A/N: I could just blame the fact that it's been this long since an update on the fact that my laptop broke (and it was a part of it, because I HATE trying to write on anything but a computer as the software I use doesn't... work well as an app) but honestly the bigger reasons why updates are so sporadic is, 1, real life stuff, and 2, Harry Potter is no longer my only fandom and the new fandom on the block has a strangle-hold on my autistic brain, the selfish jerk. But hey, I wrote this as soon as I got my laptop replaced, so maybe it served as good motivation in the end? And hey - this chapter is even longer than the last one, with over 12k words, so... you can't hate me too much, right?
Thanks, of course, go to AngstySnake and whythehellnothavefun for beta reading!
Last Chapter: Harry and Neville both got their first experience with the Hogwarts Aquatic Research Program (HARP) (it was terrible).
Harry thought it must have been at least three weeks since the inaugural meeting of the research club, but his perception of time was… difficult. Sleeping in small chunks scattered throughout both night and day made the rising and setting of the sun meaningless. The sound crystals still clung to his skin like large, luminescent ticks; the runes tattooed under his skin were still dark underneath healing pink scratch lines. But the ebb and flow of their magic in his senses had become something like a shadow. He sang, his own magic flowed out and around, and the crystals pulsed with their own magic - a duet composed of energies both siren and wizard. As long as Harry didn't think about it too hard - didn't imagine Artemius and the research program students hunched over the workbench in their workroom, listening and making notes and studying - he could almost forget about the sound crystals and runes.
Of course, that would have been far easier to do if Artemius and his research group didn't keep dragging Harry back up for various purposes. They really liked to cast diagnostic spells on him, though he had no idea why they needed so many recordings of his vital signs. They'd re-applied the sap they'd used as glue for the sound crystals once, and they'd patched up his scratches when he'd torn bloody gashes in his side over the runes during a particularly bad fit of grief. Neville's voice had been choked, then, as he pled with Harry not to hurt himself, trying to hide how upset he was because he was saying it aloud in front of the other students and Artemius since they couldn't be alone. Harry made himself remember that every time his fingers itched towards the pulsing runes or the cuffs on his wrists. He didn't want Neville to worry. At least, any more than he already was. Neville surely had better things to worry about, with death eaters in the castle, than Harry stupidly hurting himself.
Surely, surely, they nearly had all the data they could want. Harry hadn't been able to keep himself quiet, no matter his initial desperate desire to keep his song to himself. It had been too hard, too painful, and so Harry had simply done his best to ignore his unwanted audience as he went about his normal days, hunting and working on his nets and spending long hours trying to sharpen a mussel shell on a rocky outcrop while his chest and throat hummed and trilled and warbled thoughtlessly. (It had still taken him days to manage singing anything intentionally without feeling sick.)
Which might be why he'd stopped trying to fight the pull of the cuffs that always followed the summoning chime. He wanted the sound crystals and runes gone and the only way he'd get his wish was if the research group gathered sufficient data and removed them. The last few visits hadn't been particularly noteworthy - just a few spells, a few stupid condescending remarks from Artemius, a smattering of casual conversation between the students over Harry's head, and a baby octopus given to him as a snack. Annoying, but not worth a real fight.
Even when they'd replaced the sap and sound crystals, Neville had put his hand on Harry's back again, and the physical contact was almost worth the horrible feeling of being strapped down. And they hadn't had to draw new runes, which had been the worst part of the whole thing the first time, so Harry found it much easier to steady his nerves once it was over. He was also thankful that whatever higher power was out there seemed content to let him at least have the comfort of Neville present. After Neville's touch had calmed Harry for a second time (and ignoring the history between his student and test subject) Artemius was more convinced than ever that Neville was some kind of siren-whispering prodigy. Neville's protests came across as mere low self-esteem, and Harry wasn't going to put on a show of disliking Neville's touch lest he lose his only comfort. His pride stung at the way it looked to Artemius and the other students, but his only friendly contact with another being wasn't worth sacrificing for his ego.
He had been asleep, stomach full of fish and hands tired from working on yet another ill-made net, but pushed his mind into wakefulness when a familiar, unnatural chime rang in the water. As his closed eye heaved open and his slowed thoughts began to accelerate, the chime repeated, and Harry's heart rate jumped up. It could mean nothing - just another diagnostic check - or it could mean that they were ready to remove the sound crystals.
Harry chirped an uncertain, skipping scale of high notes, flicking his tail to dodge out from underneath the coral-coated shelf midway up the tank that he'd drifted under. He peered up through the water, but between rocky obstructions and kelp it was impossible to see the surface from this far down.
The chime repeated. Harry had counted; it came every ten seconds and usually repeated somewhere between ten and fifteen times before the cuffs would drag him to the surface. Assuming the first chime had penetrated Harry's sleep-clouded mind, this was the third, and Harry had at least seven more before he'd be in the research room.
Hesitantly, Harry swam upward. His heart pounded and his fins quivered, always aware that it was just as likely that Artemius had thought up some new way to demean Harry as it was that Artemius would end his current project. But Harry would end up in that room either way, and the slight hope he carried for the end of the mersong experiment made him more curious about the reason for his call than fearful.
He found himself underneath the final rock outcropping at the eighth chime. He peered out from underneath it warily, now able to see the dark, blurred blobs of silhouettes peering into the tank above the surface. Five - the research group. The tallest was Neville, Harry had come to realize with some surprise. His old roommate had experienced quite a growth spurt, and Artemius wasn't a particularly tall man as far as Harry could tell.
The ninth chime sounded. Harry stayed where he was, just watching the nearly-still humans above. Could they see the top of his head peering up at them? They hadn't shown any sign that they could.
The tenth chime came, then an eleventh. Harry emerged slightly more from the rock, exposing his chest and upper arms. They saw him now, he thought - they suddenly were moving, gesturing with twisted-twig arms distorted by the rippling surface, pointing and exclaiming to each other in words that were mangled by the volume of water between them and Harry. Then the slightly more colorful blob that was Artemius (being the only one not wearing black student robes) made a gesture and they all went quiet. A twelfth chime pinged against Harry's ears at the same time.
It seemed as if the wizards above were holding their breaths. Harry wished he could make out Neville's expression.
They were waiting, now. They'd seen Harry, they knew he'd come this close to them without being dragged. Were they hoping he'd come the rest of the way himself? Why did they care about that? Then again, why did they always give him so much warning before dragging him out?
Thirteenth chime.
If Harry stayed right here, would they still drag him out before fifteen?
Fourteen.
Harry wavered, water rippling out from his body as his voice left an impression of his feelings in the matter around him. He wasn't quite curious enough to cooperate with them - make it seem like what they did was okay - and he was already teetering on the edge of that by coming so close to them.
Fifteen. Harry's uncertain song stilled, bracing for the tug and pull on his cuffs.
Sixteen. Confusion. They'd never let it go this long before. Weren't they going to drag him?
Seventeen, and still nothing. Harry glared up at Artemius. What kind of game was he playing? Why wasn't he getting on with it? Didn't he have better things to do than wait around for Harry? He certainly wasn't being considerate or something like that.
Eighteen. This was ridiculous.
"What's the hold-up?" Harry sang in loud frustration, fins standing on end and teeth bare. "I assume you have an agenda, so get on with it!"
The figures above shifted as they spoke to each other, but still no pull, no sign that they were going to return to their usual pattern.
