Chapter 8 – Toad Traps

Can skin ache so viciously from a mere memory? His hand burns with unheard truth unjustly labelled lies. The one who'd handed Harry a black quill with a fake smile now proudly stands on the podium, her grating voice filling the domed greenhouse. Harry is mentally transported back to a point in time when he was a rebellious teenager who'd underestimated just how openly evil a teacher could be. How much she could get away with. Would he ever have risen his voice or mocked Umbridge in class if he'd known that three decades later, her punishment would remain to distort his soul mark? Would it have been worth it?

Sirius whispers something in his ear, nudges Harry towards the crowd. Unwilling to stand out too much, he lets it happen. Anything or anyone who stands out gets stomped back in line by this woman. Considering why he's attending today's Soiree, butting heads with Umbridge would effectively dunk every single one of his plans in a bucket of water to watch them drown.

"What's wrong?" Hermione quietly asks when they find a decent spot at the back row of onlookers. Harry shakes his head for now, unsure how to convey all thoughts and feelings without disturbing the speech with incessant back-and-forth whispering that no-one will appreciate, least of all Umbridge, were she to catch wind of it.

"Listen," he advises his sister. "Listen to every single word as if your life depends on it." Then, he tunes into the speech while the shock of being suddenly confronted with one of his worst enemies slowly wears off. In summary, it's a long-winded repetition of the one she'd given at her first day as a Defence teacher at Hogwarts. Back then, Harry had missed the subtleties, too taken aback by being addressed like toddlers and bored by the lengthy monologue about traditions, habits, and skills to fully grasp its meaning. He feels ashamed of his fifteen-year-old self for having to rely on Hermione's explanation after she'd declared it 'illuminating', when it is now so painfully obvious that Umbridge speaks of how the Ministry is about to seize control of Hogwarts – to a much more receptive audience.

It does not alarm Harry as much as he thought it would. Now he's at odds with Dumbledore – the man recruiting Harry's own godfather as a spy is a clear declaration of animosity - and so far still in good standing with the Minister, this interference comes at quite the opportune timing.

Strange how one's own circumstances can sway morality to such an extent. When Umbridge had invaded Hogwarts in his first life, there'd been no question in Harry's mind that her actions were objectively evil and thus had to be stopped – something he was certain everyone else would agree on once they knew the full scope of her deeds Now... now the Headmaster had dismissed the shown 'visions' and tried to unmask Voldemort, Harry was actually considering whether personal benefits outweighed the students' suffering. Not even only personal: the attacks on the Muggle world would be hampered significantly less if the Ministry and Dumbledore locked each other in petty power plays. Was this how many of the parents, politicians, and School board members had felt? Had they not stepped in to halt Umbridge's atrocities because it had served their agendas?

When the woman drones on about 'tightening existing rules and closing loopholes' as well as 'effectively rewarding compliance', Harry is busy coming up with strategies that will cause trouble for Dumbledore while keeping students mostly out of harm's way. His sister especially, for he'd promised Hermione she won't be hurt again if he can help it.

He hasn't told her much about Umbridge yet, one of the few topics that had seemed quite irrelevant. There'd been no reason to believe the awful woman would become a problem so soon, nor had she affected any events of great importance in the larger scheme of things. None of Harry's meetings with Voldemort had been influenced by Umbridge and she'd played a minor role during the wars – a lackey of the Dark Lord without real power in the second wizarding war and a mere footnote when Muggles openly opposed the Ministry of Magic. The only times she'd been mentioned was thus in passing: when talking about how the D. A. had been born out of necessity due to an incompetent teacher, or when listing the fates of his many Defence teachers to explain the curse on the position.

There are plenty of weeks of summer remaining to get the girl up to speed, to hammer home how much of a threat Umbridge can be to those who oppose her, as well as how much power can be gained by siding with her.

The thought of working together with Umbridge feels like dirtying his soul far more than any other action taken during this second chance. Forgetting all about her after tonight would surely be better for his mental well-being. However, like how Lockhart has become a useful pawn, so can Harry clearly see the benefits of cooperating with the pink toad for a while. Of not just allowing her reign of Hogwarts, but encouraging it. As Voldemort's curse will ensure it won't last longer than a year, spending time and energy fighting it would be quite useless anyway. Had the D. A. not been the instrument to kick her out last time, something else would have forced Umbridge to abandon the position. The only question is whether Hermione is up for another task, one that might make his sister hugely unpopular with other students and teachers alike...

"Sev is going to have his hands full with her for a colleague," Sirius mutters once the speech is over and the guests are breaking up into their respective little social circles. Not too far away stand Lockhart and Slughorn, now accompanied by Slughorn's assistant Victoria. Having had quite enough of being pushed around for the cameras, Harry turns his back to them, even though he's curious as to whether the strict woman is here of her own volition.

Sirius appears to be in a talkative mood, pressing on about the topic of Umbridge: "Harry, what was that about earlier? Mrs Fudge hasn't gone by her maiden name in years. I'm only familiar with it because I went to school with her – nasty little rule stickler back then, too. No clue how Fudge got stuck with her. It certainly hasn't done his administration any favours..."

