HP and the C of Commerce, chapters 16-19 (Patreon)

Weirdly Patreon tried to stop me from posting this, saying it looked like I was posting a raffle and that wasn’t allowed under the Benefit Guidelines.  Um… first, no.  Second, what’s wrong with a raffle.  Rules, rules, everywhere and not a one makes sense.

Chapter Sixteen

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone’s minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone.

When Filch wasn’t guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like “breathing loudly” and “looking happy.”

The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but now Neville whispered that he worried because she did little else. When Harry asked her what she was reading, she would reply with a short “Nothing important,” but clearly it was. Even Draco’s pestering couldn’t get her to open up.

Meanwhile Harry had to deal with students looking at him with new suspicion. A Slytherin had found the cat, so the Slytherin must have petrified it. That was the judgment of most of the school, and the fact that Professor Snape provided an alibi had not convinced students to see it any differently. Justin Finch-Fletchley actually ran away from him when they met in the corridor. If it weren’t for his friends, Harry would have hidden in one of the parselmouth corridors and never come out.

As they were wading through the throne of students hurrying to class, Colin Creevey went past.

“Hiya, Harry!”

“Hullo, Colin,” said Harry automatically.

“Harry— Harry— a boy in my class has been saying you’re—”

But Colin was so small he couldn’t fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, “See you, Harry!” And he was gone.

“What’s a boy in his class saying about you?” Hermione wondered.

Before Harry could say the obvious, Draco jumped in. “Didn’t you know Slytherins are to blame for everything that goes wrong in Hogwarts?” he asked sarcastically. “Harry wears green; therefore, he must be to blame for any event he witnesses.”

“Students aren’t quite that bad,” Hermione argued, but Draco and Blaise just stared at her blankly. Harry sighed.

“Alright. They are,” she admitted. “You could have made your lives easier by choosing a different house.”

“You don’t choose houses,” Blaise said.

Both Harry and Hermione stopped and stared at him. Luckily the crowd had thinned now so they didn’t have upperclassmen shoving them out of the way.

“You can’t,” he repeated.

“The hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw, and I told it that I was tired of no one seeing anything other than me being smart. I told it that great leaders had come out of Gryffindor, and that’s where I was going.” She had her ‘test me’ voice on, and Harry could imagine her thinking in exactly that tone to the hat.

“I asked for Hufflepuff,” Harry said. “In Diagon Alley, the woman in the trunk shop said that I would have protective friends in her house, so that’s what I wanted. But the hat said that I would hurt their feelings because they wouldn’t understand me, so I had to pick another house. Any other house I wanted. It said I would fit in all three. I picked Slytherin.”

Blaise looked at Draco and both blinked as though their brains required time to retire. “You picked?” Blaise asked.

Draco threw his hands in the air. “Why are you never normal, Potter?”

“Hey!” Harry objected.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe if you didn’t assume every custom and tradition is written in stone and questioned the hat, you would have had a choice, too.” She narrowed her eyes and practically dared Draco to go off on one of his tradition-good speeches. Harry understood both sides. Wizards had their own cultures and traditions that deserved respect as much as any other culture. However, Hermione had a point that they clung to things like marriage contracts and letting an inanimate object define their school experience by picking their house for them.

“I would have chosen Slytherin anyway,” Draco said. “Maybe the professors and students are unfair, but once you leave school, you’re going to see the truth. Slytherins are the power behind politics in Great Britain.”

Harry could smell the fight coming, so he changed the subject. “Do you think the Chamber is really open? Did something come out of it, or did someone cast a petrifaction spell on the cat?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, frowning. “Dumbledore couldn’t cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be—well—human.” As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked.

The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message “The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened.” Everyone had seen Filch keeping guard from that spot.

They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

“Can’t hurt to have a poke around,” said Harry with a look toward his Slytherin friends. If the Chamber was guarded by one of the little ones, somewhere in this corridor there was a tiny carved snake waiting for the command to open. Harry had searched the parselmouth corridors since logically they had to empty into the Chamber if they were used for evacuations, but he had failed.

“I’ll keep watch,” Draco said, likely to avoid having to get on the ground to search the floorboards.

“I’ll take high,” Blaise said, and he turned his attention to the beams overhead, casting a spell that magnified the surface so he could search for a carving. Hermione gaze turned calculating, but Harry didn’t notice right away because he was on his hands and knees, crawling along as he searched.

“What are you looking for?” she asked slowly. She knew they had a secret, and her expression suggested that she was not above torturing them to find out what it was.

Just then, Harry spotted something on the floor. “Scorch marks!” he said. “Here —and here—”

Hermione walked over to the window. “This is funny….”

Harry got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

“Have you ever seen spiders act like that?” said Hermione wonderingly.

“No,” said Harry.

“I’ve seen bowtruckles act like that,” Draco said. “We had an ignumis infection in the forest near the manor, and all the bowtruckles fled the area, single file like that. My father had to call in specialists to get rid of the infestation before they burned down the forest and our manor with it.”

“What are ignumis?” Hermione asked.

“They’re like moths only they have fire tails during mating season and they love to eat bowtruckles.”

Blaise leaned against the wall. “So, something that likes to eat spiders has come into the castle?”

“Ew.” Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“I second that,” Harry agreed. “You know, when Professor Snape and I were up here, we were splashing through water. It was at least an inch deep. Where did that come from?”

“Probably the toilet,” Blaise said, poking a thumb toward a heavy door with a brass knob and a large sign reading OUT OF ORDER. “A lot of trouble starts in the girls’ toilets around here. Remember the troll?”

Hermione gave a full-body shiver. “Never bring that up again.”

“Should we search the bathroom?” Harry asked.

“It’s a girls’ toilet!” Draco objected, his voice almost squeaking in horror.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s not like anyone would be in it. That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. If you go in there, you run the risk of having a sobbing ghost tell you all the reasons why she’s miserable. We all avoid the place. And if you aren’t nice to her, she’ll throw toilet water all over the bathroom.”

“That’s it,” Draco said in an almost normal voice. “I’m putting my foot down. We are not going to risk getting splashed with toilet water.”

