Draco looked up and down the long line of chairs that had been placed along the corridor outside of the Hospital Wing. Hours had passed since students and staff alike had been sent here to be diagnosed and receive treatment for the hex that seemed to have spread to almost everyone in the school. But with only Madam Pomfrey fit enough —or indeed, qualified—to treat anyone, progress was moving at a torturously slow pace. Students and professors sat in the stiff wooden chairs waiting for their turn to be seen. Since nobody could talk, the only sound was people sighing impatiently and the creak of the chairs as their occupants struggled to get comfortable. Every so often, the Hospital Wing door would squeak loudly as it swung open and the Matron's haggard face would pop out in order to call in the next three or four names of patients to be treated.
"Finnigan. Finch-Fletchley. Goldstein!"
Justin, Seamus and Anthony left their seats and hurried towards the door that Madam Pomfrey held open for them and slipped into the Hospital Wing just as three other students exited. They, like everyone else who'd departed, had their heads bowed and avoided eye-contact as they scurried past in the direction of their respective houses. While everyone was keen to avoid looking at anyone else, Harry kept leaning forward in his seat, trying desperately to catch the eye of his best friend. But Ron, sat a few seats away next to Hermione, kept his stony gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to look in Harry's direction.
Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes when he caught sight of the gangly redhead; slumped low in his chair with his legs outstretched and arms crossed, he managed to look by far the most aggrieved person here. Which was no small feat considering some of the spectacular secrets people had spilt earlier that evening. Harry had been quick to admit that amidst the chaos, Ron had found out about his and Draco's relationship. And, to the surprise of absolutely no one, Ron was less than happy about it. Draco wasn't particularly worried that Ron would tell anyone about his relationship with Harry though; he might be a hot-headed git, but based on what little he knew of the Weasleys, they were a loyal and trustworthy bunch—something that he'd always thought of as rather naive but now quietly counted his blessings for. Still, he hated seeing Harry look so miserable.
"You should go and talk to him," he advised in a low voice. "Take advantage of the fact that he can't speak back to you."
But Harry shook his head. "He might not be able to speak but that doesn't mean that he'll listen to me."
"Well, he isn't going to hear anything from you if you just sit here staring at him."
Harry worried his lip and contemplated Draco's words. "I guess you're right…"
"I usually am," he quipped.
Harry drew him an incredulous look. "God, you really believe that, don't you?"
"Well, I am!" Draco insisted. "And you know that I'm telling the truth."
"Telling the truth and telling me what you believe are two very different things," Harry countered.
"Let's not argue semantics," said Draco waving his hand dismissively. "I'll doubtless win the argument anyway. Look, I get it—you want to talk to Weasley but you're afraid of what he's going to say. I understand why you're worried but you're going to be just as worried about doing it tomorrow, so you might as well do it now and get it over with. Now, if you don't go over there and talk to him, I will, and I won't be as nice as you."
Harry huffed out a soft laugh at that playful threat. Looking more determined than afraid now, Harry began to rise out of his seat but paused as he heard someone call his name.
"Harry Potter! Harry Pot—ah, there you are…"
Draco and Harry turned and were surprised to see a spectral figure zooming towards them.
"Sir Nick," Harry greeted the ghost as he rose to his feet. "You're looking for me?"
Sir Nicholas came to such an abrupt halt that his head wobbled violently and he had to use his hand to steady it. "Yes, the Headmistress has asked to speak to you urgently."
Harry frowned. "Me? Did she say why?"
"This isn't really an appropriate place to discuss the matter," Sir Nicholas replied evasively but not before casting a disparaging glance in Draco's direction. Draco just rolled his eyes; he knew that he should be used to everyone being openly disdainful of him by now, but it still got on his nerves from time to time.
"I've to escort you to her office immediately," Sir Nicholas continued. "So if you wouldn't mind…"
Harry looked down at Draco. "Will you be alright on your own?"
"I'll be fine," Draco assured him. "I'm a big boy, Potter."
A sly smile flitted across Harry's face at the double entendre and he reluctantly left Draco with the Gryffindor ghost floating by his side. Draco watched as they turned the corner at the end of the corridor and vanished from sight before he let out a long sigh and slumped back in his chair. Glancing at his wristwatch, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly at the late hour and crossed his arms. How much longer was this going to take?
A few uneventful minutes passed and then Madam Pomfrey's head reappeared, ushering out her cured patients before calling for the next group, "Goyle. Granger. Longbottom. Lovegood!"
Draco watched as Goyle lumbered towards the Matron, closely followed by Neville and Luna, who—still wearing her dragon costume—practically skipped towards the hospital wing as though she didn't have a care in the world. Hermione squeezed Ron's hand and gave him a reassuring smile before leaving her seat and hurrying after her friends, leaving her boyfriend alone.
