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Chapter Eight – This Means War

With his parents' and Professor Snape's tacit approval and promise they would not intervene either way, Harry began a campaign specifically designed to showcase what anyone with sense knew to be true: Gilderoy Lockhart's only achievements stemmed from self absorption, a mildly handsome face, and a willingly duped fan club. Harry never aimed for cruelty, no matter how much the temptation struck him whenever he remembered the accusation that he used the Potters' murder as a stepping stool into the spotlight.

He simply provided the professor with opportunities to prove his abilities as a capable wizard. The twelve-year-old certainly could not be blamed for the man's ineptitude or his colleague's apparent reluctance to help him.

On Tuesday, Harry convinced Hermione to help him design a runic array to act similarly to a tripwire. He further altered it by breaking it down with his sonic scanner and tying it to Lockhart's magical signature, which the device had stored long ago just from ambient scanning. That night, he and Draco (who derived endless entertainment both from Lockhart's presumptuousness and Harry's plans to ruin him) flew to the Great Hall. Cuddie waited for them in the threshold with a wicked little smile on her face and a barrel of eggs. Working very carefully, Harry implemented what he and the Doctor had termed a self-reversing transfiguration to weave several dozen yards of brightly coloured ribbon into a net. A snap of the giggling elf's fingers gently transferred the eggs to the net, which helpfully floated into the air as if hoisted at by rope. Harry returned to his broom, and once the booby-trap had risen to the correct height, used scanner and wand to stick the netting's four corners to either side of the hall's arched entry. He then dropped gently back to the ground, cast an over-powered notice-me-not and disillusionment at both eggs and net, and carefully penned small rune circles into the masonry at either side of the doorway in colour-fade ink. Draco helpfully tweaked the arrangement under Harry's direction during one last sonicking, and soon after both returned to bed with no one the wiser.

Wednesday morning dawned cool and misty outside, but neither Slytherin felt worse for it after a few cups of strong tea. Students made their way to breakfast alone and in groups until the hall hummed with conversation and the clatter of cutlery on fine china. At 8:43, Harry finished his food and deliberately engaged Prefect Higgs, who he generally avoided, in a conversation about the electives available to third-years. At 8:45 on the dot, lit by what some guessed as a spotlighting cantrip, the click-clack of Lockhart's immaculately shined shoes announced his arrival. Satin ribbons and hundreds of eggs fell suddenly from the ceiling and exploded in splashes of multicoloured paint, gold glitter, and sparkling silver eggshells. A disembodied, squeaky, unidentifiable voice yelled,

"SURPRISE!"

Higgs stopped mid-sentence and snorted.

Lockhart stood with his arms stretched out like a scarecrow. His mouth gaped around spluttering attempts to clear it of the foul-tasting but nontoxic paint. No portion of the professor's extravagant robes had escaped the missiles, and not a drop had fallen on anyone nearby.

It took a moment for the witnesses to process, but the sheer ridiculousness and randomness of the attack broke everyone of their surprise, spreading mirth across the hall. Harry turned and joined his friends' in belly-hugging laughter that only grew with the professor's inarticulate sounds of indignation. As he had hoped, the professors made no move in their entertainment to assist the flailing wizard who tried with no success to cast the scouring charm on himself. Across the hall, Hermione caught his eye from the Hufflepuff table, where Susan seemed to be fighting with herself to stop her laughter, and Hannah unapologetically guffawed into her Earl Grey. She twitched her head to the side, her mass of kinky curls bouncing, and raised an eyebrow.

Harry affected an innocent look, and she rolled her eyes. A moment later, she leaned over to the Gryffindor table to whisper in Neville's ear. His face portrayed surprise, but he shrugged and gamely rose to Hermione's suggestion. He crossed to the entrance and cleared his throat to announce his presence to the half-blinded professor.

"May I help, Professor?" he offered a little meekly. "Looks like you're having some trouble."

"I would appreciate some assistance," Lockhart said with a purple-tinged flash of large teeth. "Can't seem to aim well enough through the muck."

Neville nervously drew his very recently acquired cherry and unicorn hair wand. He cleared his throat again, and very clearly incanted.

"Scourgify!"

The mess disappeared, leaving the disoriented professor with the slightly pink look of a thorough scrubbing. The spell left not even the smallest stain behind. The giggles had calmed, and Harry heard a few jokes about the ease at which Neville cleaned things up. McGonagall, however, never overlooked an opportunity to reward her lions.

"Five points for a very skillful application of your lessons, Mr Longbottom," she called from the breakfast table.

