In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 63: Golf & Holes
Harry woke Sunday morning to the hoot of Hedwig. He glanced at her perch, a bundle made out to Hedwig and Pigwidgeon Disposal LLC. His feet dug into the carpet to find a spot to stand in the dirty clothes. Harry unwrapped the packaging enough to reveal two books, Ministry: Dragons and Ministry: Quidditch. Harry gave Hedwig an owl treat, stroked her feathers, the wide eyes that got to him. Tired, yet aware he likely wet the bed enough, Harry reached onto the floor, grabbed a pair of briefs, put them on, and went out the door. Harry heard a bit of pounding as he went down the stairs, jumped four steps at a time.
"Hey!" Richard shouted, as he came down the stairs, "Bit of a lie in?"
Harry's wand was out halfway out the front door, aimed it at Richard, gave a warming charm.
"Easier than a jumper," Richard said, following, one foot at a time on the mildly cold pavement.
"Not…bad," Harry said.
They ran. Asphalt beneath his toes, Harry turned at the footpath, the dirt more welcome.
"Feeling better?" Richard asked.
Harry stopped, massaged his thighs below his underwear, and stretched at the park bench.
"I go back to school tomorrow, and Justin Finch–Fletchley is still dead," Harry said, "Nothing can change that now, and I'll have to face my classmates, because they still think I murdered him."
"Sorry," Richard said.
"Know you mean well," Harry said.
"Mum and Dad are home at the same time," Richard said, clear he was changing the topic, "That's not often."
"True," Harry said, knowing how often they'd be at work, "Your Mum does work a lot."
"Think she's fudging her time card," Richard said, "She's there way too much."
"Guess she can't really punch out," Harry said.
"True," Richard said, "Know they're busy."
"True," Harry said, thinking of his rant to her.
They kept running. Mostly silent, habit to run across the zebra crossings, the patchwork of trails, footpaths, and sidewalks; returned to 26 Oak Street. Harry picked up a burst of speed, climbed the stairs fast, and entered the bathroom. Underwear to the floor, he jumped into the shower, hesitated for a moment on the knob, when he heard the footsteps enter. Gia slipped into the shower behind Harry, her chest pressed into his back, hands wrapped around. Harry turned on the water.
"Been a bit aloof lately," Gia said.
"Mind's…you know," Harry said.
Her hands massaged. Harry waited for a moment, felt no interest behind his scar, and leaned back into her. Her chin onto his left shoulder.
"Need to relax," Gia said, "Know things are difficult, but stop to breathe."
"Justin can't," Harry said.
"You can," Gia said, "Want to go out later, and want you along. Pretend things are simple, today. Let them be complicated tomorrow."
"Guess so," Harry said, "Gotta…study."
"Don't forget to study me," Gia said, her hands worked into his belly, "Work your magic into me."
She grabbed a wash cloth, lathered it up, and began to scrub onto Harry's skin. One stroke, two, worked in and began to clean. Harry felt the soothing touch, the caring touch, one that reminded him of why he started snogging her in the first place a year earlier.
"Sorry," Harry said, as she washed his arousal, "How'd I even begin to describe it?"
Harry turned around, pressed into her.
"My hand did not slay Justin," Harry said, "But I'm the reason he's dead, why his remains were discarded refuse waiting to be forgotten."
"I need you close," Gia said, as she pulled on his butt, "Not only because I do love you, but I know that being close by, you'll pay attention, keep me safe."
Harry wrapped his arms around her, pressed against his chest. Harry kissed her.
"I still love you," Harry said, "Don't think that'll ever change."
"Finished?" Gia said, "Down stairs for breakfast."
"I'm not—" Harry started.
"I am hungry," Gia said, "I could use the company."
Harry stepped beneath the shower head, rinsed, before his hand summoned two towels. He wrapped one around Gia, used the other to dry himself. Towel still in his hands, around his hair, when he left the bathroom. A breeze of cool are gave goosebumps to his skin as he went down the stairs. Toes on the hardwood, before the throw rug of the living room, Harry waited by the fireplace, his back toward the flames, and felt the heat all the way up to his head. He spotted Gia's feet on the stairs when he heard the noise.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
Gia held onto the railing. Harry ran into the dining room, the source of the cool air, the study, where Kurt was nailing to resecure plywood across a hole in the wall. Harry turned toward the table where Kristen was hunched over, examining the big piece of paper on the end of the table.
"Hotcakes in the oven," Kristen said, "Help yourself."
Harry crossed his arms as he examined the blueprints. Another breeze went across him, got goosebumps, and he shivered for a moment.
"Andrea started the remodeling project," Kristen said, "Seemed fair to put in a small greenhouse to liven it up, always been a bit dark in there. Of course, have to wait for the insurance assessor, and the planning commission's approval."
Harry felt the arms wrap around him, Gia pressed against his back. Harry caught Kristen's eyes, and she snickered.
