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Act IV - Skin In The Game
Chapter 1: The Bloody Baron
The return to Hogwarts was just as expected, listening to the song and dance of what 'supposedly happened', gossiping about what they thought was the 'accepted' version of the truth.
Neither Draco nor Chang had returned to Hogwarts. The events at the wedding had led to a cascade of increasing faceloss for the Malfoy family, and even greater financial downfall, with the news of what happened transpiring across the breadth of Wizarding Britain. Having lost close to half of their fortune just to avoid multiple defamation lawsuits that he was guaranteed to lose, followed by the stigma of Quintus Parkinson breaking the betrothal and declaring Draco as an 'oath-breaker', and with the surprising shift of Selwyn and Rosier from Malfoy's Alliance, the entire power structure of the Wizengamot was going through some serious upheaval. Sirius had to take an official leave from Hit-wizardry to fulfil his role as Potter Regent and Lord Black, after Andi had yelled at him for the seventeenth time.
Joshua on the other hand, was having a grand time. He had actually pulled Daphne back for a few days to let her actively deal with the political repercussions of her own moulding. Going with Daphne wasn't an option given he still had his teaching duties, and his meeting with Flamel and Apolline Delacour scheduled the next day.
Funnily enough, Hermione was upset at missing out on his latest adventure abroad. Harry tried explaining that it was all cloak-and-daggery and Slytherin power play, instead of the annual dark-creature-smackdown that he and Hermione had been part of over the last four years, but that didn't stop the brunette from trying to wheedle it out of her.
"And just so you know, daggery isn't an actual word."
"Yes, Hermione."
It was weird. Even mentioning the official 'vow of silence' was not enough, and she kept insisting that he give her whatever peripheral information he could, without actively resisting the vow.
Then again, this was Hermione. She was brave as a Lion, loyal as a Puff and ambitious as a Snake, but when her curiosity and her stubbornness got hold of her, she was quick to display the vices of all four Houses just as well. Gryffindor bravery became bullheaded stubbornness; Hufflepuff loyalty twisted into a judgemental mindset that saw the world in monochrome; Ravenclaw intelligence morphed into insatiable curiosity, while Slytherin ambitiousness became downright condescension towards everything else, to the point of narrow-minded fanaticism. There was a momentary spark of the old Hermione when he mentioned about the Student Exchange programme, watching amusedly as all her curiosity got shoved down by her fears about not getting selected because she was a 'lowly fifth year'. He knew better than to challenge his friend when she was on one of her 'rants', letting her get it out of her system.
Somewhere along the line, Hermione had stopped prattling, and was staring at him.
"Do you want to say something?" He asked.
She looked a tad frustrated. And guilty. He didn't know which was more. "I β I wanted to apologise."
"For what?"
She blinked. "What do you mean for what? I misbehaved with you when you taught us the Salvio Hexia. I said all that to you. I β I didn't really mean that, Harry."
"Okay."
"Okay?" She blinked again. "What do you mean by okay?"
Harry shook his head. "I mean, if apologising makes you feel better, then sure. As far as I'm concerned, it's over and done with."
She fisted her hands, and scrunched her face. "See? That's what I keep talking about! You! You've changed so much, Harry. The Harry Potter I knew wouldn't be soβ¦ soβ¦"
"So?"
"... calm. Like you don't even care anymore. You're my best friend, Harry. You used to tell me everything, and now, it's like I don't even know what's going on in that head of yours. What happened, Harry? The Harry Potter I knew wanted nothing to do with fame, or wealth, orβ¦ all of this. Instead you're this secretive person that just wouldn't let me in at all. Insteadβ¦ Insteadβ¦"
Harry raised a hand. "I'm a private person, Hermione. Always have been. The last four years have always been about someone or something trying to do something to me or people I care about. The Stone, the voices coming from the walls, and finally the dementors and Sirius, and even the mystery about my name getting entered in the Triwizard β that was me reacting to things beyond my control."
"And now?"
"Now, they are about things that have always been mine to begin with. My ancestry. My Death-powers. My godfather. My association with the Greengrass family through my grandfather, and its effects. Even Fleur came into my life when I went to Gringotts and she was made my financial manager. I've responsibilities now. Not to mention my crippled magical affinity."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Harry. Ever since you've got this new thaumaturgy, you've only gotten more studious, not less. You've become the Defence professor, and are part of the multi-professor think tank you call the Workshop."
"Yes, because they think it's got some potential to do good to the world."
"Must be," said Hermione dryly. "Though, everything we did for the last four years was also aimed at doing some good."
That rankled. "Nobody's saying otherwise, Hermione."
