This one mutated as I was writing it. And now there are a bunch of threads crawling around in the story that were not supposed to be there. Yes, again.
Chapter Fifty: Demands, and Harry Not Taking Well To ThemHarry dreamed.
This time, he was in a place that he didn't recognize, unless it was another room of the old house where Voldemort had been the last time Harry had seen him. He flattened himself to the ground at once and cocked his ears forward, listening and looking for some sign of Nagini.
Nothing. She was probably dead.
Harry refused to take much for granted in these visions again, however. He slunk forward with his belly against the floor, and twitched his whiskers from side to side, in hopes that his nose would give him some useful information. The scent of the fire, and some sweet, spicy smell that he didn't really want to think about overpowered everything else, however.
"Evan."
Harry felt the fur along his spine stand up. That voice, he knew. If he ever met Voldemort in person, he wouldn't need to see him to recognize him—which was good, since, as Regulus had pointed out, he hadn't seen him in his dreams yet anyway.
His eyes revealed a divan ahead now, with its back to him, as usual. The fireplace was in front of that, sending dim light and shadows flickering around it. The floor under Harry's paws had a threadbare rug, with no recognizable design, even though Harry thought his eyes were better in this form than in his human one. Voldemort must be sitting on the divan, and Rosier was standing in front of him, his head half-bowed, as though he wanted to take a posture of humility, but was not sure it was worth it.
"Yes, my lord?" Rosier sounded bored. Just as he claimed in his letter, Harry thought, and then reminded himself that Snape had said not to trust anything that Rosier wrote. He stayed where he was, still sniffing for some sign of Nagini, locating nothing, and listening to the conversation.
"I have a new task for you." Voldemort's voice all but caressed the air. "My loyal Death Eaters went to prison for me once. I would not have any of them remain there longer than necessary. Contact Greyback. You and he will free Walden and Rabastan from their confinement in the Ministry's prison."
Rosier jerked his head up, and his eyes burned brightly. "Thank you, my lord," he said softly. "That is truly a task worthy of us. You have always tended to reward me well." Harry wondered if he imagined the unspoken words that followed that sentence: when you bother to reward me at all. He paused, then added, "Bella will not be joining us?"
"No," said Voldemort. "She is quite busy preparing the correct incantations. You know what she wants to do?"
"Yes," said Rosier simply. Harry lashed his tail. What does she want to do?
"I find it a fitting plan," said Voldemort. "Do you, Evan?" His voice was direct, and cold, and horrible, but Rosier merely laughed as though he could think of no finer play than answering questions from the Dark Lord.
"Of course, my lord," he said equitably. "It entertains Bella, and Merlin knows that she needs to be entertained."
The cold voice altered. "I will not have you making fun of the others this time, Evan. We are not numerous enough that we can afford to lose anyone, on a mission or at any other time. Do you understand me? There will be no more torturous spells practiced on your fellow Death Eaters."
"Of course," said Rosier. Harry scraped one paw across the floor. Even I can hear the mockery in his voice. How is it that Voldemort does not hear it? "Our mission is different this time. Your most elaborate plans are going forward, and we must adapt our tactics to those plans. This time, you intend to win the war, and to kill the Potter brat who foiled you before."
Perhaps it soothed Voldemort to have his own schemes repeated back to him, because he said a moment later, "That is it exactly. Yes. Go, Evan, and when you are finished, then return at once with Walden and Rabastan. I will need to speak with them about future raids. There are books I want, which are currently under the protection of those who will not deign to give them to me freely." Harry heard anger that could crack stones in those words.
"And Greyback?" Rosier asked.
"The next full moon is not for several days," said Voldemort. "That should give him time to position himself. The north, Evan. It is time that some of our enemies learned the cost of defying me in secret."
"Of course," said Rosier, a deep delight in his words. He started to step around the divan.
Harry decided the conversation must be done, and prepared to withdraw, brain whirling with all the information he had learned. But he paused when he realized that Rosier had indeed come around the divan—and was looking directly at him.
Harry froze, his heart loud in his ears.