"To be young again," Kristen said.
"This way," Gia said, her arms applied pressure, as she leaned into him, and Harry budged.
His feet across the throw rug beneath the table, into the kitchen and it's smooth linoleum floor. Gia still hanging onto him, they stopped before the oven, and Gia let go. Gia moved, opened the oven, and Harry felt the blast of heat onto him.
"Carry the syrup," Gia said as she loaded up a plate with a stack of hotcakes.
Harry grabbed it, and they left the kitchen. Through the living room, up the steps, where Harry heard a bit of crying coming from Gia's bedroom. Hermione was sitting on the bed, The Daily Prophet stretched out.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked.
"Jealous because you made the front page," Ron said, standing there.
Smack!
"Ow!" Ron said as he recoiled from the slap.
Harry grabbed the front page, nearby, read as Gia worked the hotcakes.
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UHP Gift Shop Vandalized, Destroyed
This morning's demonstration on Diagon Alley got out of control, the Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club gift shop was destroyed, with the letters E and M left at the scene. Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club President Doris Crockford expects insurance to rebuild, and stresses they have enough inventory in other locations to adequately fulfill any and all owl orders. Editors at The Daily Prophet are surprised anybody is still ordering from the Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club gift shop.
"Not that," Ron said.
Harry read the article on the second to the last page instead, the one Hermione's eyes were still fixated on.
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Muggleborn Deaths on the Rise
Rate of deaths in Muggleborn infants has jumped significantly since the beginning of the year, the cause is as of yet unknown. This trend is not present in Pureblood infants. Of what relation this has to Dark Witch Granger's recent quote, "Mmmmmh…. babies… fresh from the grill pans," has yet to be determined.
"Unless you're hiding something," Harry said, "You know—sorry."
"Not funny," Ron stated.
"That priest," Hermione whispered, "He mentioned…a rash of infant deaths."
Harry moved the paper out of the way, sat in front of her, leaned in, and gave Hermione a hug. She returned it, leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Abolish that paper," Harry said, "Gives us nothing but grief."
"Second that," Ron said.
"It's important…to understand," Hermione said.
"At least today?" Harry asked.
"Ta," Hermione replied.
"I'm going to…you know, strategy," Harry said.
"I want to go out later," Gia said, "With you."
"Alright, alright," Harry grumbled, "Until then."
Harry went out onto the landing, pulled down on the rope, and climbed up it.
"You're going up too?" Hermione said, below.
"Yeah," Ron replied, "No study, gotta have a place."
"I could—" Hermione started.
"We're mooning each other," Ron said, "Totally inappropriate with girls."
Harry snorted as the red haired and freckled faced teenage boy came up into the attic. Ron pulled, the trapdoor came up. Ron sat cross–legged in front of Harry. Ron sat the light brown outback hat, the Sorting Hat, on the mat between them.
"Dunno how much longer we'll be able to keep this from her," Ron said.
"I…" Harry started, his hand reached out, stroked Ron's bare chest, felt the nipples, the uninvited guest in his mind. "Hey!" Harry retracted his hand. "Possessing me without—"
"Like he sets up an appointment?" Ron said, "Does he?"
Ron ripped on his underwear, trimmed the front down, until curly red hair exposed, and the garment broke. Harry felt Ron's struggling against Harry's invasion.
"Harry!" Ron said, "Let's keep this clean."
"I've seen your mind," Harry said, "Ain't clean in there."
"True," Ron said.
Harry laughed, felt good.
"Guess we're getting better," Harry said, "Don't use that to get sex though."
"Don't tempt me," Ron said.
"Meant with others," Harry said.
"You know me," Ron said.
"So habitual," Harry said, "Think we've got possession down."
"Yeah," Ron said, "You tell me."
Harry grabbed the Sorting Hat, put it onto his head, when Hermione's bushy head appeared.
"Think the teachers might wise up to you using the Sorting Hat at school," Hermione said.
Harry snorted.
"He needs all the help he can get," Ron said.
Hermione laughed.
"Got essays," Harry said, "Room enough for three."
Hermione came up, with her book bag, sat down, began to read.
"That thing—" Hermione started.
"Yeah, this thing," Harry said.
"I'm more dignified," the Sorting Hat said.
Ron laughed.
It felt more, normal, to Harry, with the three of them working on their homework together.
"Come on!" Ron protested as he poked his head back up through the trap door later that afternoon.
"We—" Harry started.
"You promised," Ron said, "Can't start breaking that to Gia, now, can we?"
Harry grumbled, got up, and came down the ladder. Down the steps they went. Richard stood next to Jen as he pulled on his jumper. Gia and Hermione followed Harry and Ron out of the front door.
"Not too cold," Jen remarked, the overcast clouds above, darkening as the evening approached.
Ron walked behind Hermione, wrapped his arms around her waist, pressed against her back, and smelled the apple scent that came from her brown bushy hair.
"Hey," Hermione said.
