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Part Five

"If you'd struck a deal with him to be Lord Hufflepuff but loyal to you, then we might have had a powerful ally."

"He doesn't want to be Lord Hufflepuff, Theo. We can take him at his word, I think, and also accept that we don't get everything we want."

"If the power doesn't matter to you—"

"Zacharias being happy matters more to me."

Theo looks at him for a long moment with such an exasperated expression on his face that Harry braces for hearing that he missed something, like Zacharias only approached him for political reasons. But then Theo shakes his head. "This is like the Trelawney thing, isn't it? You have the power to hurt someone, but you wouldn't."

"I have absolutely no reason to hurt Zacharias," Harry says a little stiffly, picking up a book that he's going to introduce to their Defense class today. "He hasn't done anything to me. Trelawney was a lot more annoying, and I still wasn't going to bar her from eating or kick her out of the castle."

"And this is the price that we pay for having a decent Lord Slytherin."

Theo mutters that, but he also doesn't sound upset about it, so Harry decides he'll ignore it, too. "What do you think of teaching people the Incendiary Hex? Would they be reassured because it's like Incendio, or is it too different?"

"Harry, my boy!"

Harry starts and looks over his shoulder. He was right in the middle of trying to cast a Patronus Charm. He got a good start on that with Remus in third year, but he hasn't practiced since, and he would really like to be able to show it to the Defense Association. This time, he thought he could do it—

But Minister Fudge, walking towards him across the grass and waving his hand heartily, is someone he has to talk to.

Harry stifles a sigh and turns to face Fudge. For once, he's alone except for Ahalam. It's a Saturday, and the DA won't meet until that afternoon, and a lot of his friends are sleeping in or eating or doing homework or elsewhere. "Hello, Minister. What can I do for you?"

Fudge gives him a somewhat worried smile and comes up to wrap an arm around Harry's shoulders while he peers about the grounds. "Is there somewhere we can go to talk about this, Harry?" he asks in a hoarse whisper. "I want to make sure that no one else overhears when it's a matter of national security."

Wondering what in the world is going on, Harry nods and leads Fudge towards Hagrid's house. With Hagrid still gone and Sirius living in quarters in the castle, no one is there most of the time. "Here, sir," he says, and turns around in the middle of the abandoned garden to watch Fudge. "What is it?"

"Well, you see," Fudge says, and takes off his bowler hat to twist it in his hands. "I received a most concerning report. It was from Madam Umbridge, who sometimes—sometimes she gets a little paranoid."

"She's like that a lot, sir."

"Oh, good." Fudge suddenly sags so much with relief that it looks like he's going to fall over. "So you're not raising an army?"

"No, of course not," Harry says with a little laugh. "Why would she tell you that, sir? We're just a group of friends training together."

Ahalam wriggles in his robe pocket, but Harry presses his elbow against it as casually as he can. He doesn't want to look like he's reaching for his wand, but he also would really rather not have Ahalam intrude on what feels like a negotiation right now.

"I am a smart snake! I can help you! Let me out!"

Harry holds his face calm and serene, and Fudge laughs in turn and steps back, using a handkerchief covered with dancing canaries to mop some sweat from his forehead.

"You have no idea how much that relieves me, Harry. I can call you Harry, can't I, Lord Slytherin?" Harry nods, amused, because Fudge has been using his name since the beginning of the conversation, and Fudge beams at him. "Because you must know that the political situation right now is fraught, very fraught."

"Why is that, sir?"

"I have enemies," Fudge says, and bends towards Harry and lowers his voice. "Everywhere. They would stop at nothing to tear down magical Britain and boot me out of the Minister's seat. That can't happen! It would be disastrous for the country."

