Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the end of the current story arc, but it will continue with the summer series of stories.

Part Seven

"Showing off their fire magic, THE STUDENTS FROM BEAUXBATONS!"

"They could have tried for a more creative name," Lavender complains from behind Harry in an undertone. "I thought Veela were supposed to be more creative than the average wizard or witch."

Harry grins a little, and wonders what Lavender will say when she sees Oliver's part in the fire demonstration's creativity.

It starts out with Delacour and Dupaix standing on opposite sides of a half-circle of students, most of them with the pale hair and sharp features of Veela, but not all. For a moment, they're still as throbbing drum music soars around them. Harry supposes the music must be conjured, since he can't see anyone playing it.

Then ribbons and whips of fire begin to uncoil from the students' hands. They spring into the air and wind around each other, forming intricate braids and spirals and other patterns like a chessboard, while people in the stands gasp and cry out. Harry is impressed to see that all the students seem to be controlling fire with their hands, not just the Veela-looking ones.

Then Oliver flies out of the stands and into the middle of the pattern.

There's more gasps, and indignant cries from a few people who seem to assume this is cheating or someone trying to disrupt the pattern. But the Gryffindors who recognize Oliver are laughing and cheering as he soars in wide rings around the ribbons, just barely dodges the whips, and spirals down around one large comet-like stream of fire while more and more ribbons rise to meet and almost fry him.

It's amazing, impressive flying. Harry claps until his hands are sore and wonders why people think he's such a great Quidditch player, when Oliver is so much better.

"Can you help me with a research project, Harry?"

Harry looks up and blinks at Ernie, who's standing by the library table. Harry and Hermione are—were—the only ones here for once, and Hermione shifts in irritation and pulls her Defense book closer to her. "If you want," Harry says slowly. "But I'm really not the best person to conduct research, you know. Other people are better."

"It's not a traditional research project." Ernie sits down across the table from Harry and takes out a long piece of parchment and a quill. He fixes Harry with a stern gaze. "I'm collecting ideas for things I can work on. Injustices to solve."

"Oh." Harry blinks and is quiet for a minute. Last year he would have talked about Snape and Trelawney and the fights between Houses, but the first two are solved problems and the last one has calmed down due to Hogwarts students feeling like they have to unite against Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

But someday those schools will leave and we might be right back to where we started, Harry reminds himself. He nods. "Okay, I can think of a few things."

Ernie arranges his inkwell fussily off to the side, dips his quill in it, and nods. "Ready," he says, ignoring the way that some of the ink splatters on the parchment.

"The rivalries between Houses are a little ridiculous. I mean, they make the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup competitions exciting, but people get hurt in them, you know? I'd like to see more precautions set up about that. Maybe wards around the Quidditch pitch that react faster when someone is hurt and falling off their broom. Or wards attuned to cheating. If they have those.

"And bullying does happen, not just because of Houses. I want to see more people stand up against that. I can't be everywhere all the time, and not everyone listens to me. So people in the different Houses should watch out for children who are being bullied and help them."

Harry draws his breath in to go on, but stops when he notices that Ernie is looking troubled. "Ernie? What is it?"

"Have you heard about Luna Lovegood?"

"I know that she was being bullied last year, and I told the bullies off and asked some of the Ravenclaws to watch over her." Harry can feel himself shifting forwards, leaning over the table, but mostly he feels cold outrage. "What happened?"

"I don't know if the bullies stopped last year, but they haven't this year." Ernie's face is settling into stubborn lines. "I know she's been having her books stolen and her clothes ripped and Transfigured. She came to class barefoot a few times. She's really good in Ancient Runes, so she takes it with the fourth-years, and we have it together."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"I don't know. You don't have that many Ravenclaws followers, do you?"

Harry grimaces at the name "followers," but shakes his head. "Not many. There's really just Padma Patil in our year, and she's been avoiding me lately." The last time they talked, Padma expressed reservations about Harry's power that sounded sort of like Angelina's.

"Time to show them that we won't tolerate this, then."

Harry smiles. Ernie's smile gleams back.