“Awww, are you afraid Dracky?” Hermione teased.

He glared at her. “I will face a troll for you, Granger, but I will not risk toilet water touching my silk robes.” Her turned and stalked off. Slytherins were not supposed to walk the halls alone, so Blaise took off after him, but then Harry would have to separate from Hermione at some point because they had different schedules, and that would put him alone, so he had to run after Blaise.

After a second, Hermione followed. “Really. I thought boys were supposed to be braver.”

“Risking toilet water is not brave; it’s stupid,” Draco said, “and that is clearly the realm of Gryffindors.”

Harry was still laughing at both of them when the reached the stairs. Ron was there with his two Gryffindor friends and Neville. Harry stopped and eyed the boy who had once offered him friendship. They had been on first-name basis, but Harry didn’t know how to address him now. If he called Ron “Weasley,” Ron would probably take that as an insult. But they weren’t on a first-name basis anymore.

“What, are you waiting to insult Harry?” Draco demanded in his snottiest voice.

Harry sighed. “Draco, he hasn’t said a word yet. At least let him accuse me of being the Heir of Slytherin before you get offended.”

“Heir of Slytherin? What?” Ron looked genuinely confused.

Neville spoke up. “Lots of students are saying that Harry found Mrs. Norris, so he probably did something.”

If anything, Ron looked more confused. “That’s dumb. If this is the Heir of Slytherin and not some practical joke, why would someone start with a cat? Why would Harry petrify a cat?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, but people have literally run away from me in the hallway.”

“People are stupid,” Ron said. “Someone is trying to frighten all the squibs and muggle-borns out of Hogwarts, and Harry defends his mother’s blood status. Now other people…” Ron let his voice trail off as he stared at Draco. “You could be Slytherin’s descendant. Your father’s definitely evil enough.”

“Take that back!” Draco pulled his wand.

“You could’ve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!” said Ron. “Handing it down, father to son.” Thomas and Finnegan started whispering behind Ron. Apparently they liked that theory.

“Except he was at the feast,” Hermione said.

“Did you see him there?” Ron demanded.

“I did,” Blaise said. He put a hand on Draco’s arm to stop him from throwing any hexes. Draco did not have a lot of self-control in that department.

“Another Slytherin.”

“I saw him,” Neville said firmly. “Parkinson was trying to catch Harry’s attention, and Draco was distracting him every time she tried. It was funny to watch.” Neville shrugged an apology, probably because Draco was very sensitive about people calling him funny.

Ron huffed. “Fine, so maybe he set something up ahead of time. The twins have all sort of ways to make their pranks go off only after they’ve left the area.”

Harry didn’t doubt that at all; however, he thought Ron was looking for an excuse to blame Draco. Yes, Draco could be a prat, but ever since Ron and Draco had fought on the Hogwart’s Express before first year, Ron had looked for reasons to insult Draco.

Hermione spoke before Harry could. “Really, Ron. Everyone knows you hate Draco, always complaining that he and his father are corrupting Harry—”

“They are!” Ron shouted. “Mr. Malfoy is awful, and he probably ordered his son to be friends with Harry, and one of these days, you’re all going to see it.”

“Did he arrange to marry a Black so I would be related to his family?” Harry asked sarcastically. He expected Ron to explode, but he got quiet and stared at Harry for a long time before he answered.

“You don’t understand how bad things were in the war or how long Malfoys can plot and plan. One of these days, he’s going to show his true colors, and I hope for your sake and the sake of the Wizarding world that it’s not too late for you to defend yourself when that day comes. And when that day comes, remember that I warned you and that I would still be your friend if you stopped believing everything that certain people tell you.” This time Ron glared at both Draco and Blaise before turning his back and stalking away.

Finnegan and Thomas followed, leaving Neville behind.

Neville sighed. “Your father is awful, Draco, but that doesn’t mean you are.”

Draco frowned as if unable to decide if that was a compliment or insult. Finally, he sniffed and turned his nose up. “Whatever,” he exclaimed before he strode off doing his best impression of his father.

Neville gave Harry a worried look, and Harry shrugged. “I know he’s a manipulative politician and raging racist,” Harry said, “but I like Narcissa.”

Neville nodded before he turned to follow the other Gryffindors.

Chapter Seventeen

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits. He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yet with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.

After nearly three months of Lockhart’s teaching, even Slytherins were struggling to make the best out of the situation. The house had conclusively disproved every adventure using the timeline and rampant impossibilities in the book, so it wasn’t fun finding more inaccuracies.

Professor Snape had doubled the number of hours he dueled with fifth and seventh years and had started assigning independent homework in-house. The extra work was making him even shorter tempered than he had been last year when Quirrell had been trying to steal from the school. He assigned the fourth and fifth years to teach the younger students while the seventh years worked with fourth through sixth years to make sure they knew their defensive spells and practiced their own.

When Hermione had found out that Slytherins got tutoring, she had finally admitted that Slytherins were better at some things and then promptly demanded that they teach her. Draco and Blaise demonstrated a few hexes and shields, but it was Millicent who truly stepped up. She was brilliant at learning new defensive skills, and she delighted in teaching Hermione. Harry split his time between the boys who had privately told Harry they were uncomfortable fighting girls and the girls who had no such compunctions about throwing hexes against the opposite sex.

And having worked with both, Harry knew Millicent and Hermione were the better duelers, by far. Harry couldn’t figure out why the Slytherins had any compunctions about female duelers because Bellatrix had been the Dark Lord’s most feared fighter. They should know that women could duel just as well. And if they didn’t know that, Hermione and Millicent should be enough evidence.

Neville, on the other hand, refused to work with any of them and insisted that he would stick with Professor Lockhart’s instruction. While the others practiced in an empty classroom, he would often sit with Gregory working on homework. Vince, weirdly, had taken to hanging around with Nott. For a while, Gregory had done the same, but now he was back to spending time with Draco and his friends.

In their next Defense Against Dark Arts lesson, Harry was hauled to the front of the class to play the part of a werewolf. If he hadn’t had Slytherin rules pounded into his head—including to never be disrespectful in public—he would have refused to do it.

