Thank you for the reviews yesterday!
When I just let the characters do what they want to do/what's IC for them to do, then they do actually manage to kick major ass.
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Ascent and Assent
Harry reflected that it was very tolerant of McGonagall to allow them to keep meeting in the Room of Requirement. He didn't know any other area on Hogwarts grounds that would be large enough to contain so many of his allies comfortably, and without requiring the ones who didn't like each other to sit next to each other. Of course, the Headmistress probably didn't trust them completely, since she was sitting in with them as usual, but it was still generous of her.
You're putting off what you know you need to do.
Harry sighed, and tugged his scattered thoughts together, in a direction that would lead them away from generosity. He straightened from his slump against the wall, and Draco, who'd been standing with him, scurried over and took a seat. Harry met the eyes of the people he'd invited here, one by one.
In truth, it was most of his allies. Elfrida Bulstrode and Laura Gloryflower he'd had to leave out, because their puellaris vows would compel them to do unfortunate things when they got near Henrietta, if what Harry suspected about Edith was true. Adalrico had chosen to stay home with his wife. Claudia Griffinsnest hadn't been able to come; someone suspected that she was a werewolf, and she had to remain in sight and not do anything suspicious for a few weeks. Delilah Gloryflower would have told her aunt about the meeting, since Laura was the head of the Gloryflower family, so Harry had also had, reluctantly, to leave her at home. The decision to leave Mortimer Belville and Edward Burke uninformed had been Harry's own. He hadn't been able to contact Arabella Zabini, and he'd tried to contact Regulus, but also proven unsuccessful. Snape had answered shortly that he was having some trouble with the Ministry, and Harry had known better than to inquire further. (He'd also unwound the Many snake from his throat this morning and left her napping on his pillow).
Tybalt and John were there, though, grinning. Honoria sat beside them, her hands clasped and her eyes bright, although no smile graced her face. She seemed content to wait and see what Harry would do. Ignifer sat beside Honoria, now and then regarding her suspiciously, though she watched Harry with a look of absolute trust.
There was an empty chair, and then the rest of Harry's allies. Charles clasped his hands behind his head, his gaze never wavering from Harry's face. Thomas had his nose buried in a book. Hawthorn and Remus were talking in low, rapid voices, though they exchanged a few last words and faced back to the front when they saw Harry waiting. The Malfoys sat at their ease, like a pair of trained gyrfalcons getting ready to swoop down on their prey, and Draco at their side. Snape was not far from them, his face for once neutral. He'd seemed more cautious, less prone to judge Harry at once, ever since he had shared the breaking of Dumbledore's web with Harry.
McGonagall sat at the far end of the line, as if she were heading the meeting, though she kept looking curiously at the empty chair behind her. Harry had deliberately asked her to keep it empty for him. She'd done so, and asked no questions. But now it was almost time to end the waiting, anyway.
Harry closed his eyes and summoned the rage that waited just under the surface of his mind, if he cared to look for it. Then it hit him like a blow, and abruptly his magic unfolded around him, snarling. He looked up to meet the considerably startled gazes of his allies. Even Thomas had been distracted from his book, something ponderous having to do with South African magic.
"How did you do that?" he demanded.
"Unfold my magic?" Harry shrugged. "It happens when I'm angry."
"What do you have to be angry about?" Charles sounded less as if he were making an intellectual inquiry than Thomas did, but his eyes were still shadowed. Harry could guess why. Harry had said only that the purpose of this meeting had something to do with Henrietta. Charles must be wondering if Harry was moving too quickly, letting rage determine his best course rather than rational thinking.
I've had a week to do the rational thinking. Harry had hammered out a plan that pleased him, in a hard-edged way. And the only one whose help he needed to perform it was Paton Opalline's. The rest of his allies were here to learn why he was doing this to Henrietta, to observe…
And take away a lesson. Harry didn't know if the traitor was here today, but if he was, then Harry wanted him sweating.
"Henrietta Bulstrode," he said simply. That snared the complete attention of anyone whose mind might have been wandering before, judging by the way that a few of them leaned forward. "She sent me a letter on Saturday claiming responsibility for the pictures of me smashing Augurey chicks that reached the front page of the Daily Prophet. She said it was part of a blackmail attempt that should never have reached the public. She promised to give me Argus Veritaserum, the rest of the pictures, and her complete loyalty if I would simply come to her and free her daughter, Edith, whom she claims is under a spell of some kind."
"If she's under a spell, it would only be one that Henrietta put there," said Ignifer, eyes lighting. "I hate that woman."
"I know that," said Harry calmly. "And I have help in dealing with that aspect of things." He turned to face the door of the Room of Requirement. "You can come in now, sir."