"And another five for your…" Snape sneered. "Kindness in assisting the helpless."

Neville's eyes bugged at that. The Slytherins stared at their head-of-house in confusion. Harry only grinned as the Gryffindors appraised the boy with a little more respect than they had before he stood.

In all, it was an excellent start to Harry's work.

On Thursday, Lockhart spent most of the morning exhibiting a gait worthy of the Ministry of Silly Walks. Eventually, one of his fans cast a finite at him, ending his absurd footwork, but not before everyone had a good laugh. Friday brought with it uncontrollable flatulence, which the defence professor tried to pass off as the fault of others throughout the day. Eventually, his attempts to blame the loud, boisterous sounds on his students and colleagues alienated enough of his would-be helpers that he had to ask Madam Pomfrey to remove it.

The stern woman undid the jinx with a jab of her wand, publicly scolded him for interrupting her work on the actually afflicted, and demanded to know how he got through life if he couldn't figure out a simple counter-jinx. Her patient, a fifth-year who had foolishly attempted to curse away his acne, later reported Lockhart's shameful, fumbling retreat from the Matron's presence.

On Saturday, however, Harry took a break to catch up on his unfinished homework and to begin work on another project. Hermione, who had told her Hufflepuff friends about the venture, met her Slytherin friends in front of the Great Hall with Neville, Susan, Hannah, and several people the others didn't know as well, in tow. Jenny rushed from the head table to join the large group before it could leave, followed by several other students whose curiosity pulled them along. Harry led everyone down to a large stretch of flat lawn near the lake. His friends and schoolmates watched with interest as he unfurled a roll of parchment, spelled one side with an Impervius Charm, and enlarged it until the sheet covered a fifteen-by-twenty foot space. Hermione unpacked a blue grease pencil and several measuring instruments.

Mostly ignoring their spectators and working from a blueprint downloaded to Harry's sonic, the two carefully laid out a grid on the parchment, and Hermione began the tedious process of mapping out the edges of the envelope's pattern. Per their agreement with the nonbelievers of their acquaintanceship, they used no magic in measuring and drawing until they had reproduced the pattern for the envelope.

In the meantime, the others turned to conversations, or, in Hannah and Susan's case, fawned over Jenny Renette, who happily let the girls braid her wild red hair while she munched on apple slices. Eventually, the less invested of the audience wandered off for other pursuits, but those who stayed returned to an argument that had rapidly grown among those who had never seen an air ship.

"How can nothing make something fly?" sighed Blaise Zabini.

"It's not nothing," Marietta Edgecombe disagreed. "Air's made up of air particles. How else do you blow up a balloon?"

"Balloons don't float unless you magic them to do it," the swarthy boy predictably answered. "And generally we just conjure ones that float to start with."

"Well," Neville offered slowly. "Assuming we're using a pre-made rubber balloon, maybe the spell we use doesn't work like the hover charm. Maybe it does something to the air in the balloon to make it lighter than the air outside."

"Ridiculous," echoed Zacharias Smith, a third-year who hadn't been invited to stay, but did since no one lacked manners enough to shoo him off. "This whole thing is idiotic."

"You just don't know anything about science-" a particularly chirpy voice mocked. "Harry's going to show you!"

"Like your lot could do anything better than wizards have done for centuries," Smith sneered. "When did muggles come up with this rubbish?"

"Muggles built the pyramids without magic thousands of years ago!" the indignant first-year objected.

"Only as far as you know!"

"Well we figured out how to go to the moon-"

Although Hannah and Susan seemed mostly unaffected by the argument going on around them, having become used to such loud debates in their last year of school, Jenny (whose only regular exposure to raised voices were with kids of her own age and relative size) shrank further and further away from the young witches and wizards, despite her desire to socialise with the older girls who clearly thought her adorable.

Her brother, who had been tuning out the chaos to confer with Hermione, noticed her anxious movement in the periphery of his vision. Although he tried to again ignore the argument (because it really was rather run-of-the-mill whenever kids of different backgrounds discussed non-magical vs. magical), his sister's obviously growing discomfort finally made it so he couldn't order his own thoughts, let alone keep up with Hermione's impressive processing. He felt her little hand grab his trouser leg and finally lost patience.

"Can everyone just shut it, please?" he finally shouted, gently squeezing his sister's hand in reassurance.

They went quiet, half-surprised that he'd yelled at all.