Typical, thought Draco. The moment Harry leaves is when the perfect opportunity to speak to Ron on his own arises. With nothing else to occupy himself, Draco watched Ron fidget relentlessly in his seat, tapping his foot against the floor, bouncing his leg up and down, chewing his thumbnail...his body language perfectly encapsulated how everyone felt as they waited to be seen.
Seemingly at the end of his tether, Ron leapt to his feet and marched past Draco without giving him a second glance before coming to a halt at the far end of the corridor. It was quieter at that end with less people to stare at you.
And less people to listen in, Draco realised.
He glanced up and down the corridor but nobody paid him any mind, too absorbed in their own thoughts and worries. Before he could talk himself out of it, Draco got to his feet and walked swiftly to where Ron stood doodling angry faces and phallic images onto the window condensation. He only noticed Draco was beside him after he cleared his throat, and he looked none too happy to see him.
"Weasley," Draco greeted him with a slight nod.
Ron opened his mouth to speak but, of course, no words came out, so he responded by letting out a deep, guttural growl of frustration and flipping Draco off. But Draco was not so easily dissuaded; to be honest, this wasn't all that different to how they normally greeted each other in the Great Hall each morning.
"I know that I'm the last person in the world that you want to speak to—now or ever—but I'm taking advantage of the fact that you can't speak and I can't lie, and I'm going to tell you what you need to hear."
Ron grunted again and turned his back on Draco, but he didn't walk away. This suited Draco just fine. If anything, it would make this part much easier not having to look him in the face. He took a deep breath and began to speak.
"Harry wanted to tell you about him and me, but I asked him not to. In part because I'm afraid of what my parents will say when they find out, but the main reason I didn't want him to tell you is because I knew that you would react badly. And I...I'm afraid that if you ask him to choose between your friendship and being with me, he'll choose you. We both know what choice he'll make."
Ron kept his back turned to Draco but the tension in his shoulders eased a little. Draco sighed and forced himself to continue, "Harry loves you, Weasley. You and Granger. And you know what? I'm jealous of how much he loves you both. I always have been. So when, for some reason that will always elude me, he reciprocated my feelings, I jumped at the chance to experience just an iota of what you and Granger get from him. If I had my own way, I'd keep him all to myself and I wouldn't share him with anybody. But Harry's not like that. He'd give me up in a heartbeat if you asked him to, even if he didn't want to, because he cares about what you two think more than anything else in the world."
Draco clenched and unclenched his fists, hating just how honest he was being, but since Ron hadn't knocked him out yet, he supposed that he must be doing something right.
"So, if you're going to be angry at anyone, be angry at me. I for one couldn't care less what you think about me. Just don't push Harry away on my account. The only thing he's guilty of is caring too much about my feelings. Take it from me, you don't meet many people like him in this world: despite everything I've done, he still managed to see something good in me. I can't see it myself, to be honest...but he makes me want to be the way he sees me."
Ron slowly turned to face Draco then. His face was still set in a deep scowl, but his expression was more curious than angry now. It made Draco feel uncomfortable being under such scrutiny, but he had to say his piece. "Now, you're probably wondering why I'm telling you all of this. Well, first of all, I love Harry. Oh, do close your mouth, Weasley, you look like a gargoyle gaping at me like that." When Ron snapped his mouth shut, Draco continued. "Secondly, for the first time in my life, I actually care about someone else's happiness as well as my own. Finally, I'm telling you all of this because even though you know that I'm telling the truth, if you were to tell anyone else what I just said, they wouldn't believe you."
Draco couldn't help but feel amused at how furious Ron looked when he said that because they both knew it was true. As much as he enjoyed winding Ron up, he decided it was time to wrap things up. "So, when you're done moping about feeling sorry for yourself, can you please talk to him? Because he really needs to talk to you."
Draco only half turned away before summoning his courage to face Ron again. "And another thing: you've got Theo all wrong."
Anger flashed across Ron's face again but Draco pressed on. "I heard everything that you said about him—calling him a Death Eater and a scumbag—but you're wrong about him. Theo may be a lot of things—he's stubborn, and sometimes he's arrogant. I hate it when he picks food off of my plate and he's always late when we arrange to meet up places…"
Ron cocked an eyebrow at him and Draco shook his head. He was getting off-track. "The point is he's a lot of things but he's not a Death Eater; take it from someone who knows. He's a good person. He's…" Draco's shoulders sagged and he turned to look at Theo sitting further down the corridor with Ginny by his side. "He's loyal to a fault, and he protects the people that he loves, even when they let him down...even when they don't deserve it."