Paton Opalline entered. He'd dropped the glamour since he arrived at the school yesterday to talk to Harry and finalize the details of their plan. His tattoos swirled and danced across his body, pulsing with threads of gold and red light quite separate from the inked lines themselves. Harry wondered what that meant, but didn't ask. He was too busy watching the expressions on the faces of his allies as they stared at Paton.
Almost all of them looked contemptuous. Honoria and Thomas were the only exceptions, Honoria for looking as if she would burst out laughing and Thomas for his wide-eyed fascination; Harry half-expected him to murmur something along the lines of, "Oooh, pretty."
As I thought, then. Most of them must despise the Old Blood because they won't kill. That means that they cannot have a part in the plan I put together today, even if they want it. Harry was more grateful than ever that Henrietta's letter had arrived when he was alone except for Fred Weasley, and that Fred had thought it a grand joke to arrange everything in secret, even getting Madam Pomfrey out of the hospital wing on Sunday so that Harry could talk to Paton in private. Draco and Snape would no doubt have insisted on killing Henrietta right away.
And that is stupid. She needs to be dealt with. Killing is not dealing with her. It sends no message to the traitor. And I have only some rights over her. There is one who has more.
"If you would sit down, sir," said Harry, nodding Paton to the empty seat next to McGonagall. Paton ambled over and did as he was told, eyes bright as he took in the gazes of everyone watching him. Harry supposed he must be used to the scorn. He had told Harry that most Light families despised his own for refusing to take part in Ministry politics and accumulate wealth; Merlin knew what the Dark families would think.
"Ah," said Lucius, his voice low and hard. "It's the breeder who makes the Weasleys look sane."
"It is true that I have nine children, Malfoy, and had ten until recently, until Fergus died," said Paton, without hesitation, touch his mourning-cropped hair.
Lucius's lip curled, and it seemed as if he would say something else, but Harry said, "Mr. Malfoy, I will not hear any further insults from you."
Lucius blinked and stared at Harry for a split second before he wiped his face clean. Such staring was a weakness in the pureblood dances, a sign that the dancer had been taken by surprise. Lucius wouldn't want to show that off. He turned his head away instead, the slightest bit.
"As you wish, Mr. Potter," he murmured.
"I do wish." Harry unfolded a bit more of his own magic. It wasn't hard, not with the rage that reminded him of the dragons' songs, wild and oblivious to anything outside itself. "Mr. Opalline will help me convince Henrietta Bulstrode that she has gone too far against me. He will help me punish her. The rest of you are coming along as witnesses. Do not interfere."
"You mention that this—this woman did those things to you, and you don't want us to interfere?" Draco was almost vibrating in place on his chair. "You can't mean that, Harry."
Harry turned and faced him. This was actually likely to be one of the hardest tests. If he could stand intimidating Draco at need, then he could face intimidating any of the others, to most of whom he had less emotional commitment.
Draco started back, and then dropped his eyes. That left a pure silence for Harry's words to break into.
"Yes, I do wish it." Harry surprised himself by how calm he sounded, and then realized his voice wasn't calm. It was quiet, but harsh, like the pause before the thunder sounded. "None of you will do anything to harm Henrietta. None of you will do anything to assist me. You will watch. I wished you to know what I do to allies who turn against me like this, and who hurt innocents."
"Her daughter's been hurt, certainly," said Charles, sounding a bit bewildered. "But who else?"
Harry stared at him. Did the man miss that article altogether? "The Augurey chicks."
Charles nodded, but Harry could see that he didn't really understand. His own wild contempt grew in him, and he had to stamp down on it. Most wizards still didn't understand the way Harry saw magical creatures, whether or not they were ever likely to be useful allies to him in war. They existed. That gave them the right to any freedom and possibility they could have that didn't trample on others' freedom and possibilities. And it meant that Harry despised wizards and witches who hurt them just because.
"You've made me your leader," he said. "Supposedly." His gaze cracked from face to face, searching for the slightest sign of disobedience or boredom. "And most of the time, I'll welcome your questioning, your strategies, your eagerness to challenge me and have some things your own way. Not this time. If you cannot consent to come with me and stay in the background, I'll leave you in the Room of Requirement until I'm done." With the Headmistress of Hogwarts on one's side, one could do things like that.
One by one, everyone involved bowed their heads, or their necks, or gave another sign that they wouldn't challenge him. Harry held a staring contest with Snape for several minutes until he seemed to realize that he was making Harry look bad, and consented with a sneer.
Harry turned and caught Paton's eye. "Let's go," he said.
Paton smiled, and the red and gold lines racing over his tattoos animated further, covering his shoulders and white-blond hair in a dancing haze. "Let's."
Henrietta paused in her pacing and her humming to caress Edith's hair. Her daughter huddled away from her as much as the large chair she sat in would allow.
