Chapter 11 - Fallout - Part I
Harry had been greeted by a loud mob of cheering housemates and forced to regale his part in the incident that already felt like it had happened in another lifetime. He hadn't admitted he'd done the spells wandlessly in his recap. His reluctance to say much more than a thready, underdetailed overview was met with disappointed boos and complaining whinges of Oy! C'mon Harry! Tell us about the others! Was there blood? McGonagall said Snape and Lupin were there too - did Snape get what he had coming? How did Lupin do out there?
To which Harry had scowled at them all and said - well actually, he'd nearly yelled it -, "You lot have no idea what it's like to be in a situation like that! Do you think it was fun and games? Snape saved my life! Voldemort's followers are evil! All of our lives were at risk! They still are! There are lots of his followers still around, aren't there? It's not over!" He circled his glare around to meet an assortment of expressions ranging from shock to skepticism to downright disbelief. "I had a lot of help, like I always somehow do." That last bit he'd said quietly because within him, a veil had lifted that had been separating his current reality from the one that had been beating him down all first term. He was being reminded of how fickle and cruel his peers could be, even within his own House. And that reminded him that the rest of Wizarding Britain could be as well. They wanted the thrill but not the bumps and bruises that come with the real thing. Ron was right, the Daily Prophet's take on this will basically determine how my day goes tomorrow, and every day thereafter, for Merlin knows how long! He shook his head in disgust and said a quick goodnight to Hermione over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs up to the boys dorm.
It was strange that Harry felt like defending ol' Severus Snape, the bat of the dungeons himself. He actually felt guilty for not having said anything more, as if his fellow students ought to know that Snape was actually a bit of a bad-arse. In the fifth year boys dorm, he pulled out pajamas and his towel so that he could take a much needed shower. His dorm mates gave him space but kept flashing looks his way, as if waiting for the right moment to try their luck with getting more out of him. Harry gritted his teeth and headed off to the bathroom.
When he returned, he felt somewhat better, and reminded himself to use one of the Dreamless Sleep vials Snape had given him. He sat sideways on his bed, facing the others, none of whom were ready for sleep, as it was only just nine o'clock.
"Can you tell us a little something more, Harry? Like, about the danger?" Seamus tried. "We know you've had it rough, and that we have no idea, you know… but if you tell us…"
Harry smirked at him, not believing for a second that Seamus wanted a "life lesson" from him. "Fine," he gave in. "Last term, when I was having extra lessons with Snape, he was trying to teach me a way to stop my scar from hurting. It didn't work with my scar, but I practiced it anyway, and if you do it right, you can sort of… go inside yourself and master your magic differently. I don't know how else to explain it, but when I do it just right, I can…" He closed his eyes and found his center, and then held out his left hand, palm outward, and levitated one of the Dreamless Sleep vials from his nightstand over to himself. As his dorm mates gasped in surprise, he uncorked it, and said, "I really need sleep you guys, using extra magic depletes you, a lot." Seamus, Dean and Neville all looked quite disappointed as Harry gulped the potion down. "So listen carefully because this will hit me pretty quickly." Now he grinned. "I got the better of Voldemort - stop cringing Neville, he's gone now - with a wandless expelliarmus. He wasn't expecting that, and it gave me the advantage. Plain and simple."
He was met with silence.
Until Dean pushed for more: "But then what, Harry!"
"Just, basic spells," Harry hedged, torturing them deliberately. "If it hadn't been so bloody terrifying, it would have been hilarious," Harry continued derisively. "I was shaking and totally shocked that it had worked. Lucius Malfoy was so impressed, he used a quick levicorpus and a bombarda on Crabbe's dad - took him right down - and then gave me a shoutout like Lee Jordan does at quidditch." Now Harry laughed, as he imitated the arrogant blond Slytherin's booming voice projection spell, "THAT WAS A TRIBUTE TO YOU, HARRY POTTER!" The others laughed too, awkwardly.
"Oy. Now Junior's going to be constantly boasting about that," Ron complained with a groan.
"I'm not so sure about that," Harry said mostly to himself. He stood to pull back the covers on his bed, then said to Ron over his shoulder, "If he does, Ron, you can just tell everyone that your dad and your cool older brother took out some flying Death Eaters, while his dad dealt with their leftovers." That visual made him laugh hard, although it wasn't truly fair to Malfoy Sr. "Oh, Merlin, I dare you, Ron! Just throw your arm around Junior's shoulders and talk over him, like you're in a pub with a drunken mob."
Ron snorted. Dean and Seamus cracked up. "We need a DA meeting soon, Harry!" Neville almost shouted, finally coming out of his amazed stupor.
"But Harry, describe what it looked like, taking Voldemort down!" Dean said in an earnest, but carefully softened voice. He knew he had to tread very lightly.