"Then you must either think that you've got a better researcher now, or maybe you think you're a better researcher yourself?"
Yeah, that did it. He had officially had enough.
"I believe both, Hermione."
Hermione blinked. It was probably the first time anyone had ever said that to her. Ron might call her a know-it-all twice a week, and Daphne had impressed Hermione's lack of perspective on the pureblood side of the society several times during the 'breakfast battles', as he had begun to call them in his head. But this was the first time he had genuinely called her inferior.
He really could kill a conversation. After Dark lords, Death Eaters, basilisks and dementors, this shouldn't have been surprising at this point.
Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She stuttered an 'okay' and begged off, no doubt to have a bit of a cry. The old Harry Potter would've probably felt guilty and chased after her, kind of like he had forgiven Ron after the First Task. Instead he grabbed her shoulder and made her turn back.
"Not so easy, Hermione," he said. "If you're so ready to hurl accusations at others, you should at least have the stomach to digest a few of your own."
Hermione looked like he had just kicked her in the gut. In some ways, her buttons were easier to push than even Ron's.
"You've already made your point clear, Harry."
"Oh no," he shot back. "I haven't even started. You want in on the Workshop so bad, right? I'll tell you what it's about. We're dealing with an entirely new branch of thaumaturgy that's different from the magic you know and cast. Bathsheda Babbling is crafting a brand new runescript from scratch. Septima Vector is using all her knowledge of formations to create new rules for this runescript. Aurora Sinistra is using her entire knowledge of divination to study the effects of celestial and esoteric occurrences on this new thaumaturgy, and Fleur is creating spells and wards based on the results of the aforementioned three. Even my own role is limited to being a source of Death-energy and putting their theories to test. So no, Hermione, there's no History of Magic for you to go read, no spellbooks for you to find trivia and useful spells. Every single member in the Workshop is a member because of what they bring to the table."
He eyed his best friend. "So tell me, Hermione Granger, what can you bring to the Workshop to consider you remotely useful?"
Her cheeks were now flooding, but Harry didn't stop. He really ought to have been a better person.
"You accused me of keeping you away. I was framed as a murderer by the Ministry, and my wand was dead. Even Sirius had trouble trying to help me just stay in control and morph into some demon by losing control of my magic. You've no idea how traumatic it was to realise that I couldn't even cast first-year spells properly. Where were you then? Oh right, you were being the nice little teacher's pet and staying at the Weasleys because Dumbledore said so. You could've used your little advantage over Skeeter to stop her from saying shit about me all this time, but you didn't. You didn't care about how I was supposed to survive the trial, but were too quick to paint Daphne as some kind of praying mantis that took advantage of me like some evil Slytherin princess. You've been nothing but antagonistic to me the entire time, but you don't see me holding that against you. You want a full dose of honesty, how about that, Hermione?"
His bushy-haired friend staggered back.
"Voldemort is back. Chang had been conspiring behind my back with Malfoy and I've got a bunch of problems circling me from above. That's where my focus has to be now. If the way I have been acting all this while has been making you upset, it's only going to get worse."
He glared at her, and was about to turn around and leave, when he paused, and looked back at his former best-friend. "You've been accusing me of walking away for months, Hermione, and honestly, now, I wonder if I just should."
Dinner that evening was a subdued affair. Daphne for one, was sitting with her sister and friends on the Slytherin table, entertaining questions about Malfoy's fate and the Rosier-Santos wedding. He had come to appreciate her shark-like predatory instincts about politics. Unlike him, Daphne went out of her way to keep an ear out for the gossip vine. She knew nearly everyone that needed knowing, knew their houses and their family position on key policies, and what they would and would not accept. She knew dirt on many of them, and the ones that didn't were the ones that were great at hiding it, or just too boring to keep dirt on. She also had a keen sense of the power of the press and how to spin a story.
Harry, on the other hand, wanted to do the exact opposite. He didn't want to sit next to Hermione who looked like she was on the verge of tears, or explain what had happened between them to Ron, Ginny and the others who were giving him odd looks. Luckily, Scamander had invited him to sit with him on the staff table β something about discussing the salamanders he had added to the Hogwarts fauna collection.
"Honestly, I was just as much surprised to see a frost one," he replied to Newt's question. "Neither did I expect them to be that big. Guess that's what happens when Abstract flames mix with Abstract ice."
"Still, first a moulted runespoor, and now fire and frost-type salamanders of that size," said Newt. "I'm not sure if I should feel afraid or jealous."
"Afraid," laughed Harry. "I can only get lucky so many times."
"I was actually thinking of a special class, Potter," said Scamander. "A joint sitting of all years that are taking the class."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "A class that big?"