"I've heard that some of you have been bullying Luna Lovegood."

Ernie decided to make an announcement at dinner, which isn't necessarily the way Harry would have chosen to do this, but does catch a lot of people's attention. And because Ernie is the one making the announcement—he insisted—Harry is the one who gets to watch the Ravenclaw table and notice some flinches.

Including ones among Michael Corner and Stephen Cornfoot in his year.

Harry's eyes narrow. He hopes that those flinches are because they haven't been watching out for Luna and feel guilty about it, not because they've been participating in the bullying. But he will find out.

"She's at least a year younger than almost everyone doing the bullying," Ernie says, frowning at the entire Ravenclaw table from the Head Boy on down. "And she's harmless. She hasn't done anything to you. Why did you do that? What possible justification could you have? Finally, for those of you who are followers of Lord Slytherin, he asked you to watch out for you last year, and you didn't. I am very disappointed in you."

More people wither under Ernie's stern disapproval than Harry thought would, but they also stubbornly start to argue back. Well, mostly not the same people.

"She's annoying," Marietta Edgecombe snaps, her earrings bouncing as she leans back and folds her arms. "Always talking about imaginary creatures and expecting people to pay attention to her father's stupid newspaper. Why shouldn't we fight back against that?"

"You tell someone being annoying to stop," Ernie says. "You don't steal her shoes."

"Mr. Macmillan," Dumbledore says, because apparently he feels this conversation has had a critical lack of the Headmaster so far. "While I applaud your desire for justice towards younger students, must we hurl accusations like this in public?"

"I haven't named any names, Headmaster," Ernie says, with a sideways glance that's hilariously lacking in respect even compared to the way Susan treated Dumbledore. "I've simply called on Ravenclaw House to stop bullying one of their own. Edgecombe chose to reveal herself as someone who does that."

Dumbledore gives a nearly soundless sigh. Harry wonders if he can only hear that because he's got so used to trying. "Regardless, Mr. Macmillan, the prevention of bullying should be left up to the professors and the Heads of Houses."

"You've done a bloody poor job of it so far."

"Mr. Macmillan!"

"Sorry, Professor Sprout, but it's true. Maybe professors also need to think about bullying. You participated in the bullying of Lord Slytherin to attempt to get the Tri-Wizard Tournament brought to the school. I think you should all be ashamed of that."

"And it happened last year, too," Blaise says unexpectedly. He seems to have the same modified Sonorus Charm Ernie does on his throat. Harry really needs to learn that one. "With Professor Snape's bullying of Lord Slytherin."

"Why did you allow Luna Lovegood to be bullied, Professor Flitwick?" Susan asks, practically batting her eyelashes. "She can't have done anything to you, surely?"

"Hell, a lot of us witnessed Professor McGonagall bullying Harry to go the Yule Ball," Ron says.

"I wonder why it took so many people asking the Wizengamot to look into Professor Dumbledore before someone noticed the necromantic wards on the house of Lord Slytherin's Muggle relatives," says Theo, and his smile is thin like a blade.

Harry sighs to himself a little. At least Susan mentioned Luna, but the other parts are all about him again. As usual. He stands up, and some people turn to look at him as if their heads are on springs.

"I think a lot of us don't trust the professors to prevent bullying," he says into the silence, his neck prickling as he realizes that people are so quiet they can hear him perfectly well without a Sonorus Charm. "But that means they need to become better, without abandoning us altogether."

"I am glad that you see the need for cooperation between students and professors, Harry," Dumbledore says, looking relieved.

"We need to do something about Luna," Hermione says, standing up. "And we need to do something about bullying by professors, too. Professor Moody talked about the Unforgivables the other day and practically yelled the details about the Killing Curse while he looked Harry in the eye."

Harry looks up at Moody, who only stares back at him, magical eye fixed on Harry and face fixed in a grumpy expression. He's sipping from the large mug of ale that he always seems to have on hand no matter what the meal. (Harry has heard stories that he once only drank from his own flask, but he doesn't do that anymore, if he ever did). Moody plops the mug down on the table as students stare at him and says in a carrying voice, "You have to know what kind of spells you're going to face in the field. Be grateful I didn't yield to what Albus asked me to do, which was show you the Unforgivables."