Harry smiled slightly. "Alright, mates, remember this formula if you ever need to off someone-" he caught himself in shock. They all were shocked to silence. "You're better off never having to know." He closed the drapes on his bed feeling very unsettled, but was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
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Harry went down to an early breakfast with Neville the following morning. He had already centered himself twice to balance out the panicky thoughts about having killed someone… or something, depending how you saw it. I just need to get back into my routine. He'd taken Hermione up on her offer to help him finish his Herbology holiday assignment - which essentially meant she'd taken his first efforts and had written the second half out for him. Once again, he only had to recopy it. At least I slept well, he reflected as he moved along. He glanced over at Neville, realizing that his friend had changed a lot in the last few weeks. Neville was taller than Harry, and might have added another full inch in height recently, and was walking with more confidence, with a sort of hardened look about him that Harry saw as a good thing. Oh yeah, it's Herbology first thing today. No wonder he's confident.
In the Great Hall, Harry saw a lot of eager faces turning his way and groaned. He hustled over to an open spot at the Gryffindor table where he could spread out his parchments and work while he ate. Neville stayed close by and shot warning glares at those from other houses who were trying to get at Harry. It worked for a few minutes, but that was it.
"Harry!"
"Harry!"
"Harry!"
"HARRY!"
"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" Harry complained. He'd only just tried to get started writing, but knew it was no good. His stomach growled angrily, so he gave up and pulled a plate of pastry over and realized it was butter pies. He shot a look up to the teacher's table and caught Snape's eye. He was smirking at Harry. Still unnerved that the bat had a sense of humor, Harry made a show of taking three of them, with a smirk of his own. But the buzz of curious student queries continued. His only defense against them was cramming the absolutely delicious pastry into his mouth in huge bites, so that he couldn't be expected to speak.
And then the owls arrived. Lots of them.
Piles and piles of letters dropped all around Harry. Not again, he groused inwardly, fully recalling the same thing happening around the TriWizard Tournament. Sycophants. Pathetic.
But the Daily Prophet deliveries came as well, and after not much longer, people grew distracted by the "news." Harry glanced around and realized now was his chance to finish that essay, so he got to it.
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"Harry?"
Now it was Hermione, and fortunately for Harry, he was writing the final words of his assignment and could put it aside as he gave her his attention. She was holding the paper out to him, and her expression said everything. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. And, here we go.
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The Dark Lord Vanquished?
by Rita Skeeter
At some point around the lunch hour Monday, 6 January, 1996, the Dark Lord Voldemort (even this reporter has difficulty speaking that name in print) is said to have been brutally destroyed by none other than Harry Potter, 15, a now famous Hogwart's student known for having declared the same Dark Lord had returned just last June. Much doubt still lingers about the boy's tale from the summer, so that now, to hear that he's killed such a powerful wizard, all on his own, there are as many who are genuinely skeptical as those who take him at his word. Admittedly, there has been very little information yet available while the Ministry of Magic and its law enforcement brigade of aurors assembles its evidence. I have, however, managed to procure statements from a few of the detainees, who, until today, have had very high standing as philanthropists of wizarding culture.
"Harry Potter killed the Dark Lord?" Augustus Rookwood laughed mirthlessly through the bars on his cell, for he was indeed angry, very angry, to have allegedly been unfairly arrested and accused of having kidnapped The Boy Who Lived. Indeed, if anything Mr. Rookwood appears to have suffered a brutal attack himself. "They're saying I took that boy to confront He Who Must Not Be Named. Preposterous!" In the cell beside him, Belatrix and Rodolphus LeStrange together await their arraignment, where they fully intend to declare their innocence and this outright abuse of their rights. Madame LeStrange's ironic laughter peppered her commentary on the overactive imagination of Ickle Harry Potter-"
Harry slammed down the paper and glared at the essay for Herbology. He felt a burning vibration from the galleon that he'd tucked into his breast pocked of his jumper, so he dug it out.
...Perhaps another butter pie would help you control your temper?...
Harry couldn't help it. That was funny. He laughed and shot a grin up to the teacher's table but Snape was already walking away. Wonder how he's handling his temper?
"There's another article, Harry," Hermione said carefully. "A reporter named Elvia Laurante has started an exposé on you."
"What?" Harry fished through the pages hurriedly and swept right past it on the first try. He backtracked and found it on page two, under the article about Albus Dumbledore demanding audience with the Wizengamot again this afternoon, after an apparently fruitless effort to gain one on Monday.
Harry Potter, A Muggle-Raised And Conflicted Wizard Of Questionable Standing
by Elvia Laurante
Young Harry Potter has quite a legacy as one who survived a killing curse as a baby from He Who Must Not Be Named. Or, is that simply the story Albus Dumbledore chose to tell us? It is no secret that Albus Dumbledore has had questionable priorities for years. It is also not a secret that he favors young Harry Potter. His excessive awarding of House points to Potter on a yearly basis have made quite an impression on many of Harry's fellow students. Meanwhile, Harry has often enjoyed favored treatment when he was found to have broken school rules. How could this boy not determine that Hogwart's rules are not for him to follow?
