Chapter 25: Authority
Monday, February 12, 1996
The DADA class was both sleep inducing and terrifying. The textbook was still Slinkhard's Directions for Cowardice (as Harry continually thought of it), and that ceased to be interesting way before he even opened the book's covers. The class, on the other hand, was under Umbridge's control, and her suck-up attempts made her an object of derision, even among those she was attempting to flatter. For those that were not part of her 'favored class', she was … merciless. Posing obscure questions (that frequently made no sense) and then mocking any failed answers, and following that up with absurdly long detentions. It wasn't the detentions that were the true horror; it was having to be in Umbridge's presence and having to endure her 'lectures.' Harry had been left out of the detention assignments, to a degree; he was assigned them, but continually with Filtch instead of her. He didn't find that too much of a problem.
Today, however, something 'ping'ed at the back of his brain, and he started to pay attention to her current diatribe. "… and the presence of squibs in upstanding, magical families indicates that Mudblood children are most certainly stealing the magical abilities from families of great renown …"
Harry's hand was in the air, urgently waving. Umbridge didn't call on Harry for the most part, but perhaps his expression (of alarm) convinced her to do so this time. Or perhaps she was still looking for an opportunity for some sort of revenge. "Yes, Mr. Potter? You have a question?"
Harry ignored her tone and urgently asked, "Is this something you're sure of? I mean, we know how it is done, even if we can't defend against it?"
Umbridge's voice lost a significant part of its syrupy sweetness. "The Ministry of Magic is currently researching this issue to protect the Great and Noble Houses. Why does this issue trouble you so, child?"
Harry ignored the condescension. "Because to even suggest that stealing magic is possible … changes everything I thought about magic." He looked around at his classmates; he had, naturally, attracted all of their attention. "I mean, I had assumed that there was something inside me …" He grappled vaguely in the air, "something pink and squishy, probably, that generated or collected magic." He knew his audience, and they recoiled appreciatively. "There's stories of how the Ministry can bind a person's magic …"
Umbridge interrupted, "A convicted felon's magic …"
Harry acknowledged, "… a convicted felon's magic, but that's just twisting their own gift so that it can't work for them. If the gift of magic can actually be stolen and given to someone else, then … that means that magic isn't actually a physical gift, and probably is attached to our souls – which makes sense, considering the ghosts we see." Harry was sort-of making this up as he went along; there was something at the back of his mind that was making this all sound coherent, but it wasn't something he was doing consciously.
He could see his classmates nodding along – and that Umbridge was completely hooked on what he was saying, as it reinforced her conspiracy. He paused for them to digest what he said while he waited for the next idea to bubble up in his brain.
He wasn't disappointed.
"But that means that when magic is stolen," Harry was careful not to accuse anyone of actually doing such a thing, "they are taking part of our very souls!" This produced a recoil of horror among the fifth years.
"But," Harry added as new thoughts came to him, "this also means that magic can't actually run in families – because how could physical inheritance, like the Weasley's red hair, or the Malfoy's pale blonde hair," He gestured to the students in question, "possibly influence something that's completely separate from the body?"
His classmates were stunned and wide-eyed. Harry raised his hands in confusion – mostly feigned. "I mean, I know that I was raised in the Magical world, so there's lots of stuff I don't know … and my entire theory falls apart if this isn't there … but there isn't a ceremony or ritual or something that Wizarding families do with their newborn children, right?"
Every member of a Wizarding family looked uncomfortable, and most looked at the floor, Umbridge excepted – she was merely as pale as the ghosts. "It's the Naming Ceremony. It's got to be," whispered Tracy Davis.
Harry wasn't surprised, and he took control (as Umbridge was horrified and mentally paralyzed.) "Then we can't let this get out! Nobody can mention this to anybody until the Ministry gives the okay!" He turned to their teacher, who was still trying to puzzle out how she had become the thief rather than a victim. "Professor Umbridge, can you talk to somebody? Someone from St. Mungo's, maybe? Or an Unspeakable? Because if there is a 'pink squishy thing'", he repeated his hapless gestures in the air, "then nobody is stealing souls. Or if there is evidence that this 'Naming Ceremony'," and he made air quotes to emphasize his point, "is verified safe, then we're okay. But if it's not …" Harry gestured helplessly, "then we're all infected with Muggle souls!" Which is going to get them moving more than if I accuse them of stealing magic, themselves. Even if it is true.
