AN: I appreciate your patience and enthusiasm with this story! I update slowly but with big chapters, so have fun with this one! I've split this into two chapters because the end of events in the Slytherin Common Room got too long. I'll update the second one within a day or two after another edit. That means over 22k of new content in a week. Woohoo!


Whispers in Her Hair

by Indygodusk


Chapter 24: Second Year - Starch, Pets, and Tadpoles


Everyone could see that the odds weren't good for Valeria, surrounded as she was by unfriendly faces. Of course, Valeria was extremely powerful and dangerous too, but she didn't cultivate allies and barely tolerated friends. Valeria was too proud to ask for help (or too afraid to make herself vulnerable to betrayal in the asking) and more likely to bite the hand of an ally than to take it.

That was okay. Harry didn't need to wait to be asked for help and he wasn't scared of a little biting. He was going to help Valeria. All of Valeria's Vipers were going to help her—even Draco. Flint would be back soon too to lend his not inconsiderable power and influence. Manic wouldn't know what hit him.

As the second years moved up into a better attack position, Harry directed his friends to start surreptitiously casting small spells at the crowd around Valeria. "Nothing too vicious just yet," he said softly, trying not to be overheard. "Start subtle."

Draco nodded. "We should hit random bystanders too, to add to the confusion."

"And the fun," Pansy whispered, earning a smirk and shoulder bump of solidarity from Millie.

Shrugging in agreement, Harry cast Shoelace Knotting jinxes indiscriminately into the crowd closest to the front and a few Cramp and Gas jinxes too for good measure. There was nothing like the distraction of a CAG jinx to get someone running away out of the room to go to the toilet.

As the Vipers moved around a set of chairs and ottomans, Harry decided to get a little more creative, casting the Starching Charm (Potter style) at three upperclassmen he didn't particularly like. Weaponizing the charm had been an accident, but one he was happy to turn to his advantage now. He'd never been able to achieve Blaise's level of perfectly crisp and wrinkle-free fabric, but he had (accidentally) mastered the ability to turn the fabric of someone's clothing so stiff that it became hard to lift or even bend the arms.

Harry had discovered that spell variation when Blaise had taken it upon himself to teach Harry how to keep his clothing looking more posh, polished, and wrinkle-free. When Harry had accidentally put too much power into the Starching Charm along with a tiny pinky bend, he'd been happily surprised that the spell had still worked. That happiness and pride had only lasted a couple of minutes. Then he'd tried to lift his arm to scratch his nose and found that his clothing had become a prison—too stiff to move or even wiggle free. He hadn't even had enough movement to cast the counterspell. Blaise had laughed himself silly and left Harry in the straitjacket his shirt and robes had become for almost ten minutes while Harry cursed his friend out and wiggled fruitlessly, chasing Blaise around trying to kick him into shutting up and fixing it. This would be Harry's first chance to weaponize it against someone else besides his roommates when they were being particularly annoying and, he had to admit, he was kind of excited about it. He cast it at a few more of Manic's friends, and then at Manic himself, being careful not to make it so strong that he noticed the stiffening in time to do something about it.

Two boys roughly shoved past Harry on their way up front to join the crowd circling the lone Valeria like hungry jackals, banging into him with bony elbows and shoulders without a backward glance. Scowling, Harry jinxed them in the back. Their cheeks looked flushed and their eyes glittered, excited to have an excuse to hurt somebody. Fists clenching, Harry's nails bit sharply into his palms. Some people were just sick in the head and, unfortunately, the sorting hat sent an unfair number of them into Slytherin. The number of people gathering to take out Valeria was totally unfair, but then again, he shouldn't have expected fairness from fellow Slytherins. At least they were still hesitating, trying and failing to match wits with her instead of rushing her all at once.

Nevertheless, looking around at all of Manic's allies and estimating their danger level, Harry had to swallow hard, his confidence shaken. Manic still might win despite their best efforts. If they lost it was going to make not just the rest of the school year brutal but all of next year too, at a minimum. If living with the Dursleys had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that no matter how bad or unfair things felt, they could always get worse. Harry couldn't afford for Valeria, and he and his friends by association, to lose.

Right, well, time to start tipping things in our favor then.

Reyansh was just standing to the side holding up a wall. The Prefect probably wanted to see how Valeria fared first, doubting her competence or perhaps hoping she'd weaken Manic for him. It wasn't a bad strategy as long as you were willing to risk alienating Valeria and those sympathetic to her, which were few and far between outside of Harry and Flint. Harry jinxed him for his lack of faith in Valeria and for underestimating Harry himself.

Looking up, Harry realized that they were near the archway leading to the first-year rooms. He'd lived down that hallway last year, but after all that had happened this year with Hermione, Quidditch, and the Basilisk, it felt like a lifetime ago. Beyond the carved archway, the emerald-carpeted hallway curved sharply, hiding the doors deeper in and the tall windows looking out into the aquatic world beneath the Black Lake.

Flint was still conspicuously absent, not having returned from escorting Halle and her friends to their rooms down the first-year hallway. It made Harry's stomach feel sour. He swallowed and tried not to worry about it.

Tried…and mostly failed.

"Do you think Flint's okay?" Draco asked, proving he and Harry were on the same wavelength.

Reminding himself that he was supposed to be a leader right now, Harry tried to look calm and confident. "I'm sure he's fine," Harry said, voice wavering only a little bit. He cleared his throat and tried again with more success. "You know Flint."

"Yeah, Flint doesn't lose fights," Draco said with a jerky lift of his chin, obviously trying to believe his own words.

"But what if," Daphne interjected nervously, leaning closer to say more only to break off with a squeak when a flash of light, followed by a muffled crack and the call of a rooster, burst around the bend in the hallway. "Oh no," she whimpered, pressing a hand to her chest.

"I'm sure it's fine," Pansy said bracingly, though the corners of her mouth were tight as she watched the First-year hallway too.

Harry tried not to look worried. "That sounded like the smoke bombs the Weasley twins were selling for cheap last week. One of the first years is probably just messing around." He hoped.

Seconds later the Weasley twin's signature thick orange smoke intermixed with bright purple bubbles drifted out around the curve of the hall. "See?" he pointed with relief.