Additionally, according to sources, Harry Potter claims quite often that his scar hurts, as if he's got some kind of extraordinary ability, to keep track of this incredibly powerful dark lord he claimed to have helped resurrect last summer. It's the opinion of many that the young wizard has a warped sense of reality, perhaps clouded by having had to immerse in a world where he was already famous before he even knew of its existence? A means of psychological compensation, perhaps? My interview with former Hogwarts High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge, was very revealing with her observations on this line of reasoning. The full text will be published in the weekend edition of the Daily Prophet.
In the months and weeks to come, I will explore the worlds that Harry Potter has known, both muggle and wizarding. Perhaps you, dear reader, and I together, can puzzle out why this boy needs to be in the center of the world stage at all times?
"Bloody buggaring-" Harry was fuming. This cannot be happening! He pressed his lips together, heaving as he gritted out to Hermione. "This is why I need to be able to act on my own. I'm going to sue that bloody paper, first thing." He rolled up his parchments and gathered together the rest of his things.
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At some point, Harry noticed, Ron and Ginny had made good work of stacking all of his fan mail while he'd read the paper. But they were watching him solemnly now, as was Neville.
"Your attention, please," McGonagall was at the podium, addressing the whole student body, and sounded quite terse. "Notably, many of you have read the retelling of yesterday's events by our esteemed local paper. There is much reinterpretation of what occurred, and Madame Skeeter herself indicates that she has not been in reception of the facts from the Ministry of Magic. I'm not pleased to have to warn you to be very careful about acting on any conclusion you may have made, based on the testimony of criminals behind bars." Her face was pinched with irritation at the mutterings and clear disregard for her words. "SILENCE!" the Headmistress snapped. "Let me put this more simply: there will be zero tolerance for using magic to the harm of your fellow students, or for any other sort of disruption. This is an institution of learning, first and foremost. Societal division and discord have no place within these walls. You know the rules, and there will be no lenience."
Harry was a tad alarmed at how adamant she was about this. What was she expecting to happen?
"The Ministry of Magic has some concerns about safety within the school, and has assigned new Ministry Liaison, Lucius Malfoy, to our school to help maintain a presence of magical law enforcement on our grounds," she continued, nodding toward Mr. Malfoy, whom Harry only now noticed was seated at the far end of the professor's table. "Mr. Malfoy is at your disposal as an authority figure should you find yourself in troubling circumstances."
Harry looked at Hermione and saw her frown. "She makes him sound as bad as Umbridge," he whispered.
"Well, it is Malfoy," Ron said under his breath. But he seemed edgy as well, so it wasn't just Harry who'd picked up on the tone. McGonagall is scared.
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Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville walked together down to the greenhouses. They were all so rattled by that announcement, that they'd palmed their wands, just in case. They kept their chitchat to a minimum and filed in to take their favorite spots inside the glassed in classroom, which today was overloaded with Fanged Geraniums. In spite of their trepidation, the lesson went by quickly, and Harry received full points for both his homework and the brief task of defanging one blossom each. He'd even escaped without any bites.
"A word for the class before we depart," Professor Sprout said, "In case any of you has any question, whatsoever, about the truth of the news you were given by the Headmistress last evening. Not just one, but two of your current professors corroborate the story, because they were there to witness, and participate. In fact, we may each come to find that we collectively owe them a life debt. We must wait for the facts to be revealed. Mr. Potter has not even been interviewed by the Ministry yet. He was not the one to give the news to the Daily Prophet. Keep that in mind. Dismissed."
A rather large group of classmates clustered around Harry as they hiked back up the hill. Most were Gryffindor, but there were many Ravenclaws as well. Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Padma Patil, and Lisa Turpin all joined in the chorus of lively declarations that they believed Harry without question. Since several were DA members, Harry believed them, and felt a tad better, but he couldn't help but gird himself for the inevitable questions that would be coming his way from that bloody exposé.
He wondered when he'd have to give his statement to the Ministry?
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Transfiguration with Hufflepuff proved to be more agitating. Ernie McMillan just couldn't seem to stop making sarcastic remarks in his efforts to vanish the white mouse they were each given at the start of class. He sat behind Ron, and to Harry's direct left.
"Unbelievable!" he muttered emphatically, followed by, "Highly questionable!" and "I must wait for the facts…" and then he scratched his head and pretended to be puzzling about something. "I wonder if I'd be called a kidnapper for vanishing this allegedly innocent mouse?"
Harry scowled. Ron turned to flash Ernie a hostile glare. Ron's eyes darted to Harry's before he turned back around, but he stayed mute to avoid angering McGonagall.
"Mr. McMillan," Headmistress McGonagall addressed him sternly, "this is not an activity that calls for sideline commentary."
"Yes, Headmistress," Ernie said, but he was grinning down at his mouse, completely pleased with himself.
Harry got centered. Palms and soles. The tingling came to his hands quickly. He had his wand in his right hand, but used his left to cast his magic as he said, "Evanesco," and watched the mouse disappear. He had a random thought as he wondered where it actually went: Would serve McMillan right if it ended up in his pants.
Just then, Ernie jumped up with a high pitched shriek and started to dance around. A look of horror surfaced as something occurred to him. "Professor, may I please be excused to use the lav?"
A/N: That damned Daily Prophet! Such a menace. ;-)