Harry can't say that he's noticed much of a change between the current Ministry and the one he'd known. Although it must be said that he'd only briefly come into contact with politics outside of Hogwarts when attending school. The first time had been when Fudge had visited him in the Leaky Cauldron after Aunt Marge had been blown up, and then he'd had peace until being made into a laughing stock by the Daily Prophet in the same year that Umbridge grabbed power wherever she could find it. He hadn't learned much about laws or the justice system until stricter policies had been implemented in pretty much all aspects of life. Of course, Harry is aware of the current system being arch-conservative and filled with prejudice, but he doesn't have an accurate comparison of how it might have been without Umbridge's direct influence on the Minister, for he simply hadn't paid attention to any of that when thrown into the Wizarding World at eleven.

"She taught at Hogwarts for a year using her maiden name," Harry murmurs by way of explanation, still focused on the pink witch who is currently conversing with Skeeter while her husband stands to the side, a genial smile on his round face. The vibrant magenta bowler taunt Harry personally, sticking out among the crowd. "I think the time has come to win over Mr Fudge..."

"Right, it looks as if he's done making social rounds... Do you need back-up, or should we busy other guests in the vicinity so you're not interrupted?" The level-headedness from Sirius today is a pleasant surprise, and Harry ponders on the question for a bit.

"We could secure another tent," Hermione throws in her two Knuts.

Dismissively, he shakes his head. "Privacy would give rise to rumours. I prefer to have this conversation in the open and, at least at the start, with all three of us. Let's go." Not waiting for protests, Harry slips away from the round table they'd claimed to approach the Minister for Magic, making damned sure there's an inviting, child-like smile of wonder on his face to greet Fudge with.

"Minister!" he calls out, taking note of a few turning heads who carefully observe how the Boy-Who-Lived interacts with their head of government and state (not technically titles Fudge can claim, but who is counting the Muggles? Certainly not Harry).

For a fraction of a second, the man looks uncertain. Yet when his eyes flicker left and right to spots right behind Harry, a grin is quick to work its way up Fudge's round face in a good-natured manner. "Harry, how wonderful it is seeing you again, my boy. Enjoying an evening with your family, are you?" He nods to Sirius and Hermione, greeting them as well. "I hope the expansion of your family has gone smoothly, Mr Black?"

"Thanks to your quick seal of approval, Minister" Sirius replies. "We'd honestly not expected the adoption to go through before Christmas."

"Oh, don't mention it. Such a heart-wrenching case," Fudge waves it off, giving Hermione a fatherly smile. "I was talking about it with my wife over dinner – she always wants the best for children – and told her how impactful Harry's words to me had been. So moving for a young wizard to start sincere endeavours to get a magical child placed with a magical family. Giving chances to integrate early on is indeed much more productive for our overall society than to let Muggles handle their children and keep them tied there. A refreshing view that impressed my wife so much she insisted I take it upon myself to look into it being handled swiftly."

Harry greatly doubts that Umbridge cares about children in any shape, way, or form, rather more concerned about perfecting her own prejudiced views. Her hatred against 'half-breeds' can easily be tweaked into hatred against those growing up in two different cultures, without affiliating herself with the 'criminals' who believe in blood prejudice. Not that she'd had much difficulty persecuting Muggle-borns when that became the norm in Voldemort's administration, but that had more to do with clinging onto power rather than actual conviction, in Harry's eyes.

"Well, we're grateful nonetheless. I much prefer field work over paperwork. Although for Harry's sake, I imagine I should brush off my bureaucracy skills again soon..."

"Whatever do you mean?"

An awkward silence descends over their little group, Sirius looking as if he's said too much. When his godfather doesn't provide any further explanation and leaves Fudge confused, Harry clears his own throat to pull the attention back to himself. "I'm not really good at beating around the bush so... I got myself into a bad situation with Professor Dumbledore. I went to him for advice and it hugely backfired with him blowing everything I said out of proportion. Between that and the threat at Hogwarts last year, I'm thinking of either switching schools or being home-schooled for a while. At least until things calm down. Sirius wanted to file the paperwork as soon as I make a final decision."

Fudge looks appalled at the confession, though it's unclear whether that's because of the letter Dumbledore sent or simply due to the public image being damaged by Harry Potter dropping out of the only government-funded school in the United Kingdom.

"Well... that is all very understandable, of course, yet you need not worry about your safety at school. As you surely heard in my wife's speech, the Ministry will send experts who'll see to it that Hogwarts regains its old standards of excellency. Furthermore, the exact intention of the culprit behind the petrifications hasn't been cleared up. And was it not Miss Granger who suffered most at the hands of this madman? I don't see why you-"

"If you're suggesting I should pull both of my children out of school, don't think I haven't considered that after Hermione was dragged down to the bowels of Hogwarts, Minister," Sirius irritably interjects. "I don't think we should be dismissive of anyone's feelings after such extreme events, so I took their wishes into account. Hermione asked to return to school for a feeling of normalcy, whereas Harry prefers to keep away from the public eye for a while – especially away from the Headmaster after... recent happenings that I'd not like to go into detail of. I'm sure your wife will do a stellar job in turning things around at Hogwarts, but we both know there is much work to be done as the current Headmaster is stubborn and set in his ways."

Little beads of sweat have started to appear on the Minister's forehead during Sirius' passionate speech, and he looks more agitated by the minute. "Perhaps it's best if- Yes, how about we search for a better spot to discuss all this? Regarding those recent events, I may have received some disturbing news from Albus himself – preposterous ramblings in my opinion, but he is still a man of repute. Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the- well, you know his titles, Black. Quite the dilemma and frankly, I see myself in a position where I must request answers. Let me call for my wife. I would like to receive her insight too, as Senior Undersecretary."

