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Author: parakletos Story: The Sins of the Fathers Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 8 Words: 104,346
Third of September Despite her bad night, Ginny was out in the grounds heading towards the Quidditch Stadium whilst the rest of the school were still fast asleep. The exception, at least amongst the students, was of course Harry Potter, who she had been told was also prone to begin the day with exercise. Each of her strides was dogged by thoughts of him in full flow, his lean body glistening with a sheen of designer perspiration as he pushed his body through an impossible set of exercises. By sheer force of will she pushed him from her mind as she found her rhythm, and by the time she began to pound up the steps of the stadium she was back in full control. When she’d finished and she’d begun her journey back to the school proper, she felt in enough control to take the time to look for him. To her relief, he was nowhere to be seen. She was keen to avoid having to rush like the previous day and so she pushed her tired legs to carry her back to the Head Girl’s suite of rooms as quickly as possible. Although her morning routine was in better shape than yesterday, her bed was still scattered with books and parchment. This was a far cry from the discipline that had borne her through her first six years at the school. Bugger! I thought I’d sorted this lot out last night. It was a measure of the disruption recent events had wrought in her life that she’d had plenty of time, even once she’d retired for the night, to restore some order to her room. But, truth be told, despite the numerous wakeful periods, she had had no desire to get up and bury herself in her school work. And so she’d piled the books and parchment onto her desk and chair, shovelling it onto her bed in a general pile as she’d hunted for other things in the morning. Damn Potter! Why did he have to come and disrupt my life? Hasn’t he got better things to do? It escaped her notice that only forty-eight hours ago, the intrusion of any boy into her life would have been very welcome. That fact that the boy in question was undoubtedly the most celebrated wizard since Merlin was also conveniently forgotten. She began to shed her running gear and, grabbing her towel, headed for her bathroom. As the door closed behind her, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror on the far wall. Before turning the water on, she took a few moments to examine herself in its reflection. She knew that she had a figure a lot of girls envied, and to tell the truth that had never really affected her. It was nice not to be the butt of a lot of the cruel humour that centred around body shapes, but she had come to regard her body as something that was purely functional. But today she found that she was viewing herself through an entirely different set of eyes. Her breasts, that she had hitherto been grateful were a very manageable size, now seemed a tad small. The well-defined stomach muscles, which helped her maintain control of the Quaffle at impossible angles, now appeared to lack the softness that a slim feminine figure required. Were her hips too wide or too narrow? And were her freckles a light delicate dusting or an unsightly blemish? She knew that she was desirable to a lot of the boys in the school but was that because they were so desperate for anything with internal reproductive organs, or was it was because she was genuinely beautiful? Okay, she might not be beautiful, but was she attractive enough to cause someone to pick her out from across a darkened room and brave the embarrassment of rejection by asking her to dance? She turned away from the mirror and walked slowly to the shower cubicle. These thoughts remained with her as she showered and continued to disturb her as she turned off the water and reached for her towel. She padded across the floor to her bed, grateful for the privacy the Head Girl’s quarters afforded her: not only was her nakedness not an issue but there were no annoying dorm mates prattling on and getting in her way, no ‘Ginny, can you help me with this?’ and no… She stopped herself, shocked that she would think that way about her fellow Gryffindors… Where had those thoughts come from? Never in her life had she thought that way about anyone before. She finished drying herself, shaken by the intrusion of such foreign thoughts. Nonetheless, her thoughts still wandered as she continued to get ready, visiting more opinions, realising that she had been unaware that she held such beliefs. Did she really think that Hufflepuffs were little more than doormats? Or that Ravenclaws had all the brains but none of the commonsense required of proper members of society? Closing her eyes, she tried, and failed, to find reason in the increasingly chaotic emotions that warred within her. In the end she gave up, and mentally swept her confusion under the carpet to deal with another day. She took longer than normal to select her underwear, picking up each of her undergarments and casting her newly critical eye over them. She sighed. Her petticoats were plain, her knickers frumpy and the charms on her bodice designed to support rather than entice. Not that any of this, with the possible exception of the bodice charm, could ever be visible to a wizard. But she felt the need to dress herself with a view to courtship and in preparation for the day when such garments would be viewed by her husband. Her mother’s clothing was, on the whole, as dull and as featureless as her own, but even her matronly mother, for all her frumpiness, had several items of Muggle lingerie that had little practical use and could only be designed to titillate. She shuddered, as all children did at the thought of her parents as sexual beings, but, if her mother could dress herself in such a way, then so could she. After all, hadn’t no less a wizard than Harry Potter declared his intention to take her to his marriage bed? ~*~ As he had been the previous