to terms with it. "Pretty fucked up, innit?"
Andrew drew one long, last puff from his cigarette and then put it out with his feet. "I'd 'a broken out a hella lot sooner if it'd been me."
Harry snorted. "Don't doubt it. You know the Ministry's actually still got him down as the one who killed the Dursleys?"
Andrew burst out laughing. He stopped laughing after a good while when he realized Harry wasn't laughing with him—but wondering why Andrew was laughing. "You're not having me on?!" Harry shook his head. "The Ministry's gone bloody mental, I tell ya. I can't believe they never figured out that was you. Two botched-up investigations in the space of—what? Fourteen years? Fucking ludricous! And you wonder why I never applied for a job at the Ministry. Bet you I'd get in, no sweat, if I actually wanted."
Harry snorted. "Momentarily, maybe. They'd have to be thicker than any player actually willing to sign with the Cannons not to lay your sorry arse off after a couple of hours, at most!"
Harry had to duck the knuckle sandwich that Andrew served him.
Andrew was quite the weedy lad—and he looked much younger than his twenty-three-years which was rather odd since he was a were-wolf and all—but yeah, but he could thump right hard.
"Oi, what's up with you tryna twat me?"
Andrew snorted. "That's for being a git. Gellert still seething 'bout the whole Figg fiasco, by the way?"
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, he was really brassed off when he found out. I'm pretty safe here in the Isles, though—he fancies himself a bloody young man reborn down there in Italy or whatever he's forcing the elves to feed him in his Manor." Harry shrugged when Andrew turned to face him, looking really dubious. "Load of bollocks, obviously—but I bet you're not about to volunteer to go down to Italy and tell Gellert that to his face, now, are you?"
Andrew shifted his feet. "You bet your arse I'm not. He's a right self-righteous, thick-headed bastard—I'm sorry but it's true, and you know it, too." Andrew avoided Harry's eyes.
"Yeah..." Harry sighed. "Quit doing that, will you—I'm not likely to go running off, squealing on you like some nancy-boy, now, am I?" Andrew didn't respond, still rather stony and Harry huffed. "Mate, I'm the bloody gaffer now, what the fuck am I gonna go running off to Gellert for?" He couldn't even speak Italian for fuck's sake—wouldn't even have a chance to get a snog, let alone a nice shag. They did have some very tidy women, now, down in Italy, didn't they?
"He sees you as a son, doesn't he? Bet you see 'em as a Dad, as well." Was that jealousy he was hearing? Right, he was going to handle that properly later.
"So what if he practically raised me? What're you trying to say?" Andrew glanced at him, and then glanced away, shaking his head, muttering something under his breath but it was too low for Harry to catch any of it. "No, spit it out. If you've got summin' to say, I wanna hear it!"
Andrew shrugged. "I'm just saying—if it'd been me who'd properly gone ahead and cocked it up with Figg, he'd have fucking torn me a new one and—"
"Hang on—just what the fuck d'you think he did to me then?" he snarled, running an agitated hand through his hair. "Invted me over so the two of us could get shitfaced or some other random rot?"
Andrew shrugged again. "I'm just saying, if it'd been me he'd have began hurling AK's the minute I landed in Italy."
Harry just raised a brow.
"Oh, get stuffed, Harry—that didn't happen and you know it! You'd be dead if it did."
"What? Is it so much of a stretch to think I could best Grindewald?" he quipped.
Andrew didn't even utter a word, he just continued to look into Harry with an arched brow.
"Oh, sod off, yeah? Let me remind you that I handed Voldemort's arse to him in a fucking package, so... so yeah! I'm alright with a wand, I'd say—"
"Mate, you got really lucky and you know it—"
"I'm not the one who was struggling with some fucking Death-Eaters! I mean, when was your last Death-Eater capture, huh, Andrew? Couple of months, innit? Been a rather quiet summer for you in that department, hasn't it?"
Andrew growled at him. "When was the last time you came on a fucking mission, you... Ever since you became gaffer, it's really been all partying, and getting sloshed, hasn't it?"
Harry glared up at Andrew. "You watch your mouth, Andrew—Voldemort's tryna kill me, I'll have you know."
Andrew rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure—Harry bleeding Potter, can't be arsed about showing up for missions 'cos guess what? You know the dark geezer who's kinda the fucking leader of the bloody group we're tryna take down? He really wants to fuck Harry over, doesn't he? Poor baby Potter." He made some fake crying noises. "Boo-hoo, mate, shitty life, stop whinging about it already!"