Nineteen. Fine. If they wanted to play it like that…
Harry twisted and dove. He made it a dozen feet before his wrists were yanked out from underneath him, dragging him back up to the surface. He made a show of thrashing and spitting as he came into view of the wizards and got pulled into the observation tank, but they'd done exactly as he'd expected. As soon as he'd shown he wasn't letting himself be trapped willingly, they'd taken the farce of a choice away.
"So close," one of the students, Delainey, whined. "Did something scare him off?"
"No one made any sudden moves," the Ravenclaw, Roth, replied. "It was his first time getting so close. We shouldn't expect him to come all the way right away."
"You shouldn't expect it at all," Harry grumbled, not bothering with trying to fight his way out of the tiny box he was now familiar with being confined to and instead settling himself against the floor of it. His eyes flickered around, quickly finding Neville next to Artemius and the last student - the only girl, Marcel. Neville was smiling at him in his strained way while Artemius busied himself with prying the customary baby octopus off of his fingers to drop into the tank.
"Quite right, Mr. Roth," Artemius said cheerfully as the octopus finally splashed into the water in front of Harry's face. It squirmed, a small mass of writhing pale tentacles, before it got its bearings and shot towards the glass wall opposite Harry. "Seeing him get this close to us, and show himself to us, is enormous progress! It would have been wonderful if he'd overcome his fear enough to come all the way, but it's hardly to be expected, and so we shouldn't overlook how positive the progress Calder did make is!"
Harry shot Artemius a glare, which went unnoticed by the professor. Neville noticed, though; his smile stretching into something a little wider and more natural. Harry caught Neville's eyes and raised his eyebrow in a question, a quiet chirrup of inquisitive song as close as he could get to voicing his question in English.
"Just another check-up, today," Neville said, hands clenching but half-hidden in the folds of his robes despite his smile.
Harry sighed a disappointed note and eyed the octopus now swimming aimlessly in the small area of the corner. It didn't seem to want to risk going past Harry's waist, where his arm was propped, letting his clawed hand dangle idly in the water.
"Use his name as often as you can," Artemius reminded Neville. "I'm sure we can get him to recognize it soon."
Neville swallowed but managed to keep his smile up. "Right. Sorry, sir."
"It is really interesting how Calder seems like he responds to Longbottom even though he doesn't understand him," Roth said.
It wasn't the first time a similar comment had been made. Harry did his best to tune the stupidity out, wondering whether he should break his spiteful streak of refusing Artemius's bribes and actually eat the octopus this time. He'd eaten a couple of the ones released into his tank before, though he hadn't done it in front of humans since the first time he'd eaten one in Care class. He wasn't usually in a snacking mood during these things, but now that he knew nothing important was going to happen this time, Harry would welcome a distraction from the idiotic musings about himself from the research group. The small octopus with its contorting tentacles and sweet flavor seemed like a great option.
A wash of magic interrupted Harry's considerations. He stiffened at the feeling, but it was just Artemius casting the first of his usual diagnostic spells.
"…still would like greater diversity in our samples of vocal-cord-originating mersong…"
Harry grimaced and tried not to hear the rest. He forced his focus to return to the octopus. He reached out for it, slowly, trying not to startle it. Of course, Artemius couldn't let Harry do anything without making a big deal of it, and Harry's focus was snapped once again as the casual conversation overhead fell into a breathless hush.
Harry glanced up to see that, yes, they were all watching him now. He dropped his hand and scowled.
"Don't you all have something better to look at?"
"We spooked him again," Delainey complained.
"He really doesn't like attention," Roth sighed.
No. Of course they didn't. Why did Harry bother asking?
"Maybe the sudden quiet spooked him? He's probably not used to it. Could we put on some music?" Marcel asked.
"Wonderful idea, Ms. Marcel," Artemius said. "There's a radio in that corner."
A moment later, a straining opera singer was being broadcasted through the room. It was slightly distorted by the water, as all airborne sounds were, but Harry was close enough to the surface that the melody was still discernible if not the words. Harry sent a petulant glare towards the radio as Artemius cast a second spell, sending tingling magic throughout Harry's bones.
This was… boring. Annoying, too, but mostly boring. The humans' voices washed over him, mixing with the opera music, all of it becoming equally meaningless. But there was still something relaxing about it. Harry was used to having to make noise for himself constantly, else the pressing silence of the tank overwhelmed him. He didn't feel the anxious need to hum or sing right now, knowing nothing nasty was going to happen to him, despite other people nearby.
They'd interrupted his nap. Maybe that was why he didn't feel more anxious or irritated. It was almost like he could close his eye again and just wait for it to be over.
He kept his eye propped open, though, and found it drifting back to that octopus.
Artemius had cast two more spells before Harry decided to stop overthinking it. Like it or not, he was a siren, and he felt peckish, and the octopus was right there. Besides that, taking Artemius's bribe didn't mean Harry had to start liking him or anything, just like accepting lollies from doctors hadn't made Dudley cry any less about needing to go.
Harry's hand shot out, faster than the darting fish he so often hunted now. The octopus tried to dart away, but it wasn't fast enough to escape the breadth of Harry's hand. He caught it on his thumb and clamped it to his palm. Tentacles wrapped around his thumb in a tiny, panicked hug as the octopus tried to drag itself out of his grip. His fingers closed into a cage as he pulled it to his face, only opening again when he brought his other hand up to meet it and pry the small creature away from his skin. It wasn't large enough to offer much of a fight yet; Harry plucked it free and pushed the squirming mass into his mouth, chomping down on tender tentacles to sever them and make the mouthful easier to swallow.
The feeling of the tiny body wriggling in his mouth and down his throat occupied all of his focus, the slightly sweet flavor making him hum. Even after it hit his stomach, he could still feel the parts of it moving, gently tickling his insides. They probably wouldn't stop for a minute or two. The sensation made Harry think of the popping rock candies Dudley had gotten sometimes; had those felt like this, too?
"Music did the trick," Marcel said smugly. Harry blinked, realizing he hadn't heard their voices in a moment, then scowled when he realized that, of course, they had stopped to watch him again. Which he had known they would, but it was still irritating. Even more irritating was the fact that he was only realizing it now because he hadn't noticed the lack of conversation thanks to the background noise of music. In other words, he'd played into the research group's hand.
"We'll have to put it on when we're working with him. It certainly seems to go a long way to helping Calder relax," Artemius said.
"I can't believe how fast he moved!" Roth exclaimed. "If I'd have blinked, I would have missed it!"
"Sir, do you think physical talents carried over from the transformation?" Marcel asked. "Potter was a prodigy seeker. Seems like the skills are pretty similar."
"An interesting question," Artemius mused. "Unfortunately, I'm not sure of the answer. Sirens are, of course, skilled hunters in their natural environments, so it's difficult to say whether Calder's skills are further amplified by the skills he possessed in his… former life."
"I wonder if we tossed a snitch into the tank whether he'd chase it," Delainey said with a laugh.
Despite the joke of it, Harry couldn't help a note of interest. It would give him something to do besides hunt and make nets and drive himself insane trying to make a knife out of a shell. (He'd been working on that last one for weeks, now, and he'd barely managed to scrape away the outer, dark layer of the shell, let alone get it sharp.)
"Do… you think maybe we could try that?" Neville asked.
Harry, surprised, looked at his friend and saw that Neville was looking hesitantly at Artemius. He glanced down at Harry, offered a small smile, and then focused back on the professor.
"It's just, I would think he might be a little bored. He doesn't have much to do in there, and he can't spend all his time hunting."