Rosier saw him. His eyes widened, and then narrowed, and then he opened his mouth. Harry prepared to tear his way out of the dreamscape.
Rosier shut his mouth again, tossed Harry a wink, and then kept walking. Harry cringed back to avoid touching his robes, staring after him the while.
What is he playing at? He obeys the orders of his lord eagerly enough. Can he really want me free to roam the connection between Voldemort and me, just so that he can have some entertainment?
Then Harry told himself to forget about that. Rosier and Greyback are going to hit the Ministry, he thought, even as he scrambled back into the darkened part of the room, further from the divan, and tugged against the bond that tied him to Voldemort, trying to wake up. I don't know if I can firecall in time. I certainly can't owl. And I don't know where the prison is.
I'll fetch one of the Aurors guarding the school instead. It's the best plan.
At last, the bond parted like raveled rope, and the vision rained down in pieces around him, allowing him to wake in his own bed.
Harry blinked stupidly for a moment. Luckily, that didn't last very long. He leaped to his feet and dashed for the door. Since he wasn't going into the Forbidden Forest, he didn't bother with robes and warming charms. They would only take precious moments that he didn't have.
"What the hell—" somebody was already saying, but Harry ignored whoever it was as he shut the door behind himself and slid as fast as he could down the stairs to the common room. His scar was pouring blood into his eyes, and there was the usual headache, almost unnoticed by now. He didn't know why Draco hadn't come into this dream, perhaps simply because he hadn't woken up in time, but they could discuss it later. Everything would have to wait until later, or at least until after he had warned the Ministry.
He became aware of a buzzing noise near his ear, and frowned. As he opened the door to the common room and plunged into the corridor beyond, he whispered, "Claudo inimicum." It wasn't a very powerful spell, but it sounded as though someone had sent a tracking charm along with him. This wouldn't have to be very powerful to contain something like that.
A jar formed in the air beside him and shut firmly around the thing buzzing next to his ear. Harry turned and caught it, then stared as he saw a beetle crawling around the inside of the glass.
No time. Harry shook his head, stuffed the jar down the pocket of his robes, and then pulled up a map of the school in his head. Tonks is patrolling the entrance hall tonight. She's closest.
He took the stairs from the dungeons two at a time, and slid out into the open, glancing around frantically. He grimaced when he realized that Tonks was nowhere in sight. Did she trip over something and hit her head again? he wondered. That had happened three times in the last week alone.
He narrowed his eyes as he thought some more about it. Feverfew's on the second floor. He took off again, and then someone grabbed his shoulder and nearly earned himself an early death.
Harry turned with a sharp hiss, only to see Snape behind him, his arms crossed and his gaze stern.
He didn't say anything, perhaps because his eyes had caught sight of the blood on Harry's face. "What do we need to do?" he asked. "What are the requirements of your vision?"
"Voldemort's sending Rosier and Greyback to the Ministry prison," said Harry. "I need to find an Auror to let the Ministry know, but I can't tell where anyone is." He darted a glance around, just in case Tonks appeared out of a corner, and wound up shaking his head. "I'm going to Feverfew. Come on."
Snape said nothing to dispute him, but glided swiftly at his right shoulder as they made for the stairs. Harry realized, uneasily, that the school was more silent than he had ever dreamed at night. Of course, most of the time he was outside the castle if he was awake now, but still, it was disconcerting.
The stairs cooperated, for once, and they came out on the second floor without being forced to backtrack. Harry's mind kept trying to calculate times and distances the while, and kept giving up. Without an idea of where the Ministry prison was and how heavily warded it was, he had no idea when Rosier and Greyback might get there and manage to break in.
Harry risked a call down the corridor, since not many people actually lived on this floor. "Feverfew!"
No answer. Harry shot a glance at Snape, whose eyes were narrowed, and who cast a spell that Harry didn't recognize, but which made his wand glow red. Snape cursed a moment later.
"What?" Harry demanded, thinking again. Haverbull was patrolling the third floor, if they really had to go that high.
"Feverfew is incapacitated, wherever he is," said Snape shortly. "Asleep or injured—enough that he cannot respond to us."