If Umbridge wouldn't have been Senior Undersecretary in Harry's last life without having had any marital ties to Fudge, he might have called out the nepotism. Giving such high positions to one's wife is more than questionable. Not that Wizarding politics has ever been free of obvious corruption...

Due to a stroke of irony, they end up in the same tent they'd left earlier. There is no sign that any dubious magic has taken place now both Lockhart and Malfoy are gone, though how long will it remain that way if this talk were to go south? It's a shame that the current company prevents him from casting another Animagi detection spell, for he doesn't trust Skeeter not to spy on the Minister of Magic himself. Well, Harry will have to rely on the Ministry's infamous censorship of the newspaper in case anything of note does leak per beetle.

It is difficult not to hex a couple of nasty boils onto Umbridge's face when she waltzes in and shakes their hands with an ugly grin that she probably thinks looks pleasant.

"My my, seeing your little family together makes me so very happy," the woman starts while pouring cups of tea no-one asked for. Both the porcelain and the water are pink, because of course they are. Harry had forgotten how much he despises this colour, the main reason why he doesn't touch the beverage when handed one of the cups and saucers. "A shame one is missing... Should I be worried about Mr Snape when starting my tenure at Hogwarts?"

"Worry? Not in the slightest, Mrs Fudge," Sirius swiftly takes the lead. "Although it would be much appreciated if you could remind the Headmaster that the Hogwarts staff isn't his personal army to command during summer breaks."

"Army, you say...?" Umbridge's pitched voice shoots up another octave. Whether the word was an intentional choice or not (unlikely, Harry had only mentioned Dumbledore's army once in an effort to cheer Sirius up with a funny anecdote), it certainly hits its mark.

"Just a manner of expression. He is far too demanding of employees, regularly instructing Severus to brew a potion or another over the holidays and the likes. Shortly ago, he made every member of staff present at Hogwarts that day comb the castle top to bottom without telling them why. All that to say: my partner isn't with us today because he's been busy with the odd jobs that in my opinion, he shouldn't be receiving during holidays. Severus expressed discomfort over feeling pressured into saying yes to remain employed..."

The scratching of a quill on paper as Umbridge makes notes on one of those clipboards of hers brings back some nasty memories. He really should get this under control soon, for Harry can't have his Intended picking up on any accidental murderous intent. Voldemort would be too likely to suggest seeing it through – or take matters into his own hands. As much as this woman deserves to be put six feet under, it would rather defeat the overall purpose of not spilling magical blood. A single exception is a slippery slope to more of them, and ultimately would defeat Harry's entire point.

Fudge looks far less nervous now they are out of the public eye, speaking with full confidence: "As we keep circling back to the topic of Albus and his outlandish demands, I must ask for clarification of a letter he sent me. One that certainly involves Harry's 'falling out'.'' Before Fudge finishes his sentence, Umbridge impatiently snaps stubby fingers that gleam with heavy-set rings to summon a House-Elf. A minute after it has received instructions to fetch said letter, does the woman hand the parchment over to Sirius, who holds it low enough for Harry and Hermione to read its contents:

Dear Cornelius,

I regrettably must inform you of a dire situation that came to my attention today: Mr Potter visited my office and revealed that he has been in contact with none other than Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord has returned, and we cannot count on Mr Potter's support to take the threat down as many might be hoping for when word gets out. Please review the memory enclosed with this letter. Not only has Mr Potter expressed they share the same views, they also share a soul bond. Harry's family will attempt to convince the boy to steer away from the path of joining Voldemort, yet their bond complicates the likelihood of success. I believe him to be misguided at best and dangerous at worst. Please raise this urgent matter with the necessary spokespeople so we may discuss this threat to national security in the upcoming Wizengamot meeting. In the meantime, I will secure Hogwarts.

Sincere regards,
Albus Brian Wulfric Percival Dumbledore

Sirius whistles to fill the silence when done reading. "Those are quite the accusations... much worse than I thought. What's with the memory he enclosed?"

"Nothing that holds up as proof for any of these claims, due to having been clearly tampered with. It showed Harry standing in Albus' office and speaking of not opposing You-Know-Who or being controlled by him. However, unlike in usual memories, only your charge was visible. Albus either erased himself from it, or fabricated this entirely. I destroyed the thing to avoid fearmongering after speaking to a reliable source who praised Harry's efforts at school last year. Don't misunderstand me, I am on your side," the Minister emphasises, looking all of them in the eyes for a few seconds to convey his sincerity. There's no attempt at Legilimency. Most likely, Fudge isn't capable of such advanced mind magic.

"But as Minister, you can't just dismiss this, I get it," Harry fills in, itching to get this over with. "I don't understand some of what he's written in this letter. I did go to Professor Dumbledore, but never claimed that You-Know-Who has returned or that I've talked to him. He's been dead for ten years. I killed him! I- I killed-" He doesn't need to play up the struggle, the guilt of knowingly condemning Voldemort to a decade of existing as a wraith still weighing heavy. That he deemed it necessary doesn't make it easy to live with.