Harry huffed, blowing the hair out of his eyes, his fists all clenched and he was breathing rather heavily.
"Yeah, well at least I've actually got some actual fucking ample cause behind my shite. You're just fucking pissed off because you're twenty-fucking-three this year and you've been with Versace—what? almost your whole fucking life, innit?—and guess who comes along and gets crowned gaffer? Harry fucking Potter, that's who—the fucking kid you fucking recruited a whole fucking decade ago. But guess what? The kid's better than you now, isn't he?"
Andrew didn't hold back as he pulled his fist back and twatted him in the face. Harry staggered from the blow and when he'd properly recovered, he saw Andrew at the junction, almost out of sight.
"Yeah, go on then—run away, you fucking twat!" Andrew stiffened at that and Harry rubbed his nose and swore when he realized it was broken. When he glanced back up, Andrew was nowhere in sight.
His Mirror vibrated.
It was Emily.
"Harry?" She was frowning. "You alright? Where the bloody hell's Andrew stormed off to? And what's up with your nose? Dunno if you've noticed but there's blood streaming out of it. It's two to midnight, by the way—just thought you should know."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh wow, really helpful, Em."
"It's what I'm here for, after all," she deadpanned. "No, but in all seriousness, though—what the bloody fuck's going on? I'm legit worried, right now."
A new face blurred into sight. "Andrew get his knickers in a twist about you getting the gaffer position again?"
"What the fuck?!—has this happened before then?"
Liza yawned. "Man, I'm knackered. What? Yeah, of course, it has—not to you, obviously, but he's been crying about it to me and Emily for a right long while. So why'd you blow up at him for a change?"
"He was beng a right foul blindered twat—he's lucky he got off with all his limbs in tact."
Liza started cackling and Harry glared at her through the Mirror. "I'm sorry, it's just rather ironic, isn't it?—that you're calling him lucky and yet you're bleeding from your nose like a slaughtered cow." She went on cackling and Harry snarled.
"You're in position, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, Harry—have some faith, would you?" Emily said as Liza went on laughing. Completely off her rocker, that one. Emily loaded her gun.
"You know, I never asked but I reckon Dumbledore's been in a right fit 'cos of you."
Harry smirked. "Hey, what's a few more grey hairs, know what I mean?" Emily laughed.
"Been one hell of a summer, hasn't it?"
Harry shrugged. "Eventful, for sure."
A crack rippled through the sky. "Alright, Em, gotta go—where the fuck's Liz at?!"
"Keep your damn head on, will ya?!" Liza grumbled at him through the mirror and then his screen went blank.
"Right." Harry pocketed his mirror and tailed the man who'd just apparated down the street with his eyes, making sure to look like he couldn't give any fucks, leaning against the lamppost. He didn't whistle—he figured that'd be stretching it.
The man began walking determinedly down towards him and Harry saw—much to his delight—that he had a duffel bag in hand. He stopped in front of Harry. "You him?"
Harry turned to face him.
He got to Harry's nose. And he was dressed in a muggle business suit, though the effect was ruined with his long hair. The bloke also looked really uncomfortable in the suit, glancing around him with skittering eyes, and Harry could literally smell the nerves on him.
Harry smirked. "Him? Who's him?" The man frowned at him as he pushed off the lamppost and closed the gap between them. "D'you have my memories, Marius?"
The man swallowed thickly and nodded curtly. Harry smiled. "Good, now hand it over really nicely."
In one swift motion, the man brought out a gun—and was pointing it directly in the spot between his eyes. His hand was shaking a bit.
Harry sneered. "D'you even know how to use that thing? You think—"
"Doesn't matter what I think! Doesn't matter! I've got a gun, and you can't get your wand out that fast—you fuck this up and you're gone. Lights out!" Harry scowled. Every fucking time some fucker just had to go ahead and pull of some dodgy stuff. Why couldn't these fuckers ever keep their word?
"Now, here's how this shit's gonna go down!"
Harry swallowed, making sure to do his best to look really nervous and shaky. It was hard to, really, when he knew that a couple of storeys above them, Emily was waiting for a signal to pull the trigger. "What'd you want?"
Another crack sounded—and another bloke came swaggering down. This one was in wizarding robes. He hadn't bothered, at all with the whole blending in ruse that his mate had taken his time to implement. He let out a delighted laugh when he saw what was going on and slapped his comrade on the back.
