In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 41: Intervention
Paper rustling woke Ron, early Sunday morning. A bit of the moon light showed Harry bent over as hands worked to organize the book–bag. One leg after another into a pair of briefs, and Harry went for the door, strap of the book–bag over his shoulder. Ron followed Harry out of the suite.
"Get back to bed," Harry said as he turned around, faced Ron, "I couldn't sleep."
Nipples beneath bottle green eyes, Ron studied Harry for a moment.
"Something else?" Ron asked.
"No," Harry said, "Just going downstairs."
"I'll come," Ron said.
"If you insist," Harry grumbled.
They went to the elevator, got on. Ron yawned.
"You can go back," Harry said, "Get some sleep."
"Later, maybe," Ron said.
After reaching the bottom, they get out, enter the idled breakfast room. The buffet tables were empty apart from doughnuts near the coffee pots. Harry put his book–bag on the table, sat.
"Not going to be interesting," Harry said as he got out Advanced Occlumency.
"We're on holiday and you're studying?" Ron said, "You've got to be an impostor—Hermione?"
"Not funny," Harry said, "Voldemort is very skilled at getting the answers he seeks and he knows he's got a leak, close to him, because I'll spout off. How soon until he discovers our connection, how soon until he uses it? For all I know, he's seeing through my eyes as we speak, right now, and he'd see—"
"My…" Ron glanced down, to where Harry's eyes were focused, toward Ron's underwear. "Well, what'd he think?"
"Understand my point?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, though you're never this serious at school," Ron said as he went over to the coffee pot, "Want one?"
"If I flunk potions, I flunk potions," Harry said, "This…the Unforgivables are a form of this magic, they impose your will over another, be it to cause pain, control them, or convince their cells to simply stop living. Voldemort's going to figure it out, not a question of IF, but a question of WHEN. Once he does, I become a puppet, his puppet—I'd rather not."
"I'll certainly keep helping you train, of course," Ron said as he turned around. He leaned against the doughnut table, the edge pressed into the white cloth over his buttocks, and he crossed his legs. "Perhaps it's time to ask Snape or Dumbledore?"
"No!" Harry said, "What if Voldemort does get into my head while training? Gets into Dumbledore's mind? And Snape—no!"
"Guess I'll just have to do," said Ron as he scratched the bulge of his underwear, "Though, think about the advantages of him seeing through you."
"Advantages?" Harry spat.
"Sees what you see," Ron said as he adjusted his bulge.
"You're not that pretty," Harry said.
"If his reaction is like yours," Ron said, "I'd show off if it stalls him."
Harry adjusted his chair, sat forward, stretched his arms.
"I can't count on anything," Harry said, "Except that he'll exploit it and I become a puppet."
"Don't give up," Ron said, "Going outside to take a piss."
"If you're not interested, just say so," Harry said.
"It's a holiday," Ron said as he left.
"Fine!" Harry snapped.
Professor Snape entered the Headmaster's office, when a red letter dropped.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
"HOW DARE YOU KILL! You MURDERER!"
"Headmaster," Professor Snape said when another owl dropped another envelope, which opened by itself.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
"FORFEIT YOUR WAND!"
"Harry should consider himself lucky that I'm intercepting his howlers for him," the Headmaster said, "They, of course, obviously read today's The Daily Prophet and are understandably upset."
They all had, however, that did not stop the Headmaster from re–reading it.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Sunday, 24 November 1996
The Daily Prophet
Menace Potter Menacing Again
Rita Skeeter
Yours truly has investigated the disgusting antics of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Regretfully Lived, at Hogsmeade yesterday. Four dead, a dozen injured, this is not some childish prank, but clearly the work of a deranged mind. Four families demand answers after Harry Potter was broken out of his restraints and set free, blame that can be placed squarely at the hands of the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the chief Ding–Bat himself. The Honorable Minister for Magic has issued a statement.