Several hundred people gasp, or at least it sounds like that. Harry finds himself turning towards Dumbledore as if he's underwater, but Hermione is the first one to speak. "Headmaster! Why would you do that?"

Dumbledore's gaze seems old, but he doesn't flinch from all the people staring at him. "Better that you face them in a controlled classroom setting than for the first time on a battlefield," he murmurs.

"But you r-refused," Neville stutters, and Harry remembers abruptly that he did hear Neville's parents were in St. Mungo's after damage from the Cruciatus. He reaches out under the Gryffindor table to pat Neville's arm. Neville gives him a faint, ghostly smile.

"Yes," Moody says, and snorts as he slugs back a drink of ale. "I refused. I don't think children that young need to see them. Hear about them, sure. But not see them."

Dumbledore shakes his head and sits down. Harry remains standing. "Is anyone going to do anything about people like Luna getting bullied?" he asks, staring around the room. McGonagall and Sprout and Flitwick look embarrassed, but Flitwick most of all.

"I will," says Padma, who's standing up now at the Ravenclaw table with her mouth like a slash across her face. "I didn't know this was going on, Harry, I swear to you."

"I kind of meant the professors," Harry says, and people swivel around to stare at the high table.

"I will," says Professor Flitwick quietly. He really shouldn't be able to be heard, he's so quiet, but he is. With a start, Harry realizes it might actually be the Great Hall itself making people easy to hear, not charms. "It is to my shame that I did not know this was going on and trusted my Ravenclaws to govern themselves. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Mr. Potter."

Harry nods and looks at the other professors. Dumbledore still looks pained, and Professor McGonagall sort of looks that way, too. Professor Sprout is wringing her hands and avoiding Harry's eyes. Professor Moody is just drinking his way steadily through some ale.

Ahalam coils tighter around Harry's neck and says, "I want some cheese."

Harry sighs and fetches cheese for his snake, wishing he could solve all of their problems that simply.

There are raised, shouting voices in the corridor ahead. Harry hesitates. He had to go back to Gryffindor Tower to get his Potions book and Snape is going to kill him if he's late, truce or not, but he wants to hear what this is about.

Harry can recognize Moody and Dumbledore's voices when he hears them.

"No, Albus! I told you why not!"

"Alastor—"

"No! Those children don't need to see the Killing Curse performed in front of them or have the Imperius used on them! If you want me to show the NEWT classes, fine, they should know what they're in for, but the younger ones don't need to see the fucking Unforgivables!"

Harry is kind of impressed with Moody's use of "fucking." He peers very cautiously around the corner and sees Moody and Dumbledore standing on one of the moving staircases, which isn't moving right now. Maybe it's as interested in listening to the conversation as Harry is. Moody has his arms folded and his wooden leg stamping in place. Harry can't see Dumbledore's face because the Headmaster's back is to him.

"I was merely hoping that some of them would come to understand how serious the war is and how we all need to stand united on the same side."

"Is this about Potter again?" Moody demands, with his eye zooming around his face.

Dumbledore sighs. "He does need to understand—"

"Oh, listen, I agree that Lord Slytherin's a little bastard, but you can't force him to do what he wants by bullying him. Use some of that famous persuasion, Albus. You got me to listen to you during one of my paranoid spells, you should be able to do the same to him."

"I don't feel comfortable sharing all the information that might persuade him, Alastor. Otherwise, I agree, it would be a simple thing to do."

"You trust him to see the Unforgivables performed in front of him but don't trust him with this information you have?" Moody asks incredulously.

Dumbledore doesn't answer.

Moody shakes his head, his grizzled hair flying around him. "I told you, Albus, one year, one favor, and I'm gone. I can't wait to get back to my quiet retirement." And he turns and hobbles away up the corridor.

Harry has to run to make it to Potions, but it's so worth it.

"We present for your education and delight THE DURMSTRANG DEFENDERS!"