"If only," someone - or rather something - sarcastically drawls, sending a shiver up Harry's spine. Beside him, Hermione suppresses a surprised noise when there is suddenly one more guest in the tent than before. For once, Death does not wear the face of the deceased, appearing as a hooded spectre with the same grotesque claws that had left a deep gash in Harry's arm recently. "Hello, master. So shocked to see me? With all this talk of death and killing, I thought I was practically invited," the being greets.

Harry refuses to do more than glance into its direction, focusing on whether the others react. Apart from his sister, no-one has appeared to notice the unwelcome addition. Instead of grimacing or gasping, Fudge tactlessly drones on: "A feat we are all very grateful for, Harry. Whatever mysterious forces were at work, it brought back stability to our society. Do you have any idea where Albus may have gotten the notion from that you were in contact with You-Know-Who lately? For surely, as you said, a man cannot simply resurrect," he chortles.

"Yet mages won't stop trying..." Death murmurs in response. "Incredibly rude."

"Hem-hem," Umbridge interrupts. The sound evokes the incessant urge to chuck a tin of cough drops into her face. Alas, he didn't think to bring any. "Before we go into detail, perhaps we ought to first establish where truth ends and lie begins. Dumbledore made so many disturbing claims in this letter that I feel each deserves attention. Mr Potter, are you or are you not soul-bonded to You-Know-Who? Do you indeed share the same views he did? Was the memory sent with this letter fabricated?"

"Now now, dear, don't overwhelm the boy," Fudge good-naturedly defends in a far too obvious good cop bad cop set-up. "Harry, why don't you start from the beginning, tell us why you went to visit Albus in the first place?"

It is hard to keep his attention on the conversation when the personification of Death lurks so close, weaving around the tent despite its tall figure, moving its limbs in ways no normal being should. Long claws dig into the ceiling as it bends backwards to lower its hooded face to each cup of tea in the most horror-esque fashion Harry had seen since spying with half an eye on the creepy films Dudley and friends had liked to watch when Vernon and Petunia hadn't been home.

"The one they gave you is laced with truth serum," Death informs. Despite being technically helpful – surprisingly so - it does not feel that way when the mass of whirling shadows beneath the hood lifts from the cup in Harry's hands to hover directly in front of his face. Personal space who?

Only when it moves away, does Harry find the strength to make an informed decision – promptly lifting the cup to his lips and taking a large gulp of the warm brew. He can feel Umbridge's intense, smug stare burning hotter than the tea, which makes the next step incredibly tricky to pull off: nonverbally and wandlessly vanishing the concoction from the inside of his mouth before accidentally consuming a single drop. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes from the effort, but he is successful: by the time Harry swallows, it's purely for show.

He should tell Voldemort about this feat, his Intended will surely be proud of that trickery.

Talk of swallowing might also get the man in the mood for sex, so it's a win-win, really.

Pulling his mind out of the gutter, Harry sets the half-empty cup down on one of the side tables and makes sure he's looking a little bit glassy. "I can answer the questions Mrs Fudge asked along the way, I don't have anything to hide," he says, ruffling his hair. "Like everyone, I've always been curious about my soul mark. It is an eye. A red eye, not a very common colour. My family thought I might be soulbonded to a Vampire at first, but cross-species bonds are very rare... It was Dumbledore who suggested that it might refer to You-Know Who. I was told that, after the night I survived the Killing curse, Dumbledore convinced my godfathers of that being the most likely explanation. In the same breath, he said he doesn't believe You-Know-Who is truly dead. There's no proof for it, he's just convinced it's true because You-Know-Who used more dark magic than anyone.

I tried to find out more information about my soul mate – also searching for other explanations of who it could be – since I started Hogwarts. I had no success, so wanted to talk to the Headmaster about it as no-one else could give me answers and he appeared so wise. With the threat of the Heir of Slytherin and a monster at Hogwarts, I could only do that during the summer holidays when everything had calmed down. On the day you got this letter, I asked Professor Dumbledore how high the chances are that You-Know-Who is really my soul mate, as well as how he might have survived. I know that he did bad things, but if we're really fated... it seems unfair that I never even stood a chance. I've heard so many beautiful stories about soul mates finding each other and don't understand why Magic would give me a mark of someone so evil that our first meeting – one I don't even remember - ended in death."

"As if being welcomed into my realm is so horrible," Death disappointingly cuts in. "Didn't you like King's Cross, Master? Designed it specifically for you last time you dipped your toes into my domain. Had hoped you'd stay."

Harry takes a very deep breath to stay focused on his make-believe story. Whatever he's done to deserve being annoyed by his elusive servant can be sorted out later.

"Professor Dumbledore did not take it well. Started rambling about how I shouldn't go down a dark path, claimed I was being controlled, accused me of having come to sabotage him on the order of You-Know-Who. And yes, in that moment I did tell the Headmaster that I wasn't being controlled, as well as that I wouldn't fight my own soul mate, for who could ever be expected to turn their wand against their own Intended? It's unnatural. If he would still be alive, I'd like to think we have the same view on soul bonds... Though my talk has made me see that I can't trust the Headmaster's theories on You-Know-Who having survived... Not when Professor Dumbledore is this quick to jump to crazy conclusions. Err- not that he is crazy – well kind of. I mean, I know he's still- ah- respectable – as you said, with all the titles he has, but..." Harry stutters, pretending it's the truth serum that is dragging out some rather bold words.

