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And Harry finds out he's stirred a hornets' nest here.

Chapter Fifty-One: Troubled the Twilight

Millicent waited, patiently, her hands linked together on her lap. Both her parents would have been proud of her, she thought. Mother would have said that her daughter was showing the calm determination that any good pureblooded witch should, and Father would have sensed the busy activity of her mind and nodded at her for concealing it.

Millicent's body was patient, but her mind was indeed racing around, snatching at ideas and dragging them forward.

I knew that Harry might have some allegiances to magical creatures. Of course I did. It isn't surprising.

But I thought he only wanted to free…centaurs, and unicorns, and all the others who might be pretty but aren't really good for anything. I didn't realize that he was mad enough to want to free house elves.

The door she was listening for opened. Millicent sat up a bit and peered towards the stairs. Draco came down first, of course, turning around and talking to Harry, who walked behind him. Harry had been a bit warier since yesterday, when he had begun to realize that not everyone greeted his announcement with wide smiles and gestures of surrender.

"Potter," said Millicent, not indicating anything by her tone. She would use his surname instead, and then Harry would know that she was angry with him. "I want to speak with you."

Draco turned around, hovering between her and Harry like he was a bloody dragon. Millicent rolled her eyes. It's not as though he needs protection from his own Housemates. I just want to ask him a few simple questions.

"Of course, Millicent," said Harry, stepping around Draco. His expression was blank, more neutral than it was usually, but his voice was utterly polite. "What did you want to talk with me about?"

"Oh, you know very well." Millicent folded her arms.

"I'm afraid not." Harry looked as he sometimes had in second year, an impression that the unnerving lack of emphasis in his words only added to. "You're the one who began the conversation, so you're the one who should introduce the subject, properly speaking, Millicent."

Millicent took a deep breath. Speaking so directly went against all her instincts as a Slytherin, but though a few people were watching their conversation, as always, most were at breakfast already. Really, boys are always so abominably late. "Your little declaration of war in the paper yesterday," she said. "I want to know if you mean to free house elves."

Harry tilted his head. "I intend everything that I said in that article, Millicent."

Not working. Millicent narrowed her eyes. "I want to know your schedule, Potter. How soon do you intend to free house elves?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "It'll depend on the individual free wills of the wizards involved." His face grew more animated now, and Draco, who had been looking as though he wanted to hex Millicent, relaxed a bit. "I want to persuade them to release them, or get their permission to cut the webs."

"Don't you need the elves' permission, too?" Millicent forced an arch tone into her voice. "I would think you would want it, since you're so big on magical creatures having their own way."

"They wear a web that makes them think they like slavery, as well as one to make them serve." Harry's eyes had a depth and clarity that she had never seen before, not even the day they went into the Forest to visit his little nest of snakes. "When I cut the one, then yes, they want to be free. One of Mr. Malfoy's house elves had a raveled web, and I was able to make out that he had more free will than the other elves, too. He begged me to free him. I did."

Millicent felt a deep thrill of terror move through her veins. If what Harry was saying was true, then that meant house elves might strike back at the wizards and witches when released, as vengeance for their long imprisonment.

"That's—it'll change too much." Millicent swept her hand in a circle around the Slytherin common room. "Do you know how much of the labor in Hogwarts is done by house elves, Potter?"

"I have some idea, yes," said Harry. Millicent had often thought him insufferable, but never more so than now, now that he was just refusing to get angry. "I did research on it when I was working out a way to free Dobby. They cook the meals, do the laundry, clean our bedrooms and all the other rooms, tend the fires, dust, take care of any items that we don't want anymore, light the torches, return lost items to their owners, care for our—"

"So you must see," Millicent interrupted, "what a great change you'll be producing." Her skin crawled at the thought of what would have happened the night Marian was born, if they hadn't had house elves to change and clean the bed. Mother might have died before they were able to save her. "You can't want that, Potter. You benefit from everything that they do, too."

"I know," said Harry. "I'm as guilty as everyone else. And the most I can do right now is try to persuade other witches and wizards that things will be better with elves freed."