However, before any of them could relax, a wild wind swept around the curve, popping the bubbles against the wall and ceiling and dissipating the orange smoke. The wind was violent enough to wrench half the magical lanterns off their hooks and spin the rest of them crooked. The wind stopped and the remaining lanterns sputtered, yellow sparks spurting through the broken glass before ominously going dark in batches until the hall was left draped in shadows.

"I don't like this," Daphne said, chewing nervously on the corner of her fingernail.

Harry pressed his lips tight, not wanting to slip up and agree out loud. Just what was going on back there? Where was Flint? Were he and Halle okay? Harry strained his senses, but no answers came from what little he could see past the archway leading towards the dimly illuminated curve leading to the first-year rooms—only shadowed stone walls, the sharp gleam of broken glass, and the green runner rug turning gray the farther it got from the light of the Slytherin common room.

They all jumped at the scream—a sharp cry of masculine shock and pain that sounded only briefly before being bit back raggedly. It sounded like—like…Harry shook his head sharply in denial, fists clenching. No. It couldn't be Flint. Flint wouldn't scream like that because he was fine. Flint made other people scream. Not the other way around.

The silence didn't last but a few seconds before a triumphant shout burst out of the hallway, "Got him!" It was followed by a chorus of distant hooting and cheering. Those were not the voices of first-years. They sounded older and crueler, probably the suspicious group of boys Harry had noticed following after Flint earlier. They must've caught him. Bastards.

The students in the common room nearest the hallway exchanged wary glances and drew back, leaving an open space around the dimly lit archway. The rest of the room was too busy focusing on the argument and excitement by the central fireplace to have noticed anything happening on this side of the room. Would it help or just make things worse if Manic or Valeria heard what was befalling Flint back there, Harry wondered. As if by some unspoken signal, everyone shuffled even farther back and looked away, pretending not to have heard anything from the direction of the first-year dorms—everyone except Harry and his friends.

"Oh no," Pansy said hollowly, leaning for a moment against Blaise's side. He patted her back.

"They got Flint." Daphne bit her lip and hugged herself, looking over her shoulder as if for a path of escape. "We should run before they make us scream like that too," she said.

"Shut up," Draco snapped, clearly rattled. Wiping his hands on his robes, Draco looked left and right, perhaps searching for someone older and more powerful to help and, like Harry, not finding anyone. Harry was used to being disappointed and going it alone, but Draco seemed uncomfortable and upset about it. Lips pressed tight, Draco sighed grumpily and turned to Harry with a frown. "I don't like it, but Daphne may have a point. If they can take out Flint, what chance do we have?"

Fisting handfuls of his robes to keep from grabbing Draco's clothes and shaking him, Harry tried not to shout as he said, "We don't know that that was Flint and, even if it was, that doesn't mean he's down for the count. He could still beat them."

Draco huffed and looked away. "What else could it be? This was a stupid idea," he shook his head, fingers plucking nervously at his cuffs. "We're only second-years. If we attack Manic we're going to get hurt too, just like Flint back there."

"That's what I said," Daphne snapped, voice starting to sound shrill.

"Shh!" Millie snapped, though the crowd was ignoring them just as thoroughly as the hallway.

Draco cast both girls irritated looks before turning back to Harry. "Look, if we know we can't win, we should retreat while we still can."

Harry forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose before replying. "But we don't know that yet. Don't give up before we've even started. Have a little more faith in us."

"Faith?" Draco scoffed. "This isn't a church and you're not a god, Harry."

Before Harry could serve up some godly retribution and deliver the sharp retort burning a hole in his tongue—something about teaching Draco to sing soprano in the church choir if he didn't grow a pair—the distant cheering and hooting abruptly transitioned into a series of gurgles and thuds that cut into ominous silence. Harry exchanged wary looks with his friends. He wasn't sure if he should feel hope or more fear.

What Harry at first took for the rushing of blood in his ears turned out to be a strange sound coming from the hallway. Before he could figure out if it was rushing water or rustling wings it was hidden by a rhythmic slapping sound. The slapping grew louder and louder until a boy with a bite mark on his hand and only one shoe burst out around the corner in a dead run.

Daphne flinched back so hard she tripped and had to be caught up in Draco's arms before she hit the floor. The worry on Pansy's face turned into outraged jealousy. Pansy shoved Harry out of the way and jerked Daphne up and out of Draco's arms with a growl, shoving her towards Millie and almost sending both girls sprawling.

In all the commotion, it took Harry several seconds to recognize the runner. "Pucey," Draco snarled under his breath like a curse. Adrien Pucey was the Chaser Draco had replaced on the Quidditch team. Pucey must've tried to get revenge on Flint for losing his spot on the team. If he'd tried to hurt Flint, he deserved whatever had sent him fleeing, Harry thought uncharitably. Draco, who'd had to bear the burden of Pucey's resentment all year, obviously held no pity for the older boy either. Reacting with viper speed and pure spite, Draco cast a Tripping jinx, making Pucey sprawl hard onto his face and lose his remaining shoe.

An awful smell drifted out of the hallway just then, like the cantaloupe pieces Dudley and his friends had thrown at Harry while he was gardening last summer and that Aunt Petunia had made Harry keep in the area for compost, making his nose hairs want to shrivel up and die over the next few days as the rinds rotted and grew fuzz in the scorching summer heat. Pucey's groan of pain as he rolled over was interrupted by a deep, terrifying chuckle drifting around the bend of the hall. Harry wished he knew what was happening back there. The grating laugh started low but grew louder and more deranged until cutting off with an unpleasant hawking sound as if the voice was forced to pause to spit out saliva or blood running down the back of its throat.

"I'm out of here," Daphne said shakily, stumbling back only to run into Millie's arm, which wrapped around Daphne's neck like a shackle.

"You're staying here and helping us, Daph, so suck it up and grow a spine. I know you have one buried in there." Millie shook her once. Daphne whimpered and went limp like a scruffed kitten, giving in to her fate. Millie smiled grimly and petted her hair.

The grating laugh sounded again. Since Millie had Daphne in hand, Harry grabbed at Draco's shoulder and leaned close to hiss excitedly, "That's gotta be Flint laughing!" They exchanged bloodthirsty grins. "I told you so!"

"Flint doesn't know how to stay down!" Draco nodded and smirked with bloodthirsty satisfaction.

Someone started screaming. They were joined by a second voice for a macabre duet. Harry winced but his grin didn't falter.

