Harry

The Moors

He quickly removed both the Puffskein from his lap and his invisibility cloak then sat back down in the yellow chair. Gemma was busy at the fireplace, making a floo call from the looks of things. So he sat back and thought over the last few minutes and the discussion he overheard between Gemma and her brother. Absentmindedly he sat petting the Puffskein, Churchill, that had somehow made its way back to his lap, going over the things he could be reasonably sure were fact, and the things he wasn't totally sure about. First was that Voldemort had been at the Malfoy house tonight, was it possible that he was responsible for the Dementor attack? That didn't seem likely since Gemma gave the impression that they were under Ministry control and she was sure that if Voldemort was controlling the Dementors the Order of the Phoenix would know about it. Another thing he knew for sure was that Gemma was genuinely angry that her brother, Blaise Zabini apparently, had been anywhere near Voldemort tonight. At least Zabini solved one thing puzzling him tonight. After she told him she had a brother in his year, he had wracked his brain trying to remember anyone named Farley but couldn't, they probably have different fathers. From the sound of the 'wonderful mother' bit, they had the same mum, and Gemma said that her father died when she very young, so that made sense and explained the last name difference.

He was slightly shocked that Zabini didn't argue when she said he would not be going back to Malfoy Manor even though he considered Malfoy his best friend. Did that mean that he didn't hold the same ideals as Malfoy and most of the other students in Slytherin, his house at Hogwarts? He was fairly sure that the letter she'd read had been for him, judging by the owls reluctance to give it to her, and he wondered if the part about the Ministry 'trying' to expel him was her hinting at the contents of said letter.

He now knew that Malfoy, arrogant prat that he is, is having doubts about joining Voldemort and that Zabini, wanted nothing to do with the Death Eaters. He could remember now that she was one of the Slytherin prefects his first three years at Hogwarts, and this had him wondering how she'd ended up working for Dumbledore and against Voldemort when that was so uncharacteristic of most Slytherins' he knew. Would it be possible to bring more of the Slytherins' to their side, or at least convince them to remain neutral? That made him wonder how many other in Slytherin felt the same way, sure they were probably still a bunch of bigots, but if there was something that could be done to keep them from becoming more fighters for Voldemort's side he was all for it. He couldn't help thinking it was way too late to be pondering over such profound subjects.

"Buuurrrrrpp!" Churchill purred happily from his lap.

"You're telling me Church. What a day!" he said with a snort, giving the creatures fur a nice scratch. "Did you know that you're now Churchill, the amazing floating Puffskein?"

"I like that Potter," said Gemma walking back to the sitting area and taking a seat on the sofa opposite him. "The amazing floating Puffskein… it would make a smashing children's tale. Church seems to like you. I wonder where Clem's gone off to, I haven't seen her since we got here."

"He's not too bad I guess. Doesn't really do much though does he?" he asked with a smile on his face.

"I'll have you know, Potter, that he floats!" she scoffed, which set him off laughing. That's when he knew he was really tired, it was a little funny but there was no way it was laugh out loud funny.

"I've contacted members of the Order and they now know your whereabouts and that you are safe. I also passed on the information about the loss of the wards at the Muggles house. I wasn't able to locate Dumbledore but I am sure he will be informed soon. You will have to stay here tonight; hopefully tomorrow we will be able to take you to where the Weasley's are staying. Now to your questions, which I am sure are many."

"The letter that came while I was hiding was it for me?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied handing it to him. "I apologise for reading it but had I not Blaise would have thought that strange. He and I don't normally hide things from each other and if I'd been too cagy about a letter he would have wanted to know why."

"It's fine, I figured it was something like that. But why not just tell him I'm here?" he said reading the letter quickly. Gemma waited for him to finish the letter and put it away before she answered.

"As I said we don't normally hide things from each other, that being said there is a couple of things I don't yet trust him with. And Order business is one of them. He knows nothing about my membership in the Order or my efforts on its behalf."

"Why not?"

"A number of reasons, chiefly I'm not sure he'd agree with me."

"But he seems like he's against Voldemort so he should," he said resolutely.

"It's not that simple Potter, while he has no intention of ever becoming a Death Eater he's not exactly a card carrying member of the Dumbledore and Muggle-born fan club. You have to understand that we were raised with a particular set of beliefs and when you are told one thing your whole life it's very hard to completely change that mind-set," she responded.

"But you changed yours."

"I did… but that was a journey I started on my own. I already had a poor relationship with my mother so it was easy for me to start questioning all the things she'd told me. I was in my third year at Hogwarts when I started really questioning the things I'd been told. Indulge me for a moment won't you? I am going to tell you a bit about my family. It's the easiest way to explain my change in thinking."

