For those aware, with this update(chap21), FFNet will be caught up with Ao3. Expect updates on both sites from this point on. To prove that I have taken control of this account from the impostor, I'll post the latest, chap 22, on FFNet before I post it on Ao3. That will be a one off thing since Ao3 is my main bae. Every update after will be at the same time. Hopefully there will be no more confusion moving forward and we can all just enjoy reading. Thanks again, and have a great one,
-Grae
"Settle down my young pupils, settle," Dolores starts her address in her impossibly childish voice. "Well, looking throughout this room, I'm sure we're all going to be just the very best of friends."
At his desk in the middle of the Slytherin side of the room, Harry wanted to throw up already, but he kept control. He needed to, or he couldn't predict how bad the aftermath may be if he lost control of his magic. Sensing her master's distress, Nova softly sings from upon the bird stand between him and Daphne. Only those nearby can hear it, affecting them with a calming serenity as well. Daphne even places a comforting hand on Harry's forearm, offering him a small smile, further helping Harry calm down as the vile, squat of a square woman continues her nauseating agenda.
"The time has come for proper Ministry approved guidance in Defense Against the Dark Arts to be reinstated in these hallowed halls. I am Dolores Umbridge, Chief Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic and our dearest friend, Cornelius Fudge, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor." She takes a moment to gaze daintily around the large rectangular room, through the rows of Gryffindors and Slytherins. Landing on the Gryffindors, she goes on to explain, "I can see in your inquisitive eyes, some of you are aware that I am now acting in both capacities. A meaningful distinction to note, as it means, for all of you a secure and safe learning environment. No more silly hubbubs while the ministry is here!" she says with a bubbly posture that induces his gag reflex.
Harry surveys the den of students and sure enough, no matter how creepy they might think the fluffy pink toad is, the prospect of safety is far too enticing to ignore. Lavender and Parvati are even smiling comfortingly to each other. Harry recalls stopping a dark curse from hitting Lavender during his brawl with Crouch Jr, and so can't entirely blame her or the others for wanting to be safe in the ''safest'' school in Britain.
Umbridge's eyes square on Harry's when she points out to the class, "it also has the added benefit of extending law into Hogwarts under my fair judgment. Why, in some ways, my word holds more clout than that of our illustrious Headmaster's." She widens her focus to the entirety of the class, continuing, "And rightly so I should think. Much like a parent is responsible for their child, or a minister is responsible for his constituents, a Headmaster is ultimately responsible for your education, and more importantly, your safety; a task, I must sadly admit, he's grown far too lax to properly meet."
"Bu- But, none of that was his fault," Harry hears Hardwin pronounce in Dumbledore's defense. "He couldn't have known any of that would happen."
Baring her gawky eyes on Hardwin, her lips tighten to a line before her childish voice responds. "This community's most valuable resource attends this school for seven years before it is their time to contribute. Until that time, it falls upon the responsible institutions to safeguard your well being as you learn to be productive members of society. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Potter, that a parent should do everything they can to protect their child from all dangers whether they are aware of it or not?"
Harry's thoughts immediately conjure images of his long-dead parents and can imagine it's the same or worse for Hardwin. The Gryffindor Potter lags for a slight moment longer to reply, and Umbridge tags on, "it must seem quite unfair to you for me to place any blame on the head of the school, what with how much Headmaster Dumbledore seems to favor Gryffindor, awarding you all with points at the end of every year to ensure you win the House Cup, while he so casually takes them from Slytherin." Immediately, Harry witnesses fierce house loyalty divide the room.
"He's heralded as one of the strongest wizards of this century," Umbridge continues. "And yet a student- a Slytherin student has had to bare the unwarranted burden of protecting lives that are Headmaster Dumbledore's duty to safeguard. Seems strange doesn't it?" Many of the students are still glaring openly at each other, recalling how Slytherin are still in a deficit regardless of the lives Ares saved, while Gryffindor leads the school in points. "Hem, Hem," Umbridge fake coughs, drawing more attention as she repeats, "doesn't that seem strange?"
Some nod while Pansey calls out, "it's unfair to have a Headmaster who shows such blatant favoritism!" Adding to that, Nott states, "either Dumbledore's lying about how strong he is, or he just doesn't want to be bothered to save us!"
"That's bullocks and you know it, you slimy snake!" Hardwin calls toward Nott, and Ron was up on instinct ready to back his best mate when he recalls their feud, abruptly shutting his mouth, retaking his seat with a glancing glare toward Hardwin. With additional irritation, Hardwin adds, "Dumbledore's the strongest wizard in this castle, and he'd even save you miserable lot!"
"It's been one cock up after another though hasn't it," Nott throws back, when an incredibly insistent, "HEM-HEM," calls the ruffled students attention again.
"Now now, we're all friends here," she announces though Harry could hear how hollow her insincere words were. "While the Headmaster may seem callous in his affection toward the house of the cunning, I feel it is only fair that I award Slytherin five hundred points for Mr. Flamel's distinguished acts of bravery, gallantry, and overall heroism for saving the lives of many in distress at great risk to his own life."
'She's trying to get the Slytherins to her side,' Harry easily reasons, recalling the Inquisitor Squad from his timeline and how they were mostly made up of Slytherin.
Elated with mob-emotion, Nott leads the charge in clapping for righteous justice—if not necessarily for Harry—easily gathering applause from the majority of the other Slytherins. Arms crossed, intently glaring at Umbridge, Harry doesn't reflect his housemates' spirit or motion. Draco follows Harry's lead, and Tracey seemed to take the hint when Daphne didn't join as well. Watching the small glint of satisfaction in her eye, Harry realizes that though he has insulted or ignored her twice that he can remember, he's a Slytherin this time around, and they are her favorite base of natural supporters.
"She doesn't seem so bad," Daphne comments near enough for Harry to hear, to which he responds, "you catch more flies with honey than vinegar." She nods in understanding, and oddly enough, without needing to explain more, he can feel she's completely on his side, no matter how reasonable Umbridge is presenting herself.
When Umbridge targets the Gryffindor hardliners who refuse to acknowledge a Slytherin—regardless of deeds of bravery—she innocently asks, "do you not support a brave wizard who saves lives? Is this how your Headmaster would like his students to behave toward one another?"
Harry can tell some of the Gryffindors—Seamus, Dean, Lavender, and Parvati—are unsure and near close to clapping, while Romilda and Eloise have already succumbed to peer pressure, though they look slightly ashamed to do so. Hardwin and Ron hold firm, but cornered, and rather than let it continue, Harry raises his hand, silencing his side of the room.
"Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Flamel. I invite you to say a few words," the square toad happily beams.
"Yeah, are you running for Head of Slytherin House, or were you planning on teaching anything anytime soon?" Harry asks with a believable measure of exhaustion, though jarring enough to silence the room. All eyes are either wearily looking at Umbridge or in stunned awe of him. It's an uncommon sight for a student to be so confrontational with a professor. "Cuz I'm a bit knackered and could use a touch of sleep."
"...My, my, young man," she beams in a forced higher pitch. "How very neglectful of your parents, to be so unaware of the proper etiquette required of your station," Umbridge states with extra sugar in her already disgusting voice. "It isn't your fault, I should think. As your instructor and a ministry official, let me be absolutely clear in stating that rudeness will not be tolerated. That will be your first and last warning."
'In for a penny...' Harry's mind muses as he returns, "as I've told Headmaster Dumbledore, I don't care for this arbitrary personality based point system any more than I care for house rivalries. Award or take as many points as you want, professor. I guarantee you it won't matter if anyone in this classroom—in this school—ever wants to properly defend themselves from mad tyrants like Voldemort-" most in the class shudder, but Harry ignores it as he continues, "or his cronies."