Punching Harry's shoulder in glee, Draco said, "You know Flint's gotta be the one causing that. Payback!"

"Go, Flint!" Harry pumped his fist, not even getting mad at Draco for the punch. The sounds were disturbing, but to succeed in Slytherin you had to learn not to let the disturbing phase you too much. Harry just hoped Flint wasn't hurt that badly and that he didn't take his revenge too far. Then again, those idiots should've known better than to ambush Flint, even with the numbers in their favor.

"W-wait, wait, no, I didn't mean to hit you!" a boy shrieked. "It was a mistake!"

"Ha!" Draco scoffed.

The screams turned into gurgles accompanied by splashing thumps as if their mouths had somehow been forced underwater or out the window into the depths of the Black Lake, which should have been impossible. Those windows were supposed to be impregnable, but if anyone could figure out how to bypass that to teach someone a lesson they'd never forget, it would be Flint. A voice started to sob and beg, too distant to make out the words.

Squinting, Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. The curve of the hallway seemed to waver in his sight, becoming darker. Something moved in the darkness. From around the corner crept out thick beams of sinister red light that moved faster as they stretched and thinned, sliding across everything in the hallway like a blind man's bloody fingers trying to read Braille.

One beam wrapped around Pucey's ankle just as he finally regained his feet and started to stumble towards the hallway exit, leaning against the wall as he hobbled forward. As his pace quickened, the red beam went bright scarlet and thickened, pulling Pucey's ankle out from under him and sending him sprawling back onto his belly a mere handspan from the archway leading out with a shriek. The red rope around Pucey's ankle undulated and contracted, thickening and going almost maroon as it dragged him away from freedom and the safety of the common room. Pucey thrashed and sobbed, trying and failing to grab onto the emerald green carpet runner as he was dragged away into the shadows. The tooth marks on his hand left red smears against the wall. "N-no, stop! I didn't mean it, please!"

The red beams retracted around the corner, dragging the whimpering Pucey with them and leaving behind only red afterimages when Harry blinked. Well, that and an even worse headache. The hallway was left empty and innocuous-looking except for the broken lanterns strewn across the shadowed carpet.

Daphne, cursed with a vivid imagination and a crush on the Chaser during First year, whimpered and covered her eyes. "Poor Adrien," she whispered.

Shrugging, Millie patted her shoulder and tried to look unaffected by the scene, though her face was suspiciously pale. Perhaps she'd had a crush too. "Bad choices have consequences. Pucey should've helped Flint instead of ambushing him with his new friends. He should've left Flint alone, period."

No one in the Common Room moved to help Pucey or even reacted. They all just watched stoically from the corners of their eyes or pretended not to hear anything. A few looked around for someone to tell them what to do but, not finding anyone to follow, shrunk back down into passivity. Those few students who might've tried to help Pucey were probably the ones who'd been gurgling and sobbing out of sight around the bend. Manic wasn't going to help either. His priority was toppling Valeria and/or Reyansh, whoever propelled him to power faster. Everyone else was too hesitant, too wary of being caught in the crossfire, or not willing to miss the confrontation between Manic and Valeria. The selfishness, general passivity, and lack of initiative in modern Slytherins was a relatively recent phenomenon according to Pansy, perhaps promoted by Dark Lords hoping to make their followers easier to control and manipulate. It was a major failing in his House that Harry wanted to change going forward.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't go and help Flint either no matter how much he wanted to. He'd already committed to helping Valeria out here and if he let his friends get distracted from that goal he might never get them all pointed in the same direction again in time. Hopefully, some of the Quidditch team would show up soon and go to Flint's aid. Though Flint might not need aid anymore. Flint had probably turned the ambush painfully around on his attackers and made them regret all of their life choices until they were so destroyed that they begged to be sorted into a different house or even quit school altogether and had to become part-time pooper scoopers at a dragon reserve.

A girl focused on skirting the crowd elbowed Harry in the side to try and get him out of her way. Irritated, Harry elbowed back twice as hard and kicked her shin. She flinched back with a surprised grunt, knocking into the group next to them and forcing everyone to shuffle around. Throwing more elbows, she took a different path through the crowd. Snorting, Harry waved his friends forward through the narrow walkway that had formed in her wake between three crooked chairs and a study table.

Harry scanned the room, trying to find the best place to set up his friends to start stepping up their assault. If he got them all taken out in the first few seconds because he was too stupid or cocky, he'd be useless to Valeria and lose the respect that he'd fought so hard for this year. Merlin, just like Draco had said, Harry could end up with as little status as Theo or, even worse, Crabbe and Goyle, who were off serving detention tonight for failing to turn in assignments (again) and thus unable to serve as Draco's shadows. Harry had to bide his time until he had a plan that would make a real difference and help his friends all show their talents. Then they'd hit Manic's people where it hurt most and where they least expected it—like true Slytherins.

"We're Slytherins!" Manic shouted abruptly, unconsciously mimicking Harry's thoughts. Multiple people around the room jumped at his booming voice, including Harry. Harry glared resentfully. Manic would have to hurry if he wanted to finish things before Flint got bored punishing his attackers and returned to the common room in a violent mood.

Manic shook his fist in the air. "Have we turned into weaklings? The way Basavilbaso and the people in this House have been giving in to all of Potter's little whims lately makes me sick," he spat. Stalking around the open area in front of the fireplace, he didn't even bother looking for Harry, instead focusing his attention on the neutral groups of students and those more easily swayed by ego and emotion than logic and loyalty. "It should make all of you sick and ashamed too. He acts like he's better than us and thinks we should change to suit him instead of the other way around—as if we all owe him something a kid like him never even earned."

Valeria sighed loudly. "Never earned? Really? Are you forgetting that he killed the Basilisk so we didn't have to shut down the school? Not to mention his defeat of You-Know-Who?"

"Pah!" Manic said as his supporters booed and hissed at her. "Are you forgetting that half of the families in this room supported the Dark Lord before his tragic demise, including yours?"

"Huh." Draco tilted his head and shrugged. "Well, he's not wrong."

Millie let go of Daphne to hit Draco before Harry could.

Clutching at his side as if stabbed, Draco wheezed dramatically. "Oh, c'mon! Obviously, I support Harry now."

Millie pursed her lips and glared. "Just remember to keep it that way."

"I know," he said sullenly.