Draco felt a familiar deep ache in his chest return when he looked at his oldest friend. He missed him more than words could say...he wasn't even sure if he said that part out loud to Ron or not, but at this point, he didn't care anymore.
"The truth is, Theo's the best friend that anyone could ever hope to have. The only thing that he's guilty of is being a good son to a father who let him and his family down." Draco turned his attention to Ron and he frowned. "So, I don't care if you're Harry's best mate, if you say anything else disparaging about Theo, I'll knock you on your arse. Are we clear?"
Ron's eyebrows shot up in surprise but he didn't look particularly concerned about Draco's threat of retribution. No matter. He'd said what he'd needed to say. Draco cleared his throat and straightened his back. "Right. That's all I came here to say. This is embarrassing and awkward for both of us, so...I'm going to stop talking now. Oh! One more thing: your costume is absolutely ridiculous, but then you already know that."
Draco turned to leave but only managed to take one step when Ron's strong hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around. Thinking he had pushed his luck too far this time and was about to get decked in the face, Draco braced himself for a punch that never came. Instead, Ron relinquished his grip on Draco's shoulder and stepped towards a nearby window pane and wrote a message in the condensation: You really love him?
He turned to look at Draco again and gave him a hard look. Draco's mouth was suddenly very dry, but he gave a firm nod in response. "Yes, I really do."
Ron stared at him for a few moments before walking past Draco back towards his vacant seat, but Draco's eyes were fixed on the messaged scrawled on the window pane. He watched as the transparent letters dripped and pooled on the stone ledge, the weight of those words finally hitting him. He loved Harry. And just as he was finally able to admit it to himself, he might be about to lose him forever.
"So what does Professor McGonagall want to talk to me about?" asked Harry once he was out of earshot from everyone. Sir Nicholas hesitated a moment before replying.
"It really isn't my place to say," he said evasively. "Best to leave it to the Headmistress to explain."
Despite his mounting curiosity, Harry didn't press Sir Nicholas for more information. He supposed that he would find out what Professor McGonagall wanted with him soon enough. Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the journey—it felt as though more than enough had been said tonight already—but thankfully it was a short walk between the Hospital Wing and the Headmistress's Tower. When they turned the corner onto the gargoyle corridor, they slowed to a halt outside Professor McGonagall's office. Normally, a sapient gargoyle guarded the entrance, but he had been severely damaged during the Battle of Hogwarts. In its place was an empty portrait.
"I'll just leave you here," said Sir Nicholas, already turning to leave. "I have other messages that I need to deliver. Good luck."
Harry frowned. "Uh, thanks."
Good luck? Good luck for what, exactly? Sir Nicholas drifted through a stone wall and disappeared from sight, leaving Harry on his own. Harry turned back to the empty portrait and sighed; how was he supposed to get up to the office if nobody was here to let him in?
"Helloooooo," he called, his voice echoing in the empty corridor. "Is anybody there?"
He had hoped that whoever the portrait's occupant was had heard him, but after calling out a couple more times, nobody appeared. Harry took a step back and inspected the wall for some sort of door handle or knocker but found nothing of the sort. Maybe he had to use a password like before? Dumbledore's had always been one of his favourite sweets. When Snape had been Headmaster, the password had been Dumbledore, which in hindsight seemed rather fitting. But what would McGonagall's password be? Something to do with Transfiguration, maybe? She could transfigure herself into a cat, Harry mused. Maybe he had to meow at the portrait to gain entry?
"Ah, Potter. Still getting yourself into trouble, I see. What a surprise."
Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when he heard the familiar, cool voice speak his name. His head snapped towards the once empty portrait to find Professor Snape standing in frame, his usual sneer painted across his sallow face.
"I'm trying my best to stay out of trouble these days...sir."
Harry tacked on the title for good measure and it earned him an amused expression from his old Potions master. "Sir now, is it? So, it only took my untimely death for you to speak to me in a manner befitting my position."
It took all of Harry's willpower to resist rolling his eyes at the derisive comment. He may see Snape in a new light after viewing his memories in the Pensieve, but that didn't make him any more fond of the man. "Would you rather I just called you Snape, for old times' sake?"
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Sir Nick said that Professor McGonagall wanted to see me," said Harry, deliberately changing the subject.
"She does," Snape confirmed but made no attempt to give Harry entry to the office.
"He said that it was urgent," Harry pressed, keen to end this reunion with Snape as quickly as possible. Snape's thin lips twisted into a tight smile.
"I'll grant you entrance when the Headmistress is ready to see you," he replied lazily, clearly delighting in the fact that he could still administer some power over Harry, even if it was from beyond the grave. Harry gritted his teeth in frustration but he gave a careless shrug.
