Unfortunately, Harry's blissful sleep was interrupted when he was awoken to a piercing pain wringing through his scar. Choking back a scream, Harry jolted up, ignoring the girl wakening next to him, clearly confused by this abrupt end to her peace.Sod it to hell!Harry thought angrily. He tried to remember what he had simply dreamt – the image was blurred and distorted – the Occlumency was obviously having some effect, though now Harry began to doubt its usefulness, if it prevented him from spying on the greatest threat to his existence.
Voldemort was angry, of that much he was sure. He had been speaking to a Death Eater, not Peter – he would have recognized him certainly. There had been an attack, a raid of some sort, though Harry could not recall any details. Perhaps, he mused, it was time to enter the lair of the beast, and see if he could glean any of its secrets.
"Get up pet," Harry spoke, addressing the girl directly for the first time since rising. "Time to get you back into your nice warm bed." Lavender stretched, and even with his mind elsewhere Harry took a moment to appreciate her nude form as she raised her arms over her head, her body taut across the bed. Standing up, she began to dress, as Harry quickly pulled his wrinkled robes over his body.
The two snuck out, heading back to the Tower. Outside, Harry recognize a new complication.Bloody Angelina could very well still be down here, wouldn't do to have her catch me now…
Thinking quickly, Harry turned quickly to the girl he held snug against him under the Invisibility Cloak. "Time for us to part ways pet, go on in. If Angelina's awake, giggle and say nothing,nothingmore than 'Ravenclaws'." Lavender nodded, and Harry surmised that in this at least, the girl more than likely had a plethora of experience to draw from.
As Lavender slunk back inside, Harry made a beeline to the Headmaster's office. It was a risk, granted, but far too much was happening that Harry was wholly ignorant on, and perhaps now he had a scrap of knowledge with which to trade with the Headmaster.
Arriving at the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's Office, Harry swore. He was Harry Potter dammit; he would not be caught shouting asinine candy names at two in the morning.
When a minute of glaring mutinously at the gargoyle had no visible effect, Harry gritted out, "Chocolate Frog…Blood Pop…Cauldron Cake…/Walnut Sodding Wands!/ –"The door opened, and Harry's eyes widened in shock – until he noted the cause.
"You would find, Mr. Potter that unless the situation demands otherwise, a simple "May I please visit the Headmaster" does the job well enough." Harry flushed, before smiling sheepishly at the Deputy Headmistress. "I assume Mr. Potter that your sudden appearance has to do with the night's events?" Aha, so something indeed had occurred. Harry nodded, and Professor McGonagall beckoned Harry to follow her into the office.
When Harry arrived at the top of the winding stair case, he was surprised to see so many people here. In addition to McGonagall and Dumbledore himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasly, and Nymphadora Tonks were present.Metamorphmagus, thought Harry as his eyes scanned the participants of this impromptu council, /sounds like a bloke could have a fun time with that skill.
Pushing the thought to the back of his mind for now, Harry turned to the Headmaster.
"Ah Mrs. McGonagall, I see you've brought Mr. Potter up from his rather impressive glaring at my door." Dumbledore chuckled, though still not looking at the boy in question. "What seems to be the problem, Harry?
"Sir…my scar – Voldemort's angry – angrier than I can recall in a long time. I thought I'd let you know…though I suppose you already do." Harry added, looking around once again at the hodgepodge collection of Order Members.
A collective sigh could be heard in the room, and Shacklebolt spoke, his voice grim. "One of Voldemort's Death Eaters managed to Imperio an Order member this evening. We don't think they realized that, simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Our fellow was discovered by the head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour thought his behavior and locale were odd, and the result was anImperiousedminister employee attacking the Chief Auror. Needless to say, Scrimgeour subdued him easily. The end result is neither us nor Voldemort is very happy about tonight's actions."
No one spoke, uncomfortable in the fact Kingsley had told the boy far more information than they had over the entire summer. Finally Dumbledore cleared his throat, "No doubt you will hear all about this in the Sunday /Prophet/. Thank you Harry for bringing this to my attention, it is a small comfort that Voldemort is indeed frustrated by tonight's happenings." Harry recognized the dismissal for what it was, and McGonagall led him back towards the tower.
The walk was made in silence, obviously there was much that he had not been told. Why exactly, was an Order member in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it seemed that the attack on the Head of Aurors, while a clever move on Voldemort's part, was not the intent, but merely something that happened.
Harry lost himself in thought, but was unable to think of any plausible theories before reaching his bed. Exhausted, Harry immediately went to sleep, deciding that reading the Prophet the next morning was the best plan of action.
Harry awoke the next morning, and was immediately assaulted by a once again vulnerable Angelina. Harry's first thoughts were how often he could push the already weak girl into blaming herself for Harry's sins – especially when she did not know what those sins were. Smiling, Harry assured the girl that her 'being pissed out her head' would not strain their relationship, and that he was certainly not about to judge her. Crisis averted, Harry headed to breakfast.
