Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter.
And yes, this is a transitional chapter. Nothing to be done about it, as there are things that have to happen in here.
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Light Lord's Bargain
Harry frowned at Connor.
Connor blinked at him. "What?"
Harry gestured around the abandoned classroom—the third one they'd used for this purpose, given that neither of them wanted to go back to the room that had been the scene of several bitter fights between them, and the second classroom was now thoroughly occupied locking away Snape's Meleager Potion. "How many people did you tell about this, anyway?"
Connor glanced back along the ranks of tables and desks, and shrugged in a way that Harry could wish was more repentant. "Well, Ron and Hermione knew already. And Ron might have mentioned something to Neville. Why do you mind? You like Neville."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Connor, half of Gryffindor House is here. And I'd say at least a quarter of Ravenclaw. And—who now?" The door had opened, and several tall students Harry didn't know, but who wore Hufflepuff ties, had just come in. From their size, Harry guessed they were probably seventh-years.
One of them came towards him, hand held out to shake. Harry accepted it warily, less because he was afraid the boy was trying to trick him than because of the sheer strangeness of seventh-years showing up to listen to a fourth-year. This boy, at least, had a forthright expression on his face, and gray eyes that reminded Harry of Sirius, though they were considerably less shadowed than Sirius's had ever been.
"My name's Cedric Diggory," he said, and gave Harry a faint smile. "Seventh-year Hufflepuff. Hope you don't mind, but Zacharias would not be quiet about these lessons, and it's so rare that something impresses the little—" He paused, and Harry could hear the considerably more impolite word that he might have put in there. "Fellow," Cedric finished smoothly, "that I thought we should see what it's all about."
Harry nodded, rifling through his mental files on the Diggorys. Light family, lived not far from the Weasleys, more strongly allied to the Light than the Weasleys were. Traditionally a Hufflepuff and pureblood family, but they'd had their fair share of relatives in every House but Slytherin, and they'd intermarried with Muggleborns a few times in the last century. Harry supposed he could trust Cedric as far as he could throw him.
"Welcome, then," he said, with a shrug. "I think that we'll probably be covering ground that you already know, but thank you for coming."
Cedric nodded at him, and led the group of Hufflepuffs towards the back of the room. Harry stood at he front of it, and shook off the temptation to bristle with sweat. Attention like this was understandable, because the people looking at him wanted something from him that Harry was sure he could give. He met Luna's eyes, and saw her smiling calmly at him, as if she couldn't conceive of him failing. He tried to meet Cho's gaze, but saw it locked on Cedric, and what he saw in her face made him raise his eyebrows.
Oh. I wonder if Cedric has more than one reason for coming to this lesson.
"Very well," he said aloud. "I explained about the nature of Light and Dark wizards in our lesson last time, and I don't know what you want to hear about now." He glanced at Hermione, whose quill was poised above her parchment. "I can continue that lesson, but—"
"Show us some spells." That was Zacharias Smith, who was leaning back against one of the desks as though he were too important—or self-important, Harry had to admit—to actually sit down. "Unless you're too powerful and afraid of injuring one of these pretty little babes, of course."
"Go after Smith first," Harry heard Ron mutter.
Harry couldn't help smiling. "But we're not supposed to use magic out of class," he said, innocently, even as he let his wand fall into his hand. He wasn't about to show everyone how easily wandless magic came to him. Let them imagine that was only for moments like the one on the Quidditch Pitch last November, when his power burst forth from him.
"That's in the corridors," said Hermione, more snottily than Harry had ever heard her. He realized that she must want to see some magic, too. She'd even put down her quill and leaned forward, her hands folded on the desk. "We're in a classroom. I think you can show us magic, Harry."
Harry shrugged. "What do you want to see, offensive magic or defensive magic or—" He cut himself off abruptly. I can't offer to show them Dark Arts, for Merlin's sake!
"Offensive," said Zacharias, before anyone else could say anything. "I've heard that's your weakness, and if you're weak on the offensive, then how can you hope to lead us in battle?"
Harry raised a brow. He does pick at everyone, doesn't he? "All right," he said. "You'll let me pick the spell myself, I presume?"
"You'd better, Potter," said Zacharias. "I won't be there in the middle of battle to tell you what to do."