"Mr. Flamel!" Umbridge blares in her sickeningly sweet childish tone. Though focused on her, Harry did notice Hardwin's stunned sights set on him. Friendship with Hardwin is far more possible if he makes his distaste for Voldemort public, hopefully bridging the wide gap between the chasm that is Slytherin and Gryffindor. "Sanctions! I cannot allow you to bring unwarranted fear and panic into my classroom or this castle. I will not have it, young man!"
Before Harry can say more, Daphne quickly cuts in, "perhaps you can tell us about these new textbooks, professor?" The touch of concern in her crystal blue eyes ends his next biting retort.
"...Yes, yes, of course, Miss Greengrass," Umbridge speaks on, plastering her stretched smile on her face. "To reiterate, we are safe under the Ministry's watchful presence. I'm certain you would all agree a new curriculum certainly requires a new instructional manual. Now, I would like us all to ponder the importance that is, Ministry Approved defense. These ancients skills born within us, unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the proper members of every generation, lest we lose what distinguishes us forever. If everyone has their natural place, why waste unnecessary time and effort teaching defense to a witch or wizard whom may have no better qualifications than a shopkeeper, or a stay at home spouse, I ask," she asks. When no answer is forthcoming from the confused students, she continues, "No, no, the noble profession of teaching must be efficient when we consider who is worthy of the treasure trove that is this knowledge. As such, I've prepared a ministry approved curriculum to best narrow down those among you with the necessary attributes to succeed in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Isn't that what grading determines, you know, for all," Daphne asks, her hand up, though quickly scanning through the book.
"Please wait to be called before speaking," Umbridge staunchly corrects her quickly.
After flipping through one useless page after another, Daphne waits with her hand raised, but Umbridge only responds with the faintest shake of her flabby head, while crunching her wide nose. She continues, "I know how seductive it can seem to hoist your wand bravely toward evil and fight the good fight, however as we've seen these past few months, children should not be burdened with such responsibility. You are all safe now and within proper care, as such, a rudimentary level of defense is all that is needed to brave the few unsavory moments one may experience in life. For those that excel in defense, trust that I will acknowledge you."
"This is the opposite of education," Daphne whispers to Harry, continuing, "she's purposely dumbing us down." He nods absentmindedly, choosing to mentally navigate around thoughts of Fleurs warm, moist lips, and think about befriending Hardwin rather than waste any more breath on Umbridge.
Quickly skimming through long-winded explanations on how to point a wand, Daphne can easily tell this education will do nothing to challenge a novice wizard of Defense, let alone a wizard of Ares' caliber. Turning enough of her gaze on a somewhat zoned out Ares, she can't help but remember her assertion to Hermione; what they had agreed on in order to help their friend. Education and antagonists. Looking at the squat figure wrapped in ostentatious fluffy pink, Daphne feels a firm stance is necessary, not only for the boy sitting next to her but for her future as well. Quelling her rising nerves to fortify a strong mask of calmness, Daphne slowly stands to her feet, her chair scratching the floor and drawing the surrounding student's attention.
"Please take your seat, Miss Greengrass," Umbridge commands with her childish tone.
"I cannot, professor," she starts, securing her composed mask despite the rapid beat of her heart. After facing Acromantula, this should be nothing but, it's a different type of nerves. Daphne doesn't gravitate toward the spotlight, much like her chosen profession, she prefers to work covertly. But if she must... "If this is the updated educational level of fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts, I insist on testing out of this course."
"Unacceptable," Umbridge gasps, as the room erupts in mild whispering. "Not by any means will I ever agree to this- this folly, young lady! Now take your seat!"
Daphne's cold imposing figure doesn't budge. "I will petition my Head of house, the deputy Headmistress, the Headmaster, the Governors, the Minister of Magic if need be, to avoid wasting hours of my valuable education on material first-year students already enter Hogwarts with. This textbook seems to exalt the theory that the only way to learn is secure and risk-free, which is of course impossible. There's a chapter entitled, 'Non-Retaliation and Negotiation,' another entitled, 'The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack.' This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, professor, and yet it seems as if you'd like to discourage the use of any defense against any dark art."
"Fifty point deducted from Slytherin," Umbridge calls with a credible measure of ire creeping into her sickeningly sweet tone. "For disrupting class with pointless interruptions. If you don't take your seat this instance and refrain from undermining my authority as your professor and ministry official, not only will you serve multiple detentions, but I will be speaking with your head of house for further suitable punishments."
Daphne didn't hesitate and yet waited a moment to answer, "no. It may not seem like it professor, but it isn't my wish to interrupt your lesson any more than it's my wish to waste my time on a mediocre course. I simply know with a hundred percent accuracy that I will pass any test that stems from this book. Until you've prepared the final exam for me to take, I'll commit to self-study."
Daphne begins to move around a surprised Harry, intent on exiting the classroom when an indignant Umbridge howls, "You will do no such thing! No doubt you feel what lunacy expelled Professor Binns will happen here, but you would be gravely mistaken. You will take your seat this instant, or I can assure you the consequences you'll face will permeate well beyond these walls to your very career. You would do well to recall I am not simply a professor of Dark Arts, subject to the Headmasters scrutiny. I am also the Undersecretary of the Ministry of Magic, and if you ever wish to be anything more than a groundskeeper, you will do as you are told!"
A tense moment holds in near eternity for Daphne and all the other students. Her quick mind easily conceives of all the possible repercussions in the aftermath of this course of action, and the heavy toll this can have on her future. Worst still, how this decision may affect her sister. A decent amount of her father's business is with the Ministry, and should he ever vent out his displeasure, she can't help but picture a crying Astoria taking the brunt of his ire.
The other students are quite surprised and silent. Regardless of her house, Gryffindors find her just as attractive as any boy from any other house, and now she's standing up to a professor for a better education. More challenging school work would be repulsive to many of the boys if she wasn't so attractive. Many of the girls don't mind seeing the Ice Queen of Slytherin get burned.
Standing full to height, and getting between professor and student, Harry eagerly talks back, "She only asked to test out, an option I know for certain is available since the Headmaster, the Deputy Headmistress, as well as my Head of House offered me the same thing not long ago. Whether you agree with it or not, it's a sensible request and if this year's shown us anything, it's that defense against the dark arts is far more important than you or this staff clearly cares to credit it. Since Champions are exempt from finals anyway, I'll just leave in support of my friend."
"Neither of you is going anywhere," Umbridge yells taking an aggressive step forward, extracting her wand in the process. "It's clear to me you both pose a dangerous element to the security of this castle."
Harry's death white wand snaps into place with a flick of his wrist. Though Umbridge had hers pointed at them, Harry didn't feel the need to bring his up. Drawing the most attention in the moderately lite room is the bright glow of his killing-curse, green eyes, fierce in their glare. Some stare stunned at the rumored Green Reaper from the Prophet, while others quickly move toward the walls of the class away from the spell path. "Your only two options are diplomacy or force," Harry tells her with a smirk. "And neither one will end well for you... professor." They stare each other down, though, with his magic sight, he can see how her magic hesitates in its patterned motion.
Abruptly, Draco stands, catching a few nervous students off guard, turns to Tracey, who then decides to stand as well and they both start to leave, the silver-blonde announcing, "I'll opt to test out too. Be outside." Not to be outdone, Zabini—who's magic seems irate to Harry—trails after, then Nott followed by Crabbe and Goyle, and the rest of Slytherin. Harry doubts they truly want to test out, reasoning Slytherin motto to always support the house is the likely cause for their walk out. 'Khan would be proud,' Harry muses.
"This will not go unpunished," Umbridge slowly proclaims, her cold sadism overshadowing the child-like tone of her voice.
"Looking forward to it," Harry eerily muses. His glowing green eyes leave her and only fade once he's left the classroom and walked down the Serpentine corridor to the stairs leading off the third floor where a group of mostly worried Slytherins are waiting for him.
"We walked out on a professor!" Nott remarks in disbelief. "What are we going to do?"