The morning's paper proved to be rather interesting, immediately filling Harry with a fiery rage.
Sirius Black Infiltrates Ministry, Attacks Department Head
By Alexander Stevenson
Last night Sirius Black returned once again in a veil of terror as he attempted to murder the Head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour. Sirius Black was well known to be an avid supporter of You-Know-Who, and it appears that perhaps driven further into the depths of insanity at Azkaban, he is unable to comprehend that his master is now well and truly dead.
Mr. Black did not enter the Ministry personally, the security being far too tight even for one as fiendish as him. Rather, Mr. Black is believed to be gathering a small cult, one such member who in fact worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Robert Hastings, 52, was caught sneaking into an unauthorized region of the ministry, when he was discovered by Mr. Scrimgeour, who immediately demanded to see proof of 'right to entry'. Instead of complying, Mr. Hastings (known for his radical opposition to the Werewolf Treatises) attacked the Head of Aurors. Fortunately, Mr. Scrimgeour was able to subdue the intruder, showing once again a level of competence and expertise we have come to expect from our Auror Department…
Harry stopped reading, the rest of the article filled with quotes either vilifying Sirius or praising Fudge and the current class of Aurors. The paper was tripe, the only 'fact' the name of the attacker. Harry wondered how wizarding Britain could stand to read such drivel, or at the very least why they never questioned it – surely there were other sources of news.
"Hermione", Harry asked "What other papers are out there, other than /The Prophet/?"
Harry had decided that he needed to patch his relationship with Hermione, at least for the time being, if he was on a more permanent outs with Ron. Such a meaningless question was sure to boost her ego. Surprisingly, Hermione frowned. "I don't know Harry…I've always just assumedThe Prophetwas it – it's all anyone talks about anyway."
Harry nodded, clearly unsatisfied. Excusing himself, he headed towards the library, determined to discover just how backwards the British Wizarding World really was.
Despite the steaming pile of shit I was force fed this morning, a number of things have come to light – most of them positive. Wizarding Britain is not in fact as backwards as someone like Hermione claims it to be, nor as rigid as I imagine Fudge would like. A free press is very much alive – it's simply disregarded by most of the masses.
Looking through the library I came across a number of newspapers, all of which the school actively subscribes too. Granted, theDaily Prophetis far and away the largest paper in England, butThe Flying Scotsmanis also a daily, coming out of Aberdeen.
There are also a number of weekly papers, headquartered in Cambridge, Bristol, York, and Liverpool. Cardiff houses a Welsh only bi-weekly, and Cork and Bangor both publish weekly Gaelic-English papers. All of these are regional papers, but it's something I am certainly going to look into – fighting fire with fire.
I really don't like Hastings begin caught while underImperio– far too close to what I'm planning. The only solace is that it appears that Scrimgeour didn'tknowhe was under Imperious and the Order only because he was one of them.
On the other hand, nobody had a fucking clue about either of the Crouches last year, so maybe I'm worrying too much. Really, it's all academic. I'm not going to throw the curse, and if Flint ends up rotting in Azkaban I won't give two fucks…provided I get my hands on those damned documents.
Bugger it, fortune favors the bold and what have you. I go ahead an summon Daphne, she arrives a quarter of an hour later – not too long that I can call her on it, but slow enough to let me know she's still furious about last night – though I'm confident we've moved passed theLavender being herestage toFucking Lavender senseless after dismissing her.
"Daph," my tone normal, betraying none of the thoughts inside my head. "Send the word – it's time." Daphne nods, but I can see the conflict going on inside her. She wants proof, proof she's still my most loyal, that I am not wholly displeased. She won't show it though – not after I verbally admired her independence. Poor girl, but I can't help but enjoy a shiver down my spine at the sheer pleasure I take now in my twisted games.
I lean in to kiss her – we're in an awfully dark and musty corned of the library – won't harm anyone to have a quick snog with my sadistic princess. Not ten sodding seconds later, just when we're starting to go at it properly, some bastard starts clapping slowly. /Typical, it's bloody Zabini.
"It's good to see patience is still a virtue you hold in high esteem." Harry gritted out. He was concerned – true, nothing had been revealed, but if the boy had suspicions of a relationship between Harry and Daphne, he had just confirmed it. Blackmail could not be tolerated, and the damnable boy was grinning like a loon.
"Yes, just as stealth seems to be one of yours." Blaise sniggered. /Touché/. "What exactly, are the two of you up to then?" Daphne and Harry shared a look, before Harry responded, "We've decided to put our heads together…Golden Boy persona lets me through a lot of cracks you lot can't slip through, especially with three quarters of the school watching your every move."