Ron moved, walked next to her, and his right hand grabbed her left. Harry and Gia took the lead, Richard and Jen in between, and they turned onto a footpath.
"We've…" Ron said to Hermione, "Studying's important, but a bit of fun's required too."
Hermione snorted.
"It is," Ron said, "How many essays did I finish today?"
"Enough not to flunk," Hermione said.
"Enough," Ron said.
Hermione snorted.
Street lamps replaced the daylight as the evening set in, and they came to the Noigate Adventure Zone, indoor miniature golf, where Gia went up to the cashier.
"This is?" Ron asked.
They all went through the gate, where they were met by a booth with golf clubs.
"Here," Harry said, handing a couple clubs over to Ron and Hermione.
"This is?" Ron asked, again.
"Golf, miniature golf," Harry said, before he laughed at the expression on Hermione's face.
"Why's this any fun?" Ron asked.
"Supposed to get the balls into the holes," Hermione quipped, "Maybe you'll get a hole in one, unlike the bedroom."
Ron groaned, Jen chuckled, and they got to the first hole. A simple one, with the flag a few yards away, beneath the large lamps above.
"Lemme show you," Richard said.
Richard demonstrated and Ron picked it up. They they played for the evening, returned back to 26 Oak Street.
"Chief Fatuus really did?" the Seeker asked, before he sipped the cup of black tea, in the upstairs private parlor of The Three Broomsticks, "Should've been at Diagon Alley this morning."
"Not that he's supposed to be leaving Hogwarts," the Keeper said, "Neither are you nor Potter."
"Potter's NOT at Hogwarts, not usually," the Seeker said, "Guess Bumblefool is having them Floo away or something, cause, Potter and his sidekicks are being seen in that muggle infested flea dump all the time, suspended or not. Suppose that's why Dumblefool's knows Potter's not guilty, same thing as that trial."
"It's the distraction, fool," Wormtail said, "Keep him guessing and preoccupied."
"Up the game," the Seeker said.
"Do not murder," the Keeper grabbed the Seeker's wrist, "Am I making myself clear? No more, not at Hogwarts nor Hogsmeade. It's tough to contain, even with Dumbledore interceding, there's only so much time until a REAL investigation is done, understand?"
"Don't tie my hands," the Seeker said.
"Other options to make Potter act up, right?" the Keeper asked.
"Suppose," the Seeker said, sipped at his cup.
"Umbridge is more than capable of pestering Potter," the Keeper said.
"That committee!" the Seeker said, "Can they do even more? Gotta keep that Headmaster spinning, wonder when he'll break? Not like we'd miss him."
"Until then, people will blame him for shielding the boy," the Keeper said, "One who's about to get bored of Hogwarts, stretch his wings, and venture outside. Once that happens, we'll have the answer, ready, for people to sign away on the dotted line."
"Can't wait," the Seeker said, "Can I have something important? Deputy Undersecretary or something? High enough for power, but nobody paying attention to any…misdeeds. Heard it's easy to get a position, even the Chief Fatuus bragged about the internship he applied for. What's he trying to get, a hundred thousand?"
"A hundred thousand galleons," the Keeper said, "Drawback to all those damn auditors, can't siphon that kind of gold off the war victims fund."
"Any fund, a hundred thousand would be noticed," the Seeker said.
"You had a plan?" Wormtail asked.
"Who better to pay for it than Potter himself? the Keeper asked.
The Seeker laughed and laughed.
"How?" the Seeker managed.
"Details are still being worked on," the Keeper said, "Need to keep Dumbledore distracted. Whether it's time to disclose the existence of one Order of the Phoenix to The Daily Prophet or not — Fletcher, under his better senses, spilled it."
"Dumblefool's gang?" the Seeker asked.
"Severus Snape is part of that gang," Wormtail said, "Oh, he doesn't conceal as much from our Master as he believes he does. He can be trusted to tell the Headmaster, you can count on that."
The Seeker poured Firewhiskey into his tea cup, drank.
"Use creativity, and encourage our chief fatuus to keep up his good work," the Keeper said, "Per our Master's directions, make sure the chief includes Potter's girl in his plans, seems to think it'd be more effective than Potter alone."
"Know somebody who'd love the remains," the Seeker said, "Cheers!"
Mug to mug, they chimed and drank.
"Why does the Minister have to choose the most awkward of hours for a press conference?" McGonagall asked.
Dumbledore fiddled with the wireless on his desk, in the wee hours of Monday morning. It came to life.
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"Searching for a better you? Start with a new wardrobe for all occasions! Visit Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley, or owl us for our latest catalog!"
"We at the Wizarding Wireless Network are pleased to bring you the Minister for Magic's press conference. The Minister for Magic, Victor Fallerschain, is now approaching the podium.
"Good morning," the Minister said, "I was hoping to have done this last night, but my mother's corns were really pressing her, and I had to take the firechat. I anticipate permanently moving this weekly conference to Sunday evening to allow every Wizard and Witch in the British Isle to be properly informed before the start of their busy week."
