PLEASE READ: This was supposed to be Chapter 25. However, Chapter 25 refuses to show up for some reason, so I'm reposting this as Chapter 26. If and when the problem solves itself, I'll straighten out any duplicate copies.

Chapter Twenty: Cry Havoc

Harry was at breakfast when the doors of the Great Hall opened. He craned his neck to see who would be coming in, blinking. Had the other schools already arrived for the Triwizard Tournament? Considering the way that everyone else seemed so interested in it, Harry would have thought he would hear about that further in advance.

Draco poked him with one finger. "Harry. I was trying to tell you more about why I think Julia Malfoy was a Dark Lady."

"And I was saying that she couldn't have been, unless she actually declared herself to the Dark and a Lady at some point or another," Harry snapped back, growing even more curious as he saw two robed figures, both witches, walking through the doors. "Just because she has a certain kind of power and a certain kind of disposition doesn't mean she actually did what you think she did."

"Why wouldn't she declare herself a Lady?" Draco sounded huffy. He didn't appear to take any notice of the two women as they walked rapidly towards the head table, but then, Harry thought, he wouldn't. He was becoming more and more convinced that Draco's web had something to do with this potion, though Merlin alone knew how; Draco still wouldn't let Harry look at the book that he claimed to have got the potion recipe from.

"I don't know, Draco," Harry said, and then blinked as the two witches came close enough for recognition. One looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her until he glanced at the other. Though she had lank, mouse-brown hair now, she still wore much the same face as she had to visit him at Lux Aeterna. Nymphadora Tonks. What's she doing here?

"What's my cousin doing here?" Draco asked then, apparently noticing her for the first time.

Harry shook his head and stood up, trying to decide what to do. The second woman was Auror Mallory, the pretty but stern witch he had met in the Ministry just after he walked away from Fudge. He hesitated when he stood, though, not knowing what would be the best course.

The two Aurors halted in front of the head table. In a clear, ringing voice, Auror Mallory pronounced, "Headmaster Dumbledore, if we might have a moment of your time?"

"A moment and more than that, dear ladies," said Dumbledore, inclining his head. Harry could see the wariness on his face, though, however well he tried to hide it; he had often worn such an expression around Harry. He didn't know what was going on, either. In one way, Harry supposed, that was good. It meant this couldn't be a plot of Dumbledore's. On the other hand, Harry had to watch in uncertainty of what came next, and he hated uncertainty and sudden change.

"Thank you." Auror Mallory bowed to him, and seemed to nudge Tonks with an elbow on the way down, so that the younger woman started and bowed a few moments behind her. Then she drew a scroll from her sleeve. "My pardons for doing this so publicly," she added, to whom Harry didn't know, "but Madam Bones felt it was best, given what we've learned about this man in the past few hours."

Harry felt his heart lurch, and then speed to such an extent that he swayed on his feet. Draco took his hand, saying something that Harry couldn't hear over his heartbeat. Millicent was grabbing his shoulders, as she had after Regulus was suddenly torn from his head, urging him to sit back down.

For some reason, although he couldn't hear their soothing words, he could hear the Auror perfectly when she began to read.

"We have come, under sanction of Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, to arrest Professor Severus Snape on charges of administering an insanity potion to James Potter—" Mallory had to lift her voice slightly when the chatter of excited students began to rise from the tables "—and a potion with unknown side effects to Minister Fudge. He did not register the creation of these potions with the Ministry, and in at least one case he did not send the antidote on his own. Both James Potter and Minister Fudge have filed charges." The Auror closed the scroll with a shake of her arm and turned to face Snape.

Harry was glad he hadn't eaten much, or he would have been tempted to vomit it all back up. He understood at once what was happening, but it had still taken him by surprise, and he was gasping and choking and trying not to become overwhelmed by it.

James knows by now that trying to take me from Snape doesn't work. So he's taking Snape from me.

Snape stood up, his face pale but composed. "I will protest these charges," he said. "James Potter is a known rival of mine from our days here at Hogwarts. He would say anything that he thought might discredit me. And the Minister recently abducted my ward. It is not surprising that they would file these charges."

"We have enough evidence to arrest you, sir," said Mallory crisply. "There were eyewitnesses to Potter's condition, in the form of himself, Remus Lupin, and Madam Hellebore Shiverwood. The Minister and Augustus Starrise stand ready to testify that you fed the Minister an unusual potion the day that you visited him, on the autumnal equinox. And we have evidence of what the insanity potion was meant to do in writing, from your ward, Harry Potter." She turned and glanced calmly over at the Slytherin table.

