Chapter 7

The Pen

Harry lurched upright with a gasp.

Without his glasses, he couldn't make out any of the dark shapes around him. His heart was in his throat and, he realized rather suddenly, his wand was in his hand.

An abrupt snore from the a few feet away reminded him of where he was. And, more sharply, where he was not.

In his dream, he had been back in the graveyard, Cedric lying dead at his feet as he struggled against the ropes binding him to the gravestone of Tom Riddle Sr. Voldemort's words echoed in his head as he wiped away the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.

Now bow.

It wasn't the first time that he had had such a nightmare. He usually couldn't make it through the night without visiting the graveyard or a strange hallway made of black stone than stretched out in front of him. One was a memory, Harry knew. The other, he thought, must be his minds' manifestation of his anxiety and frustration with how little he knew of Voldemort's plans.

A sharp tap at the window caught Harry's attention and pulled him from the bed. He caught up his glasses from his nightstand and placed them on his nose as he crossed the room to the window.

It was nearly dawn; the sky was a light grey color and looked as though it promised rain later in the day. A small barn owl stood outside on the sill, glaring at Harry as he undid the latch. As soon as the window had been opened, it hopped inside and thrust out it's leg impatiently.

Harry untied the letter from its carrier and the bird nipped him hard on the finger before taking flight and soaring back out of the window.

Harry sucked on his injured finger and turned the letter over curiously in his hands. The parchment was an offending fuchsia color and had the faint smell of a cheap perfume about it. Harry immediately thought that he knew who sent it.

He opened the short scroll and his eyes darted to the bottom of the page before he began reading.

His suspicions were confirmed with the name carved into the letter with enough pressure to emboss the parchment. Rita Skeeter. This was her response to Hermione's letter, then. She had certainly responded quickly. Harry hoped that was a good thing.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I must say, I didn't think that you and your heinous little friends would keep up your end of our bargain- I half expected a hearing of my own. As you can see, I've kept up my end: nothing negative from me in the Daily Prophet- though you certainly don't need my help in gaining negative press coverage.

I cannot say that I am surprised that you have contacted me in your time of great need. You are being absolutely slaughtered by Fudge and the media. I am surprised that it has taken you this long to do anything about it.

I will help you Mr. Potter, but my quill comes at a price.

In return for some friendly press, which you desperately need, I shall require that I have exclusive rights to you. That means that you will take my owls, meet for interviews, smile for pictures, and most importantly, you shall contact me and only me if you are about to do something as stupid as enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

If you accept these terms, write me back with a statement regarding your hearing. I want details, Potter. Make my compliance worth the effort that it will take to bring you back into favorable public opinion.

Rita Skeeter

Harry's eyebrows climbed higher as he read the letter. Skeeter's reluctant compliance was what they had hoped for and expected, given their knowledge of her illegal method of intelligence gathering, but her reply had been more hostile than Harry had expected.

Perhaps they were playing with fire in trying to control the spiteful little woman. It was a gamble, certainly, to trust her to print anything favorable about Harry. And yet, she was really their only hope to combat the Ministry's slander.

They would have to trust her then, Harry decided. He would accept her terms, he didn't find them unreasonable and he didn't think that he could find any other reporter who might be sympathetic or easily controlled.

That thought gave him pause. Controlling Rita Skeeter. It wasn't something that Harry found particularly appealing and it brought to mind a certain blonde family who paid off those who would speak negatively about them. For the second time, Harry considered that this plot was rather underhanded. Ron would call it Slytherin, but then, Ron had helped come up with it…

But the Sorting Hat had said that Harry would do well in Slytherin, that he could be great. Was this what the hat had meant? Was bribery and blackmail the way to greatness?

Did Harry even want to be great?

Another loud snort from Ron's bed interrupted Harry's musings.

No, Harry thought. If he had to use some less than moral tricks to win the war against Voldemort, then he would. He couldn't act like a Gryffindor all the time, it would be foolish to think that he could win with bravery and chivalry as his only weapons. They would be useful in fighting, but Voldemort had weapons like ambition and cunning, which certainly seemed more suited to winning.

As Ron snored in his bed, Harry sat down at the small desk under the window, lit two of the candles on the desk, and pulled a blank sheet of parchment from the top right drawer

Dear Ms. Skeeter, Harry began writing. He paused, glaring at the words as they dried on the page. It sounded so formal. Respectful. Harry gave a snort of his own and pulled out a new sheet of parchment. He tried to think of how Lucius Malfoy, or even Snape would answer the venomous reporter.

