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A warning: this is not a very nice chapter.

Chapter Eight: The Hounds

Harry came out of the Apparition with his stomach jolting, but with Regulus whispering in his head, You're somewhere in the Ministry. One of the interrogation rooms. I recognize them from one time I was brought here.

There's all sorts of interesting things that you haven't told me about yourself, aren't there? Harry concentrated on the words to keep himself from panicking. He blinked, and blinked again, and looked around the room when it became obvious that the gray-cloaked wizards had simply released his arms and made no further attempt to confine him.

It was utterly blank, the walls made of gray stone, blocks without a visible join or seam between them. There were no photographs, portraits, or other decorations on them, and the only furniture was a chair behind him, which one of his captors promptly pushed him into. Harry felt his hands clench in anticipation of something, and it took him a moment to realize that it was a beating or a surprise attack. The walls and the chair were not natural.

And the wizards were not treating him like one normally would a feared prisoner. Harry glared at them.

One of them—Harry thought it was the one who had read the scroll out to him—chuckled. "Ooh, look, Grim, the kitten has claws!"

Grim, who was apparently the other wizard, laughed more loudly. He swept his hood back and revealed himself as a confident, handsome, young-looking man with blond hair and green eyes. Harry wouldn't have given him a glance if they passed in Diagon Alley. "I'd say he does," he responded. "Or, at least, fangs. You saw what he did in Knockturn, Crup."

Crup made a sound of disgust beneath his breath and moved his hood back. He himself was brown-haired, but his brown eyes and his face were utterly ordinary. "Yeah, you're right."

"You were watching me in Knockturn Alley?" Harry asked. He filed away a few questions to ask for later, such as why they called themselves by the names of dogs. One of them had said something about being Hounds right before Apparating with Harry, but he didn't know what that might mean.

"Of course," said Crup. "Someone had to. You were a Parselmouth who refused to complete his registration, and then you went to the Auror Office and acted as though you knew the Head Auror. You're interesting. When you went down Knockturn Alley, you only made yourself more interesting." He gave a smile, and Harry saw his eyes go cold. His ordinary face could lie, then. Of course, the way he moved had already told Harry that; he seemed to have had war wizard training. "And then you spoke to snakes. Careless, Mr. Potter, very careless. If you wanted your Dark talent to remain secret, you shouldn't have used it in public."

Harry fought the temptation to bare his teeth. His best choice in these circumstances was still to remain silent and as polite as possible. He didn't understand why they were so confident, since they seemed aware of his power, but that only made him more cautious in return. Perhaps they had some advantage that would offset his magic.

"The last I knew, saving someone's life was considered laudatory," he said. "I convinced the Many to come with me to the Forbidden Forest, instead of attacking other people in Knockturn Alley."

Crup laughed at him, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. His laughter did rather resemble a bark, reminding Harry of Sirius's. "How would we know that, Mr. Potter? I saw two wizards fall dead of the Many's bites, and then the snakes migrated to you. Then you fled from the alley like a criminal. Perhaps you commanded the snakes to stop attacking, but how would I know that? I don't speak Parseltongue."

"Shouldn't it have been obvious?" Harry asked.

"No," said Grim, his face gone dark. "You were caught using your foul creatures, and you might as well admit it, Dark wizard scum."

Crup reached out and put a hand on his partner's arm. "Grim," he chided. "The boy isn't even aware of why we, and not Aurors, brought him here yet. I think we should explain that first." He faced Harry. "You heard the name Hounds. Do you have any idea what it means?"

Harry shook his head.

I don't understand, Regulus whispered. I can almost see into his mind, which should mean that he has a connection with the Dark Lord, but I'm being blocked. There's a wall of some kind. Do you think he's a Legilimens?

I don't know, Harry thought back.

"We are the ones who track down and sniff out evil," said Crup, throwing his head back proudly. "We should know what darkness means. Some of us were former Aurors who got too close to our enemies. Others actually served as spies or messengers for the last Dark Lord. Some of us were simply naturally talented in the Dark Arts, but chose to serve the Ministry rather than act against the good of the wizarding world. We're a good group, as good as you'll find, but we follow the scent of evil. And that means we're the perfect ones to enforce the Minister's new edicts. The Aurors are often tiresome, with their paperwork and their legalities. What you need in a war is someone who can act quickly."