Harry stiffened. "And you think Tonks is—"
"Almost surely the same way, yes." Snape was staring into the shadows the torches cast now, looking as if he would like nothing better than to bring the walls down. "I presume it will do us little good to go to Mr. Haverbull and the others. Whoever did this would not be stupid enough to miss any of our happy crew of Aurors." His voice was thick with disgust.
Harry took a deep breath. "Second best plan, then," he said, and turned to Snape. "Do you think that I could firecall Scrimgeour from your rooms?"
"You may do it from mine, Mr. Potter."
Harry jumped, and then turned around. Professor McGonagall stood behind him, her eyes narrowed and a candle in her hand. Around her ankles twined the blue line of a ward, purring like a cat when Harry glanced at it.
"Quickly now," she added, when both Harry and Snape stood there. "I felt something wrong earlier this evening, when the wards began to whine. However, they could not tell me the nature of the threat." She frowned. "Or perhaps I am not attuned enough to them to read it."
"And Dumbledore?" Harry asked, sliding around her and towards the door of her private rooms.
"I do not know," said McGonagall. "When I approached the Headmaster's office, I saw a dark figure moving down the corridor. I turned to chase it, and lost it on the third floor. I can confirm that I saw no sign of Auror Haverbull."
Harry nodded shortly, and then went into her rooms. They were bright and warm and cheerful, as he saw out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't care about anything in them now, save for the fireplace. He took a pinch of Floo powder from the dish on the mantle and cast it into the flames. "Minister of Magic's office!" he called out.
For a moment, the flames danced with a bright green color, and then they tossed the Floo powder abruptly out of the fireplace. Harry coughed and covered his face as he was dusted with it. He whirled around, not caring that he was making a mess of McGonagall's carpet. "What happened?" he demanded. "Is that what happens when the Minister's office has its Floo network shut?" He supposed he should have anticipated that. It was the middle of the night, after all.
"No," said McGonagall, her face pale. "That's what happens when someone has blocked a fireplace from accessing the Floo Network altogether." She strode over and stared into her hearth as though she could see the problem from here and know how to fix it.
Harry cursed, ignoring the way both professors said, "Potter!" practically as one being. "Someone's blocked the Floo Network and taken down the Aurors, then," he said. "That leaves Apparating to the Ministry, maybe—"
Snape's hand descended and clenched on his shoulder. "You are not going anywhere, Harry," he said, in the voice that made it seem less like an order than a declaration of fact. "There are few areas in the Ministry that are not warded against Apparition, and I do not think that you can picture any of them clearly. I will not have you splinched."
"But I have to warn Scrimgeour," Harry argued, tilting his head back and glaring at Snape. He saw his guardian flinch, and wondered why. Perhaps he doesn't like to see my face bleeding. I don't know why. It's not like it doesn't do this all the time.
"You may do so by owl post," said Snape.
"That's too late—"
"Harry." McGonagall stepped in front of him. "How did you get this information?"
Harry sighed. I should have known she would demand to know that sooner or later. "Sometimes I have visions of Voldemort," he said. "In this one, I heard him ordering Rosier and Greyback to attack the new prison the Ministry's built."
"Then warning the Ministry would not do much good anyway," McGonagall told him quietly. "It would take some time for them to alert the prison, if what I have heard is true. It is deliberately kept at a distance from the Ministry, warded and made nearly inaccessible. In fact, Rosier and Greyback—" she grimaced as if she'd swallowed something foul when she said that name "—may not be able to find it. I know that Minister Scrimgeour has concealed its location from all but those who most need to know."
"Rosier will find a way if anyone will," said Harry, and then hesitated, wondering if he really wanted to tell Professor McGonagall about his duels with Rosier.
Snape knelt down in front of him and made Harry look at him with a steady, penetrating gaze. "Harry," he said. "You cannot let your enemies convince you of their omnipotence. Rosier is playing a game. He always does that. I find it far more likely that, as Minerva said, he will be baffled by the wards around the prison and fail in this mission. What we should be concerned with now is the safety of the school. Do you fail to remember that a person, perhaps people, has managed to take down trained Aurors inside the school and block the Floo Network?"