The class recoiled, looked panicked (none more so than the Slytherins,) and were dismissed.
He remembered Dumbledore's words to him, almost three years ago; It is a secret, and so naturally everyone knows...
Harry slept with a smile on his face. The more Dumbledore had to fix, the less he could manipulate Harry and his friends. This was kind of … fun.
-o-
Tuesday, February 13, 1996
The Charms class was … amusing to Harry. The Slytherin males were comically paranoid, eyes darting all around as if they were to be attacked at any moment. The female Slytherins were moving very cautiously, leaving the boys well enough alone, and telegraphing their movements well head of time. Harry found this amusing in the extreme; with the Magic House edition of the Quibbler available for free all throughout the school, all they were doing was demonstrating that their prejudice was strong enough to end their family lines.
In the exaggerated watchfulness of the Slytherins, however, they were attracting each other's attention more than keeping an adequate watch for anything else. Thus they missed something that had Harry stay after class.
"Mr. Potter, are you feeling any … blockage … in your magic?" asked Prof. Flitwick.
He shook his head, "No, sir. I feel fine, and there's been no change in how I cast spells or the effect they have."
Prof. Flitwick's eyes narrowed. "Your spells are noticeably less… vibrant … than they should be. Your first cast had the proper royal blue color, but as you practiced, the color of the spell faded with each attempt." He shook his head. "I am not aware of anything that might cause this, so I can't give you any suggestions, but I would suggest that you pay careful attention to the feeling of your magic as you cast, in every class. At the first sign of anything different, please see Madame Pomfrey for an examination."
Harry nodded. "I will do that, Professor. Thank you," and left.
Harry's internal monitor immediately drew his attention to his growing ability to cast more and more spells. It's not something going wrong. It's something going right. Instead of being able to use more magic, I'm just more efficient at the magic I use. Pause. Let's see if Dumbledore is alarmed that his catspaw might be coming down with something.
That evening, no messages from the staff reached Harry. Dumbledore was either uninformed or unconcerned. Or maybe he has other things to worry about; like if the Naming Ceremony is actually stealing magic from Muggle-born.
Harry was unconcerned as well. Umbridge, however, was more than concerned with her 'magic – stealing' accusations, and the whole school was watching her get more and more frantic as Harry's interpretations of her theory spread.
-o-
Wednesday, February 14, 1996
At this point, the entire school was buzzing with speculation on if magic was 'stealable' and if so, who had stolen theirs. Those students with average-and-below talent or power were almost all privately convinced that magic wasn't part of their birthright – and most of those were also trying to visibly (and loudly) assert that they were 'true wizards'. Since everyone else was doing the same, nobody was buying it, leading to ever-more frantic boasts and claims.
It cast a pall over the Valentine's Day celebrations, since every girl with the brainpower to breathe unassisted had turned her attentions – and guarded acceptance – solely toward those that were presumed to have magic as a natural talent (i.e., large amounts of power or an innate talent for some specific branch of magic.) It was most apparent in Slytherin House, and from the commotion at breakfast, it seemed that a few family alliances had been cancelled – which was a cruel thing to do to a bloke on Valentine's Day, Harry thought.
The 'sterility wars' were not winding down, either – just going underground. The 'Puffs were all happy, pulling together, and secure in their community defense, but at each of the other tables, males were going nuts. Shields were up at all times, although not necessarily useful, and they constantly flickered as the boys attempted to detect potions in food that was customarily potioned by the Hogwarts kitchens; some general nutritional potions were all that the staff would admit to, but the 'Puffs discovered a low-grade anti-lust potion that was wide-spread, and nobody could deduce a motive outside of the staff.
"Should be obvious," muttered Hermione.
"Huh?" inquired Harry. She turned to him, and he gestured, 'Go on.'
"Oh – it's just that the house elves have to clean up after the students, so they could easily have done it themselves. Keeps the students in line and safe, and reduces the work they have."
Harry's eyes narrowed in thought. And then he grinned. "So think about what kind of person would have set up those love-nests we found in abandoned classrooms …"
Her eyes widened and she shuddered.