"Oh," Harry says, a little blankly. He thinks he's starting to see where Umbridge gets her paranoia from, or maybe why she got her job in the first place. He shakes his head a little. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"You'll let me know right away if anyone talks about building an army?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

Fudge pats Harry on the shoulder, and turns and wanders away towards the edge of Hogwarts grounds. Harry watches him, realizing for the first time that it is strange that the Minister for Magic just showed up at Hogwarts on a Saturday with no one else, not even an Auror to guard his back.

Is he not that paranoid after all? Or is he so paranoid that he doesn't trust anyone who works for him?

Harry shakes his head. He's just as glad that there's not ever going to be a chance that he'll work in the Ministry.

"I'm going to kick your arse, Lord Slytherin."

Harry rolls his eyes as he stands up from the Gryffindor table. He mostly enjoys that Draco is less of a prat these days, but not when it translates to bragging about his Quidditch skills.

"You've never won a single other game, Draco. What makes you think that you're going to win this one?" Harry asks, as he walks towards the door of the Great Hall. Ron comes with him. He's trembling, visibly nervous, since this is going to be his first match as Keeper. Harry wants to talk to him, not have this stupid conversation with Draco.

"Because," Draco says, and sticks his nose up in the air, "my father bought me a Firebolt."

Harry starts to remind Draco that when he played a game against Harry on the Firebolt in third year while Harry was on a Nimbus, he still didn't win, but Ron abruptly blurts, "I'm gonna be sick!" and tears towards one of the boys' bathrooms. Harry lingers long enough to roll his eyes and make sure Draco sees it, and then runs after his best friend.

Ron is bent over and emptying his stomach into the loo when Harry finds him. Harry leans a hand on his back and just waits. He knows Ron has something to say, but he won't be able to say it until he finishes parting with his breakfast.

Finally, Ron pulls back with a shaky sigh and spells his mouth clean and dry. "I'm going to be sick out on the pitch, too," he whispers. "I—I can't do this, Harry. I'll never be as good as Oliver was."

"You don't need to be."

"Why not? Oliver was the reason we won as many games as we did—"

Harry snorts rudely and moves around so that Ron has no choice but to look at him. "Excuse you, youngest Seeker in a century here, and I once won a game by almost swallowing the Snitch."

Ron smiles faintly, and for a moment, Harry thinks that worked to quiet Ron's nerves. But they almost immediately come back, and he looks longingly at the loo and then at Harry. "Don't suppose you could tell them I'm sick…"

"No."

"But Harry—"

"I was really nervous before my first game, too, you know."

"That's not the same, you're great at it—"

"You were the best of the people who tried out, or Angelina wouldn't have picked you for Keeper," Harry says, in the kind of calm, relentless voice he uses to talk to Ernie and Zacharias and some of the others who get involved in high drama. He kneels down next to Ron and punches him on the shoulder. "Come on, Ron. Do you really want Slytherin to march up and down bragging about how they beat us?"

Ron swallows, looks for a second as if he might be sick again, and then shakes his head. "No," he breathes.

"Then come on." Harry hauls Ron to his feet and turns him towards the bathroom door, casting a few more quick Freshening Charms on him. "Let's get out there and show them that the Gryffindor Keeper is just as good as he ever was."

Ron walks with a little more confidence. Harry sighs and hopes that nothing occurs to make Ron doubt himself once they're on the pitch.

"Hey, Weasley! Really thinking you can match up to Wood?"

That's Pansy Parkinson's voice, enhanced by what sounds like a Sonorus. Harry sees Ron's shoulders tense as he circles towards the Keeper's hoop. Harry turns and frowns towards Parkinson, but he has no idea if she even notices.

And it's not like he can do much about it, except try to bolster Ron's confidence. Parkinson isn't one of his followers and won't care if Harry is irritated with her. And it's not a crime like trying to bring the Tournament to Hogwarts was.

Then someone else speaks from the stands with a Sonorus Charm, a voice that Harry would recognize anywhere.

"Shoulders back, Ron! Eyes on the Quaffle! Remember that you're there to keep it from getting through, nothing else! Don't look at the Seeker! Listen to the commentary! Breathe from inside your chest! In through your nose, out through your mouth! Eyes on the Quaffle!"