Harry settles down into the stands and prepares to be amazed. Because Oliver evidently didn't think he should come back to Hogwarts specifically to dodge spells from the Durmstrang students, Harry doesn't have any idea what their demonstration is about. It ought to be interesting.

Viktor Krum and Ivana Karkaroff—who is Karkaroff's niece, Harry found out—step forwards from the group of gathered students and bow. The others bow behind them, a rippling motion that is abruptly obscured by a large, dark-feathered raven rising from between the backs of the students, wings spread, screeching.

Harry isn't the only one to gasp as the raven rises above them, wings trembling, beak opening. Silver javelins came jetting out of the beak straight at the audience. Harry instinctively tenses, and the stands flex beneath him, Hogwarts's magic rising to the fore.

But the Durmstrang students fling up shields before the javelins get as far as the crowd, and Harry slumps back with a little gasp as he watches the silvery things deflect and fly back towards the raven. He thinks it's only illusion, but it screams and flaps its wings in what looks like real pain before it fades.

After that, there's almost no time to think. The curses and the jinxes and the hexes fly back and forth, and since the Durmstrang students are mostly casting silently, Harry sees all sorts of spells that he has no idea about. He applauds and whistles with the rest when the shields of the defenders become an overlapping roof above them, and gasps when curses stab down between them, and laughs aloud when the curses crash harmlessly into the ground of the pitch and release glittering clusters of flowers and lightning.

At the end of the demonstration, all the Durmstrang students bow at once to a storm of applause, and Harry thinks that it's clear who the winners of the competition are. Karkaroff seems to think the same thing, since he's preening.

Harry scowls idly at him, and the bench Karkaroff is sitting on abruptly breaks underneath him and lodges the Durmstrang Headmaster's arse in a hole surrounded by splinters of wood. That gets lots of laughter, too.

"And the winner of the First Inter-School Demonstration Competition is…Durmstrang!"

Karkaroff stands up to accept the cup, which is a huge glittering silver thing covered with what look like sapphires and rubies, and makes a pompous speech. Harry doesn't listen to it, and he doesn't think anyone else really does, either. In Harry's case, though, he doesn't listen to it because he's keeping an eye on the Ravenclaw table, and the way Luna Lovegood is eating.

Padma is sitting beside Luna and scowling at everyone who catches her eye, although she manages to turn that into a stiff nod at Harry. Luna herself seems serene and is reading what looks like a magazine about Ancient Runes upside-down. She's wearing shoes and her robes seem fine.

Harry is grateful that she wasn't embarrassed by Harry and Ernie and the rest of them discussing her being bullied in the middle of the Great Hall. Maybe other people would be, but Luna just seems to take it in her stride.

And Harry is going to make sure she never has any reason not to.

"Okay, Vince, I was on my way to Dumbledore's office, what—"

Harry breaks off when he realizes that he's in a large room with high ceilings and a chandelier above him, and stone walls, but ones that are far away. This isn't the Slytherin dormitories.

Harry dives and rolls as quickly as he can.

A Stunner flies through the space above his head. Harry scrambles back and ducks behind a large, heavy green curtain that is shielding a window. A spell lights the edge of the curtain on fire.

Harry doesn't let that drive him out into the open. He just conjures water that damps the fire down to a smolder and then peers out from behind the curtain. He can't see anyone at first. Salazar's cage, which he was carrying because Dumbledore has been really annoying, stands a meter or so away, but Salazar is quiet and not scrabbling at the bars with his claws.

Ahalam has no such self-preservation. "What is going on? Are you afraid? You smell afraid. I do not like you to smell afraid. Can I bite people? I am not poisonous but I will make them regret it!"

Harry raises a hand to Ahalam's side to stroke him and hold him still without responding. He doesn't know if anyone here would be able to hear or understand Parseltongue, but he's afraid one person would.

The silence fills with echoes. Harry keeps still. There must be some reason they haven't attacked him yet, even though they know where he is.

"Bring him out."

That voice rolls from side to side of the room, and sounds like the voice that Harry remembers in the Chamber of Secrets, calling to the basilisk. He takes a deep breath and wraps his hand around his wand.