day, Harry was waiting for Ginevra to emerge through the portrait hole. Unfortunately, this morning there was a welcoming committee headed by her brother Ronald and a variety of other sixth- and seventh-year Gryffindor boys. To the casual observer there was no link between the young men, other than indignation that a Slytherin boy should presume to claim a Gryffindor girl, but Harry was not so naive as to think that the gathering was an unlucky coincidence. “What are you doing here, Potter?” It was Ginevra’s brother who was asking. Harry took a moment to study the youth before responding. His initial impression, gained on the train, was that this Weasley had all the normal wizard arrogance towards physical exercise and that, despite the basic level of fitness walking around the castle would have given him, the boy presented no physical threat to him. This, when coupled with his undoubted magical inferiority, told Harry that there would be little for him to be worried about. As he dismissed the threat, he remembered his godfather chiding the then fourteen-year-old Harry for losing a duel to an opponent: “Your foe is a threat, regardless of ability. Even the weakest of enemies is capable of defeating the worthiest of champions.” He hated that voice, not because the advice wasn’t sound, but because of what it represented. That day he’d failed, and everyone involved in his training had taken him to task for it. From that day, he was doing ‘it’ for everyone but himself. He turned his attention back to the boy in front of him. “Well, if we accept that how I spend any part of my day is any of your business—and that, as we know, would be stretching things beyond credulity—I would say that I’m waiting for someone.” The desire not to provoke the boy unless absolutely necessary prevented him adding the obvious coda: that it was none of the youth’s business and would he mind removing himself before he, Harry, had to do so. “And who would that be?” Weasley responded. A barely suppressed snicker confirmed that the question was entirely redundant. The remark, and the attendant noises issuing from the shallow end of the gene pool, ensured that the previously-unspoken rejoinder now be freed to enjoy its time in the limelight. “Given that my business is certainly not your business, you will forgive me if I decline to answer the question.” Lacking the restraint not to state the obvious, Weasley pressed on. “You’re here to see my sister, aren’t you?” A multitude of witty responses begged to be allowed to answer the question but Harry chose instead a more prosaic but nonetheless effective reply. “Am I?” “You know you are!” “Now, that does go to show that the original question was entirely redundant and that, by answering your question, I would give people the impression that I thought it was worthy of an answer. And I have to assure you, Weasley, that is certainly not what I wish to do.” “Don’t take any shit from him, Ron,” came a shout from the back. “Yeah,” chorused another, “put the slimy snake in his place!” This was joined by more and more voices hurling abuse and egging Weasley on. Rather than responding to this increasing barrage of noise, the boy appeared disconcerted by it. Perhaps, reflected Harry, he had intended the whole display to be nothing more than a display of defiance, a mere marking of territory.Well, more fool him. Harry watched as the boy in front of him began to shift nervously, his fists clenching and unclenching betrayed his unease. “Go on, Ron!” “He’s all mouth and no trousers!” “Boy-Who-Squibbed!” “Harry Rotter!” Harry didn’t bother to scan the faces in the crowd; instead he remained focussed on Weasley as the boy became more and more agitated. Finally, when he reached the point where action was inevitable, if only to save face, Harry flexed his right bicep, an action that brought his wand down from its holster so that the tip was resting on his palm. It wasn’t his real wand, of course. The fight wouldn’t need much of his power and thus every spell could be cast wandlessly. Besides, using his full power was something he had promised his minders he wouldn’t do whilst at the school. He watched as Weasley reached inside his robe for his wand and smiled as a look of horror slowly filled the boy’s face as his wand was nowhere to be found. Before he could begin the humiliating climb-down necessitated by such unpreparedness, Weasley was shoved in the back. As the boy stumbled forward, Harry sidestepped the flailing mass of robes and red hair, enjoying the sight but quickly switching his attention from the now winded boy to the less predictable mob still facing him. “Bastard!” came a shout. “Look what he did to Ron, let’s get him!” “No one is going to be getting anyone, not unless they want to explain to Professor McGonagall why they felt they need to be throwing hexes before breakfast.” It was Longbottom, and he was angry. Not at him — well, not at the moment — and as long as Harry didn’t do anything stupid to provoke him, such as kicking the still prone Weasley, that wouldn’t change. It was tempting though. “Now, which of you idiots started this?” A predictable silence greeted his demand for information. “Well?” “It was Potter,” came the even more predictable response. “He hit Ron.” “Pulled his wand and cursed him.” “Cowardly Slytherin!” “Somehow I doubt that Harry Potter came all this way to hex Ron, and I’m even less convinced that he would do so in front of a crowd of witnesses. Well?” “He’s waiting for me.” Everyone turned towards the voice as Ginevra stood by the still-open portrait hole, managing to convey the contempt she felt by the very tenor of her voice. The would-be defenders of her honour, cowed by her arrival, parted to let her through. “Good morning, Neville, Harry. Don’t bother getting up, Ron, your presence isn’t required.” “Good morning, Ginevra,” Harry bowed his head towards her. “May I request the pleasure of your company at breakfast?” “It would be my pleasure. Neville, thank you for putting my brother and the rest of these