Chapter Twenty-Nine of 'The Onyx in Radiance'- Reckonings

[lomonaaeren]

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Chapter Twenty-Nine—Reckonings

Here we go, Harry thought as he and Orion stepped into Dumbledore’s office. No lies. Tell him the truth.

“I have been hearing some serious accusations about you, Mr. Potter.”

Widen your eyes. A little, not too much. He’ll see through that and be skeptical that you’re telling the truth after all.

Harry nodded and sat down in the chair across from Dumbledore’s desk. He was uncomfortably aware that Orion was leaning against the wall behind him. And Abraxas was down the corridor, too. They might think he didn’t know about that, but Harry did. He was half-exasperated, half-grateful that they would guard him like this.

On the one hand, it ought to keep Riddle from making too many open moves. On the other hand, it might make Dumbledore uneasy and convinced that Harry was trying to claim the political position in Slytherin House that Riddle had held until recently.

Sure enough, Dumbledore looked as though he would prefer for Orion to leave when he turned back to Harry. At least he hadn’t opened the door to look down the corridor in a way that would suggest he knew anything about Abraxas. “What have you to say to me, Mr. Potter?”

Harry swallowed and thought about how Dumbledore seemed to have always been the one who knew the truth about Riddle, and the only one who wasn’t afraid of him. “Have you always found Tom Riddle to be completely trustworthy, Professor?”

“Well, no,” Dumbledore said, and looked surprised. “But you should know that the rest of the professors do believe him, down to the point of accepting that you started the fight and used a very Dark curse on yourself to make you look like the victim.” He turned to stare at Harry’s left hand. “Mr. Riddle claims this was actually a sacrifice that you made for power, and that you would have sacrificed the younger Mr. Black if he hadn’t stopped you.”

God, what an idiot. Couldn’t he have chosen a more believable lie than that?

But then Harry remembered what Dumbledore had just said about the rest of the staff believing Riddle. His charm and his face and his manner were enough to make the lie less of a problem. And people who had lapped up someone’s lies once wanted to go on believing them. Harry had certainly seen that with the neighbors on Privet Drive who had bought into the Dursleys’ lies about him.

Harry shook his head and reached for the right words. “Sir, Riddle is upset because Orion and I made him swear an oath to leave the younger years alone. He had Alphard in a cage made of power I didn’t recognize, and he said only a sacrifice of pain, not by the caster, could end it. I chose to sacrifice my fingers, yes, but it was to free Alphard.” And I would do it again, he thought fiercely.

Dumbledore’s eyes widened in turn. Harry leaned forwards a little and projected all the sincerity he knew how to project.

He didn’t know if it would make that much difference, when Dumbledore hadn’t believed him about the time travel and probably still thought he was delusional, but it was the best weapon Harry had.

“If I called the younger Mr. Black in here, would he tell the same tale?” Dumbledore asked, stroking his beard.

“Yes.” Harry braced himself. “And I—I didn’t want to really face down Riddle or anything, sir, but I couldn’t let him hurt Alphard. You understand? Not when similar things happened to—” He cut himself off and stared down at his shoes, battling the shame within himself.

It’s not the same thing as telling someone else about the way the Dursleys treated you and expecting them to be sympathetic. It’s using that as a weapon. Go ahead and do it. You would stick your hand in that cage again to save Alphard. You can make Dumbledore think you’re on the verge of succumbing to your own memories.

“My dear boy,” Dumbledore whispered.

It’s working, Harry thought, and had to fight down the impulse to look up at Dumbledore. It would be too soon. He had to let Dumbledore decide that he was seeing a rare sympathetic Slytherin, because Harry was one who acted more like a Gryffindor.

“Of course. I should have thought about the way the circumstances of your childhood would have affected you.” Dumbledore’s voice was soft and gentle, and Harry thought it was the right time to catch his breath and look up.

“I do want to protect people,” Harry said, and tried to sound like someone who was fierce enough to do that but also would appreciate advice. “And I don’t want power. I just want to stop Riddle from hurting people. Yes, you can call Alphard here if you want. And I did want to ask if Riddle had approached you, if he was going around and talking to all the other professors.”

Dumbledore gave the kind of smile Harry remembered seeing on his face when he was dueling Voldemort during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. “He has not.”

Ah-ha, Harry thought, and hoped that he wasn’t smirking or looking too triumphant. He must not have been, because Dumbledore nodded a little as if making up his mind.

“So it seems as though we have a case to bring before the Headmaster,” Dumbledore said. Then he glanced back and forth between Harry and Orion, clearing his throat. Harry sat there and waited for whatever would come next. “Is there a reason that you need to come with us, Mr. Black?”

Oh, right. Even if Dumbledore had decided Harry was a rare good Slytherin or something, he probably thought of Orion as the “common” kind. Or maybe even Riddle’s dedicated follower. Harry managed to squash the impulse to speak up in defense of Orion just in time. He couldn’t undo all the work he had done with Dumbledore. He would just have to rely on Orion to defend himself.

“I was a witness, sir. So was Abraxas Malfoy. And, well, if you’re going to call in my cousin to talk about it, I think Alph would probably want me with him.”