"Fine. You'll get to enjoy my company for a bit longer then," he said lightly. He didn't miss the flicker of annoyance flash across Snape's face; perhaps annoying Harry wasn't worth having to spend more time in his company than necessary.
"I'll go see if she's ready to see you now," he drawled before disappearing out of the left side of the frame. Harry chewed on his fingernail while he waited, but too soon for his liking, Snape stepped back into the frame looking miffed. "She'll be ready for you in a moment."
"Alright." An awkward silence followed as Harry avoided Snape's penetrating gaze. In an effort to fill the silence, he asked, "So...what's it like being a portrait?" Snape drew him an incredulous look and Harry grimaced. "Right. Stupid question…"
"Finally, something that we can both agree on," Snape muttered.
"Alright, forget I asked," Harry huffed.
"You do realise that I'm merely an impression of the subject? I'm not really Severus Snape."
"I know that," Harry replied defensively.
"Yet you still take what I think and say to heart," Snape mused. "My recently departed counterpart was right about you: you're a hot-headed dunderhead who wears his heart on his sleeve and speaks before he thinks."
Harry let out a mirthless laugh. "Oh really? Well, I'm glad to see that you're still the same foul git you've always been, sir." An amused smirk spread across Snape's face and Harry's eyes narrowed. "You just enjoy winding me up, don't you?"
"I'm afforded few pleasures these days now that my counterpart has shuffled off of this mortal coil," he admitted. Harry shook his head in disbelief.
"Well, if it's any consolation, you were very good at getting a rise out of me."
Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That almost sounds like a compliment."
"It would to you, wouldn't it?" Harry grumbled. "Mind you, I wasn't too bad at winding you up, either."
Snape let out a weary sigh. "So I've been told: you were a consistent troublemaker who believed that the rules did not apply to him. It seems that little has changed."
"I told you, I try my best to stay out of trouble these days," Harry reminded him but Snape huffed out a derisive laugh.
"Are you sure about that?"
Confused by that cryptic reply, Harry opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was implying, but quickly closed it as, without warning, Snape's head dipped out of the frame for a few seconds. When he reappeared a few moments later, any amusement that had been written across his face was now gone. "The Headmistress will see you now."
Without further explanation, Snape's portrait swung open to reveal the revolving staircase, moving smoothly upwards like an escalator. Feeling uneasy, Harry stepped onto it. He heard the portrait groan as it swung shut again behind him, closing the passageway to the corridor. As he rose upwards in circles, higher and higher, a bright light appeared behind him and he turned his head just in time to see a small white bird made of light zoom past. The Patronus flew over his head and straight through the gleaming oak door that was slowly coming into view. When he stepped onto the landing and approached the door, he could hear Madam Pomfrey's muffled voice from inside the office as he knocked on the door. A moment later it creaked open and Harry was surprised to come face to face with a gloomy-looking Liv Tonks.
"Hello, Harry," she sighed. "I suppose you better come in."
Liv ushered Harry into the office, and he was surprised to see there was a group of people waiting within: as expected, Professor McGonagall was sitting at her desk, while Professors Switch, Flitwick and Sprout stood behind her desk to her left and right, their expressions grave. Despite feeling as though the tension in the room could be cut with a knife, that feeling was negated somewhat by the fact that everyone was still wearing their Halloween costumes: it would be difficult to take anything Professor Flitwick said seriously while he wore his Oompa Loompa outfit.
None of the professors looked in Harry's direction as he approached; instead, they were listening intently to the Patronus (a nightingale, Harry realised), which stood on the Headmistress's desk as it spoke in Madam Pomfrey's booming, authoritative voice.
"Based on the accounts of several patients, it is my belief that a combination of alcohol—Ogden's Old Firewhisky, if I'm not mistaken—a poorly brewed Babbling Potion and a potent dose of Veritaserum was added to the punch bowl in the Great Hall..."
As Madam Pomfrey explained the situation in more detail, Liv led Harry over to the row of four seats lined up in front of the Headmistress's desk, two of which were occupied by younger students that he recognised by sight but he didn't know their names. Harry took one of the unoccupied seats and stole a glance at the other students; the first boy, dressed as a jester, shook so much that the bells on his hat jingled, while the other—older and lankier with cropped black hair—sat with his head bowed clutching a Michael Myers mask in his lap.
"...It appears that the punch was spiked with Truth Serum first," Madam Pomfrey's Patronus continued. "Then the Babbling Potion, and finally, the alcohol. It will take some time to treat everyone affected, but I will write up my full report on the matter and bring it to you once I have seen all of my patients."