"No need to say more, dear," Umbridge speaks in a nauseatingly motherly tone. "Well, this was certainly enlightening, don't you think, Cornelius?"

"Yes, yes..." her husband vaguely answers, the bowler spinning in his hands as he mulls over Harry's tale. "A tad disturbing to hear how Albus has managed to hide these delusions for years. You're saying he has claimed You-Know-Who to have survived for the past ten years? Black, can you confirm this?"

Clearing his throat and straightening his back, Sirius backs Harry up: "Sort of. Dumbledore told me that he feared we hadn't seen the last of You-Know-Who as he'd bragged about immortality to his followers. I dismissed it back then, far too busy with a toddler on my hands. Flamel is immortal too, that doesn't mean he can come back from the dead. Same with Vampires, since we just mentioned those. Prolonging one's life beyond the natural is possible, we know that. Can't say I support Dumbledore's idea of You-Know-Who somehow being able to resurrect with unspecified obscure dark magic. Sorry, kiddo, I know you were holding out hope – who wouldn't – but it's impossible."

"I know... maybe for the better, with all the stories about him..." Harry mutters, letting his head hang.

The most unlikely source of comfort steps forward and puts a grubby hand on his shoulder, barking in what Umbridge might believe to be a sagely tone: "Chin up, Mr Potter-Black. Success is made, not doled out by fate."

"Fate would really dislike hearing that," Death chuckles. "I should tell them sometime... when we're not busy ripping each other's limbs off for sport."

With every new detail that is revealed about Death's 'siblings', Harry is less inclined to meet them. No wonder so much is wrong with the world when these beings are their gods.

Harry reluctantly thanks Umbridge just to get her to release him. Then, he abruptly turns to the Minister. "So, what happens now? Will the Wizengamot be informed of the Headmaster's beliefs?"

"Yes, but not how he would like," Fudge states, seeming to have made up his mind. "This rumour about You-Know-Who cannot be allowed to fester. I won't bore you with details of adult politics, Harry, just rest assured this will be handled in a manner that clears up any misunderstandings, including your involvement. Furthermore, an inspection of the school to see what improvements can be put in place was already planned, as my wife announced earlier... we shall take Albus' recent hostile actions into account."

Summoning the briefcase Fudge had been carrying and set aside earlier, the man withdraws parchment, quill and ink from it to scribble a short message. While writing, he explains: "It may perhaps be best if Harry is not in the immediate sphere of Albus' influence for a while... Verbally attacking a student with baseless accusations is grounds enough to warrant Ministry protection. All things considered, I would nonetheless feel much more at ease if Harry remains in the country instead of transferring to a school abroad. So..." The parchment is stamped with an official wax seal and handed over to Sirius. "You hereby have clearance to search for personal tutors for Harry. Naturally, the regular paperwork must still be submitted to the Department of Education, and any chosen tutors need to be verified and approved by the Ministry, but the way has been paved with this."

"And if he prefers education abroad...?" Sirius hesitantly says, glancing over to Harry even as he accepts and reads the scroll.

"Hem-hem. You may certainly try that route, Mr Black, yet we cannot condone it. Our national hero fleeing the country to pursue education elsewhere would be quite the scandal. Any support from within the British Ministry... well..." How she trails off suggests clear enough that Harry would be made into a pariah if he chooses to bruise his country's pride by leaving its shores. Refusing to go back to Hogwarts is one thing. Also refusing the immediate alternative of trusting in the established system of private tutors another altogether. Not only would he make an enemy of the Ministry, he'd also burn many bridges with Pure-blood families who have kept the private education section up and running so their children do not need to attend Muggle elementary schools or summer programs.

"Master, will you cave to such power plays?" Death asks, sounding quite curious as it circles Umbridge. "This is one that got away last time, didn't she? You look at her with such hatred. I've been thinking about our last conversation and we did not have the best start... To make up for it, I'll tell you the details of her demise. She made such a fuss while life was slowly being dragged out of her body by the flames. This little thing tried to get on the good side of Muggles to save her own hide, only to have it burnt off her when dragged onto a pyre by a mob who'd confiscated her wand... The metal of those rings seared the flesh right down to the bone, her scalding tongue begged for mercy until it melted away-"

Harry tries not to let Death influence him, unsure whether the being truly thinks this is a prime moment to bond or whether it's simply messing with him. It's also irrelevant when Hermione's clammy hand tightens around his own, making Harry remember that she too can hear this. "Tutors sound fine, Siri," Harry speaks a tad louder than necessary. "I could return to living at home again, and you have many good contacts with people who tutor, don't you? Oh! Perhaps we can ask Professor Lockhart, I'm sure he'll be thrilled, he's mentioned often how much he loved teaching, leaving Hogwarts only due to issues with the rest of the staff..."

The one Ministry-appointed teacher at Hogwarts retiring to tutor the Boy-Who-Lived after both were let down by Dumbledore has to be bait the Minister can't resist. At the same time, it's a perfect excuse to have his follower close enough to be at Harry's beck and call.

"An excellent suggestion!" Fudge agrees, ruffled feathers soothed. "I support this full-heartedly. Isn't Gilderoy Lockhart attending today's Soiree? We must invite him in here at once. Black, would you step out to find the good man?"