"If we get expelled, I blame you," Parkinson starts, pointing at Harry. "The House of Flamel better compensate my house if my education and future suffer because of this!"
"Oh will you stuff it, Parkinson," Draco throws out, clearly feeling the wounds she inflicted in their previous timeline. " It's not as if you were forced. If you didn't want to leave, you didn't have to. Go ahead and claim house loyalty if you want, but at the end of the day, your decisions are your own."
"No, seriously," Nott asks with more force. "What are we going to do? This isn't like Binns. He didn't much notice or care. This is a ministry official who even gave us back our house points!"
"I'm sure that's gone now," Tracey muses.
"Listen," Daphne calls out, gathering their attention. "I take full responsibility, however, I fully intend on testing out of this course, unless they change the curriculum to something that's not a complete waste of time."
"It would've been an easy Outstanding," Nott argues.
"And an easy death when the time comes to use that knowledge to protect yourself," Daphne returns, and for the first time, Harry wonders about the merits of this coup. It may not have been worth it if it kept future Death Eaters just dumb enough to kill. If anything, this class was specially made for others protect themselves from Slytherin. Though another logical part of his mind answers, 'once you've killed Voldemort, there won't be a Death Eater squad to join in the first place.'
"In the meantime, I think Ares should teach us defense," Zabini states near to the point of accusation, as if daring the Slytherin prodigy to decline. Most of the sheep are on board with any direction the mob takes while Daphne, Draco, Tracey, Nott, and Parkinson look between the two boys. "After everything we've seen, who better to supervise this... study group?"
"Yeah!" Nott imposes. "You can show us some of your wicked curses." Many seem to enjoy that idea. Even without his magic sight, Harry can at least interpret Zabini's nomination as disingenuous. He clearly has something to prove.
"I don't want to," Harry easily states, earning a few groans of disapproval from the group. The last thing he wants to do is teach Slytherins.
"What could you possibly be scared of," Zabini asks. "It's just a study session until this is resolved. Or could it be you're all snakeskin, but no snake? You wear our colors, you have our pedigree, but deep down, you'd rather be in Ravenclaw or bloody Gryffindor."
With all the different angles of mounting conflict Harry's mind is dealing with; the diary, the goblins, the ministry, the shade in the forest, making certain everyone survives the tournament this time, or Dumbledore's interference, this back alley, schoolyard rules doesn't even muster any interest in him; especially in his tired state. His single point of interest that doesn't involve his mission is how to tell Daphne, and—to his great astonishment—Hermione, that allowing feelings to grow between them would only end up hurting them; a thought that once again leads him to Fleur and her searing warm lips... "Ares?" Harry hears Draco call, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Harry looks on a confused Draco, then to the others watching him, letting on that they're all waiting for his response. Somewhat embarrassed for zoning out, Harry clears his throat but before he can address them, the door to the classroom creaks opens and out walks Hardwin Potter, heading down the corridor toward them.
"Isn't daddy Dumbledore going to get mad at his little golden boy for ditching class," Pansy calls out.
Hopping right on her comment, and cutting off Hardwin, Harry responds with enough force to draw all their attention. "Gryffindors don't have a monopoly on courage and bravery, nor does Slytherin have ownership over cunning and ambition, Ravenclaw on intelligence and wit, or Hufflepuff on hard work and loyalty. Those are attributes absolutely anyone can have. You think acromantula give two shits what house you're from? Fuck no, they'll eat you all the same. If I were you I'd be more worried about why this faculty keeps approving these subpar courses of education, rather than how a color offends your delicate allegiances. I mean is there actually a criterion for hiring these professors or are they completely fine keeping you stupid?"
"All the more reason to teach us," Zabini calls.
"Would you be willing to be friends with Potter?" Harry asks nodding toward Hardwin, still registering a trickle of weirdness when using the name but not identifying with it.
"Are you having a laugh," Zabini levels followed quickly by Nott stating, "That's bloody mental!"
"Get stuffed," Hardwin harshly returns, despite being surrounded by ''enemy.'' "I'd rather cuddle with a Blast-Ended Skrewt!"
"Then there you have it," Harry tells the group loud enough to stop the insults. "You can't even consider the possibility of friendship with your own school's Champion. Why would I want to teach you anything as a wizard when you're unwilling to be a decent bloke to begin with."
"That's rich coming from a murderer?" Nott throws out looking menacingly at Harry.
"You referring to your uncle, Nott," Harry levels with dead apathy. "The one in Death Eater garb tormenting and torturing the Beauxbaton's Champion, Fleur Delacour, and her sister? Him?" Nott didn't say anything and Harry quickly adds, "if you want to hurt people, that's fine. Just don't be surprised if the abuse you're so happily inflicting on others is stopped with extreme prejudice. If you care to express any further outrage about your uncle, I'm always happy to settle them."
Every single student standing there has either seen first hand or were told how deadly serious Harry can be when it came to defense, and more importantly that it is always in defense. Further known within Slytherin, the general consensus is he's not cruel or eager for combat, despite how much stronger he clearly is. So it's unsurprising when Harry eyes Nott heavily, as if perfectly fine to leave it as is, or fight if need be.
"He wasn't a favorite in the family to begin with," Nott concedes stepping back. Harry can't imagine Nott is fine with his uncle's death, but imagines Nott is smart enough to let well enough alone until 'Ares' drops his guard and he can strike. Harry expects it, someday.
"Did I just hear what I think I did?" Zabini asks. "You won't help your own house, but you're all about the Boy-Who-Lived? You're willing to be friends with Dumbledore's Golden Butt-Boy but can't be bothered to teach us a thing or two?"
"Sod off you manky ankle biter," Hadwin curses back.
"It doesn't have to be Potter," Harry shouts over Hardwin to the Slytherins. "Make friends with any Gryffindor and I'll consider a brief study session on defense."
"You must be out of your bloody-" Zabini starts to say when Harry cuts him off.
"Fine you ninny, I'll start," Harry states to all before turning to his confused looking brother. "Nova needs to stretch her wings. Interested?" The Slytherin watching blanch at the sight, Nott gasps, but everyone held their tongue.
"What does a phoenix flying need me for?" Hardwin sarcastically asks.
"I can let you borrow my Firebolt and you can try to catch her if you want," Harry answers nonchalantly. "Though, I oughta warn you, it's impossible. She's way faster than you." Unsure if it was the chance to ride a firebolt, the chance to see a phoenix fly up close, or the blatant dare that he couldn't catch said Phoenix, but Hardwin gave the barest of nods before rushing down the stairs toward the castle entrance.
"Blood traitor," Pansy pointedly accuses him, followed by Nott's, "You are a snakeskin!"
"Oddly enough, I can live with that," Harry quickly asserts without care. "If any of you want to learn anything from me, you know what to do."
Harry is followed by Draco, Tracey, and Daphne until they're close to the entrance of the castle. It's then when Daphne informs Harry, "I'll leave you here." He turns to her confused to which she holds up Umbridge's book, relaying, "need to read this stock of kindle to be certain I can actually test out. Plus, I can't imagine Professor Snape is going to be happy about this."
"Just leave Snape, McGonagall, and Headm-"
"No," Daphne asserts with the slightest smirk. "I really meant it when I said I'll take responsibility. You just leave this to me and I'll take care of it."
"Uh, are you sure," Harry tentatively asks. "I don't mind."
Daphne gifts him with her most confident smile, a beautiful event that makes him spontaneously wonder if her lips are as soft as Fleur's. Fortunately, she leaves before his blushing cheeks give away his unwelcome thoughts. Shaking his dome a bit, Harry turns to ask Draco with a questioning look. Draco only responds, "I don't want to be around a Potter, so I'm leaving."
"I'll join you," Tracey honestly says.
"Damn right you will," Draco wolfishly repeats. Pink-cheeked and hiding her smile, she follows him into the school.