-o-
Thursday, February 22, 1996
There hadn't been any magical horseplay in the halls for a week, now. But there was a development in the 'Sterility Wars' – someone (and it was impossible to say who) had left 49 copies of new spells and potions in the library, focused on female fertility, both protective and combative. The war had gone underground, intensified, and now held the possibility of wiping out all of magical humanity within a generation.
Harry felt quite sick to his stomach. The rest of his House felt responsible as well, but none more so than Harry. He did hold out one hope, though; if magic really was stolen, then this would just wipe out the thieves. The gift of magic would still come to selected people, and they might be able to create a better Wizarding World than the one Harry experienced.
He wasn't sure they could make a worse one.
There was another emergency edition of the Quibbler, and it was a rousing success. The two editions in reprint (with blue and pink covers, because the Wizarding world was nothing if not hidebound – and yes, the formal editions were covered in leather) were regularly reissued (well, duplicated) for each new Hogwarts year, and it came to be part of the lore for students; learning to cast (or brew) The Protection became almost a competitive sport.
But for now, there was no way to really tell if the magical families were dying out.
-o-
Friday, March 9, 1996
The inhabitants of the Lair had retreated from the public, and were enjoying a quiet evening trading thoughts and speculations. Hogwarts Castle was a surreptitious war zone, with everyone being treated as a possible threat by everyone else. The rumors had it that the pureblood-faction students were experiencing daily threats against their future children, and there was a contingent of Muggle-born that had no hope of future progeny.
To be fair, though, those Muggle-born were universally obnoxious idiots, and nobody thought that the loss of their children was an injury. Corman McClaggen even treated the public revelation of his sterility as a pick-up line, but it didn't seem to increase his popularity with the ladies any.
But safe in the Lair, Magic House was relaxing in a guaranteed safe environment and … well, it was a bull session. But Harry had twigged to something Hermione had mentioned about his adventures down in the Chamber of Secrets, and sat up from his chair and stared blankly into the fireplace.
"Umm … Harry?" ventured Neville.
Harry held up a hand asking for a pause.
A few breaths later, Harry shook his head and stood. "Neville, come on over here, please?" Harry indicated an open area between the study area and the garden boxes. Neville's expression asked volumes, but he said nothing.
Harry clasped Neville's shoulder. "I need you to take up … both an honor and a burden. I now have a different calling, and I would like you to take my place." Neville's scalp prickled. He met Harry's look with one of his own; Neville knew that this was not a flight of fancy, but a matter of adult honor and commitment. He nodded firmly.
"Hold your right hand – you're right handed? Hold out your right hand as if you're holding a … pole," Harry coached. Neville complied, but his expression was full of doubt. "Now say after me … 'In the name of Gryffindor!'"
Neville's voice was weak and uncertain, but he followed directions.
"No, no," said Harry. "You have to mean it. Close your eyes," he ordered abruptly.
Neville did so.
Harry's voice went soft. "Think about the innocents …" he whispered. "Think about all those that are caught up in this stupid war in the castle, who are going to have to fight in this stupid war with snake-face. They are already dying at the hands of the Death Eaters, they are being burned and poisoned and strangled and tortured. You can stand between them and the evil that is creeping after them, and you can do it …"
Neville's voice was firm, unyielding. "… In the name of Gryffindor!"
Harry moved back quickly. Neville was suddenly holding a large sword, with a green sickly glow to its silvery blade. The hilt was silver as well, and there were egg-sized rubies at the ends of the cross guard and pommel.
Neville glanced up to see where Harry was, then swung the sword out and back. He looked at the blade for a long while, and then muttered, "It shouldn't be me."
Harry head and responded calmly, "This is the role you have grown to play – you are the protector, the one who will stand between the innocent and the onslaught. Because you know the fear that consumes them, you will stand for them in the fight against evil. Do you take this charge of your own free will?"
"Is there no one else?" he whispered.
"You are the best that could be, and we are fortunate that you are here to aid us. Do you accept this charge?" Harry repeated.