Harry felt his sickness increase. He had written a note to Remus along with the antidote, explaining its uses and why he believed it would counteract the insanity potion that James had taken. And he had included a line about brewing the antidote because he believed that Snape would never brew one.

The look of betrayal on Snape's face was terrible. Harry flinched and tried not to run from the Great Hall. There were still things he had to do. His guardian might hate him at the moment, but that didn't mean Harry could give up on trying to save him.

"Sit down before you fall down," Millicent hissed in his ear, and pressed firmly at his shoulders.

"No, damn you," Harry snarled at her, making her fall back in startlement, and tore his hand from Draco's tightening hold. He slipped around the Slytherin table and set off towards the Aurors, his heart beating fast. Perhaps he was a coward, but he kept his eyes on the women instead of on Snape.

He did feel a hand brush his shoulder, briefly, as he worked his way past the Hufflepuff table, and glanced back to see Justin frowning worriedly at him. Zacharias's face was as expressionless as it was most of the time, but he lifted his eyebrows when he saw Harry looking towards him and mouthed, "Good luck."

Harry turned his head and, as if by fate, met his brother's eyes. Connor looked stricken, but nodded firmly. Harry relaxed a bit. At least Connor wasn't torn, thinking that he should support James in this—this crazily stupid idea.

This entirely legal idea. Snape really did do everything that they said he did.

That was what made Harry sweat when he finally halted in front of the two Aurors and bowed to them. Tonks had watched him come, her face growing more and more unhappy. Auror Mallory was watching Snape as if waiting for him to draw his wand and come after her, her posture tight and ready. Harry didn't look forward to what would happen if Snape tried it. From the power he could feel buzzing under Auror Mallory's skin, she wasn't much weaker than Snape, and she had had training that might make the difference. If she forced Snape to resort to Dark Arts in order to defeat her, that would only give them another reason to arrest him.

"Aurors," he said.

Mallory glanced at him, and blinked. "Potter," she said. "Is something the matter?"

"I would just like to say that I do believe what my Professor says," said Harry. "My father's been trying to get at him for—a while." He could show them the copies of the taunting letters James had sent, if it would help. If it will keep Snape's magic from being drained, or whatever they really are doing in place of sending prisoners to Azkaban. "And the Minister doesn't like or trust him. I can provide you with evidence of all of that."

"You would turn against your own written evidence?" Mallory asked, her face skeptical.

"I did not realize what it was going to become evidence of, or I would never have written what I did," Harry said.

He knew he had said something wrong when he saw the abrupt way the Auror's face tightened. She shook her head. "Your loyalty is commendable, Mr. Potter, but misplaced in this instance. He did do the things that he's accused of. The motivations behind the accusations may not be pure—Merlin knows that I've seen this enough in my own line of work—but that does not excuse his crimes, which I hardly think were committed out of any pure motivations, either." She shot her eyes back to Snape, who had shifted as if he were about to draw his wand out of his sleeve. Her voice dropped to a growl. "The best thing you can advise him to do right now is come along quietly."

"And how are you going to punish him?" Harry tried, he really did, but he couldn't keep the tightness out of his voice.

Mallory blinked. "Why—not at all, until after he's had a trial and the Wizengamot has declared him guilty," she said. "In a case like this, we can't have anything less than the full Wizengamot try him." Her face softened. "I can promise you, Mr. Potter, we intend to abide by the rules of law. All of them. No punishment and no beating before the trial, no matter what you may have heard. Things were like that in the First War, I'll grant you, but Auror Scrimgeour weeded all that out. It'd be my job to try to do something to hurt a prisoner before his trial, no matter what he'd done to me or if I really believed him to be guilty or not."

"But what about the Minister's Hounds?" Harry demanded. "Can you guarantee that they won't try to reach and silence him?"

"I will swear you a wizard's oath that they will not." Mallory looked thoughtfully back at Snape. "I don't know exactly if he's more threatened or threatening, but, in the name of Merlin and the name of my magic, he will reach his trial alive. Nothing the Hounds or the Minister may try before then will touch him, I assure you."

Harry felt the oath settle into place around him, and knew it was all he was going to get from the Auror. She had already given him far more than she had to, probably out of pity for the child whose guardian could be so deceitful. He nodded, once. "Thank you," he said.

"Have you decided, Professor Snape?" Mallory's voice was calm, but her wand was pointed at Snape now. "Are you going to resist us, which will add an extra charge to your file, or come along quietly?"

