Chapter Sixty-One of 'Feather and Glass'- Clash

[lomonaaeren]

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Chapter Sixty-One—Clash

“That’s what she said.”

“And we don’t know if any of it is true.”

Harry shakes his head. His eyes are bright and vicious, his hands clenched in front of him. Blaise would like to reassure him that anyone would be frightened when looking at him, but obviously, Fawley, or the force that created her, didn’t have any concerns.

And now Harry has to compete in the Tournament.

“This is going to devastate Mother,” Blaise whispers, leaning forwards to put an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

Harry slumps against him. “Yeah. But how in the world could she have known that setting up the reality bubble would function like this? And she’s not even the one who set up the original bubble.”

“No.” Blaise smooths a hand down Harry’s shoulder. They’re in their classroom, with the brazier glowing softly behind them and wards all over the door that will both protect them and warn them of anyone approaching. It’s the safest they’re going to get at the moment. Blaise doesn’t want to think about what will happen if they go to the Slytherin common room and someone who’s frustrated they couldn’t compete tries to go after Harry.

Of course, being wary of it means that it’s a challenge they’ll have to face sooner or later. But for right now, he can put it off for a little while longer.

“I hate Fawley.”

“I know. But I don’t know that we can do anything about her, or even if she’s vulnerable to the same harms as a human.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that. I was just saying that I hate her.” Harry takes a deep breath and turns to face Blaise. “Do you think that Bathsheda would let me join in on some of your lessons? Not the ones that would give you secrets that are peculiar to the Sapphire Order. Just your lessons in general. I’m not good enough at Defense, and I need to get better.”

“I heard some of my fellow Slytherins talking about the challenges in the older Tournaments last week. They had the Champions face manticores one time. Do you think assassin lessons will help with that?”

Harry’s eyes flare with something hot and dangerous. “So you don’t think that I should ask to sit in on the lessons?”

“Not that, Harry. I just think that you need to rely on your own strengths to defend you, like the life you can create.”

“How do I do that without revealing that I can create it in the first place?”

It’s only now, as he feels Harry’s heartbeat speed up against his side, that Blaise realizes how terrified his boyfriend is. He leans over and gently kisses Harry, increasing the warmth and pressure when Harry seems like he’ll sit there frozen. Harry finally shudders and leans in to him in return, his arms rising so that he can loop both of them around Blaise’s neck.

Blaise draws back with a slight gasp. “You’ll survive, Harry. We’ll figure out a way to disguise them as Transfiguration or accidental magic.”

“How can we make people buy that when I was attending remedial Transfiguration classes just two years ago?"

“We’ll come up with a way. I promise you, Harry, we’re going to make sure both that you survive and that we can find some way to pay Fawley back. Or, if that’s absolutely impossible, we’re choosing the version of reality where you survive the Tournament.”

“Can we choose the one where I win?”

“Do you want to?”

“It might be the best way to shove it in everyone’s face that a fourteen-year-old did better than all of the other people who tried to put their names in the Goblet.”

Blaise laughs quietly. “Let’s concentrate on informing Mother and not having her kill our Defense professor first.”

“You think we should keep her safe?”

“The points we’ve made about not committing more murders in Hogwarts still apply. And I’m not sure Mother could kill someone who came into existence because of the forces of reality clashing.”

“Maybe don’t tell her that.”

Blaise rolls his eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes more, and then Harry draws himself away with a slight shake of his head. “I suppose I should go and see who in Ravenclaw Tower despises me at the moment. Or despises me more. Did you know I got a talk the other day because I’m spending more time in Slytherin than the Tower?’

“Who gave it to you?”

“Marietta Edgecombe. She has a cousin or something like that in Slytherin who told her about me being there.”

“I suppose I have someone new to go stare threateningly at.”

“I wish I could come with you,” Harry sighs, and leans up for a kiss that threatens to send Blaise’s senses reeling. Then he draws back with a small smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and we’ll walk to breakfast together?”

“Of course. And I’ll speak to Bathsheda about you potentially sitting in on some of the less sensitive lessons.”