He wishes this confrontation was taking place in Hogwarts. He could depend on the school there and its eagerness to work with him, as well as keep the students safe. He doesn't know if Crabbe is here or has already been removed, but if they have any intelligence at all, they have Vince—as he's started insisting Harry call him—as a hostage.

And Harry won't be able to simply crouch behind a curtain and listen as they torture Vince.

But he can be smart about it.

"Yes, Master."

The voice is thick and bubbling and not one he knows. Harry watches from behind the curtain as the speaker's feet make their way towards him. They're clad in thick boots and have leather dueling robes swaying above them.

Harry readies his wand. When the boots are a few steps away from the curtains, he casts the spell that he's heard Remus cast now a few times in Grimmauld Place, most recently over the Easter holiday when he played a prank on Sirius.

"Omnes aureus!"

The world seems to vibrate around him with as much power as Harry's pushing through his wand. But the spell works the way it's intended. The hems of the wizard's robes and boots, and the floor, and the curtain Harry's hiding behind, and everything else in sight, is suddenly covered with golden rings.

The boots halt, and the thick voice says, "What in the—"

Harry is exhausted, but he has to cast another spell, he knows he does, and he manages to do it. This one breaks the lock on Salazar's cage.

The lock falls apart, and for a moment, nothing happens. Harry slumps against the curtain, which is weighted down by the gold and doesn't immediately spring open, and hopes that Salazar isn't too scared to do what Nifflers do by nature.

But it seems he isn't. Or else the sight of all that gold tempts him more than their strange surroundings frighten him.

Salazar squeals in glee and rockets out of the cage. Harry arranges the curtain around himself like a shroud, sets up a Shield Charm on the side that isn't protected that well, and peers out.

He's in time to watch Salazar swarm up the legs of the booted wizard, who must Vince's father. He has the same round eyes and the same thick jaw, but he looks a lot worse, like he's been drinking and casting torture spells for years. And right now, he's battling Salazar for control of his wand.

Harry grins.

Mr. Crabbe's wand is covered with golden rings, and Salazar's frantic squeals say that he wants them. Mr. Crabbe is trying to stop him, but Salazar's powerful claws rip and tear, and a few seconds later, he's holding a splintered wand with what looks like a dragon heartstring hanging pathetically out of it.

Harry moves while Mr. Crabbe is still staring at his wand in dumb surprise. He casts and casts again, and Mr. Crabbe's wand comes flying over to him and the hem of his robe wraps up and around his head and blinds him. Mr. Crabbe flails and shouts and crashes to the floor, his arms still vaguely moving.

Harry immediately runs over and binds him with a variation of the Incarcerous Charm. Then he looks around cautiously.

He can't see or hear anyone else, but Voldemort is still here somewhere, and so is Vince.

Against the background of Salazar's satisfied little grunts as he strips the rings from Mr. Crabbe's robes and the floor and the curtains, Harry cautiously walks around the room. It seems to be some kind of huge ballroom, maybe, or the Crabbes' equivalent of the Great Hall. There's no furniture in it, though.

"Harry Potter."

Harry whips around. There's a figure standing towards the back of the hall-ballroom-thing. Harry's first thought is that it's kind of short for Voldemort, but then, he only ever saw Voldemort possessing Professor Quirrell and as a memory-ghost.

Then the figure comes closer, and Harry sees the red glow of the eyes in the familiar face. His stomach writhes and feels sick, and he clutches his wand so hard that for a second he's afraid he's going to snap it like Salazar snapped Mr. Crabbe's.

Voldemort is possessing Vince.

"I'm going to kill you," Harry says, and almost doesn't recognize his own voice, which wavers back and forth but also contains the hiss of a deadly snake far larger than Ahalam.

"You can try," Voldemort says, and waves one of Vince's hands in an elegant gesture that just looks wrong with Vince's wrist and fingers. "How is it that you can speak Parseltongue? I had heard of your absurd claim to be Lord Slytherin, but assumed it was only a publicity stunt."

Harry doesn't answer. His heart is pounding furiously and his breath is short. He knows that he needs to calm down, and also that he's dangerously near magical exhaustion with the spells that he's already cast.