“Nice loud howl, Harry —exactly— and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced—like this—slammed him to the floor—thus—with one hand, I managed to hold him down.”

Harry didn’t believe it, and the Slytherins all had on their polite masks to hide their own disgust at the blatant lies. However, since Harry was pinned under Lockhart as he played werewolf to the professor’s hunter, he tried to look somewhat interested.

“With my other hand, I put my wand to his throat—I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm—he let out a piteous moan—go on, Harry—higher than that—good—the fur vanished—the fangs shrank—and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective—and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.”

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.

“Homework—compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!” Students scrambled to escape the room, but Lockhart had helped Harry to his feet and now had a strong grip on his shoulder. He waited until most of the students had left before saying, “So, Harry, tomorrow’s the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you’re a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces.”

Blaise had been one of the students to remain behind, and his expression turned thunderous at the insult to all Dark magic. Lockhart didn’t notice.

“Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don’t hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players….”

Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then hurried to join Blaise and Neville. Once they were out of the room, Blaise said, “Never be alone with him.”

“What?”

Blaise caught Harry by the arm. “Never be alone with that man. He’s offering private tutoring? Why?”

“Because he wants to impress me and tell everyone he’s a mentor to the Boy-Who-Lived.” Harry hated his fame, but he did understand how others valued it.

Neville looked down the hall nervously before he said, “I agree with Blaise. He shouldn’t be offering private tutoring. It’s strange. I don’t like how he singles you out and touches you, and magic can do things.”

“Things?” Harry looked from one to the other.

Blaise sighed. “Magic can make you agree with things or make you forget things that other people have done to you.”

Harry frowned, not understanding. Blaise gave a put-upon sigh. “Just don’t ever be alone with him.”

Harry huffed. “It’s not like I want to spend time with him. Where are Draco and the others?”

“Hermione headed back to the tower,” Neville said. “She hasn’t said anything, but I think this stuff with the Heir and the Chamber is really bothering her. She looked up what happened in the war, and I think she’s freaking out.”

“You mean the muggle-baiting?” Harry asked. He’d seen some of those articles in old newspapers.

“And massacres,” Blaise said. “You know I am a believer in teaching Dark Arts so they will be handled responsibly, but what happened in the UK… It horrified the world. It was unforgivable.”

“But the world didn’t send any help,” Neville said bitterly.

“We were still recovering from Grindelwald.”

“It seems like the world is going from Dark Lord to Dark Lord,” Harry said. “Why?”

Blaise sighed and gave Neville a sidelong look before answer. “Because good people want part of what these Dark Lords are offering and they’re willing to accept the other parts to get it.”

“So, murder and torture are acceptable side effects?” Neville asked. He looked on the verge of tears.

“Absolutely not,” Blaise said. “That’s why I called what they did massacres and horrific. But people feel shut out of the political system, and that makes them irrational.”

“It makes them evil,” Neville said.

Blaise’s expression was full of sympathy. “It does,” he agreed. But evil is more than the Dark Arts or even Dark Lords. I suspect evil is in that classroom claiming to be a hero standing against the Dark.” Blaise looked back at Lockhart’s door, and when Neville did the same, he got a wry expression on his face.

“You might be right about that.”

Harry woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. He was nervous, mainly at the thought of disappointing Professor Snape. The man had been so angry and waspish lately, and Harry didn’t want to let him down. Everyone knew he had a huge rivalry with McGonagall in Gryffindor, so this match mattered.

As eleven o’clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Hermione and Neville were absent. They claimed they had no interest in the match, but Harry worried that she was still scared to be in a crowd where anyone might be a psychopath trying to drive muggle-borns out of the school. However, Blaise, Vincent, Millicent and even Nott had settled in the front of the Slytherin section. All of them except Nott waved as the Slytherin team took the field.

Draco grinned at Harry before slapping Gregory on the arm. “Right then, get into the air, all of you,” Flint ordered. He had already drilled them on strategy, which seemed to involve a lot of fouling and suggestions that Harry fly literal circles around the Gryffindor Seeker who was simply bad. The boy couldn’t see a quaffel flying at his face. And Angela had a Gryffindor habit of flying to the rescue of any teammate being tormented. So if Harry could lure her away, the Gryffindor team would be even more incapable of winning.

Harry would rather find the snitch as fast as possible and get the game over with, but Flint liked to humiliate his enemies, and Harry liked to avoid annoying much larger and more experienced upperclassmen.

Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff sported red and gold scarves and Gryffindor banners, but Harry had expected that. Slytherin house supported them by soundly booing the Gryffindor team when they appeared on the field. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stared and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch. “Three… two… one…”

With a roar from the crowds to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the snitch. The Gryffindor seeker was flying a slow loop around the field squinting at every corner, but Harry’s strategy was to watch the whole field, his eyes slightly unfocused as he searched for movement. Nothing moved like a snitch. One of the twins shot under him, chasing after a heavy black bludger. He had almost caught it when it changed course and came pelting toward Harry. Harry avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

“Close one, Harry,” said George, his club still in hand, but Gregory and Lucian Bole flew right at George so fast that George had to dart away to avoid a collision. “We’ve got your back,” Gregory called.

“Oy! I didn’t even hit that ball!” George objected. As if to prove George’s words, the bludger changed direction midair and shot straight for Harry again.

Harry dropped to quickly avoid it, and Lucian hit it toward George’s face. Instead of reaching its target, the bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry’s head.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. He could hear the bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to unseat as many people as possible…

Fred Weasley was in front of him, his bat raised, and for a horrible moment, Harry thought Fred was swinging at him. He ducked, but then Fred hit the bludger with all his might; it was knocked off course.

“Gotcha!” Fred yelled happily as Bole and Gregory reached their position. But Fred was wrong; as thought it was magnetically attracted to Harry, the bludger pelted after him once more and harry was forced to fly off at full speed with not only the Slytherin beaters but the Gryffindor ones covering his back.

