Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN:
This is a very long chapter, with many things happening as we approach the end of first year, finally!
ENJOY!
Part I: Chapter 30
On the morning of March fifteenth, Harry woke up feeling full of excitement and in a very cheerful disposition. He donned his Slytherin uniform and followed his housemates into the Great Hall for breakfast with much enthusiasm.
Nearly bouncing on his seat as he munched down eggs and sausages, he waited for The Daily Prophet. Alas, he was greatly disappointed when the flock of owls swept in and dropped the newspapers to their subscribers. Tom's copy of The Daily Prophet had no newsworthy article on the front page.
Nevertheless, Harry didn't fail to notice that there were several students around him who had also waited for the newspaper with great expectations. Alphard's brother who was in third year, Cygnus, had looked extremely disappointed when reading his Daily Prophet. Similarly, Abraxas Malfoy had a displeased, impatient expression on his pale, handsome face. Both boys had clearly been informed, during their Winter Holidays, of what would be happening on that day.
The other two boys who had read their newspapers with great intensity were Tom and Alphard, which hadn't surprised Harry one bit.
After all, he had been the one to tell Tom about the things he had overheard when he had been in Phineas Nigellus' portrait in the Blacks' townhouse of Grimmauld Place, while Alphard had been with him under Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak when Dumbledore had his conversation with Minister Charlemagne McLaggen in the middle of Hogsmeade's main street.
After that day, Alphard and Harry hadn't discussed again all the things they had overheard when Dumbledore had spoken to his brother Aberforth, or with McLaggen afterwards. The first conversation had left them too flummoxed and uncertain about what to truly believe, while the other had greatly satisfied and calmed down Harry.
However, it seemed to have left Alphard a tad worried and apprehensive, but Harry hadn't pressed his friend to know the reason for it and the boy hadn't offered an explanation either.
It was thus that in the two classes he had following breakfast, Harry had been very absentminded and distracted.
For the first time, he barely paid attention in Charms, and in Potions he had nearly made his concoction explode if it wasn't for Tom, who had instantly grabbed his wrist when Harry was about to throw fairy wings in his cauldron instead of beetle eyes.
"Focus on what you're doing!" Tom hissed out under his breath as he pulled Harry's hand away from the cauldron. He shot him an extremely annoyed look as he added in sharp whisper, "We won't know what has happened today until later in the evening or tomorrow, at best. So concentrate on your task, you dimwit!"
Harry hadn't retorted. His brother had been in a foul mood since crawling out of his bed, surely because Tom had noticed, just like Harry, how Dumbledore had been missing very frequently from the Great Hall in the last couple of weeks, which they both knew had to mean that the wizard was very busy in making preparations to thwart Grindelwald.
Harry didn't fully know what to expect. But after hearing about the so-called 'Order of the Phoenix' that McLaggen had mentioned so angrily, it was evident that Dumbledore had followers and fighters of his own.
So perhaps Dumbledore and his Order were out there, battling against Grindelwald and his forces. Maybe, just as he was stirring his brew with a rod, Dumbledore was engaged in a full-blown duel with Grindelwald. Perhaps the wizard would even kill Grindelwald! That's what Dumbledore's brother had wanted, wasn't it? And Harry wouldn't mind, for once, that someone was killed.
The Prewett twins fully believed that Grindelwald was evil, a danger to everyone, and thus had to be stopped. On the other hand, Tom admired the wizard greatly and thought that Grindelwald's ideals -about wizarding superiority and his intention of subduing muggleborns and muggles to establish wizarding kind as the masters and rulers of the world- were great, 'logical and very sensible', as Tom had once put it. His brother was just weird in that way.
Harry, for his part, was simply worried about the fate of those whom Grindelwald was trying to conquer and about the man's weird interest in Tom and him. Hence, if Dumbledore offed the dark wizard, he would have one less concern on his mind.
Moreover, if Dumbledore just thwarted Grindelwald it would be good enough as well, since Harry had every intention of asking Dumbledore to Legilimize him so that the wizard would know about Grindelwald's letter and books, and could thus help Tom and him to get out of that trap.
It was during lunch that he was finally apprised of what had occurred that morning.
Dumbledore was still missing from the Staff's Table -which Harry optimistically took as a good sign- and most students were utterly startled when another flock of owls flew into the Great Hall, dropping 'The Daily Prophet: Special Edition!'.
Harry choked on his goblet of pumpkin juice as he caught sight of the front page's title of his brother's newspaper: 'The Dark Lord Strikes Again!'.
"Dark Lord! What Dark Lord?" was the first cry, sounding shocked, alarmed, and full of disbelief, that broke the silence of the Great Hall as students stared dumbstruck at their Daily Prophets.
The flabbergasted yell seemed to break the dam, and screams and shouts and cries meshed together in an incomprehensible cacophony. Even the Slytherins looked surprised and had much to say.
"He's taken over Czechoslovakia…. but why so openly?"
"Oh, so now the Daily Prophet says that they knew all along that Grindelwald wasn't just the German Minister of Magic but also a new Dark Lord with 'heinous intentions'?" said Orion Black with a scathing snort. "As if they hadn't been calling the fool of Dumbledore an alarmist warmonger who was only making up stories about a Dark Lord because he was after McLaggen's job…"
"The Hungarians have allied themselves with the Dark Lord – he struck with joined forces!" breathed out Capricia Carrow, looking ecstatic with joy.
"This doesn't make any sense," muttered Priscilla Pucey, frowning deeply as her gaze scanned the article. "I thought it would be like what he did in Austria. Why reveal himself as the Dark Lord so soon?"
"Because he wants open war to begin," drawled Abraxas Malfoy in his lilting voice, his silver eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "This was his plan all along, Pucey. He has finally upped his game."
Meanwhile, Harry was nearly on top of Tom as they both read the article. With his face drawn out of all color, his heart suddenly thundering hard in his chest to then drop, and his stomach twisting and coiling sickly, feeling such a surge of crushing emotions that he couldn't even speak, just feverishly read with wide eyes, he learned about everything that had happened.
The Daily Prophet began by stating that they had always believed Dumbledore's claims regarding the German Minister of Magic. That they had always thought it was very suspicious how Austria had willingly annexed itself to Germany; that they had known there had been foul play when the Austrian Minister of Magic suddenly dropped dead from some illness and the Ministry was quick to allow Grindelwald to become their Minister as well as Germany's.
Yes, The Daily Prophet had known all along and were now bringing the exclusive news that the Dark Lord had struck again and conquered Czechoslovakia in a few hours, making use of his muggle German forces, his countless followers, and the Hungarians –since the muggles of that country had allied themselves with the Dark Lord's 'minion, a funny-looking muggle called Adolf Hitler', while their Ministry of Magic had made a treaty of allegiance with Grindelwald.
The Germans had invaded the regions of Bohemia and Moravia, which had become part of the Third Reich, whilst the Hungarians had taken over the Carpatho-Ukraine region and were moving onto the Slovakian one. Czechoslovakia had thus been divided between them and ceased to exist as a country.
All done in one morning, which proved Dumbledore's claims in the Wizengamot that Grindelwald had been breaking all sorts of international laws by infusing Pepper-Up and Strengthening Potions in the food and water supplies of muggle German soldiers – which, of course, the Daily Prophet had believed all along.
Thousands of muggles who resisted the invasion had been killed and about a hundred wizards of the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic who, unlike the Austrians, hadn't surrendered but battled fiercely. They had been no match against the numbers of Grindelwald's followers and Hungarian wizards, even though one Ministry of Europe had answered the Czechoslovakians' call for help.
Indeed, while the Slytherins quietly whispered amongst themselves with much excitement, as the rest of the students broke into a pandemonium of terrified yells, tearful or dismayed cries, and shouts of disbelief, fear, and alarm, the teachers at the Staff's Table looking too shocked and surprised to do anything other than murmur hastily, discussing the article among themselves, Harry kept reading, petrified, feeling as if he had been struck by a lightning bolt, and learned more.
It seemed that Mr. Jerabek, the Czechoslovakian Minister of Magic, had been making Floo calls to his counterparts in Europe for the last couple of weeks, desperately trying to form allegiances.
