Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. The members of the Secret Sealing Club are the creations of ZUN.

Chapter 13 – Flight of the Bamboo Cutter

Many books had been written about the four houses of Hogwarts and their qualities, given that it was the oldest, biggest, and most famous school in Magical Britain. In the wizarding parlance of the country it was common to hear people use phrases like "his Gryffindor qualities" or "she's too much of a Raven(claw)", even for the minority that did not attend.

One such book discussed personality, and considered how each house's common qualities might be turned to malice. Slytherin was the most obvious: an excess of ambition was most commonly tied to a desire for wealth or power, magical or political or otherwise, and even the Sorting Hat knew to sing that members of the house may resort to any means to fulfill their ends.

The polar opposite of Gryffindor was different. The house valued bravery, and in courage lay the seeds of foolishness and recklessness.

Hufflepuff valued loyalty, and there were few motivations that could match the strength of an avenger, of a person mourning their friend. Alastor Moody, a Hufflepuff during his time in Hogwarts, who had been one of the most ruthless Aurors during the first conflict with Voldemort, had veered dangerously close to the domain of Dark magic after seeing many of his comrades perish.

Ravenclaw, however, valued knowledge. And as the author of the book had summed up in a single neat sentence, a Ravenclaw might turn to malice and commit acts unspeakable, simply because they wanted to see what would happen.

~~[q]~~

A single foot into the corridor, and Harry could feel it–the thin film of magic that resembled his favoured Cone of Silences.

He began to raise his wand in a preparatory stance, and stepped forward slowly, deliberately.

Doors to old classrooms, which had probably been untouched for decades, lay open to his left, and a solid door to his right. Seeing the neat rows of desks within, Harry raised his other hand, as well, preparing to Summon a physical barrier if the need arose.

Wait, why am I being so wary? Isn't the actual duel itself supposed to be in the trophy room?

Tempus. The spell came to mind, and the magic triggered.

Eleven and fifty. He was early.

Not as early, however, as his opponent.

"'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.'" His voice quoted. "Are you familiar with the saying, Potter?"

"I've heard." Harry said neutrally. This was no time for banter, only the duel.

"Makes you kind of skint, doesn't it?" Victor Westcott stepped forth, emerging from an unused room right at the end of the corridor. So did Claudia Fawcett, and Jaimie Gross, and Marietta Edgecombe, and many others whose physical descriptions matched what Terry had given him.

A trap. A bloody dammed trap.

Ten on one. Both in front and behind.

Screw honour, of course they wouldn't have played fair. Of course that's why he agreed so easily.

"Well, low-level messing around with the kids was fun, but I think getting the truth out of you would be a bit more interesting, wouldn't it?" From Westcott's pocket he drew forth a single crystal phial, which contained a clear liquid–

Veritaserum, the truth potion. So that's the plan, huh?

"It's seldom that I come across such fascinating opportunities, so–"

The moment I attack, they're all going to cast as well, so shield immediately after. Harry drowned out the words, and began thinking. Target the weakest looking first–

It seemed that Westcott was soon going to stop speaking, so before that–

"Stupefy!" Harry picked a target and cast, and was immediately met with several answers. Some said Impedimenta, some said Incarcerous, and some said Stupefy, but ultimately–

The last diagonal slash of the Stunning Hex flowed into a circular motion of– "Protego!" Harry shouted, and at the same time, raised a hand towards the abandoned classroom. "Accio!"

The wooden desk flew towards him, a solid material barrier that intercepted three spells and forced him to duck to avoid the last.

The entire exchange took about five seconds, and at the end of it Harry had five opponents and an active Shield Charm manifested to his right, and four opponents and a floating wooden desk, surface out and legs inward, to his left. His eyes rapidly darted from side to side, taking in every single twitch.

