[From Litha to Lammas]: Of a Sweet Nonsense Unto the Lord, This Lord Business series, gen, 4/7

[lomonaaeren]

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Part Four

“Is Umbridge is awful as everyone is saying she is?”

Harry shrugs a little as he finishes the cup of tea and sags back against Sirius’s couch. The room is getting more and more comfortable, furnished with things that Harry thinks Sirius must have bought. There’s nothing this comfortable at Grimmauld Place. “She makes us read all the time instead of practice spells. She gives us these weird little smiles and asks probing questions about what we think of the Ministry. Sometimes she takes House points. But she hasn’t assigned anyone detention, and I can’t really figure out what she’s doing here. A spy? I don’t know why she would be spying on the students instead of the professors, though.”

“She’s probably looking for signs of dissent against Fudge,” Sirius says, and swallows one of the small chocolate cakes he’s been feeding Harry whole. “And those would be more likely to be in the students than the professors.”

“Why? Do you think that Dumbledore would really want to lie and say that Voldemort isn’t out there?”

Sirius still jumps at Voldemort’s name sometimes, but he’s getting better at it, and now he shakes his head and gives a little barking laugh. “Not that, Harry. The students are giving some people concern—I heard this the last time I went to the Ministry for one of those Aurors to check my wand—because they think that they’re more likely to express political opinions and fight against leaders that they see as corrupt.”

“Really? Why?”

Sirius gives him a pointed look.

“But—I mean, I stood up for people who were being bullied and bought new brooms and didn’t let the Tri-Wizard Tournament come here, but I’ve never said a word against the Ministry.”

“People who don’t want certain other people to grow stronger aren’t going to care about that. They’re going to care about what you do in the future. And while some people will never want to believe that Voldemort is back, they could be influenced by the young and popular Lord Slytherin to start preparing as though he was.”

Harry is left blinking a little. Whenever he thought about what might happen in the future because of the Lord Slytherin title, he never thought he would be able to influence events outside the school.

Oh, come now, says a voice that sounds a little like Hermione and a little like Tom Riddle from the diary and a little like Theo. Did you not?

Well, all right, yes, he already did that when he accused Dumbledore of necromancy. The Wizengamot put him on trial and everything. Harry fought back when Fudge wanted to bring the Tournament in. And Harry is prepared to try and influence events outside the Ministry if they hurt someone like he cared about, like if the Department of Magical Law Enforcement decided to try and fire Amelia Bones for being too good at her job. That would hurt Susan.

But he hasn’t even done anything to Fudge or Umbridge when it comes to Voldemort’s return. This is just about things he could do.

Sirius comes over and crouches in front of Harry. “This is one reason that your friends are trying to make you stronger for the future, in their various ways,” he says gently. “I know that Susan argued against your taking that oath, and Theo is trying to strengthen your knowledge of dueling spells. That boy, what’s his name, Finch-Fletchley, is researching laws night and day. Even Ron came and asked me about the kinds of strategies and tactics the Aurors study. Not that I could help much, since I was only a trainee when I was sent to Azkaban.” Sirius sighs. “They’re all ready to help you, Harry. You just have to let them.”

Harry sits there quietly, feeling the weight of responsibility settle harder on his shoulders. Then he nods at Sirius. “I think I know what you mean.”

“Do you? I love you, kid, but I know that you find it harder to look at longer-term goals. And defending yourself or protecting your people from the Wizengamot and the Ministry is a longer-term goal. Or getting rid of Umbridge, if that’s what you want to do.”

Harry exhales slowly. “Right now, she’s not really doing much I could justify getting rid of her for,” he admits reluctantly. “Not trying to do something like bring the Tri-Wizard Tournament to school, or hex students, or even really bully them. But she isn’t a good professor, and the people who are taking their OWLS and their NEWTS this year don’t deserve to get bad marks because she won’t teach us spells.”

“Then do something about that last part,” Sirius points out, picking up a scone and chewing through it with his eyes half-closed in enjoyment. Harry is still glad that Sirius can enjoy sweets and other food so much after being in Azkaban for years. “Start a defense class of your own. Ask people to teach other spells. Learn from the sixth-years—the seventh-years are probably too busy with their NEWTS, but the sixth-years won’t have exams.”

Harry smiles at him. “You’re right, thanks, Sirius!”

“I’m always right,” Sirius declares, and smugly crunches another little cake.