"But they won't," said Millicent. "And, anyway, Potter, if you wanted to, you could make freeing their house elves part of the price of alliance with pureblood families. Or you could use your magic to make them free them." She supposed she was pushing in a stupid direction, but anything that would wake Harry from his calm contemplation was something to be desired. He couldn't be aware of the consequences to what he was saying. He just couldn't.

Harry stilled for a moment. His eyes at last burned, but not with the emotion that Millicent had wanted to see there. Instead, he simply looked angry and half-contemptuous, as if he would scorn her, but understood too well what had motivated her to act as she had. Millicent had got that look from her mother sometimes during her childhood. She'd always hated it.

Harry said in clipped tones, "I'll never do that, Millicent. The whole point of this is to do it without stepping on anyone's free will. If a family voluntarily offered to give up their house elves, I'd take the offer gladly. Until then, all I can try is persuasion."

"But you aren't going to win." Millicent hammered the point home with a sharp tap of her voice on the final word. She hated the thought of Harry pouring half his power and time down the hole of a useless cause. He had enough battles to fight that were going to take all his concentration and perseverance.

Harry snorted at her. "You can't know that," he said. "Maybe I can win." He stepped around her and made his way towards the door. Draco was talking to him about Karkaroff before they got out of the common room.

Millicent stared after him. She still thought that it was useless, that Harry would fail. House elves were a necessity, not a luxury, to keep places like Hogwarts and most pureblood family homes running. She was sure that he would lose.

On the other hand, she'd also thought that he would acknowledge his ties with the Bulstrode family to be more important than he'd so far showed he thought them, and that he would say he chose the Dark pureblood families first and foremost, over any of his other allies. They'd given him the most, so far. Surely he should feel the claims of a reciprocal obligation. And she'd been wrong.

She briefly envisioned a future where Harry had won, and changed her family along with the rest of the world, and made them like the change. And he wouldn't have accomplished it with compulsion or any of the other forcing magic he could have used. He would have accomplished it with their full compliance.

Millicent shuddered, and swallowed. Then she turned towards the Owlery. She could miss breakfast to send a letter to her father. She badly wanted his reassurance. She'd been wrong so far about what she thought Harry would do. Maybe he thought about it differently.

He did say that we couldn't lose him no matter what happened. I thought that he meant he didn't want Harry dying in battle or going to Light families, but maybe he meant that we can't lose him because of what he could do for us, rather than just because of what he could do for someone else. What he could do for us with our full and loving cooperation, even.

Millicent lengthened her stride. She would ask.

Pansy disdained Millicent's tactics. She didn't know why the other girl had chosen the Slytherin common room to speak to Harry. It was exactly the wrong environment. Of course Harry would hurry out of the conversation, not wanting to be late to class. And of course he would say some things, whatever they were, that turned Millicent's face a very unhealthy shade of pale.

And Draco was with him. That was the biggest mistake. Harry always spoke more confidently if Draco was there. Pansy thought he spoke those things whether or not he meant them. With a little persuasion, a little luck, and a little contrivance, then he might be pressed to admit any insecurities, if he had them.

The persuasion would have to come from Pansy herself, but the luck came from Professor Karkaroff releasing them early from Defense Against the Dark Arts, so that they didn't have to run quite as hard to their next class, and the contrivance came from Blaise, who still rolled his eyes at Harry and Draco most of the time. Pansy got him to agree to drop behind and ask Draco a series of flattering questions. Draco, caught up in the novelty of Blaise actually wanting to listen to what he had to say, fell for it like a Squib woman for a pureblood wizard.

That left Harry walking by himself, listening behind him with an amused ear, and Pansy falling into step beside him, as if by chance.

"Harry."

Harry's head shot up, his eyes turned to her, and, to her surprise, he shut his eyes and groaned. "Not you, too," he said.

Pansy narrowed her eyes. Did someone already try this way of getting him alone? "What do you mean?"

"You want to talk to me about that bloody article, too," said Harry. "I'm sure of it. That's all anyone wants to talk to me about today, except Draco." He frowned at her. "Well, say your piece. I'm sure that you'll have a few pertinent points to make, even though they're no different from anyone else's."

