A/N:
I have received a number of private messages, all of which are enquiring about the same thing: "Where are all the graphic pornographic sex scenes?" I think I have to go back and rewrite quite a few chapters to give the people what they want. Of course, this just makes me worry, a little bit, about the people who are reading my fanfiction… so expect work to slow down as I go back and try to "write porn" in a graphic yet tasteful fashion…. I have no idea how to do that….
On a completely separate note: My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.
The same has to be said of my wife. She reads and comments and pokes holes that help make the chapters even better. She's lurking over my shoulder, waving a laptop of her own with threats to resume writing or get pummeled...
Chapter 48
The Quibbler Reopens
"You'll be the death of me," she murmured in to his ear before nibbling ever so gently on his neck. The curtains were drawn, and the fireplace was more embers than actual flame. The sheets were messed, and all the pillows were scattered across the polished wooden floor, except for one pillow that they were both somehow sharing.
"I'll be the death of you?" he asked quietly, "I'm just the average wizard, I don't think there's a wizard alive who could match the stamina of a Veela." She just seemed to glow with an inner, radiant light. He was sure he was the only one who could see it, "I have to admit, that was… interesting,"
"Interesting?" she laughed, "Most Veela have never even heard of it, and most women won't do it, and all you can say is "interesting?"" she slapped his chest playfully, "Maybe I should use them on you and see how much you enjoy it?"
He recognized that gleam in her eye: The one that crossed the line between sexy and evil. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table in wonder: How could it only be four-something in the afternoon? Sweat clung to both of them, and all that remained of the chocolate mousse was two empty boxes.
"We should get cleaned up," he reached out and let his hand drop back to the bed. He could feel the ache in his muscles, a good kind of ache. It took him more effort than it should have to reach the cup and then drains its contents. With a sigh, he felt the ache leave, "But I'm going to need some serious convincing before I let you get out of bed."
In his mind, he replayed what had taken place just minutes before, focusing and admiring all the little details: The way she had laid, on her back, arms stretched overhead, the way she had thrown her head back, exposing the soft skin on her neck, the way her breasts had heaved when he had taken her. He had taken his time, ensuring her pleasure before his own, not because he was trying to be a considerate lover, but more because he actually enjoyed the look on her face as she was in the throes of her pleasure.
He felt some strength return as Fleur curled up against him and he let his mind wander even as he registered that she had rolled over to face him. Detached as he was, he did notice that she was watching, almost studying him. "Mon amour, what's troubling you?"
He visibly started at the intrusion on his thoughts. Just because she could read his thoughts and mood, did not mean that she did so at every opportunity. Everyone needs privacy, especially inside his or her own head. "You know me too well," he said quietly, "I was just thinking…" It took him a long few moments to put his thoughts in order, "I've… killed," he began, "Fathers, brothers, uncles, sons, and no doubt… there are Death Eaters who are women. I might have to kill them too."
She did not move, just listened, "As if that was not bad enough, my friends, have I made them killers as well?" He had spent long hours using his Occulemency to watch his memories of the Diagon Alley battle and then The Burrow. They had all cast with the intent to kill. Neville, he was sure, had killed, "Voldemort… everything he has done to my friends, my family, I'll kill him when the time comes. But, all the rest. They are not innocent, but…"
"You're scared of what you've done," she said quietly, completing the thought he was hesitant to put in to words, "You're scared that you've stolen the innocence, the childhood of your friends by asking them to fight. You're scared that you are training an army of murderers." He gave her a hopeless sort of smile and she resolved not to lie to him, "They will fight, they will kill and yes, there is a possibility that any one of them could go…Dark." She kissed him gently, "You need to understand two things."
She sat up and stretched, distracting Harry for a long moment from the serious nature of their discussion as he admired the view. He almost mewed in protest when she wrapped the black and silver silk robe around herself, "Be serious for a moment," she grinned, "Valentine's Day is not yet over, so you can unwrap your… cadeaux later." She pulled on the velveteen cord, dangling from the ceiling and Winky popped in a moment later with a tray of snacks and drinks that she placed on a side table before vanishing.