"Well⦠it's more of a seminar, really."
Before the man could reveal any further, Albus Dumbledore stood up for his pre-supper speech.
"May I have your attention, please?" asked the Headmaster. "I'm certain many of you already know this, but recent affairs have brought forth the request for an event involving multiple schools, similar to the prestigious Triwizard Tournament we held last year. As such, it is my very great pleasure to inform you that Hogwarts is taking part in the European Student Exchange programme, a collaboration between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Campus Magico of France. Students from every school will be attending the other schools for a few weeks. While they are at Hogwarts, they shall attend some of our best courses that Hogwarts has to offer, as well as take part in certain co-curricular activities set up to promote the healthy spirit of rivalry between the schools."
Harry could feel the eyes on him. Even without any talk of Champions representing schools this time around, he knew every student in the Great Hall was thinking of some variation of how he'd get pulled into this mess this time around.
"Hogwarts will be hosting a select group of students from Beauxbatons and Campus Magico in January," Dumbledore went on. "During their stay, we shall be offering seminars on some of our best-offered subjects β Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures."
"No Potions?" Harry whispered in surprise, glancing at Snape from the corner of his eye. He looked particularly surly.
Scamander shook his head. ""Hogwarts overall ranking in Potions graduates isn't that high on the ICW list."
"Aurora is a fantastic Astronoma, perhaps one of the best I've ever seen, but her teaching skills leave a lot to be desired. And Hogwarts does not offer any Enchanting or Warding courses, so the overall student number for Arithmancy and Runes is rather small. And the less said about History, the better."
Even with Runcorn replacing Binns, there wasn't much improvement in the likeability of the subject. To quote Ron, Runcorn was like a barking bulldog set in his own ways. Half the Gryffindors claimed that they never knew how companionable Binns was by letting them doze at least. With Runcorn that wasn't even an option.
Newt laughed out loud. "Let's put it this way, Potter. If the Triwizard was about the students, the Exchange programme is about the professors. Every school participating in this will have to prepare a set of such seminars about their best subjects, and Dumbledore will not be lax on me just because I'm an old friend."
Harry laughed. "Still, you want you to bet it all on the salamander pair?"
"Not just the salamanders," Newt explained. "I was thinking about Dark creatures in general. The role Dark Magic plays in their creation, their nature, the manifestation of their abilities, and what makes them different from other 'magical' creatures. Oh, and I want your help in this. In fact, I was hoping to do a joint class."
The world-famous magizoologist was asking him to teach a class on Creatures with him? That would be like teaching Transfiguration alongside Albus Dumbledore or Alchemy alongside Nicholas Flamel.
"Nice joke, Professor Scamander β"
"No joke, Potter," said the man. "I've viewed many of your seventh-year classes. Even Dumbledore himself made me view his memory of that impromptu class you offered on the seventh floor. I can definitely say I have yet to see a better class on Salvio Hexia. Even Dumbledore agreed with my opinion."
Albus Dumbledore spent decades teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. To be compared in the same vein as the venerated Headmaster was humbling.
"Speaking of, Dumbledore asked me to tell you to report to the seventh floor after dinner. Something about a mutual interest."
Harry blinked in surprise, but nodded.
The man went on without the least curiosity on the topic. "I've noticed, Potter, you put a lot of emphasis on the importance of intent in your classes. About the subtle and long-term effects of magic, and the seductive nature of Dark magic. I've seen the memory of what transpired in your Defence classroom, and I know you're quite well-versed about the Anima and its effects on Reality. And you're an animagus. We can even bring Hecate in, and talk about Parseltongue and the connection of magical languages with these creatures. One seminar, where we can combine all of them⦠into a spectacular session. What do you think?"
The man had a spark in his eyes that belayed a sense of suppressed enthusiasm.
"I guess⦠I can help you out. At least I know I won't be pulled into this mess all by myself."
And then he winced.
People were generally classified as lucky or unlucky. For Harry Potter however, luck worked differently. Rather than good or bad, his luck worked to find the most interesting thing going on around him and trap him in it, akin to an interesting Chinese curse; 'May you live in interesting times'.
Dumbledore spoke again. "Because of the infamous curse affecting our Defence position, Hogwarts has always fared poorly in the subject on the ICW level. Howeverβ¦"
He turned, and his piercing eyes zoomed in at Harry. And just like that, Harry knew this wouldn't be good.
"Minister Pizarro of Spain, and Lady Devereaux, the Foreign Affairs Minister for France, have demonstrated an acute interest in also having their students attend our Defence Against the Dark Arts seminar led by our very own, Harry Potter."