"It was just a joke, Longbottom," Delainey said, confused.
"No, no, Mr. Longbottom raises a valid point," Artemius said. "Many animal species are known to engage in frivolous behaviors - playing with things in their environment either individually or, sometimes, as part of a group. Some species are even known to engage in self-injurious behaviors if they are understimulated, which most often occurs in captivity. Really, I should have considered this possibility earlier. What an oversight on my part! Especially given the wounds Calder inflicted on himself - he was clearly in distress, which I chalked up to the stress of being handled, but I should have thought further on it."
"So, we're really going to give Calder a snitch?" Delainey asked, looking dumbfounded.
"I don't see why not. Kneazles and crups certainly enjoy chasing toy snitches. There's a risk of him swallowing it," (Harry had to roll his eyes at the irony that he'd likely come closer to swallowing a snitch as a human than he would be as a siren), "but he's not likely to choke on it and we can easily vanish the contents of his stomach should that happen. We'd just have to have one enchanted not to leave Calder's tank, which I can talk to Madame Hooch about. Why don't we brainstorm some more ideas, hm?"
"Ooh, puzzles!" Marcel suggested, clasping her hands together. "Simple ones, you know - like shape and color matching toys, the kinds kids learn on."
Harry scowled darkly at her.
"If you hadn't suggested it, I would have suggested it myself!" Artemius said. "Not only would toys like that give Calder something to do, but it would also let us begin testing his problem-solving capabilities."
Neville cleared his throat. "I would assume they're pretty high? You know, since he clearly recognizes different people."
I appreciate the vote of confidence, Neville.
"I would presume the same, but it's better to start simple and work our way up gradually," Artemius said.
Great. Harry was going to see Fisher-Price toddler toys floating down from the surface soon. The question was: should Harry ignore them as something beneath him, or should he play along with it and see how "difficult" he could get the puzzles to become? If he kept solving them, eventually Artemius would have to realize Harry wasn't a dumb animal, right?
Right?
Somehow, Harry was pretty sure he could jump out of the water, dance the macarena, and sing in perfect Queen's English and Artemius would still find a way to explain it away.
The relative calm of the research room was abruptly cut by a loud knock at the door. Artemius, who had been about to cast another spell, froze with his wand lifted. He lowered it with a frown and turned towards the door.
"Now, who could that be?"
He went to the door and opened it. Harry narrowed his eyes at the figure of Shovel-Face - the female Carrow death eater Neville had named. She looked just as sour as she usually did, with her arms crossed and her eyes squinting.
"Headmaster says you've got to clear your little club out of here," she announced without preamble. "Lord Slytherin is visiting the castle, and he wants to see his investment." Her eyes slid to Harry, and a slight smirk twisted her expression. "Privately."
Harry's fins stood on end and his heart suddenly pounded in his ears. The last time Voldemort had been around was when he'd used Harry as entertainment at that party. Skin dry, water tasting of potions, burning hands pawing all over his body -
"You've got ten minutes," Carrow said, before she twisted on her heel and marched away again.
Artemius stared after her for a moment, before closing the door and turning back to the students.
"How unexpected. But Lord Slytherin has been such a generous donor to Hogwarts; it is sensible that the headmaster acquiesce to his request. It seems our time is cut short… ah, well, we were just about finished, in any case. If you think of any other ideas for items we could give to Calder, make a note of them and bring your ideas to next week's meeting. And for those of you interested in doing further reading on studies on animal intelligence, come see me during my office hours. I have several volumes you won't be able to find in the library on the topic that I can lend you."
The students were unusually silent as they retrieved their things - notebooks and reference tomes and one or two cloaks - and filed out of the room. Neville lingered, eyes wide as he looked between Artemius and Harry, a single notebook clenched in his fist.
"Something troubling you, Mr. Longbottom?"
"Is… is he going to be okay?"
Artemius glanced back at Harry, confirming who Neville was talking about. Harry had his arms wrapped around himself, desperately trying to stifle the noises coming from himself which betrayed the fear and anxiety he'd much rather cover up with anger. But the memories of his last day with Voldemort were flashing through his mind - unbearable torture that nearly drove Harry to breaking, being put on display while Voldemort made a victory speech, then the drugged state that had turned his memories of that party into a muddled and overwhelming collection of sensations, and then being sprawled at Voldemort's feet as a symbol of Voldemort's strength… entertainment, a trophy, humiliated and defeated.
Artemius frowned at Harry, apparently noticing his changed mood.
"There's nothing to worry about, Mr. Longbottom. Calder has had a… bad experience with Professor Carrow, so I imagine seeing her didn't agree with him. He'll be back to himself soon enough."
"No, I mean… with Lord Slytherin."
Artemius's frown deepened. "Now why would you worry about that? Lord Slytherin has been nothing but gracious to the school, and he funded Calder's tank in its entirety. It's quite top-notch; no expense spared. He's very invested in the success of our research, so you have no cause to worry about Calder's well-being with him."
Harry sang an impression of a scoffing noise before he could repress it. It had to take effort to be as oblivious as Artemius was. Did he really not know that 'Lord Slytherin' was Voldemort? The man who'd attempted to murder Harry over and over again?
He must honestly not know. Harry didn't like Artemius, but if he knew anything about the man it was that he prioritized his research above everything else, and Harry's health was a huge factor in that. He wouldn't be this casual about letting 'Lord Slytherin' in for some private time with 'Calder' if he knew the truth.
Neville's mouth hung open for a moment, before he managed to shut it, blinking rapidly. "Oh. Well. Yes. I… I suppose that's true. Sorry, Professor, I just…" He glanced at Harry again, clearly not wanting to leave, but not able to find an excuse to stay. Harry wished he could stay, too - if only to postpone the moment when Voldemort would be there. But he knew it was impossible, and… worse, what if Voldemort didn't know that Neville was part of the research program, and would order him to be kicked out if he saw him?
Artemius clasped one of Neville's shoulders in his hand earnestly. "I appreciate your concern for our project, Mr. Longbottom, but I assure you there's nothing to worry about. Now, best you be off, before Lord Slytherin arrives."
Harry made himself loosen his arms and made a shooing motion towards Neville. Go. Don't get yourself hurt. He'd survived Voldemort plenty of times before. As difficult as it was to face his sworn enemy as helpless as he was, Harry had spent weeks confined to the monster's office. There wasn't anything new Voldemort could do to hurt him, right? Harry could get through this.
Neville swallowed, but nodded at Artemius and then dragged himself reluctantly out the door.
Artemius went to his workbench, making a few last-moment notations before quickly trying to arrange his haphazard piles of notes into something more organized. He was humming along to the opera music still playing on the radio.
Harry's scar began to burn. He forced his eyes closed, rubbing at his forehead, heart galloping in his chest. Voldemort was controlling it, letting Harry feel that he was near, but not outright torturing him with it - maybe to avoid giving Artemius reason for alarm? He must know that Artemius was just as bought in to whatever political smokescreen Voldemort had constructed around himself as he was to the lies surrounding Harry's transformation. It wasn't really a surprise, even if Harry was disbelieving that anyone could be such a massive idiot. Was the man completely ignoring the fact that there were death eaters in the school? He surely couldn't have been blind to that, not after seeing them torture both Harry and Ginny!
Or maybe he did know the truth of what was going on, but it was just easier to convince himself of the lies.
