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ACT2CH34 - Clean Your Own Mess
🕑 Added 2023-06-22 17:23:07 +0000 UTCDaphne exhaled as she stood in front of Harry’s room. Normally, just being there was enough to get her palpitating in exhilaration at the opportunity to spend a little alone time with her fiance. As much as she hated to admit it, Daphne had become the one thing she had always feared and despised — a love-struck fool.
And the worst part? She couldn’t even blame anyone for it.
However, this time, it was different. Daphne took a step back and sighed in silent consternation. For this time, she hadn’t come to get up close and personal with her boyfriend, but as a part of an envoy team representing all four Houses. What was worse, she was accompanied by three other girls, each of them representing their own House. Hermione Granger of Gryffindor, Susan Bones reflecting Hufflepuff, Su Li from Ravenclaw, and finally, herself, representing Slytherin. All four of them were there to talk Harry into helping them with Defence against the Dark Arts.
While her initial reaction had been to outright reject the inter-house study group idea, she had curbed that desire down and gave the proposal a second thought. After all, Hermione Granger was Harry’s best friend, and it would be mortifying if she rejected the proposal only for Harry to accept it when Granger approached him directly. Susan too, was hard to reject for similar reasons. Apart from their tentative friendship, Susan’s House was part of their Alliance, and her aunt was the DMLE Director, who was currently dating Sirius Black. Harry had described it to be quite early to decide either way, but if that relationship ever evolved to something more concrete, it would mean Harry would be seeing a lot more of Susan than Daphne was comfortable with.
Plus, it wasn’t like this self-help group was a bad idea. As much as Harry liked his privacy, Daphne was not unaware of the social power this group could give him. an inter-house group, comprising students of every level, creed and social hierarchy, with a variety of talents and connections. If used properly, it could have the same benefits that the Slug-Club once enjoyed. Her dad had often regaled her with stories of Professor Slughorn, his former Head of Slytherin House, a quintessential networking genius with friends in almost everywhere. And given the politically charged environment they were facing, such a club could grant him immense support, especially with Umbridge trying to shove Educational Decrees down everyone’s throat by a dime a dozen.
Besides, it wasn’t like the alternative was any better. Granger, like the mudblood she was, had suggested meeting up with the entire lot on their upcoming Hogsmeade holiday, preferably at the Three Broomsticks or the Hog’s Head, and then spill the topic on Harry in front of everyone. Daphne had ruthlessly shot it down claiming that there was no way she was going to put him on the spot like that. Girl had the gall to point out that her father had done the exact same thing, inviting Harry to Cinnamon Grove and putting him on the spot with their marriage proposal.
Her fingers had twitched to grab her wand and hex her six ways to Sunday, but she had restrained herself. Especially with how a part of her agreed with her words, despite her lack of sensitivity. Susan had been quick to play the peacemaker, and they finally decided that they’d talk to him privately at first, and if and only if he agreed to it, could they go ahead and arrange a meeting. Again, not in broad daylight where Umbridge could see them, but in unused classrooms cloaked by silencing and imperturbation charms, and preferably, in smaller numbers, just to avoid unnecessary risks. Again, Granger had been quick to suggest that they put a sneaky jinx on the parchment that contained the signature of all signed members, just in case any of them tattled on the rest. Daphne had shot it down, calling it tasteless, and instead called for a proper secrecy vow, taken voluntarily. Bones, ever the Hufflepuff, had supported her on this, claiming it to be fairer than Granger’s suggestion, much to the muggleborn’s scowl. Part of her felt suspicious that this entire confrontation was actually engineered by Bones herself. As her father often said, a charging bull always looks at the red cape, not at the man holding the sword.
That her own analogy placed her in the position of a hot-headed Gryffindor didn’t sit well with her at all.
As for Su Li, she was happy to go along for the ride so long as they achieved what they wanted in the first place. For Harry Potter to agree to teach everyone Defence.
And that brought Daphne to the present situation.
“Well?” demanded Granger. “What are you waiting for? You know the passphrase, right?”
A tick appeared on Daphne’s forehead. The more she interacted with the muggleborn, the more she was confident that she’d sooner tattoo ‘mudblood’ on her arse, than be friends with her. How Harry managed to stay friends with someone so high-strung was beyond her.
“She’s right, you know,” said the annoying portrait guarding Harry’s room. The provocatively dressed woman gave her a knowing smile. “You know what they say about cold feet, dearie.”
Okay, that was enough. She drew the line wheneven the fucking portrait took Granger’s side.
“Colchis,” she snarled, and the door swung wide open.