A small bit of applause.
"To help promote the safety and the welfare of the students at Hogwarts," the Minister said, "I am assigning another two Ministry Aurors to help protect the halls of Hogwarts. Others will be assigned as their schedules permit. While student safety is the responsibility of the Headmaster, the Ministry has a vested interest in the matter."
"You."
"Alvescot, freelance reporter for The Daily Prophet," Alvescot said, "Are four Aurors enough? Especially in light of Potter's murdering Justin Finch–Fletchley, one of many such acts?"
"I would station two with each child, if we had enough available Aurors," the Minister replied, "Unfortunately, we do not, nor would the Headmaster permit such a large number."
"Oakdale of the fine Daily Prophet," Oakdale said, "Reports are that Dumbledore knew of Black using Finch–Fletchley for training up Potter. Are you encountering any resistance from this conspiracy?"
"While it is clear that Harry Potter is influencing Albus Dumbledore," the Minister said, "We must be careful to determine the facts before coming to such a conclusion. We do know that Black is close with Potter, and Potter is close with Albus Dumbledore. As the corpse of Justin Finch–Fletchley contained evidence of magical torture in addition to the obvious physical torture, your hypothesis might be substantiated in the coming weeks, however, the Muggles in charge of the investigation have not yet considered Potter a suspect."
"Is it true the dark ritual was performed on the site of the mudblood's former home?" asked Alvescot.
"Justin Finch–Fletchley's body was recovered by the Muggles in Noigate, a small suburb south of London that's its own city," the Minister said, "As Dumbledore refuses to produce Potter's wand for verification of the killing curse used against Justin Finch–Fletchley, we must use other tactics. More concerning, is the anonymous death threats being received at the Ministry, our best investigators have requested reassignments due to concerns for their families welfare."
"Who?" asked Oakdale.
"Sorry, that is need–to–know," the Minister said, "And I'm afraid we've run out of time. May we all hope that things improve before next week, that Potter comes to his senses to abandon his current pursuits, but think we'll have to make do with this blessing of better weather, for a winter, may it hold out to the weekend and the student's Quidditch match at Hogwarts. Good day!"
"You are listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network, now a word from our sponsors."
"Is the threat of a Dark Potter appearing in your living room seem tame? If so and you're up for a darker holiday, come to Terror Tours, we'll find the right adventure for you."
Dumbledore turned the knob, the box fell silent.
"For once I agree with the students," McGonagall said, "Best to go back to bed, get rested for class."
"Suppose Mr. Potter's going to read about that," Dumbledore said, "The conference."
"He'll know about it," McGonagall said, "Miss. Granger subscribes to The Daily Prophet, if I recall correctly."
McGonagall's nightgown flowed as she left the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore waved his wand, a tea pot and cups appeared, and he poured himself a cup. Dumbledore waited until his nerves were calm, before he picked up a cup and contemplated the words he'd heard from the Minister, wondered if he should lock his office door before the Minister shows up.
Hermione was woken back up by the cold and wet slithering past her, she swatted at it. Arms pulled her closer to the coldness, before she opened her eyes to see Harry's shivering against her back.
"Um…" Hermione muttered.
"Sorry, slipped in the creeks," Harry said, "With Gia already at school, either you or Ron."
"Shagging—? Ron asked as she came in
"Don't," Hermione said to Harry, "Should've tried the shower instead of giving me hypothermia."
Hermione got out of the bed, stood.
"Came for you," Ron said as he threw over a letter to Harry.
Hermione turned her back toward Ron, and he hugged her from behind. She watched as Harry shuddered, his fingers opened the letter bearing the distinctive lightning bolt wax seal.
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Dear Harry Potter,
Reports strongly suggest that you frequently state the name of a recent Dark Lord audibly in public settings; this behavior is unacceptable in today's modern society. Effective immediately, you will be penalized one Sickle per uttering, enforced by the curse on this letter.
As you are aware from Durlocks' examination, you are having issues with controlling your temper; anger management sessions will be scheduled to help you keep this under control.
While we cannot compel you, we still urge you to reconsider your cold shoulder to the model student and citizen Draco Malfoy, Narcissa has offered to settle the committee's bill at one month per year should you become friends with Draco Malfoy.
We have failed to receive your signed form or payment for the bill sent to you last week, while we feel this may be due to the use of an incompetent owl, we remind you that failure to reimburse the Ministry for the committee's expenses will not be taken lightly.
Dolores Umbridge, Chair of the Harry Potter Guidance Committee
"Guess Voldemort—" Harry said.
"One Sickle," the letter said.
Harry hissed in parseltongue, the letter reduced to ash.
"You're getting good at that," Hermione said, "Used to require a snake."
"She is a snake," Harry said.
"You can read all about this morning's press conference," Ron said, as he threw over the The Daily Prophet, already opened to the transcript.