"While I was aware that Harry Potter had a checkered record this term, including the carnage of his previous visit, I never expected this level of treachery as he had already been banished from the shops of that village. Not only did Potter slaughter four at Hogsmeade, but he was also aided and abetted in his escape by those under the employ of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, the once well respected wizard who defeated both Grindlewald and laid the trap to lure You–Know–Who into the hands of a toddler. That child has clearly been spoiled to the core and we've seen the results. Rest assured, we at the Ministry do have options to help—I've got the department of legal affairs compiling a comprehensive list of ways that we can render assistance. Some are undoubtedly seeking vengeance now over this, but my first priority is stopping this petty behavior before we can have the luxury of cleaning it up. The Headmaster, in light of the betrayal of the faith that I had placed in him on Saturday, can no longer be trusted to handle this matter—I will announce my next course of action, tomorrow."
Beware that Harry Potter isn't lurking around you.
"What did you find out?" asked the Headmaster.
"According to Flume," Professor Snape as he pulled out a small roll of paper, "These were marketed to students because they disintegrate after use, and therefore leave no residue or evidence of use."
"Aside from a day time supply of chocolate," said Professor Dumbledore, "If only that were an option when I was a youth."
"While skilled healers will remove their metal ones after a patient has recovered," Professor Snape said, "Flume has already seen an interest from St. Mungo's. Flume required encouragement to divulge that a customer came in earlier last week, bought a dozen but no candy, despite being informed of the special promotion for Saturday."
"If used, this would explain why the culprits were allowed to loiter for so long," Professor Dumbledore said, "Anything further?"
"Flume tried to hide specifics," said Professor Snape, "It was a former student of the recent past, though I could not get a face, who bore a grudge. Flume was sympathetic, donated to the cause."
"That would explain their familiarity with the ways and rituals of Hogwarts," said Professor Dumbledore.
"I am being summoned," said Professor Snape.
"Go," said the Headmaster.
"I doubt it'll convince all the students," Professor Snape said before he left the office.
…
"Tell us," asked Rita Skeeter while in the library, "What do you think of Harry Potter?"
"He's a bloody menace," said Seamus Finnigan, in Gryffindor red shorts and T–shirt, before a floating camera and a Quick Quotes Quill, "When he showed up our first year, we thought it special—special alright, special pain in the bloody arse. Special privileges, special rights, even special protection, and he's repaying all that specialness with oh–so–special beatings and murders! You bet we're pissed."
"What do you plan to do about this?" Rita Skeeter asked.
"I want to know how many of your readers are pissed too," Seamus Finnigan said, "Me, my pals Ernie and Justin, we're fed up too."
"What measures do you have in mind?" Rita Skeeter asked.
"Depends on what the Minister does about this, now, doesn't it?" Seamus Finnigan said, "We'll just have to wait and see, but this can't go on, not forever. Not as Potter keeps showing us how special he is—we'll remind the Minister, you can count on that!"
Neville left Transfiguration Monday afternoon, rushed for the boys lavatory, entered. Neville unzipped his trousers as he made for the urinal wall. Neville glanced down at the face on the metal. A picture of Harry stuck to the wall, with his lightning bolt scar and black hair, riding on the Firebolt.
"Like them?" Seamus Finnigan asked as he entered, "Every boys room has at least one—let you relieve your anger onto Harry Potter."
Neville imagined it as Ernie Macmillan came in.
"Minister's in five," Macmillan said.
"What?" Neville asked.
"Press conference," Finnigan said, "Got a wireless in the Great Hall. Join us."
Neville left the bathroom, went down the stairs, and entered the Great Hall. Neville glanced at Luna, went over to her, and sat down. A crackle and volume.
"Welcome to another bloody press conference," said Minister Victor Fallerschain, "Easy to fall into that trap, however, I remind myself that I'm working for you, to better each one of your lives—"
"What about POTTER!?" came a reporter through the wireless.
"Mark my words," the Minister said, "Potter will be held accountable for his savagery displayed this past weekend. However, outside of that, I'm exploring an option to help bring Potter under control."
"What's this option?" the reporter asked.
"The legal team is mulling it over," the Minister said, "Should be ready before your deadline."
"Going to let Potter off the hook?" asked Justin Finch–Fletchley.
"Better not," Finnigan said.
"What'd he have in mind?" Thomas asked.
"Gia might be willing to let you bang her on the ski lift," Ron said to Harry, "Hermione—no way!"