What did Voldemort want, anyway? Harry had more or less assumed that he'd be forgotten about, now. Voldemort had condemned Harry to a life of inhumanity and humiliation and isolation, and Harry wasn't going to be escaping it without an impossible amount of outside help. So what could have possibly caused this sudden visit?
Artemius finished his last-minute efforts to tidy up, then stood nervously next to Harry's tank, his arms crossed with his fingers tapping the opposite forearm. His voice, when he spoke a moment later, seemed overly loud against the quiet background of the music coming from the radio.
"Do you remember Lord Slytherin, Calder? I can't imagine you do - you had only just been… 'born' I suppose, is as close a term I can use." Artemius huffed a little, fingers still tapping against his arm as he stared at the door. "I've met him just once, when he accompanied you here. He was quite a gentleman, and most interested in my research. I've been sure to keep him updated on our progress through letters, and he's written back twice with very thoughtful observations and questions. In thirty years of research, I've never met another wizard who was so intrigued by the study of sirens - it's wonderful to finally have a kindred spirit!"
… oh. Now Harry understood. Artemius had a single-minded focus on his research, and Harry had never seen him talk about anything else. It reminded Harry a bit of Luna, with her fascination for conspiracy theories and creatures of dubious existence. If Artemius was like this all the time, Harry could see how he might be an outcast. Voldemort must have noticed it, and realized how effectively he could win Artemius to his side if only he encouraged Artemius's interests.
Maybe Artemius wasn't stupid. Maybe he was just really, really lonely and desperate for connection. Desperate enough to let himself be duped.
It didn't excuse him, but it did squash Harry's desire to think of Artemius as another face of evil. Artemius wasn't evil, he was just… a pawn. Like so many others in the wizarding world. Harry's current humiliation was Voldemort's fault, ultimately. Harry couldn't let himself forget who the real enemy was.
His scar smoldered with a steady but manageable pain for another long minute or two before a crisp knock sounded against the door. Artemius jumped and hurried to open it - Harry's scar sent a stab of extra pain into his skull at the same moment. He clutched it, tail curling against the tight confines of the tank, but his reaction went unnoticed by Artemius as the professor welcomed both Snape and Voldemort into the room.
"- pleased to have you visit in-person," Artemius was gushing to Voldemort, who was wearing the glamor to make him look human. "We're a little over three weeks into our endeavors to correlate mersong and magic, and I believe we nearly have enough data to draw a sound conclusion in regard to magical strength as it relates to whether the mersong is produced in either the chest or throat."
"Wonderful. I did read over the notes you sent me, and I'm quite impressed with your thoroughness. The amount of data you have collected in such a short time commends you."
Harry shuddered as Voldemort's eyes drifted away from Artemius to Harry. They narrowed slightly, his mouth pressing just a little bit upwards into a satisfied smile, as he took in the sight of Harry pressed into the cramped tank. Harry's awareness of the sound crystals and tattooed runes spiked; Voldemort had promised that Harry would be studied, but this was the first time he'd come to gloat about it - the first time Harry had to endure his enemy's examination as an experiment and a beast rather than as an imprisoned foe. Then and there, Harry found himself hoping that Artemius would leave quickly. At least then, Voldemort was likely to acknowledge Harry's sentience, even if it was in the forms of parseltongue and torture.
Artemius had continued talking, rambling about sound frequencies and magical output. Voldemort seemed to ignore him, keeping his eyes pinned on Harry the entire time. Harry's scar spiked again, and he couldn't help but let a peal of pain loose as his vision flashed white. When it cleared, Voldemort had redirected his attention back to Artemius and was taking charge of the conversation.
"-forward to further updates on your discoveries. But for now, I'd like a few minutes alone with… Calder, you said you'd named him?"
"Ah, yes, of course," Artemius said, practically buzzing with excitement at having gotten a chance to share his research with someone willing. "And yes, Calder. He doesn't respond to the name yet, but I'm sure we'll get there in time."
"I'm sure," Voldemort practically purred. "It's a good name. 'Rough waters,' correct? It certainly fits his grouchy temperament."
Artemius beamed. "I thought so as well. I'll leave you to it, then. Just remember to keep your… well, you funded the tank, I'm sure you know how the safeties work."
"Yes, I'm well informed, but I appreciate your mindfulness towards safety, as I'm sure your students do as well. Thank you, Professor."
Artemius stammered a nervously excited farewell before leaving. The door shut softly behind him, leaving Harry alone with Voldemort and Snape, who hadn't said a word. Harry glared at them both, relieved that he didn't have to deal with the pain of Voldemort's proximity as well as Artemius's condescension, but also aware of his fins standing on end as Voldemort stalked forward with a savage gleam in his eyes.
"Deafen yourself, Severus," he ordered softly, withdrawing his pale wand from his robe sleeve.
"Yes, my lord," Snape agreed, following the order immediately, but staying near the door far away from Harry's tank.
Voldemort lifted his wand. "Now… Calder…"
Harry hissed.
"You know better than to trouble yourself attempting to attack me with your pitiful abilities, don't you? Or… do you need a reminder?"
Harry glared. There were no snakes in the room he could use to trigger his own parselmouth abilities to talk back. Although, if Voldemort lets his glamor down, he looks close enough that it might work.
Voldemort smirked and raised his wand high to perform a complex incantation. When it was finished, Harry felt the wards that usually topped his tank disappear with a sudden release of magic. The urge to throw himself at Voldemort was strong; there was now nothing keeping him confined to the water.
"By all means, Calder, try it and see how far it gets you," Voldemort said smoothly. "I quite enjoy seeing you gasping in desperate need of your prison."
Harry grit his teeth and stayed submerged.
"Not going to attempt drowning me, either? I'm not sure whether to be impressed that you've finally learned or disappointed that you've lost that irrepressibly annoying need to fight me at every turn." He paused, meeting Harry's venomous glare with a neutral expression for just a few moments before fury gradually overwrote his features. Harry's scar burned in response, causing Harry to press his hand to it, trying to keep the keens of his pain quiet.
"It matters not," Voldemort hissed. "You kept secrets from me, Harry. I would be impressed at your deception, if it hadn't cost me."
Voldemort's wand whipped through the air, seizing Harry by his tail and dragging him over the rim of the tank. Harry scrambled to get a grip on the glass sides, desperately trying to keep his gills and head under the water, but Voldemort's magic was relentless and strong. Harry's tail was pulled completely from the water, the edge of the tank painfully pressed into Harry's stomach as he tried to stay under. Another yank pulled most of Harry's torso out, exposing his gills to the air. They burned. Harry only managed to maintain a grip on the glass for a moment more before he was dragged free completely.
Harry's torso dropped like a stone to the ground. The weight of his own body pressing down against the floor was painful; like his bones had suddenly been replaced by iron. The air burned his throat and gills and itched like sandpaper against his scales.
Voldemort released Harry's tail, and it, too, dropped to the ground with a wet thump. Harry twisted, trying to right himself so he could at least look Voldemort face-on, but the lack of resistance to his movements made his efforts wild and uncoordinated. There was nothing around him, nothing to move against and through, only the unyielding floor. Harry's arms seemed to throw themselves through the emptiness, his tail couldn't find any purchase to move him even an inch, and his body was so heavy that he couldn't seem to lift himself away from the floor. And the whole time, his oxygen was running out, the little water that had been in his body dribbling out of his gills to pool on the stones underneath his sides.
Harry's attempts to move himself stilled in favor of conserving the little oxygen he had left.
