Chapter Three – Galleons in the Night

"Question the first," Harry said, directing his question to Headmaster Dumbledore. "Nothing to indicate I'd been taken?" He gestured to the ruined and blood-stained room. "Seriously?"

Dumbledore chuckled into his beard, though with little mirth. "In light of the increased threat posed by Lord Voldemort and his followers, and to you in particular Harry, heightened security measures are in place at Hogwarts into the foreseeable future."

Harry walked over to his trunk and tried the lock. No good, it was warped and broken. With a grunt of effort, he forced the lid, which split along the hinges and hung like an overbite against the frame.

"What about the unforeseeable future?" he asked. "Whoever did this—"

"Did so in a hurry," the headmaster said. "I was alerted to the disturbance, to a concentration of destructive magic, moments after this occurred. Approximately just before five in the morning. The staff and myself responded swiftly."

Harry checked his watch—it was coming up for six. "So we've narrowed it down to someone with a wand then."

"Sarcasm, Mr Potter," Snape said, "will not be tolerated."

Harry ignored him and spent a long moment thinking through the scene. The belongings he had stored in his trunk—invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map—were all accounted for. As best he could tell, nothing had been taken. Just destroyed. If anything, despite the devastation, the attacker had left more than they'd taken.

"Second question, whose blood is that?" Already the smears and pools of crimson ichor were dry or congealing. The rust-red scent of blood clung to the air, even with the breeze through the broken window.

"Well, it's not human," Instructor Quinn said. She was mindful not to step in any of the mess with her fluffy pink slippers. "As best I can tell from the diagnostics, it's chicken blood. Maybe duck."

"Are all the lake ducks accounted for?" Harry asked, earning himself another scowl from Professor Snape.

Hermione frowned. "That makes even less sense."

"Someone out to get me, but not willing to spill a little honest human blood?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, that's not what I mean, Harry." Hermione brushed aside some of his clothing with her wand, noting that cutting curses had been used to shred the shirts and trousers. "Whoever did this, it feels... personal. As in, if this was done to me—my clothing, my belongings—I'd feel like it was someone that hated me."

"Malfoy," Harry said.

Snape scoffed and folded his arms within his robes. "Come now, Potter. Your schoolboy rivalry with—"

"The son of a known and active Death Eater," Harry cut in.

Snape bristled. "Ten points from—" The potions master caught himself. "Headmaster, I will question Mr Malfoy, but I find it doubtful he had a hand in such... an obvious assault."

Harry snorted and Instructor Quinn looked at him askance. "No, you're right, Snape. Malfoy would stab me in the back in the dark. He doesn't have the nerve for something like this."

"Then I would ask you not to accuse your fellow apprentices without proper—"

"Gentlemen," Headmaster Dumbledore said softly. "The matter will be investigated thoroughly. Harry, we will move you and your... salvageable property... to a new room. One with a stronger lock, hmm? In the interim, I suggest a trip to Diagon Alley may be in order. You may use the floo in my office, should you like."

After a shower and breakfast—though still wearing yesterday's clothes—Harry strolled with Hermione and company through the sunny, cobblestoned streets of Diagon Alley heading for Gringott's to top up his purse.

Though only halfway toward noon, the day was already warming up, and Harry felt himself sweating under his collar. He wondered just which members of the Order were following him around at a discreet distance, and hoped one of them was Remus. The alley felt subdued, however, almost haunted—and some of the stores had been boarded up, torn and crinkled parchment nailed to the wood stating 'CLOSED'.

"All of your clothes?" Cho Chang asked. "And covered in blood, Harry? That's so... mean. Who do you think did it? Malfoy?"

"He was my first guess, yeah," Harry said, then sighed. "But... it's not his style. I don't think he'd risk dirtying his fancy robes with chicken blood."

That got a laugh from the group as they walked past the outer façade of the twisted maze of book shelves within Flourish & Blotts. Hermione veered in by habit, making promises to catch-up with them later for ice cream. Harry knew he had a good hour if not more before he'd be able to pull her out of the shop.

Along for the adventure that morning, apart from Hermione and Cho, were Justin Finch-Fletchley, Colin Creevey, Katie Bell, and the Gryfifndor girl with black-golden hair who Harry could now name as Romilda Vane. Safety in numbers, the headmaster was perhaps thinking. Either way, Harry wanted to get the boring shopping out of the way so he could get to the ice cream.