mindless morons in their place. Until Transfiguration?” “Of course, Ginny. Enjoy your breakfast; you too, Potter.” Harry nodded his thanks to Longbottom and then offered his arm to Ginevra. “Shall we proceed?” “Only if my tea is brewed by the same elf that brewed it yesterday.” “I can guarantee it will be.” “Then what are we waiting for?” ~*~ As she descended the steps into the common room, Ginny noticed that there were more of the younger students in there than she would have imagined. By this time, she would have expected them to be heading to the Great Hall to feast upon the mountainous breakfast which Hogwarts provided its students. However, there were a fair number who just seem to be milling around as if unsure what to do. As she made her way towards the door, she noticed many of them looking at her, pointing and whispering. Stupid gits, she commented to herself, have they got nothing better to do than gossip about my life? Increasing the length of her stride to match her anger, she shoved the portrait door open just in time to hear Neville Longbottom’s authoritative tones lecturing his fellow Gryffindors. A quick glance at the assembled males told Ginny all that she needed to know. These were boys who had either asked her out in recent years or, she knew, had watched her from afar. Standing a couple of yards in front of them, and with her brother sprawled at his feet ,stood Harry Potter. She could see, even though he had steeled his face to be expressionless, that he was enjoying the scene that was playing out in front of him. How did she know that? As she made her way through the crowd, trying her best to convey her indignation to those who would pretend to defend her honour, she felt her heart quicken at the thought that, for her, Harry had been prepared to face her brother and his hangers-on. Of course, he was Harry Potter and facing any number of schoolboys was all in a day’s work to him. But still, she found pleasure in his actions. She was also pleased that she had not become a simpering wreck around him. Although she was drawn to him in a way that still unnerved her, she nonetheless felt that she was exercising more control than she had the previous day. ~*~ Breakfast was as enjoyable as Harry hoped it would be. Ginevra was more relaxed and more outgoing than she had been the previous day and Harry found himself genuinely warming to her. As he walked towards his Transfiguration lesson, Harry reflected that — although he hadn’t considered the subject one of his strengths — he had been bored by the first lesson of the term, and his mind explored ways in which it could be improved. He toyed with the idea of helping Granger realise her potential, but dismissed the idea as one open to misinterpretation and, although a worthy pursuit, lacking any real prospect of enjoyment. Now, where did that idea come from? he asked himself as he neared the classroom. Doing things for his own enjoyment, whilst not an alien concept to him, was nonetheless not something that had figured prominently in his ‘worthy’ agenda thus far. As he joined the back of the queue waiting to enter the room, he began to toy with an idea that would not only increase his enjoyment of the lesson but almost certainly allow Dumbledore to trot out his well worn ‘ your parents told me before they went into hiding…’ speech. Given the amount of things they had apparently uttered before going to Godric’s Hollow, he had built up a mental picture of his parents sitting in the Headmaster’s study as first-years hastily scribbling pearls of wisdom to pass on to their future offspring. His musing ensured that he was the last one to arrive and that, by being the last one, he had incurred Professor McGonagall’s ire. “Thank you for joining us, Mr Potter, if you would take a seat then the class can proceed.” That remark helped make his mind up and he readied himself for the task ahead. “Happy to be here, Minerva,” he grinned before taking a seat. She scowled at him and, as she turned to write on the blackboard, Harry muttered an incantation under his breath and sat back to watch the results. The professor let out a cry of horror and, to the amusement of the other Slytherins present, she began to shrink in size, ending up in her Animagus form. Immediately, she sprang up onto her desk but, although she was moving frantically, she was unable to return to her human form. She let out a loud yowl before jumping down from the desk and running to the back of the class where Harry was sitting. She sprang up onto his desk and stared at him with her unblinking eyes. He stared back, waiting for her to respond. When he did not lift the curse from her, she reached out with a paw and batted his chin. She did not extend her claws and so Harry wasn’t injured. “What makes you think that I’m responsible, Professor?” he asked, trying his hardest to control his laughter. The cat responded by batting his chin again, this time harder. “I’m sorry, Professor, but I don’t know what you want. A bit of fuss, is that it?” He reached forward and began to tickle her under her chin. Whatever reservations she may have had in her human form, as a cat she was no different to any other, and she began to purr contentedly as he continued. It was at this point in the proceedings that Granger intervened. “I’m going to get the Headmaster,” she announced to the class before storming through the door in a huff. By the time the Headmaster had returned, Professor McGonagall had returned to her desk and was waiting patiently for the curse to be lifted. “Harry,” said Dumbledore, smiling benignly at him, “I believe that you have the Transfiguration professor at a disadvantage. Please, would you be so kind as to lift the curse that you’ve placed on her?” “Why does everybody think that I placed a curse on her?” asked Harry, not really trying to look innocent. “Any number of students could have hexed her.” “You and I both know, Mr Potter, that you are the only student in the school that could have cast such a hex.” Dumbledore waited, the