Harry smiles at him and slips away. Blaise leans back against the wall and practices a little deep breathing.

It’ll be all right. Harry’s survived before where he shouldn’t have. It’s going to be all right. We’ll make it be all right.

*

Harry steps into the middle of Ravenclaw Tower and a dead silence.

It doesn’t last long. Some of the older students begin sarcastically clapping, Anthony yells, “Harry, what happened?”, and Marietta Edgecombe’s whiny smug voice speaks up before Harry can even make his way across the common room to join Anthony and Padma.

“He spends all his time with the Slytherins, I told you that he would probably learn about cheating from them! We should be grateful that he isn’t on our Quidditch team, or imagine how many points we would have lost!”

“Don’t you have a cousin in Slytherin, Edgecombe?” Harry asks pleasantly, pausing by the couch where she’s sitting with Cho Chang and a couple other fifth-year girls. “Is he a cheater, too? Maybe it runs in the blood.”

Edgecombe turns pink. “Shut up, cheater.”

“I see wit doesn’t run in the blood,” Harry retorts, and rolls his eyes at her, and moves on. He keeps his elbow tucked against the side so that he can touch Artemis and she can feel the pressure, but also that she doesn’t rear out of the pocket and decide that she can solve all their problems by biting Edgecombe.

Anthony and Padma have moved apart enough that there’s space on the couch between them. They’re both scowling. Harry sits down between them. “Hi, you lot, what’s up?”

“What happened?” Padma demands in a low hiss. She turns and scowls at someone who seems to be trying to listen in. The scowl sends the boy shooting backwards. Harry blinks. He really hasn’t been giving her enough credit for fierceness. “We know that you didn’t put your name in, so who did?”

Part of Harry relaxes. That part was so sure that everyone except Blaise and Aradia would blame him, having his Ravenclaw friends on his side is an unexpected boon.

“I know who did it,” he says softly, keeping his voice low. “But I’ll never be able to prove it one way or the other.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because she claims to have been sent by a power that’s not human.”

There’s silence all around them after that. Harry leans back on the couch. Other Ravenclaws are whispering and trying to hear, but he raised a Privacy Bubble around them already. He notices Edgecombe craning her neck and smiles sweetly at her. The girl turns away with a sneer.

“What?” Padma finally asks.

“I know.” Harry turns his hands up. “But that’s the gist of what she said. That there are ripples in the world created by various kinds of magic, including those that my foster mother wields and those I wield.” He lets his elbow rest more heavily against the pocket where Artemis waits, and sees them both nod. “I’m not being punished for it, not exactly, but somehow she thinks that this is the best way of getting the world back on track. Or the powers that sent her think it.”

“Who?” Anthony breathes.

“Professor Fawley.”

Padma snaps her fingers. “You know, I tried to look her up and there weren’t any records in the Hogwarts archives of someone named Cynthia Fawley. No one in any of the Houses with that name in the past twenty years.”

“She could have gone to a different school, Padma.”

“Did she say she did, Anthony?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that she could have done that whether she mentioned it or not—”

Anthony and Padma love to bicker about research, so Harry just settles back with a sigh and a shake of his head. At least his other Housemates are going back to their own pursuits, apparently disappointed by the lack of gossip. Harry hopes that the rest of the school will react that well, but he doubts it.

“There were many people who wanted a quick way to die.”

Harry chuckles a little, but shakes his head when Padma looks an inquiry at him. He won’t chance answering Artemis in the middle of the common room, Privacy Charm or not. Someone could still try to read his lips and notice that he’s not speaking English.

“You are too cautious.”

Harry sighs. He does want to answer her, but more than that, he wants to be in a private place, by himself, where he can really think about everything that happened.

“Harry?”

Harry gives Padma a smile that he knows is tense. “Sorry. Just thinking about—everything. They say that there’s no way I can get out of it, especially because the Goblet chose me as the Champion instead of someone else. If it had been in addition to a Hogwarts Champion, maybe it would be fine.”

“Oh, Harry.”