"Impressive, Potter." Westcott looked almost appreciatively to the fallen girl beside him. "Wandless magic simultaneously cast? Perhaps the Boy-Who-Lived title has something special to it after all. But how–"

Breathe, rest, get ready to strike again before he finishes speaking, I never know why I have to wait for people to monologue ever, don't bother with fancy stuff just Stun and Shield and dodge–

"Stupefy!" Harry broke his own Shield Charm and went on the offense again. "Stupefy Stupefy Stupefy!"

More spells of different colours came, and Harry could see them, feel them, hear the song of magic in the air clear as the pain and grief he had been feeling since where it all began–

He dodged a few more, danced to the tune, rotated himself and his wooden shield to intercept, and he noted–

Need a tiebreaker since they seem to be shielding each other as well, so use the Concussion Hex, but silence it so you don't deafen yourself and close your eyes when it goes–

A spiral twirl and a jab aimed to the ceiling, then the two slashes for the next. "Concussus! Silencio!"

Hunker down and cover yourself in the delay, then–

A collective groan accompanied the insides of his eyelids blazing a bright pink, and he sprang up– "Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy stupefy–"

Don't slow down, you can feel the spells coming so dodge, you can feel where they are so aim, don't even bother to look–

The crackle of spells passing above his skin, the thumps of bodies slumping to the ground, the hum of Shield Charms materializing–

Rear guard now all down. Retreat slightly backwards.

Only four left, and they were all turtling behind shields. Harry did not even notice that Westcott had fallen, did not even notice the expressions of uncertainty that had crept onto the faces of those still standing.

Vary tactics. Protego only blocks spells, so in that case–

"Depulso! Incarcerous! Stupefy! Stupefy!" The desk flew forth, crashing into two, and ropes appeared to bind them all together, after which they were both Stunned.

And then there were two.

The girl dropped her Shield and yelled "Stupefy!" in a desperate cry, which Harry idly batted back.

Her partner went down.

One left.

"D-don't hurt me!" She was now cowering in obvious fear.

"Stupefy." With an air of finality Harry cast his last spell, and then there were none.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked around the now deserted corridor. A bead of sweat detached itself from his chin and landed softly on the stone floor.

Hmm, what now? Nothing to do but leave?

His eyes spied a clear phial on the ground.

Oh, and I guess I should probably take this Veritaserum. Don't want any of it making its way into my food.

Finally, he stood to leave. Oh, there probably would be consequences, but he was too tired to care at this point.

It wasn't all the spellcasting, either. It was the–

Thinking, the split second decision-making, the dance on the edge of survival and defeat. Yeah, that's probably why.

Then, as Harry stepped over an unconscious girl, he felt something in his mind, like a stroke of inspiration except as a flash of warning–

"Stupefy."

The quietly murmured spell hit Harry in the leg, and his vision turned black.

~~[q]~~

When Harry came to, he was still in the same place, but his arms were bound to his sides in the ropes of an Incarcerous, and his wand was in the hand of his captor.

Searching his memory, he matched the appearance to the name–

Marietta Edgecombe. She must have pretended to be Stunned. I'll have to look out for that next time.

There was also a pleasant haze suffusing his thoughts, and the vial of clear potion was open, so–

Merlin's sake, I've been drugged. He noted that he was a lot calmer than he had any right to be, and concluded that maybe practicing Occlumency may have helped him to resist the potion to some degree.

"Alright, out with it, Potter." Edgecombe sat cross-legged in front of him. Harry noted that she had a nice figure, and that her face was good-looking, but not that good-looking. In lieu of a question being asked, he wasn't that compelled to speak, so he continued to stare at her.

"Really, you're not going to say anything?" she said incredulously.

"I cannot give to the answers to questions which you haven't asked." Harry replied.

Well, I need to tell the truth, but it appears I can still affect the answers somewhat. Neat.

"You little–argh, let's go with this. What actually happened at the end of last year, Potter?"

"The Leaving Feast." Despite the situation, Harry felt a smile rise to his face.

"You're a bastard, aren't you? What actually happened when you touched the Cup?"

In lieu of the girl's lack of specificity, he could have had several different answers ranging from "I took a sip of water" to "The Gryffindor Quidditch team was cheering", but–

But I do want to tell the truth about what happened. The whole point is that I'm not the one that's been lying thus far.