*

“I didn’t know there were this many people,” Harry says, a little dazedly, as he watches person after person file out of Hogwarts to sit by the lake.

“Come on, Harry, you don’t know how many people call you Lord Slytherin?” But Ron nudges Harry with his elbow to show that he’s joking.

“Well, I mean, I sort of did,” Harry says, watching as Hermione does a headcount, then sighs and begins again as Fred and George muscle their way to the front of the crowd and some people scatter to avoid them. “If I sat down and listed them all out, I would probably know. But I didn’t know this many people were upset about Umbridge and the way she’s been teaching us.”

Ron just nods seriously. “I might have been telling people that I think she’s going to ruin our exam year,” he says. “And then I told Hermione, and she’s been spreading that ever since.”

Harry stares at Ron a little. “Wait, what? Why would you—why would you do that?”

“Because it’s true, and Hermione doesn’t need much excuse to run with it, and you can do better than Umbridge.” Ron claps him on the back and leans nearer so that there’s no chance the people gathering on the grass will overhear him. “Besides, when You-Know-Who comes back, you’re going to need all the support you can get.”

Ron is off and striding among the crowd before Harry can say much to that. Still more dazed, he wanders over and sits down on the grass at the end of the front row. Then he jumps as a Stinging Hex hits his arse.

He whips around to see Draco putting his wand away. When he sees Harry looking, though, he sniffs and uses his wand to gesture to the front.

“Get up there, Potter. I’m not following a leader who sits down and acts like it was some act of Merlin that called us all here.”

Harry, trying not to rub his arse too obviously, catches Theo and Susan’s eyes and sees them nodding emphatically. He sighs, gets up, and goes to stand in front of everyone. There are several impromptu cheers.

Some people are just silent and watching, though. Harry realizes for the first time that there are lots of people who aren’t his “followers” here. Zacharias Smith is sitting behind Ernie and Susan, and Pansy Parkinson is lingering at the edge of the crowd. So is Katie Bell, who gives Harry a little wave and an embarrassed grin when he spots her.

“Um,” Harry says, and clears his throat. “So you probably know by now that Professor Umbridge isn’t teaching us spells in class.”

“Tell us something we don’t know!” shouts someone from near the middle of the crowd. Harry rolls his eyes a little. It sounds like Michael Corner, who isn’t one of his friends but does spend a lot of time with Padma.

“That isn’t fair for anybody, but especially for students in our OWL and NEWT years, since we have to take a practical exam,” Harry says. “I thought that we could have a class outside of class. Teach each other Defensive spells, and learn them from books, and read up on the theory for those of us who are struggling with that.”

“Why would we want another class?” Corner asks.

“Why are you here if you don’t?” Harry asks.

“There was just a vague announcement.” It’s Smith who speaks this time, in a thin voice, and ignores the hostile looks he gets from a few people. Harry isn’t sure if he’s getting them because people don’t like him personally or because he contradicted Harry. “About how we could try and get better at Defense. Nothing about another class.”

Harry shrugs. “That’s essentially what it’s going to be like. I can’t promise that it’ll be perfect or a great substitute for Defense, but I want to try. And anyone who likes can try with me. Us,” he adds, because Hermione is watching him out of the corner of her eye. She sniffs and goes back to trying to count people.

“Who’s going to teach it?” asks Justin, leaning around Padma so Harry can see him.

Harry looks automatically at Theo, and then realizes that won’t work. Theo knows more Dark Arts spells than defensive ones, and he’s—well, he’s a good teacher for Harry, because Harry is trying to survive Voldemort, but his method of hurling curses and then delivering scathing commentary on the response to them won’t work for a lot of students.

“I thought we could split the responsibility,” Harry says instead. “If there are any seventh-years or sixth-years willing to teach us, that would be great, but if not, then we can start off by trading all the spells that we are proficient at.”

“What about dueling?”

“That’s not going to be on the OWL,” Hermione says.

“No offense, Granger, but some of us are here because we aren’t taking our OWLS but we’d still like to pass the class,” says a fourth-year Gryffindor. Harry squints at her. What’s her name? Romilda Vane, right. “And some of us are here because we believe Harry that You-Know-Who is going to come back, and we need to be ready for that.”

Harry smiles at Vane. He gets such a starry-eyed look back that he checks a sigh. Well, if Vane is able to get in some spell practice, it won’t matter that she has a crush on him.

“What about Harrikins?” Fred asks.