But he wants to hurt Voldemort for touching Vince. For touching one of his.

"No desire to speak? Ah, well." Voldemort moves Vince's tongue in a darting, serpentine, unnatural motion. "Then I suppose we will not have a conversation before I harvest your blood for use in my resurrection ritual."

"What makes you think I'm going to let you do that?"

Voldemort laughs, soft and low. "Because I will hurt your little friend if you do not. And I know that by the nature of the oath you swore to him, you are always brought to his side when he needs you. You will not be able to escape and leave him here even if you want to."

Harry's eyes widen before he can stop them. That's information that almost anyone who sleeps in the Slytherin fourth-year boys' bedroom could have told Voldemort. And honestly, it was probably Goyle.

But there's other information that he won't know unless one of Harry's own betrayed him, Theo or Draco or Blaise. Harry is going to have to gamble that that would never happen, trust them as much as he trusts Ahalam and himself.

It's hard. But Harry makes his mouth move. "I'm still not going to give you my blood."

"Then I shall have some fun," Voldemort says, and draws a long white wand from somewhere inside Vince's robes. It looks unnatural in Vince's hand, too. He spins it around and smiles at Harry. "A possessing spirit feels no purely physical pain to the body he holds. Your last chance to do this, Mr. Potter."

Harry lifts his chin and rolls the dice. "That's Lord Slytherin to you, Red-Eyes."

Voldemort snarls, Vince's face distorting, and he aims his wand at the back of Vince's hand. "Crucio!"

And…

Nothing happens.

Harry breathes out shakily. Okay, okay, so his faith was justified and the oath Vince swore not to use curses except in self-defense held, whether or not he's in his right mind at the time. The oath was still sworn with his body, and Voldemort can't leave that unless he wants to try possessing Harry.

"What is this?" Voldemort snaps, and stabs his wand back and forth, then into the soft flesh of Vince's wrist, as if he's hoping for some different result if he just repeats the motion often enough.

Harry does his best to Disarm Voldemort silently, but a little grunt of effort slips past his lips, and Voldemort turns towards him like a snake. He whips his wand towards Harry and casts some spell that makes purple light flare around him for an instant.

And the light goes out, and nothing happens.

The oath that Vince swore not to act against Harry is holding, too.

"What did you do?" Voldemort's red eyes flare like the purple light, and he comes a step closer. "You did something."

Harry doesn't think that anyone except him would hear the undertone of fear in Voldemort's voice. Well, maybe Dumbledore, but they're the only ones who have ever heard Voldemort speak that much. Everyone else would be too busy running away and shrieking in terror, Harry thinks.

"I did something," Harry agrees, and smiles at Voldemort. "So convinced the Lord Slytherin business is a publicity stunt?"

"You could not have become Lord Slytherin!"

"That's what you think," Harry says, and then he does the only thing he can think of to do, when attacking Vince would break the oaths and allow Voldemort to curse one of them. He reaches out, imagines the oath connecting them like a chain, and pulls on it as hard as he can.

Voldemort shrieks as Vince's body stumbles a little forwards. Harry reaches out and catches him on a web of air with a quick jab of his wand. He's afraid to touch Vince with his hands in case he burns him up like he did with Professor Quirrell.

I believe in you, he tells Vince with each tug on the oath, with each rattle of the invisible magical chain between them. I know you can overcome it. And you're my friend, I'm yours, we're ours, and not his!

The air in the ballroom trembles and catches on fire. Harry doesn't have time to worry about it. He's aware that Ahalam has reared up on his shoulder and is swaying back and forth, but he doesn't have time to worry about that, either.

All of his being is pouring into that magic, and catching Vince, and calling on him to come back, and telling him that Harry is proud of him, and he can resist, and Harry hasn't even killed his dad, he's just over there on the floor.

There's a sharp slashing feeling that leaves Harry feeling dizzy and sick, and then Vince stumbles towards him, sobbing, and clutches him. Harry grabs him and holds him tight.