"Ah-ah-ah," said Henrietta chidingly.
Edith froze, and sat still. Henrietta stroked her hair and scratched under her chin, smiling at the spell around her daughter's throat all the while. It looked like a hooked collar of white and green light. Potter would be concerned the moment he saw it, of course, and he would not recognize it, because it wasn't a spell that existed outside Henrietta's branch of the Bulstrode family. He'd try to break it, though. Even if he didn't completely believe her letter—and he would have been a fool to do so, not worthy of being Henrietta's tool—then concern for Edith would bring him along. And once he saw that Edith wore this kind of spell, then it wouldn't matter if he thought the caster was Henrietta or Voldemort himself. He would still want to free her.
And his interference, any break he put into the spell, would damage Edith's mind. It was damage that would heal in a year or two, of course, but Henrietta didn't intend to tell him that. What mattered was that in his guilt, he would consent to do anything she asked. Henrietta knew his psychology. She had only to get her teeth into him and watch him twist in her jaws.
He'd said that he was coming alone when she sent him the letter with the Apparition coordinates. Henrietta was not worried if he did come with someone else. She was the strongest of his allies with the exception of Severus Snape, and she was on her own territory. She had several rune circles prepared, and nastier spells and traps, just in case Potter decided to be…uncooperative.
She and Edith were waiting in the main library, a large room on the ground floor with windows that appeared on whatever wall the most light was currently coming from, tracking the sun throughout the day until it sank. Then they vanished, and candles appeared. Right now, they were evenly distributed throughout the room, and admitted more than enough illumination to let Henrietta make out the tears on her daughter's cheeks. She only voiced a tiny whimper when her mother stroked her hair this time, but that was all right. Henrietta could take pleasure in delicate sensations as well as the kind of complete surrender that she expected to have from Potter in a few minutes.
She lost track of how long she stood there. The dreams of the future were brighter and more vivid than the reality surrounding her.
Then her wards were destroyed.
Henrietta reeled, every alarm that her home possessed ringing in her ears, shrieking in her skull from the mental ties, and making her bones shake as they were spelled to do in case she was in such a deep sleep she didn't hear them. She stared up, gasping, tears flooding her eyes, and trying to determine what had happened.
Her wards were—gone. When she reached out to them, nothing was there. They'd been smashed as effectively as if a manticore had taken its tail to planes of ivory. Henrietta shook her head, dazed. There must be something still there. Each ward had a homing spell at the very bottom of its multiple layers; if someone did manage to destroy all the other spells that made them up, then the shards would sink into the ground and flow back to her. She should be tingling with magical power right about now from the remnants of all the wards on her house, and she was not.
Then her nose began abruptly to burn. It smelled as though the mother of all thunderstorms were rolling in.
Either a storm like that was coming, one that would make the Augureys shriek themselves hoarse in foretelling it—
Or she had an enraged Lord on her doorstep.
Henrietta scrambled up. She hadn't thought it would come to this, ever. Potter had the power of a Lord, but his will was chained from using it. He was too soft, too delicate, and thought too much about stepping on toes. Henrietta had been certain she could control him because he had left the halter of kindness on his neck with the reins dangling for anyone who wanted to do so.
It seems I was wrong.
But she could still adapt, and survive. She was a Slytherin, and a Slytherin always had a backup plan. She turned and walked swiftly across the room, though she still shook from the impact of the wards' razing, and stepped into the circle composed of rune blocks on the floor near the furthest bookshelves. The circle shuddered slightly, and then closed around her. The markings shone silver and gold, a subtle shimmer of power. Henrietta took a deep breath, and felt her panic calming and some extra magic flowing into her. She'd split off a piece of her power long ago, but instead of binding it into one object, like a sword or a staff, the way the majority of wizards and witches did, she'd bound it into these rune blocks. Broken apart and scattered, they each carried only a trapped grain of magic, one that couldn't be released without the presence of its fellows. Together, they gave her back nearly everything.
Henrietta snarled softly and pushed her fingers through her thick brown hair, shoving it back from her face. If he wants a battle, then he'll have a battle. I shouldn't have to fight him, he should yield the moment he sees the spell around Edith's neck, but he might strike at me before he sees it.
Reassured, she drew her wand and gestured at the door into the library. "Findo extos," she murmured. A shimmering line of silver power raced across the doorway, coiling close to the floor. Henrietta smiled slightly. This was a nastier version of the Entrail-Expelling Curse, one that struck from the inside only. Potter wouldn't see that, and it would trip him up a bit when his viscera began abruptly to divide into smaller and smaller pieces. He'd manage to overcome it, of course, but Henrietta would use the extra moments to make him observe the spell around Edith's neck. And she should have even longer than the spell would ordinarily win her, because, since Potter's experience with the Entrail-Expelling Curse itself, he should have a panic reaction to anything that felt even a little like that. She'd have those few extra seconds.