There was no one inside.
Daphne walked past the living area, past the toilet and bath, into his training ground, where she had often found him throwing curses at a floating shield-like object, an auror-training equipment of sorts that measured spell power, accuracy and consistency. Instead, she froze in her tracks at the sight before her, with Granger bumping into her from behind.
“Oww!” Granger groaned. “What’s wrong—”
The rest of her words died in her throat, as Daphne, and the others froze at the sight before them.
From what Daphne could decipher, there were six room-sized mirrors, enclosing into a hexagon, and inside it, stood a shirtless Harry Potter, wand in hand. All around him were spells flying around, getting reflected against the mirrors and coming for him. Harry weaved through them, as if a blur, evading through the crisscrossing streaks of multicoloured radiance, doing nothing but parrying them over and over as they came for him from every direction. He’d crouch, jump, tilt and slide out, performing the motions like an acrobat, displaying reflexes that felt utterly surreal to her senses. Occasionally, he’d shatter a spell apart with his wand, when it became obvious he couldn’t parry it without falling prey to another spell and then he kept going seemingly without stopping.
And all she could do was watch him, utterly mesmerised by his art.
And then, Granger reacted.
“HARRY!” She yelled, raising her wand and stepping past Daphne, probably with another harebrained idea in mind, but before she could stop him, someone else did.
A bright, silvery layer formed between them and the mirrors, a protego snapping into place, and Fleur Delacour stepped into her sight.
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to interfere.”
“What?” screeched Granger. “But that’s dangerous! Harry’ll kill himself. We need to stop him before he does anything reckless.”
Delacour flicked her wand, and quickly disarmed Granger, hurling her wand away into the living room. The little stick hit the wall and rolled down into the floor somewhere, much to Granger’s chagrin.
“Why did you do that?” Granger demanded hotly.
“Because ‘Arry cannot hear or see us while he’s inside, and I’ve spent too many hours enchanting the setup for you to interfere midway. So, either you can stand and wait, or come back later. I’m being clear, oui?”
Daphne scowled.
“Just watch!” said Delacour.
Her words seemed to act like portents, for right then, the Potter blurred into motion, evading multiple crisscrossing jets of purple, twisting through the air with a cold expression in a sinuous dance as the mirror kept reflecting his spells back at him.
“He’ll die!” said Hermione in a low voice. Delacour smirked as Harry slashed an incoming curse with a snarl, causing a blackish mist to roar out and meet an incoming spell midway, crashing into it with a terrible sound. Bending at an impossible angle to evade three consecutive curses, Harry flipped and parried a fourth spell towards the previous three, causing them to explode into each other. Daphne watched as his green eyes shone, as he predicted each and every flex of magic within the arena, and moved like a snake to counter it in precise and unpredictable ways.
“How on earth is he doing that?” asked Li, looking at him in awe, while Granger continued switching between him and Delacour, a dumbfounded expression stuck to her features.
“Because he must,” said Delacour, an obvious lining of pride in her tone.
Harry’s eyes seemed to glimmer malevolently as no less than ten curses came for him from all directions. Her worry increased when one of them slashed against his left knee, rivulets of blood dropping on the floor with a wet splat. He let out a groan, Just as he lost his balance, six or more spells came at him from above.
“Watch!” said Delacour, and Daphne tensed considerably, at the spell downpouring at her fiance. The moment they were barely inches away, the air around him shimmered and Daphne nearly cried out at the magical pressure created, and even Delacour grimaced.
“MORS EXESA!”
The incoming rain of spells met with a circular wave of something, that exploded out of her fiance’s upper body, and disintegrated on spot. There was no light, no sound, no nothing. One moment the spells were there, the next moment, they were gone.
Daphne watched Delacour exhale in relief, before whipping her wand in complicated movements. The mirrors flashed bright white, before they deconstructed into tiny bits of magic before settling down upon the floor, where a large runic matrix lay, a matrix way too complex for Daphne to make head or tails of. Delacour walked up and pressed her wand against the matrix, which then faded away. Daphne watched as Harry rested on the floor, breathing heavily. He looked at her, and recognition hit his eyes, and had barely managed to stand up, when Daphne crossed the distance between them, her face filled with outrage. Before Daphne knew it, she had flung herself into his arms, holding on to him tightly. She felt him groan and slowly disentangled, remembering his knee wound, and found her robes drenched with his body sweat.
Surprisingly, she paid little attention to the latter.
“Do you have a death wish, Potter?” she hissed. “What kind of training is that?”