Funny, that—Sanguini and his clan had assured Harry that they'd be taking care of Teffington for him.
Perhaps, he needed to go have a nice little chat with with the vampires—remind them not to muck about with their promises, thank you very much. Besides, it'd been a while since he'd met up with Camilla—the little tease princess—and since Ginerva was being difficult... yeah, that sounded bril.
Teffington made sure to sneer into Harry's face—obviously, he remembered Harry. Shame, that. "So, we meet again—right funny stunt you were tryna pull of over here, mate," he spat that last word out with some force. "Thought you could one-up us, did ya?" Harry grimaced at all the spite his face was collecting.
He pulled his head back and showed the man his teeth, all the while jutting out his thumb in a thumbs-up. "You know—"
Teffington suddenly groaned, and his eyes wide, clutching his stomach, fell to the ground—
Marius glanced around wildly and his hand with the gun fell limp—
And then a shot went off—but luckily enough, at least from Marius's perspective anyway, he'd left that very spot the second before.
So, he lived on. Yet another shame.
Harry's wand holster spat out his wand with a thought and Harry gave it a rigid flick. Expelliarmus.
The gun felt rather nice in Harry's left hand.
He pointed the gun at Marius—who made sure to hold his hands out, practically begging Harry not to pull the trigger—and trained his wand on Teffington. "Now, here's how this shit's actually gonna go down—"
Before Harry could get any more words out, Teffington shot some sickly yellow curse his way and he was forced to duck and back-pedal as the two gave chase after him.
He shot off a Aufero Praecius over his back—which, considering if it landed, of course, caused internal bleeding—should've deterred Teffington, but the bloke just side-stepped the shadowy tornado-like beam of light and shot off a Killing Curse.
Classic Death-Eater move, Harry thought as he easily side-stepped the emerald-green curse and give his wand a ruthless slash over his shoulder as he continued to back-pedal and the two gave chase and thought Kowiou.
A groan sounded and the footfalls slowed behind Harry. He whirled around to take in the scene. They were about a whole block further ahead from where the original deal'd been suppose to take place.
That meant that Emily was probably out of range to take these two blighters out. Which meant it was up to him to wrap this shite up all by himself. Joyous.
Thankfully, it seemed his Kowiou had caught Marius out. Why else would the geezer be lying on the ground and Teffington be kneeling beside him. And was the idiot fucking begging Marius to hold on. Funny, that—obviously he didn't know that particular cutting curse wasn't fatal.
Harry raised his wand to finish Teffington—
But then suddenly, Teffington went all rigid and then slumped on top of his partner.
Harry glanced around wildly, wand and gun out at the ready—never know when it was a chap just looking to clean house, after all.
It was just Andrew, however. Looking very sheepish. "Thought you could use the help," he said as he came to stand before Harry.
Harry lowered his wand and his gun. He sneered at the boy. "Really? Did you, now? Took you long enough to come back to your senses." He walked towards Marius and Teffington and Andrew followed him.
He prodded Teffington with his wand. "Petrificus Totalus?"
"Yeah."
"Right. Pick him up." Andrew bent down and pulled Teffington off of his mate. Liza and Emily came running down the street, meanwhile, and Harry whirled to face them, a few words on his mind.
"So, what—you two were alright just letting these two shoot hexes and bullets my way?"
Liza was far from apologetic. "Hey, you're still alive!—dunno what's got in you a tizzy."
Harry gaped at her in disbelief. "Right. Right. How about the fact that—"
"See what I have to deal with during missions, mate?"
"I'm still right pissed off at you, Andrew, so belt it up, yeah?"
"Just saying—I've got it pretty hard."
"Stuff it, you!"
"See? Tell me that's not downright dodgy—"
"Well now," Theodore cut him off, "this doesn't prove a whole lot, now, does it?"
"What the fuck are you about?" Draco roared, pointing to the scene playing out in front of them. "Don't you see him climbing up the stairs pretty fucking fast, looking down at the Map for directions."
"So that suddenly means he's hiding something?"
Draco wasn't amused. "Mate, this is legit proof that Harry was hiding something."
Theodore rolled his eyes and gave chase after Harry as the boy climbed up the seventh floor. "No, this just proves that he was out looking for something today."
"And I'll bet you all the Malfoy gold—"
"D'you even still have that?"
"—That this has a fair bit to do with whatever the fuck actually happened on that night."