"I got transported to a graveyard, since the Triwizard Cup was a Portkey."

"Lies." Marietta spat. "Dammed lies. How can you say that Voldemort is back?"

"Because I saw his resurrection with my own two eyes." Harry stated simply. "He rose out of a cauldron with a potion Peter Pettigrew brewed for him. He had red eyes, pale skin, and slits where his nose should be–"

"Shut up!" The girl was clearly shaking. "How do I know you haven't been Confounded, or had your memories tampered with?"

"I've been practicing Occlumency. I would notice if someone has been messing with my mind, and I would also notice if my mind has been messed with previously."

Clearly, I can't choose everything that I can say. I hope she doesn't pry too much into that.

"Occlumency? Why the hell do you know that, anyway?"

"I learnt it to try and control my nightmares."

"As if someone as pampered as you would have nightmares. You probably just want everyone to think Voldemort is back so you can live off your fame more." Marietta snorted.

"I have had nightmares since the end of last year, when Cedric Diggory was killed in front of my very eyes, and when Voldemort captured me and duelled me in front of his Death Eaters. Voldemort put me under the Cruciatus Curse, too. Almost every night I have been dreaming of those events, wishing I could have been stronger to save Cedric or even defeat Voldemort by myself altogether, dreaming of what Voldemort would do next–"

"You're still lying! He can't be back!"

"I am under the influence of Veritaserum, which means that whatever I say is truth as I know it." Harry said. "And as for me being pampered, I live with my Muggle relatives, who have been using me like a House-Elf from the time I was old enough to use a frying pan. I can't believe people believe that I'm some sort of pampered prince when I spent all of my life before Hogwarts being spit upon and abused."

Marietta was shaking her head. "No. No. This potion probably isn't working. Or your so-called Occlumency must be interfering with it. I'll just have to give you more." She reached for the vial to uncork it–

"There they are!"

"Stupefy!"

A red bolt of light slammed into Marietta Edgecombe's back, at which she slumped over. Seizing his chance, and trying his best to shake off the cotton wool of the truth potion from his mind, Harry wandlessly summoned his wand to his hand and contorted his wrist.

"Diffindo!" The Severing Charm cut cleanly through the ropes binding him, but also left a gash on his chest.

Bandage wound, ignore pain–

"Ferula!" Bandages leapt into existence and wrapped around his shoulder and chest, staunching the bleeding as Harry sprang upwards and readied himself for another fight.

"Merlin's pants, Harry." Terry's hands were raised in a gesture of surrender. "Don't worry, we're friendly." He looked at the pile of bodies. "What the hell happened here?"

"I fought the people on the list you gave me, but then went down to a sneak attack from Edgecombe who was playing dead. She then fed me Veritaserum in an attempt to try and wring the truth of last year out from me."

"So you're still under the effects of the truth potion?" Su questioned.

"Yes." Harry gritted out. "Which is why I would highly prefer that questions be kept to a minimum."

"Incredible." Terry spoke again. "So is You-Know-Who really back?"

"Yes. I saw him, I fought him." Harry snapped out.

Shit, I didn't mean for that to come out that harshly.

The two conscious Ravenclaws looked at each other, then at the corridor full of unconscious bodies.

"I say fought, but it was more of 'survive'." Harry added, understanding the conclusion that the two were about to come to.

Terry's face noticeably darkened, while Su began muttering in Chinese dialect under her breath, in low and dire imprecations.

"I can feel the potion beginning to wear off, so I can speak more freely now. I would still appreciate if you knew how to heal this wound, though. As well as find some way to keep it all quiet. Also, to be fully truthful, I was the one that challenged Victor Westcott to the duel first, though I wasn't expecting an ambush."

"Nobody expects an ambush, that's why it's called that," Terry muttered darkly. "Su, go back and get Tony and Padma. I'll heal Potter and send him back, then think of something." At Su continuing to swear under her breath, he spoke more forcefully. "Su, go!"