"I've never heard of you," said Harry, driving himself back to calmness again. "And I should have. I have studied history, and I would have noticed if there were Hounds running around and arresting criminals."

Crup snorted. "That's because we're new, little kitten. The Minister needed us, and so he created us, drawing us from other departments." He smiled at Harry. "You're actually only the second person we've arrested. Don't you feel special?"

"He didn't announce your creation, either," Harry persisted, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. "And he should have. There are laws saying that a new force like this should get news and press coverage."

Grim sighed and pressed his hand over his heart. "Alas, we had to sacrifice that for the sake of doing our duty. The Minister decided we would be more effective if no one knew of us or our ultimate mission for a while."

Harry tried to swallow. It was difficult with a dry throat. These are Fudge's secret police, essentially. "And what is your ultimate mission?" he asked, working a note into his voice as if impressed, playing along.

"To get rid of all Dark magic in Britain."

They answered together, and their voices were passionate and their eyes clear. Harry had no doubt this was something that mattered to them, beyond all the joking around that they had done. He shook his head, slowly, feeling a surge of pity for them.

"What's the matter?" challenged Crup. "Don't think we can do it, kitten?"

"No," said Harry. "There are Dark artifacts hidden in manors all over Britain, and plenty of Dark wizards who hide their talents. How in the world are you going to find everyone who might do a spell you don't approve of?" He was thinking of Connor, whose compulsion gift wasn't common knowledge and could not be eradicated from his mind without breaking his mind. Would they make him sign a form saying that he would never use it again? Or would they take the chance of breaking him in order to make him something more "Light?"

"We'll settle for getting rid of public practitioners first," said Grim. "Like you."

Harry shrugged. "I don't plan to stop using Parseltongue, particularly when I can use it to save lives."

Crup surged to his feet. "That was all we were waiting for," he said, and grabbed Harry's shoulder, and dragged him forward.

Harry tensed, wanting to lash out, but then reminded himself that the Hounds were still within the boundaries of law as they knew them. He couldn't strike and hurt someone who was only fulfilling his duty. He let Crup drag him into the next room.

Harry, said Regulus abruptly. Are they wearing something around their necks?

Harry managed to turn his head and squint up at Crup's throat. Yes, he sent back. A collar, it looks like, though I can't see the whole thing, and made of silver. The quick glance he sent Grim confirmed that he wore what looked the same thing. I wonder if their resemblance to dogs really goes so far that they have to be chained to the wall at night?

Yes, I can see them now, said Regulus. That's what's keeping me out of their minds. How strange. I don't know why they would want to block access to me, how they would even know about something like me.

Harry was about to respond, but then he saw the face of the man sitting behind a desk across from him, and swallowed.

It was Minister Fudge; Harry knew that from every picture he'd seen in the Daily Prophet. The Minister normally looked plump and self-confident. Now, though, he wore the expression of a man haunted day and night by some heavy burden, and he stood up when he saw Harry and began toying with his hands. His eyes examined Harry intently, seeming to linger especially hard on the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, that's him."

Crup nodded. "Yes, sir. And he just said that he intended to keep using Parseltongue. If we let him free, he'll go right back to practicing Dark magic." He deposited Harry in a chair in front of the desk, which was large and made of polished mahogany. Harry tried to look around the room, but other than knowing it was larger than the interrogation room and colored red, he couldn't see much. Crup kept hovering over him "I'll give my word that I saw him practice it, sir, and of course Grim will back me up."

"Of course," said Grim. He took a position on the other side of the desk. Harry didn't think it was a coincidence that the stance blocked Harry from having an easy path to the Minister.

At least, it would block me from having an easy physical path to him. Harry let his lip curl in contempt. Who do they think I am? My magic could still reach him and blast the life out of him before they could move.

He felt the temptation, once again, to simply do something like that, lash out and pin Fudge to the wall with his magic, as he'd once pinned Dumbledore and his brother. But Harry told himself he had to exercise control over his temper. He couldn't simply go around attacking everyone he didn't like. That wasn't what a grown wizard did, and it was obvious he would have to be the adult here, since no one else was about to volunteer.