"I didn't agree to this because I wanted to watch your Phoenix or ride a Firebolt," Hardwin starts from behind him. As they walk out into the field, the publicly known Potter continues. "Uncle Sirius promised to get me one as soon as my Nimbus 2001 breaks."
"So why'd you agree?" Harry asks, as Nova takes off into the muggy grey skies. Content to walk forward so neither one is looking directly at each other, Harry tacks on, "It'd have to be something big for you to agree to talk to a Slytherin."
"...I don't get you," Hardwin throws out. "It's so obvious you don't care about blood superiority or picking on the weak. That Ravenclaw girl you sit with, Granger, is muggle-born, the very status your entire house despises, yet you sit with her. Slytherin is the last place you should be in."
"Or maybe it's the best place," Harry casually returns. To his surprise, Hedwig descends from the skies, silent as a feather and lands on his outstretched forearm; her claws don't numb the pain. For her, he'll take it. She hoots at him and Harry has the strong inclination that she's sorry for delivering the Howlers. He pets her affectionately, telling her, "it's okay. I know you didn't intend to." She stays with him as they walk the grounds. "If you really believe blood superiority is hogwash, don't you think you'll have the greatest success in promoting your message where it doesn't exist? I mean, how would Slytherin's really believe the message spoken from outside their camp?"
"Is that what you're doing, then? Trying to make them see how wrong they are from within?"
"Fuck no," Harry spits, sensing a building feeling he can't describe slowly creep into the heart of his mind and chest. "I'm not here to change anyone's mind of anything. I'm just not the type to roll over when they're the ones in the wrong." Harry takes deep slow breaths, thoughts of his avian companion recall his past constrict his chest slightly. Curious about Hardwin's motive, Harry asks, "are you going to show this conversation to Dumbledore? I imagine he's the one who urged you to be friends with me. He's wanted that since he first heard my name."
"No, he hasn't," Hardwin asserts with no conviction. "...well, yeah, I guess. Though I have no idea why! I mean you're a Slytherin!"
"Bloody hell- It's like a broken record. Are every single one of you enchanted or something," Harry asks with exhausted disbelief. "If I leave Slytherin and join any other house, would you suddenly change your opinion of me?"
"Yes! They're all snakes," Hardwin asserts and Harry would've agreed if not for Daphne and sweet little Astoria. "Most of them are Death Eaters in training. Their master is responsible for my father's murder! And you expect me to hold hands and sing songs with those wankers!"
"I wouldn't quite say hold hands and sing songs," Harry lips. "But none of those children killed ...your dad." Cognizant of his near mistake, Harry takes a quick breath. "Voldemort killed him."
"And they supported him," Hardwin maintains. "They may as well have!"
"And yet, I, a Slytherin, am going to kill him," Harry turns murderous eyes on Hardwin. "What's your point?"
It's enough to surprise Hardwin, to pull him up short. "You... I really don't... What do you mean you're going to kill him? His supporters? Is it true you actually killed those Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup?"
"Are you going to show this memory to Dumbledore?" Harry repeats, continuing their aimless trek through the cold field.
"Worried about going to Azkaban?" Hardwin poses curiously. "Most everyone I talk to are in open debate. You ask me I feel all murderers should go to Azkaban, but if you actually want to stop Voldemort's supporters without going away for it, Dumbledore is the only way to do that. Since I'm close with him, it would be better for you to answer my questions."
"I don't want to stop Voldemort's supporters," Harry starts to correct. "I want to kill Voldemort, and that's exactly what I mean. I'm asking if you're going to show him the memory because it seems like he's withheld information from you that you may, or may not want to confront him about."
"What information," Hardwin asks. "And what do you mean you're going to kill Voldemort? He's already dead. The only thing about him alive are his supporters who are still trying to kill me."
"Tom Riddle," Harry states. Feeling a little better at the thought of blowing up the pedestal Hardwin had placed Dumbledore on, he continues, "I said Tom Riddle in a room of people who should definitely know who he is, especially the Potters." Hardwin looks at him extremely confused, a million questions right on the tip of his tongue, yet silent. Flicking his wand in his grasp, Harry continues after Hardwin's lack of response, "there's an anagram that'll help." If Hardwin had entered the Chamber of Secrets their second year, he certainly would've learned the name, Tom Marvolo Riddle. So conjuring swirling smoke turn into fiery letters, he rearranges the letters as he remembered, and quite unexpectedly, it triggers a rash of memories to torment his mind.
Being in the Chamber, Ginny near dead on the ground, fighting a large basilisk, and recalling the piercing agony of its sharp fang stabbing through his arm. The memories didn't lack any detail. The thickly red blood that flowed from his arm easily reminded him of Ron's bloody death. Bellatrix took special care of the entire Weasley family and she loved her knives nearly as much as psychological trauma, forcing a Weasley member to do unspeakable cruelties to another member until they went insane and were ultimately murdered. Harry couldn't breathe as the memories overran his mind's eye.
He feels motion akin to falling, unsubstantial leg pain, a foggy concept of his arm extending, sweat, shaking, and shortness of breath all the while faintly hearing himself praying, "stay away. Stay away."
Try as he might, it felt like an eternity before his promise to keep them all safe this time cleared the tormenting fog of memories. Repeating his mantra until he believes that everyone will be all right as long as he kills Voldemort, he eventually regains control of his sanity and breathing. With the flood of relief, he comes to realize he's inertly heavy on his knees, sitting on his heels with Nova on his shoulder, singing her calming enchanted song. Hedwig is on the ground, nipping affectionately at his right hand bracing himself up.
Feeling the moist cold on his face he knows tears poured forth unabashed. Harry then notices Hardwin's concerned expression and overall posture. The hazel-eyed Potter seemed to be on the brink of running but couldn't quite make it more than a few steps. Harry gets up before he was ready to but holds his wobbly balance well enough all the while Nova and Hedwig continue to be comforting. It's awkward between them. The silence stretches, giving Harry more time to gather his barrings as he rubs his arm in the exact place Slytherin's basilisk sunk its large fang in.
"Does that happen often?" Hardwin carefully asks.
"...more than I'd like," Harry eventually answers.
"Mum reckons you've probably had a rough go of it," Hardwin slowly divulges. "Probably harder than my own, or at least different than me. Truth be told, she's the one who reckons I should give you a chance. She reckons you're different. Plus she loves your parents. So if you must know, I agreed to this because of her. I hadn't actually talked to Headmaster Dumbledore since the Goblet."
Harry wonders what she might've said about him, as well as what conversations she's had with the Flamels. Secretly he wonders if she's thought about her other son she abandoned. He wonders why, if things are different now... the tight feeling in his chest begins to reemerge, so rather than continue his train of thought, he abruptly asks, "did you read it?"
"Yeah. It said Tom Marvolo Riddle, before it exploded into a ball of fire," Hardwin answers, pointing at a bit of his singed hair. "What about it?"
"Sorry about that. Here's the rest," Harry tells him with mild embarrassment. Exercising more control, he actually completes the anagram to Hardwin's great shock.
"Is that true!? That can't be true! That can't- You better not-" Red-faced and shaking, Hardwin turns away from Harry, who can tell he's wiping away tears.
"I'm not playing you, Tom Riddle is Voldemort," Harry slowly mentions. "Judging by the way your mum reacted when I mentioned it during lunch, unless she's a brilliant actor, I don't reckon she knows. But Dumbledore definitely knows. He's been asking us-."
"That... monster killed... my da-" Hardwin's throat clucks shut before he starts walking.
Never factoring in for grief-stricken agony, Harry abruptly feels terrible for simply dropping the information like that. Harry himself doesn't recall much more than anger and the typical sadness he always feels at the thought of his deceased parents. He yells after him, "I'll be around if you want to talk."