trademark twinkle in his eyes fading before Harry’s intransigence. Harry’s only concession to the exchange was to wink at the Headmaster and then, reaching inside his robes, he pulled out a mouse-shaped toy that he tossed in the direction of the transformed professor. She leapt off the desk, catching the toy before it hit the ground. As his colleague rolled on the floor in catnip-induced ecstasy, the Headmaster waved his wand, and Professor McGonagall was returned to normal. As McGonagall struggled to her feet, Dumbledore turned to Harry. “I think that you need to accompany me back to my office, Harry.” Without checking that Harry was following him, the Headmaster turned on his heels and headed out of the classroom. The two of them walked in silence back to the Headmaster’s study. As Dumbledore took his seat, Harry noticed that he had failed to offer him one of the sherbet lemons that filled the crystal bowl on the edge of the desk. “Not going to offer me a sweet?” he asked with a smile. “Would you take one if I offered one?” “No, but it’s the thought that counts.” “Which is why I didn’t offer,” said Dumbledore returning the smile. The aged Headmaster helped himself to one of the sweets and, after spending thirty seconds or more sucking on it, turned his attention to Harry. “Now then, Harry, what are we going to do with you? We can’t have you casting spells on any professor that you decide to take against.” “Who said that I’d taken against her? It was a bit of harmless fun, a jest, a prank, a bit of much-needed levity at the start of the term.” “That is an opinion I cannot share, my young friend. Casting a hex upon a member of the Hogwarts staff is a serious matter that cannot go unpunished. I have to caution you that no mere detention is likely to satisfy the governors and even if it were, my Deputy Headmistress would not let such an act be treated with such leniency. If you had expected your fame to help you out here, Harry, then you are sadly mistaken.” Lecture duly delivered, he sat back, steepled his fingers and, as he peered over his half-rimmed glasses, the twinkle returned to his previously troubled eyes. For fuck’s sake, thought Harry, the man’s a walking cliché. “So...?” “I confess, my young friend, that I am struggling to come up with a punishment that will fit the crime.” Harry smiled. “The answer is quite simple then, expel me.” “You know as well as I do, Harry, that that is simply not going to happen. It is your guardian’s wish and mine—and, I believe, the Ministry’s—that you complete a full year of schooling at Hogwarts.” “Both you and I know that I will learn nothing whilst I’m here. It is a total waste of time!” “It’s by far from a waste of time, Harry. Although I would agree with you that you are unlikely to learn much academically, I am certain that the lessons in life that you acquire whilst mixing with your peers will be invaluable to you.” “All I am learning, Professor, is that my peers are remarkably immature for their age.” “I take it that you are referring to Mr Weasley? I wouldn’t judge all your peers based on his behaviour.” “I would agree with you there, but Weasley is not the only one and it appears that the band of idiots wanting to mimic his behaviour grows larger every day.” “Am I to assume that this is as a result of you playing court to Miss Weasley?” the Headmaster said with a smile. “No,” said Harry feeling annoyed at the continued twinkle in the Headmaster’s eye. “It is the result of their immaturity.” “That’s as may be,” replied the Headmaster, “but would it make your life easier if you understood the high regard in which Ginevra is held? An impartial observer might comment that if you were in less of a rush you wouldn’t be making as many waves.” Harry studied the Headmaster for a few moments. He had assumed that Sirius had told the Dumbledore of the betrothal contract, but based on the old man’s comments it appeared as if he hadn’t. He wondered if Dumbledore would have allowed him into the school if he had been aware of Harry’s need to propose. In response to the Headmaster’s observation, Harry merely smiled. The truth was, he didn’t actually know what to say to Dumbledore, and that was partly because, like it or not, Dumbledore was correct. If he wasn’t in such a rush then he wouldn’t be making so many waves. But if he didn’t get a move on, he would miss the deadline of the 11th of September and then he would be in trouble. Dumbledore smile at him genially. “Let us see what tomorrow brings. Now, on to other matters. I’m afraid that your behaviour towards Professor McGonagall has resulted in the loss of fifty points for Slytherin, and a week’s worth of detention to be served with Professor McGonagall herself. The detention will take place between eight o’clock and ten o’clock each evening. That is all. Harry, you may go.” And with that dismissal, the Headmaster rose from his desk and busied himself at the bookcase alongside it. As Harry left the office, he concluded that his punishment was fair, given the fact that he had attacked a teacher. If it had been anyone else, he was sure that they would have been expelled. He returned to the Transfiguration classroom to find that the lesson had ended and all the students, with the exception of Granger, had left. As the professor saw Harry approaching, she ended the conversation she was having with Granger . “You may go now, Miss Granger.” Granger looked around and, when she saw Harry, she gave him a smug look that told him that she was happy that he had got in trouble. “Please close the door after you, Miss Granger, I do not wish to be overheard.” Once Granger had left, Professor McGonagall turned to Harry. “I am not quite sure what to say to you, Mr Potter. I am torn between anger, frustration and sympathy. No one is under any illusion that coming to Hogwarts after what you have been through is easy, but that is no excuse for attacking anybody, let alone a professor. I understand that the Headmaster has already deducted points from Slytherin for your behaviour