"Then," said Fudge, bobbing his head, "the law is very clear." He turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, you understand why you've been brought here?"

Harry met his eyes and gave thanks for the deep, calm mask Lily had made him practice until it was natural. He could summon it back now, even though he'd spent so much time with Snape, who encouraged him to be more open, because he'd spent years on years living under it. "No, Minister," he said. "I am sorry that my use of Parseltongue offended Mr. Grim and Mr. Crup, but I acted as I did to keep the Many from biting wizards in Knockturn and Diagon Alleys. I would argue that I broke the law in ignorance, not in malicious use of Dark magic."

"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," Fudge retorted, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "And it's a convenient coincidence, isn't it, that lately Dark potions have appeared on the market that use the eggs and scales of the Many in them? I suppose you'll argue that you just happened to be able to gain control over the snakes, and that they just happened to appear in Knockturn Alley on a day you were there?"

"Any Parselmouth could have commanded the snakes, sir," said Harry. Regulus's muttering in the back of his head, about disrespect and what idiots they all were, wasn't helping, so he decided to ignore it. "And I did not know about the Dark potions. I'm sorry that they have been a trouble and a plague on your administration." He decided that a little judicious flattery could not hurt. "I know that you've been doing your very best for all of us in wizarding Britain. You've done a remarkable job." Especially considering that you're soft enough that I would have expected you to crumple your first year in office. "I would hate to act against that or undermine it in any way." He bowed his head slightly, as though contrite.

It worked, at least partially. He saw Fudge puff up and ran a proud hand down his chest. "Yes, well, I do my best," he said, and coughed. Then his face darkened again. "And that means passing stricter laws against Dark wizards like yourself. Or would you argue with that?"

"Not at all, sir," said Harry. His thoughts were spiky, his mind crystal clear. He didn't think he could say or do much to soothe Fudge's fears, but he hoped he could at least keep them from damaging him as much as they might. "Dark magic as the magic of compulsion could threaten the free wills of others, and I am against that."

He was disconcerted when Fudge laughed. "Of course you are," he said. "Since when have Dark Lords cared about the wills of others?"

Harry stared at him. "You think I'm a Dark Lord, sir?"

"Of course you are." Fudge waved his hand. "Not as bad as—as You-Know-Who, of course, but you're still rising. And we need to do all that we can to prevent that rise." He launched into what Harry thought was probably a practiced speech. "We all did very poorly in the First War, of course, but that was because we weren't prepared. This time, we know the signs to watch for." He nodded to Grim, and the man scurried off to the other side of the room to fetch something made of paper, by the sounds of it. "This time, we won't be caught with our trousers around our ankles!" He raised one hand and pointed a finger at Harry. "Even Dark Lords are subject to the rule of wizarding law, Mr. Potter!"

Harry hid his contempt as much as possible. He knew from the book that Hawthorn Parkinson had given him last year, on bindings, that that wasn't true. Dark Lords and Light Lords usually ignored the bounds of law because they could afford to do so, though Light Lords sometimes made a pretense, like Dumbledore, of obeying the rules. But magical power had always been the ultimate trump card in those discussions. If Voldemort was standing here, of course he would not hesitate to use magic to fling the morons into walls.

But I am not a Dark Lord, Harry reminded himself. I am not any kind of Lord. That is why I am different from them. I'm not about to hurt innocent people who really think they are protecting the wizarding world.

He kept his voice calm, his face friendly and open. "What would it take to convince you that I'm not a Dark Lord, Minister?"

"You had a chance to do that already," Fudge retorted regally, as Grim came up beside him, staggering under the weight of the large piece of paper. "We offered you a chance to register yourself like any other Dark wizard. You refused to do so."

"I am sorry, sir," said Harry, slightly narrowing his eyes. "I was told that my case was unique. No other Dark wizard was asked to actually stop using Dark magic. Instead, I was the only one."

Fudge shook his head. "That is because you are a Dark Lord."

