lomonaaeren

Harry had had to spend several days working only on the solution to the Umbridge problem. Several days when he didn’t get to plan his godfather’s end and had to watch Michael become paler and other people mutter in the Occlumency learning meetings and endure Umbridge’s presence with a polite expression on his face.

But in the end, he had found the solution, as he had known he would.

He walked into Umbridge’s classroom with his face a little blank, and he knew it. That was all right. It meant Umbridge was much more likely to notice him and single him out, even though their previous conversations had ended in the same frustration for her as the first one.

“Mr. Potter! Stay after class.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said quietly.

Michael and Zacharias both shot Harry anxious looks, but he refused to be anxious back. He sat down and let his hand rest on the Ministry’s Occlumency pamphlet while his mind cycled through a mixture of exercises, meditative thoughts, and the careful recounting of his plan to get rid of Umbridge.

It seemed that this class went much faster than the others. Michael and Zacharias looked as if they would linger outside the classroom door, but Harry gave them a hard glance. Zacharias took Michael’s arm and pulled him out of sight of the door.

“Mr. Potter, I wished to speak to you about your conviction that the Dark Lord is back.”

“I actually said that the Death Eater who tried to kidnap me failed to resurrect the Dark Lord, Professor.”

Another half-truth that sailed right past Umbridge, whose ornament that gave her Legilimency or lie-detecting abilities or something else must not be very powerful. Harry had indeed said that.

“But I wish to speak to you.”

“All right, Professor.”

Umbridge’s stubby wand twitched into her hand. Harry’s eyes followed it.

“Imperio.”

Really? Harry hadn’t expected Unforgivables from her. He hadn’t thought she would have either the power or the motivation to cast them. But it was simple enough to let his eyes unfocus and his jaw dangle a little while his mind fought the curse off.

“You will tell me everything you know about the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

“The Death Eater who captured me made me take the Portkey Cup,” Harry droned obediently. “He took me to a graveyard where there was a huge cauldron and tied me to a headstone. He took my wand away. Then he tried to resurrect the Dark Lord.”

“What was the Death Eater’s name?”

“He never told me.”

“Was he a man who was supposed to be dead?”

“No.”

From the sound of it, Umbridge wished she was a dragon so she could breathe fire. “And what happened when he tried the resurrection?”

“The potion sparked and changed colors, but whatever he was waiting for didn’t happen. The man grew more and more desperate. He was on his knees in front of the cauldron and practically praying to the Dark Lord. He ignored me, so I got myself off the headstone and managed to grab the Portkey Cup.”

“How did you know it was a two-way Portkey?”

“I didn’t. I hoped.”

Umbridge fumed some more. Harry stared at the wall while he eased his hand towards the right pocket of his robes, where he had what he needed to trap her.

“You will tell no one else all these details,” Umbridge ordered abruptly. “You will continue to tell the vague story that you were kidnapped by a Death Eater but that the Dark Lord was not resurrected.”

In other words, just do the same thing he’d been doing, Harry thought. Umbridge must be irritated that Harry wasn’t providing her a “proper” opponent to fight against. “Yes, Professor.”

Umbridge squinted at him a little more, as though wondering what else she could make him do. Harry kept the glazed expression in his eyes, even as his hand closed around the heavy crystal in his pocket.

“And you will throw your full support behind Minister Fudge,” Umbridge muttered. “You will tell everyone that you think he’s the best Minister for Magic in history.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Finite.”

Harry pretended to stagger and look around with wide eyes, before he focused on Umbridge with what she would think was confusion. “Professor?”

“You’re safe, Mr. Potter,” she soothed him with wide-eyed glee. She took pleasure in even the smallest weaknesses of someone she’d decided was her enemy, Harry thought, feeling distant still, as though the Imperius had really affected him. “Someone had cast a curse on you, and I had to erase it.”

“Oh,” Harry whispered, and ducked his head.

“Go on with you, now. Remember what I said.”

Harry wouldn’t believe Umbridge was powerful enough to make someone she’d put under the Imperius retain and act on her orders like it was a post-hypnotic command, but obviously she believed that. It made her turn her back and strut towards the front of the classroom, no doubt thinking Harry would stumble out and go on his way to enact her agenda.

Harry smiled and took the crystal out of his pocket.