Dumbledore gave a little noise that might be a sigh, but he nodded. “If you’ll fetch Mr. Malfoy, then, Mr. Black.”

Orion nodded and turned away. Harry half-winced. It seemed that maybe Dumbledore had known about Abraxas lingering in the corridor after all. Well, as long as he didn’t take it the wrong way or anything.

“My dear boy,” Dumbledore whispered, “I am sorry that I discounted what you had to say before as delusions stemming from your abuse.”

Harry sighed a little. “I appreciate the apology, sir.” And he did. It was a little late, and it didn’t make him let go of the resentment that he’d been carrying around for months because of what Dumbledore had done in his original timeline, but he did appreciate it.

“Are you sure…” Dumbledore’s eyes drifted to his office door.

Harry stood up, shrugging. He missed Ron and Hermione like he’d miss a hand if he lost one. And he knew that he was never getting them back.

He had chosen the people here. Orion. Alphard. Abraxas, little by little and bit by bit. Some of the other Slytherins who needed his help or had looked terrified whenever they looked at Riddle.

The Hat had put him where he could best serve other people, Harry thought. At least there was that, no matter how much easier his life would probably have been if he’d gone to Gryffindor.

“I’m sure, sir. I’ve chosen.” Harry cocked his head and looked at Dumbledore. “Isn’t it our choices which make us who we really are?”

Dumbledore looked badly startled. Harry grinned at him, with teeth, and turned to get ready for whatever would happen next.

*

“I don’t understand how you’re doing that. What little jab and flick to the wand movement?”

“Here. Let me show you.”

Orion peeks around the corner, into the room in the dungeons that Harry has designated their semi-official study area, and freezes. Kestrel Montague is standing with her head tilted back, her melting brown eyes (they don’t really melt, but she can feign it very well) fixed on Harry’s face, while Harry takes her wrist to adjust her wand grip.

Neither of them seems to have noticed him. Orion sets his feet and calms his rage. Kestrel deserves all of it, Harry none. Harry probably didn’t even notice when Kestrel set him up for this.

“Like that,” Harry’s saying, when Orion bothers to pay attention again. “You have to keep your wrist as loose as possible, your fingers flexible and clasped around the wand, ready to turn it in any direction.”

“But if it’s too loose, I’ll drop it.” Kestrel is doing that breathless little-girl imitation that she perfected when she was dating Avery.

“Not if it’s a real battle, you won’t. You’ll keep hold of it for your life.”

“What’s your definition of a real battle, Harry?”

Orion is getting ready to march into the middle of it, because Kestrel’s voice is too breathless and she’s leaning forwards, when Harry says, “Fighting a basilisk.”

Orion’s mouth drops open, and he’s glad that he hasn’t put himself forwards. Kestrel is gaping at Harry, and she looks stupid enough on her own, without Orion’s open mouth added to hers. “What?”

“Fighting a basilisk, I said,” Harry says, and smiles at Kestrel with a chill to the expression that wasn’t there before. “Did you ever find yourself in the middle of a huge cavern with a basilisk coming after you, while all you had was a sword to fight it?”

“No,” Kestrel whispers. She could have sounded enthralled, Orion supposes, if she wanted to get closer to Harry by admiring—or pretending to admire—his bravery. But she just sounds frightened.

“I don’t recommend it.” Harry’s voice is casual, his eyes bright and vicious. He obviously knew all along what Kestrel was doing, and he’s taking his own measures to make her back off without doing it in a way that might make her hate him. “Especially when a Parselmouth is controlling the basilisk and taunting you with his control, and you’re twelve years old.”

“Twelve?” Kestrel’s voice soars.

“Twelve.” Harry nods once, deliberately, not taking his eyes from hers. “And then, when you’ve stabbed the sword through the basilisk’s mouth and killed it, one of its fangs gets stuck in your arm, and your only hope of survival is for a phoenix to come and weep over it.” He smiles again. “I lived. That’s my definition of a real battle, Miss Montague.”

Fuck, I want to shag him so badly right now, Orion thinks, helpless with his wanting.

“I—I fight battles with money and political power,” Kestrel says, and tosses her hair over her shoulder. She looks as if she doesn’t know what she should be doing, backing off or trying to catch Harry’s attention. Of course he’s frightening, and that’s one definition of power, in Slytherin House. But he’s also frightening enough that Orion thinks she looks like she wants to run away and never return. “Not with swords.”

Harry shrugs. “That’s one way to fight. And I’m alive to tell of it.”

Kestrel takes a step back and then shakes her head. “I—I don’t believe you. You’re making it up.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at her and then pulls up his sleeve. The puckered scar that Orion has seen and admired on his arm before comes into view. “Do you believe that the mark of a basilisk fang can be faked, Miss Montague?” He holds out his arm.

Kestrel peers at the scar, and then gives an unconvincing laugh. “That could be any kind of scar. You could be lying.”

“I could be. But do you want to take the chance of finding out?”

Kestrel eyes him, and then turns to her possessions. “I think that we’ve reached the end of our usefulness to each other, Harry.”

“I tend to agree.”