He looks up as something dark zooms overhead, and realizes that he's looking up at Voldemort's spirit, which hisses in something far darker than Parseltongue as it stoops towards Harry.

"You can't do that!"

The voice is small and powerful and proud and not Harry's. Ahalam rears up and snaps at Voldemort's spirit, and then, as part of the spirit ducks beneath Harry's skin and agonizing pain tears through him, Ahalam turns and bites him.

It's a sharp, fresh pain, different than the creeping corruption Voldemort is trying to impose on him. Harry gasps and wrenches himself back into his body, then pushes outwards with all his magic left to him.

He's tired, but he still has Ahalam, and Vince is trying to help with all his clumsy strength. Together, they drive Voldemort out of Harry's body and make him hover overhead, staring down at them with pits of eyes that burn with hatred.

"You will regret this."

"I already regret every moment of your fucking existence," Harry snaps, too tired to concentrate the way he would have to to use Parseltongue. "Get out of my sight, you bloody wanker."

And Voldemort turns and swoops across the ballroom and out through the window. Harry watches him go, and supports Vince as best he can. They're both panting, and Harry isn't that surprised when Vince slumps on the floor in a dead faint.

It makes things more inconvenient, since Harry has to find the Floo powder and Floo Sirius by himself, but he's not surprised.

Everyone makes an enormous fuss, because of course they do.

Mr. Crabbe is arrested and taken to the Ministry. They find Vince's mum locked up in an attic with a house-elf bringing her meals, and the first thing she does when she gets out is fling her arms around Vince with bruising force. So everything there turns out to be all right, although Harry will be paying close attention in case Mr. Crabbe gets out of the Ministry or they never put him in Azkaban.

From what Theo and Draco have said in the past, though, even Death Eaters will pressure the Ministry to put Mr. Crabbe away. They know that he risks bringing attention to their own paper-thin excuses about the Imperius if they protest his imprisonment too much.

Sirius grabs Harry and holds him. He refuses to let go, meaning that they have to Floo back to Dumbledore's office with Sirius clutching Harry awkwardly. Harry at least tries to get Sirius to let go so that they can sit in separate chairs, but nothing doing. The only concession Sirius is willing to make is that Harry can stand next to Sirius's chair with Sirius's arm around his shoulders.

Dumbledore makes a long speech about Voldemort and the importance of international cooperation. When it's done, Harry nods and asks, "Sir, why does Voldemort want to kill me so badly? Why did he need my blood?"

"There are some things that you are too young to understand, Harry."

Harry nods again and turns to Sirius. "I think that I'm ready to go home, Padfoot."

Sirius nods and stands up, picking Harry up again. At least he casts a Lightening Charm. He carries Harry to the Floo again. Harry rolls his eyes and does his best to just put up with it.

"Sirius, wait. Harry at least ought to be looked over by Madam Pomfrey—"

"Shove your suggestions up your arse, Headmaster," Sirius snarls over his shoulder, and then they're whirling through the flames.

Sirius hugs him for most of the afternoon, and Remus comes over and sets up half a dozen wards around Harry's bed that he says briefly will prevent Apparition out of Grimmauld Place even if Vince needs him. Harry nods meekly and accepts it. Vince is at home with his mum right now, anyway and part of the reason Harry's oath summoned Harry so often was that he didn't have anyone else he felt comfortable going to when he needed something. His mum ought to cover it.

If Harry's feet are covered that night by a large black dog curled up on them, it just means that he goes to sleep feeling safer.

"Where's Goyle?" Harry is peering over at the Slytherin table a few days later, at the Leaving Feast. He expected to have a little talk with Goyle about betraying important information, but he doesn't seem to be there.

"You didn't hear?" Ron looks at him in surprise. He's sitting closer to Harry on his right side than normal, but that's okay. Hermione is sitting closer to Harry on the left. "Goyle is going to Durmstrang next year. He left early because he'll need to take special exams to prove that he has the marks to get in there."

"What?" Harry blinks.

"Going to Durmstrang," Hermione says, and nods. "I don't think it was entirely his idea." She leads Harry's gaze to a small cluster of Slytherins that includes Draco, Theo, and Daphne.