Pansy tossed her head. She wasn't about to back down just because she'd been caught, however. "I just wanted to know how you could do this, Harry. I can see allying with some of the magical creatures, the ones who could be useful in battle, and of course I want you to work on freeing the werewolves, so that my mother can find some way to escape her curse." She kept her voice low on that last; Hawthorn Parkinson's condition was still not common knowledge, or she would have been forced to go to the Ministry and register long before now. "But all of them? Really, why? I don't understand." Oh, I understand, but that talk about free will is a romantic vision that I would never have expected of him. He's never shown any inclination to offer "free will" to the Light families, and he doesn't just dash about tearing webs randomly. It has to be something different. I can understand saying that so he'd look good for the article, but his real motive has to be something else.

Harry's anger bled away. Pansy wondered what she'd said, and whether she should try to find out for future reference. It was true, of course, that Draco had told Harry he loved him and they'd somehow both survived it, but his tricks with Harry weren't a set that Pansy could imitate—unless Harry really did get tired of Draco someday and looked elsewhere for a bit of companionship.

Harry's voice recalled her from her wondering. "I mean to offer freedom to as many people as I can, Pansy, in the end. That includes Light families, and it includes Light magical creatures, and it includes the ones who want to be free but don't want to fight with us—so long as their vision of freedom doesn't involve stepping on the free will of others, of course. If they do that, or if they join Voldemort and fight at his side, then I'll battle them, too. But I can't know until I ask, can I?" He paused, then added, "That's the reason for the publicity of the article, too. Everyone deserves to know what's coming. I don't want to sneak up on people, not with this. I want them to know what I'm saying, and what I'm asking, and what I stand for." He smiled. "Offering so many possibilities to so many people is the thing I'm most serious about."

Pansy gnawed her lip. She had wanted to know why Harry had so suddenly struck out for publicity after shunning it. But that wasn't her main concern.

"You don't want to just do what's useful, then," she said.

Harry shook his head.

"Then you want to do what's right?" Pansy wasn't sure how she felt about that. Of course, she knew Harry wasn't some idiotic Gryffindor, but she'd thought he was acting more Slytherin since he took the old fool's magic from him. And if he wasn't, if he did want to do what most people thought of as right, then she wondered if he really knew how the wizarding world was liable to look at him. Light was a synonym for "good" in most wizards' minds, even where it wasn't. The Dark families and wizards had been a political minority for a long time. Conform to Light standards in any way, and Harry was stepping into a slavery that wouldn't let him go.

Harry shook his head. "There's no convenient word for what I want to do. Vates comes closest, maybe. Is there a vates for wizards and witches as well as for magical creatures?" He shrugged.

"But a vates is someone who unbinds magical creatures." Pansy had studied a bit over the summer, since her mother had insisted that she understand certain key concepts anew. She'd had to learn more than how the Dark families had lost power to the Light families over the centuries, more than the history of Dark Lords and Ladies. "That much, I know."

Harry shrugged again. "I told you, there's no name for it. Freedom and possibility, and I want to offer those even to the people who oppose me. At least they'll know what they're doing. Then, if they choose to fight me, I can fight them, too, with a clear conscience."

Pansy shook her head slowly. She wasn't sure if that was better or worse than what she had suspected Harry of doing: acting Slytherin and Dark. "Do remember that if you do something the newspapers disapprove of, they can as easily flay you alive as applaud you, and then there will be an awful lot of people angry with you," she murmured.

"I know that," said Harry. "That's why I'm not going to depend on just the newspapers." He turned around and dropped back smoothly, and Draco joined him, giving Pansy a suspicious glance.

Pansy had said what she wanted to say. She went down the corridor, her brain busily working. Perhaps she would owl her mother later and ask for her opinion, but she believed she already knew what Hawthorn would say, because she knew what Dragonsbane would say. On this subject, and always assuming that Harry was sincere and really did know something about the way the world worked, her parents would speak as one.

Leave him to it. There is no one else in the world who can understand what magic he is doing so well as the wizard who does it. And do you really think that you could stop him anyway?

Pansy shook her head ruefully. All right. So the project's much bigger, and Harry's much more complicated, than I ever thought him. I believed he was becoming more Slytherin by deciding to take advantage of his fame and draining Dumbledore's magic, but maybe those were just steps along a much longer road. And he doesn't even seem to care if he dies before he reaches the end of it.