The Daily Prophet claimed it was due to Dumbledore's instigation, since the wizard had been seen visiting every Ministry of Magic in Europe to convince them of the danger posed by the Dark Lord Grindelwald.
Jerabek had been one Minister to believe him and the wizard had attempted to take measures to be prepared for an invasion. The article speculated much of how Dumbledore could have known about the attack on the country beforehand.
At that, Harry's heart skipped a beat with frantic apprehension. He knew the answer to that: he knew who was working as Dumbledore's spy in Grindelwald's ranks. And his anxiousness, distress, crushing guilt and devastation only increased as he frenziedly wondered what could have happened to the young wizard he had never met but couldn't stop thinking about.
Had Julian Erlichmann's role as a spy been discovered after this? Was he still even alive?
Harry's teeth sunk into his bottom lip, making them bleed, as he kept reading, his breathing haggard and slow.
Only the Bulgarians had answered Jerabek's call for help, and as Grindelwald's forces attacked the Ministry, Bulgarian Aurors had flooed into the building, lead by their Head Auror, Valko Krum. They had all been killed, outmatched and vastly outnumbered.
After over a hundred wizards and witches had died in the Ministry, Jerabek had finally surrendered to the Dark Lord.
"Oh, that's Julian Erlichmann! He's so handsome!" gushed out Druella Rosier suddenly.
Harry's heart stilled as he snapped his head up to stare at her, seeing that the pretty girl was gazing with adoring eyes at the next page of her Daily Prophet.
With his heart pumping frenziedly once more, he didn't even ask Tom if he was done reading the first page and quickly flipped the newspaper unto the next.
It was filled with moving pictures, the very first showing a wizard who could only be Jerabek: on his knees, his head hanging low, his robes bloodied and filled with gashes, as the wizard upheld a wand in his hands and broke it.
Before him stood Grindelwald, whom Harry instantly recognized from other pictures that had been in The Daily Prophet: the wizard was dressed in pristine and impeccable robes, looking imposing and magnificent, with a crooked smirk on his face as he accepted the broken pieces of Jarebek's wand, a symbolic gesture of surrender the Dark Lord must have demanded.
And then, Harry finally saw him for the first time: a young wizard standing right next to Grindelwald, with short auburn hair, sky blue eyes, and a boyishly handsome features. There were signs of battle on his robes and even face, which had a wound on the cheek, yet he wore a stoic and solemn expression as he witnessed the Czechoslovakian Minister of Magic's submission.
It had to be Julian Erlichmann, and he was alive and well.
For a moment, Harry felt he could breathe again, yet as he kept staring at the picture, replaying itself, he believed he noticed something in Julian's eyes. For a flicker of a second, they seemed to be filled with sorrow, consuming guilt, and broken defeat, as if he was a trapped man who had given up all hope. And Harry thought he understood, because Dumbledore had done nothing, and it could only mean that Julian was still required to be a spy.
However, Julian Erlichmann's sky blue eyes went back to be impassive the following instant, and Harry doubted himself. Perhaps he had just imagined it, as a reflection of the crushing emotions he was feeling.
"Very clever," he suddenly heard Tom mutter under his breath, his tone sounding admiring and gleeful, "to reveal so much to the papers… Grindelwald must have paid a journalist to bear as witness, and take pictures and notes as the attack was launched… After this, no one will dare oppose him…"
Harry understood what his brother was speaking about when he tore his gaze from Julian Erlichmann and glanced at the next moving picture.
It showed what looked like a derelict, abandoned old factory, surrounded by several tanks and many soldiers in Nazi uniforms, most of them looking bored or annoyed. The note beneath the photo explained that the factory was in fact the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic, and that the German muggle soldiers were unwittingly sieging it; 'their commanders were under the Dark Lord's Imperius Curse! Tactic first employed in Austria!'.
Then he gazed at the following picture and frowned with puzzlement, disconcerted by the weird-looking figures that seemed to be attacking Ministry officials, leaping on them so quickly that they were mere blurs in the photo. The only thing that could be seen were flashes of jagged teeth and claws ripping into wizards and witches that were attempting to flee or defend themselves with spells.
Just then, Neron Lestrange said with much vicious relish, "The Dark Lord used Inferi!"
"They don't look like the Inferi I've heard about," remarked Orion Black, frowning deeply, staring at the same picture Harry was trying to understand. "Inferi are slow, not-"
"They're a new breed created by the Dark Lord himself, it says," gasped out Priscilla Pucey, her tone awed and fascinated. "In fact, they think they were the Austrian families that had disappeared – the family members of those who had resigned or had been sacked when the Dark Lord took over the Austrian Ministry of Magic!"
"Those weren't dismissed from their jobs, and certainly didn't resign," interjected Abraxas Malfoy, superiorly smirking at them. "They were killed because they fought back." He gestured at the picture with a smooth, poised motion of a hand. "My grandfather told me the Dark Lord's followers went after their families, to make an example out of them. Now people will know - those who oppose the Dark Lord will pay the price not only with death but also by having their families end up as these new Inferi."
The Slytherins around the boy stared at Abraxas with wide, amazed, transfixed gazes, while Harry kept frowning at the picture, trying to understand what his housemates were talking about: what did they mean by 'Inferi'?
He couldn't distinguish much, but just then, one of those blurry things slowed down in the photo, snapping its head up, and Harry choked and his stomach plummeted and churned sickly when he saw some cadaveric creature of greyish skin that hung and looked rotten, with entrails spilling out from a huge gap, as if some animal had bitten out a large chunk of its belly or something had clawed its way out of it.
As ravaged as the frightening-looking creature was, it vaguely resembled a woman, with long, tangled, and dirty streaks of auburn hair hanging from a scalp that was bald in patches.
"NO! Aunt Nettie!" The distraught cry broke over all the other voices that had been filled with horror and fear and choked sobs as the students kept reading the article and came upon the pictures.
Harry glanced up with startled eyes, having recognized the voice, and his face drained from all color and his body froze as he caught sight of Felicity Prewett, looking wretched and devastated as she trembled and cried and sobbed on her twin's chest, while Felix looked shocked into speechlessness, as white as a sheet of paper, jerkily patting Felicity on the back in some mechanic attempt at comfort.
With the realization slowly sinking in his mind, Harry's horrified gaze flickered from the picture to the twins and back.
And suddenly, just as Alphard whispered under his breath in a frail, weak voice, "... but… Dumbledore knew beforehand….", voicing precisely one of Harry's thoughts that kept reverberating in his mind with hammering force, the boy gazing uncomprehendingly at Harry with big grey eyes, as if silently pleading to be given an explanation, and as Felicity's sobs became louder and more disconsolate, and just as Headmaster Dippet finally rose from the Staff's Table and opened to his mouth to calm down the students and have some order back, it all became too much, and Harry abruptly shot to his feel, dizzily swaying for a moment, before he dashed out of the Great Hall.
He heard Tom calling out after him, but he didn't stop.
He felt tears blurring his sight as he ran out the front doors of Hogwarts, as he kept seeing in his mind flashes of what the twins' aunt had become, of Julian Erlichmann's eyes and the emotions he thought he had seen there, of the details and description and account of how many had been killed, and his throat tightened into a painful knot as his chest began to heave choked breaths.
Suddenly, Harry slammed into someone hastily rushing towards the school in big strides. He was nearly knocked over but a hand grabbed him gently by the arm, steadying him.
"Mr. Riddle," said a voice, sounding concerned. "Are you quite well, my dear boy?"
Harry peered up, managing to see the wizard's face through the tears in his eyes that had started rolling down his cheeks, and he felt such a sudden surge of fury that he couldn't speak.
Albus Dumbledore was gazing down at him worriedly. And the wizard looked awful, just as when Harry had seen him talking with his brother Aberforth in Hogsmeade: with shoulders slumped forward as if he was carrying an insurmountable burden, with a pale and gaunt face, stricken by some deep emotions. Yet, there was not a single scratch on the man's face or a gash or tear on the wizard's robes. Dumbledore wasn't coming from any battle.
It was that which made Harry be able to speak through the knot constricting his throat like merciless iron claws, his anger great and fierce because he had put all his hopes on the wizard before him and had been profoundly crushed and let down.