Harry looked around. The stares were there, like always, only this time, there was no judgement in them, no murmurs about him being a dirty cheater. Also unlike last time, he could complain about being put in this mess by some invisible hand. For Merlin's sake, he had established rapport with both Minister Pizarro and Lady Devereaux, and nobody had told anything about her being the French Foreign affairs Minister. Given how things had ended at the Atrium, there was no doubt that both Pizarro and Devereaux were supremely interested in him, which meant that he'd not just be a part of the Hogwarts programme, he'd likely have to be part of the visiting groups as well.
And to think all he was expecting a quieter year, thanks to that private dormitory.
"You were saying?" Newt asked, amused.
"..."
"On the bright side, you'll get to meet a lot of people you don't normally get to meet. Think of this as a fast-track world trip. Back in my day, every witch or wizard went out to see the world for at least a year or more, before settling down with a proper career."
That did sound like a great idea. Six months ago, he would've ignored the prospect, what with the threat of Voldemort looming in the horizon. But things were different now. He had a family. A betrothed. A lover. He had a future as a Warlock and an Unspeakable. Surviving Voldemort wasn't the end goal by any means β it was a prerequisite for a better life that lay ahead. That was why he was preparing so much, why he was playing on multiple fronts to ensure his victory. If he stopped living, would all this even be worth it?
The only question was, how would the DADA curse impact this?
"So Potter, any ideas on what you're going to teach at the seminar?" asked Newt.
The Bloody Baron was perhaps the most frightening of all Hogwarts ghosts, with his cracked helm, his bloodstained tunic, and his open wounds that still bled and dripped upon those dangling chains he kept on his person. Between the sound of his cold, rasping voice and the chains dragging across the stone floors, the ghost of Slytherin House was one that few voluntarily approached.
Even Slytherins.
Come to think of it, even the other ghosts were apprehensive whenever the Baron was nearby. Quite naturally, Harry was surprised to see the ghost standing next to Albus Dumbledore on the otherwise empty seventh floor corridor.
"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore, beaming from behind his half-moon glasses. "Just in time. I'm sure you are quite familiar with each other."
"The Bl⦠Baron, sir," said Harry, knowing from personal experience how Nearly-headed Nick hated his nickname, preferring to be called 'Sir Nicholas' instead. The Slytherin ghost sighed loudly, but otherwise did nothing.
Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Professor Scamander said you wanted me to come here."
"Ah, yes," said the Headmaster. "I have made some headway into that investigation. Thanks to your excellent suggestion, of course."
Harry blinked. "My β does that mean you found a Hidden vault?"
"Not precisely," said Dumbledore, his moustache quivering. "But I am certainly hoping we will. Your words about the Vaults made me wonder β if Tom found one, then it is entirely possible that there might be more people in the past that might have known or inadvertently found their way into a Hidden Vault. Certainly, with the Vaults being as old as the Founder's time, I consulted every single portrait in the hallways, but no one in living memory could mention anything about a hidden room or Vault up on the seventh floor. So I consulted the ghosts, and that is where I met Sir Baron."
Harry glanced at the ghost again. The bloodstained chains dragged against the stone floor.
"Sir Baron mentioned a most exquisite tale about Rowena Ravenclaw crafting a Chamber, here in this very floor. The Prison of Possibilities, as the Baron tells me. But he has a condition, and I'm afraid only you can help me fulfil that."
Harry blinked again. "Me?"
"Apologies," said Dumbledore. "It seems I have danced around the point. The Baron's real name is Sir Wystan, brother of Iacomus Potter, your ancestor. And perhaps the only Potter to ever get sorted to Slytherin House. For certain reasons that I will let the Baron explain on his own terms, he was cast off from House Potter. Part of his penance is the reason his wounds never stop bleeding."
Harry winced. A Potter that was cursed by his own family to keep bleeding even after death? That sounded terribly cruel.
"That's why you're called the Bloody Baron."
The ghost let out another rasping sigh. "My family always considered me as the evil one when I was sorted into Slytherin House. The Potters were always placed in Gryffindor and on rare occasions, Hufflepuff."
Harry tried to imagine a ghostly existence for centuries on end, simply because of prejudice against one's Hogwarts sorting.
"If it helps," he said. "The Hat offered me Slytherin as well. I only got placed in Gryffindor because I didn't want to go to Slytherin."
The Baron let out a small harrumph. "You are the Lord Potter, are you not? No, not Potter⦠Peverell. I sense it's magic, its stench is darker than what my own House could ever imagine. You subsumed House Potter into Peverell, did you not?"