A few people chuckled at that, but more leaned forward, their eyes never wavering from Harry's face. Harry concealed a disgusted sigh, and aimed his wand directly ahead of him. For a moment, the only offensive spells he could think of were Dark Arts, since Snape had tutored him so extensively in those the last few weeks before he went away.
Then he shook himself, and normal magic came back to him. "Speculum Ardoris!" he said clearly.
Fire burst out of the tip of his wand, more controlled than it was when he used wandless magic, since it had a container to funnel itself through. Harry found himself wondering abruptly if he could do the same thing with that wandless magic, using his body as a container.
Then he had to work on controlling the spell, which tended to wander in strips of flame if he didn't watch out. He wove dazzling mirrors in front of each student's face, enough to cause some of them to draw their wands and even shoot out a mild jinx or two. The flame mirrors bounced them right back, and several people fell unconscious before Harry dismissed the spell.
Zacharias regarded him with dispassionate eyes as Harry revived a girl knocked down by her own deflected Stunning Spell. "I thought that was ordinarily a defensive piece of magic," he said.
Harry shrugged. "It is. But it's easy to learn how to send it to confuse your enemies instead. The heat and the light are more intense than with a normal fire. It reaches into people's minds and panics them, and then they start using magic even when they know that they shouldn't."
Zacharias grinned at him. "You're all right, Potter," he said, as he lazily awakened one of his Housemates. "Going to make a good war leader."
Harry narrowed his eyes, and chose the victim nearest Zacharias to practice the next Ennervate on. "What do you mean by that?" he whispered. He thought he was probably speaking low enough that no one else could hear him. "These lessons are for Connor, to let him practice in being a good leader. He's the one who'll have to guide us on the battlefield and defeat Voldemort. Boy-Who-Lived, remember?"
Zacharias was really very annoying when he had that considering look on his face, Harry decided. "Why should we worry about you training a war leader?" he asked. "Why not use the one we already have?"
"I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived," said Harry, and moved on to a boy who'd somehow managed to make boils grow on his own face, though the spell he used at the flame mirror should have resulted in them on his hands.
"I beg to differ," Zacharias whispered. "If the Boy-Who-Lived is the champion we need to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then you are."
Harry stiffened his spine and refused to look at the annoying Hufflepuff again. He doesn't really know anything. He's just making guesses.
The fact that they were scarily accurate guesses, and ones that might be influential on the people around them, was not the point, Harry thought.
When he'd revived the last person, Harry returned to the front of the class. "That's why showing off magic in an enclosed space is dangerous," he remarked wryly. "Are you sure that you wouldn't rather have a history lesson now?"
"I want to try that spell," said Hermione, predictably, rising from the desk while clutching her wand. "Why would you say it Speculum Ardoris, though?" She pronounced the spell the way Harry had, though she made her stresses on the incantation obvious. "I think I've heard of this spell, but the emphases were in different places."
"The difference in the stresses transforms it from a defensive to an offensive spell," Harry explained. "Rather than just surrounding yourself with flame, you actively use it to confuse your enemies."
Hermione frowned and settled a hand on her hip. "But I've never heard of that," she said, managing to make it sound as though her never having heard of that variation of the spell was a crime against nature. "Where did you come up with that?"
Harry saw no need to tell her that he'd come up with it himself, by accident, during the summer before second year. "From a book that Hogwarts library probably doesn't have," he said amiably. "Our father is pureblood, remember? There are lots of books they like to retain for themselves."
Hermione sighed and nodded.
"Do you want to try it?" Harry asked.
Hermione carefully aimed her wand and said the spell, with the stresses the same way Harry had performed them.
Flame welled weakly from her wand and whirled into a shield that wandered off as it would attack Zacharias. Harry performed an Accio and summoned it back towards them, shaking his head. "You have to concentrate on your opponent, or your opponents, or it just goes towards whoever you happen to be thinking about," he explained, keeping it to himself that it was interesting Hermione would be thinking about Zacharias. She normally seemed to ignore the Hufflepuff outside class.
Hermione nodded again, her face more serious this time, and managed to form a shield of flame around him on her second try. Harry knew the counter for it, of course; he erected a Protego, and the combination of two spells that reflected other attacks facing each other destabilized and destroyed the Flame Mirror. Hermione blinked at him as her wisps of red and gold flame spun into nothingness.