"You knew!" Harry chocked out in a hoarse, haggard voice, glowering up at Dumbledore with an accusing, furious gaze. "I know you knew because Julian Erlichmann is your spy and he must've told you! I know you knew because you told Minister McLaggen the exact date! And you did nothing!"
Any gentleness in Dumbledore's expression vanished, his face turning grave and stern, as the wizard placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and began to herd him. "Let us get inside the castle and you and I will have a conversation that has been long due-"
"No!" cried out Harry, violently ripping himself from the wizard's grasp, instantly spinning around and dashing away as if escaping the clutches of some great monster.
"Mr. Riddle!" called Dumbledore after him, sounding highly troubled and concerned.
Yet Harry kept running because he didn't want to hear any explanations and empty excuses. He wouldn't be able to endure it. As much as he blamed Dumbledore, it had been his fault too. All those terrible deaths were on him and Dumbledore, and the thought of it was unbearable.
Harry had run and run until the tears streaming down his face and the heaved sobs choking out from his throat had been so much that he had stumbled and tripped and nearly landed on his face. He had found himself on the bridge that crossed the Black Lake and led to Hogsmeade, and he had slumped down on the wooden floorboards there, sinking his face on knees folded against his chest.
He had never felt so miserable, distraught, and wretched in his life, as if one of those Dementor creatures the Prewett twins had told him about had sucked everything out of him, any sparkle of positive feelings or lingering hope, and he had been left as a grief-stricken mass of endless shuddery sobs.
He had tried to calm himself down, to stop crying, but it had been to no avail. Those pictures of The Daily Prophet were branded with fire in his mind, and the shouts and screams of the students and Felicity's sobs rang in his ears, like hammers pounding on an anvil, every strike battering unforgiving, truthful words: 'You knew and did nothing, too'.
"It's not your fault."
Harry snapped his head up from his knees, yet didn't gasp in surprise as he would have done in any other circumstances. Indeed, he saw Santi crouching right before him, as if the strange man had appeared out of thin air, shimmering in faint golden light, but Harry merely stared at him numbly with bloodshed, puffy eyes.
"It's not your fault," repeated Santi, his expression sympathetic and his tone soft and soothing, as he sat before Harry, crossing his legs and opening his arms, the offer and appeal implicit.
Harry knew what that entreating gesture meant and for once he didn't care about how angry he had been at Santi or about how little he knew about the weird young man.
He only remembered that dream about the mysterious, beautiful woman who always cradled him with profound love and sang Alice's lullaby to him, and those fingers that had caressed his hair and scar and cheek, and he had woken up to realize that it had been Santi who had been touching him so gently and calling out his name with such longing at first, to then say it more forcefully to wake him up.
And all of a sudden, he wanted that again: that warmth and strange feeling of belonging he had felt in the dream as Santi's hand had caressed and cupped his cheek.
Without a thought, he unfolded his knees and sank forward into welcoming arms that quickly embraced him tightly as Harry choked and muffled his sobs against Santi's chest. He frantically clutched the man's shirt with his small hands, abruptly needing the close contact and solace the warm body offered, whilst Santi tenderly caressed his hair, murmuring soft, comforting words into his ear.
As he heaved out his unrelenting, distraught sobs, Harry didn't even question when Santi began to sing Alice's lullaby to him in a soft whisper. He didn't pause to wonder how Santi could know it, he just felt the assuaging effects. Slowly, he began to feel soothed, and his sobs halted to become silent streams of tears that soon dried out and merely left him sniffling and hiccupping, feeling suddenly peaceful, as if something inside him that had been frantic had finally settled itself, calmly and placidly.
Harry curled himself up in Santi's embracing arms, feeling completely languid and relaxed, as he let out a soft sigh and rested his forehead on the man's chest. He felt like in his dreams, enveloped and snuggly surrounded by warmth, tranquility, and cottony softness that simply felt so right.
"There you are! Why are you rocking yourself like a deranged dimwit?"
Harry was so startled by the sharp, angered voice that he jerked backwards from Santi's embrace, flushing with embarrassment and mortification at being caught cuddling like a toddler.
Tom was standing before them, with a darkly annoyed expression on his face, looking at him as if he was some sort of lunatic.
And then, his brother's words sank in and Harry blinked, dumbfounded. He hadn't been rocking himself, Santi had been rocking him. And yet Tom was towering over them, looking straight through Santi as if the man wasn't there, his dark blue gaze piercing Harry quizzically and with impatience.
Harry gaped incredulously, his gaze flickering from Santi to Tom and back.
"He cannot see me or hear me," said Santi, his lips tilting upwards in a shadow of a grin. Then he shot Tom a glance, looking angered or irked at the boy's presence and interruption.
"What are you gawking at?" demanded Tom frowning, following the direction of Harry's gaze and then glancing around, befuddled, before he turned back to Harry and snapped sharply, "What's the matter with you?"
Harry was struck speechless, blinking uncomprehendingly, and Santi chortled as he rose to his feet.
"I'll leave you two alone," said Santi, his lips twisting wryly, not looking too pleased with the situation.
The man then leaned down, and for a moment Harry thought Santi was going to kiss him on the head, which would have been beyond strange. Yet the man did something just as weird instead: he trailed a finger along Harry's scar, the touch caressing, tender, and gentle, yet Santi's face looked both pensive and annoyed, as if there was something about the scar that bothered him greatly.
"I'll see you soon," Santi murmured, giving Harry one last soft, lingering look before he simply disappeared in the next instant.
"It has addled your pitiful brain, I see," bit out Tom, scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Harry.
"What?" said Harry, still utterly disconcerted, his gaze fixed on the empty space Santi had left behind. It had been by far the most peculiar interaction he had had with the man - and with his brother in the mix, it felt too bizarre.
"This," said Tom impatiently, yanking out from his robes' pocket his rolled up Daily Prophet to pointedly wave it before Harry. He glowered at him as he added shortly, "You have taken the news badly, evidently." He shot him a disgusted look. "And you rushed out of the Great Hall to come here to cry like a little bitty baby."
Tom paused, leaning down to grab Harry's chin and inspect his face closely. In the next moment he let go, his eyes locking with Harry's as he scoffed snidely, "Yes, you have been crying." He shook his head angrily. "You're such a pathetic idiot. You're blaming yourself. It's not your fault!"
At that - the same words Santi had spoken- Harry let out a mirthless bout of laughter, finding the situation surreal.
"You've lost your marbles," groused out Tom under his breath, disparagingly and scathingly, eyeing him carefully as if to ascertain the degree of Harry's mental trauma, and scowling at him as if fully blaming Harry for the things he made Tom do.
Apparently, Tom came to the conclusion that the situation was dire and wouldn't be resolved with a few sharp words, since he then shot the wood boards of the bridge's floor a look of distaste before he heaved a displeased sigh and sat himself down, crossing his legs - right where Santi had been, which made Harry chuckle hollowly even more.
"Stop laughing like a loon!" snapped Tom incensed. He unfurled his Daily Prophet and slammed it on the floor. "What happened wasn't your fault!" He poked Harry's forehead with a finger, hard, as he added impatiently, "Do you hear, you thickheaded fool? "
Harry choked on his last chuckle before he fiercely shook his head and opened his mouth.
"Yes, yes," said Tom impatiently, not giving him a chance to speak, "I know you're feeling guilty." He gave him a contemptuous look. "You just love to feel responsible for things you are not!"
"I am responsible," muttered Harry quietly. He glumly gestured at the newspaper lying between them, and added with his heart in his throat, "Thousands of muggles died-"
"So what?" interjected Tom, waving a hand dismissively. "There are too many of them as it is." He scowled and sneered acidly, "They breed like rats."
Harry glared daggers at him, but ignored the comment and continued, his voice low and dejected, "And over a hundred wizards and witches-"
"Who deserved it fully for being imbeciles!" bit out Tom caustically. "They should have surrendered instantly instead of opposing Grindelwald." He gestured sharply at the Daily Prophet, skewering him with his dark blue gaze. "This was my point all along. See how easily the Dark Lord has taken over another country? See why I said that it's best for us to play his game and be on his side? What happened proves it."
"It proves nothing except that I should have done something," barked Harry angrily, his small hands clenching into fists, "just as Dumbledore should've too, because we both knew the date on which Czechoslovakia would be attacked and we didn't prevent it!"