Harry arched an eyebrow, and looked like he was seriously considered the question, now that the traces of adrenaline were leaving his system.
“The kind that’ll help me face Death-Eaters and —”
“Fuck Death Eaters! You had dozens of spells coming at you all the time! How’s that safe?”
“Excuse me?” demanded Delacour, affronted. “I designed the system. It calculates the caster’s skill and reflexes and —”
“Excuse me for not trusting on your expertise,” Daphne snapped coldly. “You’re not a professional artificer, and he’s my fiance.” She regarded Harry evenly. “Promise me you won’t practise like that again without me watching over you.”
Harry’s expressions flickered from confusion to understanding and finally resignation.
“You should tell her,” said Delacour from behind her. “Especially if she’s going to get involved.”
“Tell me what?” Daphne asked, as Delacour flick her wand and summon a vial, which she immediately recognized as the essence of dittany, before floating it towards him and melding itself to his form like a swimmer’s suit, sitting like a slushy second skin on skin. It was then that she realised that it was the first time she was seeing him without a shirt on, and blushed, sneaking a second glance at his body.
“You like?” asked Harry smugly.
Her cheeks burned crimson. Harry had a toned and excellent body thanks to his years of constant Quidditch practice, but his strenuous exercise over the summer and all this training had made it even better.
“Um, Harry,” asked Granger from behind her. “What was that spell? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it before.”
“Oh,” Harry said, seeing the others. “All of you, uh, this is a surprise. Did you want something?”
The mudblood’s words shattered through the pleasant tingling sensation she was feeling inside and her fingers twitched to curse her with some of the darker spells she had learnt over the years. Daphne whirled back and suddenly recognized that there were three other girls standing right behind her, all of which were looking at her fiance like he was a piece of meat if the blushes on their faces were any clue. And then she realised that he was sleeping with the veela which meant she had done more with his body than just see it. All of a sudden her rage at Granger dwindled and instead she snapped back at her boyfriend.
“It’s unseemly to leave yourself in such a state in front of others,” she snapped at him frostily. “Cover yourself, Harry.”
“Eh,” he said, more than a little confused. “Why are you so irritated?”
The spike of annoyance within her doubled. Seeing the smirk on Delacour’s face tripled it, especially with Bones and the others eyeing his scantily clad and now completely healed body.
“You won’t win any prizes in understanding the obvious, Harry Potter,” she said with no minor consternation.
“This is my room, you know. You all just barged into it.”
Daphne upgraded her glare, and Harry decided it was best to move on. As if things weren’t enough, Delacour summoned one of his t-shirts which he put on, before walking out to the living room, with Granger and the others following dumbly after him. Daphne sent a lasting glance at Delacour, and realised she was wearing one of Harry’s shirts and her annoyance spiked again.
“After you, Miss Greengrass?” Delacour smirked.
….
….
“Let me get this straight,” said Harry. “You want me to teach DADA to a group of students from all Houses.”
“Yes,” said Granger. “We want a proper teacher, someone that can teach us for our OWL exams at the very least.”
“And it won’t just be you teaching us, Harry,” added Bones helpfully. “You’d only help us with Defence. The others will help in their own subjects.”
“I’ll put in my own two knuts about duelling,” said Su Li in a softer tone. “That is, if you really need it.”
He didn’t, Daphne mused. He really didn’t. Whatever little confidence Su Li might have had in her own talents must have suffered a serious loss after watching him train without holding back. And honestly, Daphne couldn’t blame her. To think that she had mentioned becoming a professional duelist during their first date. She might as well have boasted about her skill at sculpture to Michaelangelo or art to Da Vinci.
The thin curl around Harry’s lips was the only sign that he was amused. It was a smirk too condescending to be a full smile, yet also too beautiful to be a full sneer.
“You know that Umbridge is now the High Inquisitor, right? Already she thinks I’m a rebel and a hooligan. If I teach in your little group, the next thing she’ll say is I’m forming Dumbledore’s Army right under her nose.”
Daphne inclined her head at his words, yet said nothing. Harry’s gaze fell away from his three guests and moved towards Delacour who was standing with her back against the wall to his right. The corners of the veela’s mouth twitched, and Harry then turned to meet Daphne in the eye.
“And you thought this was a good idea?”
Daphne felt like she was being x-rayed under his gaze. “It has merits, yes. Especially with other students teaching alongside you. It’d keep Umbridge from pinpointing it at you.”