"No, Draco," she snapped. "Loyalty or betrayal—both have consequences. Just ask Pucey. Some consequences you can't come back from. You got lucky this time. Do better."

Draco's lips pressed tight. His pale skin went blotchy and red with temper. Jerking away from Millie's judgemental stare, he paused when his gaze met Harry's. Nostrils flaring, he breathed in slow and deep, lifted his chin, and locked eyes on Harry, repeating—this time in a completely different tone of voice—"I know."

Harry couldn't help the way his lips quirked in a small, encouraging smile. It would take time for Draco to unlearn his jerkface habits. Harry was just glad he was willing to try. He was glad to have his friend back and that Draco hadn't done anything Harry couldn't forgive him for.

(Yet, added a wary little voice in his head which he tried to squash).

Unexpectedly Reyansh cleared his throat, demanding the attention of their House and quickly receiving it. Harry needed to learn that trick. "I feel I must point out the corollary to Manic's statement. The other half of the families in this room didn't support the last so-called Dark Lord and—when comparing lost family members, reputations, influence, and wealth—quite benefited from that choice."

There was a moment of shocked silence that he'd said out loud what had gone unspoken of in Slytherin for so many years—the high cost paid by so many families who'd supported Voldemort, even those who'd wiggled out of being charged or going to Azkaban.

Reyansh settled back against the wall in a pose of unconcern, arms crossed and wand dangling from his fingertips as if he didn't have a dog in this fight and hadn't been loudly arguing with Manic just a few minutes ago. "Of course, many so-called 'Light' families leading the fight against him suffered just as much. It was rather a pyrrhic victory for British magical society."

Shifting minutely, he examined his manicured fingernails from beneath dark lashes. "On a related note, it's been known for millennia in India that there's more to powerful magic and great leaders than simplistic labels like Dark and Light." He buffed his nails on his immaculate, stiff, and completely wrinkle-free robes, pausing for a second to look down at himself with a crease between his brows before shaking his head minutely and dropping his hand to his side. He looked around the room with one brow arched. "Those who insist differently are trying to sell you something."

Harry chewed on his inner cheek, worried that Reyansh had started to notice the overpowered Starching charm Harry had cast on him. Hopefully, he wouldn't say or do anything to tip off Manic too soon.

Corner of her mouth lifting in dark amusement, Valeria said, "Isn't it interesting that the so-called Leader of the Light," her tongue curled mockingly around the words, "pushes the narrative of the dangers of Dark magic more than anyone, while simultaneously handicapping our education with subpar classes and teachers? Before his tenure, DADA was called Competition and Combat and, according to my grandfather's portrait, was widely considered one of the best classes taught in all of Magical Europe. Now DADA is a joke. Is he trying to de-fang witches and wizards across Britain? Perhaps to keep his influence strong so his followers don't wise up and disappear on him, hmm?"

Reyansh tipped his head toward her. "Similar to a Dark Lord branding his followers with slave marks to keep them forever in his grasp." He ignored the gasps and outraged sputtering around the room.

"Now see here," Manic said, pounding his fist in one hand, only to be ignored by everyone as Reyansh didn't spare him a glance as he continued speaking.

"At least he was upfront about it. Most people will do just anything to keep themselves in power and slavery has historically been a popular tactic with British men, both in India and abroad. I wonder what the Leader of the Light," he used the same intonation as Valeria, "uses to enslave others? You know he does. Something subtler perhaps and dressed up with duty and the greater good, but no doubt just as cruel if not crueler for how he hides it."

You could see the way their words were making wheels turn in heads around the room and coloring opinions concerning a certain headmaster, though they'd both been careful to never actually speak his name. There was a small part of Harry that felt uncomfortable with how they were speaking of Dumbledore, unable to completely forget the persona of the kindly grandfather he'd once seen in the Headmaster despite all of the disappointments and uncomfortable interactions that came after. It felt disloyal not to speak up in his defense, but speaking would be foolish when Harry carried many of those same doubts in his heart. In the end, he remained silent.

Valeria tilted her head and tapped a finger against her mouth. "Indoctrination when young and preying on fear are surely just the tip of the iceberg with him. What our generation needs is new leadership and a fresh perspective."

"Indeed, perhaps from someone not born in the last century or before radios became a household staple?"

Valeria inclined her head graciously. "Which shouldn't be that high of a bar, since radios became more common than not by the late 1930s."

"Look, none of that's relevant!" Manic burst in with a stomped foot and waving arms, ignoring Valeria's huff and Reyansh's arched brow. "We need to focus on what's important right now. Slytherin has lost its way and," he looked around the crowd and jabbed a finger at his feet, "I'm here to fix that for you." His supporters cheered loudly, drowning out the negative reactions. "The way I see it, Potter owes us—owes you—not the other way around like some people would have you believe."

Manic paused to sneer at Valeria, building drama and support for his current power play. "Potter and Basavilbaso both owe us an explanation after all of the thankless support we've given them recently." Manic twirled his wand in his fingers theatrically, and opened his other hand, inviting the crowd to join his cause before placing it on his chest to scattered applause. "I'm just here to magnanimously collect the debt on behalf of my fellow Slytherins and get our House back on track to win."

"Enough talking, make them pay!" That sounded like that flobberworm Matty Bole. Harry wanted to gather up those slimy dice he'd walked past on the stairwell earlier and shove them up Bole's nose and down his throat.

A vicious rumble went through the crowd. It felt like the tension in the room hovered on the edge of a knife, about to tip at any moment into a violent brawl. At least Harry has his friends around him. Blood was about to be spilled and Valeria was stuck all alone at the center of it. Harry didn't want to see Valeria's blood, couldn't bear to see her limp and looking like dead, not again. Gripping his wand tightly, Harry fought to stay in the moment, reminding himself that he wasn't alone and that a few bullies were a lot less dangerous than a thousand-year-old Basilisk or tricky Tom and his cursed diary.

Gritting his teeth, Harry tried to move his friends just a little bit closer with better sightlines for casting spells. He hadn't gotten very far when he found his way blocked again, this time by his old bully Derrick. Harry was surprised not to see Bole by his side. It was like Manic had kicked over all of the rocks and invited the worst roaches of Slytherin to scurry out into the light for a party.