A stony silence followed as the bright light of the nightingale quickly faded and disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Professor Sprout was the first to speak up.
"Well, that would explain why not everyone was affected," she mused. "I didn't have anything to drink."
"Me neither," Liv confirmed.
Professor Switch nodded in agreement. "It also explains how varied people's symptoms are. There are a lot of factors to consider: an individual's body mass, their degree of tolerance, the rate of digestion, the time they drank the punch…"
"What do you two have to say for yourselves?" Professor McGonagall cut in, turning her attention to the two students on Harry's right. Neither boy seemed to have the courage to speak up, and Harry couldn't blame them; he'd never seen his former Head of House look so angry.
"I only added the Firewhisky," the dark-haired boy suddenly blurted out. "I wouldn't have drunk any if I knew there was Veritaserum in it! That would've been stupid."
"Adding spirits to the punch was hardly clever of you, was it Abberley?" Flitwick countered. "You've done Ravenclaw a great disservice this evening. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Abberley bowed his head again and mumbled, "Yes, Professor. Sorry."
Professor McGonagall's sharp eyes flitted towards the boy in the jester hat and he seemed to wither under her furious gaze. "And you, McKinley? Was it you who added the Veritaserum to the punch?"
McKinley shook his head vigorously, causing the bells on his hat to jingle even louder. "N-no, Professor! I swear it wasn't me!"
"So, you admit that you added the Babbling Potion?"
McKinley hesitated a moment before nodding. "Yes."
"What on earth possessed you to do that?" Professor Sprout demanded. McKinley's ears turned red and he shrugged.
"I thought that it'd be funny," he replied weakly.
A collective groan rumbled through the office and Professor Sprout massaged her temples in frustration. Harry sat silently, keeping himself as small and invisible as possible, as the boys' Heads of House decided their punishment: detention until Christmas and one hundred points deducted each from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Professor McGonagall gave them a few harsh parting words about their reckless behaviour before sending them on their way. Once the boys had exited with Professors Sprout and Flitwick in their wake, Professor McGonagall turned in her tartan wingback armchair to speak to Professor Snape, who had returned to his portrait above her desk.
"Have they found him yet?" she asked.
"He hasn't been located anywhere on the school grounds, therefore, Professor Jones believes that he is currently hiding in the Room of Requirement," Snape explained without elaborating who they were talking about. "She is heading there now."
Harry knew better than to ask who they were looking for, but then again, he had a far more pressing question on his mind. "Excuse me, Professor McGonagall. You asked to see me?"
Professor McGonagall turned her steely gaze upon Harry and he felt a chill run up his spine. Whatever he was here for, clearly it wasn't a social call. "Mr Potter, have you received treatment from Madam Pomfrey yet?"
Harry shook his head. "No Professor, I don't need it. I didn't drink any of the punch."
"I saw you and Mr Malfoy lingering by the punchbowl during the festivities. Why didn't you pour any for yourself?" she asked.
"I did. Didn't I?" Harry screwed up his face trying to remember. "At least I thought I had. I guess I just wasn't thirsty."
A flash of what looked like disappointment streaked across Professor McGonagall's face before she schooled her expression into a stern mask. "Mr Potter, do you know why I asked to see you?"
Harry felt a swell of irritation rise up inside of him then: she was the one who had asked to see him, so why was she playing games with him? He managed to keep his voice even when he replied, "No, Professor."
"Would you like to hazard a guess?" Snape sneered.
Harry frowned. "Well, I'm assuming it has something to do with what happened tonight, but I don't know what it's got to do with me."
Professor McGonagall considered Harry in silent consideration for a few moments before speaking again. "Three years ago, you co-founded and led an organisation called Dumbledore's Army. Correct?"
Harry's eyes flitted up towards Dumbledore's portrait, but it was empty. He wondered if Professor McGonagall had purposefully sent him out of the room. "Uh...yeah, I did."
"An organisation that was disbanded and then re-established during the war by Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom?"
"Yes…" he replied slowly. "Sorry, what's that got to do with what happened tonight?"
"As I recall, membership to the organisation was rather exclusive."
"I believe you mean exclusionary," Snape chipped in. "Students of Slytherin House were not permitted to join the organisation."
"That's not true," Harry protested and Professor McGonagall raised a thin eyebrow at him before he relented, "Okay, so we didn't have any Slytherin students in the group. But they weren't exactly the most trustworthy bunch at the time, were they?"
As soon as the words had left his mouth he felt awful and cast a guilty glance at Liv who gave him a small but reassuring smile. To her credit, she didn't look upset at what he'd said; she'd probably heard far worse from others.