Harry let out a slow sigh, then froze as Regulus said in his head, in a tone of sleepy incredulity, Show them that beetle in the jar that you captured.
"Wait," Harry said distractedly, and fumbled in his robe. He drew the jar that the Claudo inimicum spell had created out and held it up to the light. The beetle crawled determinedly around the inside of it, as though determined to find a crack in the glass that would allow it to break out. The insect didn't look like anything special, save for a faint spectacle-shaped marking around its antennae, but Harry could remember other times when a beetle had buzzed by his head, and he thought that might have something to do with this. "Professor McGonagall. I caught this beetle as I was coming out of the Slytherin common room. Do you know what it is? Someone's unregistered Animagus form, maybe?"
The Transfiguration professor nearly snatched the jar from his hand. She examined it, and then let a sharp frown pull her lips into a pursed line. "Indeed, Mr. Potter," she said, and then placed the jar on the floor, Vanishing the glass. The beetle made a bid for freedom at once.
McGonagall snapped out a complex incantation that Harry couldn't follow half of. A sharp flash of light eclipsed the beetle's fleeing form, and the next moment, Rita Skeeter collapsed heavily to the floor. Her clothes were in disarray, her glasses almost coming off her face.
Harry narrowed his eyes. Damn, I should have known. She was in the interrogation room when Fudge and Umbridge questioned me. No wonder she could know exactly what went on there.
McGonagall loomed above Skeeter, her wand unwavering. "You will explain yourself," she said, apparently needing no help in recognizing the other woman. "How did you get inside the school?"
Skeeter gave Harry a pleading look. Harry only stared back. Their deal had not covered anything like this. Skeeter pasted a sickly smile on her face and turned around to look at McGonagall again.
"Did you know an unregistered Animagus can get inside the Hogwarts wards if carried against a student's skin?" she said. "Quite a discovery, that one. I rode against Mr. Potter's neck, usually." She made her voice into a stream of bright chatter as she looked around the room. "You live differently than I always thought you did, Professor. Gryffindor colors everywhere and only that, I was thinking. But you've done a nice job of—"
"Did you put the Aurors to sleep and shut off the school's Floo Network?" McGonagall asked levelly. "Answer me before I Transfigure you into an egg and step on you."
Harry had to duck his head to hide a grin.
"No!" Skeeter all but squeaked. "Of course not! I didn't even know something was wrong until I heard you talking about it!" She shrank back into a smaller pile, her eyes wide and her hands quivering. Harry wondered if they were twitching because she wanted a notebook and quill. Skeeter's reporter's instincts were still strong. She would write about this if she could.
That led to another idea.
"Did you see who did it?" he asked.
Skeeter sighed and turned to face him, shaking her head mournfully. Harry might have believed her sad expression if he didn't know her at all. "No. I was with you the entire evening. You're usually the center of the action," she added.
Harry just rolled his eyes. "I suppose you know that this means we'll have to renegotiate our bargain," he said.
"Bargain?" asked McGonagall.
"Rita and I made a bargain," said Harry, his anger growing slowly as he remembered all the things and actions he wouldn't have wanted observed by anyone. "Didn't we, Rita? I said that I would feed you stories, and in the meantime, you'd consult me about the way you wrote them. There was absolutely nothing in there about you spying on me and getting fresh stories that way. And there was certainly nothing in there about you being an unregistered Animagus. I think I deserve another bargain. This time, be assured, it'll tip a little more to my side of things."
Skeeter frowned at him, but dipped her head. She knew when she was beaten, Harry saw, though doubtless she'd still try to twist the deal as much to her advantage as she could.
"Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, her voice weary. "Do I even want to know why you're bargaining with Ms. Skeeter instead of reporting her to the Ministry at once?"
"Because she's useful," said Harry simply. "Although," he added, as memory caught up with his present thoughts and Regulus poked him again, "I really should warn Minister Scrimgeour about this whole mess first, by owl post if I can't do it any other way. I trust that you'll stay here, Rita? If I find you gone, I just might have to write the Improper Use of Magic Office after all."