Tom pierced him with narrowed eyes, as he hissed out poignantly, "So you blame me as well, I suppose? Because I made you choose-"
"I don't blame you," interrupted Harry, shaking his head with exasperation. "I know that when you made me take that oath it was because you thought you were doing what was best for us. You made me choose between preventing you from telling Grindelwald about Julian Erlichmann being Dumbledore's spy or try to save the Czechs by telling someone about the secret meeting I witnessed when I was in Phineas Nigellus' portrait, because you didn't want me to do something stupid."
He pinned his brother with his gaze, as he added quietly, "And I don't regret saving Julian. I would choose him all over again." He paused, to then grit out, unforgivingly angry at himself, "But don't you see? I let you convince me how silly anything I could do to prevent the attack would be – because if I wrote to McLaggen or the Ministry of Magic, they wouldn't believe a schoolboy or would ask me a load of questions I couldn't answer, and because if I wrote to Churchill, I would be breaking the Statute of Secrecy and could get expelled from Hogwarts."
"And all of that is true," said Tom sharply, glowering impatiently at him, to then add with much scornful snide, "The risks and costs to you, for just letting you feel like a little hero by saving those people, was too high."
Harry let out a frustrated sigh, carding his fingers through his disorderly hair. "You and I will never see eye-to-eye about these kind of things." He shook his head mournfully and despondently. "I would have gladly put up with any consequences and costs, Tom, if it meant the attack would have been fully stopped." His jaw clenched as he peered up at his brother, and said with fierce determination, "But I've learned my lesson. Next time, I'll do what I feel is right no matter what you say, because your priorities will always be different than mine."
Tom looked troubled for a moment, his eyes narrowing with anger, but then seemed to decide that Harry's new resolve would cause no problems for them. He waved a hand dismissively, as he scoffed and drawled loftily, "You found out about the date by mere chance. There won't be a next time."
Harry said nothing to that because he wasn't about to tell his brother about the plan that had begun to form in his mind.
He had Tom to thank for the idea, due to one of his brother's bouts of envy, but Tom certainly wouldn't be too pleased if he found out what Harry was plotting. It would involve much research, but above all, a trip to Diagon Alley. And for that, he would have to wait for their summer holidays – perhaps he would tell Tom then, since he would need his brother's galleons.
The guilt weighed heavily on Harry after what happened to Czechoslovakia, but his new firm resolution served to alleviate some bit of it. Although, it was impossible for him to forget because the school didn't.
The change in Hogwarts was immediate and drastic: great fear was palpable in the air. The students didn't go about being bubbly and carefree, but were quiet and subdued, filled with anxiousness and apprehension every time owls flew in to deliver The Daily Prophet.
The news in subsequent weeks were dismal. Now the whole of Europe was aware that Grindelwald was a Dark Lord and everyone was quaking with terror: the Ministers of Magic scrambling, at their wits end, trying to devise some way for their countries to be spared.
"I bet most of them are already secretly negotiating agreements of allegiance with the Dark Lord," Tom had remarked with much smugness and glee, before he drawled contemptuously, "Politicians are just like that, little brother. Out to save their own skins, always remember that."
Harry had evidence of it when Charlemagne McLaggen had given an interview to The Daily Prophet, reassuring the wizarding community that he had always been working with Dumbledore behind the scenes. And of course that when he had vetoed Dumbledore's law in the Wizengamot and openly stated that Dumbledore's claims about the German Minister of Magic being a Dark Lord were utter lies, he had only done it to confuse Grindelwald and make the wizard believe that the Ministry was at odds with Dumbledore. It was all part of a strategic plan to outsmart and befuddle the Dark Lord!
McLaggen had attached himself to Dumbledore like a desperate leech, since in the eyes of the wizarding community Dumbledore had been vindicated and they all fully supported him now. The Daily Prophet no longer described him as a dotty, batty wizard who cried out wolf because he was an ambitious schoolteacher who wanted to become Minister. Dumbledore had become their pet mascot, the new hero, his many accomplishments now rehashed and extolled.
Indeed, one of their front page articles had cried out: 'Dumbledore will save us all!', which had apparently been said by a member of the Wizengamot, one of those who had been in McLaggen's faction and most vocal when excoriating Dumbledore with virulent vitriol.
The press had become so hungry for Dumbledore that journalists crowded the outer gates of Hogwarts during all days and hours, to such point that the trips to Hogsmeade for the upper years had been cancelled because the carriages couldn't pass through without students being assaulted by wizards and witches with photo cameras and Quick-Quotes Quills.
Through it all, Dumbledore seemed unaffected, pleasantly and politely ignoring his sycophantic fans who had started to demand and expect him to solve all the problems in the world. Even the students in Hogwarts looked at their Transfiguration Professor with new eyes, shinning with desperate hope. And Dumbledore remained his usual self, gentle and calm, teaching his class as if not noticing the tension and fear that hung above everyone like a suffocating mantle.
However, the wizard did try something out of the norm: he attempted to speak to Harry when crossing paths in the corridors or even by asking him to remain after class, to discuss one of Harry's essays, allegedly.
His hurt and fury at Dumbledore not having been abated one smidgen, Harry always churlishly ignored such attempts.
"He might end up giving you detention with him," Tom had bit out angrily, his eyes narrowing to slits, "just to force you to speak with him."
Tom was a teacher's pet with all professors, charming them by being brilliant, answering all questions, handing in flawless essays and by being noble, humble, soft-spoken and impeccably well-mannered – with everyone but Dumbledore, whom he had always treated with frosty politeness.
Harry perfectly knew why. Dumbledore had seen Tom's true self when the wizard had visited them at the orphanage and no amount of faked charming and gallant ways from Tom's part would make the wizard forget. Not that Tom had ever tried to employ such tactics on Dumbledore, as he did will all the rest. His brother had always mistrusted the wizard from the start, and it had grown into full-blown despise and hatred the more Dumbledore attempted to speak to Harry.
And Tom being Tom, had fully taken advantage of Harry's ill feelings towards the wizard and the chance of manipulation to suit his own purposes, by hissing out poignantly, "Never forget how much Dumbledore has disappointed you, little brother. All those deaths you cried about were his fault."
Harry coolly ignored such comments, as he did every time Tom gleefully rejoiced when reading news about Grindelwald's subsequent little triumphs, pointing them out to Harry to convince him they were on the 'right side'.
Nevertheless, Harry's plan of asking Dumbledore to Legilimize him had flown out the window. If Dumbledore hadn't confronted Grindelwald when the man's own brother had asked for the Dark Lord's death and when Czechs' lives had been on the line, what would Dumbledore do to help Harry break the ties Grindelwald had forged by sending his letter and Durmstrang books? Nothing, was the answer Harry was certain about. He could no longer rely on Dumbledore; he had that very clear.
From Alice's newspapers clippings to Tom, they learned that the situation in the Muggle World was just as bad. With the invasion and conquest of Czechoslovakia, Hitler had broken the Munich Agreement that Neville Chamberlain had been so proud of, and now Winston Churchill was no longer a cantankerous, alcoholic old man, and warmonger whose good days in politics were long gone, but the new rising star.
Muggle Britain was in a panic, accusing Chamberlain of naiveté, cowardice, and of having appeased the Germans without yielding any good results while they demanded for Churchill to be given a significant post in the government.
Harry rather pitied Chamberlain; the muggle now knew that all the troubles were being caused by a wizard yet couldn't tell his voters. He was certain the poor sod was going to be unceremoniously kicked to the curb as soon as it was time for new elections for Prime Minister.
Nevertheless, he stopped worrying about the muggles as Alice kept writing, insisting all was well back home, despite the current mood of anxiousness and fear in London.
Indeed, he had to deal, in his own flesh, with the changes in Hogwarts. He had had an inkling of just how bad things would become merely three days after the news in The Daily Prophet regarding Czechoslovakia.
Harry had noticed that Felicity had been absent from all the classes Slytherins and Gryffindors shared together, and one day after class, he had halted Felix, asking after her. The boy hadn't looked well: all his mischievousness and joking and carefree disposition had been gone, currently always looking pale and withdrawn.