and so I will deduct no more. I will, however, award you ten points for casting a hex that I couldn’t reverse. Now, what was the other punishment given by the Headmaster?” “He gave me a week’s detention with you to be served between eight and ten o’clock each night.” “Well, as it is within my powers as the Deputy Headmistress to change that punishment, you will not serve it between eight and ten o’clock in the evening: instead, you will assist me two hours each day in teaching the younger students. You will report to me at eight o’clock each morning where I will inform you which classes you are to attend and the manner in which I want you to assist me. Is that clear?” “Yes, Professor.” “Good. Now, I will not say anything further on the matter, but I do not expect you to behave in such a manner from now on. I know that you are used to most people treating you as The Boy Who Lived and perhaps you have grown to resent that. To me, you are not The Boy Who Lived, you are plain old Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter. And as such, as long as you behave in a manner that would make your parents proud, you will not have to worry about any preferential treatment in my lessons.” “Thank you, Professor,” Harry replied, allowing a small smile to cross his face. Perhaps between Professor McGonagall and Ginevra Weasley, his time at Hogwarts wouldn’t be too bad. ~*~ Lunch was over far too quickly for Harry. His discussions with McGonagall and Dumbledore meant that he had arrived after Ginevra. As he took a seat at the Slytherin table, he watched enviously her animated conversation with the girls around her. His emotions were further stirred by the less-than-subtle stares of the boys who had gained a seat close to her. Come on, Potter, he berated himself, get a hold of yourself. She belongs to you and no one else. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t so much as talk to another suitor. His self assurance was immediately challenged by the unwelcome return of a voice that had plagued his early years of training. Then why is she so friendly with Longbottom? He was not prone to doubts; after all, no one could achieve what he had achieved by being unsure as to the correct course of action, but nonetheless it was a phrase that unnerved him. He moved quickly to dismiss it. He has no emotional attachment to her beyond friendship, came the less-than-certain response. It was at that moment in time that the young man in question rose and, as he passed her position, engaged Ginevra in conversation. Harry felt himself rising from his seat before his reason could stop himself. In some ways, it was like an out-of-body experience in that he was able to observe his movements as if they belonged to someone else. But, unlike his last experience with such phenomena, neither was he was caught up in the struggle for life and nor was he grimly hanging by a thread to his earthly existence. That he had yet to shuffle off this mortal coil was amply illustrated by the merest of touches on his shoulder which halted his forward progress and allowed him to regain the control that he had lost. “If I may be so bold as to trouble you for a moment?” It was Nott, and where Nott was, there was sure to be Zabini. He turned to face the Slytherin and was greeted by the blonde and not her associate. “May I have a word, Potter?” She was being bold, even provocative, by both her means of address and the fact that her hand was on his elbow, trying to lead him back to the table. They were not the actions of a friend or an ally, but of one leading him to her bed chamber. Has everything I’ve been taught regarding the proper interaction of those ‘of blood’ been incorrect? Bella, are your ways no longer the ways of the pure? He glanced back over to the Gryffindor table and noted with satisfaction that Longbottom had departed and that Ginevra was still engaged in conversation with her associates. “She’s beautiful, is she not?” Her hand drifted down his arm towards his, its touch light and subtle which was more than could be said for her actions overall. Has the House of Salazar lost all sense of decorum? As her hand touched his, he carefully allowed her hand to slip into his. You think I welcome you, Slattern. Does not a true snake beguile its victim before it strikes? He began to gently stroke the back of her hand, surprising himself by how much he enjoyed both the feel of her soft pale skin and the smile of pleasure that she displayed. You have been blessed with such beauty, would that it were used with the same care that your Creator used. He lifted their hands gently upwards as if he meant to kiss hers. Smile my dear, smile whilst you may. He stopped short of his mouth, and began to slowly apply pressure to the small bones on the back of her hand with his thumb. Yes, my dear, now you understand that the game must be played properly. To her credit, her expression didn’t waver but the small movements in her hand and arm showed that she was hurting. She was being foolish and prideful; he would begin breaking bones before he stopped. Slowly, as more pressure was applied, her expression changed from pleasure to pain and then to agony as the first bone broke. The only sound from her lips was a muffled gasp but it was enough. He released her hand and waited for her and Nott to take their seats. “That was foolish,” he said to both of them as they took their seats on the opposite bench. “You promised allies, not examples of inbreeding.” “I’m sorry if we disappointed you,” responded the girl, clearly not sorry despite the obvious pain she felt. “Is it not usual for the Lord of the Manor,” she said, leaning forward and giving him a ‘come on’ look, “to take his pleasure where he sees fit? And am I not worthy of at least an afternoon of your time?” He wasn’t sure what had prompted her to act in such a manner but something had changed from the previous day. It was as if impostors had taken control. He knew that to be untrue as he had charms that prevented those under the influence