The girl seemed to come to herself, and left, while Terry reached a hand to steady Harry. "Right," he spoke mechanically, "most simple wounds can be closed using Cura Vulnera, but I'll have to remove the bandages first. Finite." The bandages disappeared, and the Ravenclaw boy began tracing the wand over the line of the gash. "Cura Vulnera. Cura Vulnera. Cura Vulnera."

It took a surprisingly short amount of time. "All done. It's a bit difficult to do since it's all intent, but my grandmother made everyone learn it after…well, it doesn't matter. And for future reference, a strong enough Finite or even Evanesco vanishes the ropes as well."

Harry nodded automatically. "Thanks. But why are you even helping me out like this?"

"There's several reasons, most of which are dumb, and not all of which I can share." Terry said, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Mostly, if you have some sort of secret group you're running to fight Voldemort, I'm looking to join."

"Really? That's the reason?" Harry said, a mite incredulously.

"I told you most are dumb." Terry shrugged.

"Well, as it stands, I do have this study group, which I am trying to keep secret–"

"Oh, I am going to rub this in everyone's faces," Terry's eyes lit up, then dimmed. "But I don't really have the mood for it since you just doubly confirmed that You-Know-Who is back."

Harry struggled for a reply, before settling on one. Well, I did say I need more blue around. But before that… "What are you going to do? I've been trying to not agitate Umbridge, but if she finds an excuse to expel me–"

"First, illegal dosing of potions is quite serious. Second, you just confessed, under Veritaserum, that, well, yeah. Just don't worry about it." He looked again at the unconscious bodies of his housemates, some of which were beginning to stir. "You'll probably have to serve a few detentions with Umbridge nonetheless, to soothe their egos, but it's better than being expelled. We don't want to upset the status quo unless we know what we're doing."

Status quo? Soothing egos?

Harry just looked blankly at Terry. "I–Sorry, but I think I'm too tired to understand."

"Just go to bed, Harry."

~~[q]~~

In the eyes of the British Ministry of Magic, Veritaserum was a Class Five controlled substance, where the levels went from one to six in increasing order of severity.

Two known Class Six substances were Basilisk venom and Phoenix tears, substances said to represent death and life respectively on the conceptual level of magic itself.

In other words–

While Veritaserum wasn't quite truth in a bottle, it came pretty damn close.

And when combined with magical and mental exhaustion, in the aftermath of Harry's first real duel, when traces of it lingered in his system, subtly pointing it towards the shadowed faces of his subconscious–

Harry sat upright in his bed, shaking, sweating–

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches–

He felt frozen in time, frozen in space–

Born to those who had thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies–

With the spectre of death and inevitability loomed over him, with rage and fear that was both his and not his at the same time–

Where's the rest of it? Where's the rest of it?

At the same time, another part of him was thinking, another part of him was coming to the realization–

I failed. How am I going to fight the Death Eaters? How am I supposed to defeat Voldemort?

How am I going to do that, when I went down so easily to some students –a little boy– who were still in school?

This cannot continue.

This isn't enough.

So Harry's thoughts went around, in an endless spiral, until he collapsed from exhaustion once more, his wand still clutched in his hand.

~~[q]~~

"Harry? If you don't wake up soon, you're going to miss breakfast."

Hands were shaking him awake, and Harry rose, still feeling as exhausted as if he hadn't slept. Words then began to register in his mind.

"Wait, miss breakfast?" He turned to look at Neville properly. "You let me sleep in?"

"I couldn't wake you up." Neville said. A line of worry was creasing his brow. "So I figured you were too tired and let you sleep."

"Next time, wake me up even if it kills me," grumbled Harry.

"Sure thing," Neville said. "But you mind telling me what happened last night? Because when I was coming back just now…"

~~[q]~~

"Detention, Mr Potter." Umbridge bore down on him, as soon as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast. "Every weekday for the next three weeks, five o'clock, at my office, starting tonight." Her face was smug. "I would have thought that you had finally learnt your lesson about not telling lies, but it appears the message has not yet sunk in."