"You know what happened to our Aunt Nettie, right?" said Felix in a small, stricken voice. He shook his head, becoming alive for one brief moment with anger. "Everyone saw the picture, everyone's talking about it – how that despicable dark wizard…." His hands clenched into fists that trembled, his teeth clenching hard, as he bit out, "How Grindelwald made her an Inferi."
After hatefully and violently spitting the words, the boy deflated, his shoulders slumping dejectedly, his mismatched eyes turning dull, as he added in a crestfallen murmur, "Felicity was very close to her and doesn't stop crying, mourning her. That's why she hasn't been coming to class." He shot Harry a desperate look. "I've tried everything! I don't know what else to do or say to comfort her. She just sits there in our common room, refusing to come out. She's only eating because I'm bringing her food!" The boy's mismatched eyes suddenly sparkled as he tightly clutched Harry's arm, frantic and hopeful. "Maybe you should go see her! Maybe she'll pay attention to you!"
Extremely worried, Harry had instantly agreed. Felix had given him the week's new password for the Fat Lady, but his attempt had been thwarted as soon as he climbed through the portrait hole. The moment Harry had stepped into red and gold common room, his path had been instantly blocked by a seventh-year Gryffindor.
The tall, burly boy had grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, without even letting Harry say a word, as he spat out with fury and hatred, "No Slytherins will ever be allowed here again! Go back to your slimy nest of snakes!"
Harry had been thrown back through the portrait hole with such violent strength that he had nearly flown through the air, smashing his wrist against the balustrade of the moving stairs opposite to the Fat Lady.
Tom's expression had been murderous when he had seen Harry's bandages. Harry's wrist had been throbbing so unbearably painfully that he had had no other resort but to go to the Infirmary. Miss Nightingale, the school's Mediwitch, had healed his broken wrist in a jiffy, though nevertheless wrapped it with a tight bandage so that Harry wouldn't move his tender wrist too much in the following days.
"Who hurt you?" hissed out Tom demandingly, looking furious beyond measure, his dark blue gaze fixed on him.
Harry shook his head, refusing to give the boy's name. He didn't want his brother to attack anyone and get in trouble, and it was his own problem to deal with. Moreover, he first wanted to comprehend what had happened.
Frowning at his bandaged wrist, he murmured quietly, "I don't get it. The Gryffindors warmed up to me after I was with them in the Quidditch stands, cheering for their team. They haven't been grumbling when they saw me with the twins in their common room, and now…" He trailed off, gesturing with a hand at the bandages on the other, as he peered up at his brother, befuddled. "I don't understand."
Tom shot him an impatient glance as he bit out tartly, "Isn't it obvious? Slytherin House has always been associated with Dark Lords. Now that Grindelwald has come into the open as a Dark Lord, the students of other Houses are scared." He tightened his fingers around his wand, his jaw clenching, as a dark gleam glinted in his eyes. "And since they're scared, they're going to take it out on the Slytherins."
Harry bristled defensively, feeling deeply insulted and indignant. "Just because Salazar Slytherin is thought by some to have been a Dark Lord doesn't mean that they should blame everyone in Slytherin House every time a Dark Lord pops up! Salazar wasn't even a Dark Lord in my view – he didn't go around gathering followers, like a maniac!"
Tom cast him a scathing look. "That doesn't matter. He was the first to uphold pureblood ideals, the first to work to give proof that they were founded in fact and research and not just baseless prejudice. Every Dark Lord that has risen in wizarding history has supported Salazar's claims regarding muggles and mudbloods, just like Grindelwald is doing at present. So of course they're going to blame us." He paused to then sneer hatefully, "And the Gryffindors will be the worst of them. They're simple-minded bullies to the core." He narrowed his eyes to mere slits, as he added sharply, "I'm forbidding you from going to their Tower ever again."
At that, Harry just nodded, not wanting to argue with his brother. He had no wish to step again into their common room but he would find a way in which to speak with Felicity as soon as possible.
Alas, he had found no way to do so in the next days because the girl remained absent from classes. In the end, he had trudged to the Owlery.
Nasty bird that he was, Lord Horkos had refused to pay attention to him when Harry had yelled at him to come down from his niche. Finally, he had employed one of the charms Professor Tilly Toke had taught him in private, and had accioed the damned bird.
Screeching furiously, Lord Horkos had tried to stab his face with its sharp beak, but Harry had been no fool. He had brought along with him his faithful protector. One spat out hiss from little Ulysses and a flash of his scorpion's tail, and Lord Horkos had settled down, shooting Harry a vicious look but grudgingly allowing him to tie a letter around its leg.
The letter he had written to Felicity was, he knew, quite awful. He was terrible at trying to comfort girls, and he was rather glad that he was writing to her instead of seeing her in person, especially if she was constantly sobbing as Felix had said – crying girls had always made him feel very uncomfortable and awkward.
Harry had simply written asking if she was well and pointing out that he was missing her terribly. For some inexplicable reason, his lackluster, rushed, scribbled sentences seemed to do the trick, because Felicity Prewett was out and about the next day, looking gaunt and downcast yet blushing and giving Harry a faint, shy smile from a distance.
Regardless, he had had no chance to speak to her because she was always surrounded by housemates who glared at him. With a sense of impending doom due to what Tom had said, Harry had seen how his brother's words turned out to be prophetic.
The Gryffindors began to move about the school in packs, like lions protecting each other wherever they went, always casting suspicious, dark looks at the Slytherins. They, above any other students of Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, were jumpy, as if expecting some Slytherin to suddenly go bonkers, cackle evilly, declare allegiance to the Dark Lord, and start casting Dark Curses left and right.
At first, Harry thought it was ridiculous, but the situation became grave as The Daily Prophet kept vilifying Grindelwald, reporting about such impossible and outlandish things that the Dark Lord was allegedly doing that Harry became convinced that the journalists really had no idea about what the wizard was truly up to and were simply making it all up to sell newspapers.
And it seemed to work, since all students were now buying The Daily Prophet, and tensions grew and tempers began to flare.
By mere chance, Harry witnessed when the situation escalated and finally exploded, one evening when he had been coming from the library with Tom after they had worked on a Potions essay.
He had no idea how it had begun, but they came upon a full-blown battle of flying hexes and hurled jinxes between a very large group of Gryffindors of all ages and a bunch of Slytherins who were decidedly greatly outnumbered.
Given Tom's bloodthirsty gleam in the eyes when talking about Gryffindors, Harry had been worried his brother would instantly jump into the fray.
He had been surprised when Tom had shoved him into a nook of a wall, instantly going into it himself, as he whispered sharply, "It's best if we're not involved."
Well, that certainly let Harry understand that smug, proud true descendant of Salazar Slytherin that Tom was, his brother still preferred to be deviously careful and keep up his untarnished good reputation with the teachers instead of helping out his housemates.
However, it made Harry hesitate when he saw Walburga Black, Thaddeus Avery, and Neron Lestrange among the small group of Slytherins. There were older Slytherins too, but even so, they were too few compared to the Gryffindors.
"It's not a fair fight," murmured Harry apprehensively, wincing when he saw Walburga take a hit and then screech like a deranged banshee as she spat out some very nasty hex. "The Gryffs are too many."
He had no fond feelings for his housemates, who had stopped bullying him but still from time to time spat out cruel insults at him for being a 'mudblood'. That didn't mean, though, that he liked to see them being hurt by others in such an unjust, uneven confrontation.
Little Ulysses, who was perched on his left shoulder, seemed to sense his anxiousness, since the Scorcrup hissed and fretted, puffing out his tail.
"That's Gryffindor bravery for you," drawled Tom sarcastically, his tone venomous.
"We have to do something to help," said Harry urgently, shooting his brother an entreating look as he patted Ulysses on the head to calm him down.
As if he had been heard, one of the older Slytherins yelled just then, "Someone go get Wilkes!"
Instantly understanding the reason, Harry dashed out of the nook like a flash before Tom could react and take hold of him. Running with all his might, it didn't take him long to reach the dungeons and their common room.
Algernon Wilkes was the Head Boy, one of The Two –leader of Slytherin House along with Dorea Black- and a seventh-year. All Slytherins of that year had been entrenched with piles of books in the common room ever since they began frantically studying for their N.E.W.T.s, thus Harry had known exactly where to look for the boy.