Harry pulled himself out of bed, the handcuffs rattled against the railing and Harry stared at them for a long moment, with a smirk. They probably saved him from being scratched to death at one point, he mused as he pulled on a robe of his own and moved to join Fleur at the table, "What is the difference between a soldier and a murderer?" She looked him calmly in the eye, and he could see there was no judgment, no disappointment, just a search for an honest answer
He absently ran his fingers through his tousled hair, "I'm not sure what you're getting at… but the former has the right to kill in defense of another. A murderer doesn't?"
"Yes," she said simply, "Soldiers, Aurors, are trained to kill but also understand why they kill. They do not kill because they enjoy it. They are trained to fight and defend those they love. A murderer kills, and kills for personal profit." He relaxed slightly as the understanding dawned in his eyes
"You are no murderer, yet you are not quite a soldier or an Auror either," she said, "You kill when you must and you have done so instinctively. You never questioned or doubted the necessity when it has been necessary. Do not doubt yourself now, after the fact. What happened happened and cannot be changed and could not have happened any other way."
"Why?"
"Because you are still alive." She said calmly, "Because we are all still alive."
"Two good reasons," he said quietly, "Now what was the second thing?"
"You know firsthand the corruption that plagues the Ministry of Magic," she said quietly, "What the wizarding world of Britain needs is people who are willing to lead. Honorable, righteous people who will do what is right, and not what is easy."
"We don't need more politicians," Harry said, shaking his head, "And I don't have the right connections, the influence to put someone like that into pow…"
She cut him off with a wave of her hand, "I'm not saying you should be the manipulator. I'm saying it should be you! Or, someone like you!" He stared at her for a moment before closing his mouth with a sharp click. "You need to accept what fate has thrust upon you. You may not like it, or ever be comfortable with it, but fate has chosen you."
"I won't ask you why fate chose me," he said with a smile as he sipped his iced coffee. He knew she did not have the answer. Nobody alive could have one. She cut the cake and handed him the first slice, and took one for herself. He nodded in thanks and sipped his coffee again. The coffee, tasted different than usual. For half a moment, he wondered if somehow somebody had slipped something in to his drink.
"Like it?" Fleur asked, "It's a different blend. Sumatran - at least that's what the bag said." He nodded and took another sip. Yes. Definitely better than the instant powdered stuff he normally drank, "And I don't know why fate chose you."
"You know, you're not the first person to tell me this," he said, putting his cup down as he leaned back and stretched. His back and shoulders cracked in several places and he had a half-wistful expression on his face for a moment, "But I don't want to have to do this."
"Harry," she said quietly, "I don't think you have any choice in this. Whether you want to change the world is one thing, but do you want to defeat Voldemort?" he nodded once, firmly. "Then you have to accept that defeating him is going to change the wizarding world." She took her second slice of cake.
"How is it," he interrupted, "That you can take the most complicated things and make them sound so deceptively simple?" Hermione had been able to do the same thing and he had loved her for it. He still loved her, he admitted to himself. He still missed her, but it would pass in time - he hoped.
"That's a Delacour family thing," she answered, "But if you accept who you are supposed to be, then not only can you lead and change the world for the better, but you will also be doing all of this for the right reasons. Your friends follow you because they respect you. Stay with the light and they will stand by you, and stay with the Light themselves. So long as they stand by you, do you really see them going Dark?"
"You put forth a better argument than most," he said. "So you've managed to convince me of this much, what would you suggest that I…" That just did not sound right to him. He started, over, "What do you suggest we do?" He cut himself a second slice of chocolate cake and passed Fleur her third. She had always had a strong weakness for chocolate cake - probably something to do with Dobby's particularly mouthwatering recipe.
"The first step would be to take control of the media, like you did last year."
"Luna," he breathed, "Is she… can she handle it?"
"It has been almost two months, and I think she is ready to face the emotional issues of reopening The Quibbler. Just getting things up and running will take some time, and she will have time to get used to being in charge. If she starts soon, she could publish her first issue by the end of March…. before Easter at worst."
Harry nodded, "I will talk to her about it tomorrow." He put down his plate and drained his coffee, "What else was in that 'Sumatran blend' Fleur?" he asked. She blushed. She actually blushed, a gentle shade of pink rose. He could feel something, energy was not the right word, neither was lust or desire. It was a whirlwind blend of all three emotions.