That was, until, he stumbled round the slight bend in the alley, where the cobblestones became limestone slabs before becoming the lauded marble of Gringotts, and beheld the wondrous monstrosity located at Number 93 Diagon Alley.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes

Justin burst out laughing. "Now that's the best eyesore I've ever seen."

In contrast to the other drab and weary stores surrounding what Harry could only conceive of as a joke shop, the store he'd heard whispers of from Ron, Fred, and George burst with a vibrant red and gold colour, and a hundred different gizmos, prank products, and harmless little pixies flirted to and fro across the storefront. Within, a burgeoning crowd packed cramped aisles full of products that Merlin alone knew what mischief could be wrought.

Harry and his crew made a beeline for the store, spirits raised, and for Harry—a swell of something that may have been pride mixed with a fierce defiance to the shadow Voldemort's return cast over the otherwise dim bastion of wizarding commerce.

Or maybe he was just excited.

The store within was an insane cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells that had his head spinning. Colin and Romilda stuck with Harry as he explored the shelves, wrangled through the crowds, and laughed at some of the items on display. He hoped Umbridge, wherever the hag may be, knew about the store and how business was booming.

Behind the counter of the store, he found both Ginny and Ron—who looked overworked and underappreciated. Their faces lit up with genuine smiles when he approached, and the steady cling of the coin register waned into fast hugs and a kiss on the cheek from Ginny, which Harry felt long after she stepped back behind the counter.

"Mate," Ron said. "I just got your owl this morning. Let me get it straight, you signed up for extra homework over the summer... on purpose?"

"The advanced courses offered in the summer are really cool," Romilda said, and brushed Harry's arm. "Right, Harry?"

Ginny frowned at her, which was a sign even Harry could read.

Colin dropped a bounty of Weasley products on the counter. "There was no darkness powder left of the shelf! Any out back?"

Fred or George Weasley appeared as if by magic and handed Colin a box of the powder. "Always on hand," he said. "Morning, Harry. What do you think of the store?"

"I think it looks like a hippogriff was violently ill in the Gryffindor common room," he said.

Fred or George nodded happily. "That was what we were going for, yeah." He frowned at his sales staff. "Back to work, you two. No breaks until we're through this rush."

"It's been a bloody rush since bloody eight o'clock," Ron muttered. "When do I get the five sickles you promised?"

"Brother, dear," the other twin appeared. "In discussion with management, we've determined your services are no longer required."

"Eh?" Ron said. "I'm fired?"

"The pair of you, yes," Fred or George said. "But just for the morning. We'll watch the counter and deal with the rabble. Go and make sure Harry Potter doesn't get jumped out in the alley."

"Hoovian sounds like a bit of alright," Ginny said. "Tall and handsome, I'm picturing. Does he have an alluring European accent?"

Ron slowed his ice cream spoon to a stop halfway between the cup and his mouth. "Lockhart all over again," he muttered.

"Yeah except Hoovian seems to be the real deal," Harry said. "Hermione, you met him, and I met a magical creature that seemed fairly demonic, what do you think?"

Hermione clutched a brown paper-wrapped stack of books on her lap and shrugged. "I'll take your word for it, but if you'd asked me yesterday I would have said he was making things up. Or just hypothesising, I suppose." She paused, considered, then grinned. "He has a soft accent, Ginny, yes. And nice arms."

Ron scowled. "No volunteering information."

Harry and his friends had secured three tables at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, and a good quarter gallon of ice cream a piece to enjoy under the warm summer sun. Their tables of excited and laughing teens warmed the passing crowds as much as the sun, drawn to their merriment against the otherwise monumental weight of Voldemort's return.

Florean Fortescue himself appeared after about ten minutes, and offered Harry a wafer cone of emerald green ice cream thick with a caramel, near-black, syrup and long veins of fudge.

"Mr. Potter," he said. "It would be my privilege if you were the first to try the parlour's latest flavour."

Harry took the cone with a bemused smile. "What's the flavour?"

"Mint and treacle fudge," he said with a grin, doffing his hat. "I've been thinking of calling it Dark Lord's Demise. Any thoughts?"

Harry considered, then nodded. He took a bite and found the ice cream as delicious as always.

Fortescue waved behind Harry and one of the shop assistants appeared with a magical camera on a tripod. He raised an eyebrow. "What do you say? A promotional photo for the window?"