Dear Rita,

Your terms are easy to agree to, who else would I want to sing my praises? I am sure that our agreement can work to our mutual benefit and I assure you that as long as you hold up your end, I bear you no ill will.

Below, please see my statement regarding the events that warranted my hearing with the Ministry. I can also give you the names of at least three witnesses, should you like to do a proper job of reporting the incident, though I would prefer that you not name my cousin in the actual story.

My statement is as follows:

Two nights ago, I was walking near my home with my cousin when we were both attacked by dementors. Because we were in a highly populated Muggle area, I was extremely surprised to find two dark creatures, supposedly under Ministry control, roaming a muggle neighborhood.

It was lucky then, that I had the privilege to learn under Mr. Remus Lupin, who tutored me in the Patronus Charm during my third year at Hogwarts, when dementors guarded the school against Sirius Black. I have faint memories of the night that Voldemort attacked me as a baby, and when the dementors are too near, I am forced to hear my mother's death.

Luckily, again, I was able to use the charm to send the dementors away, but my cousin was traumatized. We both escaped with our souls intact, but we were horribly shaken.

My neighbor, Mrs. Arabella Figg felt the chill of the dementors and saw us struggling, though no muggles did, and brought us inside her home, where she fetched a healer from St. Mungo's, named Dohrman. He fixed us up right away with some chocolate.

I have seen what the Prophet has said about me, and I am sad that the Minister has passed judgement upon my character. I have met Minister Fudge before and he seemed to be a kind man. He has not been so kind to me recently.

I am perfectly happy to attend my hearing with the Ministry: I did perform magic outside of school, but I did so in defense of myself and my cousin, who had not method of protection from creatures that he cannot even see. I am confident that the Ministry will get to the truth of the matter, and I plan to offer them my fullest cooperation.

I look forward to reading the finished product and to working with you in the future.

Your colleague,

Harry Potter

Harry set his quill aside and reread the letter. He was rather pleased with what he written. It sounded quite professional and cool. He would still ask Hermione and maybe the twins to look over it before sending it with Hedwig, but he felt that it was quite good- definitely Slytherin.

"What'choo doin' up?" Ron muttered from the other side of the room, making Harry jump. "I's early, mate."

"Writing letters, Ron. It's alright if you want to go back to sleep." Harry called over softly. The redhead nodded and flopped back down in to bed, burying his head under the pillows.

Harry folded his letter and slipped it into the pocket of his pajama pants before padding out of his room and down to the kitchen. He didn't know if anyone else would be up this early, but he could smell coffee brewing and the rumbling in his stomach told him that he needed to find something to eat.

Past the long row of severed elf heads, Harry pushed open the heavy wooden door and slipped into the kitchen. First glance told him it was empty, but a second look showed him a dark figure slumped at the end of the table.

Harry froze, with wide eyes. Severs Snape, Hogwarts' resident Potions Master and dungeon bat, was glaring at Harry through a curtain of greasy hair that looked to be matted with blood.

Both were silent for a long moment before Snape pushed himself further upright in his chair and grunted at Harry.

"Don't just stand there with your mouth open, idiot boy. Make yourself useful." A sharp jerk of his head gestured to the coffee brewing on the stove and Harry hurried to comply, hardly wishing to start his day by angering the bitter man. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood already.

Harry poured the coffee into two mugs and fetched the milk and sugar into a platter before turning back to Professor Snape. The man looked a mess, upon closer inspection. The blood that matted his hair had soaked into the collar of his robes and stained his ear a dark maroon.

"Are you hurt, Professor?" The words had escaped Harry's mouth before he could bite down on them. He had fully intended to give the vile man his coffee and then retreat back to his room so as not to be subjected to his presence.

"A keen observation, Potter. Ever so astute." Snape's words were biting and his eyes were narrow. "Was it the blood that tipped you off?"

"I was asking to see if I could help you." Harry's eyes flicked to the black robes with a pointed hood. There was no silver mask in sight, but Harry couldn't forget the distinctive towering shape of the Death Eater's in the graveyard. "Trying to be decent- though you wouldn't know anything about that… you're a Death Eater." Harry met the man's gaze with hard eyes and his hand on his wand.