Best leave him to it.

She did add one phrase to the end of that sentence, one that she thought neither of her parents would dispute. And do what I can to help.

Harry sighed and pulled his plate out from under the ashes of the eighth Howler he'd received that evening. He determinedly went on eating as the voice ranted and raved around his head, demanding to know what he thought he was doing by insisting that wizards give up house elves.

Regulus made sarcastic comments in his head the while. Insisting that they become less like the pompous windbags they are and learn some simple cleaning charms is more like it.

Harry managed a half-hearted smile, but he was far less amused than he appeared. Draco and Regulus, at least, could feel it. Regulus made a wordless sound of sympathy, and Draco leaned across to whisper to him, "What's the matter?"

"I didn't expect this much attention," Harry whispered back.

He had been sure that the article was the best step yesterday, that his possible opposition deserved to know what he was doing so that they could respond. A political machination might be hidden, or a simple alliance. But what Harry wanted to do was larger than that, and he had no intention whatsoever of hiding that he wanted freedom for magical creatures.

It seemed he'd underestimated how many other wizards didn't want freedom for magical creatures.

He wondered for a moment, dismally, how many Howlers he'd received that day.

Thirty-two, Regulus answered promptly. And you've had seventeen conversations trying to explain what you meant, and received about seven hundred odd looks.

Harry nodded. Then he sighed as another post owl bore towards his table, wondering who could be writing to him now. At least the envelope this owl carried wasn't red.

It landed beside him, and Harry caught his breath as he recognized the official Ministry crest on the seal. Of course Scrimgeour would respond that way, rather than as the Head of the Auror Office. Harry kept forgetting his new position, even if he had helped him achieve it in some small way. Scrimgeour was busy cleaning up the Ministry, from all accounts, sacking and hiring like mad, and had not yet had time to turn his attention to the outer wizarding world except for the most important things, like the incidents after the Second Task.

As he opened the letter, Harry wondered if his message about the Death Eaters' probable attacks had changed that, and redirected the Minister's focus.

Dear Mr. Potter:

I would like to thank you for your invaluable warnings. Your dangerous friend has risked his life to gather this information, you said, and I can well believe it. Now that we know that one of the raiders was Fenrir Greyback, we can guess how he penetrated the wards around the prison. They were not guarded against a werewolf's nose. That has been corrected. As for his attacks in the north, we will warn northern wizarding families, though without specifics we can do no more than that. Please let me know if you uncover any other details.

I must admit I was rather surprised at your article in the paper yesterday. I shouldn't be, since you often have the effect of producing sudden and unexpected shocks, but this one was from a direction so unexpected that it astounded me. Free all the magical creatures, Mr. Potter? I think you know the general state of regard for nonhumans in wizarding Britain, and even for those unfortunate individuals born human but afflicted with a curse like lycanthropy.

I must know what you expect me to do about the anti-werewolf legislation. Fine words about free will aside, you know that you could interfere with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures quite easily. You have already done so, in fact, using the Starrise boy as your stand-in. This became obvious once Umbridge was removed from power completely.

As odious as Dolores Umbridge is and was, you were mucking about in my Ministry. I have warned you about that. (I think you should also find a better tool to use than Tybalt Starrise, as the boy is utterly wild and will not follow the rules no matter what happens, but that is neither here nor there).

I understand your motives and your emotions. I could wish I did not understand them so well, since that makes my duty harder than it should be.

Do it again, Mr. Potter, and you may consider me your enemy. The Ministry should remain a place for ordinary wizards. I will tolerate no Lords interfering in it. Leave the softening of the anti-werewolf laws to me. I intend to bring them back down to what they were before Cornelius in his fear pushed them to a ridiculous height, but I intend to do it. Your urging only raises my hackles.

Rufus Scrimgeour,

Minister of Magic.

Harry had lost his appetite entirely. He stood, pushing his chair back from the table, and made for the door of the Great Hall.

Draco caught up with him before he'd left, of course. "Problem?" he inquired lightly.

