The Greatest Weapon, Chapter 6

Harry took longer than he probably should to fetch his potions textbook, not because the classroom was locked or anything, but rather because he didn't want to have the conversation with Hermione. In fact, the only living thing he met was Mrs. Noris, and the twins had recently taught him how to befriend her: she adored catnip mice.

At last, he was strolling out of the castle, cloak tucked tightly around him to fend off the mild bite of the wind. The grounds, too, were relatively deserted, and he hadn't seen anyone besides two snogging Hufflepuff seventh years and a dirt-smudged and smiling Professor Sprout. Greenhouse three was steamy and hot, rather like a tropical hothouse, and various plants screamed, snapped, shimmered in and out of vision, and followed him with bulbous eyespots as he wandered around, trying to find the man-eating sequoia. And that's when someone grabbed him.

He might have screamed, but before he could do such a thing, lanky arms were yanking him back behind the plant in question, and suddenly he was facing Hermione, her hands on her hips, and Neville, who looked like he would rather be riding a rampaging hippogriff than in between a brawling Golden Trio.

"Ok," said Hermione bossily after Ron had let go of Harry and cast a silencing charm. "Spill. There's obviously more to it than you dropping Rita a couple of anonymous tips. Have you been commissioning her?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry told her with a straight face. "I'm not commissioning anyone."

"Harry James Potter-"

"Oh, don't start that," Harry said, still trying to hide the grin that threatened to burst out. "I said 'I'm not commissioning anyone'. I'm not. I'm writing the damn articles myself and blackmailing her into getting them into print."

"That-that-" Hermione seemed to be rendered incoherent. But the equally astonishing reaction was the slow grin which began to spread across Neville's face. The normally shy boy looked nearly jubilant.

"That's bloody brilliant!" Ron cut in, staring at him in shock. "But why didn't you tell us?"

"Yes," chipped in Hermione, having recovered herself. "That's what I'd like to know, too."

Neville looked like he wanted to edge away, as one would from an angry dog. Harry couldn't blame him.

"I-" Harry paused, trying to come up with a polite way to phrase what he was going to say. "I didn't tell you because I didn't think you'd approve. And I didn't tell Ron because I wasn't sure if he could keep a secret. I'm really sorry, you guys. Besides, this is something- well- something I kinda had to do just for me, you know?"

"Is that really how you think of us?!" Hermione's hands had not budged from her hips.

"Tell me honestly, if I had brought that up to you a few weeks ago, would you or would you not tell me that I shouldn't blackmail someone. That we should all just go to Dumbledore, and he'd figure it out. Or on the other hand, you'd get so interested that you would have us in the library researching at all hours and then everyone would figure it out?"

"Well-" Hermione was once again at a loss for words.

"You see? I just- we're always doing stuff together, you know, and once in a while I need a break. You guys probably want time to snog without me, too."

Both Ron and Hermione turned a nice crimson.

"So I was going to do an article about Sirius's innocence next. As in, OMG the heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black got stuck in Azkaban without a trial. It could happen to any of us!"

Hermione stared at him. And she blinked. And then she started to smile widely. "I'm in. Shall we go to the library?"

Cue groans.

"I wouldn't have told anyone about your project," said Ron at last, after they had sobered somewhat. "You could have asked me."

Harry didn't actually know why he had kept his project from his friends, aside from a sense of wanting to do it himself, unaided by fame or friends. A way to prove to himself that he could, actually, do something towards helping himself. He said at much.

Hermione instantly deflated. "Oh, Harry..."

Ron, to his surprise, was actually more phlegmatic. "Well, whatever stirs your cauldron. But I do wish you'd told me."

A pause. "I...uh...I know I'm not really included in your group...uh...but can I help?"

Everyone turned to look at Neville.

"Sure," said Harry and Hermione at the same time.

Another pause. Ron was, of all people, the one to speak next. "So how can we help?"

"I- you want to?"

"We faced a big honking mountain troll together, Harry, do you think I'd ever have a problem helping?"

Harry was touched.

"Me to," said Neville's cautious voice. "I mean, I di-didn't fight a t-troll, but I'm with you. If you want me."

Another silence. Finally, when it was threatening to grow awkward, Ron broke it. "Alright. Now that all that mushy stuff is out of the way, can we go blackmail a beetle or what?"

Hermione thumped him absently as they meandered back through the tropical greenhouse.

That night, the four of them were sitting in the Rooms of Requirement, with a basket of food Ron had smuggled from the kitchen, and a stack of books that Hermione had smuggled from the library.

Hermione cleared her throat. "All right. How are we going to do this?"

"Well, Rita sent me a file about Sirius, so we can start from there," Harry told them. "No. I: the biggest thing. He didn't get a trial. At all. There's no record of a questioning under veritaserum, there's no record of his wand being checked, nothing."

"Well, didn't you say people already thought that he was the secret keeper? I mean, they probably just jumped to assumptions and took him in," Ron chipped in.

"Which is still wrong." That was Hermione. "Wizards ought to consider people innocent until proven guilty; it's really hard to prove someone innocent. That is to say unless you can conclusively prove that someone else did it..." she trailed off, evidently thinking.

"There's also the fact that he was Harry's godfather, wasn't he?" Everyone turned to Neville, wondering where that came from. "I mean, it just occurred to me- did he take the traditional vows?"

"Err, what vows?" Harry asked.

"He's a pureblood, right?"

"Yeah,"

"Well, most purebloods swear an oath on their life and magic to protect their godchild as far as they are able, for as long as they live. It would have literally killed him if he had given your family to You-Know-Who."

Harry stared at him. Then he grabbed a pinch of powder from the pot which had conveniently appeared on the mantle of the fireplace, and tossed it into the fire. "Grimmauld Place?"

The fire sizzled and turned green, and Harry got down on hands and knees in front of the fireplace and stuck his head in.