"Err, actually it was the other way around. The Ministry β"
"To the Abyss with those fops," growled the Baron. "I'm talking about your magic, young Lord. The power that sings in your veins. It is Peverell magic, is it not? The hyena has prostrated before the might of the thestral."
Harry decided not to mention how he had heard a hyena's screech while in the Anima.
"It⦠it has, yes."
The Baron sniffed. "All that posturing to consign them to Oblivion, and here he is, an Ascended mortal, here in the waking world. What a callous bitch Fate is."
"Excuse me," said Harry, "but who was cast into Oblivion?"
The Baron gave him a dangerous look. "Nothing your little mind needs troubling about, young Lord. Let the matters of the Dead stay among the Dead. The Living have no place there."
Nearly-headed Nick would disagree, what with his formal invitation to his Deathday party. But that was neither here nor there.
"You rule over the Thestral. You can bend the Charter to your whim, can you not, boy? I wish to be freed of these chains. Iacomus was always quick to blame me. He cast me out of the family, after I killed that wench Helena. Her Lament did the rest."
The bloodstained chains made a grating sound.
The Baron met his eyes. "I want my Name back. I want my monies and properties to be added to the Potter Vault. And most importantly, I want to get out of this Lament. Swear to do that, young Lord, and I shall be your guide through the Prison of Possibilities, crafted by my mother-in-law."
"Mother inβ" Harry gasped. "You mean β"
"Yes, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Wystan Potter married Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw."
"But she's been dead for what⦠close to a thousand years now?"
"Yes," said the Baron. "And just like I carry my chains, she has hers. Only hers do not show, but drag her down from escaping this world."
"Lady Helena," said Dumbledore, "resides in the Ravenclaw Tower. They call her the Gray Lady."
The Baron let out a grating laugh. "Wench. They called her lady, but lady she was not. Just like that stone bitch of her mother. Women never take pity on us despite what we have suffered. They always hurt, burn and kill us. KILL US!" His eyes regarded Harry dangerously. "I have seen those wenches you have around you. The succubus! And that tart, tainted with her ancestor's curse! You are a lunatic to think they will ever let you rest! To think that you can finish your goals even after death! You β"
Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly. That broke the Baron from his rant, and the ghost looked away, growlingly maddeningly.
Harry swallowed.
"You see the quandary, Harry?" asked Dumbledore. "Once again, I am forced to seek out your aid. At this rate, I might as well commission a bust and a table for a new House named after you. Going with your animagus and your familiar, perhaps the owl is your favourite animal? All we need is a couple of qualities you favour over the others, and we can get going."
Harry was getting redder and redder with every word coming out of the Headmaster's mouth. Before he ended up imitating Susan or the Weasleys, he quickly changed the topic.
"Sir, errβ¦ Baron, what is a Lament? Are you talking about the Avada β"
"Do not play the fool, boy," growled the Baron. "The killing curse severs the ties of the soul from the body, unmakes it, and tears it asunder, but it is no Lament."
"A Lament is Abstract magic, Harry. A powerful curse that a witch or wizard can cast at the moment of their death. Even magical creatures are capable of doing that. Perchance you already know this, but anyone that slays a unicorn, is cursed for eternity. A horrible form of immortality in the form of a parasitic existence."
Harry thought about Voldemort living at the back of Quirrell's head like a large, ugly pimple. But then, a different idea came to him. "Professor, is it possible that when Voldemort attacked my parents β"
"He was defeated by your mother's Lament?" offered Dumbledore. "Perhaps, perhaps not. It is difficult to say. Very few are able to hate to that extent, Harry, that they twist their very soul in that one instant, and convert it into a primal emotion such as that. I dare say that perhaps one in a hundred might be able to cast a Lament, and that is assuming they even have that chance before they are killed by some spell."
"...scary," said Harry.
"As is all Abstract magic, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Casting the curse mutilated Lady Helena's soul, keeping her from leaving her mortal leashes. Her hate for the Baron keeps him in eternal punishment, and binds her to her own ghostly existence."
"And you expect me to help undo this⦠Lament?"
"Yes, such things have a particular protocol to follow. Sir Wystan here, is a Potter, and you are the current Lord of his House. It falls under you to undo his suffering, and that means finding a way for Lady Helena to undo her Lament and release both of them from their sufferings."
"But I'm β"
"As I have seen over the years, Harry," said Dumbledore, smiling. "Among your other forms of precociousness, you have a tendency to stumble into unconventional solutions, often through, as Minerva tells me, sheer dumb luck."
Harry laughed. "You've absolutely no qualms about using me, do you sir?"
The Headmaster's icy blue eyes twinkled. "As I am certain you will realise in the near future, my dear boy, in most cases, being a good boss means hiring talented people and then getting out of their way."
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