She congratulated herself, and was just striding across the library to stand beside Edith's chair again when she felt another presence enter the room with her.
Henrietta turned at once, wand in hand. So perhaps Potter's Apparated into the library. He shouldn't have been able to, not when he didn't know what it looked like, but Lords could do things other wizards could not. That was all right. She had spells that could take care of that, too.
The silver spell she'd placed against the doorway snapped, unraveled, and trailed out like entrails itself, yanked down an invisible maw. Then the faint shine of some of the books on the shelves stopped, and then a few of the trap spells that Henrietta had placed on the walls, and then another rune circle, gleaming unobtrusively in the corner.
Fuck. Henrietta's heart pounded erratically. Potter had sent that damn magic-eating ability of his ahead of him, and it was even more unnerving to watch her own power vanishing into thin air than it was to see Potter gnawing and ripping it away from Voldemort.
She wouldn't allow that ability to touch her. She wouldn't. She was not about to lose her magic. Her magic, along with the strength of her will, was what exalted her and made her different than the other people who surrounded her. She would rather die than lose her magic.
She aimed her wand at where the front edge of that loss of magic must be, given the vanishing lights, and murmured, "Permuto," throwing all her will behind the incantation.
The magic-eating ability should have changed completely, become magic, and then allowed her to recapture and command any power she'd lost again. Instead, her own spell whistled down the invisible thing's gullet, and Henrietta felt fear stirring in her like some forest creature she'd crushed.
Then the walls around her buckled. Henrietta whipped about, hearing Edith shriek from her chair, and saw the magical windows enlarging until they made the entire room transparent. She could easily see her own lawn now, mantled with sunshine and desiccated leaves.
And covered with wizards and witches, with Potter in front of them. At his side stood a single wizard with messy white-blond hair and a stern, direct gaze. His skin bristled with tattoos.
The look in Potter's eyes made Henrietta know terror for the first time in thirteen years, when she'd thought she might die in childbirth. She knew he would be well-protected, and that she shouldn't try to hex him. But the man beside him was fair game, and he didn't even have a shield.
She aimed her wand at him and didn't speak the spell aloud, simply letting it fly and crash through her window. The idiot shouldn't be able to resist it, especially since he looked like a Light wizard, the kind that didn't fight. Potter, intent on swallowing her magic, glutted with it, shouldn't notice in time to stop it.
Potter, indeed, did not react, but the Light wizard did. Smiling, he lifted one arm, and the red and gold shimmer around his skin grew suddenly thick, into a shield that repelled the curse without a sound. It soared high and shattered harmlessly into the air, scattering scarlet sparks down on Henrietta's erstwhile allies.
Henrietta snarled as she remembered what those tattoos meant. Old Blood. Holding money in common, blood in common—and magic in common. He can draw on the magic of all his family members at once if he needs to. Some kind of damn reservoir, they are. Shit.
"Henrietta."
She shuddered, and told herself that it wasn't power that compelled her to look. Potter wouldn't do that, whatever else she thought of him. Her head snapped around anyway, though, and she locked eyes with the fifteen-year-old boy she would never have thought could frighten her as he did now.
He has the ability to eat magic. Where does it end? He could swallow the entire wizarding population of Britain if he wanted, and then the rest of Europe, and then the world. If he wanted. What keeps that in check? A set of morals? What if he gets tired of them?
She understood, now, with exquisite clarity, why Albus Dumbledore had tried to enslave Harry Potter when he was still a child, not young enough to have a will of his own.
Potter took two steps forward. His eyes were as brilliant a green as life. "Where is your daughter?"
And Henrietta felt hope bloom in her heart like a fever, though she fought hard to keep it from infecting her expression. She was good at that, though. All Slytherins were. "In the library," she said, tonelessly, and stepped out of the way, bowing her head. She knew that she couldn't strike back at Potter right now. He would only eat her magic.
She had to watch, and wait, for a time. If she was right, the best time ought to be in a few moments, when Potter tried to break the spell, damaged Edith's mind, and was torn apart by his guilt and sorrow.
She watched from beneath lowered eyelids as Potter Vanished the glass in the window, and he and the Light wizard walked across the library to Edith. The shield around her went away when Potter looked at it, of course, and then he leaned forward and stared at the hooked spell on her neck.
Henrietta tensed, waiting for the moment when he would try to break it.
Instead, Potter stepped aside and said, "Paton."