It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses, and he silently thanked Narcissa for buying all the charms that would fit on quidditch glasses. Over the speaker, he heard Lee Jordan say, “Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero—” but Harry didn’t have time to celebrate. The mad bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air. Gregory and Bole covered him on the right while Fred took his left and George flew just below him, and all four of them had to work to keep the bludger away from Harry.

“Land!” Bole yelled. “Land now!”

“But the snitch!” Harry called back. He would rather face a mad bludger than Flint and Snape.

“Someone’s tampered — with this — bludger,” Fred grunted, swinging his bat with all his might as it launched a new attack on Harry.

“We can take a time out,” Bole said. “Now land.”

Harry aimed his broom at the ground and Madam Hooch’s whistle rang out. Harry raced toward her, trusting the four beaters to protect him from the mad bludger.

“What’s going on?” Flint asked as he strode over. “Potter, why aren’t you in the air?”

Harry was ready to launch into the air to avoid Flint’s displeasure when Bole landed next to him. “The bludger is trying to murder Harry,” he said without a hint of exaggeration or humor. Flint’s eyes grew large.

Gregory was out of breath when he landed with Draco right behind him. “It won’t leave Harry alone. Someone must have sabotaged it.” He glared at the Gryffindor team, which seemed unfair because even Harry had to admit that sabotaging a ball was more Slytherin than Gryffindor.

Madam Hooch and Professor Snape were walking toward them. “Listen,” said Harry to the two Slytherin beaters as they came nearer and nearer, “with you two flying around me all the time, the only way I’m going to catch the snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue bludger.”

“Did you hear the part where the ball is trying to kill you?” Draco demanded in a shriek.

“I’m not going to forfeit the match!” Harry cried. He’d grown up the least popular student with Dudley as a cousin. He was a veteran of some of the cruelest dodgeball games ever seen on the playground and he’d survived Harry Hunting. He wasn’t going to lose his team the game the very first time he took to the air.

Madam Hooch joined them. “Ready to resume play?” she asked Flint. The Gryffindor team was huddled up several yards away, and the twins were watching Harry with concern.

“No!” Draco blurted before Flint could say anything. “The bludger has been tampered with to target Harry. It’s trying to kill him.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry said. “I can outfly it, and I’ll find the snitch.”

Madam Hootch raised her whistle, but before she could blow it, Professor Snape physically shoved her to one side. “Are you risking your life for a game?” His voice was low and dangerous and all the hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. Draco crossed his arms and looked smugly satisfied. Prat.

“Um, no?” Harry guessed.

Professor Snape’s expression grew darker. “Rolanda, capture the bludgers and let us see if the charms have been corrupted.”

“The rules don’t allow—”

Madam Hooch swallowed when Snape turned a hate-filled look toward her. “Perhaps we can reschedule the game,” she admitted.

“Perhaps we can,” Snape said softly but with no less malice in his tone.

Headmaster Dumbledore was now walking across the field with Professor McGonagall as the rain began to fall more heavily. “Are you forfeiting, Severus?” she asked in a tone Harry usually associated with Draco.

Snape practically growled at her. “I am protecting my students from faulty equipment.”

She stopped. “Faulty equipment?” McGonagall looked at Madam Hooch who shrugged. “Really, Severus. I didn’t think you would stoop to participating in your student’s machinations.”

Snape’s expression grew so cold that the Slytherin students retreated a step.

“Professor,” George said, “we were up there. The bludger won’t be turned away from Harry. It’s going for his head and his head alone.”

“It’s turning midair to target him,” Fred added. Finally McGonagall and Dumbledore looked concerned.

“Rolanda, capture the bludgers,” the headmaster ordered. “A quick check will tell us if they’ve been tampered with, and if so, we will reschedule the game for next week.”

With a nod, Madam Hooch pulled out the ball box and enlarged it to proper size with a tap of her wand. One of the bludgers and the quaffle flew down immediately. Snitches didn’t like to be penned, so it was always tricky to put one away without catching it, but more importantly, the second bludger didn’t respond.

Madam Hooch and Dumbledore exchanged a concerned look. Madam Hooch tapped the box with her wand again, and everyone searched the air for the last bludger. A millisecond of whistle warned Harry before WHAM.

The bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he watched as Snape pulled his wand and cast a spell that turned the bludger into black dust that hovered for a moment before the rain washed it out of the air. Harry stumbled sideways and then he was caught in a black cloak and lowered to the ground as he struggled with a need to pass out.

His arm was hanging at a very strange angle. Riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of shouting. Rain continued to patter against the ground, but Snape’s cloak shielded him from both rain and from the people who rushed onto the field.

“Not to worry. I know how to fix this,” a voice said.

“If you raise your wand to one of my snakes, you will have no hand left to use one ever again,” Snape threatened.

“Now, Severus, I’m sure Gilderoy is only trying to help,” Dumbledore said.

“He can help by leaving my students alone.”

Harry tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.

“I don’t want a photo of this, Colin,” he said loudly.

“Mr. Creevey, if you do not understand respecting others, I will be happy to explain the concept over a month of detentions.” Clearly Professor Snape was even more angry that usual, but Harry was a little grateful. Madam Pomfrey pushed Severus aside to kneel beside Harry.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Um, my broken arm?” Harry had thought that was obvious.

“Anywhere else?”

“No.”

She pulled out a bottle of Skeleton-gro and held it out. Weirdly Snape took it and examined the bottle, even sniffing it before he handed it to Harry. “This will hurt,” she warned him, but Harry figured it couldn’t hurt worse than the broken arm. He was almost right. It burned Harry’s mouth and throat as it went down, making him cough and splutter. Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey immobilized his arm, forcing the bones straight while Harry wavered in and out of consciousness.

“Well, I suppose we can reschedule for next week,” McGonagall said. “All of you, back to the castle. It isn’t as if you’ve never seen a broken bone before. Scoot.” She started herding students away, but Harry’s friends sans Hermione and Neville huddled around him, as did the Slytherin team.

“Who cursed the bludger?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know,” Snape answered, his voice sharp. Harry had a feeling that when Snape figured out the answer to that, someone was going to regret their life choices. However, right now he didn’t care about who wanted him dead as much as enduring the pain without humiliating himself. Millicent grabbed his good hand and held it tightly while Madam Pomfrey levitated him toward the castle. Harry was just grateful for all his friends. Draco and Gregory and Blaise and Millicent and even Bole and Warrington were all walking around him like an honor guard. Even Nott and Vincent were here. It made Harry feel safe.