“Huh?”

Hermione’s elbow lands in his ribs a second later. Harry scowls at her over his shoulder. She mouths Not fitting for Lord Slytherin at him. She means looking gormless, but Harry doesn’t think being poked and prodded by his friends is a very good look for Lord Slytherin, either.

“Harry does really well at Defense,” says George. “Highest marks in the class last year, and that was with Moody teaching—”

“Who was not an exemplar of neutrality and displayed a particular loathing of our Lord Slytherin, one that will probably last in perpetuity,” Daphne says, nodding. “Yes, your suggestion is good, Weasley, a turn of Fortune’s wheel that has graced us with its momentary presence.”

There’s a pause as a few people try to work out what that means. Harry jumps into the gap. “I don’t want to be the sole teacher, but I wouldn’t mind,” he says. In fact, it sounds kind of fun, going through the spells he knows and thinking about the ones that could be used in a duel or the ones that people would probably want to learn. “But I’ll need someone else to help. Who wants to?”

Katie comes forwards, clearing her throat a little. “I’m a sixth-year now. I could help.”

“Great!”

“I could help, I suppose,” Draco says, sticking his nose in the air.

A visible wave of muttering moves through the students. Draco folds his arms and looks around, opening his mouth to probably ask what the problem is. Harry cuts in and says, “Could you leave off insulting your students, Draco? Because that’s going to be the big problem.”

“We don’t want another Umbridge!” calls someone safely hidden near the edges of the crowd.

Draco looks a little shocked. “I would never have that many kittens on moving plates. Or wear pink.”

“That isn’t the problem, and you know it,” Harry says. Silence has fallen with startling abruptness, and everyone is looking at him. Well, time to show that he won’t let someone off the hook just because they’re his friend—or closely associated with him, or whatever the hell Draco is. “They’re worried about you discriminating against people for their blood status.”

Draco turns a bright, interesting red that Harry didn’t know he could turn. Harry just folds his arms and keeps looking at him. He knows Draco has changed a lot over the last few years, but he still mostly spent time with the purebloods around Harry. This is the moment when he has to say what he thinks.

“I don’t—I’ve got over that.”

“Have you?”

Draco spends a moment twisting his boot back and forth in the grass. Then he stands up and looks at Harry.

“Yes, I have,” he says. He’s speaking quietly at first, but his voice starts to rise, maybe because he can see lots of people looking at him skeptically. “I came to realize that I don’t—I never saw a Muggleborn or a Muggle doing all the things that people like my—my family accused them of. And there’s no—there shouldn’t be a war to just kill people that—that we don’t like. I may not want a Muggle as a best friend, but I don’t want to kill them.”

“And Muggleborns?” Hermione takes a step forwards. It looks as if Justin is listening closely, too.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t want you dead.” Draco looks at her once and averts his eyes.

“You can keep to that?” From her voice, Hermione doesn’t think that his resolve will last long.

“Yes,” Draco says, and then his voice rises again. “We all have something larger than blood purity or just fighting the war again to do, right? We’re here because we want to learn Defensive spells.”

“Yes,” Harry says, smiling at him.

“And we’re all here as followers of Lord Slytherin.”

“Mostly.”

Draco looks happier suddenly as he turns around and scans the crowd behind them. “Who isn’t here for that?” he calls. “I’ll be happy to duel you for Lord Slytherin’s honor! If you’re looking to spy on him and then report back to Umbridge—”

“That’s all right,” Harry says hastily. He can just imagine what Draco thinking he has a license to duel anyone will do to their class or study group or whatever they’re going to call it. “We can’t really keep it secret, anyway. It’s not like Umbridge won’t notice a bunch of people sitting out on the grass.”

“What should we say if she asks us about it?” Colin Creevey calls.

“Tell her the truth,” Harry says, and takes a deep breath. This is it, the moment when he probably steps beyond the limited role of Lord Slytherin in the school and into the kind of interference with politics that people like Umbridge and Fudge were afraid of. “And tell her that she should speak to me.”

People start chattering. Some of them are trying to offer him suggestions on dealing with Umbridge, it sounds like, and some of them are talking about spells that they want to learn or teach. But Harry’s eyes are on the faces of his best friends.

Ron is grinning at him. Hermione is nodding, her face alight with the kind of fire that a righteous cause stirs up in her.

Theo is smiling at him. Susan’s eyes are bright.