Padma leans over and hugs him. Harry puts up with it. It’s not that he doesn’t like Padma, but very few people have ever hugged him, and he’s only completely at ease when Blaise and Aradia do it.

“I could hug you.”

Harry sighs and jabs his pocket with his elbow, which at least makes Artemis start talking about how mean he is instead of talking about hugging him. He waits until Padma draws back, and then stands up. “I’m going to bed, I think.”

“Don’t let them get to you,” Anthony says, leaning forwards enough to jerk his head at the other Ravenclaws. “They’re a flock of chattering birds sometimes, but they would kill to be in your place.”

That’s part of what I’m worried about.

But Harry nods, and smiles, and goes upstairs in a whirl of whispers and hissing. He ignores Michael Corner, who’s staring at him from his own bed, and crawls in between his curtains, sealing them behind him.

Then he closes his eyes and just lies there.

Artemis climbs out of his pocket and up towards his neck, curling so that her head’s tucked underneath his cheek. Harry lets his head fall to the side and gives a little sigh. Artemis echoes it back in her own way, a hiss that doesn’t have words in it.

“What will you do?”

“Try to survive. What else is there?”

“I thought you would be trying to punish Fawley.”

“I think Aradia is going to take charge of that. For the moment, I don’t know how I could touch her.”

“I could bite her.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“You won’t even let me try?”

Harry sits up and removes Artemis from his neck, holding her in front of him. Artemis squirms, her eyes glowing brightly. Harry can’t remember seeing them that bright before, but he accepted long ago that Artemis isn’t exactly the way he created her any longer. She moves and grows and changes of her own will.

“I don’t want you in danger,” Harry whispers. “The main thing is that I have to survive this Tournament. Yes, I’d like revenge, but I’m not going to put you or Blaise in danger for it. Or myself. Aradia can—can protect herself.” That anxiety that Harry has felt every time he thinks about Aradia and Augusta Longbottom stabs him again, but he’s doing his best to ignore it. “Please, Artemis. Let’s just stay away from her.”

“You think she’s more powerful than any other enemy you’ve faced so far?”

“Yes.”

There’s a long moment when Artemis sways back and forth in consideration, then lowers her head. “Very well. If you won’t let me go near her, then I won’t try. But you can’t expect me to approve of this.”

“You can come up with all the insults you want when we’re in her class.”

“Then I shall start by saying that she’s an interfering, frog-mouthed, evil-smelling woman with flesh that would probably taste as though I was trying to swallow soap…”

Harry lies on his bed and listens to Artemis’s complaints and laughs, but his mind goes back to the way that Fawley stood in the Great Hall and the terrible, gentle expression on her face.

He doesn’t think they can defeat her. Not the way she looked.

But the only way out is through.

*

“Do you know who put your name in the Goblet?”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus pauses. He didn’t expect an answer at all, much less such a direct one. Part of him did wonder if Harry did it himself, to prove some obscure point, or at the direction of Aradia Zabini. He doesn’t understand the woman. Maybe it would be something she would do.

But then he remembers the way she looked and spoke when he met her at the end of Harry’s first term, and he rejects the notion. No, she would never do anything that would put her sons—either of them—in danger. It has to be another party.

“Who was it, then?”

“Professor Fawley.”

Severus stares at Harry. There’s no sign that he’s lying, and bald statements like that are the hardest to lie to a Legilimens about. But of course, there’s always the chance that Harry is simply mistaken about the matter.

“Why would she want to do that?” Severus asks absently as he gestures Harry towards the bubbling cauldron in the corner. They’ve only been meeting irregularly to work on Harry’s Potions skills, as he’s doing much better in class now and he seems busy with Mr. Zabini and his own studies most of the time. But Severus has to admit that he’s glad he’s remained the boy’s confidant now.

“I don’t know how much you know about the night in Godric’s Hollow where my parents died, sir.”

“Not as much as I wish to know. And you may call me Severus.”

Harry flashes him a brilliant smile and bends over to consider the potion bubbling in the cauldron, frowning a little. “This doesn’t look like one we’ve studied before, sir. Is it a variation?”