"How did you do that?" she asked.
Harry was more than happy to explain the theory behind it, especially since it now seemed as though other people besides Hermione and Zacharias were taking an interest in what was happening. Connor was practicing small movements with his wand, murmuring the spells under his breath. Ron tapped his wand nervously on the desk he sat at, though that stopped when he saw Harry watching him; he tried as best he could to pronounce the spell, though he didn't produce more than a few bits of smoke. The seventh-year Hufflepuffs had already spread out in a dueling ring, which Harry wasn't surprised to see that Cedric had organized.
Harry caught Luna's eye. She was sitting and staring in wonder at the ceiling of the classroom, but she nodded and turned towards him when he came up to her.
"Is something the matter, Luna?" Harry asked softly. He hadn't spent much time with her this year, but she hadn't seemed quite this dreamy and distracted before. He glanced at the ceiling himself, but could see nothing to fascinate her there.
"Don't you see the old shields?" Luna whispered.
"Old shields?" Harry squinted obediently upward again, but could still make nothing out.
"Yes," said Luna. "Someone held this classroom against a siege once. The old furniture says so." She touched the chair she sat on. "This one is talking to me about Helga Hufflepuff."
Harry stared. The chair certainly didn't look that old.
"Oh, no, it didn't know her," said Luna. "It heard the story from another, older desk, and that desk heard it from another one, and back, and so on." She stroked the desk's surface with affection. "But they don't really mean to talk to me. They just have old magic on them, and I can sense it."
Harry sat down in the desk beside her. Hermione was drilling Connor and Ron, Cedric was drilling Cho and the Hufflepuffs who had joined them, and Zacharias was walking around and poking holes in everyone else's spell technique. No one needed him at the moment. "So what does the chair say about Helga Hufflepuff?"
Luna gestured around the room. "This used to be her private study. She would retreat here and meditate, or sometimes simply come up with new spells to hold and defend the earth. She loved gardening, you know, but it wasn't something she was very good at by itself. She made up spells to defend the garden from weeds and beetles and pests." Luna closed her eyes, as if meditating. "And she held the classroom against a siege by Slytherin once."
Harry blinked. "I thought Slytherin and Gryffindor were enemies, not Slytherin and anyone else."
"Oh, that was after he went mad," said Luna seriously, opening her eyes and regarding him again. "I'm sure he didn't mean it."
Harry frowned, and thought of the history book on Slytherin that Narcissa Malfoy had given him for his first Christmas with the Malfoys. "I don't recall that he was insane," he said at last. "He just left the school when he got so disgusted with Gryffindor that he couldn't stand it anymore."
"That's not what the chair says," said Luna.
Harry studied the desk at what Luna sat with new determination. Could Luna really sense the vibrations of magic left behind, without even needing to cast a spell? That was a useful skill. And it would explain why she wandered around distracted most of the time. She was seeing a world that most wizards weren't even aware existed, and it would take a lot to persuade her to pay attention to the real one.
"Can you do Speculum Ardoris?" he asked, to distract himself from asking more about her ability. He didn't want Luna to feel harassed and pressured, or as if he cared only about what use her skill could be to him in battle and not about her as a person.
"No one but you could do it before this morning," said Luna, "pronounced that way."
Harry snorted. "I told Hermione I found it in a book—"
"And your wand says that you didn't," said Luna. "It's been radiating that magic for a few years now. I think you invented it."
Harry sighed. "In a way, but it's not something I want many people to know about."
Luna nodded at him. "I understand. Wrackspurts," she said, as if that explained everything, and then drew her wand and set to practicing by herself.
Harry shook his head and stood, just as the door of the classroom opened. Harry turned, wondering if they were to have another visitor.
His mood changed dramatically when he realized it was Professor Moody stepping through the door. He bowed to the ex-Auror, thinking hard all the while. Why is he here now? Did he sense the magic, and come to make sure that we weren't practicing any Dark Arts? Or is he going to do something odd, like the way he spoke to me the last time we had a private conversation?
"Though I felt magic up here," grunted Moody, answering part of the question. "What are you doing?" He fixed his gaze on Harry, as if he assumed that Harry was the leader of this, whatever it was.