Neville stood straighter, and swung the Sword of Gryffindor to rest point down on the floor. His voice was strong, clear, and … very weary as he said, "I accept his charge of my own free will. I pledge my strength and blood, breath and life to defend against evil; to pronounce justice … and mercy." He looked straight at Harry.
"Then you are a better man than I, Neville," Harry said warmly. "I shall only pronounce justice. Any mercy they may receive won't be my own choice." His expression went hard. The others knew that the last few weeks had been hard for Harry, with nightly nightmares of Voldemort's revelries.
Both Hermione and Luna had come closer during their conversation. Luna said, "There really isn't anyone else that can be trusted with this, Neville. It can only be you." Hermione nodded agreement.
Harry said offhandedly, "Um, the sword was submerged in basilisk venom a few years ago – don't slice anything you want to keep." Hermione and Luna took involuntary steps away from the sword, and Neville looked like he wanted to do that as well.
Neville regarded them solemnly, and then looked down at the Sword. "Um, Harry?" Harry looked back at Neville. "How do I get rid of it?"
-o-
Thursday, March 15, 1996
The Double Potions class was … uncomfortable. Snape was still glowering at everyone, and remarkably taciturn, even for him. The instructions on the board were also terse, leading to all the students being extra cautious about their perpetrations and procedures. What really slowed everyone down, though, was Snape's eyes. They burned with pain and hatred, and while few students realized that it was spite for Dumbledore and loathing for himself, all students knew that they didn't want to get involved. Even the Slytherins had become reserved in Snape's presence, so the class was remarkably quiet, and the quality of the potions turned out was at an all-time high … and every student wished that the class could go back to the way it was before.
Harry, Neville, and Hermione were leaving the dungeons after class when Harry was approached by Tracy Davis … acting uncharacteristically nervous. "I … need to speak with you, Harry. Can we meet after lunch? In that room where we met before?"
Harry nodded. "What's the matter? Is everything OK?" He had his reservations, but didn't let them show on his face or in his voice.
She whispered, "Not here," and disappeared down the stairwell that they had just ascended. Harry opened a Door to the Lair, and the three joined Luna in their warm greenhouse hideaway.
Neville looked sidelong at Harry with a fleeting smile. "Um, 'where we met before'? Have you been carrying on a secret romance, Harry? I mean, with the Door, you could easily …" Neville trailed off at Harry's stony expression.
"Miss Davis was Miss Greengrass' backup during her … almost insulting attempt to start a romance with me. Luna was my backup, if you've forgotten." Harry fell silent.
Neville waited for more, but when the silence stretched on, he asked, "So what's the matter?"
Harry shook his head. "I was fairly insulting in return."
Luna nodded in agreement, quite emphatically. "They did deserve it, though. That clumsy offer of romance was so far from cunning, they offered the first insult. Harry merely responded in kind."
Harry went on, "Either Miss Davis is asking to meet us there for an underhanded purpose or … things have gotten so bad in Slytherin that I'm the person they're turning to for help."
Neville's eyes went wide in pretended horror. "That's got to be amazingly bad."
Harry ignored the humor. Hermione joined in, "And since we haven't seen anything in public that would warrant that kind of desperation, that indicates that this is a set up."
Harry said, "Fortunately. If I needed to rescue half of Slytherin from the other half, things would get … messy." The other three of the House of Magic nodded in agreement, and they went off to the noon meal.
Harry spent the meal in silence, wondering if Miss Greengrass' offer was true but clumsy … or if it was merely the opening move in a game he didn't even realize he was playing. If so, it wasn't clumsy … no, he corrected himself, it was intentionally clumsy, which meant … something. He shook his head; he didn't know entirely what it meant, but it partially meant that this plot began before he recognized it did, and that meant … again, he didn't know. But it's probably not good for me.
He took his final bites of the meal – which really was too good to deserve the inattention he gave it, but … he focused on his next few minutes. Defense. I just need to be prepared for an attack. Their moves might be planned in advance, but all I need is to defend. Harry began to breathe a little heavier, and the fingers on his right hand flexed, over and over again.
Hermione, maybe sensing that Harry was done with his frantic thoughts and had settled down, said, "So, what are your advantages?"
Neville promptly answered with, "Harry is the best at DADA in our House."