Chapter Eighteen

Hours and hours later, Harry was asleep in his bed when he woke in pitch blackness. His curtains were drawn, and he never drew his curtains. He listened for Blaise, but there was an eerie silence right before he was horrified to realize someone was touching his arm.

“Get off!” he said loudly. Even though he didn’t have his wand, he cried “Lumos,” and his magic responded, casting a harsh light on the house elf standing on the edge of his bed. It took Harry a second to recognize him from the manor. “Dobby?!”

The house-elf’s goggling tennis ball eyes were peering at Harry, a single tear running down his long, pointed nose.

“Harry Potter came back to school,” he whispered miserably. “Dobby tried and tried to send Harry Potter away. Sir, why didn’t Harry Potter go home when he couldn’t get through to the train?”

Harry sat up. “What are you doing here? And what do you know about me getting trapped on the muggle side of King’s Cross?”

Dobby’s lip trembled and Harry was seized by a sudden suspicion. “It was you!” he said slowly. “You stopped the barrier from letting me through.”

“Indeed yes, sir,” said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously, ears flapping. “Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and pushed his trunk through the barrier before sealing the gateway and Dobby had to iron his hands afterward” — he showed Harry ten long, bandaged fingers— “but Dobby didn’t care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, but then Lady Malfoy be calling me to take trunks through to the other side because everyone found another way to get to the train.”

He was rocking backward and forward, shaking his ugly head. “Dobby was so upset he let his master’s dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir…”

Harry slumped back onto his pillows. Dobby belonged to the Malfoys, and if someone was abusing the elf, it would be Mr. Malfoy, Harry was sure of it. While Mr. Malfoy was kind to Harry, he wasn’t a kind man in general. But Harry didn’t know how he could help because Mr. Malfoy wouldn’t listen to Harry. If anything, criticizing him would make Mr. Malfoy even meaner. He was like Draco that way.

Dobby blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that Harry had to feel some sympathy.

“Why d’you wear that thing, Dobby?” he asked curiously. He’d seen other Malfoy elves and while they wore strange things—skirts made of tea towels and jackets cut from upholstery, they weren’t filthy like this. Harry couldn’t imagine any of the Malfoys letting a creature this dirty touch their food.

“This, sir?” said Dobby, plucking at the pillowcase. “It’s a mark of the house-elf’s enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever.”

“Do you want to leave the family?”

Dobby nodded, his eyes watering more. “More than anything, Harry Potter, sir.”

“I could talk to Narcissa,” Harry said. He wasn’t sure if that would help because families tended to hold onto their elves since the creatures tended to know all their secrets, but if Dobby was so unhappy that he was doing things that the Malfoys wouldn’t want, he might be able to talk Narcissa into letting him go.

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said, “Do not worry about Dobby. Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his bludger would be enough to make—”

“Your bludger?” said Harry, angry once more. “What do you mean, your bludger? You made that bludger try to kill me?”

“Not kill you, sir, never kill you!” said Dobby, shocked. “Dobby wants to save Harry Potter’s life! Better sent home, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!”

“Oh, is that all? I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you wanted me sent home in pieces?”

“Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!” Dobby groaned, more tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. “If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, we dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir,” he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. “but mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind since you triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought that the dark days would never end, sir….”

“That was more my parents than me,” Harry objected. He was beginning to wonder if there was something seriously wrong with Draco’s elf.

Dobby continued as if Harry hadn’t said anything. “And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more—”

Dobby froze, horrorstruck, then grabbed Harry’s water glass from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight.

“Dobby!” Harry cried as he threw himself forward. When he looked over the edge of the bed, he saw Dobby sitting on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and covered in tiny cuts.

A second later, Dobby crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, “Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby…”

“Don’t hurt yourself!” Harry ordered.

“Dobby must. Dobby had said things that his master would not want said. Dobby is very, very bad elf.” When Dobby started punching himself in the side of the head, Harry grabbed the elf’s bony wrist.

“Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen—go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter should not be here. It’s too dangerous.”

“Why is it dangerous?” Harry asked. “Has the Chamber been opened? Who opened it? Who opened it last time? Was it Tom? Was it the Dark Lord?”

“Dobby can’t, sir, Dobby can’t, Dobby mustn’t tell!” squealed the elf. “Go home, Harry Potter, go home!”

“I’m not going anywhere!” said Harry fiercely. “Hermione is muggle-born and she’s already afraid. Is she in danger? The person who opened the Chamber, are they angry at muggles or muggle-borns?”

“Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!” moaned Dobby in a ind of miserable ecstasy. “So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not—”

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. “Oh no. Dobby is too late. Dobby must go!” breathed the elf, terrified. There was a loud crack, and Harry’s fist was suddenly clenched on thin air.

“Too late for what?” Harry asked the empty space where Dobby had been standing. With a sigh, he pushed his curtains opened. While the lake was dark, it was still a mass of shifting shadow and darkness unlike the absolute absence of light that existed when the curtains were drawn, and now that Harry had pulled back the curtains, he could hear Blaise’s wheezing sort of snore. Part of Harry wanted to get up and demand answers from Draco right now, but Draco wasn’t the nicest sort when he was woken, and if Mr. Malfoy was mistreating the elf, going to Draco might get Dobby punished more.

Harry considered going to Professor Snape, but he didn’t think the man would consider a distressed elf any reason to concern himself, and he’d been so disagreeable in the last week or so that Harry didn’t want to risk making him more angry. Realizing that he didn’t have a way to help Dobby right now, Harry resolved to talk to Narcissa privately as soon as possible.

Maybe he could visit Malfoy Manor over Christmas break this year. Professor Snape had a sort-of relationship with Aunt Petunia. At the very least they had bonded over being annoyed by Harry, although Harry assumed Snape was exaggerating his aggravation to make Harry’s aunt and uncle happy. But maybe Snape could get him permission to leave on break.