The Light wizard closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. "We have kept the vows of the Old Blood," he said. It sounded like a prayer. "We have not killed save in defense of our own, we have not sought power, we have not sought vengeance. We have not cast any of our blood out to die, though they were born powerless. We have shared the good things in life, and sought to diminish evil by sharing as well. Here, in the name of a child whose mother has hurt her, by the will of a family who finds that abhorrent and has since the dawn of their days, I ask the Light's help, in the name of the Light. Fiat lux, lux aeterna!"
Light blossomed from between his hands, a white spark so bright that Henrietta's eyes watered and she wanted to look away. But some compulsion kept her in place, staring, the same one that had made her look at Potter. She had to watch as the Light wizard's hands fell open like the petals of an unfolding flower and the spark breathed out over them, so brilliant, so mighty, so different from the Dark Henrietta had served all her life that she trembled in hatred and unwilling awe.
The Light moved to trail a rope of fire like burning magnesium from the wizard's hands to the spell around Edith's neck. It traced the barbed hook of it, and then there came a noise like a sigh, and Henrietta thought she heard a song, sung in high, piercing, ecstatic voices, compounded of joy that would break her mind if she understood it, of leaping flames, of leaping light, light, and light, and light once again—
And then the moment was gone, and the trail of fire fell away from Edith's neck, and the spell fell away with it, the spell that no one outside the Bulstrode family should have known or been able to break.
Trust Potter to find the one ally who could, Henrietta thought, her bitterness drowning her alive.
"So ever the Light doth shine against the Dark," the wizard said softly, and closed his eyes, some of the joy Henrietta had heard in his face.
Potter knelt down in front of Edith and said, in a voice that should not have come from a Lord's mouth because it was too gentle, "Edith? You get to make your own decisions now."
Henrietta heard a rustle of robes behind her, and knew that Potter's allies had arrived. She didn't turn to look at them. She was too busy watching Potter talk to her daughter, and knowing that her daughter would condemn her to death. It was what Henrietta would have done in her place.
Edith made a small, frightened sound. Potter must have heard a question, because he said, "Because I know what it's like, Edith. My parents hurt me, though doubtless not in the same ways. Neither of them was as clever as your mother." He said "clever" like it was an insult, and he turned his head.
Henrietta changed her mind when she met his eyes again. Death, even one made to repay her daughter for the humiliation Henrietta had put her through, must be better than living and suffering at Potter's hands.
Edith uncurled a bit, and whispered something to Potter. Potter's head snapped back around at once, and his hand rose and hovered gently over her shoulder.
"Because no one gave me a choice," he said. "No one cared what I wanted, how I wanted my parents to be punished, or not punished, for what they did to me." Henrietta wished she could turn her head and see how those words slammed home like a spear in Snape, who had betrayed Potter's parents to the Ministry, but she had lost the power of movement. "Yes, your mother's done evil to me, but she's done more to you. Yours is the right of justice, if you wish to take it. Paton can teach you spells that right the wrongs done to you, but only you can use them."
Henrietta felt a deep coil of loathing pinch her guts. Why didn't my ancestors take the precaution of eliminating the Old Blood? They should have.
Edith took a deep breath, and then sat up and shook her head. For the first time, her voice was audible enough to be heard by the rest of the room. "No. I don't want her killed. I don't want anything to do with her, not ever again. I don't want to see her again. I don't want people to know in the newspapers, the way they did with your parents. I just—can you take me back with you, to Hogwarts? Then I'll know she can't touch me, if I'm near you."
Grudgingly, Henrietta had to admire her daughter's ploy. It was the only way that would insure Edith was absolutely safe from her mother's anger, to live in the same place a Lord lived.
"Of course, Edith," said Harry softly. He looked at Paton. "Can you lead her out of here, Paton? I don't think she should see the rest of this."
The Light wizard knelt and extended his own hand. Edith trustingly reached out to him, and the Light wizard pulled her into his arms. Edith didn't protest, though Henrietta had never known her daughter to like being held since she was two years old. She closed her eyes and clung tight as they passed Henrietta, so that she didn't have to look at her mother.
Henrietta couldn't watch her for long. Potter had taken a step forward, and was staring at her, and it was impossible to look at anything else when his eyes blazed like that.
"Henrietta Bulstrode," said Potter softly. "I don't intend to kill you, since your daughter doesn't want you dead. But I intend to bind you, so that you can never hurt me again, and will make up for the hurt you have done me."
Henrietta felt a bit of her confidence return. Potter was too soft-hearted to do the things that would really assure her compliance, and if he took her magic, then she couldn't help him in any way. It was beginning to seem as if he wouldn't punish her enough, and then, in a year or two, she could at least try to get some of her own back.
Potter looked sideways, at his allies. "Professor Snape," he said. "Will you be our Bonder?"