Harry handed him the Minister's letter without speaking and bowed his head. He had a dull pulse of regret working in his throat. He had not even considered that sending Tybalt Starrise and John Smythe-Blyton after Umbridge would constitute interfering in the Ministry. He had simply done it, determined to stop the hunting of the Many, and roused Scrimgeour against him as a result. He could not say that he'd not been warned, not when he'd known Scrimgeour's feeling about Lords in the Ministry from their first meeting.

It's stupid, said Regulus in his head. He's reacting to something that happened even before he became Minister. And he's mucked around himself, hasn't he? What's he so upset about?

That was him, Harry thought back in misery. A Ministry person, someone who would give his life to defend it—or at least what he thinks it could be, if it was under the proper guidance. And I think he did try to ignore it as long as he could; the letter implies that by saying that my deception became obvious once Umbridge was out of power.

Deception? Do you really regret what you did?

Harry sighed. No. But I regret making him angry, and I regret what it may cost us in the future.

Regulus made a disgusted sound. You're too young to be thinking about this, Harry. Politics and compromise and the be-damned Ministry. You should be thinking about Quidditch and classes instead.

No Quidditch this year, and I skim through classes, you know that. My mother foresaw that. She couldn't teach me everything, but she wanted me to be as prepared as I could be, so that I could devote more time to guarding Connor and less to worrying about schoolwork.

"What are you going to reply?" Draco asked quietly, handing the letter back to Harry. He tucked it into his robe pocket.

"I don't know," he responded, just as quietly. "Not yet. I'll have to think about it. After all, I don't intend to stop pushing for an end to the discrimination against werewolves. I don't want to alienate Scrimgeour—Merlin knows this would be an easier battle with him on our side—but I think I'm going to end up doing it anyway."

Draco half-closed his eyes and shook his head. "Sometimes I think you should act more Slytherin, Harry," he murmured. "Couldn't you just promise him that you won't push right now, and then do it later? Or offer him a compromise, a trade, doing something he'll want in exchange for his softening anti-werewolf laws?"

"Both of those would only make him distrust me more in the end," Harry pointed out. "And I don't think he'd believe me, anyway. He knows me, and he's an honest politician. We have an honest Minister at last, Draco, someone who really does want the Ministry to do what it's supposed to do." I just never thought one of the things he wanted the Ministry to do would be this.

"Trust you to find the one honest politician in Britain, Harry." Draco shook his head in mock regret. Then he reached out and clenched his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'll help you."

That he didn't specify what he would help with made the offer more precious to Harry. He lifted his hand and squeezed back, enjoying Draco's look of delighted surprise. It still wasn't often that Harry made a move to return one of his touches. "Thank you, Draco."

They went to their room then, and Harry felt contented for the half minute it took him to identify the stink of a Dungbomb. Several Dungbombs, probably. He put a hand over his nose and stared at his bed, which was soaked with the odor and the remains of the bombs. A mocking message floated above the bed, written in green letters that Harry couldn't help comparing to the light that created the Dark Mark and Avada Kedavra.

Welcome to a world without house elves, Potter!

Harry sighed, then coughed as the odor infiltrated his lungs. He supposed he should have expected something like this. Conversations and odd looks were not enough to express some of the students' antipathy towards him, and all the Howlers so far had come from outside the school. He cast several spells to remove the odor and clean the sheets, then paused and eyed his bed thoughtfully. The mocking message vanished along with the rest as he considered the idea that had just come into his head, and reconsidered his conversation with Millicent from this morning.

Yes. Why not? I'm a wizard.

Harry—Regulus complained in his head.

Harry shook his head at him. You were the one who said that people who didn't want to use simple cleaning charms were a lot of pompous windbags.

He sat on the bed, and only then turned to face Draco. To his surprise, Draco's hands were locked into fists, and he was shaking.

"If I knew who did this, I'd kill them," he whispered.

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back, sniffing carefully. No, no trace of the odor. That spell would do nicely, he thought. "It was just a Dungbomb, Draco. Or Dungbombs. And a message. That's all."

"But it must have been one of the older Slytherin students," Draco insisted, sitting down on his own bed with a thunderous frown. "They're the only ones who would have a chance of access to our rooms."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't think so, not for certain," he said, thinking of the Weasley twins. "Listen, Draco, it's all right—"

"It is not." Draco lunged upright and glared at him. "You shouldn't have to endure this treatment!"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "But I asked to endure it, didn't I, with that article? Complaining about it would only let people see that it bothers me. Besides, they gave me an idea. Don't you want to hear what it is?"