of the Imperius curse or disguised using Polyjuice from getting this close to him. He ignored the look she gave him and turned to Nott. “Nott, it’s about time you learned to control your bitch or have her put down. If you can’t, then find someone who will.” Nott’s features were neutral but a glance back at Zabini showed that she wasn’t cowed by his threats. “Zabini.” “Yes, Harry.” “One more trick like that and the alliance is over.” She smiled at him. “Really?” “And so will be your ability to do anything more than drink through a straw for the next six months.” “What shall I make of you, Potter? There are those who would dismiss you for being nothing but a sheep in wolf’s clothing and yet you do display the intelligence to play the game. Although I must say, you play like an amateur.” “Did you imagine me to be a lamb to the slaughter?” “No, but there are plenty of wolves circling on both sides of the hall.” “And I should be worried because?” “Not every Blaidd Drwg is as obvious as Greyback.” “Yes, but I am the Good Shepherd.” “And the sheep of your pasture are?” Harry looked up and watched with annoyance as Ginevra left for her afternoon lessons. As he turned back to his companions, he saw Nott hurriedly putting away his wand and Zabini watching him watch his betrothed. “No longer a lamb, but not yet a ewe.” “And your point is?” “It’s obvious why you’re here, Potter. No one has been able to get near to Weasley and yet from Day One she’s been like a bitch in heat when you are around.” “My patience is wearing thin, so get to the point or I’ll be breaking more than bones in the back of your hand.” “My point is that you’ve as good as staked out Weasley and—” “And what? Do you think I’m incapable of defending my own?” “No, but—” “But what?” “You know, many had doubts when you were Sorted with us, but I wasn’t one of them. Now, though, I begin to see what they meant. Being cunning isn’t enough, Potter, if you can’t keep your emotions under control. If Weasley can’t be bedded until your wedding night, we can arrange for someone to take care of your needs until then.” “Are you offering yourself, is this what all this is about?” She laughed. “You want my maidenhead, Potter, you have to marry me. I haven’t kept myself intact through seven years of school merely to lose my main selling point servicing a man who is to marry another.” “Are you not worth more than your virtue?” “My family is indigent; keeping neutral was expensive, too expensive.” “So you will be auctioned off?” “Hardly, my mother may have wasted our fortune, but she is nothing but a fine negotiator.” “Why doesn’t she marry?” “Potential suitors start by being friendly towards the mother and then, for some inexplicable reason, develop an interest in the daughter.” “Does this happen often?” “Frequently, since I was thirteen.” “That’s disgusting.” “It’s business, and besides, none of them ever laid a finger on me.” “Who then?” “Potter, your naivety amuses me, it’s a shame you won’t be here long enough for me to enjoy it for too much longer.” Whilst Harry bristled at the insult Zabini continued. “Men with indelicate predilections tended to find that slipping away at a dinner party to explore the bedrooms was irresistible. A few well-placed wards in my room and the suspicions of a concerned relative was all that was needed to cause a scene and my mother was always so good at playing the indignant parent. Money might not be able to buy happiness, but it is very good at buying silence.” “All of which is all well and good, but fails to explain why we are having this conversation.” “My point is this, Potter. You have enemies, Weasley has admirers. You both engender high emotions in others and it produces an unhealthy, not to say volatile, mix. You know as well as I do that not every Death Eater has been caught and some are still operational even inside the school. If you keep your brains in your head and out of your trousers then I trust that you’ll be able to negotiate your way around this. But if you can’t, then things will get messy. If it’s relief you want, we can arrange it: male or female, young or old, it doesn’t matter. If you want to save yourself, then sort it out sooner rather than later. I don’t know why Black picked Weasley for you, but since he has, please: do us all a favour and bring her into wedlock before it gets messy.” Throughout her speech, Harry wondered why he was sitting and listening to her and not putting her in her place. As he switched his attention from Zabini to Nott and then back again, he noticed that both of them appeared comfortable as to where the discussion was going. He, on the other hand, was far from comfortable. It had taken less than two days for him to begin to lose the mission awareness that had been his life up to this point. Was this the effect of the ‘socialising’ he had been forced into since becoming a pupil at the school? It was unlikely; he had limited his social intercourse to all but the bare necessities, with the obvious exception of Ginevra. Was she the cause of this malaise? Was the betrothal contract exerting its magic over him, the way he knew it had over her? There were eight days left until his time ran out: was this change in his behaviour the start of his paying the price of the non-consummation of the contract? Zabini had finished and so, he decided, was their alliance. Given the disrespect she had shown him, to persist with things as they were would be suicide. She, however, struck first. “I know you’re probably about to cast some ‘never seen since Merlin’ hex on me,” added Zabini, “but before you do, Potter, know that this meeting is being watched and so it would be very foolish for you to do anything rash.” “I’m afraid our alliance is at an end. Thank you for your candour, however misplaced it was. I have plenty queuing to insult me so I’d prefer allies that can offer something more useful.” “A not-unexpected choice, although you will be the loser and not I.” He rose and slung his book bag over his shoulder. “Word to the wise before