Now alone, his emotional break makes Harry feel far more exhausted than he's felt in a long time. The thought of a nap before his next class was tempting but he instead decides to further examine Nova's magical manacle.
Stepping out of Transfiguration, Harry's simply happy McGonagall had yet to be informed of the Slytherin educational revolt on Umbridge's class when he finds Nicolas waiting for him.
"Hey Nic, what's up?" Harry casually greets after Daphne and Tracey respectfully greet the legendary Alchemist.
"Just wanted to let you know, dinner at ours tonight," Nicolas answers.
"Okay," Harry easily agrees before asking, "any special reason?"
"Not to my knowledge," the elder returns. "Just dinner with the Potters," he adds and Harry straightens up a bit. Nicolas eyes Harry before the elder legend makes to leave when Harry stops him.
"Can you look into mirror potions?" Harry asks, mentally sidestepping what dinner with Lily and Hardwin could mean for his plans, and his emotional state which he will admit, has been spotty at best.
"Mirror potions?" Nicolas asks confused.
They all pay attention as he explains, "I need to be able to see the runes on Nova's leg so if I can submerge the clothe in a potion the can mirror-"
"Everything it wets, possibly seeing what's inside," Nicolas finishes. "I can think of something, though it won't be perfect right away. It'll need to be tweaked."
"I can do the research if you want to get me started," Harry explains. "I know you're busy with Flitwick."
"Nonsense my boy," Nicolas swats away any suggestion of relief. "We're in this together aren't we?" he asks with a smile, that affects Harry more than it should. Harry quells the swell of affection and simply answers with a nod and a small smile of his own. Taking a breath to center himself again, they head to lunch, discussing with Daphne the possible solutions once he gets to see the scheme array Dumbledore used.
"The thing freaking me out the most is how it manages to repair itself. Basilisk venom should've done the trick," Harry comments when Hermione meets them at the entrance of the Great Hall. She greets them before hoisting up the large books in her arms for Daphne, declaring, "I got them."
"Got what?" Harry asks as he tilts his head to read the spines.
"Hogwarts Faculty Disciplinary Guidelines as well as the Ministry's former Department of Education, Innovations in Education," Hermione answers.
Confused he turns to Daphne, as he was under the impression she wanted to handle it alone. "If you need help-"
"I had always intended on including Hermione," Daphne assures him.
"Just leave this to us," Hermione tells him with her warm smile. "Daphne left Professor Umbridge's textbook with me and I couldn't believe how incredibly benign it is with respect to defense, as if the idea of using defense magic is an abhorrent concept that's never necessary for the preservation of life. What upsets me the most is, had my eyes not been opened a few months ago, I would've believed this farce. This class is wrong and I can't support it."
"See," Daphne exults with a smirk.
"You'll probably have to talk with Flitwick, Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore," Harry tells them. "Are you sure you wouldn't want me to talk to them in your place? I already challenge authority," he explains. "It's sorta expected for me to cause a ruckus."
"Well, not anymore. I won't attend that class if I can learn more on my own... with you- us- all of us," Hermione quickly cuts herself off. Despite turning a bit from his piercing green eyes, she couldn't hide the rose tinge the tan of her cheeks. For a moment, the only thought that exists in his head is how adorable his fluffy haired friend looks. So much so, it took longer before the red flags waved him from that hormonal train of thought.
"If you're sure," Harry states. "Just ask if you need anything, from me, Nic or Nelle. I'll burn this place to the ground if you want me to- I'm kidding, Hermione," he jests presenting open palms to her stern look. "Just a joke," he adds with a knowing smirk. "It's not funny," she mildly huffs though not without a small smile gracing her pink lips.
Not surprisingly, none of the Slytherins sat with them at the Ravenclaw table, much less with the Gryffindors or even Hufflepuffs. 'Fine by me,' he thinks.
After the day's classes Daphne, Draco, and Tracey follow him to the seventh floor for their afternoon training, meeting Hermione and to his welcomed surprise, Luna.
"Well, your mental shields are definitely stronger," Harry estimates, removing his palm from Hermione's warm forehead. She beams at him, affectionately pressuring him to quickly address Luna. "I'm surprised you know occlumancy, Luna."
"Father accurately deduced Blibbering Humdingers can be repelled by occlumancy. It's the only way I can make them stop laughing at my Butterbeer Cork necklace and my Dirigible Plum earrings," she mentions whimsically, though Harry can't help curse these creatures for laughing at his friend.
"Well, I like your style, Luna," Harry remarks. "But I have to ask if you want to know this information. It can be dangerous and I'll still protect you even if you don't know."
"I know, and I'm certain," Luna easily expresses, and they all huddle.
Standing under such expecting attention is a little nerve-wracking. The unnerving feeling doesn't linger as he hates himself for relaxing when Draco abruptly breaks the tension by asking, "did you break the news to Hardwin? Is that why the Potters want to have dinner with your family later?"
The girls are obviously confused, but Harry nods, "yeah. The-"
"Did he cry," Draco interjects with a vindictive smile.
"Stuff it," Harry effortlessly responds, as if it was the most natural reply in the world, before addressing the girls. Ungenerously, he extends their eager anticipation to take a moment to consider this conversation. He hadn't planned on it, but there was always a possibility, and within that realm of possibility, he surmised many variations of explaining to them the details without revealing how much it's consumed him. If they were dumb, this wouldn't even be an issue, but these girls have intelligence in abundance and he hasn't exactly done the best job of hiding his vulnerabilities. Harry clears his throat.
"I think it goes without saying I want you all to be safe. After the acromantula attack, I've had to admit to myself that I can't always be there to protect you, and in those moments, you'll have to rely on your best decision to protect yourselves. Whether I like it or not, in order to keep you safe, you need to know what's ahead; what being around me means you'll all now be facing. I didn't make this decision lightly, but if the world ever decides to engage you, I want you to be well and accurately informed. You've all proven yourselves and I trust you." Feeling how tense it became, Harry listlessly mentions, "though, I had to take some points from you Tracey, because I just don't get what you see in Draco."
"I'd be worried if you did, you prat," Draco casually shoots back without feeling insulted. Tracey is too surprised he even mentioned her to take offense, though giggled at Draco's reply. Somehow the boys are beyond offense when it comes to these quick little jabs, as if they've grown callous in their hatred of one another.
"For the life of me, I don't see how you two are friends," Hermione mentions. "You bicker all the time."
"Boys," Daphne apathetically answers, as if no more need be said.
"I've spoken with Moaning Myrtle and she orates this absolutely delicious fantasy between them I can't wholly ignore," Luna mentions drawing wide-eyed attention from Tracey and Daphne, while Hermione rolls her eyes as if she's heard this before.
Draco dry heaves and Harry coughs loudly, "Okay! Another thing I need to explain... is my responsibility. In a lot of ways, this is my purpose. What I am about to share is very much the center of my world, and until I complete this mission, nothing and no one can change that. Sad as I find it, I've accepted it for myself and for the world. You need to accept that as well."
Tentatively, Daphne asks, "what is this mission?"
Satisfying his paranoia, Harry erects his strongest privacy wards around them before feeling safe enough to continue. "Everyone here knows who Lord Voldemort is, commonly known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who. He was terrible before becoming infamous the night he disappeared. Yes, disappeared, not died. Before he was the Dark Lord, he was formerly a Slytherin wizard by the name Tom Marvolo Riddle." To illustrate his point he harps on the fire words that seems to be enough proof for everyone. None of them can mask how surprising this news already is, and he hadn't even brought up the horribly good stuff.
"Not a lot of people know much about him, which didn't make a lot of sense to Nicolas, Perenelle, and myself, so we took it upon ourselves to do independent investigating, and discovered a number of disturbing revelations. The worst of which is he cannot die, at least not completely." Harry puts his hand up because both Daphne and Hermione became impassioned with questions that need answers. He read the fear in their eyes, the doubt, and the curiosity. It felt like he had removed them from their safe place and now they need to make sense of it to be safe again. "I know you have questions and the more I say the more you'll have but, try to let me finish first." Hermione puts her hand down and they both nod. "He's not alive in the same way you and I are, but alive enough that he can attain his power once again." Turning to Daphne, he answers her question, "my mission, my purpose, is to do everything in my power to kill that monster... for good."