As long as I have people like this on my side, Harry thinks, I don’t have to swear an oath or a vow. They’ll tell me if I’m going wrong.

*

“Please come in, Harry.”

Dumbledore sounds weary. For once, though, Harry thinks as he walks into the Headmaster’s office, it isn’t because of Harry, or at least not primarily him. It’s almost certainly because Umbridge is sitting primly on the seat in front of the Headmaster’s desk, her hands crossed in her lap as if she’s praying.

“Hello, Headmaster,” Harry says, and takes the chair next to Umbridge. “Hello, Professor Umbridge.” He starts to ask why he’s been called here, but Ahalam sticks his head out from under Harry’s robe collar.

“Remove that creature at once,” Umbridge says, shrinking away on her chair.

“You asked me not to bring him to class, Professor, so I haven’t been doing that,” Harry says innocently. “But this isn’t class.” He does touch Ahalam gently when he starts to crawl out more. “You’ll want to stay out of sight as much as possible. She’s afraid of snakes, and she seems like the kind of person who might hex you.”

“That is very rude. You should translate my comments so that she can learn I am a smart and beautiful snake and she should not hex me.”

“I don’t think it would make a difference,” Harry says, keeping an eye on Umbridge’s rapidly paling face. “It wouldn’t make her less afraid of you. If anything, she might be upset to know how smart and beautiful you are.”

“Her loss,” Ahalam says, a phrase that he picked up from Harry, and drapes himself around Harry’s throat, ignoring Umbridge.

“Don’t talk to that creature that way!”

“Sorry, Professor, it’s the only way I know how to talk to him.”

Dumbledore clears his throat. “Harry, Professor Umbridge wanted to bring up her concerns about a very large study group that appears to be meeting outside and practicing offensive spells.”

“Oh, right.” Harry nods. “I’m part of the leaders of the group, Professor Umbridge.” He faces her and clasps his hands in his lap like she was doing. “What kinds of questions do you have about it?”

“You will stop it at once!”

“Sorry, professor, why? It’s just a way to get some extra practice, especially for students who have their OWLS and NEWTS this year.”

“You are raising an army to take over the Ministry!”

Harry blinks. That’s not the kind of accusation he thought she would go for. He would have bet on it being about studying magic outside class and not paying enough attention to her reassurances that they wouldn’t have to use magic against their enemies. “I promise, Professor, I’m really not.”

“Then you will disband the group at once!”

“Sorry, Professor, I can’t do that,” Harry says. “Everyone would be so disappointed. And there’s no rule against it. Is there?” He turns around and glances at Dumbledore, wondering if he should have made sure of that before he started encouraging people to join the group.

But then again, they’ve been drilling for almost a month, and this is the first time that Umbridge is bringing it up, despite the fact that she could have looked out any window and seen it happening any time. Harry doesn’t think there’s a rule against it. He just thinks Umbridge is paranoid.

“No, no rules that I know of.” Dumbledore folds his hands. For once, Harry enjoys the way that he twinkles at someone. “After all, Dolores, the students have clubs focused on Gobstones and Quidditch and other harmless amusements. One might say that a club focused on learning magic is closer to their academic pursuits than many other things they could be doing.”

“I know why you approve of this,” Umbridge says, swinging around to stare at Dumbledore. “You want to become Minister yourself!”

Harry’s mouth falls open a little. That’s not a conclusion he thought she would come to, either.

“I assure you, Dolores, that being Chief Warlock and Headmaster of Hogwarts and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW are enough commitments for me,” Dumbledore says, looking old and saintly.

Umbridge isn’t listening. “I am going to report this nonsense to the Minister and force you to stop!” she barks at Harry, spittle flying from her mouth, and then she turns and stomps out of the Headmaster’s office.

Harry stares after her, shaking his head a little. Well, if Umbridge was meant to be at Hogwarts to spy on people or persuade them around to the Minister’s side about Voldemort not being back or people not needing to use offensive magic, she’s not very good at it.

“What are you calling the group, Harry?”

Harry blinks and turns back to Dumbledore. “Sorry, sir?”

“It must have a name. Is it the Magic Club? The Practice Real Magic Group?” Dumbledore smiles at Harry in the way that invites him to share a joke, which Harry doesn’t think he’s seen since his second year. “Dumbledore’s Army?”

Harry laughs. “I think that last one would only feed the Minister’s paranoia, sir.”