Harry sat there, somber look upon his face. Hermione waved her hand in front of his face before the eyes moved.
"You spaced—" Hermione said.
"What came first—?" Harry asked.
"Does it matter?" Ron asked.
"All that torture, to get at me," Harry said, "Senseless."
"How much muggle hunting would they be doing otherwise?" Ron said, "Would it be worse if they weren't after you? Harry, you don't know the answer."
"Still," Harry said as he got up and left the bedroom.
"We'll be at school!" Ron shouted.
"FINE!" Harry replied.
"We're not suspended?" Hermione asked.
"Have you seen a letter?" Ron asked as he slung the strap to his book bag over his shoulder, "Coming?"
Hermione grabbed her bag.
"We'll find out," Ron said, as he took out his Portkey.
Ron's wand activated the Portkey, Hermione touched it too, and both were pulled along. They landed in the Gryffindor Sixth years' boys' dormitory.
"Well, guess we're not suspended," Ron said, "Best warn Dumbledore."
"Think he already knows," Hermione said as she sat at the table.
"Dobby was hoping to see Harry Potter," Dobby said.
"He'll be along," Ron said, sitting at the table.
Dobby vanished, and Hermione spotted those twinkling blue eyes of Ron's.
"Stop that," Hermione said.
"Stop what?" Ron asked.
"You picked up Professor Dumbledore's trick," Hermione said.
"Does it work?" Ron asked.
Hermione snorted as Ron placed some scalloped potatoes on his plate. Ron ate. Hermione stood, held her bowl of oatmeal. Harry landed by his bed a moment later.
"News flash," Ron said, "We're not suspended."
"Gathered that," Harry said, "Likely only temporary."
"True," Ron said.
"How can you two poke fun—" Hermione started, her eyes bearing upon the bottle green ones.
"Only way to handle it," Ron said.
"Oi," Harry said, his eyes locked on, "There it is."
Harry walked to Finnigan's trunk, lifted the parchment from beneath the dangling effigy of him, and began to read.
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Monday, 13 January 1997
The Hogwarts Corpse
Potter Killed Finch–Fletchley
Ernie Macmillan
Discovery of Justin Finch–Fletchley's body confirms the feared; another victim of Dark Potter. A turn for the worse in Potter, on a campaign to silence those standing up to him, as Finch–Fletchley testified at the trial that was hijacked by Potter to whitewash his actions. Forget protesting to the Headmaster, he's in Potter's pocket. Investments in body armor and self–defense, and a revision of your will, are all in order.
Ring!
"Shit!" Harry muttered, ran to his wardrobe, took out a school uniform, and put it on.
Hermione did the same at Ron's wardrobe, taking her uniform from the hanger. She grabbed the letter from the table. Ron managed to dress first. Two minutes later, they ran down the stairs, through the nearly empty common room, a shiny metal helmet of armor sat on one table.
"Weird," Harry said, as he stopped.
"Class," Hermione said.
They went out the portrait hole.
"What's on the schedule?" Ron asked.
Hermione opened the letter, their schedule came out.
"Potions," Hermione said.
"Great," Ron muttered.
"Why potions?" Harry said, "All we'll ever get?"
"Essays aren't nearly as effective," Hermione said.
They walked past two students, shiny helmets, the contours of the armor pressed out from their shrink wrapped uniforms. Harry walked fast along the third floor corridor.
"Mr. Tonks," Professor Tonks called out, "Can I see you for a moment."
"We'll wait," Ron said as Harry went into her office.
"And be late?" Hermione asked, wondered about this blue eyed idiot.
"Late together," Ron said.
Harry came out a moment later.
"Well?" Ron asked as they walked along.
"She gave me—" Harry showed Stupefy! Stunnington's Auror Handbook, "She wanted to do it after class, but realized the odds."
"Not great," Hermione grumbled.
She knew, as they did, the odds that some lucky contestant would have their purchase of armor justified before the end of the day. If only they had a way to trap the pending beating, and the participants; they'd have to know when and where, details that weren't yet known to them.
Ring!
They put a bit of a step into their pace, made it down to the line waiting for the Potions dungeon, with an overpowering stench of garlic. Clinking reverberated throughout the corridor as Finnigan banged the back of his armored head on the stone wall.
"Don't that get hot?" Thomas asked.
"Take it off and I become as cool as Justin Finch–Fletchley," Finnigan said.
Malfoy spat at Ron's foot.
"Bug off!" Ron snapped, eyes glared at Malfoy.
"Reforming the Death Eaters?" Malfoy mocked to Harry, "What are you calling them? Potter Eaters?"
"Shove off," Harry said.
"I'm shaking," Malfoy said, "Suppose with Finch–Fletchley, I should be begging for my life, right? You will not get that—"
"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape said as he came through, "Keep the accusations to a minimum for this lesson. I am certain each student is already keeping up to date with the news of Potter."