Harry wondered if the Minister would know what circular logic was if it danced naked in front of him. "Sir—"

Grim managed to shake out the immense piece of parchment with a shout. Harry peered. It was a chart, he could make out that much, and carefully labeled with boxes in different colors, but he couldn't tell what the words said; they were all inked carefully into place with miniscule letters.

"You see," said Fudge, gesturing to the parchment, "we know that you are a Dark Lord. No matter what you may claim, we know that you have Dark talents, and will follow in the path of Grindelwald and—and You-Know-Who. We have a chart that compares you to them." He looked at Harry triumphantly.

Harry wondered when the government of wizarding Britain had become so desperately pathetic. He kept his voice as calm as possible when he said, "Sir, I can't read the chart."

"You should be able to," Crup whispered into his ear. "What kind of Dark Lord has problems with his eyes?"

Harry glared at him, and then turned back in time to see Fudge jabbing a finger into one of the boxes. "Do you see?" he asked, glancing at Harry. "You speak Parseltongue. You-Know-Who spoke Parseltongue. And Grindelwald spoke—well, he didn't speak to snakes, but he spoke to thestrals, and used them as part of his army." Fudge sneered. "The connection makes sense. This is only the first of many threads, but it was the one that first led us to suspect that you might be the Dark Lord. Not wise to expose your snake-speaking ability, my lord. Not wise."

You could take them, Regulus whispered. I'd even support you. You didn't choose to come here, and I think you should get back to people who love you and can protect you as soon as possible. Hit them with magic, and then go back home. Come on, Harry. You know you could do it.

And that's precisely why I won't, Harry snapped back at him. Just because I can doesn't mean I should. He dragged in a desperate breath, because that temptation was sounding better by the minute, and fixed his eyes on Fudge's face again. "What are some of the other threads that led you to being sure of my incipient Lordship, sir?" he asked.

Fudge looked mildly disappointed that Harry wasn't just confessing to being a Dark Lord right then and there, but he nodded and pointed to another box. "The Dark Lord was at the school fifty years ago when the Chamber of Secrets was last opened," he said. "You were at the school two years ago when the Chamber of Secrets was last opened. Grindelwald—well, he wasn't at Hogwarts, since he didn't attend it, but he was at Durmstrang and held initiations for his Lightning Guard in an underground cave." He frowned sternly at Harry. "Are you going to dismiss all of this as coincidence?"

"Not especially," Harry said. "I was opening the Chamber and involved in the Petrifications of students because Voldemort possessed me, sir." He didn't miss the way Fudge flinched at the name and glanced over his shoulder, as though he expected to find Voldemort hiding in the corner. "So it wasn't a coincidence. That doesn't mean that I'm evil and Dark in and of myself."

Fudge shook his head. "You won't get out of this one, Mr. Potter. We know everything." He pointed to another box. "The armies. Grindelwald used thestrals, because he could speak to them. You-Know-Who made deals with the giants and other creatures to march with him, and of course the werewolf Fenrir Greyback was famous for being part of his evil troops. And now you've freed the Dementors." He turned to Harry, and waited, as if what he wanted to say should be obvious.

Harry stared at him. "I have told the Ministry the truth on that score, sir," he said. "I sent them back home into nightmares. I didn't keep them to build a private army out of." He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Out of all the suspicions that someone might have about why he'd freed the Dementors, he had not thought this would be one of them.

"No one has seen a Dementor since that day," Fudge intoned. "Did you really banish them, or did you send them somewhere safe and secret, with instructions to breed and wait for you?"

Harry shook his head. "Not that last, sir. I don't want to be a Lord. I would command no magical creature to attack anyone else." But you used Sylarana to threaten people, his conscience whispered. Harry winced and shoved it away. "I promise, I'm a loyal subject of wizarding Britain. Is there nothing I can do to prove this to you?" He felt a touch of true nervousness beneath his irritation and pity. He had hoped that he could persuade Fudge as he had so many other people, but the Minister was showing a complete blindness to basic logic. Harry was not sure what he could manage with dances and rituals.

"Well," said Fudge. "Perhaps one thing."