I'm a teacher, not a leader, Harry thought in irritation, but there would be little point in letting Moody see that irritation, so he didn't. "I wanted to train my brother in some pureblood history, sir," he said. "He invited along some friends, and then they wanted to see a spell instead. We're practicing Speculum Ardoris." He made sure to pronounce it the way it would be pronounced in the defensive spell, and thought he saw Moody's shoulders loosen towards relaxation.
"Good, very good," Moody said. "Extra practice, eh? A way of getting ready to defeat Dark Lords?"
"Well, Connor certainly needs it, sir," said Harry, and then turned and motioned his brother forward. Connor had been successful with the Flame Mirror, or so he thought from watching him from the corner of his eye. "Do you want to show Professor Moody your magic, Connor?"
The expression on his brother's face clearly said that it wasn't his life's dream, but he did take a deep breath, draw his wand, and then cast the Speculum Ardoris carefully in front of him.
Moody dissipated the Flame Mirror almost lazily, but his face was thoughtful. "Perhaps I should be teaching more magic that you could participate in during class," he mused.
Harry refrained from nodding, though he saw many other heads around the room joining in, even the seventh-years. That's odd, he thought. He had assumed Moody's method of ranting at them about constant vigilance and showing them spells they couldn't legally perform, like the Unforgivable Curses, was because they were fourth-years, too young to be trusted with the powerful magic. But perhaps even his upper classes received the same treatment.
"A little demonstration, then," said Moody, slapping his wand against his palm. "Should you and I duel, Potter?"
Harry would have tried to pretend that Moody was talking about Connor, save that the professor's eyes, both mortal and magical, were fixed on him. He took a little breath and drew his cypress wand.
"If you wish, sir," he said softly.
It was amazing, or amusing, or both, how quickly the desks were pushed to the sides of the room, leaving Harry and Moody a clear space to move in. Luna gave Harry a final glance, said, "At least he's not a Heliopath," and joined the other students in leaning against the walls. She was the last to speak. The others were silent, intent on what was about to happen.
"Begin, then," said Moody, and bowed to Harry.
Harry bowed back, though his mind was racing not with thoughts of the spells that he could put into the duel, but with reminders to himself. Channel your magic through your wand only. No advanced spells. No Dark Arts. Defend if you can, but never let on that that's all you're doing.
"Diffindo!" came Moody's first spell, and Harry snapped up the Shield Charm, just barely remembering to blurt out the incantation that went with it. He caught Moody's gaze, and realized that the Defense Professor didn't intend to go easy on him.
"Full duel, Potter," Moody whispered, and his second and third spell crackled at Harry. "Finite Incantatem. Abicio!"
Harry ducked the Flinging Hex as his Shield Charm dissipated, and decided that he would have to do something, or look as if he were merely scrambling around on the floor in front of his professor.
"Haurio," he murmured, casting the jade-green shield on his left hand that would catch most curses flung at him, and then chose a spell that he knew had been more common twenty years ago, during Voldemort's first rise. Moody ought to know it, at least, having worked as an Auror then. "Obturbo!"
Moody's ears would be filled with an annoying buzzing sound about now, Harry knew. In a moment, the sounds would move into his inner ears, and then he would lose his balance. It would bring a quick end to the duel—
Or it should have, had not Moody narrowed his eyes and simply snapped, "Finite Incantatem. Abicio!" again.
The wave of the spell was too wide for the Absorption Charm to affect, and this time it caught Harry. He was grateful for the absence of desks as he went sailing ten feet, and landed in a roll. Lily had taught him how to fall, though, even if that had been from a broom, and he came back to his feet in a few moments.
"Occaeco Manicula," Harry murmured, slipping now into the mindset of defending himself from an enemy. No Dark Arts, his brain reminded him, but he had bruises on the back of his head and arms now from the way he had landed, and he could no longer consider this just a demonstration for the other students, or a way of keeping his professor from learning all he could do. This was a situation that might end up with him getting seriously hurt, and then he would have to recover in the hospital wing and would be of no help to anyone.