Skeeter nodded.
"Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, as Harry put a hand on the doorknob, "where do you think you're going?"
Is she deaf? Harry didn't bother turning around. "To owl the Minister. I just said that."
"With an unknown threat running around the school and disabling Aurors and the Floo Network." McGonagall's voice didn't make that a question. "I think not, Mr. Potter. You will stay here where you are safe." Harry turned around in time to see the wards on the stone begin glowing red and yellow. "Save for the Headmaster's office, my room is currently the safest one in Hogwarts."
Harry fought the urge to growl. As important as McGonagall's assistance had been, in some ways he wished she hadn't found him. He turned and looked at Snape.
Snape's face was blank. "Harry," he said softly, "do you not think that the Minister will want to know how you discovered this? We have yet to think of a convincing lie. Unless you wish to reveal the existence of the visions—" He paused when Harry frowned at him. "I did not think so. Either Rosier and Greyback's attack will fail, which I think the likeliest option, and the Minister will be warned that way, or it will succeed, and your warning about it would only make you seem to be in collusion with them. Were it not for the enemy being in Hogwarts itself, I would help you to think of a lie, but it is best to stay here. I will not lose you." His voice was growing deeper as he went on, his face more set.
Harry closed his eyes and forced the words through his teeth and the lump in his throat. "Fine, then. I'll let the Minister know about the visions. Can we go to the Owlery now?"
"That does not solve the problem of the enemy in Hogwarts," said Snape.
"Damn it—" Harry turned to the door, and Snape performed a locking charm on it. A moment later, heavy school wards crawled across it. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see McGonagall flaring with red and yellow light. She dropped her hand and gave him a stern glance.
"You are the likeliest target, Mr. Potter," she said. "Other than your brother, perhaps, and I have made sure the wards are thick and active in his room in Gryffindor Tower. This trip to the Owlery is not as important as making sure that you stay alive."
"But there could be people who die tonight because of me!" Harry didn't understand why they wouldn't understand. He clenched his fists, and felt his rage stir, though luckily it was only ordinary anger, and not the Dark rage that he had put in the prison of icicles. "Rosier and Greyback could find their way into the prison, and kill some of the guards. If not, then they might at least kill some of the Ministry officials in frustration. Don't you realize that—"
Harry.
Harry slammed his mouth shut, because that was Regulus, and Regulus might be able to give him some good arguments. You see that I'm right, don't you, Regulus? I have to go. He began gathering his strength to fight Hogwarts' wards. He'd never tried that before in a room where so many of them were awake at once, but he was willing to try. There were lives at stake, and he could do something to save them.
No, I think they're right, said Regulus. This disabling of Aurors and the Floo Network has the feel of an attack directed specifically at you. And is it a coincidence that it comes on the night that Voldemort is planning his first raid? No to that, too. Stay here, Harry.
"If someone's hunting me," said Harry aloud, "then they might head for the Slytherin rooms—"
"Wards are active there as well," said McGonagall, with a tinge of amusement in her voice. "When I thought you were safe in your common room, Mr. Potter, I activated them to guard you. You must already have left. But, I assure you, if someone threatens Mr. Malfoy or the rest of them, I shall know at once."
Harry tensed again. They were cutting down all the reasonable, persuasive arguments that he might have used to convince them. That left fighting the wards and springing to the Owlery. He would have liked to jump to the Ministry itself, but Snape was right: the few rooms he had a clear picture of there were almost certainly warded against Apparition, and trying to jump the immense distance from Scotland to London when he didn't know any unwarded places for certain was suicide.
"Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, and her voice had gone cold now. "Stop that. The wards are already in a weakened state, both from Mulciber's tampering and from the transfer between the Headmaster and me. What do you think will happen to them if you rip them apart now?"
Harry cursed and spun, creating a wooden figure with a gesture of his hand, and then setting it on fire. He could feel McGonagall jumping, as the wards spasmed with her, but none of the ashes and flames touched her carpet or walls. Harry created and burned a few more figures, just to relieve his temper, and then turned around again.