As he pelted into the common room, with Ulysses effortlessly hanging onto him, Harry gasped out between panted breaths, "Slytherins – attacked by Gryffindors – corridor in second floor!"
The seventh-year girls and boys stared at him and then jumped to their feet, unceremoniously flinging and discarding books to a side as if they were yesterday's rubbish, the manic gleam that had been glinting in their eyes ever since studying like possessed, foul-tempered creatures that snapped at younger Slytherins at the slightest rise of a voice, shone even brighter – all of them clearly welcoming the distraction and excited with a sudden rush of bloodlust.
It made Harry wonder if he shouldn't have just gone to fetch a teacher instead.
"Lead the way, Riddle!" commanded Algernon Wilkes enthusiastically, whipping out his wand as his yearmates followed suit.
Harry nodded, glanced at Ulysses who was still sitting on his shoulder, and instructed hurriedly, "Stay here and wait for me."
The Scorcrup meowed at him, sounding miffed, yet when Harry shot him a stern look, Ulysses jumped unto the nearest armchair in the next second, sitting up with his tail flicking to the sides with great agitation. It was clear the little creature wasn't too pleased at being left behind.
Now without having to worry that his familiar might harm someone when protecting him if he was involved in a fight, Harry swirled around and hastily broke into a run, hearing all the seventh-year Slytherins following at his heels.
When he reached again the altercation between the students, Harry was fairly certain that someone must have cast a silencing spell around the area, because given the loud screams and shouts, it was impossible that no teacher had still not heard the fight and come to put a stop to it.
It was when Wilkes and his fellows jumped into the fray with gusto, that Harry caught sight of the new participants in the battle. Alphard must have been coming from somewhere with Dorea Black and Charlus Potter, encountering the fight, because the couple was there, bellowing at each other.
Dorea was standing with the Slytherins, with hands on her hips, looking furious as she yelled at her betrothed, while Charlus was right before her but on the Gryffindors' side of the corridor, with squared shoulders, shouting back, looking mulish and filled with righteous, indignant anger.
Meanwhile, Alphard stood behind Dorea and near his sister Walburga, who was still fighting like one of the Furies, unmerciful and with much relishing and vicious glee.
The boy had his wand in his hand, yet he looked uneasy and uncertain, as if he wanted the whole thing to stop and didn't want to participate at all but loyalty to Slytherin House and family made him remain.
It was when someone shot a very nasty hex at the poor boy who had made no attempt to attack anyone -causing tentacles to spurt from Alphard's head to coil around his throat and choke him, making the boy gasp, trip, and crash to the stone floors hard, slamming his head- that Harry had enough.
It was the last straw, and seeing that his brother was still in his shadowy nook calmly observing the fight from a safe distance, Harry bellowed, "Tom, join in!", as he then let out a battle cry and leaped into the fray, furious.
He instantly jumped in front of Alphard, protecting his secret friend by standing as a shield against incoming hurled spells, having faith that the boy could deal with the tentacle-hex himself and cancel it.
With Algernon Wilkes and the rest of the seventh-year Slytherins there, the fight had become a fair one in numbers, and Harry didn't think he had ever had so much fun: his heart was pumping fast with anger and rushes of thrill, as he casted every hex, jinx, and charm he knew of.
He didn't think he had ever used so many spells, not even during Defense Against the Dark Arts when Professor Galatea Merrythought had started to teach them how to duel. The experience was gripping, riveting, and exciting, especially when Tom finally appeared next to him, shooting Harry a glower yet soon beginning to cast spells with amazing precision, aim, and speed.
It was a pandemonium and chaos of shouted and bellowed spells and streaks of light striking every which way, which suddenly halted when a Gryffindor yelled in alarm, "Pringle!"
And they saw the Caretaker of Hogwarts, Apollyon Pringle, clanking his wooden leg on the stone floors as he rushed towards them, bellowing, with his pet Rascal the Raven swooping in to viciously peck at anyone in reach.
Everyone scattered and scrambled, fleeing from being caught and getting the sadistic, torturous detentions the Caretaker was infamous for.
Harry made a dive to help Alphard, but was yanked away by a furious Tom. He nevertheless saw that Dorea Black took care of her nephew, quickly pulling Alphard along with her as everyone ran in every possible direction.
"We can't go to the dungeons," said Tom sharply, still clutching Harry's hand tightly as he pulled them around another corner. "Pringle must have seen there were Gryffindors and Slytherins. The first he'll check will be the ways that lead to the dungeons and the Gryffindors' Tower. We must go somewhere else!"
Without halting their mad dash, Harry nodded, letting his brother take them wherever he thought was safest.
They ended up in the Astronomy Tower, gasping and panting to catch their breaths.
Recovering, Tom glanced around, looking satisfied as he said superiorly, "He won't think to look here. Only couples come up to this place."
Harry let out a weary breath as he slumped against a battlements of the Tower, feeling exhausted as he took in the beautiful view of the placid, starry night, the surface of the Black Lake that sparkled with moonlight as if it was encrusted with jewels, and the tiny dots of light coming from Hogsmeade.
"Were you wounded?" demanded Tom, approaching him and eyeing him closely with inspecting, narrowed eyes.
Harry huffed indignantly. "Of course not." He shot him a toothy grin. "Didn't you see me? I gave as good as I got and then some, and I deflected all hexes with Shield Charms." He gave him a smug look, as he intoned airily, "I'm quite good at those."
"What I saw was you diving for the floor," pointed out Tom acerbically, "landing hard on your knees."
"That only happened once!" snapped Harry, highly irked. "Because I didn't recognize the color of the spell and I didn't want to take the chance that a shield wouldn't stop it!"
That seemed to satisfy Tom, since the boy then proceeded to let him fully know what he had thought of Harry's decision of getting involved in the clash between Houses. Harry had to suffer nearly a quarter of an hour of Tom's ill-humored and furious remarks, as they waited for the proper moment to go back to the dungeons.
"And you know that I want to be a Prefect," hissed out Tom acidly, "because I have every intention to be Head Boy in seventh-year. It's an important and useful position of power, you lamebrain! And I won't get it if I'm given detentions just because you decide to play the hero to help your stupid little friend!" He pointed a finger at him, as he spat poisonously, "Next time I say we don't get involved, you heed my words!"
"Yeah, yeah," yawned out Harry, flapping a hand dismissively, before he whined, "Can we go back now? It's getting chilly out here." He demonstratively shivered and peered at him piteously.
"Are you a wizard or not?" bit out Tom angrily, flicking his wand to cast a Warming Charm on Harry, as he glowered with much annoyance.
They waited for a couple of more minutes, Tom seething in silence, whilst Harry sighed, until his brother finally decided enough time had gone by to safely make their way back.
Harry hadn't expected what waited for them in their common room.
The whole House seemed to be gathered there, even those who had participated in the fight: everyone seated in settees, sofas, couches, and armchairs, leaving an open space right in the middle, where Dorea Black and Algernon Wilkes were standing and bickering.
It seemed all Slytherins had been informed of the events and they were in the midst of a collective discussion, very grave and serious given their expressions.
"Oh, you're finally here!" said Dorea the moment she caught sight of them. She briskly gestured at two vacant chairs. "Take a seat. The current conversation pertains to you as well-"
"They're just mudbloods!" interjected Algernon Wilkes glaring, with arms over his chest, apparently continuing a quarrel that had been interrupted by Tom and Harry's appearance in the common room.
"Yes, they are," she snapped impatiently, as if in that evening she had heard the remark far too many times for it to be further tolerable, no matter what well-bred pureblood politeness dictated. "And they are Slytherins too, whether we like it or not. Students of other Houses regard them as such, so they will be targeted again."
Harry had already taken his appointed seat, baffled and puzzled by the whole reunion, and Tom had followed after him. It seemed to serve Dorea's purpose, since the girl approached Harry and carefully grabbed one of his hands, startling him when she held it up in the air, displaying his bandaged wrist.
"See?" she said pointedly, glancing at the students around her. "He already had this when he jumped into the fight. I saw it." She turned to Harry and demanded shortly, "You had been previously attacked by a Gryffindor, correct?"