Ron and Hermione looked worried, but Harry gave a shrug. "Voldemort already wants me dead anyway. Might as well tweak his nose a little."

"Thought he didn't have a nose?" Ron asked.

Harry laughed and stood up, putting himself in frame in front of Fortescue's shop. He held up the ice cream cone with one hand, gave a thumbs-up with the other, and beamed at the camera. The flash nearly blinded him.

After a hurried visit to Gringotts and suffering through a good long hour of Ginny and Hermione picking out new clothes for him—shirts, trousers, and jackets—Harry waved farewell to Ron and Ginny back at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and met up with the apprenticeship crew outside the apothecary.

From there it was a short walk to the floo at the Leaky Cauldron, passing back across the courtyard of Fortescue's-where Harry's photo was already poster-size and smiling in the window under a banner proclaiming 'Try Our New Flavour!'

"Oh," Hermione said, bouncing from foot to foot. "I hope Mr Fortescue doesn't get in much trouble for that."

"He's made himself a target," Harry agreed, "but then... I mean, he's at least chosen a side. Unless he's playing some long con, which I doubt as he could have just easily poisoned the ice cream if he wanted to do me in, then you have to admire him for standing up to Voldemort."

Romilda Vane squeaked and shivered. "It's such an awful name, Harry. You're so brave to say it."

"Eh... thanks, yeah." Harry hopped back on his train of thought. "I'm just saying it's good to know we're not in this alone."

Hermione bit her lip and then squeezed his shoulder, biting back on her worry... for now.

"I'll fight Vol... You-Know... Volde-Who as well, Harry!" Colin Creevey spoke up, giving Romilda a furtive glance. "Voldemort!"

Harry chuckled and patted Colin on the back. "Look I'm not planning on it anytime soon, mate, but if a spot opens up on my gang of unlucky fools that end up fighting seventy-year-old undead Dark Lords every year, I'll take a look at your resume." He paused. "It usually means you get out of exams, at least."

Cho laughed at that, and Harry forced himself not to start firing off furtive glances of his own.

That evening most of the student apprentices got together in Harry's new room, which was much larger than his previous one, though with the same commanding view over the eastern castle grounds, for a small party.

Harry convinced the house elves to bring up a few trays of food from the kitchen, and Justin Finch-Fletchley produced a bottle of Firewhisky which, he claimed, he'd pinched from one of the staff cabinets. Justin looked at Cho when he said this, so Harry suspected the truth of the whisky may have been a touch more mundane.

However the contraband had been acquired, Harry was eager to try it.

Hermione balked as the bottle was passed around but Harry, sitting comfortably on one of the two leather couches surrounding an ornate, ancient coffee table of some dark, rich wood, shrugged and knocked back a sip. The liquor burned down his throat, sharp and warm at the same time, and settled comfortably in his stomach. He passed the bottle on to Romilda, who had squeezed onto the couch next to him between Justin and Colin.

She giggled and took a long sip, pretending along like the rest of them that they knew what they were doing, they were all immortal and going to live forever, and didn't hate the taste.

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione said as the bottle made its way around the couches, heading up to Katie Bell who leaned against the bookshelf, and back down and around. "This is a bit much, isn't it?"

"Oh I don't think there's much mischief we can manage here," Harry said. "As long as we keep things quiet."

"Yeah, Hermione," Romilda said, "don't be a spoil-sport."

Hermione glared as Harry took another swig from the bottle. He felt comfortably warm now, fuzzy. Romilda brushed his knee with hers and he didn't mind in the least.

"If being responsible is being a spoil—" Hermione cut herself off and took a bite of one of the pastries from the food trays instead. "You know what, never mind."

Harry felt a little hot under the collar and undid the top button on his new blue shirt. He and the other six students in the room chattered and laughed amongst themselves, and between so many mouths the whisky was soon depleted, leaving Harry feeling better than he had in... well, ever. He felt good, relaxed.

Unburdened.

Someone produced a wizarding wireless and tuned it to an upbeat broadcast, the Weird Sisters, a few other bands, adding to the party atmosphere.

"Tell us about You-Know-Who coming back, Harry!" Colin said. "Was it..." He floundered and shrugged. "Scary?"

Harry felt seven pairs of eyes on him and, whether it was the whisky or the weather, he chuckled. "Super scary," he said. "Do you guys know he looks like he ran into a wall?" He squished his own nose down, his skin felt tingly. "Like this."