Laughing to himself, the older boy didn't even hesitate once he'd noticed Harry, just stepped forward, put his big hands on Harry's chest, and shoved hard. Derrick was a lot bigger than Harry and had physics on his side. Unable to brace himself, Harry flew back, slamming into Draco and sending them both to their knees.

"Hey, watch it," Pansy snapped.

Harry ignored the awkward position on the floor as he focused on defending himself. Baring his teeth, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Derrick.

Looking amused, Derrick tapped his wrist where his wand was already pointed at Harry.

Stalemate.

Eyes locked on his opponent, a nasty hex on the tip of his tongue just waiting for Derrick to blink, Harry clambered back to his feet, pulling Draco up with him. Derrick flicked his wand and opened his mouth to cast something. Rushing to get his spell out first, Harry fell back on instinct, getting out the first two syllables of the disarming spell, "Expel—"

—just as the ghost of the Bloody Baron floated down from the ceiling.

Harry and Derrick both froze.

Everyone froze.

The Bloody Baron was capricious and cruel, a miserable old ghost who only spoke when forced or when it would make a situation worse. You could never really predict when the Bloody Baron was going to fly to Professor Snape to get them all in trouble or merely observe for his own twisted entertainment. Slytherins learned pretty quickly to stop whatever they were doing whenever he chose to appear, for the Baron was more likely to be lenient (though it was never a guarantee) when he felt feared and respected.

Ignoring him was the quickest way to draw his ire and get him pointing an accusing finger whenever their Head of House asked for a culprit, whether you were guilty or not. Harry had learned that the hard way. He did not want to get on the Bloody Baron's bad side again.

After making a slow circuit of the room, looking grimly pleased at how some people seemed to stop breathing at his approach, the Bloody Baron finally settled into the curve of a chandelier above Manic and Valeria, light glinting unnervingly off the translucent bloodstains on his robes. He crossed his arms and leaned back with a long sigh. That was the sign that he wasn't going to interfere or tattle (probably). Recognizing it, the crowd shifted and heaved, pulling Harry and Derrick in opposite directions and filling the space between them with other students, making it impossible to get off a clean shot.

A hole opened up in the crowd behind a long couch next to a side table with a sturdy metal statue—the perfect spot to set up fortifications. Grabbing the wrists of Draco and Pansy, who were nearest, he dragged them through the rapidly closing gap in the crowd, trusting the others to follow. He kept everyone pushing forward until they'd all gotten through and claimed the area he'd wanted, ousting a couple of third years in the process.

It was time to get serious. Sending everyone to spread out over the area in their pairs, Harry looked up to see Manic still posing in front of the fireplace, looming over the much smaller Valeria like a gargoyle. He seemed massive, with shoulders more than twice as wide as her slender build. His wand was held at the ready by his side as he watched her carefully with sharp, beady eyes, waiting for her wand to twitch so he could cast first and prove himself superior in front of their house.

"You're delusional," Valeria said. The corner of her mouth twitched dangerously. "Back off or I will hurt you." Despite her brave words, Harry could see the tension in her face as her eyes flicked between the number of bodies blocking off any hope of retreat. The crowd surrounding her bayed for her comeuppance, shouting threats and insults. Her shoulders slumped and she took a deep breath as she came to some sort of decision she didn't like.

Manic gave her a slow, cruel smile. "You're surrounded and at my mercy, little one." His tongue and teeth lingered over the insulting diminutive. "The only one getting hurt today is you."

Valeria gave an almost imperceptible flinch as if something he'd said had triggered a bad memory. Nostrils flaring, her eyes shot to a dark-skinned seventh-year with small, cruel eyes—a cousin of some sort, though Harry had never heard them speak to each other with anything but disdain. Something strange and foggy flared in her eyes at seeing him and her shoulders twitched in what he'd call a shudder in someone else. She rubbed a hand up the side of her neck and pressed it against the long scar curling behind her ear. Her eyes darted around again as if looking for someone in particular.

Harry's stomach clenched. Was she looking for the face of the person who had taught her how much magic could hurt? The person who'd taught her to fear hands in her hair?

He hated the thought, but it hurt almost as much to think that she was looking for and not finding the face of a friend. What if she was looking for him? Or for Flint? For just one face not eager to do her violence? He wanted to wave his arms in the air until she saw him and his friends there supporting her and knew she didn't have to do this alone, but he couldn't risk drawing Manic's attention and dooming their counter-attack before it had even gotten off the ground.

Returning her eyes to Manic, Valeria's lips thinned. The well-worn lines on her face deepened into canyons. She gave a small sigh and looked away. Her hand dropped off her scar to fall limply at her side as her proud mask slipped for just a moment. Harry knew that look like he knew the shape of the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Life had carved that feeling deep into his skin and bones. It hurt to see it in someone else.

Ah yes, here we go again. Pain. The only thing I can always depend on… no matter what I do.

Valeria's eyes closed and her expression flattened, the vulnerable expression snuffed out like a burning ember escaping up from a roaring fire only to die the moment it reached the freedom of the open sky. When her dark lashes lifted, still turned away from Manic, the black, bottomless pits of Valeria's pupils seethed with malevolence, animal cunning, and more than a hint of insanity. The line of her mouth looked sharp enough to draw blood as the tendon in her neck went taut as a drawn bowstring. Valeria looked violent and scary.

Harry began to step back, unable to fight the animal instinct to flee, but just as quickly as it had appeared all of that intense emotion blinked out of existence, leaving Valeria with the eyes and face of an empty porcelain doll.

Shifting to face Manic, Valeria breathed in deeply. On the exhale her posture shifted drastically, almost like the tales of Native American skinwalkers pulling on a stolen set of skin to assume a new identity—feet angling in, shoulders rounding, chin dropping, and mouth softening until she looked small, young, and delicate, a child who bruised if handled too roughly. Harry rubbed his eyes but the sight didn't change. Valeria had disappeared. It was like a stranger now stood there.

Chilled and disturbed, Harry felt a shiver go down his spine. Since when was Valeria that good of an actress? He didn't like it. Something about it scared him even more. He just wasn't sure if he was more scared for Valeria or of her. Maybe both.