"Fine," he said. "I'll stay here. Happy?" He wasn't, he could feel his heart pounding heavily at the mere thought of people dying when he could have warned them, but he had obligations to others, too. Keeping himself alive and not tearing the wards that kept Death Eaters out when properly attended to were among them.
"Happier than I was," said McGonagall. Her voice softened. "Harry, you must sometimes consider your own safety first, and leave other duties to other people. Do you understand me?"
Harry understood her. He just hated it, with a violent passion.
He had to do something to make himself useful, he thought, beyond pacing a hole in the carpet or burning more wooden figures. He turned to face Skeeter, who looked as though she were happy to have escaped further questioning. She shrank when she saw his expression.
"Ms. Skeeter," said Harry, and his voice was all kinds of false politeness. "As long as you're here, I think we should renegotiate the terms of our bargain."
Snape lengthened his stride the moment he was away from Harry. They had left McGonagall's office near morning, when Auror Feverfew had knocked on the door and asked in a confused voice whether they were quite all right, and if they knew why he had a large bump on his head and no memory of the last few hours. Snape had escorted Harry back down to the dungeons, not letting him out of his sight, and said that he was going to get what rest he could before classes began. Harry had nodded drowsily, obviously feeling the same way.
Harry's bloodstained face remained with Snape as he waited for the door of the Slytherin common room to slide shut. Harry had not even seemed conscious of the blood much of the time, apart from mutters on its causing Snape's and McGonagall's stares at him. He was getting used to the visions, Snape supposed.
I would not have him get used to them.
Snape knew whom he suspected of this business with the Aurors and the Floo Network, and he was not about to let him get away with it.
He was already casting spells when he stopped outside the office of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and rapped smartly on the door. He saw no trace of the spells he suspected had been used on the Aurors, but that meant nothing. Karkaroff was Headmaster of Durmstrang. He almost certainly knew and taught Dark Arts that were not common at Hogwarts.
Karkaroff opened the door, concealing a yawn with one hand. He froze when he saw Snape, and that gave Snape time enough to lock eyes with his old comrade-in-arms and bear inward with his Legilimency.
He stood in the representation of Karkaroff's mind: a deep pine forest, thick with drifting mist. Memories drifted by, not at all guarded, and Snape snatched at the first one.
A nightmare, a dream of Voldemort calling his Death Eaters. With an effort, Snape recognized one of the abandoned houses they had used as headquarters before the first fall of the Dark Lord. Karkaroff remembered shivering on the floor, having convulsed already from numerous Cruciatus Curses, wondering what he was doing there.
Snape backed out of the nightmare with a snarl, and snatched at another.
A more ordinary dream, a senseless stream of soldiers marching over a mosaic.
Snape snatched himself free of that, and pushed further into the forest, intending to find out whether Karkaroff had any memories of disabling the Aurors and the fireplaces. But then Karkaroff's mind started struggling, pushing against him, and the cold mist curled around his legs and tried to force him out. Snape knew that he could stay in his place, but not without damaging some of his victim's ability to remember.
He snapped out of the trance, focused his eyes, and surprised an angry expression on the other man's face.
"What do you think you are doing, Severus?" hissed Karkaroff. He had crossed his arms, as though that would help ward off the intrusion into his thoughts. "I told you, I no longer serve the Dark Lord. I have not since the last war. What is the meaning of this?"
Snape narrowed his eyes. It was true that Karkaroff remembered only dreams near the top of his mind, and that he had never been a good actor. He would have had trouble concealing his true intentions, if he really meant to betray the school. The memory of the Auror attack should certainly have been floating among the first ones that Snape reached for.
"There was an attack last night on the five Aurors patrolling this school," he said coolly. "The Aurors here to guard Harry Potter, who, you will know, is my ward. I remember old raids, Igor, and I remember that you were assigned to disable the guards and sentries whom the Dark Lord thought it a waste to kill." Because you were good for nothing else, his memory added, in silent malice.