"It is gratifying to see that you've adjusted so well to your aquatic home, but even more so to see how quickly you've forgotten how to move above water," Voldemort said. "Flailing around like a fish who doesn't even have a memory of legs. Have you truly forgotten your former humanity already?"
It hurt. Voldemort's boots stepped into Harry's field of vision, out of Harry's reach. Harry remembered trying to swipe at Voldemort when he'd been dragged out of the tank in the Ministry office, but he didn't remember feeling this heavy or so hopelessly uncoordinated. Mortifyingly, he couldn't make his mouth close, despite the way the air burned his insides. His body was desperately hoping for water.
"Having some trouble breathing? Do you feel your own body weight crushing you against the floor?" Voldemort dropped into a crouch, his eyes now red with hate, his wand pointed at Harry's head. "It's true that sirens are dangerous creatures, but drag them out of the water and they become the most pitiful wretches you could imagine. Feel it, Harry. Your own body is trying to kill you. By now it's fully adapted to the water, and it's not meant to support the entirety of its own weight. If the air doesn't kill you first, your own body weight will crush your bones and organs instead. And you can't even push yourself off the floor enough to get a hold on the edge of the tank, let alone enough strength to drag your body up and back into the water. Pathetic, aren't you? The same as if a human were too weak to escape a mere toddler's pool."
Voldemort let Harry suffer for another minute, until Harry's vision was filling with black spots and his head spinning and woozy. Then Voldemort lifted his wand and levitated Harry up. Harry was hardly aware of it until he felt saltwater rushing back around him, filling his mouth and gills so suddenly that his entire body spasmed. He twitched and flailed for a moment, trying to submerge the entirety of himself and not just his torso, but his weight was pinning his stomach to a glass edge and his flailing only threatened to cause the weight of his tail to drag him right back out of the water entirely. He forced himself to still, gulping the water through his systems, ignoring the horribly painful dig against his stomach and the harsh scratch of air against his tail's scales. At least he could breathe.
"Now, Harry, as you've been reminded of your massive vulnerabilities and how easy it is for me to exploit them… you will tell me what your friends know."
Harry turned his head to see Voldemort standing next to him. He'd positioned Harry at the narrow end of the observation tank, where Harry couldn't get a solid enough grip on the long edges of the tank either side to drag himself fully in. Harry was stuck, just barely under enough water to breathe, the edge of the tank seeming to cut all the way up through his stomach to his spine.
Voldemort had swapped to parseltongue partway through his sentence. Harry wasn't sure what the point was, since Snape was still under the effects of his own deafening curse and Harry could understand English just as well.
"I can't talk to you," Harry said, voice seeming to gargle a little bit as a result of the pressure in his stomach. "No snakes."
"Parseltongue, Harry."
"I can't," Harry spat. To Voldemort, it may as well have been a willful refusal, for all he could understand Harry's mersong.
Harry's scar lit up like a branding iron. Harry screamed, the sound echoing back at him in the close confines of the tank. When it ended, his fins were quivering.
"Try that again," Voldemort hissed.
Harry squeezed his eyes closed and tried to focus on snakes. Any snake. Nagini, his mind helpfully supplied. The feeling of her iron coils gripping his body was all too easy to recall - how they clenched and moved against his own scales as she ponderously wrapped herself around him.
Ssssalt brother.
"I have trouble speaking it unless there's a snake I can look at," Harry hissed, eyes closed. The sounds felt strange in his throat, full of too much vibration.
"Another way in which you are deficient. Did you never practice?"
Harry's eyes popped open so he could glare at Voldemort. "No, of course I - "
"Parseltongue, Harry, or I will suggest to the dear professor that he remove your vocal cords for the safety of Hogwarts' students."
Harry gulped, a shudder rippling through him at the idea of not being able to talk… to sing. He desperately recalled Nagini again, trying to remember the feeling of her scales against his own as he spoke.
"I'm trying, okay? Don't jump straight to maiming."
It was… weird, talking to someone and being understood.
"I am short on patience, and you seem to be having unusual trouble focusing. Did you not hear me, Harry, when I explained why I am here?"
Harry tried to sift through the conversation so far, searching for what Voldemort meant. He jumped, tail jerking and unbalancing him, as he recalled Voldemort's question - or at least part of it. Something to do with Hermione and Ron. What had they done?
"My friends? I mean -" Harry screwed his eyes shut, thinking, Nagini, Nagini, until he was relatively certain he could speak in parseltongue again. "My friends? What about them?"
Voldemort sighed. Harry felt something cool and hard poke at his tail, digging into scales. He twitched - a wand?
"You are struggling to hold a conversation, aren't you? Just a couple of months ago you would have responded to me as soon as you had your breath back."
Harry desperately tried to recall what Voldemort could be referring to - what Harry had missed. He didn't feel like he was struggling to understand, but… but… it was true he hadn't responded immediately to Voldemort's mention of his friends, when he knew the topic should have made him alert immediately. But then there'd been the struggle of making his parselmouth abilities work, the distraction of Voldemort's threat…. He'd been sidetracked. Easily. Far too easily considering his friends' lives were potentially on the line. What was wrong with him?
Voldemort began to chuckle. Harry looked sidelong at him, afraid and alarmed.
Nagini, Nagini…
"What did you do to me?"
Voldemort's chuckling burst into a wheeze of loud laughter.
"It's not a curse, my dear horcrux. Merely an entertaining side-effect of your imprisonment, and proof that you are as effectively cut off from the inhabitants of Hogwarts as I intended."
Harry scowled. What was that supposed to mean?
"I should come to visit you more often, Harry. Finding you in this state has done wonders to lift my spirits. Enough that I may even let you out of this without any torture, so long as you answer my questions."
Harry glared, unable to do much else, and still not sure what about Harry's distractibility had Voldemort so pleased. It couldn't be good, surely, but how was it a side-effect of being a prisoner?
He was getting side-tracked again.
"What - "
Voldemort's wand jabbed into Harry's tail as a warning.
Scales sliding smoothly over his own; a long body constricting over his fins…
"What questions?"
"What do your friends know about my horcruxes?"
Harry froze.
Voldemort wasn't supposed to know that they knew.
Something, obviously, had happened. But what? How much of their hand had Hermione and Ron already given away?
"Horcruxes?" Harry repeated dumbly, trying to buy himself more information, time, anything.
"I know that your memory can't have deteriorated that much," Voldemort said testily. "Yes, horcruxes, Harry. As you should recall, you told me that neither you nor your friends knew anything about them. That the old fool never got around to informing you of what you needed to know to defeat me before he died."
Yes, that's what Harry had led Voldemort to believe. But he still didn't know what had changed.
"I didn't know," Harry hissed, deciding to stick with his story. "I'm still repulsed by the idea that you're in my head."
"You lie," Voldemort hissed. Harry's scar exploded in pain a second later, causing all his muscles to tense and curl as he tried to reign in a scream. He began to tip back out of the tank and threw his hands back to push against the wall he'd been propped over to keep his gills submerged. Even still, it seemed hard to breathe with his head being torn open by pain, and even harder to make himself focus on Nagini and speak.
"I didn't know!" Harry yelled. "Nothing! Whatever my friends did, they… they must have learned about it somehow since we were separated!"
Voldemort closed off their connection, enough that Harry's scar dulled to a throbbing ache. He sagged, quivering, still fighting to keep himself in the water as the dead weight of his long tail tried to drag him out.