Lifting her arms languidly, Valeria adjusted the hem of her embroidered sleeves so the points sat centered evenly on the back of her elegant hands, smoothing the fabric hypnotically with her slim fingers. A shift of her hips turned all her angles into curves, making her seem soft and inviting. Tipping her head back and to the side in a move that elongated the vulnerable arch of her neck and almost seemed coquettish, she looked up at Manic through long, dark lashes and blinked lazily, seemingly nothing more than a pretty little doll waiting to be picked up. It was a look that teased and invited you to lean closer and pet, to see only the docile lamb and not the rabid wolf wearing the lamb's still-warm and dripping skin.

Mouth dropping open and eyes going wide, Manic looked like he'd been hit over the head with a two-by-four. He swayed forward and then back, wand hand dropping limply to his side as if forgotten. He blinked at her several times rapidly and licked his lips. "W-well?" His voice cracked. He swallowed and shifted on his feet, looking to the side at one of his friends, who shrugged and scratched his head. Manic coughed into one hand. "Well? What do you have to say to that, huh?"

The corner of Valeria's mouth quivered once, her porcelain mask perhaps starting to crack, though not enough to reveal what was underneath. Fingers drooping languidly, she lifted the back of her empty hand in front of her mouth, looked up faux-innocently into Manic's eyes, and… yawned.

Nostrils flaring wide, in a flash Manic's befuddled expression twisted into rage. He took a quick step forward, his hand going up as if to backhand Valeria. Several voices in the crowd cried out and he jerked himself to a stop before his hand could fly forward. He was breathing heavily. "It's time you learned some respect, little girl. Maybe you should be the one made to answer my questions all by yourself." His fist dropped to his side, clenching and unclenching.

Valeria hadn't even flinched once. In reply, she just gave him a long, slow blink. Manic didn't look like he liked that, shifting back and forth on his feet. "Well?" Her continued lack of response went on just a hair too long for Manic's patience. Huffing, he started to speak again, "You—

"No," she interrupted placidly, still with that eerie lack of temper, like a child too stupid and naive to understand what was happening.

"No?" Manic faltered, his brows beetling as he unsuccessfully tried to stare down someone who was looking blankly through you. He seemed even more confused by Valeria's actions than Harry was. "Oh yeah?" His fists curled and uncurled, as if unsure what to do. He looked her up and down again. "Well, I'm not taking no for an answer." Hand darting out, Manic poked her in the shoulder and then jumped back, shoulders hunched and wand raised perpendicular to his body in a defensive dueling stance.

Body swaying with the force, Valeria rounded her shoulders as if cowering from the attack and dropped her eyes, hiding whatever emotion might be lurking there. She didn't respond otherwise. It made her look even smaller—weaker—like prey. Like easy prey.

Giving a shocked laugh, Manic grinned widely, looking smugly from side to side at his supporters in the crowd.

Harry was also shocked. This was all wrong. Where was his Valeria? What was she doing? What had happened to her pride and prickly temper? He didn't understand (or perhaps he understood too well the sacrifice of pride for survival). Memory sparked and he remembered the fragile figure with hair shorn to the scalp he'd found before Christmas in front of a dungeon window looking out beneath the Black Lake, the girl he'd mistaken for a stranger instead of a Valeria braced for misery. It made him want to hit something. Someone. A ringing started up in his ears. He started to lift his wand to attack Manic, but Pansy grabbed his arm tightly, digging in her fingernails.

"Wait. I get it, but everyone's watching Manic. They'll take you out before you can get off more than one shot. Attack the others. Subtly, Harry!"

It made Harry want to gnash his teeth and scream. Jerking away, he saw that Derrick and Bole had found each other. They looked eagerly focused on what was happening up front. Harry spelled both of them and then all of Manic's allies in his line of sight, begrudgingly trying to keep the light trails from his spells as low to the ground as possible despite his desire to jump up on top of the couch and start flinging hexes indiscriminately. Harry cast so many CAG jinxes in a row that the room filled with a low rumble from all of the farting and started to smell as ripe as an outhouse. He just hoped the discomfort would soon overcome their curiosity and force them to run for the bathroom, leaving the field of battle. If not, his nose might not survive it.

Valeria was still just standing there up front all weak and broken looking. Harry could barely stand it. Valeria should never look like that.

Chuckling, Manic slipped his wand into his wand pocket to free both hands for some grandstanding. "Too scared to fight me, hmm? Did the pressure make you crack? Well, as long as you're meek and obedient I suppose I can go easy on you." He patted his thigh, snapped his fingers, and pointed at his feet like one might when summoning a little dog to heel. "C'mere, pet."

Valeria dropped her chin and hunched her shoulders even more. A fine tremble went through her body. Fear? Or barely leashed rage? Manic and his friends exchanged triumphant looks and laughed uproariously, pounding each other on the back as if Manic was hilarious and they'd already won. It made Harry want to spit up blood.

Strutting around the open space, Manic turned his back on the supposedly cowed Valeria and cast a smug look out over the crowd. Looking over his shoulder and down at the hunched Valeria, hands on his hips, he licked his lips and gave a crooked sneer. "Well? I'm ready for some answers." Pivoting to face her, his eyes went hooded and his voice low and mean, "So get on your knees and pry open those tight lips for me, pet."

Audible gasps filled the room along with several shouts of outrage. Harry was outraged too, though he had a feeling he was naive enough to be missing something in the insult. Surely Valeria would drop the pretense now and punch Manic hard in the nose or hex him mute. Something, anything.

The Snake Sisters, deciding to play it safe, slithered quickly into the metal vase and fronds in the central fireplace screen, disappearing from view. One of them flicked her tail as she retreated, knocking over a bucket of ashes into the fireplace with a clatter. The mess snuffed out the flames and sent a cloud of pale ashes and thick black smoke into the air, making the space around Valeria momentarily opaque.

The smoky haze cleared to reveal Valeria's slight form coated in gray ashes and looking as pale as the Bloody Baron's ghost perched like a vulture on the chandelier. Head still bowed and eyes lowered, she clasped one hand over her opposite wrist meekly. "Okay," she said and dropped to her knees.

Frozen in disbelief, Harry stopped breathing. Manic had the opposite reaction, gasping at the sight and choking on his spit, eyes bulging as his face went bright red. Hacking and coughing, eyes squinting shut, Manic hunched over and pounded on his chest with one fist, fighting to catch his breath.