Luna innocently said, "That's not a high standard to meet." The smile on her face wasn't wholly innocent, though; winding people up seemed to be one of her favorite pastimes.
Neville flushed a little. "I mean, he was in Gryffindor. He is the fastest, and has the most power, of anybody. He won last year!"
Hermione rebutted, "And his speed will … probably … offset their prior preparation in an ambush." Thinking aloud, she went on, "They will recognize his power and counter with … more attackers. What else?"
Luna said, "Harry already knows he's walking into an ambush, and right now he's …" She cocked her head to the side and regarded him appraisingly, "pretty-much wrackspurt free."
Hermione shook her head. "Harry's readiness is offset by the number of opponents he'll be facing. What else?"
Neville was stumped, and said nothing. Luna put in, "He is the soldier of God on the earth. That's got to be worth something!"
Harry gave voice to his cynical side. "That only means that any victories will be God's, not mine … and will likely be posthumous."
Hermione switched rhetorical sides. "On the positive side, Harry has always been able to win, because he doesn't give up, he has an enormous amount of power, and in a crisis, he has an abnormally consistent amount of luck."
Harry sat a little straighter at that reminder; his adventures were always looking hopeless at the start, and he did manage to pull off a win abnormally often (usually because he was willing to absorb a lot of punishment to do so.) He set his shoulders and walked through the Door into the Lair.
"Dobby!"
"Great Master Harry Potter Sir has work for Dobby?"
"Dobby, I need the Marauder's Map."
Pop-pop. "This is what Great Master Harry Potter Sir wants."
Harry took the map, activated it, and laid it on a study table. Hermione, Neville, and Luna crowded around to observe.
Harry silently traced the halls until he was looking at a small gathering of students right outside the Great Hall. Quietly he watched as people left the meal and threaded through the gathering that was fairly stationary. He peered closer to read names, but Luna suddenly brandished her wand and began casting half-spoken charms at the Map. When she said, "House check!" the dots of the students changed color. Following a name he recognized, Harry saw that the Gryffs were gold, moving through a knot of silver and bronze (Slytherin and 'Claws?), while a mass of black dots congregated around the Badger table in the Great Hall.
Figuring out if a dot was gold or bronze wasn't easy – it helped if the dot had others around it for comparison. The mass of students that weren't leaving the hallway in front of the Great Hall were definitely Slytherins, though. Pucey, Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Davis … it looked like they were all there. Plus some. Definitely more than needed to keep Davis safe when he met with her. Ambush it is.
And of course, the best way to defeat an ambush is to walk into it with your eyes open.
Hermione chose this time, naturally, to confess, "Harry, my plan for you to escape the ambush might not … actually … be the best plan," she finished in a rush. "Everything I know about tactics and fighting comes from the fiction books I read, so … it might just be made up by the authors. But," she was quick to add, "most of them agree, so even if it's not strictly true, it's got to be at least a good plan, if it's not the best, right?"
Harry blinked three times. He managed to not even twitch as he resisted the urge to facepalm. "R…Right," he said. "Give me a five count before any of you show up so you can avoid the initial volley. Everybody ready?"
Harry walked over to his Door and waved his hand, and walked through, putting him behind a suit of armor in a niche where he could see most of the Slytherin group.
Harry immediately stepped out so he could cast disabling spells at the Slytherins, but … everything happened at that point. Badly.
Harry's attempt to draw his wand was … comically inept. The Slytherins had turned when they heard him come out from behind the armor, and their wands were already out and tracking; Harry's wand was in his pocket. Harry's panicked grab for his wand caught its tip on his pocket, and the wand was inadvertently flung several feet along the hallway.
The Slytherins did not stop casting spells to laugh at him; within the House of Snakes, belittling laughter was 'in addition to' offensive spells, not 'instead of'. Harry ducked the first spell and yelled, "Stop!" He had no idea why that was the word that came out, but it did.
The results stunned him.
Everything … stopped. The people – all the attackers, and some students leaving the Great Hall and just looking on, were frozen in place … some in midstep and obviously off balance. They weren't falling over, though.
The part that really could freak Harry out (if he let it) was that the spells that were coming his way were also frozen, just hanging in the air. Harry stood in the middle of them, debating if he should poke one with his finger.