That got a round of laughs and, Harry noted without really caring, a frown from Hermione.

And as if the floodgates had opened, he was bombarded with questions:

"What's with the snake?"

"How many Death Eaters does he have?"

"How did you fight him?"

"Are you going to try and stop him, mate?"

Harry quietened everyone down and held a finger to his lips. "Shhhhush. There's a prophecy," he whispered, aiming for mysterious, "a dark and terrible prophecy—"

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, "maybe not the right crowd..."

Harry frowned and, through the befuddlement he felt, found that a small, rational piece of his mind agreed. He grinned. "Yeah, old Dumbledore probably doesn't want us talking about that, does he?"

"No, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry shared his grin with the room at large. "None of you talk about the prophecy that definitely doesn't exist about me and Voldemort having to kill one another. OK?"

A polite sea of wide-eyed faces gazed back at him.

Feeling even warmer, Harry ran a hand back through his hair. He felt a... sort of a tug, in the back of his mind, and looked up through the ceiling of his room toward where the Astronomy Tower stood on the other side of the castle. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but even that felt like he was moving through syrup.

"I think we should call it an early night," Hermione said. "Harry?"

Harry considered, then nodded. He wanted to stay, to touch Romilda's knee some more, but a part of him—the part that trusted Hermione implicitly—overrode his desire to laugh, to keep throwing caution to the wind, to drink more whisky and forget about the dark and scary world beyond the walls of his opulent room.

People began to filter out, Romilda cast him a pouting glance over her shoulder, and Hermione gave him a hug before departing as well.

Feeling a bit of breathing room, though still wrestling with that tug in his mind, and thinking on Hoovian's Dementor's Heart, Harry turned back to clear away the trays and found Cho Chang was still in his room.

"Er... hey," he said. "Hey, Cho."

"Hey yourself," she replied and stepped up to Harry, leaning back against the edge of the couch. She was close enough that he could smell the scent of her perfume, a rich lavender, and see himself in her eyes. "It was nice to see you relax for once."

"Was it?" Harry said. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. His heart was beating as loud as thunder in his chest.

Cho smiled. "It was. We all see you around the castle, Harry, walking as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, well, it kind of is."

"I'll bet," Cho replied, rolling her eyes not unkindly. "So, it's still early, what... do you want to do?" She gave him a small smile full of secrets he knew not.

Harry licked his lips and took a deep breath. He stepped closer to her. "Do you... Cho, do you want...?"

"What do I want, Harry?" she whispered.

Harry shivered. "Do you want to go up to the Astronomy Tower?"

Cho blinked and leaned back, retreated just an inch or two. "I... what?"

"The Astronomy Tower," Harry said excitedly. "There's something I want to show you."

Cho took a long moment to respond, staring at him as if she was worried, and then shrugged. She sighed. "I mean, sure, if you want..."

"Great," Harry said, and took his hand in her own, almost pulling her along behind him. "Let's go."

Atop of the Astronomy Tower, buzzed and warm, Harry dragged Cho over the faint remains of the chalk outline that had contained the demon Alice, and with a fervour usually reserved for the Quidditch Pitch, showed her the Dementor's Heart.

"This is what you wanted to show me?" Cho asked. "I mean, it's nice, I suppose."

Harry didn't hear her. He stared deep into the heavy diamond, which floated a few inches above its cradle, pulsating softly with a light as red as demon skin.

He wanted to touch it.

He reached out to touch it.

"Harry!" a stern voice cried. "Stupefy!"

Instincts faster than thought, Harry's wand was in his hand—he didn't remember drawing it—and he parried the stunning spell as naturally as he drew breath. He glared over his shoulder at Professor Hoovian, who closed the gap between them fast and yanked Harry back by his collar—which was drenched with sweat.

Harry's free hand, which had been reaching for the Dementor's Heart, was pulled away from the spinning diamond.

He blinked, his head clearing a bit. "What's with the pushing and shoving?" he asked, tears stinging his eyes. "Let me go!"

"Idiot. Fool," Hoovian cursed, and whether he was talking to Harry or himself was unclear.

"Harry," Cho said softly, "your eyes are bleeding."

"Of course they are," Daphne Greengrass said, appearing on the balcony behind Hoovian. She carried a golden rope which shone with a radiance similar to moonlight. "You should leave, Chang."

"I..." Cho glanced at Harry, who shook his head and dabbed at the blood on his cheeks, ignoring her entirely. "I, well, OK." She practically fled from the balcony.

