lomonaaeren

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Chapter Twenty-Nine—The Violence of Their Response

Narcissa waits in the small café off Diagon Alley where she told Skeeter to be at eleven o’clock. Narcissa arrived at ten-thirty, just to make sure that Skeeter didn’t set up some kind of trap. But she can find no familiar faces, and the spells she cast detected no Animagi, no illusions, no one hiding under an Invisibility Cloak or Disillusionment Charm, no Polyjuice Potion in the bloodstream of anyone within eighteen meters of her, and no runic or ritual traps.

There might be something other than that Skeeter was clever enough to create and Narcissa not clever enough to look for, but she truly doubts it.

At eleven on the dot, Skeeter steps out of the Floo in the café. Narcissa smiles a little, and makes sure that small, gentle smile is the only one visible on her lips as Skeeter fluffs dust and soot off her cloak and looks around. She perks up when she sees Narcissa and teeters over on high heels even more absurd than those she usually wears.

“My dear Narcissa. May I call you Narcissa?” Skeeter doesn’t wait for a confirmation, babbling on smugly. “I was so enchanted when you told me that you wanted to meet to discuss Harry Potter! I’ve been trying to get some close and personal access to him for ages, simply ages, and to know that the mother of one of his school-aged friends was reaching out to me personally—”

“Do sit down, Rita.”

Skeeter does, simpering all the while. “Of course you may call me by my first name, of course! What are informalities between such dear friends?”

Narcissa half-smiles, and waits until Skeeter is firmly planted in her chair. Then she taps her wand on her knee, igniting the ritual trap she’s put around the table with runes made out of salt into silvery fire.

Skeeter’s eyes widen, but she digs her Quick-Quotes Quill out of her clutch and titters. “Narcissa, darling. You could have put up anti-eavesdropping spells if you were so insistent on keeping this conversation private!”

“I could,” Narcissa says with a smile that she knows is charming, and which Skeeter looks at a little too long. Well, isn’t that interesting. “But I wanted to be absolutely sure that no one could overhear us. And that no little surprises you might have planted on your clothing could pick up anything, either.”

Skeeter’s mouth droops. “Recording charms? You suspected me of using them?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Tricks of the trade, I believe you once said?”

If Skeeter recognizes the phrase that she used when Narcissa wrote her a letter years ago about the way she portrayed the Malfoy family in one article, she doesn’t react. “I don’t use them unless I need to,” Skeeter says, a gentle reprimand. “I didn’t anticipate I’d need them for a conversation with such a good friend as you are.”

“You might notice the runes on the left side of the circle,” Narcissa says politely. “I believe you once described yourself as a devotee of runecraft?”

“That I am, that I am,” Skeeter says jovially, even as she leans over and looks at the runes that are designed to contain an Animagus and force her back into human form. When she sits up, her face is a little pale, but she still taps the quill on the table and smiles. “You seem eager for my company.”

“I am. I had a message to deliver to you about Harry Potter, as my letter says.”

Skeeter seems to have decided that Narcissa perhaps plans to keep her word about that, and she can ignore the trap ritual and runes. She leans forwards breathlessly. “Yes?”

Narcissa smiles. “Stay away from him. Don’t write about him. Don’t mention his name in your articles. Don’t talk about him at all. It would be best if you don’t mention him to your photographer, or other writers at the Daily Prophet, or friends you talk to, just in case you’re tempted to elaborate. From now on, you’ll ignore him.”

Skeeter sighs. “Dear Narcissa, the press is free, and that is the best thing about it. People have a right to know what’s going on. And dear Harry is at the center of so many whirlwinds nowadays…do you really think that this is going to keep him safe?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Skeeter snaps, and drops the act. “Harry Potter is the best money-making subject the Prophet’s had in ages. I have no idea why you think I would simply stop writing about him.”

“I called you here to give you the warning and the chance to not be a fool,” Narcissa says. “I thought that, since your writing sometimes shows a modicum of intelligence, you could heed the warning. Do you see that owl?” She nods to the barn owl sitting on a windowsill of the café, letter tied on its leg, watching her intently.

Skeeter barely turns to look, as though she anticipates Narcissa might lunge across the table at her any second. It’s not a bad sense of paranoia, although she would have been better served to use it on the runes before she sat down. “What about it?”

“It carries a copy of this letter.” Narcissa smooths out a parchment on the table with a flourish. “Do read it. It’s not long.”

Skeeter half-bows her head to read, her eyes still more on Narcissa than the letter. That only lasts for a few moments, and then she sucks in a harsh breath and stares at Narcissa in disbelief.

Narcissa sips her tea and smiles.

“You—you wouldn’t dare inform the Ministry that I’m an illegal Animagus,” Skeeters says, her lips trembling in something that’s only a smile if one has a slightly deranged imagination. “You would have to explain how you knew, and there’s a fine for keeping information like that from the Aurors—”

“Do notice that my name isn’t signed on the letter, Rita dear. And recall that Cornelius is looking for some scandal to divert public attention from the way the Ministry has flipflopped on Mr. Potter. Investigating a prominent reporter who writes about scandal and crime for a scandal could be just what he’s looking for.”