It activated at once, the Arithmancy equations on its surface lighting up. Umbridge didn’t even have time to turn around before the crystalline mist surged past the equations and grabbed her.

At the same moment, the other side of the sphere, the one nearest Harry, lit up and breathed out its own mist. The image of Umbridge, one constructed with carefully worked flesh and even more carefully worked fire, appeared and strode up to the front of the classroom. She sat down silently in her chair.

With how rarely Umbridge would touch someone else, and the distance she kept from the other professors and students, Harry thought no one would notice anytime soon that she wasn’t making the noise someone should from touching people and objects.

The fake Umbridge glared at him. “What are you still doing here, Mr. Potter?”

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry murmured, and ducked out of the classroom.

He only walked two corridors before he ran into Michael and Zacharias. Michael opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but ended up closing it again.

Zacharias was the one who asked, “Did it work?”

Harry held up the heavy crystal sphere in his hand, and smiled.

*

“I demand that you let me out!”

Harry had had to wait until that evening to enter Umbridge’s prison. It was important to be seen acting normally, talking and eating at the Ravenclaw table and studying with Theo, to put off any suspicions that might start circulating. And he had wanted to make sure that the fake Umbridge acted believably at the dinner table.

She had, apparently speaking in just the way that Umbridge always did. Harry had half-smiled and turned away again to talk with Michael.

But now he was alone in his bed, with the curtains spelled tightly shut, and ready to confront Umbridge. So he’d descended.

A sparkling stair had appeared in front of him, apparently made of floating crystal planks edged with fire. Harry had turned a few times during the descent, turns he knew reflected the configuration of the crystal. His blood was buzzing with anticipation as he stepped into the chamber the crystal had created within itself, one that was a reflection of the Black library at Grimmauld Place.

“Let me go this instant!”

Umbridge was sitting, bound in glassy chains, in a chair that was made of crystal, too. Harry saw her wand lying on the floor nearby. He Summoned and pocketed it so that it couldn’t cause any trouble.

“Let me go!”

“I don’t think so.”

Umbridge was crueler than she was stupid. She noticed the difference in his voice right away and stared sharply at him. Harry stared back.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Why did you imprison me here?”

“You touched what was mine.”

“I never touched anything of yours, you filthy little half-blood!”

“Oh yes, you did.” Harry moved a few steps forwards until he was in front of the chair, still studying her. Her back was to the bookshelves filled with more worked crystal, and her face was red with fury. “You know very well that Michael Corner is my closest friend in Ravenclaw. When you had him use the Blood Quill, it happened because you were frustrated that you couldn’t use it on me.”

“There were other reasons, little boy.”

“Oh? What were they?”

Umbridge was silent for a moment, as though struggling to find words she thought he would believe, and then lifted a haughty snub nose into the air. “I don’t answer to you.”

“Oh, but you will before the end,” Harry said. He was a little surprised to find that he was smiling instead of just feeling happiness internally, but he shrugged it off. He had brought Umbridge here for a reason, after all.

She started ranting at him again. Harry turned away and walked the shelves, looking for the particular tool that he had stored inside the crystal after he’d carved it.

There.

The metal was sharp and heavy in his hand.

Harry turned around. Proving, again, that she wasn’t stupid, Umbridge shut up.

“Do you know what this is?” Harry asked, showing her the chisel.

“How should I know what kind of tools a muddy little boy plays with?”

But her eyes were darting uneasily back and forth between the chisel and him. Harry cocked his head. “Then let me add to your knowledge. This is the kind of tool that one needs to carve tiny runes into an object. For example, the crystal that holds you prisoner here. But the prison is temporary and will spit you out in a week—”

“And then I will bring trouble down on you like you’ve never dreamed of, Mr. Potter.”

“Except that I’m going to be doing more work on it,” Harry said, ignoring how she turned even redder and struggled against the tight chains. “It’ll take some time, admittedly, but each set of runes I carve will strengthen the prison and keep you here longer. Eventually, the very flesh on your bones will become part of the crystal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ll become part of this crystal sphere,” Harry said simply. “Your knowledge will remain here. I’ll know everything that you know. Including any secrets that you might have held over someone else as blackmail.”

The color washed from Umbridge’s face.