you go.” He paused, despite himself. “The game is harder to play than you would appear to believe. I have no doubt that your aunt has taught you well, but some of us have been playing since we could walk and talk. You should bear that in mind before you try and dictate the form of an alliance.” As he walked away, he tried to reassure himself that he was right and that she was just bluffing. I should have put the pair of them in their place, especially the bitch. But she hadn’t been bluffing: too many of his house had been watching with interest and, although he would almost certainly lose respect, it was too public a place for any retribution that would match the scale of the anger he was feeling. Had he miscalculated that badly or had Zabini just got carried away? She didn’t strike him as someone who allowed her emotions to get the better of her, far from it. Her mother’s experience demonstrated that, in the pure-blood world, a woman without a male protector had to be one step ahead of the game just to survive. As he left the Great Hall, he decided that it was he who had made the mistake and she had merely tried to use the opening he had gifted her to her best advantage. He hoped that his judgement in this matter was better than hers. He had just started towards the Slytherin common room when a small boy wearing Ravenclaw robes came bustling up to him. “Excuse me, Mr Potter?” “Yes, what is it, boy?” “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr Potter, sir, but Professor McGonagall asked me to deliver this note to you.” He took the note and began to read: Potter, I require your assistance with a class of first years for the next two periods. Please present yourself to my classroom within the next 15 minutes. The boy will wait for your reply before returning to deliver your answer. M. McGonagall Harry Banished the note before turning to the boy. “Tell her I’ll be there as requested.” Without a word the boy ran off, obviously anxious to deliver the message. Food, he thought, I need food, something sweet. And with that thought he turned and headed towards the kitchens. ~*~ The time he spent with McGonagall and her first years was more enjoyable than he had imagined. Once they had got over their awe of him, they soon began to treat him as a friendlier counterpart to the professor’s dour demeanour. Where the friendliness had come from, he didn’t know and it was at odds with what he had done to Zabini prior to his arrival. The fact that no one had arrived to haul him off to the Headmaster meant that despite her injury no one had gone and grassed him up to the Bent Bumblebee. Still, if it hadn’t bothered Zabini that much, then he wasn’t going to let it bother him. As he moved from desk to desk, he was amused by their obvious attempts to impress him, but he also found himself enjoying their enthusiasm to learn and their joy when they’d completed a task. When the double lesson ended he took the long route back to the common room, trying and failing to bring order to the jumble of ideas and emotions swirling around inside his head. He had allowed himself to lose sight of his overall objective whilst he was in Hogwarts: to annoy and harass those who had used him for their own ends. Not only that, he had failed to use the skills he had so painfully learned to steer a clear path through the social interaction that his time here demanded. More worrying still was the time he had begun to give to what he had previously seen as frivolous pursuits. Yes, it was important to help the younger pupils in their education, but why had he become such a willing accomplice of the Deputy Head? Nott and Zabini were nowhere to be seen when he arrived, but word of their encounter must have reached the rest of the house as most seemed to feel less threatened by his arrival than he would have liked. Should have disciplined them properly, he muttered to himself as he strode across the common room. So what now? he asked himself as he contemplated the reaction of his housemates to the whole affair. The Slytherins who would be the most likely to challenge him were all younger than him, with the Goyle twins the most likely candidates. But their style, like their father’s, was to watch and wait and not rush in, relying on brute force. As he reached the first of the steps leading to his dorm, Greengrass caught his eye and signalled that she wished to talk to him. He nodded his acceptance and she followed a few respectful paces behind as they climbed the stairs to his room. “Nott and Zabini are surprisingly still in one piece.” Damn! This is what you get for trying to play at politics and intrigue. Why didn’t you just whisk Ginevra off the train and drag her off to the nearest registry office? “So what do you want? Offering me the hand of friendship, a bowl fruit with a complementary asp?” “My allegiances lie outside the school and so I have no interest in the machinations of the common room.” She was lying. No Slytherin worth their salt could afford to absent themselves from the political process whether inside or outside school. So why was she insulting his intelligence so? Was it to prove that she was above him? Or was this her attempt to bait him and test him? She wasn’t afraid of him and although she was practicing Occlumency, her skill was limited and it was clear that she knew he had seen through her lies. Oh, Bella, if only you were here. “What do you want, Greengrass?” he asked as they stepped over the threshold and into the dormitory he shared with three others. “I want nothing, Potter.” “Then why are you here?” “To deliver a message.” “So deliver it.” She sat on the bed. “All in good time.” “Well, you’re wasting mine, so if you don’t mind…” Rather than rising she lay back. “You have a nice bed, Potter.” “A nice single bed.” “Not for long, eh?” “It’ll still be single once you’ve left.” “Really? ” “My sister and I can be very creative.” Harry wondered if he had a sign on his back that said ‘sleep with me’. “Isn’t that incest?” “We don’t care, so why should you?” He’d