"All right," he relied simply.

"My maternal grandfathers' name is Giancarlo, he was born in 1920 in southern Italy to a magical family of African descent, that had been in Italy for a couple hundred years. The colour of his skin was no big deal at the time, although he was a minority, there were people from all different backgrounds scattered all over Europe. About twenty years later that would all change. In 1942 my grandfather and much of his family emigrated and ended up in England. In 1950 he met my grandmother, Solange St. Sauveur, also a pureblood of African descent, who left France around the same time he left Italy. Growing up my brother and I were told they left Europe for their safety and we were discouraged from asking anymore questions.

I knew there had been a dark wizard rising to power around that time, but they would have been no safer in England than anywhere else in Europe. So I started asking questions at Hogwarts, and that is where I got my answers," she paused and he remained quiet, somehow knowing she was not finished. He had a slight guess where this was going; her grandparents had fled Europe during World War II.

"Did you know that people were being persecuted and killed all over Europe, because they were different? Because they had a different skin colour, a different culture, a disability, a different ethnic background. It was the Germans who did it, and they went after anyone who wasn't like them, the disabled and infirm, the gypsies, people of Slavic descent, Black people, and most of all the Jewish people. They set up camps, factories of death… and they killed millions. If you didn't fit in to their mould of the perfect Aryan race… it makes me sick just thinking about it," she paused taking a deep breath. "I mean – who does that? Death factories… The murder of millions…Millions, men, women, children… even tiny babies. They used blood-purity to determine if someone was Aryan enough to live or Jewish enough to die. One grandparent with Jewish blood and you were a Jew, therefore not worthy of life. Curious isn't it that in our world, one grandparent with Muggle blood makes you a half-blood?" she finished looking solemn, almost as if she was on the verge of tears.

"I'd never thought about it like that," he replied quite softly. "That's what made you change your mind?"

"Yes, my grandparents fled persecution because of the colour of their skin, yet they were seemingly okay with persecuting a witch or wizard because of their blood status. How are we any better than those Germans, those Nazi's, if we act just like them? Sure, there are no death camps here, but if the Dark Lord wins it's only a matter of time before they start to systematically rid our world of those they deem unworthy. I was brought up with the belief that purebloods are superior to everyone else, but how are we superior if we emulate the behaviour of the worst Muggles I've ever heard of? That is why I changed my mind and learned to start thinking for myself. Of course over the last few years I've learned many other things that make it impossible for all that purity rubbish to be true."

"Do you think he'll change his mind as well?"

"My brother? I hope so, I really do. But his problem with Muggle-borns isn't just their blood status."

"What about Malfoy? Your brother thinks he seems reluctant about the Death Eaters," he probed.

"Reluctant yes, willing to change…" she shrugged. "That is an entirely different cauldron of potion altogether."

"Tell me more about the Order and what Voldemort is up to?" he requested as she flinched.

"I've asked you before not to say his name Potter, and don't give me that tripe about 'fear of a name…' Sometimes fear is healthy, and where the Dark Lord is concerned, this is one of those times," she chastised.

"Fine tell me more about the Order and what You-Know-Who is up to," he retorted rolling his eyes.

"There is not much to tell at this point, other than what I've already told you. The Dark Lord is keeping a low profile and the Ministry is feeding right into his hand by denying his return. The Order is attempting to remain one step ahead of him and so far that is working out well for us. Both groups are recruiting new members, and before you ask no, they won't let you join, you'll have to wait until you're out of Hogwarts for that. The Weasley twins already fought that battle and lost."

"They can't just tell me no, it's my fight as much as it is theirs, if not more," he spat in defiance.

"I realise that Potter, I am well aware that most of the members of the order have never even seen the Dark Lord face to face, let alone crossed wands with him as you have. I am just telling you the answer you're likely to get," she snapped at him. "Your godfather may see things your way to an extent, some of the others like Molly Weasley for example… not a chance. Don't fret about it too much right now; your friends have devised a way to listen in on all the meetings so they are well informed," she finished much calmer.

Well wasn't that just peachy news, his friends were well informed. Not that they'd seen fit to keep him informed about anything. He wondered briefly what they were using to listen in, and then wondered how it was that they hadn't been caught. If Gemma knew they were listening in how is it that none of the other Order members had caught on?

"How is the Order staying one step ahead of the Death Eaters? How do we even know what he's doing?" he questioned.

"Why we have a spy of course," she said with a smirk.

"Who's the spy?" he asked just as her floo flared to life.