Knew it.

“You can’t do this! It’s not legal!”

Harry had to laugh, although Umbridge flinched from his laughter, too. “And you think that your using a Blood Quill on Michael was?”

“Of course.” Umbridge managed to draw herself up even though the chains pressed her against the back of the chair. “The Minister told me to do whatever I had to do to punish the children of Hogwarts and bring them back in line. That filthy half-blood was whispering against the Ministry. He had to be punished.”

Harry shook his head. Honestly, he was tired of listening to Umbridge rant on. She would be useful to him in the end, and that was more than enough.

“What will happen to my magic?”

Harry glanced at Umbridge, his eyebrows rising. “Smart enough to notice that omission, were you?”

“Tell me!”

“It will also become part of the sphere. For me to draw on whenever I wish, until that’s exhausted. But don’t worry, your knowledge will outlive your magic by quite a bit. You might even retain some level of awareness, although the book I got this trap from wasn’t very clear on that. You’ll be useful, as you always wished.”

Umbridge’s scream rang through the prison. Harry took up the chisel again and moved towards the wall nearest one of the shelves, where he could begin to cut.

Her screams grow louder and more frantic. Harry was bored of that, so he gave the chains binding her a short command. Umbridge choked and fell silent.

Harry began to carve.

*

“What did you to do to Umbridge?”

Harry glanced up at Zacharias, who stood by Harry’s table in the library. Harry had a free period right now since most of the others were at Care of Magical Creatures. He hadn’t known that Zacharias had one too, though, which might mean that he was skiving off class. Which in turn meant this was probably important to him and Harry needed to treat it seriously.

Harry wanted to sigh. He was tired of treating the things that occupied other people seriously. That way lay the idea that Sirius Black and Dumbledore had that Harry would bow down to them.

But Zacharias was different from those fools, so Harry nodded and moved his book out of the way. “I can show you the notes. I don’t think that I should say it aloud.”

“Probably wise,” Zacharias said, lowering his own voice as he sat down on the other side of the table from Harry. “I can’t believe how lifelike your fake Umbridge is. The other Hufflepuffs are complaining about her as much as ever.”

It’s cute how he thinks that I’ll just forget he distanced himself from his own House not so long ago.

But they weren’t here to discuss that, so Harry searched in his satchel and pulled out the parchment that described the combination of Arithmancy, Runes, and meat that he’d used to trap Umbridge. When he spread it out in front of Zacharias, the other boy grimaced.

“Arithmancy’s never been one of my strongest subjects.”

“Study it,” Harry said, already more interested in the Runes homework in front of him. “It will come to you.”

Zacharias muttered something that didn’t sound complimentary, but he was indeed reading. Harry lost himself in runic sequences that marched in cold elegance up and down the page and promised more destruction than the most powerful offensive spells. He actually forgot that Zacharias was there until the other boy cleared his throat. Harry sat back and looked up at him.

“This is…sadistic,” Zacharias said at last.

“Why?”

“The long-term consequences?” Zacharias looped a finger around the last Arithmantic equation, or at least the last one on the parchment. It wouldn’t be the last one that Harry would end up adding to the walls of the prison. “You’re going to—separate her from her knowledge, and her magic, both?”

Harry supposed that to a pureblood raised within the magical world, the thought of becoming a Squib was a unique torture. He shrugged. “Ultimately, she’ll be more useful that way. And it’s not as though I’m going to keep her surviving long past the loss of her magic. One could argue that it’s more humane than Azkaban and the Dementors.”

“You won’t argue that.”

“No.”

“Then why do this?”

“Because she touched Michael.”

Zacharias abruptly looked ill. “She touched him? How?”

“Not the way you’re thinking of,” Harry murmured. “I’m not sure that that would have occurred to her. But she did make him carve his hand open with a Blood Quill. I thought that he’d showed you.”

“But why did that make you so furious when her holding you back after class to babble at you didn’t?”

“She didn’t injure me in the same way. And she didn’t go after Michael because he’d been arguing back in class or anything like that. She went after him because he’s mine, and she wanted to hurt him because of that. She probably thought that any way she could break our friendship apart was a nice little bonus.”

“And that made you angry enough to do…that?”

“Yes. Why does it bother you so much? You’ve seen me do things to Black and Lupin that someone could argue were worse.”