“Right, and let me ask you this,” said Harry, his expression thin. “How many of these other subjects really require this new… club, whatever you call it? I’m certain McGonagall and Flitwick are willing to help with their subjects. You can’t study potions together without the entire setup, and I know for a fact that both professors Babbling and Vector offer extra classes for those struggling with their subjects. So unless you’ve got a crowd that wants to revise goblin rebellions or how squibs and muggles tried to burn witches and wizards at the stake, DADA is the only thing this group is about.”
“...yes,” Sue Li admitted.
“Umbridge’s subject. The same Umbridge, who’s now High Inquisitor, and is authoring new decrees to make my life a living hell.”
“...yes,” said Susan, scowling at the way he was leading them on with facts.
“Despite knowing that as a Warlock, I already have my own private studies, including a workshop with three professors and an assistant professor, not to mention…” his eyes flickered at Daphne, “my other personal short-term goals.”
Daphne winced, but before she could say anything, he had turned to Granger.
“Despite knowing that Voldemort is out there, regardless of the Ministry wanting to believe it or not. And, I guess it’s almost redundant at this point, despite knowing that I have my OWL preparations to make.”
“...Yes,” Hermione swallowed.
“And you think I’d do this, in addition to my already heavy course-load and other activities, all the while risking Umbridge’s ire, fueling all her fears about me and Dumbledore overthrowing the Ministry, all because some students need help to pass their OWLs?”
Daphne felt a sour taste in her mouth. Harry had become a shrewd negotiator, a far cry from the boy she stalked from afar. How he made his speech sound both comforting and menacing at the same time, she would never know.
“At the risk of sounding repetitive, yes.”
Silence followed, and Daphne was aware that every single eye in the room was still very much on her, although the majority of them constantly shifted between her and themselves. Harry on the other hand, only had eyes for her, as if blaming her for this entire mess. And the more she thought about it, the more she felt like a fool. Really, what was she thinking, trying to make him agree to this? Harry was finally starting to think like a Slytherin, even if he was acting less out of self-preservation and more out of his unwillingness to deal with the Ministry. Delacour meanwhile, just watched the entire thing, a strange knowing smile floating on her lips that annoyed Daphne for some inexplicable reason.
Finally, he exhaled and looked at everyone in general, a small mirthless smile floating on his lips.
“No.”
“...No?” Susan asked.
“No,” Harry confirmed. “If all of this is just about OWLs, and your future, then it’s not my personal problem, but a problem for every single student at Hogwarts. I doubt Umbridge is teaching anything to seventh years as well, and they’re facing their NEWTs. Or any other years for that matter.”
“Yes,” said Li, frowning. “That’s true.”
“So if that’s all this is about, why are you here?”
“To ask you to teach—” Granger began but Harry shut her off with a single raised finger.
“Not why are you here, right now. I’m asking why you’re here asking me in the first place? If your DADA professor isn’t teaching you, then complain about her to your Head of House. Or maybe the Headmaster. At least tell McGonagall. If nothing else, write to your fucking parents. If they can write letters to the Ministry about their concern over little old me, surely they can write another letter for the sake of their children’s future? They got Fudge to set up these new decrees, so now make him cancel them. I mean, if the rules can be changed once, they can be changed again, right?”
He met Susan’s eyes. “You’re the heir of a Most Ancient and Noble House, and your aunt is the DMLE Director. I’m sure your friends have parents working for the Ministry too. Tell them to talk to Minister Fudge. Daphne you,” he turned towards her. “You belong to Slytherin House, and almost every single one of them probably has a parent or elder holding a Wizengamot seat. Make them repel those laws.”
He turned to Sue Li next. “You’re an international duellist. You’ve gotten an award from Fudge too. Send a letter to the Prophet, claiming about how the Ministry laws are destroying your career. There’s like a hundred different ways to solve your problems, and approaching a pariah and a well-known hooligan to teach you is the best you came up with?”
Daphne looked down, feeling chastised and humiliated. If not for the others present, she’d likely have run out of the room by now.
“And what about me, Harry?” demanded Granger. “I’m not a pureblood that has a family holding a Wizengamot seat. I don’t have a parent working for the Ministry either. And I’ve certainly not represented Wizarding Britain in anything. I’m just a plain muggleborn wanting to learn magic and score high in my OWLs. What happens to me? What should I do? What do all these muggleborns, these halfbloods who’re just like me, do? What hope do we have?”
That paused Harry for a moment. Before he could speak, Susan joined in. “Harry, think of the ways you’d help the students through this. We talked about this. With the Dark Lord back, we need to know how to fight. Who else would teach us than the Boy-Who-Lived?”
That, Daphne realised in hindsight, was a terrible mistake.