Harry grinned, "I think, Blaise, it would be more than obvious what I get out of the arrangement."
Blaise took a long moment to think about what he'd just heard. He had not pegged Daphne as the type of girl who was whore her way up the social ladder. Especially not to a Gryffindor. On the other hand, Harry was obviously not the little golden boy everyone seemed to portray him as, and it was more than possible that Daphne was using the boy far more than he could guess.
Blaise nodded, he had learned from watching his mother just how deeply a woman could get under a man's skin and still leave him with the image that he was in control. Potter may have a darker heart than many, but he was kept out of the snake pit for a reason. Still, no reason not to take advantage of the matter at hand.
"Tell me Potter, these cracks of yours…do they include merchandise?" Harry stopped, his face pensive. "Depends what you want I suppose…not going to be shelling over cursed mummy hands when teachers look the other way… what are you looking for?"
Blaise grinned. "I've been thinking for some time of setting up shop – getting things up from Hogsmeade for the babies or those too stupid to properly ration themselves. Having a hard time actually getting into town though, much less getting that stuff back."
Harry thought about it, and realized perhaps he was being disingenuous. Being perfect would only arouse suspicion he was up to something, especially from Hermione. Angelina didn't sound convinced about his cover story about Blaise either. Harry knew Fred and George had been sneaking stuff into the school for years, perhaps it was time to profit from that.
"Zabini, if you're willing – we'll go at it as equal partners. I'll supply and you'll sell. Provided you don't swindle me, we'll get along famously."
Blaise scowled. "I'm not a thief Potter, I may be a sneaky, cunning little shit – just like you I might add – but I keep my word." Harry nodded, attempting to appease his …friend? partner?…and held out his hand. Blaise, his face still stony, shook it. Mollified slightly, Zabini left, agreeing to touch up the details later, and mentioning offhandedly he had a rendezvous to keep.
Harry sighed; perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He had handled the situation well, but it should never have happened in the first place. Daphne left, obviously they would have to make a better effort to hide their meetings, romantic and otherwise. Zabini was not to be trusted yet, but he could be bought. Harry had no doubts as to what would happen if Dumbledore caught wind of his machinations…
Two days later was Halloween. The school as always was decorated marvelously, jack-o-lanterns spoke to one another in the corridors, and the Great Hall was charmed into a perpetual star-filled night for the occasion. Harry had just finished double Herbology on his way to Runes when he was stopped by Ophelia Flint.
Noticing with relief that none of his fellow classmates were with him – he was after all heading to a 3rd year class. He allowed himself to be taken into the deserted classroom. As soon as the door was closed, Harry lashed out.
"You will never dare to summon me on your own time! Your situation is dangerous enough; do not presume to move at your own leisure." Ophelia flinched, before whimpering, "Master…Sir…the deed is done – everything is hidden." Harry grinned, though no affection or gratitude shone through.
"Very well, I will come for it when it is safe to do so." The girl looked up – odd how though she was at least three inches taller than him, her posture demanded she meet his eye… "Harry", a growl "M-master…I'm scared – if I'm caught…my family is not as influential as most…" Harry interrupted her pleading.
"Flint, listen very carefully, I do not care if you end up rotting in a flea-riddled cell in Azkaban. What I care about, is you obey me – /to the letter/. Do not attempt to save your skin by sacrificing mine. Is that absolutely clear?" Harry's voice was almost a hiss by the end of his rebuke.
The girl nodded, her face still gloomy – despite her success on such a task her foolishness had lost any hopes of gaining her master's affections. Ophelia came out of her thoughts to see Harry leaving the room and after giving his departure a reasonable berth – it was only too clear his desire to not be seen with her – she headed out, returning to the dungeons that where once she flourished in the shadows, now she felt only coldness.
It seemed that news of the attack, even if blame was given to Sirius, gave courage to the Death Eater's among the students. Malfoy had been unbearable for the last two days, and Harry had only had to suffer through an hour of Charms and Defense with the snot-faced prat. They had gained confidence in the terror, despite theProphet'sassurances things had never been better. Arriving at the Runes classroom, Harry encountered Malfoy and his usual minions harassing a group of Ravenclaw girls who had just finished the class.
"…The time of mudbloods and the purebloods who tolerate them is ending." Harry could literally hear Malfoy's perpetual sneer.
"Ugh…Mudbloods."Thateloquent response came from Crabbe, which left…
"Yeh" to Goyle.
The girls as a whole had taken silence as their best solution, though one girl, a blonde with a dreamy expression responded as if discussing the weather. "Daddy says muggles descended from Unicorns. Really there blood is much purer…" The girl was stopped at that comment, as Pansy pushed her, knocking her belongings out her arm and scattering them across the floor.
The Slytherins left at that – undoubtedly the increased commotion would bring along a teacher. Much to Harry's disgust, the other Ravenclaw girls walked away to, leaving the girl to pick up her belongings alone. Harry walked up to her, bending down to pick upThe Number 7: An Approach to Arithmancy.