The confidence froze again. Henrietta narrowed her eyes. No. He cannot mean—no.
"Gladly," said Snape, and strode forward. Henrietta could feel his magic flexing its claws, and knew how badly he wanted to kill her. But he kept it under control, following this child-Lord with as much obedience as if he were Voldemort himself.
And still Henrietta thought he could not mean it, because Potter hated all forms of compulsion. "What do you mean to have him do with that thing, Potter?" she asked, nodding at Snape's wand.
"Bond us," said Potter. "You are going to make me two Unbreakable Vows today, Henrietta." He knelt and extended his hand.
Henrietta knew there was no way out of an Unbreakable Vow—intimately, since several books in her library concerned her ancestors' attempts to find a way around it. If she broke one of its clauses, then she would die. It was a simple matter, and it was a chain that she had never thought Potter would use.
"No," she said.
Potter looked up at her. "You will agree to it," he said calmly, "or I will drain all of your magic, including all of your magical artifacts, and your rune circles, and I'll break your wand. I can still get the help I intend to demand from you with your money. Kneel, Henrietta."
This was impossible. Impossible that she could have lost, impossible that she could have been caught against the wall with no backup plan.
But if the choices were between taking the Vows and loss of her magic, Henrietta knew which one she would embrace. Besides, there was the fact that Potter still was what he was, someone raised to be rotted with compassion from the inside out, like a blight. His demands might be easier to live with than he imagined they would be at the moment.
Henrietta took a deep breath and knelt, reaching out to clasp Potter's hand. It would have been gratifying to find that it was hot, or sweaty, like her own, but it was cool. Potter turned and looked up at Snape, who held his wand at the ready and was murmuring the incantation for the Vow.
"Do you, Henrietta Bulstrode," Potter asked, "swear never to hurt your daughter, Edith Bulstrode, again, by magic, by word, by deed, by conspiracy, or by indirect action through another person?"
Henrietta felt herself relax. She ought not to have worried. She was accustomed to Potter's ways. Of course he would seek safety and protection for someone other than himself. And Henrietta could always have other children, though she would miss Edith's perfect obedience.
"I do swear it," she answered.
A line of fire shot out from Snape's wand and encircled her and Potter's joined hands. Henrietta shivered. It felt as heavy as a chain. She hated it. But she could live with it.
"Do you, Henrietta Bulstrode," asked Potter, his eyes on her again and steady as steel, "swear never to hurt your husband, Tertian Bulstrode, again, by magic, by word, by deed, by conspiracy, or by indirect action through another person?"
Henrietta blinked. He cares about Tertian? But then, this is Potter. He cares about everybody.
"I do so swear."
A second line of fire, a second chain, and Henrietta barely kept herself from wriggling. It was disgusting, that she, a free pureblood witch with the magic and position to enforce her will, should be bound like this. But needs must. And the third clause would probably be one of safety and protection, too. Henrietta wondered if he would forbid her from going after his allies.
"Do you, Henrietta Bulstrode, swear never to hurt me, Harry Potter, again, by magic, by word, by deed, by conspiracy, or by indirect action through another person?"
Henrietta was quite tired of freezing, but it seemed that she could not have no other reaction when Potter said something so extraordinary. She stared at him, at his serious face, and listened to the words that would destroy any chance of her ever taking vengeance on him in the future.
Wouldn't it be better to die than accept this loss of freedom?
But, no, no, it wouldn't. A miserable life was better than a proud death, however she might have felt in the heat of the moment. Every Slytherin knew that.
It was hard, but Henrietta subdued her pride, and said, "I do so swear."
The third line of fire joined the other two, and then all three vanished. Henrietta shook her free hand. It felt as though the chains were still encircling her body, constricting her when she tried to stretch muscles she hadn't known she had, hemming her into a smaller circle of life.
I hate this.
And there was a second one to get through. Henrietta supposed the first thing Potter would ask for was the safety of his allies.
He did not. Instead, Potter said, "Do you, Henrietta Bulstrode, swear to use half your wealth to build a sanctuary for nesting Augurey birds, to take an active interest in this sanctuary and to promote the welfare of the species, and to offer an apology for the chicks you caused to be murdered in the presence of my phoenix, Fawkes, that he might translate it for them?"
This is ridiculous. Henrietta shook her head, not in refusal, but in bewilderment. "Why do you care so much, Potter?" she asked. "It isn't even as though Augureys can speak, like centaurs or merfolk."
"Do you so swear?"
Henrietta closed her eyes. Half her wealth gone. Potter had netted her neatly there, not even specifying "money," and thus obliging her to give up valuable magical artifacts and gems as well as coins.
"I do so swear," she whispered.