Harry catches Theo's gaze. Theo nods to him, a short, sharp motion that is closer to a bow than Harry likes, but, well, that's the way things are.

Harry nods back. It's better than what they could have done to Goyle, and with that, he'll be more than content.

"I'm going to swear the same oath to you that you swore to Crabbe."

"Theo. No."

"I'm not getting left behind when you need us like that again! You could have died, and none of us could have reached you!"

"Theo—"

"You could have died!" Theo shouts, and his voice echoes off the walls around them, the quiet walls of a Silenced corridor deep in the dungeons.

Harry stares at Theo, and sees the desperation burning in his eyes. He never looked like this last year, even when he thought Sirius was out to kill Harry or when he was hinting at his own abusive relatives. And Harry senses this isn't the moment for jokes or attempts to put Theo off.

He nods. "Okay."

Theo kneels when he does it. Harry is silent apart from his acceptance and keeps his winces to himself.

"You are not to perform such stupidity again."

Harry blinks at Draco as Draco barges into the compartment on the Hogwarts Express where Harry and Ron and Hermione and Fred and George and Neville and Padma and Theo and Blaise and Susan and Justin are playing Exploding Snap. "What?"

"You are not to perform such stupidity again," Draco repeats. He's rapidly flushing pink, probably because he has more of an audience than he anticipated, but he stands tall and folds his arms. "I will not be pleased if you get yourself into such a situation, Potter."

With Theo, Harry couldn't joke. With Draco, he's more tempted, but he really doesn't want to embarrass Draco enough to turn him back into an enemy. He holds up his hand. "I promise not to go alone into empty enemies' manor houses in the middle of the night."

"Harry—"

"I can't go alone," Harry says, and catches Draco's eye.

From the way Draco nods, slowly, he gets it, even if he doesn't know exactly who swore the oath. "Very well. That will do." He glances around the compartment, nods regally to no one in particular, and departs with a swirl of robes.

There's a long moment of silence before Susan turns to Harry and says, "I think we ought to work with you this summer to make sure you have a bigger repertoire of defensive spells. Being saved by a snake and a Niffler shouldn't have to happen again."

"Hey, they were both awesome." It actually took Remus, who stayed behind in the Crabbes' house while Sirius took Harry back to Hogwarts, almost an hour to catch Salazar, who was running around after the rings and trying to stuff them all into his pouch. In the end, Remus had to borrow a ruby necklace from Vince's mum to lure him close enough.

"Nonetheless," says Susan, and her smile has something bright and brittle to it.

Harry looks around the compartment. Worried looks and similar smiles and frowns and nods come back to him. He lifts his hands.

"All right."

"Who's that from?" Harry asks, eyeing the shaking Howler in Grimmauld Place's kitchen nervously. He didn't expect Vince's mum to have sent it, but he also can't think of anyone else who would have.

Maybe one of his followers decided to express their anger like this, though.

"No idea," Remus says. "I didn't recognize the owl." He reaches over and pulls at the letter before Harry can ask if there's a spell to disarm Howlers. Not that there likely is, when Dumbledore didn't know one.

It turns out Harry was right. One of his followers did decide to express their anger like this.

"—INCREDIBLY RECKLESS, HARRY! DO YOU REALIZE THAT APPARATING INTO CRABBE'S HOUSE MEANS THAT YOU MIGHT NEVER HAVE PLAYED QUIDDITCH AGAIN? WHAT IS THE FUTURE OF PROFESSIONAL QUIDDITCH IN BRITAIN GOING TO BE LIKE IF YOU JUST DIE BEFORE YOU PLAY IT? WE'RE GOING TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU CARRY YOUR BROOM WITH YOU AT ALL TIMES—"

It's a really long Howler. Harry sits there with a martyred expression until it finishes.

At least both Sirius and Remus are laughing their arses off.

And if Harry doesn't think this summer will be quite as carefree and happy as last summer, with the knowledge that Voldemort's spirit is out there and his followers want to participate in training him…

Well, at least he has the happiness of knowing Oliver will never change.