He tightened his hold on the armrest of his chair as Fleur leaned over the table to whisper in his ear, "Essence of Veela" she bit his earlobe, "An old family recipe for an aphrodisiac. I guess it's…"
Harry growled, and grabbed Fleur around the waist. He hoisted her on to his shoulder and they crashed on to the bed. Fleur thought to herself, 'Old family recipes… nothing quite like them.' Their clothes vanished as she rolled him on to his back, pinning him to the mattress and guided him in to her with ease. He reached up and grabbed her breasts, fondling her with a gentle massage, flicking her nipples. Fleur growled. She started to fuck him. He reached under her and grabbed her ass, helping to lift her each time she moved.
The movement sped up as their bodies slammed together, her moan opened and all that came out was a long, loud moan, perhaps without her even knowing it. She slammed, and slammed down onto his body, filling herself with his hard penis.
Harry was simply enjoying, loving every moment of it as Fleur simply rode him with that same wanton fiery abandon that seemed to be innate to her. "Dieu…" she moaned
She laced her fingers around his neck staring, seemingly losing himself in her emerald gaze as if he was trying to hypnotize her. Perhaps it was the other way round. All the while, she continued to fuck Harry as hard as she could, grinding her pussy down onto his cock. "So good, so good, sssssssssooo..." She trailed off, breathing quickly through pursed lips. Then her head began to vibrate, and her entire body reeled back like a whip, twisting one way then the other as she screamed in pleasure, unafraid of letting him hear her pleasure. She pulled at her own hair as she turned this way and that, her breasts flinging sweat into Harry's face as she squeezed his body hard between her legs before finally collapsing across him, breathing hard.
He simply enjoyed the feel of her lying against him, sweat soaked as she was. The air was thick with the muskiness of their behavior. He took a deep breath and she smiled at him. The smile made it clear that she could handle, and wanted a lot more. The sheer thought of it made his cock, still buried within her warm silken folds twitch in anticipation, "You didn't?" she asked with a girlish giggle.
"Not yet," Harry admitted.
"Are you close?" she squeezed some muscles and felt the walls of her pussy contract around him.
"Yeah," he growled.
Fleur pulled him from her sopping cunt and kissed her way down his body towards his still erect cock. "It doesn't last too long," she said with a giggle. Without hesitation, she wrapped her mouth around the head of his manhood. It was a surge of pleasure and he involuntarily grabbed Fleur's head between his hands. She sucked and sucked and sucked, her tongue and mouth cavity creating a vacuum around him that had him writhing in a mix of pleasure and pain. She literally summoned the jizz out of Harry with her vicious blowjob. At the first taste, she pulled the penis out of her mouth and aimed it at her own face.
Two messy ropes splashed against her mouth and cheeks and onto her left eyelid. She used her fist to continue pumping Harry, urging the last clear drops out onto her hand. After this, she snaked her body up onto his exhausted form, straddling him, rubbing her still soaked pussy flesh around his deflating penis. She shoved her fingers into Harry's mouth, forcing him to taste himself, before they found themselves kissing tenderly, giving their kisses to each other.
Harry placed Fleur on her back. She looked up at him, with that kind of questioning look lovers have given after sex for ages without number, a look that said, "What could follow such sweet perfection?" Harry gazed deeply into Fleur's sapphire eyes as he moved his hand between her legs and placed two fingers inside her. He stroked her g-spot with a sudden ferocity as he sucked her nipple with his mouth, nibbling softly upon the nub of hardened flesh.
It took only moments before her back arched as she came. He slowed his stroking but did not remove his fingers. He gave her a moment to catch her breath, trailing hot kisses up the side of her neck before latching on to the same sweet spot.
Every nerve was taut and she came again, quickly but not as intensely as the orgasm washed over her. This time Harry did not stop stroking that magic spot between her legs, forcing her to orgasm yet again. It was hard, almost punishing, not gentle at all, "Mon Dieu!" she cried, "Amour... arret… sil vous…"
Those taut nerves were over sensitive, in fact so overcharged that everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, and yet seemed amplified, stronger than they should be. Harry was technically cheating as he channeled magic wandless through his fingers deliberately to bring her to this point of incomprehensible arousal. "Forgive me," he whispered to the begging beauty splayed beneath him, gasping for breath, "Je ne pas parle Francais."