Moody jumped as a small, invisible hand pinched him, and then Harry sent it to attack his hand, trying to get the wand out of his grip. He didn't think a simple Expelliarmus would work on an experienced Auror, but the hand was harder to resist and infinitely more annoying.
That did not mean that Moody was inclined to give up, of course, and he showed it when he studied Harry for a moment, ostentatiously ignoring the hand's efforts. Harry had just climbed to his feet when Moody pointed his wand and said, "Sentire calamitatem noctis!"
Harry grunted as a mental blow fell on and flowed over him. Abruptly, he could feel all the sleep he had lost recently—probably since school began, since that was how long Moody had known him, and this spell could only be used on the basis of the caster's knowledge of the subject. He wanted nothing so much as to go to sleep, and spend the next several days and nights asleep, not helping Draco with the potion or worrying about Snape or advising the magical creatures or teaching lessons or shielding himself or…
Harry did a wandless, nonverbal Finite Incantatem, and picked his head up, meeting Moody's eyes again. He knew that he did not imagine the emotions he saw there, though they surprised him. Moody looked as if he feared and respected Harry, both at once.
I'm not doing that well against him, Harry thought in bewilderment, and then had to dodge as Moody tried to use the Flinging Hex, again. Harry wondered if he was running low, or just really liked that curse, for some reason.
Harry waited for a long moment, running as busily as he could around the ring of students, dodging the hexes and curses Moody threw, and then pinched him hard on the nerve in his right arm with the invisible hand, while shouting, "Expelliarmus!" at the same time.
Moody's wand soared out of his hand, and Harry managed to grab it. He took a panting breath, and then bowed to Moody. He resisted the temptation to mumble something incoherent and go to sleep on the floor. The Sleep Debt Spell had hit him hard. I should take better care of myself, he thought, as he tossed the wand back to its rightful owner, to make sure that I'm ready when and if Draco or Connor or someone else needs me.
"Yes, more active magic in the class will definitely be a bonus," Moody muttered, his eyes never leaving Harry.
"I'm glad, sir," said Harry, and then turned back to answer the questions that his makeshift class had, barely noticing as Moody slipped out. If that had been a test of some kind, it appeared that Harry had passed it.
The unintended consequence, of course—at least, Harry hadn't intended them, and he was sure that Moody hadn't, either—was that everyone else wanted to learn all the spells Harry and Moody had used during the duel, and not all of them could perform all of them, and people fussed, and Harry had to spend some time reviving people stupefied by finding out how much sleep they'd lost, all the while wishing for his bed.
I can't see it, he reminded himself for the fiftieth time, as he brought Hermione back to the waking world. I have work to do.
"Ah, Harry. Come in, please."
Harry entered the Headmaster's office cautiously. It was true that Dumbledore had sent a politely-worded note to him during dinner, requesting his presence here, and it was true that Harry didn't have any more pressing errand. Even Draco didn't require him, wound up as he was in the final time-consuming but relatively simple steps for finishing the potion. So long as Dumbledore didn't try to hurt him or break the bargains they had promised to abide by, why not come?
That every muscle in his body was aching and crying out for bed was not sufficient excuse, Harry thought.
"Do have a seat," said Dumbledore, and Harry realized he'd been standing by his chair, lost in thought. He shook his head slightly and took the seat, refused the expected sweet, and looked at the Headmaster.
Dumbledore's eyes were narrowed, his face shrewd. He stroked his beard as if he knew something Harry didn't.
Quite possible, Harry thought. Everyone seemed to have secrets lately. Connor had been writing to James in private, and said that he didn't want Harry involved in the arguments he was holding with his father. Hermione was starting to return Zacharias Smith's crush with interest, and there were numerous other crushes that their owners, at least, took care to keep concealed blossoming in dusty corners of the school. McGonagall had returned to teaching with a new fire and passion that had been missing for the last two months, which made Harry think something must have been happened. Draco said that his potion would surprise everyone, even though Harry knew everything about it now, and Blaise Zabini had been hinting outrageously about the meeting Harry would have with Lucius Malfoy and the other Dark wizards in a few days' time.
"I suppose," said Dumbledore, "that you have not thought about needing my support, or you would have come to me before now."
Harry blinked, torn out of his thoughts again. "What, Headmaster?"