Harry had never had a real Christmas where he woke up and hurried downstairs to have breakfast with a family and open presents. If he stayed with Draco, Draco would get tons more presents than him, but unlike Dudley, Draco would share those presents and Harry would get plenty of gifts for himself. That was a nice thought.

Harry settled back down under the covers, determined to talk to Narcissa later.

When Harry woke up on Sunday morning, the last of the pain in his arm was gone. He bent his elbow this way and that, but there wasn’t even a twinge of pain. Seeing Blaise awake, Harry offered a quick, “Good morning.”

“Did you hear the news?” Blaise asked, his eyes aglow with the joy of good gossip.

“I just woke up, so no.”

“Colin Creevey was petrified last night.”

“What? How do you know?” Harry demanded.

Blaise got a mysterious expression on his face. “I have my ways.”

Harry suspected his ways involved eavesdropping spells, but since Harry benefited from Blaise’s unscrupulous ways, he didn’t push matters. “Is he going to be okay?” Harry wondered if Colin’s petrifaction had anything to do with Dobby’s appearance or his sudden disappearance last night.

“I assume so. Word is that McGonagall and Dumbledore took him to the infirmary late last night. And whatever petrified him, absolutely melted his camera—so no picture. Do you think it was a spell or this ‘queen’ that the snakes keep talking about?”

Harry sighed. He wished he had a way to tell Hermione about the snakes without making her more suspicious. She would have put these clues together already. But she was so smart that if he showed up with information literally no one else had, she would discover his secret. He trusted her. He did. But she was Gryffindor and they didn’t understand the value of keeping information close to the vest. Harry had seen that with Ron and even with Neville.

When Neville had agreed with Harry and Blaise to hide information from Ron, he had suffered several bouts of guilt, even though the information that Quirrell was after the stone was really none of Ron’s business. Apparently giving away information was a Gryffindor thing. Harry didn’t get it. So he changed the subject.

“Blaise, is there any way for a house elf to tell his family’s secrets to someone else or betray his family?”

Blaise gave Harry an odd look. “Why?” Suspicion colored his voice.

Harry shrugged. “Pretend to believe me when I say it’s hypothetical.”

Blaise laughed. “Only for you, Potter. So, how far off the reservation is this house elf that might not exist?”

“He’s doing things his owner would hate, but then he’s punishing himself for doing it. He ironed his own hands.”

Blaise winced. “That’s not right.”

“No, it’s not. So what would make a house elf act like that?”

Blaise pulled a leg under him and pursed his lips. “If the elf has a conflict of interest and feels like they need to serve two people that are in conflict, that might happen.” He didn’t sound sure.

“Would an elf develop loyalty to me because he believes I banished the Dark Lord and he felt like the Dark Lord treated other magical species like vermin and I stopped that?” At least Dobby seemed to think Harry had stopped others from being treated poorly.

“It shouldn’t work like that. House elf magic runs in families. An elf should only feel an obligation to someone connected to their family. It’s blood magic.”

“Could the Potters have left elves behind? There are two Potter houses that got destroyed. There may have been elves there.”

Blaise shook his head. “First, if there were elves, they would have stayed with you. You’re the last Potter. Your blood would have called to theirs.”

“Unless someone stopped them,” Harry said. He thought about how Dumbledore had left him at the Dursley’s with nothing more than a note and then had never made sure the Dursley’s treated him well. He might have wanted to keep elves away.

Blaise laughed. “Sometimes I forget you weren’t raised in the Wizarding world, and then you say something like that. No one can keep an elf away from their family. No one. You would have to kill the elf to keep them away, and given some of the things you’ve said about your Muggle family, no elf attached to your family would allow them near you. An elf would have taken over raising you themselves.

Harry threw himself backward, sprawling across his bed. So much for that theory.

“Besides,” Blaise added, “The Potter family is not one of the great houses, and generally only those have house elves. Most elves are attached to magical places like Hogwarts or Ilvermorny or Uagadou. I’ve heard that Japan has a number of magical shrines where they live. But elves that have attached themselves to families generally only attach to ancient families. Some say they have magic that lets them know which families will continue for generations. Apparently, the Black family elves started attaching themselves to the girls who married out of the family in the last generation or two, which some say proves that the elves knew the family was coming to an end. Other people believe the elves will only attach themselves to families who have large estates that can support magic.

Harry sat up. “But my family goes back to the Peverells. They’re one of the oldest magical families in England, up there with the Olivanders.”

“But the Peverell line died out, leaving only daughters, and you know how families in England see that.”

“Hermione might have a point about the sexism,” Harry said. “I don’t see what the big deal is about a son carrying on a name. I hate that people judge me without knowing me because of my name. If I ever got married, I might take my wife’s name.”

“I would pay to see Draco’s face if he heard you say that.”

Harry threw a blank scroll at Blaise’s head.

Blaise ducked. “I’m not kidding. Actually, most of England would lose their minds.”

“Your mother is the head of house Zabini.”

“My family is Italian. We have a long tradition of powerful witches and seers.”

“Maybe Hermione and Millicent should move to Italy.”

“We also have a long tradition of driving out foreigners who like to complain. Food poisoning is a powerful tool, and if that fails, there is always actual poison.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Maybe Blaise hadn’t helped with the Dobby issue, but he had made Harry feel better. Now Harry just needed to find an excuse to talk to Narcissa. Maybe he could write her and ask if they could talk over the winter break. He had to get some sort of help before Dobby’s attempts to save him got him killed.

Or before it made Slytherin lose a quidditch match, which would be pretty much the same thing only Flint would murder him after Professor Snape tortured him for a while.

Chapter Nineteen

Severus walked to the headmaster’s office. He wished he could simply leave, but Albus had grown entirely too aware of Severus’s movements since his mark had darkened. He believed the Dark Lord would call Severus soon, but after Severus had targeted Quirrell, he wasn’t sure he still had the Dark Lord’s favor.

When Severus walked into the office, he immediately had Albus’s full attention. “Has he called you?”

“No, but Lucius asked me to come to dinner.”