The 'good man' looks nowhere near thrilled to be dragged back to Harry's side, only armed with a blinking smile to mask the dissatisfaction well enough for those not critically looking for it. Lockhart thankfully realises quickly there's no point in attempting to weasel out of this. With it having been Harry's suggestion and the top of the Ministry being in agreement, pretending to be too busy to tutor would only reflect badly on the man's reputation as an altruistic hero. As Harry has long established, that reputation is the crux in controlling his follower.

"How exciting!" Harry beams at Lockhart. "I can hardly wait to start, your classes were so inspiring. Weren't they, Mione?"

Hermione mumbles something in agreement, glancing every now at Harry's other servant, who has taken to shifting shapes to fit better in the cramped tent, currently perched on the high round table in the middle of it in form of a sleek dog with inky fur. Its eyes are a glowing gold, and equally gleaming metal rings adorn its long neck. Sitting as unnaturally still as it had in the kitchen a while ago, this body isn't less unnerving than any of the others.

"I'm sure we can work out a schedule soon," Lockhart replies, only twitching minimally. "I'm certain I can help with finding tutors for other subjects too, as my speciality is defensive magic. Why don't you ask Horace for suggestions? He's so taken with you. Perhaps he may even offer to teach you potions, as I imagine Severus will be quite busy with his own classes."

At this information, Fudge hums approvingly "Horace Slughorn? I'm pleased you already surround yourself with such esteemed company at your age, Harry. Very well, I'm glad we could have such a productive talk today. Black, once all tutors have been chosen, please send the list to my office so I can approve it before it goes to the Department of Education."

Checking lists of tutors does not sound like a task the Minister for Magic himself can usually be bothered with. Had Harry buttered up to Fudge too thickly? The man is so invested now that they'll actually have to start searching for feasible teachers for various subjects, when all Harry wanted was an alibi not to return to school. What a pain...

It's questionable for how long this facade can hold, for once Voldemort makes good on the promise to permanently change the age of Harry's body, it'd be preferable to shed this child-persona entirely. He can't concentrate on waging a war while entertaining a slew of tutors who assume they're about to teach a young teen. Harry is the one who should be assuming the role of teacher.

While the adults discuss details of education for himself and his sister, ("Miss Granger is in best hands" Umbridge titters) Harry contemplates on what strange company he's come to keeping. So many of the adversaries of his old life are now on the same side – or at least useful enough not to antagonise. Once-hated teachers had become family, friends, or followers, and now the Minister who'd dragged Harry's name through the mud eased the way through the maze of bureaucracy by cutting straight through the hedges. Had these chances existed last time around? Could he have wound Umbridge around his finger or barked orders at Gilderoy Lockhart if having played his cards differently?

Harry's younger self would laugh at the mere notion due to the sheer ridiculousness of it all, blissfully unaware of the events that would unfold to reach this point. No, without the disillusionment of the wars, Harry would never have thrown that misplaced sense of righteousness away or learned dark enough magic to successfully manipulate whomever was needed. Besides, he'd not had the advantage of having enough blackmail on these people.

Death unfurls itself, jumping from the table in one graceful motion, changing mid-air from the odd canine being to a raven that settles on Harry's shoulder. When minimally turning his head to look into its eyes, he sees galaxies unfold and implode in those eerie depths. Now the other people in the tent are still chattering away among themselves, Lockhart's chuckles deafening, an opportunity finally arises to speak to his unearthly servant. Careful not to attract too much attention, Harry whispers: "Why are you here? You know very well I didn't call for you."

The being does not respond with sharp commentary. The raven's beak clacks twice, and suddenly, the Occlumency barriers Harry had spent years cultivating dismantle. Better said, they vanish from one moment to the next. Before he can recover from the shock, a voice like crunching gravel worms into his mind, filling the space and making a nest as if belonging. Images are forced to the surface like memories: of lonely mountains, deep oceans and the vastness of space. When Harry responds with bafflement and furiously thinking "What are you doing", Death finally answers:

"Showing you the concept of privacy. How I wish you lot had evolved to use mycorrhizal networks, human languages are so crude. I'd forgotten telepathy still needs words with you lot. It's been a while since I've communicated like this with any of my masters. Now I remember why. Not much of an improvement."

"Didn't you communicate with Fate using words?" he doubtfully asks. Sure, the sentences had been strangely chopped, but still perfectly understandable.

"It sounded like that to you? Fascinating. You saw the memory from my point of view and computed what was shown to something you could understand, is my theory."

It's not much of a comfort when communicating like this makes Harry feel so vulnerable, like holding a speech in the nude. "If talking bothers you so much, feel free to get out of my head. What happened to my defences? Anyone apt in Legilimency can overhear us like this!"

"I put an end to your barriers. That is what I do, Master. You can build them back up when I leave. You also greatly overestimate the capabilities of the average mage, for only a handful of humans could do what you describe."

As it doesn't look like Death will take him up on the offer to leave, Harry asks once more: "Language aside, what's your aim in coming here tonight?"

"There's an interesting death, soon. I like watching the spectacular ones. That you happen to be here is irrelevant for that purpose, but what is an hour more? Your conversation did attract my attention."

"My wandless killing curse wasn't spectacular enough for you to show up earlier this week?" Not that Harry is hurt or somehow jealous, but he still wondered why Death didn't appear when its new master killed someone. Generally, it'll be good to know how this works.