"And how do you propose that they did that, as you and I are the only two beings alive who know about my horcruxes?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Harry replied tensely. "Maybe Dumbledore did tell someone else who never got to me. Maybe he left a clue behind somewhere. Maybe one of your death eaters overheard something and got so grossed out that they turned. Maybe someone realized how weird it was that I had a mental connection to you and put two and two together - Hermione's smart enough for that, especially after you suddenly stopped trying to kill me and kept me alive. But I don't know, alright?"
"Your mudblood friend could not have known about horcruxes no matter how much time she liked to spend in the Hogwarts library," Voldemort scoffed.
"She got books from other places too, you know. All she would have needed would be a suspicion that there was a soul connection, and she spent enough time around me to see the signs." The Black library at Grimmauld could have easily had something, and Knockturn wasn't exactly difficult to get to with a disguise. It was a plausible explanation.
Voldemort folded his arms, tapping his chin with a finger thoughtfully. "It is true that my decision to let you live could have aroused suspicion."
"You only tried to murder me, what, five times?" Harry scoffed. "Yeah, you really seemed like the kind of person who'd change his mind about wanting me dead."
Harry's scar exploded in pain again. Harry cried out, gurgling, trying not to thrash so much that he'd unbalance and fall out of the water. He could feel Voldemort's anger, simmering and annoyed.
When it died down to just being sore, Harry made himself snark.
"Well, that was just petty. It's hardly my fault a fully grown wizard couldn't kill a baby."
Predictably, Harry's scar burst right back into fiery pain.
"You still insist on irritating me. I would have thought that after I reminded you of the totality of my victory you would be more hesitant to put yourself in jeopardy. Crucio."
Harry's yelling turned into blood-curdling screams. He lost control over his body, and his thrashing tail twisted him out of the water and sent him crashing to the hard floor. His head slammed against the base of the tank and he barely noticed; unable to think past the blinding agony consuming him. His screams were ragged and shrill from exposure to the air. Pearls formed in his eyes and clattered to the stones around him, rolling away when his thrashing knocked them. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't couldn't couldn't couldn't' -
The pain stopped, but he still couldn't breathe. Harry's entire chest felt paralyzed. Magic seized him and dragged him up, still twitching with aftershocks of pain, and dumped him back into the tank. Harry gasped and choked; bubbles of air being expelled painfully from his gills as water rushed in through his mouth.
When he got his bearings again, he was in the top of his main tank instead of the observation tank. He'd sunk against the grate keeping him within easy reach, still twitching with muscle spasms. Voldemort was above, watching with a cutting smile.
"It has been lovely catching up with you, Harry, but I'm afraid I have a country to run these days. Never fear, I've erased the recordings of your parseltongue and screams from the dear professor's crystals. We wouldn't want to disillusion him of your beastliness, would we?" He turned slightly, as if to walk away, then paused. "It must be quite disheartening for you that you can't do anything about those crystals and runes the professor cooked up. Pity that you aren't a wizard anymore. Imagine how easily you could rid yourself of them if only you could use a wand?"
Harry glared, too sapped of energy to attempt anything else. One of his hands drifted to cover the tattoo on his side, over his gills.
"Oh, I almost forgot. Today is Halloween, so as a favor, I thought I might pay a visit to your parents' graves in your stead, seeing as you're rather unable to do it yourself. Any words you'd like me to pass along?"
Bodily weakness forgotten, Harry shot up from the grate to the surface, throwing himself towards Voldemort claws-first. Voldemort, laughing, summoned a shield that bounced Harry back into the water. By the time Harry's still-addled brain recalibrated to the abrupt change in direction, he could feel the magic of the tank's wards back in place, locking him in. He didn't bother trying to throw himself against it, only peeked his eyes above the water to more effectively glare at Voldemort despite the way it itched against his skin and eyes.
"I'm sure I will be back again within the next few months to pay you another visit. I wouldn't want you to lose your sanity from a lack of conversation, after all, and it seems I'm the only one who can understand you these days. Who knows, perhaps you'll even be happy to see me after another few months on your own."
"Not likely," Harry spat.
Voldemort smirked. "Until next time, Calder."
Voldemort left in a sweep of velvet robes, gesturing for Snape to follow him. Harry glared at their backs, but only a few seconds after they'd left, Artemius came back in.
Harry groaned at the sight. Of course, Voldemort couldn't have let Harry go back into his tank proper and would make him put up with Artemius right after his dose of general evil and torture.
Artemius peered into Harry's tank for a moment, examining him with slightly squinted eyes. Harry realized he was still trying to cover the runes on his side and forced his hand to move away, unwilling to appear any more pathetic than Voldemort had already made him. Artemius seemed to relax, at that. He couldn't see well enough through the shifting water to see Harry's shaking.
"Alright, Calder? Were you good for Lord Slytherin?"
Harry wanted to retch at that. As it was, his fins stood on end and a rolling song of disgust emerged from his stinging gills. He wasn't a sodding pet.
Artemius wandered away from the tank. Harry rose high enough to be able to watch him through the glass, just above the level of the room's floor. Artemius had his back turned to Harry, putting some things away in the cabinets above his workbench - vials of potions and rolls of parchment.
"You must have made a good impression on him. Lord Slytherin seems amenable to some additions to our research program that I think even you would be excited by, Calder. You see, our data isn't one-hundred percent trustworthy thanks to your unique origins, so we really need a natural-born siren as a control."
Harry froze, disgruntled mersong quieting, at the implications. They wouldn't…?
"It's a problem I've been ruminating over since the first week or two. There are just too many things we can't answer for sure because of your origins, but I haven't the resources on my own to remedy it. Thankfully, Lord Slytherin seems to agree with my assessment and may be willing to donate even further to our efforts. A truly remarkable man, I must say. Extraordinarily generous."
Artemius finished his restocking and turned back to the tank, heading for the stone in the wall that activated the grate.
"Perhaps you'll have some company soon, eh, Calder? Wouldn't you like that? Well, I'm sure you're ready to stretch your muscles after all this time up here. Off you go."
Artemius activated the grate to release Harry back into the main tank, and Harry took the out as soon as there was enough room for him to slip through. He dove for his favorite high-level outcropping, out of sight of the research room above and still high enough in the castle that there was rarely any traffic outside to stare at him. Random notes popped pitchily from him as he tried to organize the utter disaster Voldemort and Artemius had made of his thoughts and feelings.
What did Artemius mean, company? Were they going to kidnap some poor siren from the sea? Would the siren and Harry be able to talk to each other? Were there different mer languages? Would Artemius experiment on the other siren as well? Probably of greater importance (though it was difficult to focus on in the shock of Artemius's revelation): what had Ron and Hermione done? Had they gotten ahold of one of Voldemort's horcruxes? Were they okay? What had made Voldemort so happy about Harry's imprisonment?
Harry forced his song into a slow, calming melody as he tried to get a grip on himself. There was too much to sort through quickly, and his body was still being violently wracked by the occasional post-cruciatus spasm. His strength felt sapped and his gills and throat were sore. His head was throbbing. He curled over his stomach and closed his eyes, focusing on the steady movement of water from his mouth down through his gills and the slow, measured notes of his song. Eventually, his racing thoughts became more manageable and he felt he had a better grasp on all the new information he'd obtained.
What disturbed him most, though, was that it was all too easy to forget about the rest of the world, locked away in his tank. The possibility of another siren coming into Harry's limited world seemed far weightier than the hints Voldemort had dropped about the far-away horcrux hunt Harry had been forced to abandon. That left Harry with a deep feeling of unease about himself.