Harry snorted as the ski lift took them both up the hill; snowboard to Harry's feet, skis to Ron's. Ron studied those bottle green eyes.
"No, she took the pictures," Harry said.
"We're supposed to be relaxing," Ron said.
"Sorry," Harry said, "Will they even believe me?"
"You've got her licking—and giving you—" Ron said, "Gotta be seriously mental to think you'd be going anywhere, going away from that!"
"At least you believe me," Harry said, "Makes this all worthwhile."
"And the sex?" Ron asked.
Harry snorted.
"Yeah, that too," Harry said.
Harry and Ron got off at the top. Harry grimaced.
"What—?" Ron started.
"Nothing!" Harry's hand twitched.
"You're lying," Ron stated.
"Am not—!" Harry started to shove off.
Ron tackled. They somersaulted off the side of the trail, into the heavy snowbank. Snow billowed onto them.
"You dolt!" Harry snapped as Ron pinned them down.
Ron stared at the raven haired head in the snowbank. Ron's full weight kept Harry down. Ron stared at Harry's bottle green eyes.
"Legilimens!" Ron exclaimed.
"Bloody arse…" Harry started before Ron felt his focus overcoming Harry's defenses.
Ron saw as Harry saw, eyes that looked down up on The Daily Prophet gripped by a pair of black dragon–hide thin gloves.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Ministry to Guide Harry Potter
by Rita Skeeter
By decree from the Minister of Magic, the Harry Potter Guidance Committee (HPGC) was formed in response to Saturday's appalling demonstration that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is in desperate need of guidance. Himself childless, Victor Fallerschain admits to be unqualified in properly handling and supervising a teenage orphan—like all orphans, the Wizarding community should play its important role in ensuring a healthy childhood for Harry Potter.
Dolores Jame Umbridge, an astounding administrator, was appointed to chair this committee, a committee that will have the authority of law in all matters concerning Harry Potter—he will be required to abide by their guidance. Umbridge's first task will be to select competent representatives of the Wizarding community to fulfill her mission—to turn Harry Potter into a Wizard that we all can be proud of.
Under the echo of cold laughter, Nagini set herself upon her meal—a young girl pleading for a dead mother. A quick swallow and a kicking bulge hinted at the satisfied snake.
"Finite Incantatem!" Ron exclaimed.
Harry shoved upward on Ron; Ron fell into the snowbank himself.
"Blimey!" Ron said.
"For what?!" Harry demanded.
"They've got no right," Ron said.
"You're in the minority," Harry said.
"I care, alright? I care!" Ron stood up, "Now, don't spread that around—"
"I'm mum," Harry promised.
They pushed off.
"Don't do that again!" Harry said.
"You're being attacked," Ron said, "Don't expect me to sit around on my bloody arse."
Harry moved faster.
"You ain't on your broom!" Ron shouted.
"I know!" Harry replied.
Harry moved out of sight.
…
Notion of a guidance committee filled Harry with apprehension, strangers less interested in him than the Dursleys giving him marching orders. Harry wondered what hand Professor Dumbledore had in the matter.
"Hey!" came the shout ahead.
A glance, realization of the small crowd stopped on the ski trail, blocking it. Too close to stop, Harry pulled on the snowboard with his feet, and it responded like a broom. Harry sailed upward, jumped over the people, before he landed back on the snow. His feet moved faster than the rest of him, and Harry fell backward, his butt skidded on the snow.
"Watch it!" came the holler from the crowd.
"Blimey!" Harry muttered, before he got up.
"Going fast?" Ron asked as he came from around the crowd.
"Yeah," Harry said as he drifted downward.
Harry felt the sore muscle in his thigh, one he wasn't aware he had. He kept drifting downward, over the protests, his mind still on those strangers that were about to interfere in his life. He and Ron reached the lodge.
"Lift's this way," Ron said as Harry made for the lodge.
"Later," Harry said.
"Come with me," Jen said, as she came out of the lodge, at Ron.
"Go ahead," Harry said.
Ron and Jen went for the lift. Harry glanced at the skis on the rack as he stowed his snowboard, realized Gia and Hermione were likely inside—maybe in the swimming pool. Harry made it to their room on the fourth floor and stripped after he entered.