"How's a bloke to think when everyone's being so negative?" he said more evenly, smiling a little crookedly. "If you're so concerned about it, Tracy's still taking bets. Or, if you'd like to actually do something, pick a side and start building. You're welcome to copy our blueprint, if you like, or you can owl-order one."

Attention returned to the task at hand, and an hour later the sceptics had duplicated the completed blueprint for their own part of the project.

"Right," Harry called, gesturing to the designs. "For those of you who haven't seen something like this before, this is a blueprint. We're going to follow this pattern to make sure we make the envelope – that's the balloon-ish gas chamber on top – nice and even. Since we're doing this by hand and Jen wants to pilot it, we're going to do everything we can to eliminate anything that might lead to leaks."

Hermione tapped Harry's sonic, which obligingly projected their complete design. They had opted for simplicity for the sake of time and cost. The airship featured a canoe-shaped, open gondola and simple framing below a non-rigid, oblong gasbag several times bigger. Its engine sat at the rear of the gondola along with a simple rudder.

"Since this is going to be a weekends-only project for the most part, the only labour-intensive parts are building the engine and the gasbag," the Hufflepuff paused and cast a challenging glare at Smith. "Unless anyone thinks non-magicals haven't managed boats by now, we're just going to order one and alter it as we need to. We're also going to order the materials, themselves."

"That seems fair," Blaise shrugged. "Smith's not helping, anyway, so ignore him."

Zacharias made a rude gesture, and Hermione hastily slapped a hand over Jenny's eyes.

"Aaanyway," Harry interjected over the sound of three angry Hufflepuffs bodily forcing the interloper away from their number. "I'll make sure Professor Smith has the catalogue I order from, and we should be able to start assembling things by mid-October."

Apparently satisfied with the projected schedule, everyone except Jenny, Neville, Hermione, Draco, and Daphne quickly wandered off to do other things with the initial tedium out of the way. After rolling up the blueprint and having Cuddie take it to Rose's office, the quintet and Jenny found a quiet spot under their favourite lakeside tree to enjoy a picnic of salami, cheese, fruit and French bread.

...

Monday, Harry returned to his previous mischief, though on a smaller scale. Homework had begun picking up, and in response to the school-wide interest in the dirigible, both McGonagall and Flitwick added a component to their theory work usually reserved for post-N.E.W.T. apprentices. To give their students a better grounding in the project and to settle progressively louder debates, they took a page from Rose's book and put together a simplified primer that outlined clearly and concisely what certain spells physically accomplished. For example, Flitwick broke down the levitation charm by explaining how it created negative gravity specific to the object itself, controlled entirely by the caster's intent. McGonagall, on the other hand, tackled conservation of mass in relation to conjuration to demonstrate why it was considered an advanced transfiguration. She explained how a wizard in 1920 had performed a series of experiments using gas chambers of different capacities to show objects were not simply summoned from another plane, as some had thought, but transfigured from the air molecules around the caster. She also included photographs of how the wizard, a descendent of the Gamp family, had expounded on the laws concerning the transfiguration of foodstuffs, liquids, and gasses. The photos displaying the results of what happened when such transfigurations ended were not pretty.

The Doctor revelled in the excitement sweeping the students, and the other professors seemed reenergised in its wake, as well.

As a side effect to the additional reading and intellectual discourse, Harry had less time in which to cause mischief, but he still managed. Hermione again assisted him in creating time and proximity-triggered spells by drawing small rune arrays on stickers, which they anchored to the castle for power. After placement, a quick tap of the wand or five seconds of focusing charged the arrays. A notice-me-not hid them, and the fun began anew.

After the disastrous pixie incident, Lockhart wisely abstained from bringing creatures into his classroom, but after Harry enlisted his friends, none of his classes passed without at least a little entertainment. Oblivious to the hidden talismans, the professor stumbled into switching spells (which reversed the layering of his clothes and put his underwear over his outerwear), sticking charms (aimed at different clothing items by which to tether him), vanishing charms (for his flamboyant hats but affected his hairpiece as a side-effect), jelly-legs jinxes, levitation charms (which made re-enactments impossible), water-spout spells (which squirted him at random), and altering spells (which transfigured his robes into a potato sack with holes cut for his limbs).

Usually, someone in his class would take pity on him, but it took longer with each repetition, and the fans who once so admired him found themselves wondering at why he never undid the spells himself. Harry had been very deliberate in picking spells anyone under fourth year could manage. He also deliberately said and did nothing to protest participating in Lockhart's re-enactments whenever he dared move about his classroom. His unflustered reactions further confused the professor, and Harry used each occasion as an opportunity to question Lockhart's account of the adventure in question.