Death makes an amused sound. "The Killing curse was intriguing the first time it was created. After that: boring. Pushing someone into my domain in less than a single, painless second, where is the work in that? No satisfaction for anyone. Only confused souls. No point in watching the moment of it happening when it's over so soon."

"So you aren't present for all deaths?" Harry pushes.

"Does Magic appear each time you cast a spell? Does Life hover over the shoulder of every creature in the act of reproduction? Do the rain entities appear in every droplet of water that falls from the sky of every inhabited planet? Folly. I was born as the essence of a force that I command within the limits of my existence. I am Death, I rule over the dead, and yet death happens without my involvement. We would hardly have time to speak otherwise, as something dies everywhere in each miniscule moment. To put it in a way you self-absorbed creatures can comprehend: on this earth, a human dies on every tick of your clocks. You are one species amongst billions, one universe amongst infinity. I may stretch the borders of time in a manner you could never grasp, yet even I could not keep up."

"Harry? We're leaving, the highlight of the evening is starting!" Sirius' voice cuts through the exchange. "Hey kiddo... are you okay? Are you both okay?" His godfather glances from Harry to Hermione with concern. Having been entirely wrapped up in the conversation, Harry had failed to notice how silent his sister had become, who is still clinging to his hand, refusing to let go as she watches over him with a hawk-like stare.

"Fine," she sharply replies. "If Harry is."

"I... yeah, I'm good. What's the highlight of the evening?"

"You know I mentioned the duelling platform when we got in, right? Two incredible duelling masters who have honed their respective styles for half a century are giving an exclusive demonstration! This is going to be spectacular."

.

.

.

Death had come here tonight to witness a person dying. The full meaning behind that only sinks in once Harry hears of the event that will lead to this death: a duel between two of the guests, both part of the magical population he'd sworn to protect. Powerful mages whose skills might make a difference in the future.

Visions of ripping teeth and spraying blood fill his mind, the manifestation of his servant's anticipation.

"I have to prevent it," is his first thought. "I can prevent it now I know it will happen."

"Can you?" Death asks. "How?"

It feels less of a taunt than a serious question. Is this a test? If so, what is the aim? Teaching Harry about how useless his title is, or helping to control these powers he has been granted? Not knowing how long they have until the predicted demise, he mentally races through the possibilities. The duellers and organisers of the Soiree will not listen to a child warning to cancel the duel, not even if it is Harry bloody Potter. Making a scene as a distraction doesn't guarantee they won't commence once whatever chaos or drama he could conjure up has been dealt with, whereas trying to influence the spells or create shields from the sidelines will be noticeable and raise many difficult questions once Harry is caught interfering. None of these methods are feasible to bank on saving anyone's life.

What is with supernatural powers other than his own magic? Harry only brought one Hallow tonight, for he cannot be spotted using Albus Dumbledore's wand in public and left the ring with Voldemort to avoid attracting unwanted questions about the giver. It'd been the perfect chance to ask his Intended to add new layers of protection to the Horcrux, feeling much better about wearing a part of his fiancé's soul when it's not at risk of getting hit by harmful spells during battle. So, that leaves him with a cloak created by Fate and touched by Life...

Numb, Harry squeezes in between his sister and godfather as they take seats, craning his neck to look at the rectangular podium on which a witch and a wizard appear, bowing to the gathered public.

"Which one of them dies?" Harry asks. "Please, answer me truthfully."

"Both. Ask your questions, Master, I will answer them all. In return, answer one of mine: What happened when you wished to prevent the deaths of Lily and James Potter?"

His stomach churns, leaving Harry immobile as the duel starts, an impressive firework of hexes and jinxes exploding in the air. Conjured knives are blocked by a wall of ice, tendrils of Devil's Snare ripped apart by a stone lion.

"They died earlier than they should have," he forces himself to think. "But that isn't true for everyone. Quirrell is still alive, showing how people can escape their fated end."

"Fate... do you think you were fated to kill Quirinus Quirrell in this world, one you travelled to in order to ally yourself with Voldemort? If not, why would he be meant to die on the same day, by your hands or otherwise? You do not yet understand the order of things. This is what you must overcome."

"By your own logic, isn't us meeting here today, with you telling me two people are going to die after I travelled to this world to save anyone with magic, slightly too convenient to not be fate?" he furiously argues.

The duellers change tactics, one going from the defensive into the offensive, whereas the other counters by showing heightened speed, transfiguring the serpent his opponent had summoned into a broom for an aerial advantage.

The being laughs softly. "Sound reasoning at last. Fate does like you... It is one of your many destinies to achieve greatness, I suspect it to be the reason you end up as my Master in so many realities."

"You suspect...?"

"I am not omniscient, not when it pertains to my brethren. This limits me; many aspects are influenced by them or the forces they are a part of."

"That is why you cannot help me kill..." Harry mutters. "Because it's not truly death that determines the end of people's lives, is it? It's only the end itself, and what comes after. You don't influence the when or where... Then, can you not prevent deaths, either?"

"Fate is fickle, often leaving many paths open to observe which one is taken by the 'free will' of mortals. I can no longer interfere when their attention is so focused that only one path remains, or when Fate gets bored with a species and opens only a single gate from birth: to be a part of the lower food chain, devoured to serve more interesting forms of life. Our most frequent fights are fought over this. Phytoplankton is enchanting. Truly the superior organisms on this planet. Noctiluca Scintillans die with so much grace."