Harry laughs aloud and swings by the Gryffindor stands as one of the Bludgers darts at him, just to make sure that he's really seeing who's there. Yes. Oliver is sitting on the top bench, bellowing out instructions to Ron and clapping his hands with sharp sounds that don't carry as far as his voice.

"Someone shut him up!" Parkinson shouts.

"Shut up yourself, Parkinson," says Theo's lazy, deadly voice. Harry grimaces. If he weren't in the middle of a Quidditch match, he would try to ensure that nothing too terrible happened to Parkinson.

But…

Well, honestly, he doesn't care that much.

Draco barrels towards him on his own Firebolt. Harry waits for him, grinning, and then shoots straight up in the air as Draco tries to come to a halt in front of Harry. He leaves Draco staring in every direction, and laughs as he mounts higher and higher.

Draco might be on a Firebolt, and he might be a pretty good Seeker, but he isn't used to the Firebolt's sheer speed. There are things Harry can do on his own broom that he's never needed to do in a match, but has in practice.

(Merlin bless Oliver Wood).

Ron lets the Quaffle through three times, but then he seems to decide to start listening to Oliver and starts blocking it. Harry nods approvingly to him when he swings past, too, but those times are pretty rare. The Snitch has decided to spend most of its time near the stands and the borders of the pitch. Harry can barely keep track of the score even though Lee Jordan is bellowing it out enthusiastically.

Parkinson shouts, too, but her taunts are pretty unoriginal. And halfway through the game, she falls silent with a croak. Harry can't take his eyes off the Snitch, which is streaking in dozens of zigzag directions, but he can picture Theo's smug smile.

The Snitch finally slows down far away from the Bludgers, by the stands where the Hufflepuffs are sitting, and drifts around temptingly. Harry promptly rises as far as he can into the air, while Draco arrows towards it.

People are shouting at him, Ron included. They seem to assume he either hasn't seen the Snitch or he wants Draco to win. It's kind of insulting, actually.

Harry turns around to begin his dive and sees Oliver watching him proudly. Oliver knows what he's doing. Then again, he's probably the person here who knows the most about Quidditch, being a professional player and all.

Harry dives.

The arc of his Firebolt takes him down from above and behind Draco. Meanwhile, Draco plows straight into the spectators, whom the Snitch has suddenly taken refuge among. It's not something that often happens, but it's not something the rules forbid, either, because players are supposed to be good enough not to crash into people.

But Draco isn't used to his broom. And he committed too much to the charge at it, forgot that the Snitch changes direction as it pleases.

Harry continues diving, and stretches out a hand as the Snitch leaves the protection of the Hufflepuffs and makes a determined break for the Forbidden Forest. Then it smacks into his palm as if destined to be there.

He holds up his hand and shouts the Gryffindor victory for all the world to hear, and both Lee Jordan and the Gryffindor section of the stands go mad. Oliver is bellowing, his voice still under Sonorus, "That's the future Seeker the next time Britain's in the World Cup, right there!"

Harry grins at everyone, accepts the slaps on the back from the twins and Angelina, who are the closest, winks at Oliver, and flies towards Ron. Ron is looking a normal color again instead of green or white, and wrings Harry's hand.

"Knew you would win the game, mate!" he shouts.

"But you were the one who kept the Slytherin Chasers from putting the Quaffle through enough times that they couldn't break our lead," Harry reminds him, and Ron beams so hard that he looks as if he might be sick again.

Harry turns around and scans the stands again. Oliver is involved in an intense discussion with someone sitting next to him Harry can't see from this angle. Sirius is cheering himself hoarse and waving around a Gryffindor banner decorated with a lion sticking its tongue out at the Slytherins. Draco is picking himself and his broom up and muttering, but he looks like he's fine.

Harry's gaze stops on Umbridge.