"What news would that be?" Harry asked.
"Dawdle and lose points for tardiness," Professor Snape sneered.
Malfoy shoved Harry against the wall, and went past. This made Harry, Ron, and Harry the last to shuffle into the dungeon classroom. Hermione spotted the issue after Harry and Ron, but were fast, that every table was already purposely filled, including Susan Bones whose garlic necklace competed with the damp dungeon smell.
"Spread around," Professor Snape ordered, his dark sullen eyes on the three.
Harry and Ron pressed into the table occupied by Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Ernie Macmillan. Both Finnigan and Macmillan had their visors on their armor, clang shut.
"Alight, alright," Thomas said, "Nothing to die over."
Metallic noise accompanied the movement of Finnigan and Macmillan.
"Wise choice," Malfoy sneered as Thomas joined in the movement to other tables.
"Pay attention," said Professor Snape, as he waved his wand.
A potion appeared on the board, an Armor potion.
"Cool," Dean Thomas said.
"Some of you may find this of use," Professor Snape said dryly, "Some will likely botch it, while some have no need for it." All eyes went to Harry.
Everyone went to work. Ron filled the water into the cauldron. Harry grabbed the dragon scales. Hermione copied the directions down from the board onto parchment. Professor Snape walked around, collected essays, while smoke and a clang. All eyes glanced at the embarrassed Neville and a melted cauldron.
"Twenty five points Longbottom," Professor Snape said before his dark eyes bore down onto Harry, "Your essay Potter."
"Why bother?" Harry said, "You'll just mark it unacceptable—"
"Wrong answer Potter," Professor Snape said, "Detention tonight to finish it."
Eyes were already on Harry, though few as close as Ron or Hermione to notice the irises of Harry's eyes. Bottle green turned red.
"All night to prove yourself," Harry said.
Harry's eyes returned to bottle green, as the remaining color drained from Professor Snape's usually pale face.
"Remedial Potions, nightly," Professor Snape snapped, "Until we get your behavior under control."
Harry hissed, in Parseltongue. A dozen cauldrons spilled as the others spun too fast to watch Harry and Snape. Smoke billowed up from the floor.
"Fifty points," Professor Snape said, "Control your tongue Potter or forfeit it."
A brief pain to the ears as the chalkboard shattered, a rain of black powdered slate coated the floor where it had been.
"Leave!" Professor Snape ordered, "All three of you are expelled from this class."
"We didn't—" Ron protested.
"Leave!" Professor Snape said as he drew his wand.
Hermione stuffed her parchment into the bag, but otherwise, all three grabbed their bags.
"Kill them!" Finnigan shouted.
"Do you understand the paperwork involved?" Professor Snape said, "Though, I would stomach completing it."
Ron and Hermione made it first to the door, however, Harry turned. Harry hissed more Parseltongue. They left the dungeon, ignored the mess that remained on their table. They heard the door locking itself after it closed.
"Harry," Ron said, "Wish you'd control that."
"Who said I didn't?" Harry gave a brief smile.
"You let Voldemort possess?" Hermione asked.
"Who ever said anything about him possessing me?" Harry asked, his eyes flashed red, "All I'll say is that Snape won't understand the insults I threw at him."
"You got us kicked out!" Hermione said, "And for that?"
"Didn't matter," Ron said, "Snape was planning to kick us out, Harry chose the reason."
"Did you even do the essay?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," Harry said, "Right here." Harry pulled out his roll of parchment.
Hermione grabbed the roll and smacked Harry with it.
"Dark Witch indeed," Harry said.
"Hmph!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Back to the dormitory," Ron muttered, halfway up the marble stairs.
"Library," Hermione said, "Don't have access to it otherwise."
"Alright," Harry said, "The library it is."
They made their way to the library. Ron and Harry had their parchment on the table, while Hermione went into the stacks of books.
"She's at home," Ron said.
Harry nodded as he loosened his Gryffindor tie.
"Have Madam Pince check out the whole lot to you!" Ron said.
Harry and Ron worked on their essays; eventually Hermione returned and read her finds.
Hours had passed by with Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the library.
Ring!
"I'm starving," Ron said.
"You know where the kitchens are," Harry said, his eyes traveled back to the Currents of Time in his hands.
"It's easier around muggles," Ron said, "Kitchens in every room."
"It's not like that," Hermione said, "You know better!"
"Have you checked the books out?" Ron asked.
"Yes," Hermione grumbled.
Harry knew it unusual, they had enough time to peruse the stacks and check out the books with Madam Pince. He didn't know when the shoe would drop, maybe his impostor was taking a holiday.
"Our dormitory?" Ron asked.
"Hermione?" Harry asked.
Hermione nodded. Harry stood, packed up his stuff, headed out the door, when the red haired Ginny caught up to them.
"Hi," Ginny said, "Ron…"
"I'm not related," Ron said.