Harry scowled at her, not liking to be put on the spot and feeling quite peeved. The girl was scarily observant, trait that she shared with Tom and which had always irked him in his brother who always seemed to detect and know too much.
"Yes," he admitted in a reluctant grumble as Dorea pressed him by glowering at him.
She gently let go of his wrist, and swirled around to glare at her housemates. "We already agreed that the youngest are the weakest chinks in our armor." She gestured at Tom and Harry, as she added sharply, "And they are first years. Hence, even if they're mudbloods, we'll protect them as well."
The moment Algernon Wilkes opened his mouth again, Dorea snapped angrily, "Harry showed loyalty to us by helping us in the fight." Her eyes narrowed pointedly at the Head Boy. "And from what I've heard, he was the one who came to fetch you." She pierced everyone who had been involved in the clash with the Gryffindors with a hard gaze. "None of us would have made it out unscathed if the seventh-years hadn't come. And we owe Harry gratitude for that, too. We always protect our own and loyalty and aid always has to be repaid, or have you forgotten our ways!"
"He did it on purpose," spat Walburga Black, glowering at her aunt before she turned her vicious, enraged glare to Harry. "He surely realized that if he did something to help, we would then feel obliged to repay the favor, as per Slytherin House rules-"
"He's a mudblood, he couldn't have possibly known about our set of rules, 'Burga," interjected Dorea with vast annoyance. She then gestured at Alphard, who was sitting at the other end of the room with a bandage wrapped around his head. "And he helped your brother, even though Alphie has insulted and mistreated him as the rest of us have."
The lie to cover up Harry's actions and motives, and keep the boys' friendship a secret, rolled out of her lips smoothly. Even Alphard managed to not show an inkling of emotion, catching himself in time without shooting Harry a grateful smile.
"I think it's quite settled and there's nothing more to discuss about this matter," said Dorea firmly. "The Riddle twins will be assigned to a group of five, and will be given escorts to move around the castle, as the rest of you will." She pointedly glanced at all the students below third year at that, before she looked at the older Slytherins, adding commandingly, "Now, let's take a look at our schedules to see at what hours and days we each have spare time to carry on our guard duties."
Harry was left thoroughly dumbfounded and astonished.
Tom and he were assigned to a first-year group consisting of Alphard, Abraxas Malfoy, and Orion Black. Antonin Dolohov, the older Slytherin whose schedule of free time matched that of when their group of five had to move around Hogwarts to go to class, was appointed as one of their escorts.
Harry disliked Dolohov immensely, having had to deal with the Keeper of Slytherin's Team every Sunday morning when he had his secret Quidditch lessons with Dorea, since they had required a Keeper and Dolohov had been in serious need of extra training. The older boy despised him openly, yet suddenly seemed to take his duty very seriously and hadn't even sneered at him when hearing he would be appointed to Harry's group.
It was in the following day that Alphard had clarified matters to him.
During breakfast, the whole student body had to listen to very stern, angered, and reprimanding words from Headmaster Dippet, who had been apprised by the Caretaker about the fight that had occurred between Gryffindors and Slytherins. He even threatened that the next time something of the sort happened, the whole school would be given detention.
Harry didn't think the speech had helped much: it only served to make the Gryffindors angrier, as if feeling they were being unjustly punished, the Slytherins turn stiffer and more suspicious and alert, and made the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws glower at the other two Houses accusingly, for causing so much trouble.
When he had skipped lunch in the Great Hall to meet Alphard in the kitchens, he had finally expressed his incomprehension.
"What was all that about – those House rules your sister and aunt mentioned?" said Harry, peering at Alphard with utter puzzlement. "About loyalty and helping each other and stuff. I thought that Slytherins never did anything in exchange for nothing, not even doing favors for other Slytherins."
"Well, that's the whole point, isn't it?" said Alphard, looking amused. "I don't know who came up with the rules, but they have been around for ages, precisely because Slytherins are self-interested and it worked against them when the House was isolated from the rest of the school, by being under direct criticism or attack from the other Houses and things like those. There are a couple of rules that specify that, in such circumstances, rivalries within Slytherin House have to be set to a side so that we can present a common, united front against enemies, and that for once, good deeds between Slytherins had to be repaid, to forge tighter ties and unity."
The boy paused and shot Harry a large grin. "Good deeds like what you did." He puffed out his chest proudly as he added, "When Dorea became part of The Two, she was the one who insisted for those old rules to be applied and reestablished. And I think it has finally paid off."
Well, Harry at last understood why Tom hadn't beeped a word or bristled with wounded pride when they had been told they needed protection. Harry had been certain Tom must have felt grievously insulted at the implication that he couldn't protect himself. Yet, his brother had coolly accepted the help offered without voicing a word against it.
"Is the situation with the Gryffindors really that bad?" Harry muttered with a uncertain frown, addressing his other concern.
"You tell me," retorted Alphard wryly, gesturing at the bandage around his head and the one around Harry's wrist. He then heaved a deep sigh as his shoulders slumped. "It was bound to happen with Grindelwald coming out as a Dark Lord…"
The boy trailed off and suddenly grasped Harry's arms so abruptly that it startled him.
"You must believe me," said Alphard vehemently, his tone of voice pleading and nearly desperate, as he shook his head fervently, "I had no idea what had happened to Felicity's and Felix's aunt! I liked her. When our families were still allies and I was friends with them, I saw her a couple of times and she was always very kind to me. I didn't know that she would be turned into one of those horrid new Inferi!"
Harry stared at him, his eyebrows shooting upwards in sheer taken aback surprise. "It never even crossed my mind, Al. Of course you didn't know!"
"The twins think I did," muttered Alphard despondently, releasing Harry's arms to lean backward, looking crestfallen. "Before, they just ignored my existence because our families became enemies. Now, it's even worse - they glare at me and I can see the hatred in their eyes."
"You're imaging things," said Harry soothingly, quite convinced of the truth of his assertion. "The twins wouldn't blame you for what happened to their Aunt Nettie. How could you have had anything to do with that!"
Alphard shot him a scowl, as if Harry was being disingenuous on purpose. "You know why, already. You know my parents support the Dark Lord. And they surely must have known something about his plans, but my parents never tell me anything about such issues! And the Prewett twins obviously think I was told!"
"Oh," mumbled Harry, not knowing what to say to that.
"I've been worried about it ever since we heard Dumbledore talking to Charlemagne McLaggen in Hogsmeade," admitted Alphard, anxiously nibbling on his bottom lip. He shot him a nonplussed look. "I've seen Dumbledore trying to speak to you. Do you have any idea why he didn't prevent-"
"No," replied Harry shortly, his tone waspishly, not wanting to discuss that particular matter.
Alphard clearly had a wise respect for Harry's moods, and didn't press the issue, though the boy looked as if he had to reign in his curiosity with much effort. Nevertheless, as open as he always was, Alphard carried on undaunted, as he voiced his concern, letting Harry finally realize why the boy had been so quiet and worried as of late.
He understood that Alphard feared for his parents and felt much sympathy for the boy due to it. But the extent of how Grindelwald's actions were becoming so widespread and far-reaching, left him stunned.
What had always concerned him was the Dark Lord's interest in Tom and him, and how the trouble Grindelwald was causing in Europe could affect the muggles he cared about: Alice, Hutchins, and his friends in the orphanage. But he hadn't realized it would be also affecting Alphard in ways he hadn't considered.
"The Dark Lord will want to take over our Ministry of Magic at some point," whispered Alphard somberly. "All his supporters in Britain have only given him financial support thus far, but when the Dark Lord comes here, I'm sure he'll demand much more. He won't be satisfied with more of my father's galleons. He will expect Father to fight when he takes over the Ministry, you see?" He shook his head gloomily. "And my father will, proudly and willingly. But the Austrians and Czechs didn't have a Dumbledore, did they? The battle for Britain will be fierce, I'm sure. And what if my father doesn't survive it?"
Harry stared at the boy, feeling utterly torn. He didn't want Grindelwald to win, yet he didn't want Alphard's father to die either – or any relatives of his housemates, as a matter of fact. He wouldn't even wish that for his worst enemy, not when he knew what it was to be without parents.
"Can't you convince your dad to stop supporting the Dark Lord?" suggested Harry musingly, trying to come up with some simple, quick solution. "You know, become neutral or something of the sort."