“I am sure that you are right.” Dumbledore leans back in his chair, his hands loose and relaxed. “I can’t help noticing, however, that you are avoiding naming the group.”

“The Defense Association, sir.” And that’s true. That’s what Harry said was the group’s name, and that’s what a whole bunch of people call it, mostly the ones like Katie and Colin who are there to practice and learn and teach.

The people who call it Lord Slytherin’s Army, like Theo, are doing it because they want to do it. That doesn’t mean Harry has to give in to them, and it doesn’t mean that he has to stop rolling his eyes when they do it.

“Ah. I see.” Dumbledore sits back a little in his chair, his smile tired. “Well, I hope that this will not give the Minister or Professor Umbridge any more cause to be paranoid.”

“Yeah, I hope so, too, sir.”

Dumbledore waves one hand, dismissing him. Harry leaves. He thinks that he can get along surprisingly well with Dumbledore when they aren’t trying to interfere with each other.

*

“Lord Slytherin.”

Harry starts and turns around. He had to get up in the middle of the night to rescue Salazar from the seventh-floor corridor again, but the voice behind him isn’t Filch’s, so he doesn’t think he has to worry. It’s his fault that he took off the Invisibility Cloak to stuff Salazar back into the cage, anyway.

He gets a little worried when he sees Zacharias Smith behind him, staring at the floor. The boy stares at him, and then down again. He looks utterly defeated.

“Are you all right, Smith?” Harry asks, as carefully as he can. He doesn’t really want to frighten the boy, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong, and that makes him feel itchy.

“I need to talk to you,” Smith whispers. “But I don’t want to do it in the open where someone could come by and hear. Is there a place we could go that no one would run into us at this time of night?”

Harry nods. “The kitchens should be empty of everyone except house-elves, and they wouldn’t just betray your secrets,” he says. He drapes Salazar’s cage with more wards and spells, sends a quick Sleeping Charm at his Niffler to make him stop causing trouble, and holds the Cloak open to invite Smith under it. “Come on.”

Smith hesitates before crossing the distance between them, but he does it. Harry starts walking towards the kitchens, Smith shuffling to keep up with him.

*

“My family wants me to become Lord Hufflepuff.”

Whatever Harry expected Smith to say, it wasn’t that. He nearly drops the mug of tea that the house-elves gave him, but he manages to balance it on the table just in time. He gapes at Smith.

Smith sneers, but it’s half-hearted, and he looks down at the table again. “It’s a blood claim,” he whispers. “But that’s only part of it. You can also only become Lord Hufflepuff if you go on a quest and prove yourself. There are a few artifacts that used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff which got stolen from our family decades ago. If I found one of those, I would prove that I was worthy.”

“Why you, though?” Harry asks slowly. “I don’t know anything about your family, but aren’t there older people who would think that they should become Lord or Lady Hufflepuff instead?”

“Some of them don’t have any interest. Some of them went on a quest and failed at it, which means that they can’t try again.” Smith swallows and swallows. The hot chocolate the elves gave him doesn’t seem to help, even though he sips at it. “And some of them—they want me to become Lord Hufflepuff because I’m the only member of the family who’s still in Hogwarts at the moment.”

Harry is able to understand that. “They want you as a counterweight to me.”

“Yes,” Smith whispers. “You’re making some very powerful people very nervous. They think that if someone who sees you daily and spends time in your study group becomes Lord Hufflepuff, I would be able to sway some of the students’ loyalty away from you.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “Do you need protection from your family? Is that why you wanted to come and talk to me about it?”

“I wanted you to know.” Smith brushes lank hair back from his face. He doesn’t look as though he’s slept at all. “And—I wanted to know if there was—some way you could make sure that I never have to take up that burden.”

“I don’t really know where to start looking for the artifacts,” Harry says dubiously.

“I know. I don’t have a plan in mind. I just want someone to help me.”

From Smith’s clenched grip on the mug, admitting that stung his pride. Harry reaches out and gently touches the back of his hand. “I promise that I’ll help you,” he says. “We’ll work on it. I don’t know how yet, either, but I have some really smart friends. They’ll help us.”

Smith almost melts into the table. “Thank you, Lord Slytherin. Thank you.”

“Call me Harry.”

“Zacharias. Please. Some people call me Zach, but I hate it.”

Harry nods. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure that they don’t have a way to hurt you.”

*

(Theo is annoyed later with Harry for making promises so recklessly, but it’s not like Harry made a vow).