"How is he alive," Hermione asks.
"Very dark magic," Harry answers. "He created objects that house his soul, so that even if his body dies, he can exist enough to eventually return."
"That ghoul!" Hermione abruptly calls. "The one you're both hunting for in the Dark Forest!" Hermione's curly hair whips from side to side looking from Harry to Draco and back. Harry simply nods to her unasked question. "I think I'm going to be sick," Hermione admits, her wide eyes and frown matching the sentiment.
Tracey turns to Draco and anxiously asks him, "you're hunting... the Dark Lord?" It's incredibly impactful for Draco as he recognizes the worry on Tracey's face is very much for his safety, and he wants to comfort her, and tell her it'll be okay or anything else she might believe, but his promise to his son would only allow him to sadly nod. He offered no words of assurance and she quickly became pensive.
"Tracey, I'm trusting you the most," Harry honestly tells her, drawing everyone's attention to him again. "I know Sirius Black is an Auror, and it's his job to know these things but I'm asking you to say nothing until my parents have spoken with him first. They'll have more answers to his questions. As you may have guessed, I'm not fighting this alone. Nicolas, Perenelle, and Draco-" Nova trills and nips at his head, making him smile despite how anxious he can feel, adding, "and Nova, are all fighting this evil together. We've discussed and acknowledged Sirius Black and Amelia Bones ought to know as well, along with the Potters, since it affects them."
"That's why they want to have dinner with you tonight?" Daphne asks and Harry nods.
"This information is dangerous because it makes you a target," Draco tells Tracey with a level of concern nearing that of when he's reminiscent of his son. "You can't talk about this to anyone outside this room. Don't send letters, don't assume you're alone because you don't see anyone around and if possible, don't think about it in case of legilimency. Because if Death Eaters ever find out, they will take you and eventually kill you."
"And if Dumbledore finds out you know, he'd likely wipe your mind or force some other way to keep you silent," Harry piggybacks on Draco's warning.
"So the Headmaster knows," Hermione asks allowing her curiosity to outweigh her fear.
"Yes," Harry tells her. "And truthfully, I made you learn occlumancy primarily because of him. He tried to enter my mind once, I wouldn't put it past him not to try with others." Using a tempus spell to learn the time, Harry judges it a good place to suspend this deliberation. "Take the night to think about it... behind your best occlumancy shields, please. I need to meet Nic and Nelle for dinner."
They were all deep in thought as they left the Room of Requirement. Though Harry wondered what questions tomorrow will bring, he's quite proud of himself for compartmentalizing; keeping his, as of late, turbulent emotions in check as he explains to them the basics of one of the worst true evils this world has to offer. Harry hopes to remain as detached during dinner with the Potters. They've all agreed to give the famous pair nearly identical information he gave his group, though none of it will be voiced by him. As with all things Lily related, Perenelle will take the lead; a role she easily takes to as the very first words she spoke to the Potters when they enter their living quarters is, "I know you have questions and I, or we, rather, will answer them to the best of our knowledge. However, before we completely ignore the meal, I strongly recommend we try to dine first."
"Can't you just tell us about Tom Riddle," Hardwin demands only to be strongly reprimanded by Lily, "Hardwin, not tonight you hear me," she warns, before taking a calming breath. Lily turns her son toward her and looks him directly in his aching eyes. "I know what you're feeling, and you have every right to feel it, but you can't lash out. That's not why we're here."
Hardwin takes a deep breath and nods while Nicolas lightens the mood, apologizing for the messy state of a room that is, in reality, immaculate.
The small living quarters had been expanded and decorated to include more depth. They needed a desk far enough from the dining table for Harry to experiment on mixtures to create a draught that can help Nova. The other purpose of equal importance was that it helped keep him away from Lily's sight. The concern brought up by the possibility she might see James' likeness in Harry's face at any moment is an uncertainty that inflates his anxiety every time they meet. They can't even be sure why she hasn't recognized him as it is; he's always been noticed as his father's son. Their working theory is the mind sees what it sees. While Harry does look a lot like James, Ares' magical prowess, scars, Phoenix, and last name all help to generate a camouflage that in this case, is effective.
At the moment, Lily and Hardwin stay close together, her hand comforting on his shoulder, as they're taken to the already set table. Nicolas sits at the head, with Lily and Perenelle facing each other on their perspective sides of the table. Hardwin sits beside his mother and Harry stays at the end of the room working on the potion as they eat.
"What's he doing?" Hardwin aggressively asks either Nicolas or Perenelle. Tightening her grip on his shoulder, Lily corrects him, "he means to ask if Ares will be joining us."
"He's currently working on a rather innovative potion, and it's a critical step in the brewing process," Nicolas explains with his genial smile. "He'll join us momentarily."
After several minutes of silence, neither camp thinking of anything more than the big topic as of yet to be discussed. At a poor stab of conversation, Nicolas asks Hardwin if he's nervous about the first task in two weeks, inadvertently adding more tension to the room. Perenelle made certain to mention they will help in any way possible, rules be damned.
"Won't I lose my magic if you help me," Hardwin asks with wide concerned eyes between a mouth full of his meal.
"To my recollection," Nicolas begins, scratching his chin. "That magical mandate woven into the goblet was for the purpose of punishing cowards who didn't uphold their oath to participate. So as long as you show up, you're fine." Hardwin then asks to be excused to see what Ares is working on. Lily looks at Perenelle who answers, "I suppose it's just silly to wait any longer. I only wanted to be certain we ate. It's never good to go about hard topics on an empty stomach."
"Of course," Lily says with a tight smile, and graciously adds, "it was delicious."
"I first want to begin by saying how sorry we are for having to be the ones to bear this news to you," Perenelle explains as they all head to the comfortable couch in front of the fireplace. Harry's workspace is behind the couch, making certain the only way Lily or Hardwin can see him is if they turn around.
"Please, will you tell us what you know?" Lily asks sitting on the edge of the comfortable couch, Hardwin right next to her.
"Of course," Perenelle says standing before them. And like Harry when he explained similar information earlier, Perenelle repeats Voldemort's true identity and the fact that he's still alive. "We figured the attempt to attain our philosopher's stone was made by a professor possessed by Tom Riddle's spirit."
"That was at the end of Hardwin's first year," a deathlike Lily speaks aghast. "Albus had explained that it was the Dark Lord's spirit and once professor Quirrell past, it would be incredibly difficult to possess another. The theory being he can't possess anyone, or at the point of his body failing, he would've possessed the nearest person."
"The thing Albus failed to mention was that he was more than spirit," Perenelle continues. "He was a shade of soul, and the only way that's possible is if he had an anchor tethering him to the realm of the living."
"An anchor? How is that possible?" Lily quickly asks.
"Are you okay to continue," Perenelle asks the Potter matriarch. "You've heard a distressing amount of disturbing news already. A spot of time to absorb it all would do you well."
"I mean no disrespect Perenelle," Lily starts with more fire than any of them were expecting. "But a large part of my life is a spiral of doubt, loss, and tragedy. There isn't a day that goes by I don't suffer the failure of trying to make sense of that time. I need to know like I've lost a lung and I'm trying to take a deep breath again. Please."