“Very good, Harry. A variation of which one?”

Harry contemplates it for long enough for Severus to wonder if all his learning has dribbled out his ears, but then he looks up. “It’s a variant Calming Draught, isn’t it? But I’ve never seen one this blue color.”

“Very good,” Severus murmurs, making Harry puff up at the praise. Severus can’t help but smile. “It’s blue because it’s sweetened with blueberries. I brew it especially for first-years, who sometimes are too small to be able to take a full dose of the regular Calming Draught. The blueberries both sweeten it and help to strengthen the property of dulling anxiety.”

“Could I learn how to brew this?”

“Certainly, if you wished. But let’s return to this matter of Professor Fawley and her motivations for putting your name in the Goblet of Fire.”

Harry lets loose with a long, tragic sigh. “Well, it goes back to that night in Godric’s Hollow. There’s something weird about how different people remember different things. When I talked to Black and Lupin, they told me stories that contradicted me the stories other people had about that night.” A flash of hatred consumes his face when he’s talking about the “Marauders” that Severus shamefully treasures. “It caused ripples in reality, somehow. That’s what Professor Fawley told me. Maybe it has something to do with how Longbottom survived the Killing Curse. That’s never happened before, right?”

“Certainly not.”

“Right. And Professor Fawley said something about how she was here to set reality to rights, and settle down the ripples.”

“How does entering your name in the Goblet do that?”

Harry spreads his arms.

Severus taps his fingers on the rim of the nearest cauldron for a moment. “And you think it’s unlikely that she was working for the Dark Lord or someone similar?”

“She claims to have been created by the variants of reality clashing together. I don’t know for sure that she was, but I don’t have any better explanation. As far as I know, the Dark Lord is still a wraith at the moment. He could possess someone, but I think that the wards would have signaled us if that was happening.”

Severus nods. He isn’t sure whether Albus actually strengthened the wards to prevent that, but he has his own alarms up that would have told him. And he thinks that Aradia Zabini might have as well.

“Have you told your foster mother yet?”

“I sent her a letter. I wanted to have a little time to absorb it myself and the kinds of tasks that I’ll have to face before I talk to her about it.”

“On your head be it,” Severus says dryly. He wouldn’t want to have waited to inform Aradia Zabini about something like this if he were Harry. On the other hand, he isn’t, and for all he knows about the relationship between them, this might truly be the best way to do it. “Now, let’s start experimenting with variations of the Calming Draught.”

“All right, Severus!”

And Harry’s smile is bright and his hands poised above the cauldron as if he’s been waiting for just this. Severus has to work not to stare at him. He’s not sure that he will ever understand the boy, whom he had once thought easy to understand.

Still. In some ways Harry is easier than Neville Longbottom.

Whose mind I must probe tonight.

*

“Cheater.”

Neville turns his head to watch Harry walk by. Harry doesn’t appear to have heard what Ron’s saying, but Neville feels a quiver of fear swim through him anyway. “Don’t call him that,” he whispers.

“Why? Do you really think he could have been chosen as the Hogwarts Champion without cheating?”

Neville just shakes his head. He doesn’t want to contradict his best friend. He doesn’t want to speak what’s swirling through his mind, because he doesn’t know. Part of him thinks that maybe Harry wanted glory he could show off, since he must be keeping so many secrets that wouldn’t get him admired.

And part of thinks that that’s absurd, and if Harry’s been content to have just the few friends and boyfriend he does so far, then he wouldn’t have done something like this.

But Neville doesn’t know him. Not really.

“Come on,” he says instead, gesturing to Ron. “Let’s hurry up so that we’re not late to Transfiguration.”

“He’s a cheater,” Ron mutters, but he follows. Neville conceals a sigh of relief, and then frowns a little and sees Zabini and Nott also walking to Transfiguration. Both of them glance at him with perfectly blank faces that he flinches from.

Ron sees the flinch and traces it back to Harry’s friends so easily that Neville has to conceal a sigh. “Come on, then, what do you want to say?” he snaps. “Got some words, Zabini.”

“No.”

“What about you, Nott?”