"Wish that were true," Ginny said, "Still, fancy lunch in the Great Hall?"
"Why—?" Harry stuttered, not wanting to stir the pot.
"Not everybody hates you," Hermione suggested.
"I was hoping—" Harry started, when Ginny grabbed his hand and pulled.
"Guess we're doing the Great Hall," Ron said.
Ron and Hermione followed.
"I don't want to go to the Great Hall," Harry said.
"You promised," Ginny said.
"No I didn't," Harry replied.
Halfway along the first floor, as the black haired first year Ash started to come out of the Hospital Wing, Wood came toward them. Harry tried it, a quick possession, the hint.
"Mind if I talked to you Harry?" Wood asked.
"We'll wait up for you," Ron said.
Ron and Hermione went away with Ginny, while Wood led Harry into Professor McGonagall's empty office. The door closed behind them.
"That's funny," Wood said, "Don't remember why I needed to talk to you."
"How's Puddlemere United?" Harry asked.
"I need to pick up the second year's essays," Wood said, as he brought his hand to the door, "Come with me if you want."
Wood shook the knob, it refused to budge.
"That's odd," Wood said.
Harry tried the knob, it wouldn't turn.
"You did get me out of…never mind," Harry said, "But funny enough—"
Wood tried the knob again, as Harry's wand came out. A first flick, and the knob did not budge.
Harry aimed his wand at the door, the thought of uttering this out loud seemed ridiculous, but they had already tried less persuasive arguments.
"Alohamora!" Harry shouted.
Wood tried the knob, shook his head.
"What's the one for shrinking the door?" Harry said, "Hermione knows it."
"Check the second years' homework?" Wood asked.
"Think she'd mind if we blasted the door?" Harry asked.
"I think she'd notice," Wood said, "Give it a few minutes, she'll be back."
"Yeah," Harry said, "At least no snake will get in through that."
Wood snorted.
"That was an interesting year," Wood said.
They kept chatting until the door opened by itself.
"Peeves around here?" Harry asked.
"That'd be like him," Wood said.
Harry left the office, decided to go for the Great Hall.
As Harry and Wood went for Professor McGonagall's office, Ginny led Ron and Hermione down the marble stairs.
"Double check to make sure the door's not rigged," Ron said.
"You two are suspicious," Ginny said.
"We know how well we're liked," Hermione said as they entered the Great Hall.
As Ron figured, everybody's eyes drifted, the Gryffindor table parted ways, most moving to the ends of the table. Neville was already sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Luna. Seamus Finnigan was sitting with Ernie Macmillan at the Hufflepuff table, their eyes on Ron and Hermione.
"Hope they're not claustrophobic," Hermione said, as she and Ron sat across from Ginny.
"Some figure it's better than winding up like Finch–Fletchley," Ginny said.
"How's business?" Ron asked, trying to get his mind off the crowd, as Ginny sipped on pumpkin juice.
"Making a fortune, thank you very much," Ginny said, "Reprints on Death Omens books, and selling fifty effigies a day here at Hogwarts. I've seen a few burned in hopes of keeping you two away—something I encourage."
"You do?" Hermione asked.
"They gotta buy a new one, don't they?" Ginny asked, "Malfoy's asked for another."
Ron ignored the silver hair on the Slytherin Table, sank his teeth into a buffalo chicken sandwich.
"Fred and George…been working the shop enough," Ginny said, "Guess they felt being brotherly, making me their fourth partner, however, they specifically want me to relay a request. Do NOT mention anything about their original investor, it'd ruin the current line of profitable products."
"Glad to be of assistance," Ron grumbled between bites.
"Those beatings," Ginny said, slowly, "Definitely looks like you and Harry doing the thumping."
"Impostors," Ron whispered, "There's one potion you learned your second year—it can accomplish exactly that."
"Can't think of it," Ginny said.
"May be on your OWL," Hermione said.
"Polyjuice," Ron whispered, "Our impostors would look exactly like us, that's the point of that potion."
"Drawback—requires a month to brew," Hermione said.
"Mail order," Ginny said, "Used to be shops in Knockturn Alley that'd sell you any potion you wanted, no questions asked. So, they might be mail ordering their transactions."
"Lots of paperwork," Ron muttered.
"Not if somebody else bought, or brewed, and shipped," Ginny said, before her eyes returned Ron's glance. "I'm speculating Ron."
Screams came from the Entrance Hall. Ron jumped up, abandoned his remaining slice of a sandwich, and bolted for the door. Others ignored their fears, joined in the rush behind Ron, to be greeted by the same scene. Starkers and laying mostly sideways on the stairs, ropes around her, gagged, was Parvati Patil. Her legs pressed up, and on top, with a side profile of his arousal slamming into her, bottle green eyes and raven black hair, as the boy appearing as Harry forceably banged her.
"Stop!" Ron shouted, his wand now in his hands.