“That was cruel, but it was—I don’t know. It didn’t have to be permanent. Lupin could probably earn his reputation back if he wasn’t so stupidly insistent on staying in magical Britain where no one will ever respect or like werewolves.” Zacharias swallowed. “There’s no escape for Umbridge from this, is there?”

“No.”

Harry had his hand curled around his wand under the table. He didn’t think that Zacharias would run off to tell, exactly, but he also didn’t want his friend staring at him with the disgusted look that he wore now. It might be better for everyone involved if Harry just Memory Charmed him the way he had Fawley.

I should have had him swear an oath. I should have—

“I won’t tell.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the more I think about it, the more I don’t see any other option.” Zacharias’s eyes were bleak. “The Ministry planted her here and gave her no oversight. Dumbledore hasn’t made a move to get rid of her. That’s probably political and related to the way the Ministry put her here, but…that doesn’t help the students like Michael who get affected by it.”

Harry pulled his hand back from his wand and nodded. “And if I let her go, even with a Memory Charm, she would just start all over again. This time probably using the Blood Quill on people she didn’t use it on before.”

He kept his voice light, while inwardly, he reeled.

I trusted Zacharias, and it didn’t explode in my face.

“Yes.” Zacharias sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You’re the only hope of justice that we have. How fucked up is that?”

That made Harry laugh, mostly out of sheer surprise at the way that Zacharias had sworn. “Well, if you talk to a lot of people in this school, they think that I was born to bring them justice. Or at least peace.”

Zacharias shook his head. “I don’t mean like that. I mean real justice, not a fairy tale based on your defeat of the big bad Dark Lord whom your mother probably defeated anyway.”

Harry relaxed enough to joke with his friend, and watched in thoughtful silence as Zacharias left the library with a firm stride.

I trusted him. I trusted him and it was all right. For that matter, I trusted Michael with the knowledge that I was going to punish Umbridge somehow, and he didn’t go running to anyone, either.

And if he could trust Zacharias and Michael this much, when he didn’t trust them as much as Theo or Hermione or Parvati, then maybe…

Maybe it wouldn’t explode in his face if he trusted other people, either.

*

“Couldn’t ask for my help, could you?”

Harry leaned back in his usual seat at the table with a smile. He had come home for Christmas—not taking the train but having Griselda Apparate him just in case Black got any ideas—and told Griselda the story of how he’d captured Umbridge and how he’d worked to strengthen her prison. Umbridge was a faint shadow of herself, now, when Harry visited her inside the crystal. Half her body was a crystalline mist like the one that trapped her, and she didn’t have enough magic left to challenge the chains.

But she still had enough voice to rant at him.

Honestly, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if her voice was the last part of her that died.

“I thought that you would probably tell me to take care of it myself if I wanted to do it,” Harry said peacefully. “So I thought I wouldn’t bother you.”

“Nice. Care to tell me the real reason?”

Harry paused and studied Griselda carefully. She didn’t seem upset, but her eyes were fastened in him in the way that she only ever used when she wanted him to think carefully about something. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I wanted to make sure that I could do something like this. I had time to prepare for it. The next time I want to use a trap like this, I might need to do it much faster, and I needed the practice.”

“It’s Black, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded.

“If he would go away and stop causing trouble, then he could be a fine boy again.” Griselda sounded disgusted. “Instead, he let grief drive him mad.” Her cane thumped into the floor. “Well, enough about both of them. When are you going to open your gifts?”

Harry was glad enough to do that. There was a set of crystal-carving tools from Michael, which made him laugh, and a book on famous Squibs throughout history from Zacharias that made him laugh harder. Griselda enjoyed the joke, too, when he told her.

A set of three large crystal spheres from Theo also made him smile, as did the book on Light Arts that Parvati had found. Harry would enjoy learning how to cast them, and also on how to tear the theory about what supposedly differentiated Dark Arts from Light Arts to pieces.

He hesitated over the large box in dove-grey paper from Griselda, and narrowed his eyes at her.

Griselda cackled. “Afraid that you won’t be able to defend yourself from my little surprises?”

Harry shook his head and tore the paper off. In truth, he had been surprised only by the size of the box, but it wasn’t like he was about to let his guardian think he was afraid—or “soft,” as she tended to put it.