Snape snarled, a low sound, but to Harry's relief, he did not burst out into one of the rages that had marked the last few days. He drew his wand from his sleeve and placed it, with great dignity, on the table, then turned and clasped his hands together behind his back. Mallory began promptly whispering spells that Harry thought were meant to confine Snape's magic and body.

He took the chance to turn to Tonks. She looked down at him, face more unhappy than ever. "Tonks," he whispered. "Can you speak to Scrimgeour when you get back to the Ministry? Tell him that I think the main motivation to arrest Snape was hatred and anger, and not justice?"

Tonks closed her eyes. "Harry…"

Harry knew he was asking a lot of her. It could get her sacked, and they weren't even really formal allies. But he went on asking, anyway, with his silence, and when Mallory finished the final spell, Tonks gave him a reluctant nod.

Harry squeezed her hand, hard, then stepped out of the way and watched in resignation as Mallory led Snape down from the head table. Tonks fell into place on the right side of him, and they marched him towards the doors. Harry found his courage before they got quite that far, and lifted his head, meeting the burning black gaze he knew would be waiting for him.

It bored into him and tore him apart, but Harry weathered it. He had lived through this nightmare of losing parents and mentors before. He could live through it again. He let Snape see what he thought he should see there, and watched anger melt into confusion. Then the moment was over, and the two Aurors were leading Snape far enough away that he could no longer turn his head to meet Harry's gaze without being obvious. He wouldn't do that, Harry knew. The one thing that Snape hated most was being obvious, letting his enemies see how they had hurt him.

Harry watched the Aurors leave the Great Hall. To him, it felt as if they walked in silence, for all that the roaring around him rivaled the ocean on the beach at Midsummer. He turned only when he heard the Headmaster rise to his feet and call for quiet, a reprimand with an edge of compulsion in it. Harry shrugged the compulsion off, and heard the Many give an angry hiss on his arm.

"Students, students," Dumbledore called, his voice sweet with sorrow. "Obviously this is a sad day, and we should be sad at losing a teacher of Professor Snape's caliber." Harry heard snorts that no one could have stifled exploding from every table but Slytherin's; Snape had been nothing but a harsh teacher to the other three Houses. "However, I have no doubt that he will be back among us shortly. In the meantime, I will take over his Potions classes myself, having a modicum of knowledge on the subject." He smiled gently, while the buzz of scorn and laughter turned to a sound of excitement. "I hope that no one will object to that?"

The sentiments that came back to him sounded to Harry most like "Hell no!" He shook his head, a faint smile appearing on his lips. Snape never had been popular, and then had sometimes wondered aloud why more students didn't respect him than did. Harry had known it was impossible, even useless, to try and explain it to him.

"Then I declare all Potions classes canceled for today, so that I might have a day to learn the schedule and go over Professor Snape's lessons plans," said Dumbledore, and there came a series of appreciative whoops. In a softer tone, he added, "Please go sit back down, Mr. Potter."

Harry turned and glanced at Dumbledore. His eyes were bright, confident. He had never looked more like the general of the Light whom Lily had taught Harry to revere. "We will get him back," Dumbledore assured him.

Harry dipped his head, not meeting the other professors' eyes, and then hurried towards the Slytherin table. With Potions canceled, he had no classes for a few hours, and he wanted to consider what he was going to do before he did it.

Of course, he already had the stirrings of a plan, but it would be a costly one, and solve only half the problem. He would find a better one if he could.

At the Slytherin table, he accepted pats on the shoulder from Millicent, reassurances from Pansy, noises of sympathy from Blaise and Vince—Snape was at least their Head of House, if he was nothing else to them—and an unexpectedly swift, tight embrace from Draco, who didn't let him go until Harry told him, gently, that he really needed to go to Gryffindor Tower to see his brother. Then he didn't protest, and Harry found himself more grateful for that than anything since the Aurors had taken Snape away.

Taken Snape away.

Well, I'll just have to get him back, then.

Harry luckily—because he didn't know the latest Gryffindor password—arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait at the same time as Ron, Connor, and Hermione. Hermione took one look at Harry's face and tugged on Ron's arm, prompting him to fall behind. Ron blinked at her, looked ahead, saw Harry waiting, blinked some more, and then abruptly nodded, his face going a bit red. He and Hermione stood behind, while Connor came forward to meet Harry alone.

"I swear, I didn't know Dad was going to do anything like that," Connor gasped desperately, halting just a few feet away from him.