Nott gives Ron a look of contempt so perfect that Neville flinches for his friend. Ron doesn’t seem to notice. He starts to say something else, but Professor McGonagall’s cold voice interrupts them from behind.

“There will be no fighting in the corridors, if you please, Mr. Weasley.”

“I wasn’t fighting, Professor, I was just—”

“Building up to the fight?” Professor McGonagall looks down her nose at them in a way that reminds Neville of Nott.

“I was only—”

“This way.”

McGonagall sweeps past them, and Neville and Ron trail along in her wake. Nott and Zabini have disappeared somewhere. When they get to the classroom, Neville sees them sitting back in their own corner, apparently intent on ignoring all Gryffindors.

“Cheaters,” Ron says, not under his breath.

“Two points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley.”

“Professor!”

As Ron gets into a doomed argument with McGonagall, Neville can’t help turning to look at the two Slytherins, part of him suffering a pang. He would have different friends other than Ron if he’d stayed friends with Harry and Zabini. Maybe better ones?

But that thought feels disloyal to the ones he does have, and as both Nott and Zabini turn to stare at him with remote expressions, it’s not one that Neville wants to pursue. He turns away with a shake of his head and a sigh.

“Did they cast something at you, mate?”

“No,” Neville says, and blinks at Ron, wondering how he thinks either Nott or Zabini would have dared to aim his wand with McGonagall standing not far from them. “Why do you think they did?”

“Because you have that look on your face.”

“That look?”

“The upset one. The way you look when they’ve done something to upset you.” Ron folds his arms and glares at Nott and Zabini one more time before they have to turn forwards because McGonagall is calling the class to order.

Neville just shakes his head and says nothing. He’s thinking, more and more, that he won’t be able to trust Ron with much of anything. He hopes that entrusting him with the secret of what Gran did with Dark magic was okay.

Maybe not.

But he can’t go back and take it away, and he isn’t about to Memory Charm Ron. They’ll have to gamble.

*

Aradia has felt as though a low scream she cannot utter is building in her body for hours.

She sits with Harry and Blaise’s letters in front of her, and stares at them in silence. Both of them tell the same tale, and she knows that Blaise would have written with his best guess if he didn’t believe Harry’s. That means he does. That it really was a creation of the reality bubblies who put Harry’s name in the Goblet.

This is her fault.

Partially my fault, Aradia corrects herself, because she believes in the truth above all. I did it in response to Augusta’s bubble and wouldn’t have done it without that, but still. It’s put Harry in danger, and there’s nothing I can do to get him out of it.

Then a clear, cold thought strikes her and cuts through the maelstrom in her head, so efficiently that she blinks and laughs. The amulet around her throat stirs. The spirit of the house seems to lean closer to her.

I can’t get him out of the Tournament, but of course I can help him.

Aradia leans back and takes a deep breath. She has to stop reacting so…instinctively. She has to remember that there are plenty of options to help Harry, even if she can’t do exactly what she wants to do most, which is end the contract that binds him to the Goblet. She’ll do what she can, and it won’t even count as cheating under the Tournament rules. Those only talk about professors and other school staff.

Aradia closes her eyes and spends a moment meditating in the sunlit dining room, thinking about which action would be the most effective. Then she nods and stands up, reaching for the blue cloak that she wears the most often when she visits the British Ministry. It’s her most heavily enchanted garment.

There are plenty of people who still hate her in Britain. And that hate will extend to Blaise and Harry, one reason she thinks few people will protest his inclusion in the Tournament for his own sake.

But there are people in Britain who desire her, as well.

Aradia conjures a mirror and smiles into it, running her hands through her hair so that it falls into a new style. Now she looks as if she’s just stepped out of an elegant ball, and her thick braids gleam in the sunlight. They should shine even more in the dim light that mostly prevails in the Ministry.

Aradia widens her smile and inclines her head. She intends to find someone in the Ministry who knows what the Tasks are and seduce the information from them.

Or rip it from their minds and bodies.

Either way will work. She’s not particular, at the moment, and feels as if she might never be again.