"May I at least ask what I was accused of, Professor?"

"Please do not pretend to be coy, Mr Potter. You left Miss Edgecombe in quite a state last night. Terrorising the poor daughter of an honest employee of the Ministry is quite unbecoming of you." The pink-clad woman tittered. "In fact, let's make that four weeks, shall we?"

"I see." Choosing to not waste his breath any further, Harry stalked off towards the Gryffindor table to have his meal. He sensed that he was going to need all the energy he could get.

Throughout the rest of the day, the atmosphere at Hogwarts seemed to be filled with a strange tension, a taut wire with a hundred pounds at each end. The rumour of last night's events seemed to have spread like chain lightning, jumping from one target to the next, leaving its own quiet mark on each individual.

Harry decided he would not call a meeting this week, not until the dust settled.

"You probably shouldn't be hanging around me, you know." He told Neville, who had so far been watching him as if he was going to drop dead at any moment. (To be fair to Neville, his assumption was probably more accurate than Harry himself would like to think.)

"I'll do what I want." Neville said firmly. "Besides, you didn't look so good this morning. And," he dropped his voice to a quieter tone, "people have been saying that you beat eight Ravenclaws in a duel, then confessed to facing down Voldemort under Veritaserum."

"As far as rumors go, that's actually quite accurate for once." Harry mused idly. "Though it was ten, not eight."

"Is that why you were asking me about duels?" Neville put the pieces together. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Harry said wearily. Spotting Hannah and Ernie making their way over to him, Harry gave another sigh. "Neville, do me a favour and tell them it's more or less correct. I'm too tired to speak at this point."

"You really should be telling them yourself, though."

"Like you said, I did just fight ten people and underwent a forced Veritaserum interrogation last night, and I'll have to go to a detention to cut my hand open later. Thanks, Neville." Harry walked off before Neville could say anything more."

"Wait, 'forced interrogation'? Harry, what happened? Harry!"

~~[q]~~

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

He was in Umbridge's office, and the evening seemed to drag on without end. The whole thing, Harry thought, was already a waste of time. Valuable, valuable time, in which he could have been facing off against more simulacrums in the Room, and honing his skills to defeat Voldemort.

In lieu of everything he couldn't do at the moment, Harry thought.

Occlumency lessons with Merry had been postponed to the end of the week, as she had told him after Monday's usual Divination class.

He needed to invite Terry (and probably Su) to the club, soon, and ask them to set up Protean-Charm-based methods of communication, coins or mirrors–he was quite sure that with how blatant Hermione was being, Umbridge would notice what she was doing soon enough.

He also needed to know what exactly had been done such that he was 'only' let off with a month's detentions. Again, he needed the Ravenclaws.

I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies.

He could feel it, now, how the magic of the quill tore into the back of his hand and took his blood. Like threads in the air, like notes in a song.

He wondered if he could change it, manipulate it somehow.

Would Cura Vulnera heal these? He doubted it. But it had healed a wound from the Cutting Charm, so maybe?

Harry briefly considered trying to manipulate the magic of the quill outright, since he could very clearly feel it interacting with him, but he decided against it.

Such things needed focus, which he could not summon in good capacity right now. It had been less than twenty-four hours since the actual duel, after all. And he was tired, and his mind was just randomly drifting from thought to thought, in lieu of being that pure thunderbolt of intention that he had come to associate with wandless magic–

"Let's see if you got the message yet, shall we?" Umbridge's sickly-sweet voice cut into his reverie, and Harry stood and made his way over to Umbridge's desk.

After a "you may go", Harry left without another word.

Outside the office, however, the day presented him with another surprise, which he really should have expected.

"Hey, Luna. What're you doing here?"

"What do you think, Harry Potter?" The girl drifted over to walk by his side, and they continued on the path back to Gryffindor Tower. For a while, neither of them spoke, before Luna finally said:

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Well," Harry said jokingly, "if they stopped taking your things and hexing you in the hallways, then this was probably a victory for us, right?"