He licked her neck, firmly and bit down and it was all Fleur could do to hang on and ride the lightning as she came again. She moaned aloud but could not form words as he stroked her g-spot again while nibbling gently on one nipple, tearing another orgasm from her as he kissed his way down, past her belly button to taste her sweetness.
His hands continued to fondle her breasts as Fleur's body leapt from one peak of pleasure to another and tensed in anticipation. Sure enough, Harry placed his tongue against her clitoris, causing her to spasm against his face and the bed. Her hands clenching the sheets finally shredded them, and the mattress pad as she kicked out wildly, unable to control herself as another shattering orgasm assaulted her.
He kept her in a state of perpetual orgasmic bliss for almost five minutes, channeling his magic with ease to literally tear one orgasm after another from Fleur. She orgasmed, orgasmed again and writhed helplessly across the surface of the bed, twisting her head back and forth as she sought some escape from her tormentor until finally, Harry slowed his assault and let her come down from the unbelievable high.
The single ray of sunlight illuminated the sweat in her hair. Harry flopped back on the bed, exhausted, cradling Fleur in his arms, "Dieu… c'est incroyable."
"You okay?" Harry asked.
"Well," Fleur said, "if by 'okay' you mean 'the happiest girl in the world,' then yeah, I'm okay."
He chuckled, "I can throw off the Imperius Curse, and it's not like I need a potion to ravage you."
She stared at him for a long moment, "Merde, I'd forgotten you could do that. You can even resist the Veela's Allure."
He laughed as he brought over a cup of sweet tea and brought it to Fleur, sprawled across the bed, naked, exhausted and still looking incredibly beautiful. She drained the glass in a single long swallow, coughing a little at the end, "More," she said. Harry turned back to the side table but he heard Fleur walk up behind him. She opened the curtains and looked across the grounds of the Manor. The sun was beginning to set she noted absently, and turned to face Harry, "Hold me," she demanded gently. He did. They stood in that spot for minutes.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Fleur." He whispered.
The room they were using was in an unoccupied wing of Potter Manor, meaning that they were far enough away from the rest of the Manor's occupants to avoid disturbing anyone - just as well, considering that the sounds Fleur made would have made the blood in any man's veins boil with lust and desire. In the future, an enterprising muggleborn wizard would create the muggle chemical equivalent and after some artful misdirection, a "heart medication" would take the form of a blue pill and the name "Viagra," with the blessing of the Delacours.
Valentine's Day brought about a number of changes, for the better amongst Harry's Inner Circle. It seemed to Harry at least, that all of the couples had taken strides forward in their relationships, and all of them were high spirited. Harry wisely did not ask what had caused the upswing in their moods and morale.
He knew he did not do "tactfully" very well, and it took him a few days to work out what and how to phrase it, and then a few more before he worked up the courage to approach Luna about reopening the Quibbler. After all was said and done, Harry wondered why that had been so hard. Luna had already been making plans and actually started rebuilding the Quibbler. She had asked to set up shop on the grounds of Potter Manor. Harry had agreed.
The hard part was her simple request to publish the events on the night of the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. In the end, he pulled the memory of it from the vault in his mind and placed it a Pensieve, borrowed from Griphook for precisely this purpose. "Tell the people the truth." The truth, he thought bitterly, had cost him Hermione. He felt guilty for that thought, considering what he had with Fleur. He stopped his mind from wandering in to a circular argument of stupidity and guilt.
"You shouldn't feel guilty about that," Luna said suddenly, interrupting his train of thought, "Fleur, knows that a part of you will always love Hermione. She'd be foolish not to. She's part Veela and she's made peace with it. You should too."
He had only grunted before leaving her with the artifact as he made his way to the training rooms to blow off some steam. Just thinking about it made him willing to kill. Fleur's prediction was deathly accurate: By the middle of March, the Quibbler was back on sale. The lead story was the premature death of Xenophillius Lovegood, and its aftermath. Given that Luna had worked with two house elves to publish the latest issue, by the end of March, a number of her father's friends and former employees had stepped up for what was to be the best selling edition of the Quibbler, since its exclusive coverage of the Triwizard Tournament the year before.