Most people reacted similarly. Mouths dropped open and wands fell to hang limply at sides. Faces looked around with bewilderment. Valeria was a monolith in their house—only on the fringe instead of the center of dominance disputes and power plays because everyone was scared of her and she didn't care enough to bother. No one could've ever imagined her folding to pressure like this. Harry wouldn't have believed it either if he wasn't seeing it right now with his own eyes. It was so shocking that despite Valeria being vulnerable down on her knees, no one moved to attack. The mob seemed too confused by the unexpected turn of events and unwilling to act without Manic's direction. They'd come for a vicious brawl, not this.

Harry was proud to note that his friends, while just as shocked as everyone else, were taking advantage of the crowd's distraction to steal wands and replace them with transfigured replicas, along with other tricks. Blaise, taking a break from defense, was transfiguring collar buttons into four-eyed spiders that still looked mostly like buttons but crawled up necks or down napes in a creepy-looking fashion. Harry followed Blaise's lead and knotted shoelaces. On feeling the spiders, people started jumping in fright, slapping at their necks or backs, and then falling over when their laces kept their feet from moving. However, it wasn't enough. They needed to take out more of the crowd before all of their sabotage was discovered and undone.

From the first-year hallway at their backs came a sloppy percussive sound like a tuba trying to blow through a tub of gravy. Harry jerked around just in time to see Miles run out around the curve of the hallway in a strange echo of Pucey from earlier, except without the missing shoe. Miles had seaweed plastered around his head like one of Professor Quirrel's turbans. Water streamed off his soaked robes and dripped down his face. Under his arm, he carried a glistening, purple-black sphere like a Quaffle.

"Miles, here!" called Dulcina as she pushed out of the crowd.

As if it was just another Quidditch practice, Miles immediately threw the sphere to her. Wiggling, comma-shaped droplets fell in its wake. "Get rid of it!" he cried. "Quick!"

Catching it effortlessly, Dulcina twirled on her heels, lifted the now-pulsing purple-black sphere overhead, and hurled it up in a high arch into the center of the common room before ducking down and pressing herself against the wall, wrapping her arms around her head protectively.

At the height of its arch, the sphere exploded with a violent squelch, showering the room with a living rain of electric-blue-striped tadpoles. The room filled with shrieking as the tadpoles flopped around like ping-pong balls, smacking into everyone and everything. When they hit, they gave you a painful little electric shock too. They burrowed into hair, robes, and furniture with equal abandon, slimy and wriggling and annoying. People were running around hysterically and casting desperate spells, hitting each other more often than the tadpoles and just adding to the chaos.

Fantastic!

Welcoming his new allies, Harry pulled out the slippery tadpole that was trying to wiggle down his collar, doing his best to ignore the painful little shocks, and flung it high up into the air. He spelled it, along with the rest of the mid-air tadpoles people were flinging away from their bodies, with a Levitation charm to move them farther along. As soon as they were near the central fireplace he switched to Engorgio charms. In seconds the little tadpoles grew into creatures the size of small dogs, dropping like a ballista load of slimy wiggling rocks onto Manic's allies. He'd been aiming for cow-sized, but without Hermione egging him on this year, his wand work and magical theory had suffered outside of his defense tutoring with Valeria. Still, being hit by a dog-sized tadpole that slapped you about the ears with its tail and electrocuted you was bound to hurt and feel properly demoralizing.

In that moment of shock compounded by chaos, the docile doll who'd taken over Valeria's body dissolved like blood in water. Insane fury ignited in her eyes like dragonfire. Within seconds she'd pulled a wand from her sleeve, used her empty hand to slap away the tadpole flopping in her direction hard enough to make it bounce across the floor cross-eyed and belly-up, and started shooting spells from her wand like an American West gunslinger. So much goo was flying from her wand that slimy webs started forming on the furniture and walls. It felt like he was inside a spider's den instead of the House of the Snakes and it was menacingly glorious.

"Yeah, go Valeria!" Harry cheered and waved his arms, accidentally dropping several tadpoles short of their targets, but not even caring. He was just so relieved to see Valeria up and fighting again.

Seeing his carefully orchestrated victory slipping from his grasp, Manic looked up with a husky bellow. In response, Valeria attacked him. Eyes going comically wide, Manic's scream cut off as he frantically dived behind the nearest students for cover. Valeria's spell barely missed him, hitting the boy he'd ducked behind instead. Valeria's follow-up spell a second later also missed, hitting another of Manic's allies. The two boys went stiff, turned lime green, and toppled over, exposing Manic's crouched body.

Snarling, Manic reached for the wand he'd put away earlier as he jerked upright—or rather, as he tried to jerk upright. Tried and failed. Instead, thanks to Harry's Starching Charm finally kicking in, the fabric of Manic's robes had become stiffer than paper maché, restraining him from standing. Manic's waist couldn't straighten and his elbow couldn't bend, making his scrabbling fingers hit too low on his thigh to get into the opening of his wand pocket. Gnashing his teeth in rage, Manic gave up on reaching for his wand and ran forward head-first past his fallen comrades and straight towards where Valeria knelt as if he meant to hit her like a battering ram and break her beneath his not-inconsiderable bulk.

Distracted, Harry lost control of the tadpole he'd been levitating. It bounced off a blond, ricocheted off a brunette, and flopped onto the shoulder of Valeria's cruel-eyed cousin. In response, he jumped, grabbed the thing by the tail with two hands, and flung it away with a hysterical and high-pitched, "Eeek!"

The enlarged tadpole had already started to shrink—Harry's magic not lasting as long as he'd hoped—but its body was still the size of a small chihuahua when it fell from the air to smack Manic right in the eye with its body and several times in the mouth with its flapping tail. Manic went down with a howl, clutching at his face. The tadpole continued to shrink, trying to flop away across the floor only to get stuck in a puddle of goo. Manic writhed on the floor, eye-watering and lips bloody, unable to straighten from his hunch or use his arms to push himself up as he kicked himself in circles trying to regain his feet.

Before he could recover, Valeria hit him with a berserker barrage of spells. White goo splattered over Manic's body, then pink, then white again, followed by his ears transforming into triangles covered in mangy fur that slid up on top of his head even as his nose elongated into a short snout with a black button canine nose.