Karkaroff flushed, as though he'd heard the mocking words. "And I've changed," he retorted. "Ask your ward if he hasn't had several conversations with me about this already." He drew himself up, though that was a ridiculous gesture at this point, since he was shorter than Snape was. "I've had fourteen years to decide that, yes, I don't really like living as someone always marked—or Marked—and ready to run. If the—the Dark Lord is returning, then I will help fight him." He ended with a shiver, but with his eyes burning with a determination that Snape had to respect, never having seen it in him before.
Snape concealed a snarl. Harry did not mention that he had been talking with him. It explains, at least, why Harry did not mention his name as a suspect at once. He must not suspect him at all.
But why should he not? He is a former Death Eater with a black reputation—
Rather like you, Severus?
Snape hissed and wheeled away from the door. He wanted to find something to fault Karkaroff's story, but his own Legilimency should have told him if the man was lying, and he did not think he was.
People can change in a decade and more.
Snape shook his head free of the thought, which was just a step up from the kind of sentimental nonsense he'd felt when he stood trial before the Wizengamot, and focused on the more important one. That means there is still someone in the school who wishes Harry harm.
"If I find you have done Harry harm, Igor—" he whispered.
"You'll hunt me down. I know." Karkaroff actually looked bored as he shut his door.
Snape made for his rooms, despite the fact that he knew he was too tense to sleep. He still had a particularly bad batch of Potions essays to mark, mostly by third-year Hufflepuffs, surely the stupidest bunch of students in the school. Those in fourth year and above had some sense about Potions, those in first and second were too awed of him to be very stupid, but in third year all Hufflepuffs seemed to go quite mad and scribble essays full of nonsense.
They would relax him if anything could, and prepare him to appear in classes.
Harry was expecting the stares that morning. He had dictated the article that he wanted Skeeter to write before letting her go. He marched resolutely to the Slytherin table, appearing to ignore them, but this time listening keenly to the murmurs that raced alongside him.
He took his seat with a faint smile. Most of the whispers were of the "Does he really mean that?" variety. But most of the students here had also seen the Many's display two weeks ago, and knew that, yes, he was serious. Harry poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, pleased to notice that his hand wasn't shaking. Publicity was not so bad if he could control it.
And I have to do this. Voldemort is spreading his wings. I have to be prepared to do the same.
"Tell me you don't mean this," said Millicent, and slammed down the paper in front of him.
Harry glanced calmly at the headline, which was on the second page.
HARRY POTTER TO FREE MAGICAL CREATURES.
By: Rita Skeeter
In an exclusive interview with the Prophet last night, Mr. Harry Potter, already famous for his exploits in the Triwizard Tournament this year, revealed that he has great compassion for the magical creatures of the wizarding world.
"Most of them are bound with webs," he explained. "Webs to make them docile, or make them serve us, or keep them from hurting us. Sometimes simply webs to make them stay in one place so that we can look at them. And nearly all the magical creatures I've met so far have webs like this: house elves, unicorns, centaurs, Runespoors, merfolk—there's no end to it."
Asked who had established the webs, Potter said that they were ancient.
"I don't think it really matters who established them—who's to blame, that is," he said. "What matters is getting rid of them. Most magical creatures don't want to have a large amount of contact with the wizarding world anyway, or they're open to negotiations about it."
Potter should know if anyone would. He freed the Dementors last May, sending them back into nightmares, and obliging the Ministry to find new guards for Azkaban. He also confessed to having freed the unicorns who lived in the Forbidden Forest outside Hogwarts, and added that he considers using his immense power to break webs an important part of his life's work…
"Show him the article on the front page," Pansy whined, poking Millicent with an elbow.
Millicent flipped back the page, and Harry winced at the headline there, which bore Melinda Honeywhistle's byline.
MINISTRY PRISON ATTACKED, TWO DEATH EATERS ESCAPE
Harry quickly skimmed the article, cursing under his breath. The only good thing was that there had been no deaths. Though no one seemed to recognize Rosier and Greyback as the raiders, they were quite sure that they had broken into the prison, and freed Walden Macnair and Rabastan Lestrange.
I should still send an owl to Scrimgeour about it, he thought, and then rubbed his eyes. Now I just have to remember it.