"It's amazing you managed to catch that thing with a tea-strainer," he said blandly after smoothing his robes and stretching after his release from a surprisingly well-done headlock. "And that you got there so quickly. I was reading through Year With the Yeti, and it must have been difficult going back and forth to Nepal that month. I didn't even know the Nepalese had portkey-access."

Lockhart always laughed uncomfortably and either made an absurd explanation or awarded Harry for pointing out the misprint, claiming he would scold his publisher for it later.

"It's a wonder he was a Ravenclaw," Daphne scoffed as they made their way toward the Quidditch Pitch the following Saturday morning.

Tryouts typically drew a large crowd from the castle, and they had departed from breakfast early so as not to fight with the traffic and risk lateness to their own trials. Harry shrugged and repositioned his broom over his other shoulder so he didn't have to speak through the bristles.

"Dad's asked around. Apparently, he's not a complete idiot. Dumbledore said he had a good mind when he came to school, but he was so full of himself he reacted rather badly when he realised he had to work to be lauded as an amazing wizard," Harry explained drily. "He must have spent all his time trying to make himself look good instead of trying to be good. So basically, he's lazy."

Tracy giggled on Daphne's other side, where she walked with their arms linked.

"Makes one wonder how he came up with those stories. Was he also too lazy to think of them himself? Is there a legion of well-paid writers locked in his basement?" she said with all the drama of a wireless commentator.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Draco interjected.

He jogged a little to catch up with them, still strapping on his chaser's gloves.

"He's got an actual Order of Merlin, even if it's third class," he reminded them. "More likely he's taking credit for someone else's achievements, or the Ministry wouldn't have awarded it after the verification process. There have to be witnesses, you know?"

"I suppose it's lucky everything he did happened abroad then, isn't it?" Tracy hummed. "Knowing Fudge's people, they only looked up the words for "vanquished" or "subdued" and for the monster in question before interviewing the locals."

They were still half-joking with wilder and wilder theorisations of how Lockhart game to fame when they reached the pitch, where everyone save Draco and Harry split off toward the stands. The boys had beaten their competition to the changing rooms, so they took their time checking their gear and donning their kits. Harry realised after he pulled up his jodhpurs he had forgotten to get his uniform resized. The legs weren't quite long enough to cover his ankles, and the robe was a lost cause. It fit just tightly enough across his back and under his arms to restrict a full range of motion, so he gave it up as a bad job. When he finished dressing, he looked up to find his friend still in his slacks and dark blue robe.

"What's wrong?"

The blonde ran a hand through his normally well-kept hair, leaving it sticking up in places, and nodded at a half-unwrapped parcel on the bench. Harry settled beside his mate with his broomstick over his shoulder.

"New broom?" he asked casually, eyeing the sleek black handle.

A shining plate tacked to the neck read Nimbus 2001. It was the newest model, an upgrade to Harry's own excellent racing broom.

"One of seven, I expect," Draco said dully. "I'm sure Snape's gotten the others by now and passed them on to Flint."

Harry shrugged.

"You never felt bad about using what you had to get what you wanted before now," he said lightly. "Why so glum?"

"The note."

Draco held up a slip of high quality, hand-pressed stationery embossed with the Malfoy family crest. Harry took it uneasily and read the few lines quickly.

Draco,

Your mother and I wish you the best in today's trials. I'm sure you'll do admirably. As always, watch and listen. I expect you'll witness some excitement fairly soon. I await word of your placement on the team.

-Your Father

He frowned and handed it back, only for the boy to crumple it in his fist.

"It's O.K. if you don't make the team," he hedged, still confused. "They'd get over it if you didn't, but I doubt you wouldn't. Flint's a fanatic, and you're a brilliant chaser."

The blonde gave him a look that very eloquently said Harry was being thick.

"It's not that," he snapped. "It's…"

His expression pinched, and he huffed out a long breath.

"My parents have been fighting a lot lately, all right?" he admitted tersely. "About me, about political things, about everything. Oh, and Father seems to think I befriended you for my personal advancement."

"I know you haven't," Harry quickly interjected.

Draco forewent his usual sarcasm and smiled weakly.

"Anyway," he muttered. "I've advanced enough in occlumency that I can lie to him, and I didn't want to give him something else to blame my mother for, so I went along with it. He trusts my act because I'm careful to tell him things about you and the others, little things that really don't hurt anything, that he could probably learn if he asked someone else, so he thinks I'm still loyal to the cause."