Skeeter’s hand clenches on the table. “I don’t believe you. The owl doesn’t really have a copy of the letter.”

“Then you won’t mind if I lift my hand to signal it to leave, like this—”

“Don’t! Wait!”

Narcissa turns back to Skeeter with a smile. The owl on the windowsill absolutely has a copy of this letter, and she absolutely does plan to send it to Fudge if Skeeter doesn’t cooperate. For long years, knowing about the reporter’s Animagus form was information too valuable to give up, but that’s not the case anymore, especially since Draco wrote to her last week to say he was making up with Harry.

Skeeter’s eyes are bright with hatred. Narcissa simply watches her. It’s likely that Skeeter will try to pen something to lambast Narcissa with, perhaps an article about dear departed Lucius, but the fascination of everyone knowing their favorite reporter was, ah, pestering them will override that. And the Aurors could easily catch up with Skeeter before she publishes anything else.

From the sharp tumble of emotions in Skeeter’s expression, she knows that. She sits back with a long hiss between her teeth. “What do you fucking want?”

“Such language, Rita.” Narcissa takes another sip of her tea, precisely to make Skeeter fume and wait, which she knows and Narcissa knows she knows and she knows Narcissa knows she knows. Such fun. “Exactly what I said. You’ll back off Harry Potter. Don’t write about him, don’t mention him glancingly in another article, don’t talk about him. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Skeeter’s voice soars in a way that makes Narcissa glad her rune trap contains sound. “He’s the—he’s the most famous boy in Britain right now, do you understand how cutting off that line of writing will—”

“I’m sure a woman who managed to become an illegal Animagus and conceal her form for years can manage such a thing,” Narcissa says, with a delicate shrug of her shoulders. “You did for years before he became old enough to attract your notice.”

“What if my editors order me to?”

Narcissa gives her a smile, because she knows Skeeter has spent years writing about whatever she wants, and the Prophet’s editors barely pause to proofread her articles before rushing them into print. “Tell them whatever you want. That you discovered ethics, perhaps. There must be more interesting things to report on than a fifteen-year-old boy.”

“I could report on you.”

“You could. And I could also send my letter to dear Fudge at any time.”

“I don’t have any guarantee that you won’t, even if I stay away from writing about Harry Potter!”

“That’s right,” Narcissa says, and lets her smile widen a little. “You don’t.”

Skeeter looks back and forth between her and the owl. Then she says, “Fine. I’ll give my word that I won’t report on Harry Potter in any way or anything connected to him as long as you give your word that you won’t report my Animagus status to the Ministry.”

Narcissa smiles. “I’ve heard about the oaths that you swore to other people and then managed to find some way to wriggle through a loophole in. I think that good old-fashioned blackmail is what I prefer.”

Skeeter blinks and looks at Narcissa. Her expression is almost assessing, almost enough to conceal her fury. “Remember that when I’m publishing devastating articles about you and your spawn.”

“I’ll think of you in Azkaban, and smile.”

Skeeter stands. Narcissa reaches down and destroys the ritual trap with a single smudge of her foot, which mars the integrity of one of the salt runes and compromises the whole thing. “This isn’t over,” Skeeter murmurs, bending close enough that Narcissa can feel more than hear the buzz of her voice. “I’ll find some way—”

Narcissa drops the smiling mask and watches Skeeter recoil at what she sees. “And know that my return strike will always be more damaging.”

Skeeter is smart enough to turn around and leave without another word. Narcissa watches her go, and sees a few people turn their heads to follow the famous reporter with their eyes. Narcissa goes back to sipping her tea.

At a gesture of her hand, the owl soars over to her, and lands on the table. Narcissa takes the letter away from it and feeds it a bit of the unused sausages she ordered for two in apology.

It’s tempting to simply send the blackmail and remove Skeeter from the board, but Narcissa would much rather keep her in reserve. Perhaps they’ll have a common enemy again one day.

And Narcissa prefers the prey who have to crouch in terror of her uplifted paw to the ones who have been crushed.

She has never completed her Animagus training, not even enough to know what her form would have been, but she rather suspects it would have been feline.

*

“It worked, Harry.”

It’s just a murmur that Pansy gives on her way past him in the common room a week after Harry sent off the envenomed letter to Heliconia, but Harry can see the smile quivering at the corners of Pansy’s mouth, the way her steps are already lighter, and he smiles after her.

“Good news?” Theo murmurs, walking at his side as they leave the common room and head towards the Great Hall.

“I think so. And someone else who won’t turn on me if Vane tries to call for my expulsion again or something equally ridiculous.”

Theo smiles and starts to reply, but then Lion hisses, “Master! Master! Behind you!”

Harry whips around with his wand out. The curse is already heading towards him, something dark red and sharp-edged that he doesn’t know. Harry raises a shield, but he doesn’t know if that’s going to be enough to catch the thing or dissipate its force. Of course, the protections that Severus has laid on him should catch it, but—

Then Theo leaps into the curse’s way.