Despite the temptation to sit back and laugh as Valeria kept hitting Manic with more hexes, Harry remembered that he wasn't just a bystander. Everyone had a job to do and he was slacking. Flushing and hoping his friends hadn't noticed, he went back to work. Blaise and Daphne kept the tadpoles away from their group, cast camouflage spells to hide them, rebuilt fortifications by shifting nearby furniture, and blocked or misdirected any spells or objects that got too close. Draco and Millie sent nasty spells at the people looking like they might attack the distracted Valeria, their group, and anyone else they didn't like the look of. Harry and Pansy supported both sides as needed, though Harry couldn't help but focus most on trying to keep Valeria safe.

However, despite their valiant efforts, there were just too many spells to keep track of and Valeria was out in the open. Magic shot toward Valeria from multiple sides. She ducked and deflected even as a spell almost singed her scalp. If she'd had any hair to speak of, it would've hit her. Harry disarmed everyone he could, but half the people attacking her he couldn't even see, just the color of their magic shooting through the air. Thinking quickly, he floated a side table up to block Valeria's far side from attack. Before he could congratulate himself, someone blasted the side table into the wall. Harry flinched as it turned into kindling.

Reyansh appeared out of a gap in the crowd, watching Valeria with a piercing gaze as he lifted his wand in her direction. He could be about to cast a spell meant to help her… or it could be an attack on Valeria herself. It might be a malicious attack or just something done out of boredom and opportunity. Perhaps he planned to excuse it as friendly fire during the heat of battle. The motives of Reyansh were often as clear as mud to Harry.

Whatever the case, Harry's curiosity was doomed to not be answered. His Starching Charm came through again as the stiffness of Reyansh's robes kept the boy from moving his wand arm freely. Instead of trying to cast again, Reyansh grimaced, tried and failed to roll his shoulders or move his arms, and then retreated with a huff. Harry thought about attacking the prefect while his back was turned and Harry could excuse it as a misaimed spell during the heat of battle if asked, but he got distracted by a group rushing forward to either rescue Manic or attack Valeria and had to abandon the impulse.

More spells rushed towards where Valeria crouched. Twisting on her knees, she put up a shield spell just in the knick of time, absorbing two spells and deflecting the others. The lanterns on the wall above her shattered. Grimacing and hunching her shoulders at the percussive impacts and showers of glass, she stayed low to the ground and wiggled backward, wedging herself in the space between the wall, the protruding mantel, and the corner of the fireplace screen. The position, especially with both lanterns and fireplace doused, made her almost impossible to see and fiendishly difficult to hit. Wiggling to settle herself in the niche with a bloodthirsty smile, Valeria waited for a break in the attacks and then dropped her shield and sprayed the crowd with more of her signature goo, followed by several very nasty hexes.

Harry and his friends redoubled their efforts which—added to the still flopping tadpoles, Valeria's continued attacks, Manic's wiggling on his back on the floor and enraged howling (doglike or human—it was hard to say), and the general chaos and confusion—had Manic's allies starting to give up, in some cases even turning on each other as they retreated from the lash of Valeria's temper, the loss of their wands and toll of multiple hexes, the spells flying everywhere indiscriminately, and the zapping tadpoles big and small.

"Get back here, you fools!" Manic snarled as he finally heaved himself up onto his feet without the use of his trapped arms, one eye swelling shut and furry ears plastered flat to his head by dangling strands of white and pink goo. He looked like a mutt used as a handkerchief by a troll. "Get her before it's too late!"

"Get this, pet!" Valeria's spell hit Manic in the mouth like a firehose with a spray of goo, choking him as the force of the impact spun him around in midair and slammed him to the ground, leaving only one nostril in his black button nose uncovered by goo. It flared and fluttered frantically, his only option for breathing. All of Manic's allies who had started rallying to his call now scattered, abandoning him to his fate.

"Oh, are you having trouble using your arms to get up? Here, let me help," Valeria sneered as she rose from her corner, taking a page from Professor Lockhart's book and vanishing the bones in Manic's arms with a few swishes from her wand. Harry grimaced in memory as he watched Manic's boneless arms flop down from his shoulders. Manic's rubbery fingers hit the ground and bent backward to touch his wrists, making Harry wince even though he knew it didn't actually hurt, just felt really weird. Bubbles formed in the goo around Manic's mouth as he screamed and swore at Valeria impotently, unable to escape and, from the look in his eye, starting to panic. With a truly disturbing smile, Valeria vanished Manic's leg bones next, sending the older boy flying forward onto his belly and busting open his chin and the bubbles around his mouth. Voice slurring from between bloody teeth, he glared at her with hatred. "You dirty—" only to choke and go silent as a glob of goo dripped down his cheek and over his mouth, gagging him again.

"What's that? I can't quite hear you, pet." She cupped the hand not holding her wand around her ear for a second in mockery before dropping it. "Oh well. Unlike you, I have no interest in making you sit. Quite the opposite, in fact." Eyes not quite sane, her wand wove through the air in a complicated and impressive show as Valeria levitated Manic's boneless arms and legs up behind his back and mercilessly wove them into a squishy knot, the sight of which made Harry queasy.

Valeria's next spell wrapped Manic's Slytherin scarf around the disturbing knot of his limbs and lifted him into the air like an oversized Christmas ornament topped by a fleshy bow. "By your leave, milord," she called up to the Bloody Baron with strained but genuine courtesy.

The Bloody Baron waved a hand permissively and tilted his head to watch. Brow creasing, Valeria leaned left to dodge a tadpole flying through the air and wiggled her wand while chanting, knotting the end of the scarf over the same chandelier where the Bloody Baron perched. The chandelier shifted beneath Manic's weight but neither bent nor broke, built to withstand generations of Slytherin tomfoolery and warfare. Manic dangled beneath the Bloody Baron's feet like a juicy fly caught in a spider's web. Observing the chaos and battle below, the corners of the Bloody Baron's mouth slid upward infinitesimally.

*To Be Continued (very soon)*


AN: As stated earlier, the rest of the events will be up in a day or so after one more edit. Please leave me an encouraging and motivating review! I've been canning lots of tomatoes and peppers from my garden this month as it is the end of the season and finally hitting freezing this week. I've got 5 boxes of green tomatoes ripening in my garage now. Also, for Americans—Happy Halloween next week! My family is dressing up like Lord of the Rings villains (Smaug, Balrog, Nazgul, One Ring). I bought paper mask templates on Etsy to make our own masks. Free candy and LOTR are a fun combination!