Harry nodded and absently patted the place Kilat usually rested in her little satchel in response to his rising tension, only to realise he'd left her in his room.

"I know how much you've sacrificed to be my friend, Draco," he offered gently. "If it becomes to much, it's okay if you quit. He's still your dad, and he still loves you, no matter how twisted his political ideas might be."

The boy sneered and shook his head.

"It's not that I regret my decision last year. If anything, I'm vindicated. He's a petty man with small-minded ideals." The boy's cool grey eyes glinted as he met Harry's concerned gaze. "Father's unhappy with Weasley – Something to do with the muggle protection act and the ministry raids. He hasn't been able to buy enough votes to stop the raids or the legislation, so he's taken the matter into his own hands."

Draco licked his lips and ran another anxious hand through his hair.

"He was talking about doing something about it all summer. It's going to kill people, probably muggleborns, for all the sense that makes. I think he wants to scare people into siding with him when it comes to a vote next January," he said in a rush. "But the thing is, Mother didn't think Father could control it. She thought it could hurt me. She even threatened to keep me home from school. I thought Father had given it up, but this…"

"Oh," Harry breathed. "Oh!"

The seeker jumped to his feet, and blonde gave him an incredulous glare.

"Glad to see you so excited about murder," Draco muttered mutinously. "I'm serious!"

"Yes, yes, you are!" Harry quickly forced his grin to go away. "It's not that. Do you have an elf named Dobby?"

He blinked.

"What?"

"House elf, bat-like ears, big green eyes, wears a filthy pillowcase-"

The boy nodded and his brows drew together in confusion.

"Dobby came to warn me," Harry elaborated. "I think he knows what it is your dad's doing. Or, at least, enough to be really worried about what's going on. He even stole my letters to make me think you all didn't care for me, after all, so that I wouldn't want to come back."

The boy rubbed his forehead as if to ward of a headache.

"Just… What?"

"Yeah. Didn't say it was logical. The point is he was very concerned," the seeker continued. "Did you notice anything odd before you left for school?"

"Yes, now that you mention it," Draco grumbled. "My books kept disappearing. I had to get my robes fitted twice because the first set somehow got shrunk, and then, on the first, Father had to side-along me to the platform because the floos were malfunctioning. They kept rerouting me to my bedroom."

He laughed disbelievingly.

"I remember, now," he sighed. "Dobby knows you're the reason why I asked Father to let me be in charge of his punishments."

"His punishments?" Harry said sharply.

Draco had the grace to cringe.

"My father's always been cruel to him. I just wasn't brave enough to say anything. I was terrified of being like our 'lessers'," he admitted. "I asked to be in charge of Dobby's punishments to keep him safer. Made him wear fake bandages and such. I had to explain why so he'd stop wondering when I'd change my mind."

Harry felt his belly clench at the thought.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Both boys jumped at the sound of the heavy door slamming against the tiled wall, and Draco hastily threw out the remaining paper and threw on his gear as fast as he could. They rushed to leave the changing room, and Harry threw a bracing arm around his mate's shoulder once they were out of sight of the older boys.

"Don't worry too much," he encouraged him. "We'll figure it out. We'll tell the Doctor, later, and go from there. For now, you've got at least one other person to beat who's been on the team for longer than we've been here."

"That doesn't help," Draco said blandly. "And what can your parents do about? I don't even know what he's doing, really."

Harry shrugged and smiled.

"My dad's dealt with much worse than wizards, before. It'll work out."

"Worse than death eaters?" the blonde scoffed, shouldering his new broom.

"Ever heard of Daleks?"

"No," Draco frowned. "What the hell are those?"

"Kind of like death eaters," Harry explained. "Except, they don't age, really, and they're really, really hard to stop because they're armoured and warded. They can shoot A-K's without a wand, and fly, and see through walls and stuff. There were millions. Non-mags know all about them. Well, all the ones in government do."

Draco's pale brows rose half way up his forehead.

"What happened to them, if they were that horrible?"

"Dad," Harry said simply.

Draco blinked, then grinned, and followed Harry out into the sunshine.

A/N: Ta-dah! I'm shooting for another update within a month. No promises though, still working on my motivation-generators.

Thank you all for your support and kindness, and to everyone else wrestling with invisible illnesses, you've my admiration and encouragement. I know we'll beat this, even if it takes a while. In the meantime, finding a buddy to help locate one's spoons helps a ton.

Love,

Ren