The moment Susan said those words, a sudden change came across Harry. All pretence of civility vanished from his face in an instant. His handsome face split into an ugly leer, repulsive in just how hateful it was. Even Daphne, who believed she had seen him in some of his worst moments, recoiled at the sight. It was like discovering a crack in a flawless mirror.
“Fight against the Dark Lord you say?” He asked slowly. It was like a blade had been unseathed. “The same Dark Lord your Ministry claims is dead?”
“Yes,” said Susan, showing a surprising amount of stubbornness and bravery. “The same.”
“You’re mistaken. The Dark Lord is dead. He was killed in 1981. I even have an Order of Merlin, First Class for that.”
“But he is back,” Granger stressed. “You told us. You fought him.”
“I was confused, remember?” said Harry. “And even if he’s back, he isn’t doing anything to me right now. Back in the cemetery, he offered me to join him. And you know what? Unless he targets me and mine, I’m perfectly happy to let this hellhole called Britain rot in its ignorance. Let Fudge and Lucius Malfoy hand over the country to the Dark Lord. Let him burn it. I’ll have fun roasting steaks over it.”
“You changed!” snapped Granger, standing up, her hands fisted. Such was the fury in her voice that even Daphne forgot to be annoyed with her. “You’ve changed Harry! What happened to the boy that jumped on top of a troll to save me? What happened to the boy who went down the trap-door to stop Quirrell from taking the Stone? What happened to the boy that went down the Chamber to save Ginny? What happened to the boy that risked his soul to save his godfather from a hundred dementors?”
“He grew up,” said Harry, still not moving from his seat. “Tell me, Hermione Granger, what are your aspirations after Hogwarts? Enlighten us.”
Granger opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.
“Let me tell you what you’re so hesitant about. You want to work for the Department of Mysteries, the same department that allowed you your little tryst in third year. But you can’t. Do you know why? Because every single hire for the DOM needs a thumbs-up from the Wizengamot and believe me, nobody will allow a muggleborn access to one of the most sanctified halls of magical research, no matter how talented you are. What else? SPEW? Did you think you’d continue with spew at the Ministry?” He laughed aloud at that. “Take this from me, Hermione. The only reason you can even speak as boldly as you can, is because you are Harry Potter’s best friend. Cut Harry Potter out of the picture and you’d become a punching bag for the likes of Malfoy.”
Granger flinched. She looked like she wanted to refute, but couldn’t. Daphne watched her turn to Bones, and Li, and even her, as if expecting someone, anyone, to refute Harry’s statements. But no one did. As harsh as he sounded, Daphne knew he was speaking the truth.
“Believe me,” said Harry, his voice somewhat softer. “Unless things change drastically, your best hope is to work for some pureblood who’d exploit you in every way you can be exploited. That, or you can try running for the States or Australia and hope nobody notices.”
“Harry,” Susan began, “surely —”
“Surely nothing,” Harry interrupted her. “You want another example. Look at her, Fleur Delacour.” He gestured at the veela beside him. Even she was surprised by the sudden mention, if the change in her expression was any clue.
“Fleur was perhaps the most competent of all four Triwizard Champions. She actually enchanted a dragon to sleep; a beast that’s resistant to nearly everything. She’s a creature of fire and faced resistances from the mermen and the grindylows that the other Champions didn’t. And she was put out of the tournament because someone cruciated her to an inch of her life. At just eighteen, she’s an enchantress that designed a ward that can revolutionise warding technology, and is working to craft a ward based on an entirely new thaumaturgy other than magic. And yet, the first thing that everyone uses to describe her is veela. As if she’s nothing more than a succubus, a magical nature she was born with.”
Daphne looked down at the floor, unable to even meet his gaze.
Harry stood up. “This is the Wizarding Britain we know. It’s stagnated. And in this stagnation, only parasites can thrive. If it wants anything done, it has to get off his arse and do them by itself. The Boy-who-Lived, is done solving its problems.”
He gave them one last look, sighed and walked towards the bathroom leaving a very flustered group of girls behind.
Comments
Shadowsmage
I doubt Hermione would listen unless Harry was harsh to her, and i imagine his frustration is bleeding into it all. Not including the whole boy who lived thing.
TigerSwarm9122
I'm glad Harry spoke the way he did and he is absolutely right. For too long he has been used to solve the problems of others or ended up being made the scapegoat for others to save face. The people of Britain need to stop relying on him so much to fix their problems. Granger especially needed a wake up call. The only people would look let alone listen to her is because she is so close to Harry Potter and without that she'd be nothing but a muggleborn with a big mouth.