She's sitting at the very end of the Slytherin stands, and given that she was apparently a Slytherin in school, Harry might have expected her to be booing the Gryffindor victory. But she's not. She's holding a piece of parchment covered with scribbled notes on her lap instead, and watching Harry with a smug little smile.

Harry narrows his eyes. That probably isn't a good sign.

But the rest of the team wants to congratulate him now, and Oliver is walking over with a determined expression on his face, and if Harry doesn't answer Oliver's questions, it's highly likely he won't escape in time for the party in Gryffindor Tower.

"Detention, Mr. Potter."

Harry starts and jerks his head up from the book on his desk. It's boring, but he's sure that he didn't fall asleep and that he's done nothing to warrant detention. "For what, Professor Umbridge?" he asks, barely managing to make sure that his voice is respectful.

"You know for what, Mr. Potter."

"Professor, I don't—"

"Detention, Mr. Potter. Eight-o'clock tonight."

That was supposed to be the time he practiced with the Quidditch team. Harry manages to keep his sigh to himself, because he doesn't want another detention, but it's hard.

"Yes, professor."

"Come in, Mr. Potter, close the door, and sit down."

Harry sits, in the chair that Umbridge points to in front of her desk. She immediately sneers at him and goes back to writing on what looks like the same scroll of parchment that she had at the Quidditch game.

Harry watches her, and keeps his silence. He knows what other people, his friends, would tell him. This is a power play. Umbridge thinks she can earn something by making Lord Slytherin stay quiet and wait for her orders.

But she can't, or at least Harry has no idea what she thinks she can earn right now. So he stays quiet, to find out.

Umbridge finally signs something on the parchment with a flourish of her quill, and pushes the scroll violently away. Then she folds her hands on the desk and smiles at him, and suddenly Harry is cautious. Before this, Umbridge was a paranoid idiot. Now, she looks like something more. Something dangerous.

"I know," she says, and her smile widens to the point that it makes her look sick.

"Know what, Professor?"

"I know that you have been calling your student following Lord Slytherin's Army." Umbridge points a finger at him, while Harry holds back his scowl with an effort. He told Theo that was a bad fucking idea. "You want to overthrow the Ministry! You are going to bring down Minister Fudge!"

"No, professor, honest—"

"Don't talk like that to me, brat. I have all the evidence." Umbridge gestures at the parchment. "Besides my notes, I have the conversations recorded. When the Minister hears the voice of Mr. Nott speaking the name and your voice responding normally to his, not objecting, it will be all over."

How did she record—oh. Harry's eyes go to the pendant around Umbridge's throat as she grasps it. He did see her touching it a lot of times in class and when she walked past them in the corridors. He just thought it was a nervous gesture.

He underestimated her. What he has to do is make sure that no one except him pays for it.

Harry takes a deep breath and meets her eyes. "You must have called me here for a reason, Professor," he says quietly. "Or you would have just gone straight to Minister Fudge. What do you want?"

Umbridge leans forwards with her hands plastered on the desk, and smiles at Harry in a way that makes the hair rise on the back of his neck. "I want you to suffer."

"What?" Harry echoes blankly. It sounds like she wants to torture him, but she has to know she would never get away with using the Cruciatus on him, or something similar.

"I know how much pride you take in your title, and how much time you've spent on bending the Headmaster and the Minister to your will." Umbridge looks as if she's about to foam at the mouth. "I want you to renounce it. Stand up in front of the Great Hall and tell everyone that you've changed your mind about being Lord Slytherin. Apologize deeply and sincerely. Then be a good little boy for the rest of the year. Make sure that you make statements in support of Minister Fudge. Tell anyone who asks that you aren't Lord Slytherin anymore and you don't want them to follow you as if you are."

"Everyone is going to want to know why—"

"Make up whatever lies you want. As if I care." Umbridge flaps a hand disdainfully at him. "You're good at lying. But you're not going to be Lord Slytherin anymore, and you're not going to threaten the rightfully elected government anymore."