"No," said Alphard with a despairing, loud snort, shaking his head. "My parents wouldn't care about what I say. I'm just the spare son. Only Cygnus' opinion counts, since he's my father's heir." He sighed dejectedly before he added in a quiet, apprehensive murmur, "And Cygnus is already taking his duty very seriously."
"Right," muttered Harry under his breath, his eyes widening with understanding. No wonder that Alphard's older brother, whom Tom had once pegged as the 'silent, analytical, observant type', had suddenly become more grave, distant, and introspective, always reading every article in The Daily Prophet with much intensity, carrying a stern expression on his face, the fourteen-year-old boy looking as if he had forced himself to mature into a grownup overnight.
As Harry received news through Alice's newspaper clippings about how Muggle Britain had publicly pledged support to Poland in the event of an invasion, war seemed imminent, while the agitation and tension in Hogwarts only increased further.
It didn't help matters that Dorea Black and Charlus Potter weren't on speaking terms.
"I'm his fiancée! Charlus should be loyal to me, and only me - not to his housemates!" was what Dorea had apparently told Alphard when she had been venting her anger and frustration, since it seemed that what Harry had witnessed in the fight was a simple matter of Charlus taking his housemates' side and Dorea hers, each believing their housemates' claims of who had been the first to strike with spells when clashing in the corridor.
Indeed, Hogwarts became polarized into two sides: those who supported the Slytherins, which were few in other Houses, and those who followed the Gryffindors' lead.
The last Quidditch match for first place -Slytherin versus Gryffindor- exacerbated the already frazzled nerves, volatile high tempers, and violent rivalry.
Harry had attended, this time firmly standing in the Slytherins' stands, and even Tom had come along in a show of House solidarity, surely with ulterior motives added in the mix, as always was the case with his brother.
Throughout the whole game, Harry had gawked. He had never seen anything like it. It was fierce, brutal, ruthless, and unmerciful, with Jocunda Sykes, the Flying Instructor and Quidditch Referee, constantly blowing her whistle and shooting red sparks from her wand the countless times a foul was committed, by both teams just as frequently.
Every dirty trick in the book was employed: Beaters slamming Bludgers into Seekers or Keepers instead of Chasers, Chasers grabbing the broom tails of the other team's players, legs kicking out and elbows jabbing into ribs when two opposing players flew side by side, Quaffle being stolen by a Beater instead of a Chaser, Seeker purposely colliding into the opposing team's Keeper just when a Quaffle was incoming towards the goal hoops, and every other thing Harry hadn't even imagined or thought possible.
Jocunda Sykes was beyond herself with fury and yelled so much that she went hoarse, having to point her wand at her throat to make her voice work and be heard.
Moreover, Dorea was by far the fiercest of them all – the girl was certainly venting her spleen in the Pitch.
With eyes as wide as moons, Harry had gawked incredulously when Dorea had ripped a bat from the clutches of one of her Beaters and slammed a Bludger right smack in the middle of her fiancé's head. And she even loudly cackled with vicious satisfaction when Charlus Potter went tumbling over his broom and landed painfully on the ground from quite a height.
Miss Nightingale was there to heal the boy in a jiffy and Dorea was heavily punished for her foul, though she certainly didn't seem to mind having to be out of the game for a full hour.
She had evidently given clear directions to her team, who completely focused in making Charlus Potter's life impossible. Oh, the boy was certainly the biggest threat, being Gryffindor's Captain and their best Chaser, but Harry had the inkling Dorea was making him sweat out of personal revenge.
However, Charlus hadn't restrained himself either. Just about fifteen minutes after Dorea had been allowed back into the game, the boy had launched himself from his broom, leaping at Dorea right when they crossed paths in the air, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her down with him into the void. Gratefully, they hadn't been flying too high, so when they crashed unto the sandy ground they weren't greatly hurt – not enough to be carried away. Though they certainly had much energy and anger left.
Harry didn't think any spectator could tell what was going on down there, even if people had those crafty, useful Omnicular things, because Dorea and Charlus became a mass of entangled limbs as they struggled and rolled and rolled and kept rolling together, bellowing who-knew-what at each other.
It was the most perplexing, worrisome, funniest, and scariest thing Harry had ever seen, and for a moment he even thought Dorea would start letting her fists fly to beat her betrothed to a pulp – pureblood girl notwithstanding, Harry knew out of personal experience just how 'unlady-like' she could be.
It had finally ended when Jocunda Sykes had tore them apart, blowing on her whistle like a desperate madwoman at the end of her rope, which left half the crowd nearly deaf.
In the end, though, as brilliant as Dorea was on a broom, Charlus was better and his Seeker far surpassed the Slytherins'. The match came to a conclusion when the Snitch was caught, Charlus having already scored many points, surpassing those obtained by Dorea and her Chasers.
The boisterous cries of joy and roars of triumph from the Gryffindors' stands and the insults they bellowed at the Slytherins were so loud that flocks of birds in distant trees of the Forbidden Forest fled away into the skies, the cacophony having startled and scared them off.
With much frosty poise, the Slytherins orderly marched off from the Pitch with chins raised high, not displaying one smidgen of the crushing disappointment they felt as Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup.
The Gryffs didn't waste the opportunity to rub it in and cruelly taunt and mock the Slytherins for their humiliating defeat, so Harry had been thoroughly stunned when he had come upon something three hours later after the end of the match.
It had been nightfall by then, and he had been hurrying along the maze of corridors of the dungeons, to not be caught out of his dorm when curfew struck the clock.
And there, he had seen it, right against a wall: a translucent shimmering mantle of silvery, whitish magic, with two bulges underneath it.
Harry had halted his strides, gaping when he realized what he was seeing. Under Potter's Invisibility Cloak, there was Dorea and Charlus, still in their Quidditch uniforms and thoroughly dirty, wrapped together, with hands and limbs all over each other, making smacking, wet noises that made Harry turn beet red.
"No – don't put your hand there, Charlus!" cried out Dorea in alarm. Though apparently it was too late, because the girl then shrieked in pain and peeled herself away from her fiancé's frisky clutches.
Both still under the Invisibility Cloak and having taking no notice of Harry standing there, gawking with a discombobulated expression on his face, Dorea scowled at the iron band on her finger as she snarled furiously, "I should poison Walburga for this!"
Not wanting to even imagine where Charlus' hand had been, which had clearly made the Black Chastity Rings they wore punish them in warning, Harry already felt way too traumatized and he instantly turned tail and fled like a frightened fawn of the woods.
He wasn't even able to stutter out what he had seen to Alphard. He wouldn't have needed to ask, because by the following day, Dorea and Charlus were out and about in the school, once more hand-in-hand and beaming happily, as if they hadn't nearly killed each other in the Quidditch Pitch like lunatics nor quarreled and publicly rowed spectacularly after they had been divided in their loyalties to their respective Houses.
At least, Harry saw that he wasn't the only one thoroughly gobsmacked. Plenty of students gaped uncomprehendingly at the couple.
"I knew they couldn't stay angry at each other for long," Alphard had piped in when they had met in the kitchens, looking vastly cheerful and content. He snickered under his breath. "Specially after playing against each other – they've always loved their rivalry in the Quidditch Pitch!" He grinned widely at Harry, as he added joyfully, "I dare say that now that they're back together, things between Gryffindor House and ours will calm down a mite. They will make sure of it. So we should start looking for the Chamber of Secrets, don't you think?"
Harry blinked at him, utterly nonplussed at how Alphard had jumped from one disconnected idea to the other, and he said hesitantly, trying to be tactful, "Um… I didn't think you were up to it because you were so worried about your parents' involvement with the Dark Lord, after the fall of Czechoslovakia."
"Oh, that," said Alphard, waving a hand dismissively. "There isn't much I can do about it, is there?" He shrugged his shoulders as he popped a small roasted potato into his mouth. "I'm fine now." He widely grinned at him. "And Dorea is back with Charlus so all is right and well in the world, in my view. I'm not going to worry about anything else." He leaned forward and peered at him excitedly. "So, when do we have our first adventure!"
Harry happily beamed at him with the power of a thousands suns. He didn't think he would ever be so fond of someone as he was of Alphard.