Her smirk turned into a full blown smile as she answered. "You're about to find out, Potter."

"Miss Farley, may I step through?" asked a voice he was all too familiar with.

"Of course," she called. The flames flared and flashed bright green as his potions professor entered the room. Did she mean that Snape, his most hated professor was the spy? That couldn't be right Snape hated him, well Snape hated everyone who wasn't in Slytherin, but he hated Harry most of all. So why would Snape work for a group that's sole purpose was to help him and to bring down Voldemort?

"Dumbledore is quite incensed at the moment. In fact I've just finished receiving a verbal lashing the likes of which I've not experienced since I was a student. I half expected him to give me detention and dock points from Slytherin He was insisting that Potter be returned to his relatives in Surrey immediately, that he would know if the wards have fallen," he seethed without preamble.

"He can't send me back there! The wards really have fallen I felt it," he said jumping to his feet and pointing between himself and Gemma, "we felt it!"

"I am aware Potter!" Snape growled. "I went to the house myself right after Miss Farley contacted me, I checked the wards myself and the have indeed fallen. I attempted to explain this to the Headmaster but he would not hear it. So I took him there myself. Upon inspection of the house he relented. You will be staying here for tonight at least. "

"What is wrong with him? I swear his behaviour is becoming more and more peculiar, and that's saying something since he's always been a bit… eccentric," Gemma sneered. "Well I can tell you one thing; I would not have sent Potter back there, wards or no wards that was not an option."

"Why not?" Snape inquired as he began to pace behind the sofa.

"Don't tell me you don't know how they treat him?" she shot back.

"Like a prince I'm sure…"

"You have got to be joking!" she snapped interrupting him jumping to her feet as well. "Prince my arse! They are awful…"

"No it's fine – no big deal. You don't have to say anything," he interjected.

"It is a big deal, Potter," she countered crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, really Gemma, it's nothing, I'd rather not talk about it," he cut in his eyes pleading with her to understand.

"Potter…" she said, her tone clearly in warning.

"Please," he sighed. But of course all of the back and forth between them had caught the attention of the bastard in black; Snape had stopped pacing and was looking at him with a curious expression. If Harry really didn't want to talk about it that meant Snape really really wanted to know.

"Miss Farley, please continue. Potter will remain quiet, won't you Potter?" Snape asked his black eyes shining with malice.

"As I was saying," she started as she began to pace, "they are awful and by awful I mean absolutely horrid, vile and disgusting. The worst sort of Muggles I've ever met. They don't address him by his name, instead it's, you, boy or freak. And those are just the ones I heard. They loath magic and they made it blatantly obvious. Twice I watched his uncle become physically violent, and the second time he went as far as throwing Potter on the ground then slamming him into a wall. To top it all off, when they were told about the Dementor attack instead of thanking him for saving the life of their worthless son they chucked him out of the house," she hissed downright outraged, pacing at an almost frantic speed.

He sunk back into the chair slowly wishing he could somehow disappear. One of the people who hated him most in the world had just heard the most embarrassing thing he could think of, that his own family hated him. At that very moment the only way things could get any worse is if Malfoy had been there to hear it too. He closed his eyes and began to stroke Churchill's fur again, thankful that he was still holding the Puffskein. The distraction, however small, was an extremely welcome one.

Perhaps if he kept his eyes closed long enough they'd both vanish. Now Snape just had more ammunition for all the nasty comments he would send at him throughout the year and Gemma, he'd thought she was alright, now though he wasn't so sure. She seemed awfully close with Snape, well close enough that the man had been able to floo straight into her house when he hadn't been able to cross the wards unless they were touching. This made him wonder if maybe he'd trusted her too quickly, but she was with Mrs Figg when they met and she was working for Dumbledore's Order. Then there was the wards, those were still up when they'd first arrived at number 4 so she wouldn't have been able to come into the house if she meant him any harm right? And she did seem genuinely upset about the way the Dursley's treated him. So maybe he could trust her, but he didn't like this Snape thing, not one bit. What did Snape care how the Dursley's treated him anyway? The man hated him, loathed him, he'd made that clear the first time they met. He kept his eyes firmly shut, taking slow heavy breaths through his nose. His fingers seemed to be moving on their own slowing petting Churchill, and the Puffskein seemed perfectly happy to let him continue. He didn't hear any noise in the room, no footsteps, no clothing rustling, and that meant that they'd both stopped their pacing. He'd bet every last Sickle in his Gringotts vault that Snape was staring right at him.

"Look," he started not even opening his eyes. "Can we not do this tonight?"