Harry hugged his brother, surprising even himself. He hadn't realized how much he needed to touch someone right then. Maybe it was because his mind was whizzing along, barely seeming to be contained in his skull. "I know, I know," he whispered, as Connor's arms came up and tightened around him. "I know you would have told me if you had, just like you showed me his letter. And—well, I didn't know either. I thought he was going to do—something else." And now I'm going to do the something else. Harry took a hard breath through his nose. "I came to warn you. I really do love Dad, all right? And you. And even—even Mum." Just because he didn't want any more contact with someone didn't mean he stopped loving them, Harry had found. Love wasn't that easy to control. "I have to do something to help Snape, though. And this is the only thing I can think of to do. If it works right, it won't even make a mark. If it doesn't, then, well, just remember I love you. Really."

"Harry?" Connor's arms tightened abruptly around him. "Are you going to do something to hurt yourself?"

"Mentally," said Harry, startled. He thinks I would commit suicide, or threaten to? Of course not. There are too many people I can benefit by staying alive. "Not physically."

"Then I still don't want you to do it."

"I have to." Gently, Harry disentangled himself from Connor's arms. "I have to do what I can to protect Snape."

"Maybe I want to protect you for once." Connor folded his arms, scowling at him. "And I don't want you to do this if it'll hurt you in any way."

"I have to do something, Connor," Harry pointed out. "The Aurors already came and arrested Snape. It's already begun."

"Let him get out of it on his own," Connor hissed, and Harry was surprised to see malice in his eyes. "Damn it, Harry, I know you feel you owe him, you may even love him too, but didn't he bring this on himself? Let him deal with the consequences on his own. He should. Why should you have to sacrifice yourself again just to defend him?"

"Because a willing sacrifice is different from an unwilling one." Harry squeezed his arm. "And I have to shield him from this as much as I can."

"You forgive too much," Connor went on, hazel eyes glowing with that Gryffindor stubbornness that had caused so much trouble last year. Harry hoped that it wouldn't cause much now. Connor looked perfectly capable of tackling him and holding him on the floor to keep him here. "Sooner or later, Harry, people have to grow up. I had to. Snape's an adult. Why shouldn't he have to?"

Harry sighed. "There's a limit to what I can do to help him, that's for sure, but I would never feel good about myself I didn't try. I was partially the one who got him into this, by writing a letter with the antidote I sent to Remus."

"You had to," said Connor firmly. "Or Remus wouldn't have known what it was or who it was from."

"Yes, he would have. It came with Hedwig—" Harry shook his head and backed off the argument. "Never mind. I'm going to do this, and I just wanted to warn you, just in case it doesn't work the way I think it should." He gave his brother's shoulder one more clasp, and then backed off and slipped away, his hand ducking into his sleeve as he went. A squeeze to the quill-shaped amulet that waited there, and a certain person would know he had a story for her.

"Harry!" Connor shouted behind him, but Harry calmly cast a wandless Disillusionment Charm on himself so his brother couldn't follow him, and went to the Owlery, the place where he and Skeeter had agreed to meet.

"This better be good, Potter." Skeeter's voice came through a window of the Owlery.

Startled, Harry glanced out the window and saw her riding a broom, her stiff blonde curls swaying unnaturally in the wind, her entire body looking horribly uncomfortable as it crammed onto the broomstick. Harry couldn't help grinning slightly as he beckoned for her to come through the window. He knew that there were wards that prevented anyone hostile from attacking the school on a broom, but evidently the wards didn't consider Skeeter hostile.

They might as well have, if this blow actually lands.

"I was on the verge of just starting a story about your guardian's arrest," Skeeter complained, as she transferred herself awkwardly from the broomstick through the window. Harry bit his lip and resolutely didn't laugh as she nearly tumbled into a pile of feathers and owl pellets. Skeeter brushed her dress off and turned to face him. "Now Honeywhistle'll publish one first. She's stuck to the Minister's side lately."

"I think this should fulfill both your personas—the truth-seeking heroine and the gossip-monger," said Harry, becoming sober again as he thought about what was going to happen. "I have a story for you that's connected to the arrest of my guardian. And to my blood father, as well."

He ignored the rushing in his ears. Yes, he had wanted to keep this private. Yes, he had never wanted to show any part of it to the wizarding world, because why should he? It mattered to his family and no one else, no matter what Draco and Snape said.

And it will go on mattering only to my family and no one else, if Dad just does what he's supposed to.