"Harry! What happened?" That was Neville, rushing toward him.
"I'm not sure, exactly. But we need to clean this up, somehow."
Neville looked over the students – and spells – with a narrowed eye. "You work on getting the, um, spells taken care of. I'll get some help." He placed a Door on the wall and left in two strides.
Harry watched him go, then turned his attention back to the jest of light that were hanging in the air. Lots of colors, all of them highly dangerous … not a benign spell in the lot. How do I get rid of them? They happened because … I yelled, "Stop?" Maybe …
Harry carefully surveyed the quiescent spells, and then stepped to where he wasn't in the path of any of them. He focused on the spells and took a deep breath.
"Harry! What happened?" Interrupted again? Hermione led the other three members of his House out of a Door.
He quickly gave a bare-bones rundown of his actions.
"Hmm." Luna walked over to Pansy Parkinson, who was caught in the act of casting what looked like a choking curse, by the color of it. Luna peered into Pansy's eyes, poked the side of her neck with a stiff finger, and called out, "I think they're still aware. She's still breathing, although shallowly, and can't move her eyes, but I don't think that any of them are unconscious."
Hermione nodded decisively. "Harry can you get rid of the spells?" she gestured at the mass of lights aimed in their general direction. "Then we can start putting the students to rights."
Harry nodded slowly. "Then I'll need you all to move out of the way. I'm not sure what will happen when the curses and jinxes are released." Neville, Luna, and Hermione retreated to a doorway, and Harry looked around to make sure that he was still in a safe zone. He concentrated on the nearest floating bit of magic – something that looked a bit like a placement charm, of all things. Focusing intently, he said, "Be gone!"
The floating bit of light disappeared by fading quickly into nothingness. Harry glanced around, and the other spells had disappeared, too. Just to make sure, he waved a finger through the space it had occupied, and these was nothing – no reaction, no feeling. Harry nodded and called to his housemates, "It's clear." He gave the same order to the rest of the spells in stasis, and they also dissolved into nothingness.
Hermione and Luna came forward, followed by Neville. "What you want to do with them?" Hermione asked, gesturing at the roughly ten students in green and blue trim frozen around them.
Luna piped up brightly, "Can we strip them all naked and stake them out on the front lawn?" Now that she wasn't the constant target that she had been, Luna was displaying some very … aggressive tendencies.
Harry winced, and covered his eyes with his hand. That would be … bad.
With an emphatic shake of his head, Harry said, "We're getting distracted. I just want these attackers to forget they ever carried out their plans."
Neville, apparently glad to focus on something else, said, "Can you just … order them to forget?"
Hmm. Interesting idea. "I don't know", Harry confessed. "I should try it; Luna, forget about your suggestion for revenge," he ordered.
Luna immediately looked around and said, "I think I missed something." Harry smiled a little, and explained to Luna that she had been his experiment, and what she missed.
"Why did you choose me?" Luna's questions wasn't demanding, just curious.
"Because you told me that you are my friend," he said simply.
"Yes, I did," Luna said with a soft smile. "I'm glad you remembered." She stood on tiptoes to kiss Harry's check. Neville and Hermione exchanged glances that said 'I don't quite get what's going on,' but didn't ask.
Harry turned to survey the students that had gathered to attack him; it looked like Draco was a ringleader, standing with a knot of other boys at a major vantage point, and Tracy Davis was along a wall out of the way of most attacks.
She may not like where her choices ended up, but she still made them. She's still responsible.
Harry opened a Door, and shooed his Housemates though. Just before he stepped through, he command, "You will forget that you have been frozen, and you will forget that any House of Magic students were here. You will not remember anything about your aborted attack, either," and Harry stepped through.
That's … a useful ability. How did that come up as something I am allowed to do?
-o-
There were no repercussions of the attack that didn't happen. Nobody noticed, nobody talked. Harry's sleep, though, suffered as he wondered about the limits of what he could do – and the danger of experimenting with those limits.
He remembered a picture of a stained glass window he had seen once in non-magical school when he was about 7 – a large man with wings, in flowing white robe, carrying a sword. He didn't look friendly. Harry didn't want to encounter him … or any of God's other messengers that could make people think that this was an accurate representation.