Was this one of the subtle "side effects" Voldemort had been so happy about? That, and Harry's difficulty focusing on the full implications of Voldemort's words? Was Harry starting to lose himself? And was there anything he could really do to stop it?
The break-in at Gringotts was splashed over the front page of the Daily Prophet all week. Neville read the articles, biased as he knew them to be, for any hints about what Hermione and Ron might be up to. They'd been accused as the perpetrators from the start, and for once, Neville thought that the accusation was actually true. Most of the other things the papers accused them of were smaller crimes: Burglaries, mostly, of unimportant shops and homes. The kind of thing Neville couldn't imagine Hermione and Ron doing because there didn't seem to be a point to the crime beyond making off with some expensive jewelry, and he knew their goals were larger than that.
This, though.
The vault broken into was the Lestranges'. The article claimed that several irreplaceable family heirlooms had been stolen, though it didn't specify what the items were. Supposedly, Hermione and Ron had used a mixture of polyjuice and Unforgivables to get into the bank's vaults and then had smashed their way back out on the back of one of Gringotts's dragons.
The crime targeted one of Voldemort's key supporters, it was insane, and it was exactly the kind of impossible thing Hermione and Ron were used to doing after years of adventures with Harry.
The papers drummed it up, using the incident to paint Hermione and Ron as unhinged, violent criminals intent on destroying everything the wizarding world held dear. It was the same thing Voldemort's ministry had been doing since the beginning of the summer. The only difference now was that, with Harry now off the playing field, Hermione had moved up to his place as Undesirable No. 1 and Ron was Undesirable No. 2.
(Neville found it ironic that Hermione the muggleborn, and not Ron the pureblood, was being portrayed as the larger threat. Both of them could give the death eaters hell, in Neville's opinion, but he would have thought that Voldemort's propaganda would have demanded that Ron be painted as the leader.)
Unfortunately, the details in the Daily Prophet were so scant that Neville couldn't make heads or tails of Hermione and Ron's reasons for the break-in. They'd obviously been after - and gotten, it seemed - something specific out of the Lestrange vault, but what could it be? Something Voldemort had entrusted to Bellatrix, maybe? Was that the cause of Voldemort's visit to Hogwarts on Halloween, when he'd gone to see Harry?
(To Neville's relief, Harry had seemed subdued but unharmed the next day, when Neville had waved at him through the glass.)
Despite the lack of real information, the news of Hermione and Ron's exploits had served as a great encouragement to the members of the DA in Hogwarts. It was a reminder that they weren't alone, and that as long as they still chose to fight, they hadn't truly lost.
Now, if only that spirit could be directly translated into a solution for the problem of the muggleborn camps….
It had been roughly a month since Neville had gotten the news about that issue from Harry, and they hadn't made much progress. Their time was running short. If Voldemort hadn't changed his timeline since Harry had overheard his plans, they still had six or so weeks. Still, that meant nearly half of their time was up already, and they were just as stuck as they'd been in the beginning, with pressure on muggleborns only getting worse.
Two more students had joined Ginny, Seamus, and Flynn in the room of requirement. They were second years, a Hufflepuff half-blood and a Ravenclaw muggleborn. The Hufflepuff had tried to defend their Ravenclaw friend during a "punishment" in muggle studies class and both had been tortured near to the brink. Hannah Abbott, who'd been in the infirmary after her own run-in with the Carrows, had ended up giving the pair instructions on how to get to the Room, and they'd gone there as soon as Madame Pomfrey had let them out of bed.
Neville had a feeling more of the younger students would be joining them soon. The idea of the Carrows torturing eleven- and twelve-year-olds was heinous, and he couldn't blame Hannah for giving them a sanctuary rather than forcing them to continue living in constant danger and fear. But it set a precedent, and Neville wasn't sure how long they could keep the Room hidden if more and more of the student population disappeared into it. The Carrows still seemed clueless as to where the missing students had gone, thankfully, but how long could it last?
The disappearance had caused further issues, as well. Several members of the DA had written notes for Harry, hoping that the prefects could sneak back up to Harry's classroom and slip them into his tank. But before they'd had a chance, the two younger year students' disappearing act had put the Carrows back on alert, and they weren't relaxing again as easily as they had after Ginny's escape. Patrols had been increased and the Carrows themselves seemed never to sleep, hunting down patrolling prefects each night to demand reports. Getting to Harry was out of the question until they let down their guard again.
The DA's fear was that Snape would order a methodical interrogation of the entire student body using veritaserum. Luck had saved them when Ginny had been caught, but Snape was sure to have brewed at least a batch since that incident. If he was smart - and Neville knew he was - he'd be stocking up on enough truth serum to dose the entire school and get to the bottom of the student disappearances. The DA had discussed breaking in to Snape's office to steal or destroy the veritaserum stock, but the hard truth was that, even if they overheard the password to get past the gargoyle, and even if they could be sure Snape wouldn't be in his office, the headmaster's office had enough protections on it that they'd likely still be discovered before they even found the potions supply.
Some DA members wanted to raid Slughorn's potions supplies, just in case Snape had Slughorn doing his dirty work instead. It would be far less risky than attempting to break into Snape's office. Even if Slughorn caught them, he'd be likely to let them go without repercussion. He didn't have the backbone to stand up to the Carrows, but he didn't want to see students tortured, either. Because of that, Neville was inclined to let the plan move forward. Even if they didn't find veritaserum, it would give the restless and angry elements of the DA something to focus on and channel their energy into. Seamus, in particular, was brimming with frustration thanks to living cooped up in the Room of Requirement for the past month; Ginny and Flynn weren't much better. They were suffering, angry, and bored. It was a bad mix.
Neville hoped that the addition of the younger students to the Room would help give the trio something to focus on and temper them in the meantime.
The only thing the DA had really seemed to succeed in was making contact with the remaining upper year muggleborns in the school. Lavender had even managed to get in touch with her friend in Slytherin, though it had taken her two weeks. Supposedly, the Slytherin muggleborns had been just as unaware of the danger as anyone else not in the DA and had been grateful for the news. They'd told Lavender they'd try to think of solutions as well, but so far, no one had heard anything else from them.
So when Lavender, looking even paler than usual, asked Neville to talk one night as they got back to the common room, Neville hoped that their trust in her Slytherin friend wasn't misplaced.
"Sure. Let's use mine and Dean's room," Neville said. Dean nodded in agreement - he hardly ever left Neville's side these days, even inside the Gryffindor common room. Lavender still spent most of her time with Parvati within the common room, but outside of it, she'd begun seeking out Neville and Dean whenever Parvati's sister, Padma, wasn't also around. Padma seemed to be bearing up under the strain of the Carrows' rule better than her twin, so Neville imagined she was more reassuring to have nearby in the halls than Parvati was.
Neville led the way up the stairs and into his and Dean's lonely dorm room. Seamus's bed had been removed, leaving the room feeling pathetically small with just two boys' worth of furniture. Neville pulled out his desk chair for Lavender, then took a seat on his own bed while Dean dragged his own desk chair over to join them.
"Are you alright?" Neville asked.
Lavender nodded, though her arms were crossed and she was biting her lower lip.
"I heard from my friend," Lavender said. "You know, the one in Slytherin."
"Okay," Neville said. He'd expected as much, but he didn't know why Lavender seemed so disheartened by it. If her friend had gotten in touch, surely she had information, right? Any information was good.