Harry stands and watches Kestrel gather her books, not offering to help, which Orion knows he would if it was Alphard or someone else younger than they are. Orion makes sure to step to the side and cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself when Kestrel comes bolting out of the study classroom, but Harry’s gaze still finds him when Orion peers back inside.

“You can come in now.”

Orion smiles and steps in, shaking his head a little as he removes the Disillusionment Charm. “You realize there are better ways to gain followers than telling them tales of your impossible battles?”

“You believe me.”

Harry’s voice, his certainty, makes a thrill of warmth run through Orion as if he’s drunk Firewhisky straight from the bottle. He shrugs with a wider smile. “Sure, but I have reason to. There’s no way that most of the Slytherins would.”

“Good.”

Orion sighs and comes to a stop in front of Harry, hands resting on his shoulders. “Would it be so bad to have more people like me and Abraxas? People who really want to follow you and would be as loyal to you as you would to them?”

Harry reaches up and takes Orion’s hand for a moment. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me about Abraxas? That he wants to date me?”

“What? No.”

“Good. And I don’t think most of the people in our House are capable of being loyal like that. Abraxas and you were cursed by Riddle. Alphard was, too. Most of them weren’t, I think, or they would have joined us already. And you’re in love with me.”

Orion gives up on the attempt to encourage Harry to be a political mastermind, and just says softly, “Yes, I am,” before bending his head and kissing Harry hard enough to make both their heads spin.

*

After that, Kestrel stays away from Harry, although she sometimes gives him baffled glances, as if not understanding why someone would want to refuse an alliance with her family and their money.

But there are other Slytherins waiting to be charmed by Harry, and who ignore Harry’s own baffled glances and eagerly take his help on homework and practice spells with him and sit close to him in the common room. Orion relaxes, assuming that most people aren’t going to object to Harry’s presence in Slytherin House anymore.

The next objection to Harry, in fact, comes from an entirely unexpected direction.

*

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry blinks and glances up from the notes he’s taking. Orion thinks he’s the only one who notices the sudden tension in Harry’s shoulders. “Yes, Professor Merrythought?”

“I have questions to ask you,” says Merrythought, giving Harry a frown that makes Orion’s hand slide down to grip his wand before he thinks about it. “Stay after class. They should be asked in private.” She whips away again and begins to give Abraxas sharp instructions about how to improve his wand movements on the Strengthening Shield.

“What’s that about?” Orion asks, leaning over to hiss to Harry.

“I have no idea. Suppose I’ll find out.”

Orion grimaces. He thinks it’s unlikely Merrythought will let him stay, but he’ll be right outside the classroom, and he’ll be listening. Even if Merrythought sets up a charm against eavesdropping, Mother and Father have ensured he knows shortcuts around them.

*

And he needs the shortcuts, since Merrythought raises some fairly complex shields and charms around her classroom the moment she and Harry are the only ones left in there. Orion casts a spell that cuts through all the charms and shields at once, but does leave him leaning against the wall and panting.

For a moment, he’s too exhausted to concentrate on what he’s hearing, but then the words swim into his awareness.

“---claiming that Mr. Riddle did something wrong!” Merrythought’s voice is shrill.

“With all due respect, Professor—”

“Listen to me, Mr. Potter, when I’m talking to you!”

Orion grimaces. He’s pretty sure he knows what this is. Merrythought was one of the professors who was most charmed by Riddle. If he had attacked someone in her class right in front of her, she would have found some way to make an excuse for him. And now that he’s going to be tried before the Wizengamot, she’s embarrassed and probably humiliated at the thought of admitting she was wrong. She’d like to prove Harry wrong instead.

“I am listening,” Harry says, and there’s a steely tone in his voice, but Merrythought is charging straight ahead and doesn’t seem inclined to hear it.

“Mr. Riddle was a perfect, charming, model student! Unlike you, who showed up out of nowhere and hid your real surname at first and accused Mr. Riddle without any proof—”

“Professor Dumbledore was there when the Aurors came. You could also ask the Aurors. I have the name of one of them, an Auror Lovegood. Do you want me to write to her and ask her, Professor?”

“Mr. Riddle is a sweet boy!”

“Wow. You’re delusional.”

Orion lets his head fall into his hands with a thump. Yes, Harry probably really thinks that, but he shouldn’t have said it. Of course he shouldn’t have.

“Detention, Mr. Potter!”

It seems that that’s what Professor Merrythought has been angling for all along, because she lets Harry go after assigning it to him. Harry sighs as he walks out of the classroom and sees Orion standing there. “Let me guess, you heard all of that.”

Orion nods and falls into step beside Harry. “She really hates admitting that she’s wrong, I think.”

Harry nods absently. His eyes are distant. “I wonder if Riddle left her with some kind of instructions to carry out if he got arrested. Or if she’s just doing this on her own to try and prove that he’s the righteous one.”

“I find it hard to believe that Riddle anticipated being arrested.”

“You’re right. He always thought he was too smart for that.”

Harry falls silent again. Orion tolerates it until they’re closer to the common room, and then turns and asks, “Is anything wrong?”

“I don’t think so. Not right now, I mean.”

But Harry’s hand rises and rubs the scar on his forehead, and Orion can’t help but worry.