"You have no idea what you are talking about, boy." Snape hissed, leaning forward over the table. "As ever, you are too blind to see what is right in front of you. How extraordinary it must be to the moral hero of the light. Where are your adoring fans now, Potter? Have they abandoned you? Realized how insignificant you are-"

Snape's berating was cut short when the fireplace flared a sudden green and Emmeline Vance, the same healer that had double checked Harry not two nights before, swept out of it and directly to Snape.

Her dark eyes glanced between the two before she pulled Snape back from the table and firmly into his chair with more force than Harry had thought capable from such a willowy woman.

"Rough night, Professor?" She asked as her hands carded through Snape's greasy hair, searching out the source of the blood. "Lovely to see you again Harry! I do hope that you've recovered?" She didn't look up at him as she worked, but Harry could hear the warmth in her voice. She didn't seem to have a problem with Snape's attire, in fact, she didn't seem bothered by the man at all.

"Yes, Ma'am, I'm feeling loads better," He said politely, glaring daggers at Snape over the Healer's shoulder. She was dabbing essence of dittany around a cut behind Snape's ear.

"Wonderful! Call me Emmeline, please. If you wouldn't mind, Dear, your professor and I need to have a bit of a meeting. Order business, you know," She glanced from Harry to the door, rather pointedly.

"Potter!" Snape barked. "You would do well not to mention this." The man fixed him with a piercing gaze and Harry suddenly felt that the room was quite heavy, as if the walls were closing in on him. Harry glanced away and the feeling dissipated.

Gathering up his steaming mug of coffee, Harry made a hasty retreat, glad to be rid of Snape. Seeing the surly professor in the kitchen had put quite a damper on his day.

Back in his room, Harry was surprised to find Ron awake. The redhead was stretched out on his bed, a fresh edition of the Daily Prophet spread in front of him. He glanced up when Harry came in.

"Morning, Mate. Up a bit earlier than usual, aren't you?" Ron asked, rolling to make room for Harry to perch next to him on the bed.

"Nightmares. I've also had a letter from Rita, she'll help us, but she really isn't happy about it," Harry explained, taking the letters out of his pants pocket.

"Trade you then," Ron said, scooting the paper towards Harry and taking the offered pieces of parchment in return. "There's a bit of support for you in the letters to the editor. Mind you, it's not much, probably someone from the Order, but at least you've got someone on your side, eh?"

Harry grunted an affirmative and flipped to the back of the paper, in search of the letter in question. He found it and read it quickly, with a small smile on his face. It was rather long winded well laid out, though it also attributed the Ministry's lapse in control of the dementors to a creature that Harry wasn't familiar with, Wrackspurts, which apparently had made Fudge's brain go fuzzy. It was rather funny, and it did do a fair bit to lift Harry's spirits after his row with Snape. Which reminded him…

"Why's Snape here?" He asked. Ron gave on long groan in reply.

"Bloody git's been popping in all summer, for the important meetings and such. He and Sirius usually have a go at each other before Lupin or Mum breaks them up. Never stays long, though, thank Merlin."

"He's in the Order?" Harry's eyebrows rose quickly.

"Yeah, not sure what he does or why we need him, though. Maybe he brews potions for the Healers? I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't a spy though, the greasy git might as well have 'Death Eater' stamped across his left arm," Ron said.

Harry nearly confirmed Ron's suspicion but the memory of Snape's glare and the oppressive feeling stopped him. Snape had been quite serious in his waring, Harry thought.

"He was a right mess when I saw him: covered in blood, looked like he was about to faint before Emmeline flooed in," Harry said instead.

"Well, whatever it was that got him, I wish he would have tried harder!" Ron groused. "Imagine! Hogwarts without Potions or Snape! The Slytherins wouldn't know what to do with themselves without the great bat favoring them all the time."

Harry only nodded, still pondering Snape's sudden appearance, his mysterious wounds, and Emmeline's acceptance of his Death Eater robes. There was something more happening, he was sure, and Snape was at the center of it.

"Well, Mate," Ron said as he swung his legs out of bed to stretch. "Mum's got us slated to start cleaning the place up again this afternoon. We'd best get down to breakfast before the twins if we want anything before lunch!" Ron was pulling on jeans and ratty shirt from his trunk.

Harry tucked his thoughts away for the moment and got up to join his friend for what he hoped would be a more normal day than his week had thus far allowed.