The second edition of the Quibbler with Luna as Editor-in-Chief went back to the Battle of Diagon Alley, with extended interviews with the combatants and then went on to detail the attack upon the Burrows, Longbottom Manor and The Meadows. It sold out in record time.
The third issue saw Luna vent, unleashing a well researched and written diatribe that stepped on nearly every pair of toes imaginable: She listed the escaped Death Eaters in incredible detail. She highlighted once again the unfair treatment of Sirius Black at the hands of the Ministry, and then went after Albus Dumbledore and his mismanagement of the Triwizard Tournament that culminated in Voldemort's rebirth. Essentially, she tarred all of them with the same brush: Self-serving sycophants that were easily manipulated, easily bribed and incapable of doing their jobs without having their hands held. She actually challenged those she had named to refute her claims with proof. The April 1 edition sold out and it seemed that her work in galvanizing support was complete when she simply wrote requesting "a show of support by owl."
Stretched in several different directions as she was, Luna coped admirably with her multitude of different tasks and responsibilities, especially since Colin had stepped in as her executive officer.
The Legion continued to meet and train in secret, and their ranks had swollen to ninety-seven. Harry, the Weasely trio, and Neville found themselves tutoring, coaching and generally teaching just about every subject imaginable. Harry however; found himself unable to avoid a certain dream whenever he slept. The starting point always varied: In a windowless passage in the depths of the Ministry, somewhere in the Ministry or exiting the Room of Requirement to find himself back in the same windowless passage. It was either that, or the same damned nightmare of the Third Task.
Nobody that Harry trusted knew what to make of the dreams. Even though he recognized the corridor from the depths of the Ministry, the closest he had come was to find himself standing in front of it, with a glow strip of faint blue light leaking from behind it because it was ajar. He had walked through the door and… woken up. He still had no idea what the hell it meant. He had considered it, several times, and giving the idea of talking to the headmaster some serious consideration.
Of course, that was the last thing he even wanted to consider doing.
It was the second of April when the group entered the Great Hall for breakfast and Harry blinked in surprise: At least every fourth student he saw had a copy of the Quibbler in their hand, avidly reading. He glanced along the staff table and noted with some surprise that several of the professors were reading it as well. Professors Sprout, McGonagall, Flitwick were huddled in conversation at the far end of the table - as far from Umbridge who was a Vernon Dursley shade of purple. He sat down, and poured himself his first cup of coffee when a brown owl descended next to him.
He frowned, and reached for the letter but before he could, four, then another five owls fluttered down, all of them jockeying for position, knocking over the salt, standing in the butter, scrambled eggs and bacon all trying desperately to give him their letters first.
The whole of Gryffindor leaned forward to watch as nine more owls swooped down on to the table, scattering those already gathered in a fit of screeching, hooting and flapping wings. "Hedwig!" Harry shouted.
One word and the owls froze, as did much of the Great Hall, as Hedwig, regally flew in, and landed lightly atop Harry's shoulder. She nipped his ear affectionately and hooted in his ear. "Hi girl," he ruffled his forehead against her, almost like a cat, and everyone watched in shock as Hedwig unfurled her wings and wrapped them around Harry's head, like she was giving him a hug.
Her wings folded back, to reveal Harry with his forehead resting against' his owls. It was a slightly bizarre sight until she turned to face the mass of feathers piled on the Gryffindor table. She gave voice to a long string off calls, leading off with a string of clicks that sounded rather like clapping. The owls on the table arranged themselves in neat rows, as more owls descended in to the Great Hall. Harry just shook his head, as the new comers seemed to catch on fast.
"Fan mail Potter?" Draco sneered from across the hall.
"Yes," he replied calmly, "What's a matter Draco? Jealous? Your Death Eater Mummy and Daddy couldn't get you fans?" Silence reigned across the Great Hall.
"Yeah… well… he doesn't need fans Potter!" interjected Ron, "He has friends who want to be his friends, not hangers on and bootlickers. He doesn't have fans, because he doesn't need them!"