Albus’s hand tightened on his quill until it bent and left a blotch on the parchment he’d been reviewing. “Is it possible Tom has taken refuge with him?”

Severus considered his answer. “It is possible, but I believe he would want to gather his more loyal Death Eaters first. Lucius always put his family before the Dark cause.”

“I have always felt it interesting which individuals you choose to assume the best of and which you refuse to forgive.” Albus raised an eyebrow.

Severus refused to rise to the taunt, especially when he could just as easily point out that Albus had always forgiven his Gryffindors much more quickly than Slytherins who committed the same sins. “I expect to be back by midnight.”

Albus leaned back. “He is making political moves.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Harry is getting more and more enmeshed in Lucius web. I believe he gave Lucius a copy of his Gringotts accounts, and he is arguing that I am too busy for all my duties.”

“He knows you’re the boy’s magical guardian?” Severus was surprised that Potter would give that sort of information to Lucius. He had thought the boy had some sense. On the other hand, both Lucius and Narcissa had gone out of their way to make him feel welcome. Severus understood the allure of that sort of acceptance. Severus wished he could step in and offer some sort of sanctuary, but he couldn’t. He was too closely tied to the Dark Lord.

Perhaps he could find a way to get the Dowager Longbottom to take an interest in him. That was particularly difficult for him because the Longbottoms were a bastion of the light. Sure, the most recent Potters sided with the light, but they were historically neutral. If Severus had friendly relations with a Longbottom, he would never be accepted into the Dark Lord’s service again. That meant he couldn’t ask the dowager to get involved, and neither Albus nor Minerva would.

“He has only assumptions, but I have never seen him push Cornelius so hard. He is risking his political position in an attempt to damage my position.”

Severus carefully didn’t point out that he had warned Albus of exactly this outcome. Albus had made too many mistakes with Potter, and the lack of health checks, the failure to remove juvenile blocks on his magic, and his lack of vaccinations were the tip of the iceberg of neglect. The Malfoys also had evidence of that neglect. When Severus didn’t say anything, Albus sighed.

“Be careful.”

“I always am, headmaster.” When Albus was silent, Severus left. He had to walk to the edge of the Hogwart wards before he could apparate to Malfoy Manor. Lucius was waiting for him at the end of the walk that lead to the manor’s front doors.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Severus said. He studied Lucius, searching for any sign that Lucius had returned to the Dark Lord’s service. He didn’t see any of the smug triumph he would expect if their Lord had come to Lucius first. If anything, he looked nervous.

“I can walk you to the house. Narcissa has an elaborate dinner planned since we don’t have to worry about Draco’s lack of patience for multi-course meals.”

Severus cocked an eyebrow, but he followed without comment. This was the first time he had seen Lucius since Samhain night, but neither of them mentioned the Dark Mark as they entered the manor.

“Severus,” Narcissa said warmly.

“Narcissa.”

“After dinner, I have something to share with you in the pensieve. The Dowager Longbottom is going to regret challenging young Harry for many years to come. I’ve never seen her so frustrated.” She smiled in delight.

Severus gave Lucius a sidelong look. “And I’m sure you had nothing to do with Potter being quoted in the newspaper.”

Lucius slapped Severus on the arm. “I never thought I would owe Dumbledore for creating the myth of the savior of the wizarding world.”

Severus settled onto a couch in the drawing room where Narcissa had led them. “Speaking of which, should we discuss the ways in which the wizarding world’s savior might have failed to achieve the success Dumbledore has been touting for years?” Severus touched his left arm. Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a look. Severus studied them. Narcissa was worried, but he couldn’t identify Lucius’s emotion.

“Have you heard from our Lord?” Lucius asked.

Severus leaned back and accepted a drink from a house elf. “I have not. Have you?”

“No, but I’m sure he has plans.”

“No doubt,” Severus agreed. Given how Severus had treated Quirrell, torture and revenge probably featured on that plan.

“I need to show him my loyalty,” Lucius said. That was a concerning opening. While Lucius never had a stomach for violence, the moment he was challenged to prove himself, he turned as depraved as Bellatrix.

“And how will you do that?”

Lucius’s smile turned vicious. “I’ve already started. The old fool has left himself vulnerable. Cornelius is listening to me when I explain how Dumbledore has too many jobs to do any of them well. The Potter accounts are in utter disarray and the medical records of the boy’s neglect have done more damage than any plot I could have come up with on my own.”

“Our Lord always insisted that he would handle the boy. If you involve him in your plots or put him in danger, he will not thank you for it,” Severus warned. He hated that his Vow might require him to raise a wand against his friend and leave Draco without a father. He couldn’t imagine any other future at this point.

“Lucius wouldn’t target Harry,” Narcissa said with some ice in her voice. Severus was not the only one in a difficult position. Given Narcissa’s ability to control her family, he could only hope that Narcissa’s goodwill would improve Harry’s odds of survival. However, when the Dark Lord decided to actually make his move, only Dumbledore would be able to keep the boy alive.

Severus sipped his drink and waited for Lucius to reveal his latest scheme.

Lucius sat across from Severus and leaned forward. “I have to show our Lord that I’m faithful, but more than that, I must prove that I always had faith that he would return.”

So this was about Lucius’s machinations in the Wizengamot and his vehement denial of the Dark Lord. Severus raised an eyebrow, unsure of the reason for the invitation to dinner. Severus couldn’t help him with that.

“Did you always believe he was returning?” Lucius asked.

“Of course.” Severus had cursed the fact, but he had never doubted.

Narcissa rested a hand on Lucius’s arm. “I believe I should check on our dinner while you speak,” she said. “Severus.” She graced him with a smile and then swept out of the room.

Severus took another sip of his expensive whiskey and waited.

“When it looked like the fool would get the Muggle Protection Act to pass, I began to pass my Darkest books on to others. Our Lord was a great friend to my father, and he will know if I have purged my library. It will make me weak in his eyes.”

Severus continued to sip, and suddenly Lucius laughed. “You always were a cold-hearted bastard, Severus. That’s why he always favored you. Always.” A ghost of resentment crossed his face.

“So far you have not said anything to suggest I could help.”