Harry takes a deep, slow breath. His chest is still boiling with outrage, but he can't react on impulse.

And even though Umbridge has blackmail material on him, stuff that could get him (and Theo, and Daphne, and the others who call it Lord Slytherin's Army) into serious trouble, Harry doesn't have to let her just control what he does next. He leans back slowly in his chair. Umbridge squints at him. "What are you doing, you nasty little boy?"

"Just thinking, Professor. What happens if people don't believe my announcement and some of them decide that you're the one responsible for making me renounce my title?"

"Why should they think that?"

"They know that I came here today, Professor, and not just the ones who heard about the detention in Defense class." Harry isn't even bluffing. He tells at least one person everywhere he goes now. There's just too much chance, with Voldemort out there, that he could be kidnapped again. "And they know that I have no intention right now of denouncing the title. They'll connect the dots."

"What a Muggle expression."

"It's still true," Harry says, and meets her eyes. "What do you say to that, Professor? Exactly how you would like to defend yourself from accusations?"

Umbridge frowns. She seems to be thinking deeply, which is probably painful. At last she says, "You're going to tell them that you've been thinking about renouncing the title for a long time, and a conversation with me convinced you to do it. That you don't want any part of all the politics and you only want to spend time with your friends."

Harry is a little impressed despite himself at how she's picked up on how much Harry hates the Ministry and politics in general. He lets his head droop, while his mind whirls with plans to bring Salazar to the office and let him loose to steal the pendant. "All right, Professor. You win."

"You should tell the same thing to your friends Mr. Nott and Miss Greengrass as well," Umbridge snaps, flushed with power. "I will hunt them down if they dare to object or try to tell someone they think I am the reason you are renouncing the title."

Harry's head snaps up again. "You won't hurt my friends," he says softly.

"You don't think I could?" Umbridge laughs shrilly. "Mr. Nott's father is one of those who got out of Azkaban by claiming that he was under the Imperius Curse. Such a shame if the records of those trials get raked up again. And Miss Greengrass's mother…well, let us say that if one wants to be beyond control, one shouldn't leave records of one's creature heritage lying around."

"Don't touch them."

Umbridge laughs again, but more calmly. "You can do nothing to me, Potter. The information is all stored elsewhere, with notes attached to look into the files if someone happens to me. You are only a child, and you have met your match, and your friends are going to suffer if they even question you too closely—"

Harry doesn't know if he can do anything to stop her, and his distress rises, and rises—

With a snap of noise and a blast of white brilliance, Theo appears at his side, pulled by his oath to Harry.

Theo immediately hits Umbridge with a Stunner and then surges around the office with his wand pointed, looking for any other enemies, Harry assumes. When he doesn't find any, he lowers his wand and gives Harry his crooked, narrow smile. "Good job for us that all the portraits in here are cats and won't be telling anyone else what happened."

"I didn't know that I was feeling bad enough to bring you here."

"You were." Theo claps Harry's shoulder hard and glances at the parchment on Umbridge's desk, which Harry forgot about. It didn't seem relevant to what she was telling him. "What is this about?"

Harry explains what Umbridge said about "Lord Slytherin's Army," the pendant, and the threats to Daphne and Theo. Theo's eyes are very cold by the time Harry finishes. He steps behind the desk and stares down at Umbridge with a cocked head and a blank expression.

"Don't, Theo."

"Don't what?" Theo asks, without taking his attention away from Umbridge.

"We need to be thinking about ways to counteract her, not ways to hurt her."

"She threatened my family. She threatened my friend's family." Theo glances at him, and Harry shivers despite himself at how much Theo's eyes look like cracked ice with a seam of cold water running down beneath them. "She threatened my lord."

Not much doubt about what Theo thinks is the greatest crime, then. Harry grimaces and scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know what we can do about the information in the files elsewhere with notes to look at them if something happens to Umbridge."