"Do you, Henrietta Bulstrode, swear to leave the rest of your wealth to your daughter and magical heir, Edith Bulstrode, for her use and support and enjoyment, until and unless she clearly expresses that she does not desire it?"
Caught there, too. Henrietta opened her eyes and stared bleakly at Potter. He's determined to take away every freedom that I might have had.
"I do so swear," she said, because what else was there to do? She found she couldn't look at the second line of fire as it joined the first.
Potter leaned nearer. His eyes seemed to fill the whole of the world.
"Do you, Henrietta Bulstrode," said the horrible voice, "swear never to use your magic again, except at my express command, and then only in the form of those spells I tell you are yours to use?"
It was the final assault. It was the final indignity. It was the strike that ripped through Henrietta's tangled ambitions and finally showed her the truth of matters, how they stood, that she was never going to be able to fight against Potter and had to give up her dreams of a future vengeance.
She bowed her head. The world was very harsh around her, sunlit, and not because of the Vanished windows.
And yet, somehow, it was fitting. She had fought, and lost. She had made backup plans, and they had not been strong enough. She had made stupid mistakes, and thus she deserved to lose.
She had been outwitted, outsmarted, thought around. And it was the only kind of defeat that she could have brought herself even marginally to accept. Being "persuaded" by half-baked philosophy, as Dumbledore would have tried, or pressed against her will to become a mindless servant, as Voldemort would have done, had done during the First War, was intolerable.
To have tried her very best and lost was something else again. And now, she did have a future, if she tried her very best in another direction, because Potter was not like those other Lords; she could see it now. The way he cared about Augureys as much as humans argued against it. He was vates, the way he had always said he was, and that meant she could trust his word.
If I must have someone in charge of my life, Henrietta thought, as she lifted her head and stared at Potter, I would rather have a vates than any Lord. He is more like the ancient Lords, the way I thought he might once be. The old legends have come to life again, and I am dwelling in the middle of one. And I can admit when I am beaten. I can give in and bow my neck.
I yield. I yield everything I am, with eyes open, to a chosen loyalty.
"I do so swear," she said, and saw Potter's eyes widen as the third line of fire bound them and she smiled. She knew he would be searching for clues to treachery in her gaze, some way of seeing that she was less than sincere.
He would not find them. Henrietta was sincere, this time, and she knew the peace of giving over. She'd never known it before. Any opponent she'd faced was weaker than she was, could be deceived or manipulated or tricked around. No one had ever cornered her.
Now, Potter had, and there was a sudden death of uncertainty in her life. Henrietta knew she would hate it at points in the future, but for now, it filled her with a deep calm.
I can do nothing else, so let me at least apply my mind and what other resources I might muster to the task of doing well by him, of making up for my stupidity in opposing him. And the first part of that shall be telling him Argus Veritaserum's true name.
Harry leaned forward, clutching the edge of his chair and trying not to let on how nervous he was. He was fairly sure he knew where the Sorting Hat would place Edith, but if it put her into Ravenclaw, a House hostile to him…
The Hat gave a little chuckle. "GRYFFINDOR!" it announced cheerily.
Harry leaned back and sighed in relief. Then he glanced across the Headmistress's office at Connor, who'd been irritated to be left behind at first, but placated once he understood the importance of their mission and invited to attend Edith's Sorting, along with Snape and Draco. The rest of Harry's allies had already departed, their expressions ranging from shocked to thoughtful to pleased. Paton, alone, had left with a smile, and a quiet word to Edith about her being part of the Opalline family now. If she wanted, they had relatives in the Ministry who would assist her in changing her last name.
Connor nodded at him, eyes bright and face determined. Edith would find a perfect welcome in her new House—the House Harry had thought she would go into, from the moment she picked up the courage to speak to him as she had in front of her mother and a room full of strangers. Harry knew Gryffindors weren't protective of their own in the same way as Slytherins were, but honest gentleness, and equally open snapping and snarling at anyone who tried to hurt her, were better for Edith than the unobtrusiveness with which Slytherins expressed their affection. She needed to know she was loved.
"Come on, Edith," said Connor, gently, standing and holding out his hand. Edith took the Hat off her head and stared at him uncertainly, but some of her fear melted when Connor added, "I'm Connor Potter, Harry's brother, and I'm part of Gryffindor. I don't think anyone can wait to meet you. Harry told me he thought you'd be part of our House."
That relaxed Edith, and she gave Harry a little smile, and then went out the door with Connor, who hovered protectively over her. That left Harry to face McGonagall, and Snape, and Draco.
The Headmistress, luckily, took one look at his face, and said, "Go rest, Harry. I think my questions can wait until tomorrow."
Harry nodded in relief and then turned and left the office. He heard Snape and Draco following him, but they didn't begin the interrogation until they were out of the moving staircase, knowing as well as he did that McGonagall had wards to watch and listen to people there.