“You could.”

“I assumed.”

Lucius laughed again. “Where is that thirteen year old boy desperate to help older Slytherins?”

“He grew up,” Severus said dryly. That maturity had come far, far too late, but he eventually had.

“One of my very darkest books I gave to someone in order to undermine their authority. However, I failed to take into account that some people are inadequate parents.”

“In what way?”

Lucius thunked his own glass down hard enough that some whiskey sloshed over the sides. “I put a cursed book into Ginerva Weasley’s possessions, assuming her father would find it before she left for Hogwarts. I check Draco’s school books and supplies each year, just as I checked Harry Potter’s since he was at the manor. Apparently if one has enough children to field a quidditch team, one no longer feels it necessary to provide such oversight.”

“Cursed book?” Severus’s blood ran cold. He knew what sort of horrors Abraxis and their Lord had dabbled in, and a curse from their hands could be deadly indeed. Severus’s suspicious mind immediately wondered what connection there was between the petrification of the Creevey boy and this dark artifact.

“I do not know what enchantments are on it, but if our Lord is back, I must have it back in my library,” Lucius said with a touch of desperation that might be either genuine or an affectation.

Severus considered the problem. If he told Albus, he would be able to confiscate the book, but if it was a rare book on Dark magic, Albus would then have the power to destroy it. Too much magic had already been lost due to his belief that no one other than himself could be trusted with power. In addition, Lucius would never again trust Severus.

On the other hand, if Severus helped Lucius, he could cement his position as being on the side of the Dark. With the Dark Lord returning, that was more important than ever. Dumbledore had publicly spoken for him in the Wizengamot, the Boy-Who-Lived was in his house, and Severus had been forced to temper his nastier insults toward the house of lions because of Potter’s friendships with Granger and Longbottom and Albus’s affection for the Weasleys.

So many of Severus’s plans for this day had been undone when Potter landed in Slytherin.

“Do you want me to search for the book?”

Lucius grinned and raised his glass in Severus’s direction. “I will be there at Hogwarts with you. I simply require some assistance.”

Severus sat up. “What?”

Lucius downed his whiskey. “Did you know there was an old law on the books that the Ministry could assign someone to review the headmaster’s decisions if the Minister decided that the children’s best interests were no longer being served?”

Severus blinked at Lucius, not able to grasp the full implications of what he was saying.

“The history scores have been abysmal for decades, a quick bit of research reveals that the Defense Against Dark Arts scores are only artificially bolstered by you and Professor Flitwick, and the finances are in dire trouble. Last year a troll invaded and multiple students ended the year in the hospital wing, and this year a student was petrified. It was not difficult to convince Cornelius that he has to intervene before the headmaster’s habit of doing jobs halfway costs the nation more than we can afford. Therefore, I am the new High Inquisitor assigned to Hogwarts to review staffing and policy.” Lucius looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“High Inquisitor?”

Lucius waved a hand. “The title is archaic, but then so is the law. I never would have convinced Cornelius to invoke the law if not for two factors. The guardianship of Harry Potter proves that the headmaster can no longer keep track of details and the number of foreign students attending Hogwarts and bringing their tuition money with them has fallen to an all time low. At one point the foreign students paid enough to run the entire school, but in recent years, the Ministry has devoted more and more tax money to supporting the school. There’s even some talk of charging students tuition.”

“You’re coming to Hogwarts to challenge the headmaster directly?” Severus could not imagine a more terrifying possibility.

“I’m the natural choice. I’m already on the Board of Governors, and as I pointed out to Cornelius, having Draco there makes me uniquely motivated to ensure that the U.K. offers the most comprehensive and impressive education in the world. You must admit that we have fallen from that pinnacle in recent decades. So, tell me, what changes would you make to the potions program?”

Unable to find his voice, Severus stared at a very smug Lucius.

“I could get you a teaching assistant—move potions preparation into the curriculum for Herbology—redefine potions as a subject for third-year and older only. I could do many things to make your life easier, Severus. Our Lord asked you to take a job you hated, and you have served him and our cause well for all these years, but think of how I could ease that burden. All I ask in return is that you help me retrieve the book.”

Severus rubbed his face. He would have to tell Albus about Lucius’s newest schemes, although he would need to alter Lucius’s motivations somewhat. No doubt Albus would believe that Lucius was desperate to make moves against him in order to prove that he was as loyal as those Death Eaters who ended up in Azkaban. “And you are not doing this on our Lord’s orders?” Severus checked.

“If I had heard from the Dark Lord, I would have contacted you immediately, old friend. I know how much you looked up to him, and while you might not have been able to see it, I know how much the Dark Lord favored you. If I had any idea where our Lord was, I would have taken you to his side immediately.”

Severus scoffed. “The Dark Lord never favored me.”

“Other than you, we could all see he did. It drove Bellatrix to despair that no matter how many mudbloods or muggles she tortured, the Dark Lord would still look to you first in every meeting. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t called you to his side.” Lucius gave Severus a suspicious look.

“I am too close to the headmaster. Contacting me could expose his plans.”

Lucius shook his head. “The fool won’t even know our Lord is back until it is too late.”

Severus looked at Lucius for a time before he said slowly, “There are over a dozen marked Death Eaters in Azkaban. Every one of their marks will have turned as dark as our own. I’m sure the guards contacted the headmaster the moment that happened.”

Lucius frowned before shaking his head. “I checked the Ministry records. There’s no record of anything strange happening on Samhain.”

“I trust the headmaster to have his spies and informants in place far more than a trust the Ministry or Cornelius Fudge. The man is useless.”

“True,” Lucius admitted, “but he is a useful sort of useless. And with my new access to first Harry Potter and now Hogwarts, we have a chance to use Cornelius’s authority against our old enemy. The day may come when you get to dance on his grave, Severus.”

Severus didn’t say anything. He sipped his whiskey and considered how this changed the difficult tap dance he was performing between these two groups. First Harry Potter had changed the political landscape and now Lucius was. Severus was growing increasingly concerned about how unsteady the ground was growing. How was he to keep Harry alive was he was beginning to doubt his ability to save his own life?