"Harry, you got a month's detentions with Umbridge. And you got poisoned by Marietta Edgecombe." She spun around and grabbed his shoulders, and stared him in the eyes. "You–you could have been spilling your secrets for the entire Hogwarts to hear! It's not about victory or not, but what could have happened!"

In spite of everything, of all of his fatigue, of the nightmares that were sure to come later, Harry grinned, a cheeky smile. "But it didn't happen."

"I increased the possibility of it happening." Luna's expression was odd, a superposition of states of stilted deadness and being on the verge of tears. "I made a decision, to tell you, to ask you for help, even though I knew that I should have handled it myself. In doing so, I–"

"Put you in danger? Is that what you were going to say?" Harry gave a furtive look around, before steering the both of them into a nearby classroom. "You do know Voldemort's after me personally, right? Any more danger's like a drop in the bucket, really."

"It's still not fine." Luna said, beginning to choke the words out.

"Yeah, it's not." Harry abruptly changed tack, and he saw the girl momentarily stiffen in surprise. "You put me in danger, indirectly, by asking for help. I put myself in danger, directly, by challenging a Seventh-Year to a duel. Several older Ravenclaws put me in danger, even more directly, by casting spells at me. And you know what?"

"This isn't something that–"

"I do not care." Harry cut across Luna's words, again. "I'm going to void all of it. I'm not blaming the Ravenclaws, and I'm certainly not going to blame you. Heck, I'm not even going to blame myself for being, in hindsight, bloody reckless, though I'm definitely going to be more suspicious of ambushes the next time round, and I'll tell someone else in case something happens. But blame? That's dumb. I don't have energy to spare blaming people. I just want everything to be over so I can live in peace." And "everything" includes Voldemort, but I don't need to say that out loud, Harry thought.

Seeing as a retort was rising to Luna's lips (and noting happily that she at least now looked more angry as opposed to sad), Harry quickly spoke again. "Look, you could mope around trying to convince me that it's your fault, and I could angrily and dramatically go 'no, it's not!', and we could go on for hours, but I can think of several better things that we could do all night. You're a Ravenclaw who's supposed to be smarter than this, and I'm not as direct as the average Gryffindor, so can we just stop this whole argument already?"

Silence descended upon them both.

It was Luna who spoke first. "I should have known this was going to happen. This is ridiculous." She huffed. "In fact, now that I think of it, you were the one that said that if I didn't care that I was being hurt, then you would care for me, right?"

"I don't remember those exact words," Harry tried to keep his face straight. It was technically true: he was, and had been, running on autopilot for most of the day, and he didn't want to begin the energy-consuming activity of rummaging through his memories at this point. Even now the exact words of his impassioned speech to Luna eluded him; he had mostly just been speaking from the heart, with a touch of ham deliberately to provoke the girl's emotions.

"Perhaps that was too much to hope for," Luna remarked. "Well, I think you've had enough for a day, Harry Potter, so I'll let you and myself go, for now." Examining the way the boy was struggling to keep his eyelids open, she sighed to herself.

Oh, there was going to be a reckoning. More of a reckoning than there is already. But–

She drew the boy into a tight hug, the ones where she always felt him freeze up, then tiptoed slightly to plant a kiss on his cheek. Disengaging, she saw that he had barely responded.

"Well, we had better get you back before you fall asleep on me altogether."

The "Harry takes Veritaserum" portion was inspired by BajaB's Veritas Oracle, a fic with the premise of, well, Harry taking the truth potion. It's a good fic which I would definitely recommend.

I hope you enjoyed Harry's duel with the Ravenclaws. Comments regarding the flow would be appreciated, since it's my first real fight scene that I've written.

With this, Changeability passes 50k words. Is that a milestone? In any case, thanks to everyone who's been sticking around thus far, and let it be known that I appreciate every single comment that's been given.

Remember, this isn't over until Harry resolves an Incident in Gensokyo, which means we still have a ways to go. I hope you'll continue following Harry's journey until then.

Review please!