The first thing Draco said was, "I don't understand why you didn't tell us," and his voice was small and hurt. Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He felt hollow without the rage supporting him any more.
"Because I thought you would interfere, and insist that Henrietta should receive a harsher punishment than she got," he said honestly. "I knew you wouldn't want me to leave the punishment up to Edith."
"But she hurt you!" Draco caught his left wrist and pulled hard enough to spin him towards the wall of the corridor. Harry braced his shoulder on the stones and arched an eyebrow at his boyfriend. Draco just went on scowling. "She did deserve death, or the complete loss of her magic."
"No, she didn't," said Harry. "I wanted Edith to have first crack at her, and since she didn't want it, I bound her by the Unbreakable Vows I thought were right. And that is the end of the matter, Draco. She's bound, captured, stopped. You didn't see the look in her eyes after she took the Second Vow. I did. She handed her heart over to me on a platter, Merlin knows why. Slytherin worship of power, I suppose."
Draco stared into his eyes for a moment longer, then shook his head. "I still think you're too forgiving, Harry."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Why? Because I don't kill everyone who turns on me?"
Draco's look just got fiercer. "I have something to show you later," was all he said, and he released Harry's wrist and turned towards the dungeons. "I still have to do some research on it first."
Harry didn't bother following him. He knew Snape had a question to ask him, and he let Draco leave, and he let Snape ask.
"You still believe that my method of handling your parents and Dumbledore was wrong," said Snape, and it wasn't really a question.
Harry bared his teeth. "Yes, I do," he said. "You know why."
"I wish you could talk to me about it." And Snape really did look wistful, an expression Harry had never seen on his face before. "In lieu of that, would be willing to speak with Regulus? He expects to be free of the Ministry soon. He is clearing up the last doubts as to who he is and whether he has really abandoned his old allegiances. But in a few days—"
Harry shook his head. It was answer enough. Snape fell silent, and for a few moments they walked towards the dungeons without speaking to each other. Snape at last broke the tension with a hesitant question.
"Harry." Harry looked up at him, but didn't quit walking. "What would you have done, were you in the same situation as Miss Bulstrode?"
I know the answer, but he's not going to like it. Snape had asked for honesty, though, so he was going to get honesty.
"Able to control my fate, you mean? Able to decide for myself how many of my secrets I wanted other people to know?" Snape's eyes darkened with distress, but he didn't interrupt. "I would have done what she did," said Harry, "keeping it quiet, except that I would have used my own power to make sure my parents and Dumbledore couldn't hurt me again. And then, when I could stand to be in the same room without wanting to kill them, I would arrange visits with them, to try and help them change. If Henrietta can do it, they can."
"Henrietta Bulstrode is a Slytherin, and your parents and Dumbledore are not," said Snape. "It makes the difference, as you have so accurately divined." He didn't sound angry, though, and the sarcasm was more reflex than anything else. "Harry…if you will tell me, what do you intend to do at the trial?"
Six days. My parents go to trial in six days.
"The victim is not allowed to testify for either defense or prosecution," said Harry calmly. "And of course it would be wrong of me to use my magic on the Wizengamot, or the witnesses, compelling them to change what they will say or believe."
"Otherwise?" Snape asked.
Harry halted and looked up at him. This was too important to make a mistake about. Snape stopped, too, and met his gaze.
"I will fight as hard as I can with the weapons permitted me," said Harry, precisely, "words, and experience, and explanation of my memories. I will fight not to see them executed. I will fight to give them a fair trial, one not prejudiced by personal emotions. And I will fight to see them free, if it does not involve trampling on other people's wills."
Snape hissed as though someone had kicked him in the solar plexus. He said nothing. Harry turned and continued on to the Slytherin common room alone, though he felt Snape's gaze on his back like a hand.
Argus Veritaserum's real name is Homer Digle. He's a Muggleborn Auror. I can find him easily enough.
The distraction, for he was using it that way, only lasted for so long, and then his emotions blurred and slewed and went back to the subject of his conversation with Snape. Harry bared his teeth.
I owe everyone around me so much—for trust, for belief in me, for loyalty, for love, for their very existence that demands they be allowed to live and grow as much as possible. I am incredibly in debt to them.
But this belongs to me. This is mine. They don't understand why I'm fighting for my parents. They can't comprehend why I want to forgive them. That's all right. Let them not understand. Let them not comprehend. They're not the ones engaged in this. I want to do this, and it's mine, and it's my choice not to "talk" to someone the way Snape wants me to, and I wish it could have been handled quietly but it wasn't, and now I'm going to fight with every muscle in my body, every ounce of my will, to see them alive, and, if I can, free.