Harry narrowed his eyes, suspicious again. He'd been herded into this, most probably, but now that he was here, he had no choice but to ask, "What thing would that be, Minister?"

"Since you cost us the Dementors and we can no longer keep the prisoners safely in Azkaban," said Fudge, waving towards a door at the back of the room, "we have a new method of determining whether wizards are safe to be released back into general society." The door opened, and what appeared to be a silver ball on legs shuffled in, until Harry realized it was actually a device being carried by a short, squat witch. "Subject yourself to our test, and you can prove that you're loyal."

You don't have to, said Regulus in his head, all fire and denial. Why are you subjecting yourself to this, Harry? You're not an ordinary wizard. You don't need to behave like one.

That only makes it all the more urgent, Harry snapped back. He wondered why he was surrounded by people so determined to shove him into being above the law. What Regulus had said sounded like something Snape or Draco would have said. Slytherins, honestly. I love them in general, but get exasperated with them in particular.

He turned back to the Minister and nodded. "Of course, sir. What do you need me to do?"

The witch set the device down next to the Minister's desk, and revealed her face for the first time. Harry couldn't help but recoil. Her face was all hanging jowls and bright, gleaming eyes. She resembled nothing so much as a toad. To make it worse, she was wearing a pink jumper with small kittens gamboling on it instead of robes, and there were pink bows tied in her lank hair. She looked straight at Harry, and those bright eyes blinked.

"This is my assistant, Dolores Umbridge," said Fudge proudly. "She is the one who has devised the loyalty test, Mr. Potter, and she is the one who will explain it to you." He stepped out of the way.

Umbridge said, "Hem hem." Harry thought at first that she was starting a sentence, but it seemed to be an odd throat-clearing practice. "Step up to the device, sweet child, and put your hands on it. It will measure your loyalty to the Ministry, and if you are loyal enough, it will let you go."

Harry hesitated. "And what happens if I'm not loyal enough?"

Umbridge's eyes gleamed like the sun. "But you have just finished saying that you are loyal, sweet child. I am sure that it will not trouble you." She gave him a grotesque smile. Perhaps the worst thing was that her teeth all looked perfectly clean and brushed. Harry would have been more reassured if they were rotten, so that he would know she'd been eating all the sugar her costume made her look as if she should consume.

Hesitantly, he moved forward, regarding the device. It remained an enormous silver ball, pierced with holes, as though something lived inside it that needed air. It rested on tumblers, and it radiated magic, but what kind, Harry could not tell, not with three other wizards and a witch in the room.

Can you tell what it is? he asked Regulus. Or, at least, what it does?

No. Merlin take you, Harry, don't touch it. Apparate out of here. Hit them all with a bolt of lightning. Do what you have to do to protect and save yourself. If Regulus had a body, Harry thought, he would have been jumping up and down, waving his arms like a chicken to try and scare Harry away from the device.

I don't want to, Harry thought distinctly. If I flee, then they'll have the right to arrest me again and treat me worse than ever. And I'm not going to kill anyone. I can't understand your fascination with it.

He put out his hands and clasped them around the silver ball.

There came a faint shimmer, and then a burst of heat. It wasn't uncomfortable, or Harry didn't think he could have resisted pulling his palms back, but it did seal his hands to the ball. He tugged, unconsciously, and his hands remained right where they were.

"Relax, sweet child," Umbridge whispered. "Just relax. The device is looking through your head now. I am sure that it will find out you are very, ah, loyal to the Ministry. Hem hem."

Harry didn't have much choice but to stand there hugging the ball, anyway, so that was what he did. He felt magic running through his body like water, but couldn't tell what it did. At least it didn't hurt.

He heard a caught breath behind him that he thought came from Grim or Crup. Harry darted a glance over his shoulder, and saw them both leaning forward, watching the device intently. Fudge was standing just beyond them, hands clasped across his middle and a beatific smile on his face.

Harry reminded himself that this was for the best. He really didn't want to fight the Ministry. It would make his primary task, being vates, all the harder. And besides, how could he blame them for wanting confirmation that someone of his magical power was not a Dark Lord? Of course they would fear that, given Voldemort's spectacular rise. They were ordinary wizards. They were people who had lives and souls of their own. He had to understand them.