"Oh, for fuck's sake—you're not stilll holding on that bollocks theory about Harry not actually getting hexed by Snape, are you?"
"It's not bollocks!—you don't actually think Snape could take him, do you?"
Theodore shrugged. "Well, I suppose if he got lucky, he could—and Harry was probably really distracted on that night, not looking all around and shit. What's he doing pacing around?"
Draco shrugged at him. He hadn't been able to figure that out, either. "Dunno. The Map led him here, I'm guessing—and that's another point I wanna make, he was obviously following someone—"
"Like you were following him, you mean."
Draco waved Theodore's words off, bristling slightly. "Necessities, mate, you know that. Anyway, he was obviously following someone because why else would you need the Map? I'm thinking he lost the person—"
"But that's not possible—"
"Yeah, I fucking know that, alright, now shut up and listen to my two Knuts! I reckon he wasn't looking at the Map too closely, obviously lost her—"
"What makes you think it's a her he was following?"
"What? You think Harry bailed on us for a fucking bloke? I'm pretty fucking sure Harry isn't a bender—"
"That'd be hilarious."
"I know, right? Anyway, I reckon he wasn't watching the Map too closely and lost track of her so when he goes off to the seventh floor—"
The ground shook and a tremor went through them and the two shared a glance. "Shit. They're back." Draco knew very well what the shuddering meant—somebody was coming through the wards.
Draco raised his hands up and allowed the currents in the Pensieve to carry him back up. Theodore landed next to him a second later, and Draco drew out his wand and conjured a flask.
"Was that the end of the memory?" Theodore asked him.
"Pretty much." Draco carefully levitated the memory out of the Pensieve and into the flask. The last thing he needed was for Harry to realize that Draco was onto him. He quickly stuffed the flask into his pocket and just about then, Harry materialised before them with a bloody—like he was actually bleeding—Marius in hand.
A second later, Andrew apparated in beside him with Teffington in hand. And then, Liza popped in—Emily cringing beside her, holding a duffel bag. Liza wasn't known for being tender with her side-Apparitions.
Draco raised a brow. "Dunno if it's just me but this wasn't exactly the plan, now, was it?" Theodore voiced Draco's thoughts.
Harry snorted and pushed Marius into the pre-pepared chair they'd set up for the interrogation. Invisible chains suddenly closed around Marius and he struggled for a good while. "Got the potion?"
Draco went into the wooden cabinet propped up against the wall and dug it out for Harry, who forced the clear, colourless, and odourless potion—sometimes Draco struggled to see the difference between Veritaserum and water—down Marius's throat. The bloke thrashed for a good while as the potion flowed through his blood stream, dampening his magic and rendering him little better than a fucking Squib.
Very handy potion when you were trying to get answers out of a guy. Illegal, as well, of course—at least, in the way that they were using it. Thankfully, there was little to no chance that the Ministry actually ended up finding out about this.
And it was bloody expensive.
But it was totally worth it when after three whole minutes, Marius suddenly stilled and he blinked his eyes, looking dazed. "What the fuck've you done to him?" Teffington asked.
Draco turned around and nodded. Liza and Andrew apparated out of the place immediately and Emily went on ahead and actually just winged it—muggle-style. She just placed her legs around the pole and pulled herself up.
Harry went and grabbed Marius's mate—Teffington and dumped him in the other chair, as well. "What the hell is he doing here, anyway?" That hadn't been the plan. That seemed to be happening quite alot these days come to think of it.
Harry shrugged. "Might wanna ask his friend that."
Theodore squatted before Marius—and the man immediately tried to give Theodore's face a good kick. To his credit, Theodore didn't flinch—probably because he knew the chains would close up around Marius before he could connect with Theodore. Which it did.
"So, Marius, pretty shitty day, eh?" Theodore began. "Bet this wasn't exactly how you planned your Saturday, is it?"
Draco snorted as Harry conjured a stuffy sofa for himself and got comfortable.
It was time to dance now. They'd play hard—they always did. But in the end, they'd get the dirt on the rest of the Death-Eaters. And they'd have the information they needed.
Draco stroked his wand tentatively. It was a damned good thing he'd already mastered the tracking charm.
Guys, I was kinda wondering—because I already have the plot all planned out in my head—would you guys prefer if I completed the story before posting it or if I continue to slowly update it till the end?
REVIEW, GUYS! THEY REALLY BRIGHTEN UP MY DAYS—REVIEWS!