Lavender took a deep breath. "She has an idea. But it's crazy. Insane, really. She's sure it would work, but I don't think… I don't think it's a good idea."
That was better than Neville had dared hope for. A plan? Even if it was crazy -
"Why not?" Dean asked. "Any idea is better than what we've got so far, which is nothing! What do we have to lose? Let's go for it!"
"More than you think," Lavender snapped. "You don't know what I'm about to say, Dean! Don't agree to anything without knowing what it is you're signing away first!"
"What is her idea?" Neville asked, more cautious than before.
"It's something to do with… some outdated customary oaths," Lavender said. "Vassal oaths, she called them."
Neville sat back in shock. Vassal oaths. No wonder Lavender wasn't comfortable with the idea. It was crazy - a desperate escape plan that would come with a massive, long-term cost. But… if the lord involved had enough political power… it was something even Voldemort might honor. It might be enough to satisfy his desire to oppress the muggleborns. It might keep them safe, provided the lords honored their sides of the bargain…
"You know about it?" Dean asked.
"Y… yeah," Neville said weakly. "It's… it's extreme. Lavender's friend is right; it might just work. But… you'd be signing away your freedom in exchange. And if the lord involved in the oath wasn't honorable, you could still end up in massive trouble."
"Are we talking about lords and vassals, here? Like feudal Europe?" Dean asked.
"That's what it sounded like," Lavender said tightly. "Apparently, the wizarding world's nobles used to force the loyalty of their 'vassals' with magical oaths. They stopped getting used a few centuries ago - at least, that's what my friend said - but they're still technically recognized by the Ministry. Basically, a muggleborn who swore loyalty to a pureblood would become the legal responsibility of that pureblood. Her idea was that if we give up our legal power and throw our lot in with pureblood houses, You-Know-Who won't feel like we're enough of a threat to go after, and he'd have to deal with the purebloods instead of us directly."
"That doesn't sound bad to me," Dean said. "We've lost all our legal power already, even if it's not official."
"This would be permanent," Lavender said. "Even if we end up defeating You-Know-Who, there wouldn't be any going back. Our lives would be tied to the purebloods until we died."
Dean's eyes widened. "… oh."
Neville crossed his arms. "And in addition to that problem, you have to remember that this plan would only be as strong as the lord you swore to. If the lord's house goes under, or if he decides it isn't worth protecting you… you've got no recourse."
"My friend said that there was a reciprocal oath sword by the lord," Lavender said, glancing at Neville. "It sounded like the lord would be magically bound to protect their vassal."
Neville sighed. "Maybe? It's not something I know a lot about." He pushed a hand through his hair, looking up to his bed canopy as he thought. "I guess it would depend on the way it was done and the way the oaths were worded. It just seems like something that could be too easily abused. Either way you look at it, the vassal is basically giving up their rights. Maybe the lord swears to protect them, but if the lord finds a loophole in his oath the vassal is completely vulnerable to abuse."
There was a moment of heavy silence. Then, Dean said quietly, "I wouldn't mind swearing to you."
Neville was so shocked that he nearly slid off the edge of his bed. He grabbed the bedpost to steady himself and stared at Dean with wide eyes, suddenly dizzy.
"Dean, that's insane. You can't… I'm not…"
Dean crossed his arms, his jaw set. "We've already said, we don't have any other options. If this is our only out, I'll take the risk - but I don't think it's much of a risk if you're the one I'm swearing to. You're a good guy, Neville. I know you would never take advantage of that power, and you already do everything you can to protect us."
"You don't know what you're saying," Lavender hissed, shoulders hunched and turned towards Dean as if to shield the two of them from Neville. "Don't just go declaring yourself like that! Do you realize what no legal power means? My friend said it means you wouldn't be able to sign bank documents, or business contracts, or a marriage license. Neville would have to do it for you. He'd have to give you permission. You wouldn't be able to live your life how you want, and you'd have nothing of your own; don't you understand?"
"She's right," Neville said, still gripping his bedpost tightly. "And there's no such thing as a temporary vassal oath, either. The next best thing is one that's only tied to a single person and not a household or lineage, but even then, you'd still be stuck with those conditions until I died. It's not a real life, Dean."
Dean turned his face away. "I get that. And yeah, it's not the way I imagined my life going, but that's still a better prospect than going to one of You-Know-Who's camps. I wouldn't just sign my life away to any pureblood, you know. Merlin knows I don't trust most of the prominent families as far as I could kick'em, since most of them seem to be throwing in with You-Know-Who. But if it's you, Neville… I think I could live with it."
Lavender didn't seem to have any other arguments to combat that, and Neville was equally at a loss. He let himself fall back on his bed, rubbing his hands harshly up his face. Was this really it? Were they really this desperate?
"Everyone deserves to make their own choice," Dean said quietly. "I think we should call a meeting and let everyone know that… it's an option, at least."
"They'd have to find a willing lord," Neville said hoarsely. "It would have to be someone in line to inherit a noble house, preferably one with enough power and wealth to at least survive You-Know-Who's regime."
"Well… you wouldn't turn us away, would you?"
Neville wished he could say yes. He hated this. Everything about it. He wished he'd been born a half-blood instead; someone who didn't need to feel ashamed for having power they didn't deserve.
But it was a useless wish. Neville was a pureblood and because of that, he had a responsibility to use the power he had to help those who didn't have any.
Maybe that even went so far as accepting vassal oaths.
Neville heaved himself back up to look at Dean. "If you really feel like it's your only option… no, I wouldn't turn you away. But I'm not doing anything immediately. We still have some time to figure something else out."
Dean's pursed lips expressed how likely he thought that was, but he nodded slowly in agreement. "Okay. Deal."
"I'll… I'll let my friend know you're willing," Lavender said quietly to Neville. "She wanted to meet with you about it, if you seemed open to the idea."
Neville swallowed. "Who is it?"
Lavender only hesitated a moment, before seemingly realizing that there was no point in secrecy if they would be arranging a meeting anyway. "Tracey Davis."
That… made sense. She'd always stayed in the shadows, never drawing attention to herself or involving herself in her housemates' rivalries. Neville wasn't sure he'd ever heard her speak outside of being called on in class. And aside from the fact that she was quiet, he knew nothing else about her.
"Could she make it to a DA meeting?"
"I'll ask. She doesn't have anyone to go with her places, like… we do," Lavender said, glancing at Dean. "It makes it hard for her to go anywhere outside of classes and meals, but I suppose she's going to have to sneak out to meet you no matter where it is."
"Okay. Well, if she can make it to the next DA meeting we call, she's welcome," Neville said. "If not, let me know when she can get away and I'll try to make it work. Like I said, I'm not about to jump into accepting any oaths, but… if that really ends up being the only option…"
Lavender nodded, her eyes troubled. "I'll tell her. Thanks, Neville."
A/N: "In fact, the part of the brain that plays a major role in memory has been shown to physically shrink after long periods without human interaction," and, "Even if someone doesn't enter solitary with a mental health condition, it's possible for them to develop a specific psychiatric syndrome due to the effects of isolation. [...] it is characterized by a progressive inability to tolerate ordinary things, such as the sound of plumbing; hallucinations and illusions; severe panic attacks; difficulties with thinking, concentration, and memory; obsessive, sometimes harmful, thoughts that won't go away; paranoia; problems with impulse control; and delirium." (Web: Prison Policy Initiative, "The research is clear: Solitary confinement causes long-lasting harm", Tiana Herring, Dec. 8, 2020.)
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