Then he felt the magic of the device abruptly fill him to brimming. He blinked, feeling as if it would squeeze and drip out his eyes.

The magic began to run out of him, back into the device.

And it pulled some of his own magic with it.

Harry felt his own power rear up in startled outrage, and a moment later, his emotions reared up with it. He grabbed back at his own magic, trying to separate it from what had twined with it.

The device quaked and began to glow warm, cherry red and then gold and then white. It broke apart in his hands, and Harry felt his palms seared and burned by it. He didn't care. He was too involved in making sure that his magic was in his body. Now he had pooled all the foreign influences into his palm, a swirling dark puddle of foul strength, and he threw it to the floor in disgust.

The puddle swirled around once, then vanished into the remains of the device.

Harry turned back to Umbridge. There was an ugly burn across her face, from where she hadn't got out of the device's way in time, and her toad-eyes were gleaming in shock. She pointed a trembling finger at Harry. "You assaulted the special assistant to the Minister!" she whispered, in a little-girl voice that trembled with outrage. "You assaulted me!"

Harry snarled. His magic was back where it should be, but not at all soothed. "You tried to make me a Squib, under false pretenses," he said. "You should be grateful that all you've got is a burn on your face."

"You are a Dark Lord, then." Fudge's voice was flat, colder and more self-confident than Harry had heard it. "I should have known, and never allowed you this test. You're not loyal to the government of wizarding Britain, not loyal to anyone but yourself, and I was right to pass the laws." Harry turned around in time to see Fudge sticking his hand out at Grim and Crup. "Get him. Confine him, and make sure that he can't use his magic."

Grim started forward, face blank. Crup was grinning, his wand swinging back and forth in his hand with a faint whistling sound.

Harry backed a step, breathing harshly. He could feel his magic surging and dancing, begging to be let through the barriers of his control. And he could do it. So easily. He could cover them in ice, or bind them where they stood, or hit them with a curse that would make them hurt nearly as much as he had under Rosier's Blood-Burning Curse. He could conjure a snake and swallow their magic, making it a permanent part of his own. He could reach out with Legilimency, and, since they wore those collars, probably shatter their minds attempting to enter them.

I don't want to do that. I don't want to hurt them, damn it!

He had to use his magic in some capacity, though, to drain some of it off, so he gestured, with one hand, and whispered Petrificus Totalus in his mind. Grim and Crup stiffened and fell to the floor.

Harry gasped in the silence that followed, seeing Fudge's eyes go wide with fear, as he finally realized that his incipient Dark Lord was not as tame as he had assumed. He started backing up, his mouth flapping up and down. Harry supposed he was trying to come up with a way to calm Harry down or hold him off. Harry remained still, arms wrapped around him like chains, making sure that he couldn't lunge and hurt someone else. He had to remain still. In this moment, he was fragile.

The more he thought about what Fudge had done, the angrier he became.

He kidnapped me. He didn't listen to a word I said. He passed laws that seem to have been targeted specifically at me, if I'm the Dark Lord that Dumbledore thought he might have received word of. He tried to make me a Muggle, or at least a Squib.

Harry wrapped the rage in the quicksilver pools that Snape had taught him, and felt calmness coming back to him like the return of a tide. He could do this. He was not his magic or his fury. He was more than that. And it was not as though what they had done to him was unforgivable. He could get past this. He rubbed his forehead with one seared palm.

Then Umbridge whispered something behind him, and Harry felt his back light up with pain, as though a white-hot knife were striking between his shoulders.

His magic attacked the place in a moment and banished the curse, but the damage had been done. Harry swung on the witch, and saw her just lowering her wand, a look of alarm twisting the burn on her cheek.

She did that, he snarled to himself, low in his mind. They should not be doing this. What they have done should not be done to any witch or wizard. How many people did they drain of their magic before me? How many others would Grim and Crup confine and bring in if I didn't do something about it?

Then even that excuse for being angry fell away, and he was just purely enraged about what they had done to him.

I did nothing to deserve this.

He advanced on Umbridge, and his magic woke and filled the room like a storm.