"Shut up Oath Breaker," said Harry mildly as if he was punishing a naughty puppy, "I was not speaking to you." He was busy collecting the letters from each owl, with one hand while Ginny had somehow transfigured a bowl in to a small trough and filled it with water for the Owls, "Thanks Gin."
Luna was handing out Owl Treats a little farther along the table, "I don't recall Hogwarts serving breakfast for owls."
"Guess you could say…" began Fred
"… that this one is…" continued George.
"… For the birds!"
"You're letting them steal your animal magnetism Harry!" warned Colin who was untying a letter from a particular elderly, and tired looking barn owl, who hooted weakly as he hopped towards the water trough.
"I'll steal it back later," he said as he opened the first of the letters, only to be interrupted by the sound of throat being cleared. His right hand dropped below the table, "Professor Umbridge," he flexed his fingers and clenched his fist. Several of his knuckles crackled softly.
"What is going on here?" Harry met her gaze head on, as her bulging toad eyes scanned the mass of owls and pile of letters. The students, Harry noted were watching with great interested, "Why have you received all of these letters, Mr. Potter?"
Fred opened his mouth but a sidelong glance from Harry silenced one-half of the twins, "My personal, private mail is none of your business, Professor." He hesitated for a long moment; he knew that it was only a matter of time before she found out about the Quibbler interview and articles. However, it was also likely that she already knew and was waiting to catch him for something somehow, "I gave an interview about what happened during the Triwizard Tournament," said Harry, "Telling the truth. You and the rest of the Ministry were only to happy to deny it once, I thought I'd give you a second chance to do so."
He glanced up at the staff table as he said this. He had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore had been watching him a few seconds ago. Nothing had even tried to ghost his Legilimency shields, and it was nothing more than a feeling but he couldn't help but wonder, even if Dumbledore did seem to be deep in conversation with professor Flitwick.
"An interview?" repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. "What do you mean 'an interview'?"
"Somebody asked me questions - a reporter actually," he replied, "Then I answered the questions, then they wrote an article which was published…" he tossed her the nearest free copy of the Quibbler.
She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet, "When did you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Whenever the last Hogsmeade weekend was," he said vaguely, "I had a few things on my mind." Not that he would reveal that his biggest concern on the day was keeping Fleur in the throes of multiple orgasms multiple times.
"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter," she whispered, "How you dare… how you could…" She took a deep breath, "One hundred points from Gryffindor!" She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.
"Professor Umbridge," Harry called after her, "You don't have the right to tell me what I do, outside of class or outside of this castle. Emancipated, remember?" He could see the woman tense up, clearly incandescent with rage and he bit back the urge to laugh in her face, "On another matter, I understand that you have made an appointment to discuss something personal with my attorney for this Thursday evening. My attorney will be present, as will both individuals you wish to discuss."
By mid‐morning, enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on house notice boards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.
BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty‐seven.
Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor.
It was Ginny and Luna who pointed out that she was helping their cause: Children and teenagers are after all, drawn towards doing whatever it is they are told not to. By the end of the day, there wasn't a copy of the Quibbler anywhere in sight but it was all everyone was talking about in hushed tones and whispers. "I think," said Luna, "I think they believe you, I really do, I think you have finally got them convinced!"
Professor Umbridge seemed eager to expel someone. She was stalking the corridors, demanding students at random to turn out their bags and pockets in a desperate search for what she called, "the most blatant piece of seditious work I have seen in my distinguished career." However, the students were several steps, or even miles, ahead of her. The relevant pages and articles were charmed blank, invisible or magically hidden.
The teachers had various reactions to this turn of events: Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can. A beaming Professor Flitwick left a box squeaking sugar mice for Harry to find. Professor Trelawney announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister for Magic and have twelve children. Snape shocked Harry the most. He was doing his regular bat-like impersonation, swooping amongst the rows of students struggling to concoct a Calming Draught. He had looked in to Harry's cauldron and half-growled, half-muttered, "It actually looks acceptable, for once."
It made Harry wonder, for the umpteenth time, just who the bat git was really working for? Whose side was he really on?