Unsure what to do with the information that Death considers humans below microscopic, docile plant-life, he tries to return to the more pressing point: "Can you prevent these deaths?"

"The paths have closed, the choices been made. There are but three tools that can interfere in Fate's plan now. Whether they'd succeed depends on their user."

So Harry does possess the means to prevent the deaths of these duellers. The question remains... how? Having been made aware that both are supposed to die, covering one of them with the invisibility cloak might not do. Besides, as much as he wishes to save these people, all methods he can come up with to actually cover one with the cloak involve exposing himself as a dark wizard. If he gets caught red-handed here, more mages could ultimately die.

The greater good... How often he has scoffed at that phrase, felt betrayed and used by it. Yet it is the reason that drives Harry's actions now. It's why he won't run up to the podium to stop the fight by casting the Imperius curse on the duellers whose fatigue has created dangerous gaps in their defence. It's why he won't shout at Fudge that actually, Albus Dumbledore's theories are correct, in hopes of creating enough chaos to cut this duel short.

Frustrated, Harry watches on as the duelling masters gather their bearings in a brief moment of respite, then attack with full force again. They're equally matched, equally tired... A singing wine-red spell with enough force to dent one of the metal beams of the greenhouse narrowly misses the witch's shoulder.

"Can you take the invisibility cloak and drape it over one of the duellers?" Harry questions, hope flickering to life at the idea.

"Granting me usage of a Hallow so lightly? Most owners are far more wary of my powers. Not that I can reclaim them like this..."

"I already said that I don't care for my 'ownership' over you. It's useful to have you at my side, but if giving up this title of being your Master would save a life, it'd be worth it. So, can you?"

"Which one?"

His hope is to sow enough confusion to stop the duel itself, so it shouldn't matter. However, there's always a chance... Praying he is doing the right thing, he rules: "Whomever will live longer when saved. If you cannot determine that, then the youngest one."

Just as Death fishes the invisibility cloak out of Harry's pocket – will it become as unnoticeable as Death itself to the rest of the onlookers, or does he need to count on how focused they are on the fighting to make up for a suddenly floating, silvery cloak? - the duellers are progressing into their last stance. Harry knows it well, that moment when throwing caution to the wind in hopes to use the remnants of one's energy to overpower the opponent. Time seems to slow when two spells are cast from each side of the platform: a relatively harmless knee-reversal hex that is aimed far too high as the witch stumbles while casting, and an Incarcerous with too much force behind it, thick ropes hurling through the air with recklessly high speed – and at the wrong angle now the one on the receiving end is falling forward.

The Knee-reversal-hex, meant to divide itself over two specific targets, hits the wizard's neck. It snaps like a straw.

The conjured ropes wrap around the witch's own neck. Only, she is no longer visible, the ropes appearing to swing into empty air. An ordinary piece of fabric shouldn't have sufficed as a barrier to stop the chokehold regardless. Miraculously, seconds of erupting chaos later, the referee has jumped in and cut the cords free to remove the cloak and reveal the befuddled, alive, woman, who rubs her undoubtedly sore throat. It's bound to get sorer, for as soon as she spots her opponent lying motionless, she starts screaming.

What follows feels like an acted-out imitation of Cedric's death: the cheerful music that had accompanied the duel warps and is muted, the corpse is carried away, mass panic breaks out while accusations are being hurled around... Someone yells about protecting the children from this grisly sight, upon which a large hand lands on Harry's shoulder to steer him away. Nearby in the crowd, the edge of a cyan cloak drifts past, but dragging Lockhart back with them no longer sounds fun. Harry has had enough of games today.

His head feels surprisingly empty for being so full with confusion. Death no longer occupies space in it.

Whirling around, he attempts to figure out where the being has gone, trying to scan the entire area where people are frantically running around. The hand tightens, Sirius speaking: "Harry, Hermione, we're leaving. Mrs Fudge ordered the evacuation of all kids. Come on."

Disappointedly – and more than a bit worried about the whereabouts of the invisibility cloak – he turns to obey Sirius, only to be met with a large, shadowy owl sitting on top of the decorative statue of entwining flowers that marks the apparition area. The statue fits odd markings on its face of twisting branches and gleaming blossoms.

"Your plan worked out. You have defied fate and saved a life today," it speaks. "The former almost makes up for the latter. Kill something else that shouldn't have died today."

"To restore balance?" Harry mutters under his breath while Sirius instructs them on where to hold on in order to side-apparate without splinching. He hopes Death can hear it.

"Balance?"

The owl screeches loudly and flies off. Its ridiculing, warbled laughter trails behind it, filling the greenhouse.

The mad sound rings in Harry's ears long after they've apparated home.


AN: I may have spent far too much time researching plankton for this chapter because I fell into a rabbit hole. Conclusion: Noctiluca Scintillans (a bioluminscent plankton that lights up when it gets stressed) is Phytoplankton, not Zooplankton, despite some sources lumping it into the animal category just because they can't photosynthesise. They ultimately belong to the superclass of Dinoflagellata, which are all phytoplankton, even those that are heterotrophic (consume other organisms.). Felt like sharing so my hours of reading articles on this doesn't go to waste.