"I am Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "You'll need my vote to depose Fudge and to free Severus when his trial comes before us in December. And yet, you have made no request for my support."
Harry stiffened. Another complication that I didn't need. "I simply assumed, sir," he said. "that you would do what is right."
"Ah." Dumbledore shook his head. "But what is right? A question much debated by philosophers, and by wizards."
Harry bared his teeth. "You must know that Fudge is the wrong Minister for us, Headmaster," he said, "what with Voldemort coming back the way he is. We need someone strong in office, and Fudge is hysterical and prone to leaping at shadows. You should have replaced him yourself already. And Snape—he was arrested because of me, not because of himself. You could make everyone see that. I understand a little more about how Lords work in politics, now. Your magic guarantees you a lot of things."
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, it does, Harry, but I prefer to work within the bounds of law whenever possible, and leave people's free choices up to themselves. I am, after all, a Light Lord. And the people of Great Britain have chosen Fudge to lead them as Minister of Magic, and more than once. I saw no reason to contest their decision, not when Cornelius did seem to be doing a good job."
"And when he abducted me, and you found out what he'd been doing?" Harry demanded. "Why didn't you do something then? He nearly drained my magic, Headmaster. You can't have that. If I'm a Squib, then two possible interpretations of the prophecy—the one where I'm Connor's protector and the one where I'm the soldier who has to defeat Voldemort—get messed up."
"Not necessarily, Harry," said Dumbledore. "There is still love, and I believe that love, and not magical power, is the key to defeating Voldemort."
Harry ground his teeth, and didn't dignify that with an answer. Dumbledore had done little to help him so far, and more to hinder. And it didn't seem as though he were done hindering.
"What do you want?" Harry asked instead.
Dumbledore beamed. "Ah, yes, Harry, I thought you would never ask," he said. "I am prepared to make one bargain with you, a very simple one. Fulfill it, and you are guaranteed that I will vote against Fudge's remaining in office and for Severus's freedom. That is all."
Harry stared at him. "You would swear that by Merlin and your magic?"
"By one of the even more ancient oaths, if you would prefer that," said Dumbledore. "But I do so swear. By Merlin and by my magic, I will vote against Fudge and for Severus if Harry Potter fulfills the bargain I ask of him."
The magic settled around them, a tightening of bonds that Harry could feel like bared swords brushing his skin. Dumbledore's magic was mighty. It would insure that he kept his promise.
Harry nodded slowly. "And what is this bargain?"
"Something, I think, that will increase your capacity for love and forgiveness, and therefore increase your capacity for defeating the Dark Lord," said Dumbledore placidly. "A letter will come for you a few days after Halloween. It will be on parchment charmed to insure the absolute honesty of the person who writes the message. I will ask you to respond to it, and on the same kind of parchment; I have some that you may borrow. That is all. You must guarantee that you will receive and read the letter, and that you will then respond. I will ask for no promises of further communication, even if the letter-writer does reply to you. Just one."
Harry swallowed. He suspected more under the surface—of course he did, this was Dumbledore—but he couldn't deny how attractive the proposal sounded. Just one letter, and Dumbledore would vote the way Harry wanted.
Just one. How hard could it be? And if it's honest, then I know that I'm not engaging in yet another fruitless political dance.
"I accept," he whispered.
Dumbledore beamed at him. "Excellent, my boy! That is all I wanted to say. Did you have any questions to ask?"
He paused solicitously, but Harry shook his head. He hadn't foreseen this danger, and now it was averted, with so small a sacrifice.
What other dangers do I need to watch out for? What other small sacrifices might I make to insure good results?
Harry went back to the Slytherin common room, though he wasn't tired any more. Now he had to wonder what else he might have missed.
Albus closed his eyes as Harry left. A simple enough thing, but it meant so much, to him and to the one who would write the letter—and it would mean even more to Harry in the future, though at first it might be hard.
He does need to experience more love and forgiveness than he has right now. He is becoming nearly a mindless machine, thinking only of surviving from one duty to the next. He needs to learn to love and reconcile with the most important people in his life. Severus is important, of course, but secondary.
Albus could not give Harry the support he would need—the boy would never trust him if he tried, anyway—but he could bring in someone who would.
Harry will thank me for this at the end of the year, I'm sure of it.