Hoovian muttered a low incantation, just on the edge of Harry's hearing, in a language he didn't know or recognise—a harsh, guttural speak that stood in stark contrast to the almost lyrical flow of Latin. Whatever it was, Harry felt the pressure on his mind ease, the near-burning he felt on his skin fade, and the fuzziness from the whisky clear.

"What... what's wrong with me?" he asked.

"Goddamn demons," Hoovian grunted. "Harry, I'm going to bind your hands, do you understand?"

"No you're bloody not!" He raised his wand again.

Hoovian met his wand with his own and glared.

"Honestly," Daphne sighed. She stepped between them, her silver hair tinted red in the light of the Dementor's Heart. She produced a tissue from her pocket and, gently, dabbed the blood from the corners of Harry's eyes. "Potter," she said, "trust me."

Harry considered her for a long moment, crying tears of blood, and then nodded once.

Hoovian took a step back with a heavy sigh and Daphne—slowly, carefully—wrapped the golden rope around Harry's wrists, binding his hands. She plucked his wand from his fist and placed it, within reach, on the nearest parapet.

The golden rope itched around Harry's wrists, and he felt as if he were mired in a cloud of thick fog.

"Right then," Hoovian said. "Let's get it out of you."

"Get what out of me?" Harry asked.

Hoovian waved his hands in a complex pattern over the Dementor's Heart, and the colour within the diamond changed from crimson to pale gold, matching the rope binding Harry's hands. At the same time, he heard a hiss deep within his mind, like a snake, and a balloon of pressure pressed against his skull.

A moment later, the balloon popped, and smoke as thick and as black as tar bled from Harry's eyes. The Dementor's Heart chimed like a church bell and the liquid smoke was drawn into the diamond, diluting and muddying the golden light, before it was overwhelmed and dissipated within the depths of the device.

Harry staggered, felt cold rush through him as if he'd been tossed naked into a snow bank, and stumbled into Daphne. She held him up until he found his feet. The golden rope binding his hands fell away, frayed and tattered.

"What," Harry said, his voice hoarse, "just happened?"

Hoovian reached for his face and held his eyes open, shining wand light into them, glaring until he was satisfied with what he saw. "A... parasite latched onto you," he said. "Likely when you were talking to Alice yesterday." He cursed. "It should not have happened. Humans are immune to such low-level possession. You have to invite it."

"I didn't invite anything," Harry said.

"I know," Hoovian said grimly. "I watched you the whole time, and Alice, too."

"So how...?" He glanced at Daphne. "What was it doing to me?"

Hoovian shook his head. "Nothing severe, since we caught it so early. Likely you've been acting a bit erratically today, hmm? Behaving out of character? As if you were drunk?"

Harry thought back on his day, the impromptu party, the whisky, and back further to posing for a photo at the ice cream parlour. "Oh... dear," he said. "You got it out, yeah? Whatever it is?"

"Think of it like a slug, or an imp," Daphne said. "And yes, you're clean."

"I don't feel clean." Harry squirmed. He felt grimy, and wanted a long bath.

"Imps swarm unseen around the true Unblessed like Alice," Hoovian said. "They're always there, but haven't posed a danger to humanity in thousands of years. Our... souls... for lack of a better word, developed an immunity." The Durmstrang Professor exchanged a dark look with Daphne.

"I told you," she said, "this one ignores the rules."

"I'm starting to believe you." Hoovian took his head in his hands and rubbed his face. After a long moment, he looked up, and his eyes were as bloodshot as Harry's felt. "This requires investigating, but not so close to midnight. We need sunlight. Potter, report to this tower at noon tomorrow. Make sure you get some rest before then."

Cursing to himself, Hoovian swept from the balcony, leaving Harry and Daphne alone in the starlight.

"Are you OK then?" she asked after a moment of awkward silence. "I mean, if you need it, I can walk you back to your room."

"My room..." Harry muttered, shaking his head.

"Look," Daphne said, "it can't feel good, but you're OK now."

"I had Cho Chang alone in my room, wanting to stay, and I made us leave," Harry said, cold with clarity. He looked at Daphne. "I made us leave to come look at a shiny crystal. Daphne, am I... I'm an idiot."

"Yes, Potter, you are," she said, and her grin could have conquered the universe. "What on earth possessed you?"

NEXT UPDATE 28-DEC-19.

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