"Damn!" Harry grumbled as he tripped over a shirt and fudge covered Quaffle next to Ron's backpack.
Harry made it to his own leather backpack, opened it up, and began to paw through the contents. A moment later, he found Gia's bottle of pain relief, took a pill, when his eyes stumbled across it. A book, one from the Hogwarts library, the Currents of Time exposed beneath a corner of the sleeping bag tucked inside.
"Get my mind off things," Harry muttered.
Harry grabbed the book, went to the hot tub. A second glance, and he had second doubts—not sure if the book was charmed to be waterproof or simply alarmed. Harry grabbed the food tray, pulled it over the tub as he entered. Book on the tray, he lowered himself in, allowed the heat to seep into his soreness. A flip of the page, and he began to read.
"Reading on a holiday?" Richard asked as he entered the room and undressed.
"Don't tell Hermione," Harry said.
"Lips are sealed," Richard said as he climbed into the hot tub, "What's it on?"
"Thought another read would make more sense of it," Harry said, "For instance, two people have paths through time. They meet and that binds you together in a web—a tapestry of time. Once stitched, it's stitched. While a time turner lets you go into the past, weave in new connections, you cannot destroy what's been stitched together."
"Time travel?" Richard asked.
"More like a replay," Harry said, "Suppose you don't have stuff like this."
"We do have Einstein," Richard said, "Coined the theory of relativity. According to some interpretations of that, it's possible to have multiple, parallel, universes, where every choice that could be had, has been had. Right now, not been proven or disproven, but it's the stuff of science fiction."
A flash of pain across the temple, Harry's fingers rubbed at his scar.
"Alright?" Richard asked.
"Alright?" Harry said, "We're hiding out here so I've got an alibis, one I'm not sure will work. Already, there was an attack at the village next to my school, which those impostors did, leaving three dead. And the Minister, the Minister is suggesting—"
…
"Counseling?!" Finnigan spat in the Hufflepuff Common Room. "Gimme a fucking break!"
"Suppose the Minister is planning for when our Headmaster lets Potter walk," Macmillan said.
"The Minister ought to get a fucking spine!" Finnigan said, "Potter should be in Azkaban getting the demeantor's kiss!"
"What'd you think will happen?" Thomas asked.
Finnigan jumped up onto the table, spread his bare feet.
"Remind the Minister that we're watching him," Finnigan said, "Letters to the editor—every one of you, protesting his soft glove treatment of Potter. Howlers to the Headmaster, or who ever else you feel is obstructing Potter getting the justice he deserves."
"Think it'd work?" Macmillan asked.
"Don't know until we try," Finnigan said, "And we'll know how far Potter's influence spreads."
"How far do you think Potter's influence goes?" Macmillan asked, "How many more victims?"
Steam of Hermione's breath billowed out early Wednesday morning into the faint glow of the lights from below, the dark sky still upon them above. She shivered as she sat there, on the chair of their balcony overlooking the slopes.
"Sorry about that," Harry said as he came out, sat on the other chair.
Hermione glared.
"You shrieked," Hermione said, "When we get back, you should talk—"
"No," Harry said, "Not happening."
"You woke everybody up," Hermione said, "And Ron—"
Hermione glanced out to the slope, watched as Ron boarded a ski lift.
"Getting a couple of more in before we leave," Harry said, "Richard's already left to check on the plane."
Jen and Gia boarded the next ski lift.
"You should go out there," Hermione said.
"And leave you by yourself?" Harry asked.
"I can certainly handle myself!" Hermione protested when an owl flew past, a letter dropped onto Harry's lap. "Thought—"
"It's from Dumbledore," Harry said as he opened the letter addressed to him. Hermione knew that familiar loopy handwriting too.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Harry,
The Ministry has filed murder charges, among others, in response to this weekend's incident at Hogsmeade. A trial is scheduled for Friday, 8 am. Yourself, Mr. Weasley, Miss. Granger, and Miss. Prescott have been charged. Please be at the Granger residence no later than seven thirty.
Dumbledore
"Gia too?" Hermione stammered.
"Dunno," Harry muttered as he stood, "Guess so."