"I also recall the organisation was famed for its disruption of authority," Professor McGonagall continued. "All manner of disruptive behaviour broke out: dungbombs were released on a regular basis, rogue Nifflers caused significant damage to school property, there were also enchanted fireworks, if I remember rightly…"
"Slytherin students being the primary target of these attacks," Snape noted.
Harry shook his head in disbelief at what he was hearing. They were taking the reality of the situation and twisting it into something unrecognisable.
"That's not what it was like! None of that would have been necessary if Umbridge hadn't been here. Have you forgot all of the things that she did? She kicked out Professor Dumbledore, tortured students—" Harry angrily brandished his left hand which still bore the thin white scars from Umbridge's Blood Quill "—prevented us from learning defensive magic. That's why Dumbledore's Army was started in the first place! And as for targeting Slytherins, you just had to take a look at the Inquisitorial Squadfull of Slytherins, it was. If anything, they were targeting us!"
"So, you admit that you have an ongoing grievance with Slytherin House?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"I...no." Harry shrunk back in his seat. "Not now, I don't."
"Really?" asked Snape making no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "I find that very hard to believe."
"Things have changed," Harry argued.
"Evidently not as Slytherin students continue to be the primary target of malicious pranks," Professor McGonagall countered.
"What's that got to do with me?" asked Harry.
"There have been rumours of a group in the school who are responsible for all of the unruly behaviour this year, and a lot of what they're doing bears striking similarities to the group you established in your fifth year." Professor McGonagall leant forward slightly in her chair. "Harry, I want you to answer me truthfully: have you started up Dumbledore's Army again?"
Harry couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, but he shook his head. "No."
"You haven't formed a resistance group in any shape or form?"
"No," he replied more firmly.
Suddenly, there was a loud rap at the door. Professor McGonagall kept her gaze fixed on Harry as she called, "Enter!"
The door creaked open and when Harry turned in his seat to see who it was, he was shocked to see Hestia Jones enter with Dennis Creevey by her side. What the hell was going on?
"Found him in the Room of Requirement, as expected," said Hestia, still in her Aragorn costume. She escorted Dennis towards one of the empty chairs and made him sit in it. "He thought that by instructing the room from barring entry to Slytherins that he wouldn't get caught. Unlucky for you that I'm a fellow Gryffindor, eh?"
Dennis, dressed head to toe in black, threw her a mutinous look but said nothing. Harry hadn't interacted much with Dennis since the school year had started, but up close he was shocked to see how poorly he looked. He had always been small and scrawny for his age, but even under the heavy black cloak, it was obvious that he had lost a lot of weight. His complexion was pale as though he hadn't seen sunlight for months, which made the purple shadows under his eyes even more pronounced. Despite his sickly appearance, his expression was one of determination and defiance.
"Mr Creevey, several students have reported seeing someone in a Guy Fawkes mask pouring a clear liquid into the punch bowl during festivities," said Professor McGonagall. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
Professor McGonagall waited patiently, giving Dennis plenty of time to respond, but he just stared back at her and refused to speak. Professor McGonagall sighed and said, "Turn out your pockets, please."
Dennis hesitated a few moments before getting to his feet and emptying the contents of his pockets onto the Headmistress's desk: he tossed a plastic Guy Fawkes mask, a silver hip flask—the same one Harry had seen Dennis use earlier in the evening—his wand, a folded piece of parchment, and a polaroid onto the table before slumping back into his seat. He maintained his defiant look as Professor McGonagall picked up the mask and turned it over in her hand while Hestia unscrewed the hip flask's metal lid and sniffed the contents.
"You're not going to be able to identify it by its smell or colour," Snape reminded her. "If brewed properly, Veritaserum is both colourless and odourless."
"So how are we meant to know what it is?" she asked.
"You could always drink some," he suggested.
"Very funny," Hestia mumbled, screwing the cap shut again. "I'll get Slughorn to take a look at it once he's been treated."
Dennis visibly tensed when Professor McGonagall reached out and picked up the folded piece of parchment. When she had finished unfolding it, she stilled as her eyes darted across the page. After a moment, she slid the parchment towards the two boys. Dennis didn't bother to look at it, but Harry sat forward, keen for any explanation as to what he was doing here and how the night's events were supposed to involve him. When he read the title on the top of the page, Harry's mouth fell open.
"What..." he faltered, looking between Professor McGonagall and Dennis. "What is this?"
"It appears to be a list of members recruited to a group known as Potter's Army," Professor McGonagall answered coolly.
Harry snatched up the parchment in disbelief. It looked very similar to the enchanted parchment Hermione had made members of Dumbledore's Army sign when they had joined the former duelling club, only the header had POTTER'S ARMY scrawled across the top in scratchy capital letters. The list of names was largely unknown to him, but a couple did catch his attention: Jack Sloper, a fellow Gryffindor and former Quidditch teammate of his, and Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff student in his year, were listed as members. Harry looked at Professor McGonagall and he shook his head.