There were a series of books in dark leather inside. Harry lifted one out curiously. They were smaller than most of the ones he had seen in Griselda’s library, not to mention the Hogwarts Library, home of enormous scrolls and hulking tomes.

Turning it over made him wonder at first if it was a bound journal, but then he saw the silver lettering on the spine, and went still.

Blocking the Obscure.

Griselda was silent when Harry stared at her, all expression wiped off her face, as if she didn’t want him to take a cue from her on how to react. Harry leaned over and carefully lifted the nearest book still in the box up. Learning the Obscure.

Griselda had somehow found him a complete set of legendary books, ones that were about the most obscure spells in the world and how to block them, learn them, tweak them, and so on. Supposedly, there were only fifty sets altogether, and most owners broke them up once they began going mad from the knowledge contained within.

Harry knew that with careful study, Occlumency, and above all time, he could master the books’ contents. He would be able to do things like block the Heart-Sensing ability that Madam Smith had which warned her of people’s dominant emotions, truly master Fiendfyre, store the souls of his enemies in a tame Dementor, and so much more.

“Where did you find these?” he demanded in a hoarse voice, unable to look away from the treasure trove.

“How much do you know about the books?”

“Just the kind of knowledge they contain,” Harry responded, managing to pull his eyes away from the books and glance at Griselda. “And that the knowledge often drives people mad.”

“A complete set of the books, if assembled but not owned, generates monstrous guardians for itself.” Griselda looked pleased, leaning back in her chair and tapping her cane on the floor again. “I heard about a wild griffin appearing in a far corner of France, in company with an amphisbaena, and I investigated. Cutting through the monsters took some time, but here you are.” This time, she waved her cane at the books.

“You took on the monsters by yourself?”

“Yes. Why not?”

Harry swallowed. He wanted to say that no one had ever done something like that for him. But then, no one had ever stood firm for him against the magical world, either, or taken him away from an abusive situation, except for Griselda. She had to know very well what she meant to him.

Still, this was another level, he had to admit. Griselda hadn’t had to give him these books. She could have chosen a less costly—in all senses of the word—and still useful present, and Harry would have been content.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Griselda looked at him with keen eyes and then smiled. “A bit overwhelmed, eh?”

“Yes.”

Griselda stood and crossed the short distance between their chairs, bending down with a huff of slight pain to hug Harry. “You’re worth everything I’ve done for you.”

Harry snuggled close to her for a moment and shut his eyes. Then he pulled back, before she did, and Griselda nodded with approval as she regained her chair.

“Never let them see your weakness, boy.”

Since Harry could agree with that completely, he just nodded before he turned to glare at the last “gift.” From Black.

“You have to open it. Or I’ll open it for you.”

“I know,” Harry breathed. He had already noticed the spells on it that would tell Black when he opened it. It didn’t mean that he had to do it with his bare skin touching the gift, of course, considering that it could well be a Portkey. He pulled out a pair of the gloves he’d been using in Griselda’s lab that morning to handle dangerous Potions ingredients, slipped them on, and opened the bright green paper.

Inside was what seemed to be a large crystal tray, divided into various sections with high vertical walls. Harry stared at it in perplexity, and then looked at Griselda. Her eyes were narrowed, and she shook her head.

“Don’t know what it is. Unless Black decided to take a salad dish out of one of his ancestors’ arses.”

Harry gave a weak smile and picked up the silver notecard that had come with the gift.

Dear Harry,

This dish is a variation of a Pensieve that will give you a way to separate your memories of your time with me from the rest of your life. I think that you need this so that you can compare your memories and find out how much better it is when you spend time with me.

I hoped to give you the gift when I was there to see you open it, of course, but this will have to do. I do know that you’ll be spending the last week of the Christmas holidays with me, so that will give you a chance to use it.

Your loving godfather,
Sirius.

Harry showed the notecard to Griselda, who looked simultaneously enraged and admiring. “That kind of thing’s very rare,” she said grudgingly. “But if he thinks he can take you away from me? He should think again.”

*

Harry considered things the same way, and didn’t bother replying to Black’s note. He did, however, reconsider, when Aurors appeared on his doorstep on the twenty-seventh of December.