"We don't have as many options as we would if those notes didn't exist," Theo agrees, but he doesn't sound that upset about it. "In the meantime, we're going to make sure that no one else knows there's anything else out of the ordinary, but we are going to have her act in such a way that she'll ruin herself."

Harry eyes Theo. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, the easiest way would be to use the Imperius Curse, but I doubt you would approve of that."

"When it's illegal and you could go to Azkaban? Of course not."

Theo blinks a little, then says in a slow voice, as if discovering a new concept, "They wouldn't throw me in Azkaban; I'm not seventeen."

"They didn't give Sirius a trial, and the Minister was desperate to cover it up and not let anyone else know that he hadn't had one. I wouldn't trust them to not have you accidentally Kissed by a Dementor or something similar."

Theo smiles, and it's not one of his cold ones. "It pleases me, my lord, that you're more worried about my going to Azkaban than you are about the nature of the spell."

Harry feels his face heat up. "Yeah, well," he says inanely, then clears his throat. "So no Imperius Curse. What should we do instead?"

Theo thinks it through, while Harry gives the door a few concerned glances. He knows that no one else is scheduled to come to Umbridge's office, given that she didn't give detentions so far, but that doesn't mean other people won't show up or start wondering where Harry and Theo are.

"I think a targeted Obliviate combined with a Staggering Compulsion will work best," Theo says, and looks up.

Harry blinks. "I've never heard of a Staggering Compulsion."

"It makes someone hesitate in a course of action they were going to take. They'll rationalize it to themselves any way they like. But it means they won't move fast or decisively, and they'll come up with excuses to delay."

"So if she did plan to have people look into the Nott files or the Greengrass files no matter what I did…"

"Yes, she won't tell them to do it. Knowing her, she'll probably sit there contemplating how frightened she thinks we'll be and savoring the thought." Theo sneers. "We'll take her notes and the pendant. And we'll look for a way to permanently remove her from the school."

"What about…"

"Yes?"

"That doesn't sound like she'll be ruining herself," Harry says slowly, eyeing Theo.

Theo snaps his teeth on the air, a gesture he's never made before and which makes Harry jump.

"I still need to think about it," Theo says flatly. "I favor public humiliation, but I don't know the best way to achieve that yet."

"So use the Obliviate and the Staggering Compulsion now, and decide on what else we need later?"

Theo nods. He's looking at Harry with an expression Harry doesn't recognize, until he hears the tone in Theo's voice and realizes it's wonder. "You're really okay with me compelling her to do something."

Harry shrugs and stares at Umbridge. She's staring at the ceiling, but the malicious smile is still on her face, and it makes anger stir in him so deeply that it's hard to breathe and control it. "She had her crazy ideas about me, but at least I could see where they came from, even if they were crazy. She was going to hurt you and Daphne just because she could, just as a way of getting to me. As though you and Daphne weren't people with your own thoughts and ideas." Harry clenches his hands into fists to control his rising temper. The last thing he wants to do is have his magic shatter one of Umbridge's kitten plates or something. "So, yeah. I'm fine with whatever you want to do to her in return."

Theo bows, fluidly and with a kind of—well, honesty—that Harry doesn't think he's seen in Theo's bows before this. "Thank you," he says quietly. "For wanting to defend us, and for doing so." And he turns to cast the spells on Umbridge.

Harry closes his eyes and stands there, considering what his next steps ought to be. He does want to tell Sirius what happened, but he also wants to prepare him first, so that Sirius doesn't explode in public at an unfortunate time. And some of the others will have to know, too. Daphne deserves to know about the threat to her family. Hermione and Ron and others who are especially close to Harry should know in case Umbridge strikes at them.

But mostly…

He wants to get rid of her. Even if Lord Slytherin's authority doesn't extend to the professors.

And thinking about the limits of his authority, Harry begins to smile.