"I...I don't know what this is," he stammered.
"If that is true, then it is a rather curious name for the group."
"Harry's not in the group," said Dennis suddenly. "He's got nothing to do with any of this."
Both Harry and Professor McGonagall's heads snapped towards him then. "If that is the case, then why is the group named after him?"
"Believe me, that wasn't my choice," Dennis grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I wanted to stick with Dumbledore's Army, but everyone else in this school hero-worships Potter like he's the second coming of Christ. Personally, I think it's ridiculous, but the majority rule and all that…"
"Hold on…" Harry's eyes narrowed as he read the parchment again. "Potter's Army...P.A. You're the ones who wrecked Myrtle's bathroom!"
"Yes, Potter, we've gathered as much already," Snape cut in impatiently. "Do try to keep up."
"Quiet, Severus," Professor McGonagall snapped. "So you admit that you're the one who spiked the punch bowl with Veritaserum."
"Yes," Dennis confirmed unabashedly.
"Where did you get the Veritaserum from?"
"Potions class," he explained. "Professor Slughorn's brewing it with the sixth years. I just stole some when he wasn't looking."
"You do realise that Veritaserum is a strictly controlled substance," said Snape. "You could lose your wand for this."
"I know." Dennis gave a careless shrug. "As far as I was concerned, it was worth the risk of getting caught."
"To what end?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"To teach everyone a lesson," he explained. "Everyone in this school is trying to convince themselves that everything is fine. I just proved that it isn't."
Professor Switch, Liv and Hestia shared worried glances with one another but Professor McGonagall's eyes never wavered from Dennis. "You're also responsible for damaging the girls' bathroom on the second floor." Dennis nodded. "And for setting off those fireworks in the Great Hall this afternoon?"
Dennis nodded again. "For the Canary Creams and Bubotuber Pus in the post, the biting teacups and punching telescopes...all of it. It was me. It was all of us."
"Why?" she implored. "Why would you do any of this?"
Dennis drew her an incredulous look. "The fact that you even need to ask that is part of the problem!"
The office erupted into cries of condemnation as the portraits, no longer feigning slumber, admonished Dennis for his disrespectful tone, then quickly fell silent again as Professor McGonagall raised her hand.
"Let him speak," she instructed. "I'm willing to hear his side of the story."
Harry was keen for an explanation as much as the rest of them, although it was taking all of his effort to stop himself throwing a hex in Dennis's defiant face. All the pain and fear that he and his friends had caused in the last few weeks—Merlin, the irreparable damage that had been done tonight—how could there be a justification for any of it?
"You lot sit here in your ivory tower, telling us that we ought to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and get on with things," Dennis spat. "That's be easy for you to say, especially when you haven't lost anything. People lost their homes. Their entire families. The right to do magic. My brother died. Murdered. In this school, by god only knows who, and his only crime was being Muggle-born."
Dennis lurched forward, snatched the polaroid from the desk and turned it over. Harry felt his stomach clench when he saw that it was a picture of Colin and Dennis, smiling and waving in their school uniforms. Harry knew all too well that Colin had a passion for photography, and it appeared that he had quite the talent for it, too. The picture was beautiful in its simplicity, a perfect moment in time captured of the two brothers, frozen forever, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that would befall them. Dennis stared at the photograph in his lap, his face screwed up in pain and anger.
"When the war started, Colin and I couldn't come back to school. Then we got the letter from the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. We'd heard what had happened to other folk who'd gone to the Ministry...so we went into hiding. For months. Travelling up and down the country, scared to even use magic in case the Snatchers found us. But the whole time, Colin believed that Harry Potter would save the day. He never wavered in his belief, not for one second."
Dennis clenched his fists in his lap, scrunching up the photograph. "Then he gets a message from Dumbledore's Army: Harry Potter's returned to Hogwarts and it was time to make a last stand against Voldemort. Colin came back here to fight." Dennis looked up at Harry then, his red eyes streaming with tears. "He came back for you. He came back here and he…"
Dennis choked on his words and fell silent, but only for a moment before he forced himself to continue. "Colin. Lavender. Professor Lupin. And fifty others that nobody ever cares to think about died that night. And what thanks do we give them for their sacrifice? We let Death Eaters like Draco Malfoy come back here and we pretend like nothing happened!"
Dennis's voice had risen into a crescendo until he bellowed the last few words at Professor McGonagall. Although her expression remained impassive, the fiery anger in her eyes had extinguished. They looked as hollow as Harry felt.