While the professors were generally positive, the reaction he got from a select number of Slytherins that really made his day. He kept his wand hand free and a low powered shield in place as he searched the bookshelves of the library for something interesting to read, while keeping one eye on them. Theodore Nott was whispering something, Goyle and Crabbe were cracking their knuckles menacingly and Malfoy was plotting something. His interview and memory had identified every one of their fathers as Death Eaters.
Harry's friends had formed ranks around him, creating a buffer zone that kept many people at bay, especially when wand tips were clearly visible. When the group wandered in to the Gryffindor common room that night, a number of Gryffindors had decided to throw a party in his "honor." He had first bit his lip, and then addressed the gathered students who were from all years, and he noted from all four houses. A quick headcount read thirty-five…people. "So? Suddenly I'm the hero again?" they roared their approval, "I'm your savior?" they crowd roared its approval once again and Harry studied the ocean of faces, "Pity," he said. They fell silent, shocked, "Pity the people who need heroes and saviors!" he roared back at them, "Innocent people have died! If you had believed the truth when you were first told…" he trailed off, unwilling to reopen the wounds that had barely begun to heal on Luna. "You, people," he sneered the word, almost whispered it in a manner that would have done Draco Malfoy proud, "disgust me."
He turned and stalked from the common room, leaving the crowd in stunned silence behind him. His friends said nothing, merely following him down to the Residence where he made his way to the training room, where he proceeded to obliterate training dummies with a devastating array of spells, both light and dark.
Luna was the first to approach him, "Harry, I'm sorry."
He rounded on her, "Don't apologize." He was drenched in sweat, but otherwise seemed unaffected by it, "You asked, I agreed. You didn't plan that party did you? None of you did. You know me better than that. Those… idiots," he shook his head, "God help them when the time comes."
"Harry… that might not have been the smartest thing to do thought," said Ginny hesitantly. He fixed her with a stare but she continued, "You need all the support you can get, and you just… well…"
"…Told a number of potential student supporters to fuck off?" he finished for her. He shrugged, "I know. But, when it comes right down to it: The student's shouldn't have to fight. And their support means next to nothing beyond these walls."
"But they could persuade their parents, they could be of some use somehow!" Ginny protested, "Even if all they can do is disarm a Death Eater, or cast a basic protego. Every bit helps!"
He bit his lip and conceded the point, "They might be able to help, but they've chosen to do what is easy. They flip-flop back and forth between calling me savior and lunatic. They haven't done what is right. There is no honor, no loyalty. They just want to profit. I might have been wrong to snub them like that. But I won't have people watching like that watching our flanks and rear. They could get us all killed."
They spent a minute digesting the harsh truth of what he had said, "I might be overstating things a bit," he continued, "But given what I've just told you, do you want any of them to have to cover your?" Another minute passed in silence before Colin drew his wand.
"Mind if we join you?" asked Colin, "Eight of us, versus the best this training facility has to offer?"
"Eight?" said Harry stopping suddenly. He smiled as she stepped out of the shadows. Sweaty as he was, she pulled him in to a hug and kissed him. The couple was oblivious to the catcalls and wolf whistles for a long few moments.
When they finally broke apart, she grinned at him, "I… felt that you were having something of, a difficult evening." It was all she needed to say.
"Ready?" The training room came to life, spawning obstacles, and cover and the eight moved to their starting positions, wands drawn. The training dummies were simulacrum that could cast a whole battery of lethal and non-lethal spells. The teens had been training, working and fighting as a unit for many months and their fighting reflected that, and the wisdom of their trainers and instructors.
A perfect perimeter, they covered each other, healed on the fly, improvised and adapted. The environment was a weapon as they transfigured and charmed it to do their bidding. In less than twenty minutes, they had crushed their simulated opponents. They ran through several more combat scenarios until finally they were defeated by a level 18 scenario, where they had been, in a word, hosed by a never ending stream of attackers.
They were all feeling bruised and sore after their hosing and unanimously decided to sleep here instead of trekking through the castle or travelling. Fleur was already in bed when he emerged from the shower. Towel wrapped around his waist, he was content to watch her for a moment. She muttered something and patted the bed next to her, something about too much space. He slid in to bed and wrapped his arms protectively around her. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep almost at once.