"Something to do with you, too, isn't it?" Draco, who'd just sat down beside him, whispered in a low voice.
"Of course," said Harry with a sigh. He gave Draco a sideways glance. "Sorry I couldn't involve you, but, well, it happened rather suddenly."
"I thought so," said Draco, and cocked his head, studying Harry intently. "If it had happened slowly enough for you to involve me, and you didn't, then I would be upset."
Harry nodded, understanding the message, and the import Draco was giving it. Satisfied, Draco turned to eat his breakfast.
Regulus snickered in his head and said something extremely immature which Harry didn't bother responding to.
He turned back to the plate of kippers, and breathed slowly. It wasn't even all the stares coming his way that made him feel off-balance. Events had seized him by the scruff of the neck last night and dragged him forward, and now he felt as if he were in a race with Voldemort, both seeing who could gather allies the fastest.
And maybe who can keep them, Harry thought, as he remembered Rosier's wink in the vision.
Stop thinking about him. He's crazy anyway. He only wants you to imagine that he's important. Which doesn't answer the question of how he could see you, but then, it doesn't answer any question about him.
"Potter."
Harry jumped. Millicent had evidently been trying to get his attention for a few minutes, because she leaned further forward and frowned at him.
"I asked you if you really meant it," she said. "If you really want to free all magical creatures."
Harry deliberately ate a kipper before he answered. "Eventually," he said. "I think I explained how complicated it was in the article." He'd specifically told Skeeter to include that, how he didn't wish to step on anyone's free will in undoing the webs. "I know I can't just run around freeing house elves all at once, for example. They'll probably be the hardest case, and take me the longest. Except for werewolves, maybe," he added with a frown, remembering the snarling hatred Remus's wolf had held for him. "Maybe I won't even achieve everything I want before I die. But I've got a good start, and that means that—"
"And that's your ultimate allegiance." Millicent's voice was flat.
Harry blinked. "Not my ultimate one. One of my allegiances. I do want to free the magical creatures, yes. You knew that. Did you think that I would abandon your family? I don't intend to. If you need to tell—"
"We thought your ultimate allegiance was to the Dark." Pansy's voice was a whisper as she leaned towards him. "Or the Dark pureblood families. They're your most prominent and closest allies, and you took magic from the leader of the Light, Dumbledore. You're eventually going to declare for the Dark, aren't you?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "I see we have a small problem," he said.
"I was in that meeting, Potter," Millicent breathed, making sure not a word went further than her, Harry, Pansy, and Draco. "I know that you promised Arabella Zabini you'd never become a Light Lord."
"Yes," said Harry. "And I'm going to keep that promise."
"But then," Pansy said, "don't you have to be—"
"Not really," said Harry, and turned back to his breakfast.
Their eyes remained on him. This time, Harry steadfastly refused to look up at them because he was annoyed with them. I was sure they understood. Millicent should have, after what she heard me say about people being more important than magic. Or maybe they heard, but they think they know better. I suppose I shouldn't have expected some of the Dark skulls to be any less thick than some of the Light ones.
He finished breakfast and hurried to Potions. He was composing the letter to Scrimgeour in his mind as he went. Not only would he mention Rosier's and Greyback's names and warn about Greyback's possible raids in the north and Macnair and Rabastan's instructions to go after books—he'd thought of a way to disguise the origin of the information, since Scrimgeour already knew that Harry had a friend called Starborn who sometimes passed him warnings—but he intended to warn Scrimgeour about something else. It was only fair that the Minister know Harry wanted the anti-werewolf legislation obliterated. The article he'd had Skeeter write was a declaration of war, but this would be the formal announcement.
Gazes trailed after him, and so did lingering, rushing whispers. Harry put his head up and rode them all out, pushing away his terror of the attention.
I'm actually looking forward to this, he thought. Pansy, and Dragonsbane through her, were right, in a way. If all of these people give me power, even if it's a fickle, changeable power, they do it by their own choice, and they take it away by choice, too. I ought to use my fame to benefit my allies as much as I can.