"Really." Skeeter's eyes sparkled as she waved her wand and conjured a chair to sit on. She drew her quill and a scroll of parchment out, and focused a keen glance on him. "I'm waiting."

Harry had thought very carefully about how to phrase this—not the actual article, but how much he would tell Skeeter. He met her gaze calmly, and said, "I don't know how much you know about my home life with my parents."

"Not much," said Skeeter. "I mean, I know about the Auror investigation into your parents last year. Something odd about that, wasn't there? They were under Dark magic or something." She cocked her head. "That was when I was more interested in writing about the Boy-Who-Lived. I could find my notes, though."

Harry smiled grimly. "Your notes won't tell you about this." His own voice in his ears sounded thin and windy. He controlled the urge to just collapse, or to curl around the secret and hide it away forever. He had no right to be so selfish. Snape might need this.

And it's the one thing that might convince Dad to back off, drop the charges, and stay backed off.

"My father spent almost all his time with my brother when we were children," Harry began carefully. Leave Lily out of it. Leave your training out of it. You only want what will threaten James. "He cherished him more, laughed with him more, loved him more. The Dark magic incident last year? He was able to forget all about me under the persuasion of a simple spell." Harry lifted an eyebrow, forced himself to adopt a cynical and mocking expression, and chuckled. "How loving a father is one who can forget his child like that?"

Skeeter's quill was speeding across her parchment. That was all, Harry told himself. He was not about to faint. He had to be strong. Strong people didn't faint.

"Why did he love your brother more?" she asked, peering at him.

Harry snorted. "Can you ask? Connor's the Boy-Who-Lived." He saw the spark catch in her eyes, and knew she would believe whatever followed from this point forward. They had linked his name to his brother's in the first article against Fudge as a matter of politics, but Connor still had the larger fame, the bigger reputation. Skeeter would be interested in and believe a tale of sibling jealousy and rivalry. Forgive me, Connor. Our relationship has improved out of all recognition in the past few months. But this is about James when we were still children. "And…" He trailed off on purpose, painted a pensive look on his face, and saw that he had her. Rita leaned forward, her quill brushing the edge of her teeth.

"What, what?" she urged.

Harry lowered his eyes as if embarrassed. In truth, he was forcing himself to consider these incidents as if they had happened to someone else. It was the only way to control the urge just to coil up into a tiny, tight ball and tell no one else, ever. Why would it matter to them? It was not important, could not possibly be important. James and Lily weren't criminals. They were parents who had done the best they could, trying to raise a baby who was the target of Voldemort's wrath—so far as anyone knew—and a son with magic too powerful for his own or anyone else's good. They did not deserve to be arrested or punished. They had made mistakes, and everyone did that.

But he stepped over and around and past that, told himself that this truth need not come to light if James would only do what he was supposed to, and said, "And he was scared of me." He flexed a hand, and let a small ball of light appear in front of him, drifting about and then winking out. No great deal, but he had done it without a wand and without a word. He looked up and met Skeeter's eyes. "You were there, you said, when I attacked the Minister and Umbridge."

Skeeter nodded.

Harry sighed. "So, I had the potential for magic like that as a young child, and my father was afraid of me. So he stayed distant from me." He laughed a bit. "You'd think he'd have wanted to befriend me, make me love him, so that I wouldn't ever turn on him, but that wasn't the way it worked out."

He choked back the astonishing wave of bitterness rising from his belly, and wondered about those contradictory impulses. Part of him, it seemed, did want to tell the truth. Harry snorted. Why? So you can get sympathy? Weakness, Potter.

Skeeter scribbled industriously, and then looked up. To Harry's surprise, she seemed hesitant. She worried her lip with prominent front teeth for a moment. Harry remained still, wondering what in the world Skeeter would be nervous about asking.

He understood when she whispered, "Did he abuse you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, of course not! He never touched me." He winced when he realized how that sounded, and added, "Except in the way a parent should touch a child."

Skeeter went on staring at him. Then she said, in the voice of someone trying to be comforting when she didn't know how, "That isn't the only form of abuse."

Oh. Oh, fuck. I've got to get her off this track. I just want to threaten James with showing that he's not a model father. I don't want to give her even the idea that anything like abuse happened at home, or he really could be arrested, and Mum, too. No, no, never. I can't do that. I can't tear them apart and leave them bleeding in public like that. It's done, it's over with, it never needs to come up again.