"Sorry you have to put up with those goons." Harry remarked with a smile. The girl looked up, the dreamy expression from before still shrouding her emotions. "It's not a problem, it's not my fault they don't believe in unicorns." Harry chuckled uneasily – this girl was either sharp or seriously unhinged.
Deciding not to delve deeper into this conversation, he chose to introduce himself. "I'm Harry Potter" he said with a smile. The girl just stared back. "Well yes, I suppose you are." Harry stared back with puzzled expression, but the girl seemed unfazed.
"Course, I suppose we all are…I've never stopped being me, least as long as I can remember…If I had been someone else do you think I'd remember?" Harry shook his head, attempting to clear his mind, but the girl apparently took it as an answer. "No I suppose I wouldn't."
Giving the book back, Harry began to walk into the classroom, as the girl called over her shoulder. "But if you simply wanted to know what to call me, you can use Luna Lovegood. Daddy named me that, though how he knew before I could tell him is beyond me." With that, she disappeared, leaving Harry to wonder weather perhaps someone at this school was more twisted than him.
Regardless of the girl's…questionable mindset, Harry recognized the power play by Malfoy./Learning a thing or two about power plays these days…Harry smirked. After dinner, the usual extravagant feast served on this evening, Harry made arrangements for Malfoy to be taken down a peg. He would attack from beneath, undermining Malfoy's regime of terror. Trivial in the whole scheme of things, but it would have to do for now.
And so, two days later, Harry was once again lurking in the shadows, preparing for the evening to end and the Slytherins to head back towards the dungeons. As they began to make move back towards their common room, Harry watched as Ophelia forced Crabbe and Goyle to stay behind, the excuse of a minor bollicking for "eating habits yet again unbecoming of a Slytherin" seemed to be a rather normal part of their day.
Dismissed, the two headed back, only to be stupefied and levitated into a storage space, at which point Harry paused. He was not at all looking forward to this next step, but it was the best he could come up with to ensure the two thugs took a smaller part in Malfoy's bullying.
Throwing again the precautionary charms, Harry took out his last remaining veil of Polyjuice Potion; /have to see if Flint is capable of brewing more, and taking a hair from Crabbe's head, mixed the two. Bracing himself, Harry gagged, then convulsed as he became a likeness of the pudgy boy on the floor.
When the transformation was complete, Harry looked himself over, viewing his image in with a wave of his wand and aPondero/. His image was not perfect – he lacked Slytherin robes – but he had taken the foresight to exchange his Gryffindor one's for a neutral black and, confident nothing compromised his identity, /EnervatedCrabbe.
Crabbe woke up, startled to suddenly find himself sprawled on the floor, his friend next to him. Justifying it to himself with a simple /guh, Crabbe looked up, his eyes filling with confusion and then shock and finally horror at seeing himself, staring down from above him.
Harry smiled cruelly (though he imagined with his current visage he merely looked foolish), and laughed at the look on Crabbe's face. Finally, Crabbe grunted, "who...who are you?"
Harry laughed louder, "Eloquent as ever, aren't we Vincent." When Crabbe moved to protest, Harry pushed his comments aside, continuing. "We have a secret, don't we Vincent? How do you think people here would react to seeing the Mark on your arm?"
Crabbe's eyes widened further. "I…I dunno wut you're talkin' 'bout." Crabbe, in a fit of stupidity or confidence, pushed up his sleeves, revealing his arms to be absent of the accused marking. "Really Vincent, no doubt you wear glamour under the eyes of the headmaster, but you and I share the same look."
With that, Harry pulled up his own sleeve, revealing the offending blot. Harry then grinned at the Dudley-esque boy, like a predator descending on his prey. "That mark Vincent, it means I get to kill you."
That remark seemed to penetrate the boy's thick skull. "No" he eeped, a sound that would have been hilarious coming from the hulking mass had not it contained so much fear. Harry continued his assault. "Not so important are you, if the Dark Lord is willing to thumb you under Dumbledore's nose." Certainly much of this conversation went over Crabbe's head, but he certainly got the basic gist.
"I'll make you a deal Vincent; you will remove yourself from Malfoy's gang, no more bullying ickle mudbloods. Time to let Draco stand on his own two feet, don't you think."
The boy merely nodded, relief beginning to penetrate the mask of fear. "And if you don't, I'll kill you – there are no second chances." With that, Harry left the room, immediately covering his enlarged mass with his cloak before silently heading back towards his own bed, leaving Crabbe to enervate his friend before trembling back to the dungeons. Harry was curious as to what the result would be, before deciding that ultimately, the idiot would probably follow his father, and Harry would have the enjoyment of killing him anyway. All in all, it was a Halloween well spent.