"And your son," Perenelle asks the red-haired mother, ignoring the urge to look at Harry and instead focus on Hardwin. "This is very distressing and he is young-"
"But it's alright for Flam- for Ares to know but not me?" Hardwin anxiously calls out. It's obvious he's trying to keep it together but he's been told he has his father's eyes since he was young. His father is a man he never got to know because he was murdered by a man he's come to learn studied at Hogwarts like anyone else by the name of Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort is a name that always made him seem larger than life, extra magical, but to learn his father was murdered by a dark wizard born with a normal name, ignited his anger, and his self-contempt for aggrandizing a simple, yet deranged murderer. "Why does he know more about all this than we do! None of this happened to him! It's not fair, it's not right, and I need to know just as much!"
"I understand you're feeling frustrated, and I want you to know it's okay to feel the strong emotions within you," Perenelle soothingly begins to guide Hardwin like she would any and all of her patients. Harry can't even imagine how many times a healer of Perenelle's caliber had to inform a good person of horrible news. "We want you both to have the answers and closure you need. It's why Trouble Star over there said what he said, as well as why he mentioned Tom Riddle during our lunch in the village." Lily and Hardwin look at each other in recollection. Before they can ask anything, Perenelle continues. "To answer your question, we know simply because of detailed research as well as being well versed in magical history and genealogy. We may prefer to be on the outskirts of society but we travel often on quests of knowledge. It's how we stay relatively current."
"How specifically is it that he's able to remain relatively alive, and what are you doing to stop this?" Lily asks.
This is where Perenelle, Nicolas, and Harry had discussed drawing the line. They had no real issues informing the Potters of what they needed to know about the danger ahead; Tom Riddle is alive and seeking a body, he's anchored to the land of the living by employing the darkest of magic, and that's it. If Lily or Hardwin decide to tell Dumbledore, it's only confirmation that the Flamels know more than they've said. It's also not anything he doesn't already know. Nicolas takes the lead in explaining why they can't share any more than they already have.
"This brings us to the point we must make clear before we continue. We've told you of the man who murdered James Potter as well as the dangers that continue to exist because of Tom Riddle, however as things are, we cannot tell you what more we know," Nicolas clearly explains and the Potters are immediately on the defensive.
"What does that mean, 'as things are,'" Lily points out, placing her hand on Hardwin before he can protest.
"We are more than concerned about whom you will tell," Nicolas answers. "More specifically how much you will tell Albus, if you decide to confide in him at all. Though I'd be fine if he chokes on his beard of secrets," Nicolas adds bitterly to Hardwin's shock.
"You see, we are aware that Dumbledore has placed himself in harm's way for you, and with good reason," Perenelle says, retaining the peace. "He has a brilliant mind, gifted magically with unmatched strength, and a whole-hearted supporter of all that is good and just in our society. However, as of late, he has proven himself to be more than what is generally known about him."
"Like Icarus who flew too close to the sun," Nicolas directs. "We too felt his burn and nearly plummeted to our deaths!"
"He can be a touch melodramatic however he is not wrong," Perenelle muses with all seriousness. "In my observance, Dumbledore's actions have deeper implications of a self-styled superiority. He feels that if you have power, you are tasked with responsibilities others cannot understand, and may never understand; thus superseding the opinions or rights of said others."
"It was my responsibility to protect my family, and he took that away when he kept me from helping Ares bring back my wife," Nicolas passionately explains, his voice thick with unresolved anguish.
"I would've stopped you," Harry told him, surprising the room, as Harry had avoided involving himself in the discussion. "But that's only because Perenelle would've killed me if I let anything happen to you." Perenelle smirks at Ares, before turning a serious countenance toward Nicolas.
"The jurisdiction of individual rights and decisions of the whole aren't exactly easy dominions to navigate," Lily voices before turning to Harry; scaring him into looking inside the cauldron even though he had no need to. "You have a strength to do what others cannot, and took it upon yourself to do what the Headmaster could not know you capable of; that any of us could expect you capable of." Returning her attention to Perenelle, she continues to offer a different point of view. "We rely on the strong because many of us are not; whether it be defensive ability, diplomacy, intellect, goods, and services, etc. As a society, necessity dictates tasks and those best suited for them should, for the whole, perform them to the best of their already exceptional ability."
Harry isn't sure how he feels about that viewpoint. Too many cracks for mistakes to fall through.
"I won't deny the merits of a valid point of view," Perenelle tells her. "For a society, it's necessary for everyone to pitch in and do what they're best at for the welfare of the whole. I'd ask how can we navigate the subtle difference between, 'everyone should do what they're best at so we all benefit,' and, 'I will do this for you, for your own good,'" Perenelle asks. "I tend to focus on what it is we are trading. If I give you the right to protect me because I acknowledge you can do it better than I'm able, am I also giving you the belief that you can govern me in the name of protection? Have I just enabled this person to feel they are better than me, and thus of a mind to make decisions for me?"
"I feel everyone has the right to protect their home and family," Nicolas states. "It's a personal right I certainly never surrendered to Albus, yet he felt he knew better and denied me my right."
"Why are you saying that," Hardwin abruptly cuts in staring aghast between Nicolas and Perenelle. "He's your friend—he said so himself—and you're making it sound like he wronged you because he kept you from jumping into a horde of acromantula! What was he suppose to do? Let you die?"
"I can't say I was in the best mindset, young man, I'll admit it," Nicolas tells him. "It was certainly an emotional decision but that's a part of humanity. I would move heaven and earth for the people I love; willingly give my life for theirs. Albus may have kept me alive, but it was at the high expense of my wife's very life—who's my everything—and that's a price I would never pay. It's what we do for our loved ones, you understand?"
Hardwin doesn't answer but Nicolas has roused fond memories in all the Potters in the room; Harry himself willing away the tortuous memories of his dearest friends. With a sniff, Lily adds for Hardwin's benefit, "it's why your father did what he did... bravely, for his family." Hardwin nods once and takes his seat, his mother taking both his hands within hers. Turning to the senior Flamel, she asks, "please continue. I haven't fully understood your grievance as it relates to us."
"Dumbledore is not evil. He thinks he knows what's best and whether we agree or not is of little concern to him." Perenelle explains, "it's like that old saying, 'if you could but with a flick of your wrist.' We handed one man three key positions in our society; Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of our children. Riddle isn't the only one who believes he has the permission power prompts."
"As of this moment," Nicolas takes over. "It is our contention the old boy feels entitled to govern over us, and quite frankly, we disagree. This is why we can't share any additional details with you. We felt you deserved to know the truth about the past and who's responsible, but any more than that, we simply cannot risk he learn."
"Why!?" Hardwin can't help but ask. "No, mum! I've had enough of this! He's the strongest wizard in the world! If he says he can do something just get out the way and let him!"
"Hardwin," Perenelle clinically calls. "I'd like to explain something if I may?" Hardwin nods and she asks, "why do you think he didn't he tell you who murdered your father?"
"I don't know, but I reckon he had a good reason," Hardwin affirms. "He always has good reasons for doing a thing."
"He may have a fair argument if he kept the truth from you, a minor, but to keep it from your mother? She had every right to know. Here's another query, why do you suppose he didn't explain the truth about the danger you continue to face to this day? It's a difficult topic and one that requires delicacy when explaining to the young but I wouldn't say it's impossible."
"Don't think that just because he doesn't tell me things, that it proves your point," Hardwin attests.
"Do you even want to know?"
"Of course I do," Hardwin declares.
"Because this affects you correct," Perenelle asserts.
"Yeah," he nods.
"So why didn't he, at the very least, inform your mother?" Perenelle asks.
"...I don't know," Hardwin answers honestly.
"That's fine," Perenelle reassures him. "It's okay if you don't. We don't know either. And because Albus is not forthcoming, we are forced to guess his motives. I don't mean to make him out to be a bad person, however, I cannot fully trust someone who hordes secrets and knowledge that are not his to keep."
"But you're doing the same thing," Hardwin calls. "Instead of telling us what you're doing about Volde- about Riddle, you're keeping it to yourselves."