"He just stayed distant from me," said Harry, and let a petulant, complaining tone slip into his voice. "I was a toy for him, someone he could play with when Connor was busy or asleep. And someone he was afraid of, of course, but he tried to mask that." He sighed and leaned his head back on the wall. "You know why he's trying to take me away from Snape?"

"Why?" Skeeter still looked a bit worried, but seized on the new distraction gratefully.

"Because he and Snape had a rivalry in Hogwarts." Harry gave a great sigh and buried his head in his hands. "They're both such children. Snape's striking back at him for the same reason, but at least, with Snape, it's expected, you know? He has a bad reputation already, as the Head of Slytherin House and a teacher most of the students hate. You'd think my father would be the better man, but no. He just has to try and take a son he never cared about anyway when we were children away from Snape, because it's Snape who has me. And my father is supposed to be this glorious Light pureblood wizard and ex-Auror." Harry shook his head slowly back and forth, hair rustling. "You'd think he'd be the better man," he repeated.

He peered between his fingers to see how Skeeter was taking this, and saw the rapturous expression on her face as she wrote. He relaxed. For all her determination to make people admire her, Skeeter was a gossip-monger at heart. Little would please her more than taking down someone whom many Aurors and Ministry people still admired years after he'd left his position.

"Wonderful," said Skeeter at last, looking up. "I can do a lot just with this. The article should be out in a few days—"

"No," Harry interrupted.

Skeeter frowned at him. "Our deal—"

"I know what our deal is," said Harry. "But this is different. I can give you plenty of other stories. But this one is personal. Private. Special. I only agreed to give it out at all because James will just not bloody well give up. I want to use this to blackmail him instead. If he doesn't drop the charges against Snape, then—" The words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out. "Then you can publish it."

Skeeter hesitated, teetering. Harry watched her coolly. He understood her. She wanted the article published and people buying it, reading it, admiring her words in shocked whispers, James bleeding from the lash of a whip that he never saw coming.

On the other hand, she wanted the anticipation of it, too. And she wanted to be involved in intrigues at this level of power, to know things that other people didn't as well as just spreading them the moment she knew. She wanted to have power over another person. She had a chancy power right now, dictated not only by what articles she could publish but by the public interest, and her competition with Melinda Honeywhistle and other people, and how long the scandal would run. Harry was offering her something else, something more political in nature—the chance to run before, not behind, events.

Besides, she must know that if she published this article when he didn't want her to, it was the last story she'd ever get from him.

Harry felt almost as if he were inside her head when Skeeter's eyes lifted to his face and she nodded. He had looked in one of the registry books in the Hogwarts library just to satisfy his curiosity, but he really hadn't needed to. He already knew, on instinct, that Rita Skeeter had been a Slytherin.

"Can I at least write the article and send it to him?" she asked, her voice plaintive.

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Of course. As long as it doesn't slip out, even accidentally, to anyone else."

"No," said Skeeter, her voice a deep purr. "Of course not."

"Send it with this letter," Harry instructed her, and pulled a piece of parchment from his back pocket. "It explains everything in the simplest terms. He drops the charges, or he gets smeared across the front pages of the wizarding world." He paused and gave her a stern look. "He's got a week to drop the charges. If the article shows up before then, I will be very upset, Rita." He hissed at the Many, and the little snake stuck its head out from under his sleeve and hissed back at him.

Skeeter's face paled. "Is that—"

"A South African hive cobra. Yes." Harry stroked the Many's neck, and let the tongue tickle his hand. He made his voice cheery. "Did you know that if one of them spits in your eyes, it blinds you, and there's no cure for that condition?"

Skeeter let out a sharp breath. "Really, no need to threaten me, Potter," she muttered as she stood. "I want to keep this secret for right now as much as you do."

Harry shrugged. "Just making sure." He handed her the letter to James, then watched her get on the broomstick and settle herself again. She gave him a long, slow look that combined many things. Harry saw some fear and respect in there, though, and was content.

"See you later, Potter," she said, and then pushed the broomstick out the Owlery window.

Harry closed his eyes and stood still for a long time. He could only hope James would see sense and not let himself and his family be dragged screaming into the public eye. Granted, he hadn't seen sense before now, but, on the other hand, he hadn't faced a threat this severe. Harry intended to make him back off or bleed in public, one or the other.

And if he bled, too, at least he had chosen to do so.

He opened his eyes and shook his head. I've done all I can for now, especially since the charges were true. I'll wait and see if Scrimgeour can't do something about the Minister before I move on that front.

And if he didn't hurry, he would be late to Charms, anyway.