"So, Potter's Army was in response to my permitting all students to return to Hogwarts, regardless of their blood status or background," she said softly.
"That's a clever way of saying you'll turn a blind eye to letting Death Eaters come back here to receive an education," Dennis argued. "You should have kept the Slytherins locked up in the dungeon and thrown away the key."
"Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters, Dennis," Professor McGonagall reminded him gently.
"But all Death Eaters are Slytherins," he sneered.
"That's not true," Harry cut in. Dennis drew him a furious look but he pressed on. "Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor and he was one of the worst Death Eaters out there. Snape—Professor Snape—was a Slytherin and a Death Eater, but ultimately, he was on our side. And as for Draco Malfoy...his situation was a little more complicated than most people think."
"What's your point?" Dennis asked.
"My point is that none of this is black and white," Harry argued. "People don't fit into neat little categories of good and bad, right or wrong. Sometimes, people do the wrong things for the right reasons—like breaking someone out of jail when you know that they're innocent, or becoming a Death Eater because you and your family's lives are at risk. And sometimes, people do the right thing for all the right reasons and they die anyway, because this is real life, and real life isn't some fairytale where everyone gets their happy ending.
"What happened to Colin isn't fair," Harry continued quietly. "And I know what it feels like—"
"You don't know!" Dennis shouted. "I had to go home and explain to my dad that Colin had been killed. How could you have any idea what that was like?"
"I know what it's like to see the people you love die," Harry pressed on. "I know how it feels to want to hurt those who've hurt me and the people that I love most. To be so angry at everyone for being so stupid and blind to what's in front of their faces that you want to scream at the top of your lungs and lash out. And I know the guilt that eats away at you when you couldn't protect your loved ones—that you got to live when they didn't. But after all of that, after everything you've done, can you honestly tell me that you feel any better for doing it?"
Dennis scowled at Harry but said nothing, and his silence spoke volumes. Although Harry had never lost a sibling, he knew the pain and guilt of loss better than most. He carried it with him every day; the grief was bad enough. But the guilt...that was far worse than anything else.
"We all lost something during the war," said Professor McGonagall solemnly. "Some more than others. But while I can sympathise with your situation, that does not give you and your friends licence to terrorise students, however you try to justify your actions."
Dennis bowed his head and avoided looking at the Headmistress. It seemed that all of the fight had gone out of him. Harry thought that he looked so exhausted that if the world swallowed him whole, he wouldn't even have the strength to fight back. If anything, he'd welcome it.
"So, just to be clear, Mr Potter had no knowledge or involvement whatsoever in your group's activities?" asked Professor McGonagall.
Dennis shook his head and mumbled, "No."
Professor McGonagall looked somewhat relieved by this and sat back in her chair. "Very well. Professor Tonks, since Professor Slughorn is currently unfit to perform his duties, I am temporarily appointing you to Head of Slytherin House."
Liv's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Th-thank you, Headmistress. I'll do my best."
"And since Slytherins were the primary target of Mr Creevey and his group, it is only right that you should have some input with regards to their punishment."
Liv grimaced at that. "Oh. Right…"
Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry and said, "Mr Potter, thank you for your time. You may now return to your dormitory."
Harry made to move out of his chair but he paused. "Professor, what's going to happen to Dennis and the others?"
"That is none of your concern," she replied evenly. "You were dismissed, Mr Potter. Please, be on your way."
Harry cast a worried glance at Dennis, who kept his head bowed and eyes fixed on the scrunched up photograph in his fist. "Okay, but I just have to say one thing…"
"Here we go," Snape sighed.
Ignoring Snape's interruption, Harry continued. "All I wanted to say was that since you were willing to give Draco another chance, I think Dennis should be afforded the same courtesy. Christ, the amount of times I should have been kicked out of school for misbehaviour…"
"Don't remind us," Snape muttered.
"...But I was always given another chance," Harry continued. "Like I said before: sometimes people do the right thing for the wrong reasons. Or at least, they think they're doing the right thing. I mean, we all make mistakes from time to time, don't we? Sometimes they're pretty big, but I don't think we should be forced to have them hanging over our heads for the rest of our lives."
"Is that everything?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"Uh...yeah. That's all I had to say," Harry replied lamely.
"Very well. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us on the matter. You are now excused."
Knowing he had more than overstayed his welcome now, Harry got to his feet and headed for the exit, wondering if he'd see Dennis at the Gryffindor breakfast table in the morning, or if this was the last time he'd ever see him again on school premises.
"Professor…" Liv said slowly as Harry slammed the oak door shut behind him. "I may have an idea with regards to Mr Creevey's punishment…"