"We don't deny it," Nicolas states. "And we don't like it, but we can't be sure Dumbledore will share what he knows. He's already proven himself to be untrustworthy. He's known about Tom Riddle for a lot longer than he lets on. He's known about the dark magic that keeps Riddle tethered to our realm. He lied to us about the use of our Philosopher's Stone, leading to its destruction. He knows what attacked children in your second year; turning them into stone. He hired a Death Eater who was disguised as his personal friend, a mistake that nearly killed children, and yet, not one word of apology. He shackled Nova—a phoenix for Merlin's beard! And this may be selfish of me, but he nearly allowed my wife to die, and that, I will never forgive him for. So I'm sorry if this is hard to hear, young man. I simply cannot be involved with that man until I recognize and approve of what he stands for."
"Of course you're welcome to tell him all you've heard here," Perenelle tells Lily. "But it is our hope you minimize our involvement."
Hardwin stands up, fists tight, then whips around to Harry, pointing as he exclaims, "he said he was going to kill him! You reject the strongest wizard in the world for a fourteen-year-old who barely handled one death eater?"
"And saved your life while doing it," Harry definitively points out, unable to help but challenge Hardwin, all the while trying hard to quell his swelling emotions. The boys stare hard at one another until Lily stands. A hand on each shoulder she forces Hardwin to turn and look at her. "Hardwin E. Potter, until I, as the head of our house and your mother, say otherwise, you are forbidden from speaking to Dumbledore, alone or otherwise, unless I or Sirius are present. Do I make myself clear?" His eyes are still hard with anger and she takes her hand off his shoulder to stand at her full height, asking again, "do I make myself clear?" Hardwin deflates and nods. Lily turns to Perenelle, stating, "for now, we'll keep this within the family, however, I very much count Sirius and Remus as family. You should know I have no intention of keeping this from them."
"They were school friends," Nicolas states. "I recall Lord Black saying as much. Albus is my only point of contention. As for everyone else, whomever you deem fit to know is none of our concern."
"What about him?" Hardwin asks, his hard hazel eyes—his father's eyes—once again landing on Harry. "You can't just let him do whatever he wants because he's a little better at magic."
"A little," Harry snorts with knowing eyes, fully expecting it'll egg Hardwin on.
"Whatever," Hardwin states. "We both know you have issues. We all know. Mum says you have trauma-"
"Harwin!" Lily calls her hand gripping his shoulder.
He shrugs his mother's hand away and yells, "No, mum! You said he's got scars on his mind and earlier today he had another freakout. What sense does it make to let someone who's clearly sick in the head do whatever he likes? He's talking about killing like it's normal! How does that not worry anyone here? He needs help and should be in St. Mungo's, not Hogwarts!"
Both Nicolas and Perenelle hold their tongue in the silence that follows, possibly recognizing it for what it was; a child venting his frustrations. The only sound is Hardwin's labored breath as if satisfied and comforted by finally speaking, or in this case, yelling his mind. Harry feels angry enough to attack him, muggle style, like in the lessons of his training manual, the Year of the Dragon. Instead, with obvious ire in his voice, Harry crossly retorts, "The Boy Who Lived... your life is a fucking vacation in my eyes-" "Ares," he hears Perenelle calls, settling him just enough to calmly say, "if I had my way, the only thing I'd be killing is my Quidditch tryouts. You ought to just count your blessings you haven't seen what I've seen, or done what I've done. And don't forget, if I were in St. Mungo's, you'd be dead."
Embarrassed, Lily points a strong finger at his seat, growling through clenched teeth, "park it!" She turns to Perenelle, Nicolas and Harry, after Hardwin complies, "I am so terribly sorry for his outburst. Nicolas, Perenelle, I won't make excuses for him, and you have my solemn vow that he will be punished accordingly. Ares, expect a formal apology from him."
There's a knock on the door, and with a hand up, Harry quickly moves to get it, eager to give his emotions a bit of a reprieve before he hits his brother. As he walks, he hears Perenelle answer Hardwin, "if I had my way, Ares would be fat and lazy, and content to lead a boring life."
Nicolas adds in jest, "no one tells you how exhausting raising a prodigy can be. You don't know how many times I wished for a droopy-eyed little mouth breather, where the only challenge we'd face is making sure he takes a shower a day and brushes his teeth."
Harry rolls his eyes at how devoted they enjoy being to this domestic facade, until he opens the door and his eyes harden and glow immediately with surging physical and magical irritation.
"Good evening," Dumbledore greets, not bothered by Ares' ire. Harry looks behind the headmaster as the elder asks, "May we come in?"
"No," Harry says and slams the door in his face.
"I can't believe you just did that," Hardwin calls indignant and Harry just gives him an evilly satisfied grin. Perenelle, the last Flamel who can meet with Dumbledore and retain a civil disposition, walks around to the front door as Harry moves to cover the work he and Nicolas were working on.
She opens the door and is further surprised by the pair. "Good evening Albus... ah, Professor Umbridge. What can I do for you both?"
"Good evening," Dumbledore graciously acknowledges. "May we come in?" Perenelle steps to the side to wordlessly allow him and the squat woman in pink entrance. "Ah, I'd heard the Potters were here," he jests, and Harry knows full well the headmaster knew exactly where they were. "Evening, I trust dinner was excellent. I myself have always been fond of Perenelle's culinary prowess."
"Oh how I so enjoy pleasantries," Umbridge begins grating on Harry's patience with the power of her voice alone. "However, we are here on an official capacity," she tells the group before turning a smug eye on Harry.
"Dolores," Dumbledore says for her to concede the lead.
"To what do we owe this unannounced visit, young man," a snarky toned Nicolas asks, easily making sure Dumbledore knows who in the room is the real elder.
"Albus," Lily calls standing just ahead of Hardwin. "What can I help you with?"
"Nothing of inconvenience, I assure you," Dumbledore starts. "I simply wanted to inform both Hogwart's Champions of the Weighing of the Wands this Saturday," he says looking at Harry and Hardwin, "the weekend before the First Task. The panel of judges had scheduled it for earlier in the month, however, after recent events... well, what matters is this Saturday, we meet at noon."
"Yes, now," Umbridge squeaks taking the lead. The sudden move of Umbridge extending a parcel with the official Ministry Seal toward Harry, nearly had him flick his wrist for his wand. "This is your Ministry Notice of Summons," Umbridge nearly threatens in her sickeningly sweet tongue.
Harry doesn't take it, as he crosses his arms and stares irately intent. Instead, Nicolas takes the summons, informing Umbridge, "I am the head of this house and anything of official capacity that concerns my heir will be brought to me first and foremost, Madam Undersecretary. Make a mistake like that again and I will file a complaint."
Umbridge's square chest widens comically from the air she inhales, letting out a gust afterward and calming down enough to hollowly return, "my apologies, Lord Flamel. Please note the meeting is to hear your heirs version of the event, as such your attendance is mandatory. If you fail to appear, the court will view your culpability as conclusive and issue a bench warrant for your arrest where you will be held in Azkaban until an alternative court date can be decided. As that falls under my purview, I cannot give you a specific time as to when that might be. It could very well take quite some time."
"That will not happen," Perenelle states as Nicolas reads over the summons. "We'll make certain to be there."
"For the benefit of everyone involved, as the Undersecretary, all requests to alter the date and or time of the court appearance will not be accepted," she says with a sinister grin. "We're all quite busy as well."
"As we've already stated-" Perenelle begins before Nicolas stops her with a concerned hand to her forearm. She turns to him, absorbing his concern, bringing our her own anxious curiosity. Nicolas apprehensively tells her, "the time and date of the hearing... is scheduled at the same time Ares is to perform the first task..."
The implications quickly becoming quite clear to all present. Miss the task to go to court, and through the Goblets celestial power, lose his magic. Miss court in favor of the task, and face arrest followed by a return to Azkaban, for an uncertain amount of time.
Umbridge smiles at him with absolute delight.