Ron's blue eyes locked onto those bottle green eyes. This one did not return the interrogation, a thirst to make Harry pay. Colin Creevey's camera was up, snapped pictures. A red stunning spell shot from Ron's wand, toward the rapist on the stairs.
"Protego!"
Ron's spell was deflected by Seabrook, the Ministry Auror. Ron's curse hit and knocked over one of the school suits of armor with a loud clang. Ron's eyes ignored the Auror, while Seabrook did send a cast up toward the rapist bolting up the stairs. Ron ran up the stairs, tried to chase, only to find his feet tripped from Seabrook's next curse. Ron fell and landed on the floor.
"Hope they castrate him!" Padma Patil said as she ran up to Parvati. Padma handed over her cloak to Parvati, undid the ropes. "No good having Weasley interfering—"
"Tried to catch—" Ron started to protest.
"Sure you were," said Ernie Macmillan, his armor echoed as he stepped.
Dressed in his Hogwarts school uniform, book bag strapped over his shoulder, though his tie was loose, Harry came to the top of the stairs, his bottle green eyes locked onto Ron.
"Miss anything…?" Harry started.
An avalanche of food and other objects flew through the air, hurled by the other students at Harry. Harry ducked out of view. Ron and Hermione climbed the stairs.
"Where'd you think you're going?"
They turned, the other Ministry Auror, Buckland.
"Assumed we'd have to go to Dumbledore," Ron said, "Apologize if I'm out of line."
"You're always out of line," Buckland sneered as he grabbed the collar of Ron's shirt. Buckland pulled Ron up the stairs, Hermione followed.
"Hey!" Ron grumbled.
"Give it to them!" yelled Crabbe.
Buckland switched to the tie, tightened it, and pulled.
"Let—" Harry started.
"No," Hermione said to him.
Ron, though, was nearly dragged by his neck, the strong tension determined to see if it was fragile or not. Up the familiar path, the stone gargoyle, and the ascending steps. Ron gasped for breath, the darkness started to creep over him, as they entered the Headmaster's office.
"What happened?" asked Professor Dumbledore, standing up from behind his desk, left hand shaking on his cane, right hand held his long wand, "Why is an Auror manhandling—"
Ron felt the grip released.
"Revenge," Ron said, taking the shot, "An incident a moment ago—" Ron felt his voice falter as Buckland's wand aimed itself at his throat.
"Do NOT silence students without authorization even if you disagree with their statements," the Headmaster said, "Release Mr. Weasley." His eyes were not twinkling as he watched Buckland.
"Finite Incantatem," Buckland grumbled.
"I assisted Percy in an audit of the Aurors last month and he was there," Ron said as he loosened his tie and shirt collar. Ron explained the scene on the stairs, as he saw it. "It was the impostor Harry, I would've caught him if it weren't for Seabrook."
"Lies," Buckland spat, "You're going into battle as his accomplice."
"A stunning curse at the rapist?" Hermione said, "Seabrook prevented it from hitting."
"Could've been a new killing curse," Buckland said, "Unable to acquire answers from Potter."
"You're dismissed," Professor Dumbledore said to Buckland.
"They go unpunished?" Buckland asked.
"They will be suspend in accordance with previous precedents," Professor Dumbledore said.
"In the real world, rapists get sent to Azkaban or worse," Buckland said as he spat at the Headmaster's feet. He left the office.
"Mr. Weasley," Professor Dumbledore said, "Are you sure it was the impostor?"
"Absolutely," Ron said, feeling those blue eyes trying to probe deeper, "As Tonks learned, I know my Harry well, it was the impostor."
"Excuse me," Hermione said, "Have Madam Pomfrey collect the DNA left by the rapist."
"DNA?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
"Muggle science," Hermione said, "Take a sample of the semen—don't think it's affected by Polyjuice, compare it to the suspect's, and you can eliminate or convict people with it."
Professor Dumbledore went to the fireplace, called. "Poppy, can I have a word?"
Madam Pomfrey's face showed.
"How is Miss. Patil?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
"Shaken of course," Madam Pomfrey said, "Otherwise fine and taking a shower. Her twin's helping her."
"Damn," Hermione said, "Too late."
"Excuse me?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
"A hypothesis that can no longer be tested," Professor Dumbledore said, "We would have needed to examine her prior to the shower."
"I'm sorry," Madam Pomfrey said, "Procedure is to clean up the victim as soon as possible."
"We will reexamine procedures another time," Professor Dumbledore said.
Madam Pomfrey's face disappeared.
"The stairs of the marble staircase might have something," Hermione said.
"I will check into this Muggle technique and how it works," Professor Dumbledore said, "Unfortunately, the procedure is clear with you, do not return until Wednesday. I shall keep you informed."
Ron took out and activated his Portkey, Harry and Hermione touched it as they vanished.
"I would've preferred the beating," Harry grumbled.
Ron knew the game had advanced, the Death Eaters were changing tactics.
Date: Thu Jan 4 09:53:35 2024