Harry makes a noise that he can’t define as he watches the curse tear open Theo’s shoulder so that he can see bone, slick through all the blood. Theo crashes to the floor and lies still, panting. It’s the only sound that really strikes Harry’s ears in the intense silence that follows.

Harry looks up.

A seventh-year Slytherin is standing there with his wand out, face still. Harry struggles for his name and manages to remember it after a moment. Burke, Helios Burke. He has blond hair and blue eyes and looks nearly as innocent as Neville if you don’t look at him too closely.

“I didn’t mean to get him,” Burke says. “I was aiming for you. And I’ll tell his father so.” He raises his wand as he orients on Harry again. “Now, I think that I’ll enjoy telling the Dark Lord you’ve been put in your place.”

Harry stands up. His throat is dry. Distantly, he supposes he can understand why someone would think that hurting Harry but not killing him would be an easy way to get into Voldemort’s good graces. They might have to deal with Severus later, but they can’t care about detention next to Voldemort’s favor, and they wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of murdering a fellow student.

Part of Harry sits there and thinks that, shut away somehow behind a bright, slick wall of what feels like ice.

The rest of him is so murderously angry that he can’t think, can’t breathe.

Until he sees the glow of purple light forming at the end of Burke’s wand, and then he moves.

“Come to me,” he hisses, and bright yellow snakes form in the middle of the corridor, popping up like flowers, spreading from wall to wall. Harry steps past Theo, positioning himself so that he and all the snakes are between Theo and Burke. A quick glance downwards reveals that Theo is still conscious and putting pressure on his own wound, so Harry doesn’t have to worry about him bleeding out.

“What do you think you’ll do with the snakes, Potter?”

“Have them bite you,” Harry says simply.

Burke half-shrugs. “Then I’ll stand up the next time that someone calls for your expulsion from the school.”

“That method doesn’t work now, Burke. But I shouldn’t be surprised that you weren’t listening.” The part of Harry that’s behind the wall seems to be feeding him the words, letting him speak as if he’s still sane, not caught on the edge of a hot whirlwind full of hatred. “Forwards,” he adds to the snakes.

They swarm silently, gliding down the corridor with not much more than a faint scraping of scales on stone.

Burke lifts his wand and begins blasting them away. He can’t go nearly fast enough, especially since Harry is casting more and more serpents into being, drawing on his rage to fuel a limitless expansion. He’s light-headed, but he could keep doing this for hours.

Burke howls as the first snake bites him, and although Harry knows it’s probably a dry bite, it still makes him smile. And then other serpents find their targets on Burke’s legs and arms and hands and shoulders, and he begins to scream.

Harry called them into being with venom that wouldn’t kill, but it would strike pain straight into Burke’s nerves.

He wants him to hurt.

“Potter! Potter! I yield!”

Part of Harry wants to keep attacking. Burke hasn’t paid enough yet. But the rest of him seizes his wand hand and makes it sweep back and forth, Vanishing the snakes. Harry stares at Burke and finds that he’s bleeding from half a dozen bites, and cowering with his arms wrapped around his head.

“Get out of here,” Harry whispers. He’s afraid that he’ll feel like hurting him again when he looks down at Theo.

Burke turns and runs back towards the common room.

Harry takes a deep breath and forces himself to turn around. At least the bleeding is under control and Daphne, her face set, has already conjured a floating stretcher for Theo. Theo grimaces but nods when Harry looks at him. “It’s meant to cause a lot of pain and shed a lot of blood,” Theo whispers, his voice rasping wearily. “But I’ve had worse.”

“You stupid idiot.” Harry’s voice is shaking. He doesn’t care, though. The only people here are ones who would never hold it against him. “You didn’t have to jump into the path of the curse. I would have been all right—”

“Yes, I did.”

Harry shakes his head in exasperation and asks Daphne to turn over control of the stretcher to him. He’ll escort his stupid idiot (brave and loyal) friend to the hospital wing.

*

Theo grimaces as he shifts on the hospital bed, and listens to Madam Pomfrey shoo the others out. Then she comes bustling over to him, clucking about the wound in a way that Theo ignores. He already knows what potions she’ll give him.

He did have to jump into the path of that curse. But not for the reasons that Harry thought.

Theo spends a lot of time in shadows and out-of-the-way places, and he’s heard the muttering among the upper-year Slytherins. Some of them are inclined to accept Harry’s protection from Voldemort, especially as word gets around about what Harry did to Pansy’s cousin. But others are plotting to win Voldemort’s favor by showing him what they can do, and what they think they can get away with.

They have to learn that Harry is no weakling, for all his compassion.

Theo knew that seeing him wounded would be one of the few things that could push Harry into an extreme action that would impress those whisperers.

Theo smiles and closes his eyes. He thinks Burke has learned his lesson, but some of the others might not have.

Theo is prepared to take more wounds for the good of the cause, if necessary. He thinks he likes his greater good better than Dumbledore’s.