Draco paused for a long moment, obviously conflicted between that and the need to keep urging revenge on Harry, and finally said, grumpily, "Yes."

"I'm going to put a ward around my bed so that no house elves can touch my things," said Harry firmly. "Then I'll use cleaning spells on my own sheets and robes, and care for my own part of the room." He concentrated, remembering the blue cage of light he'd used on Dobby when he first met him, and one of them sprang into being around his bed. Harry stretched out a hand and passed it through the barrier, which didn't hinder him at all. He smiled at Draco's stunned expression. "Humans can still get to it, but no house elves."

"But why are you doing this?"

"Because I do depend on house elves for plenty of things I can do myself, and I really shouldn't." Harry squinted thoughtfully at the ceiling of his four-poster. "I'm not sure what to do about things like the torches and the fires and the meals. I can't cook very well, and conjured filled isn't very filling. And I can't insist that everyone else light their own fires and so on just because I want to live that way."

"But don't you expect me to do it?"

Harry frowned at Draco. "Of course not. Why would I? This is my decision, but you know that you're free to do whatever you want. That's always been true, Draco."

Draco climbed into his bed and tugged his curtains shut. Harry hesitated, thinking about calling out to him, but in the end he shook his head and let it go. He was more exhausted than he had realized he would be. Dealing with the Howlers and the stares and the conversations and this prank was enough without dealing with an angry Draco as well, angry for one of those reasons that Harry had to just leave him to be angry about, because Draco would bounce back from it more easily than Harry could understand it.

Usually, at least.

Harry ran his last words through his head again, and then sighed. I said he could do whatever he wanted. He probably imagined that I was implying some sort of disregard for him with that, like it doesn't matter to me what he does.

This normal thing is hard. There's so much I don't understand about what normal people want and think and need.

Harry hesitated a long moment, and then climbed out of his bed and padded over to Draco's. A tug on the curtains revealed a startled and blinking Draco, trying to muster a scowl and not succeeding very well.

"Listen," said Harry, leaning on one of the bedposts so he could study Draco. "I didn't mean you don't matter to me. You do matter." Terror crawled up his spine, but he managed to go on. "I was thinking the other day about what it meant to me that Snape might have used compulsion on you on purpose. I got angry."

"You always do that when you think about compulsion." But Draco had inched a little nearer the edge of the bed and was looking at him intently.

"But I got angrier than usual," said Harry. "Angrier than I would have—" Merlin, this is hard. "If he'd used it on Millicent or Neville or Luna," he finished in a rush. "I thought you should know that. What you do matters to me." That was easier, because he'd already said it. "You're more important to me than a lot of people, Draco. I don't know if I should want it to be like that, since I'm supposed to give equal weight to everyone, but that's the way it is." Harry looked away, tense and miserable. It was true, but he often wondered what it meant, that he gave Draco preferment in the way he'd once given Connor. At least he'd known that putting his brother before so many other people was right, and permissible. Here, he was floundering along on a muddy road, and he knew some of his allies would be displeased with him for thinking of Draco first, before them.

Draco reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. Harry hunched before he could help himself. It felt too intimate right after he'd made a confession like this, too much like something he wanted.

Draco pulled his hand back. "Thank you, Harry," he said softly.

Harry didn't have empathy, but there was no mistaking the depth of gratitude in those three words. He nodded and walked back to his bed, climbing into it and leaning his head back. He was more exhausted than before.

He had to wake up and face another day like this tomorrow. And, from certain stern glances he'd got today, Harry was pretty sure that Dumbledore would break his long silence and approach him about the article soon. And now he'd started doubting that what he'd done was the right course, after all. Perhaps he should have waited to launch an article like that.

Harry closed his eyes. I'm so tired.

Then go to sleep. Regulus's voice was gentle. Nothing to hurt you here.

Harry remembered his scar, but he was so exhausted—as much by the thought of the future as by the thought of the present—that he curled up and took Regulus's advice.