had enough by now. Either the game she was playing was far too subtle for his mind to understand or the war truly had broken Slytherin house. Or, and this he thought the most likely explanation, its own depravity had weakened it so much that it was no longer a creditable force. He sat down on the bed next to her and, steeling himself, gave her his best impression of a gentle kiss. When she tried to deepen it, he moved his mouth away lest his revulsion show, rewarding her instead with a brief caress of her face. He leaned forward and, grabbing both of her hands, conjured a pair of manacles which then attached themselves to her. He did the same to her legs, making sure that they were spread far apart. “I like your style, Potter,” she murmured as she began to writhe on the bed with all the subtlety of an Imperiused erumpent. . Then, with a flick of his wand, he removed her clothes which ended up in a heap beside the bed. Despite himself, he found his body responding. She was beautiful, even down to the intricate tattoos that adorned her torso. But it would not be him whom she entertained this day. He should have put Zabini and Nott in their place earlier and would pay the price for not doing do. It wasn’t a mistake he was about to repeat, especially when there were no witnesses. “Greengrass, I dislike having my time wasted and being lied to. I am not looking for physical comfort, either. Were that the case, my aunt would be able to point me in the direction of ladies far more skilled and far more discrete than you could be. What’s more, the price of their services would be limited to gold and nothing more.” As he spoke, her expression changed from seductive, to inquisitive, and then to worried. “Tell the rest of your compatriots that I am tiring of these charades and that the next one to cross my path will not see another sunrise.” Taking out his wand, he began to cast a series of spells until someone, or more accurately something, began to appear on the bed between the girl’s legs. As he continued, the shape began to take form until there, complete with horns, cloven hooves and a forked beard, stood a daemon. “Enjoy, Greengrass, I know he will.” As the daemon knelt between her legs she began to scream, which he cut off with a Silencing Charm. As the daemon reached out to touch her, Harry cast several more spells and as the ordeal began, Greengrass fainted. A quick check revealed that she was indeed unconscious and so, with a wave of his wand, the illusion he had conjured began to fade. He banished the manacles and then turned his attention to her clothes, dressing her carefully. Once he was satisfied that she was properly attired, he opened his trunk and found the vial he was looking for. Distilled from the Nightmare Vine, just a few drops would cause her to experience, in her mind at least, the horrors she had believed she was about to go through. The potion would last at least thirty minutes and so he cast a Portkey spell on her left earring set for twenty. She would land in the forest near Hagrid’s hut with a loud enough sound to alert him. He spent the next fifteen minutes trying once again to reorder his thoughts. He made some progress, but the memory of Greengrass’ naked body kept intruding and even once he’d managed to exclude that image, it was replaced with one of Ginevra, lying on his bed, her robes pulled up above her thighs, calling to him to join her. ~*~ He was tempted to miss the evening meal; too much had transpired during the day that was unsettling him. Too many of his reactions had been, well, reactive. All his training was slipping away like a shamed servant, and that worried him. He was powerful, dangerously powerful some would say, certainly too powerful to be placed amongst a load of children who found spells he took for granted a great challenge. And then there were the emotions he had to deal with. Much as he’d looked forward to being free to be himself, he found it unnerving to have all external controls removed. Some emotions were pleasurable—his time with Ginevra stirred a range of emotions he had never felt and certainly more than he expected to feel in her presence—others less so. But what worried him was the pleasure he felt in areas he neither expected nor wanted to feel it. He had never enjoyed inflicting pain on others. True, he had experienced satisfaction when a well-aimed or perfectly-timed spell had taken down an enemy, but their loss of life or limb had never caused him to experience pleasure. So where had the pleasure come from that he had experienced as he’d disciplined Zabini? Why did he enjoy what he had done to Greengrass? Even now as he contemplated this, the thought of a daemon raping her stirred emotions and feelings he knew no civilised human being should be feeling. And then there was the small matter of his role as a classroom assistant. He couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed himself during those two hours, but that confused him as much as the pleasure he’d felt dealing with Greengrass. How did he manage to disparage seventh-years that struggled over NEWT-level spells but enjoy helping a Muggle-born who barely knew their arse from their elbow when it came to using a wand? Schizophrenia didn’t begin to explain it. He thought about taking time to travel back to Grimmauld Place and ask either Black, or more probably Bella, but neither of them struck him as one for philosophising over motives and the purity or otherwise of emotions. He could ask Dumbledore, but he refused to give that shirt-lifter the pleasure of taking the role of his adviser. No, unless he wanted to shock his wife-to-be with his degenerate mind, he was going to have to work things out himself. He glanced at the clock on the wall of the common room: it was nearly seven and time to eat. Perhaps he would be able to attract Ginevra’s attention before the meal was over so they could spend some time together before the day was over. As he entered the Great Hall, Harry quickly scanned the Gryffindor tables for his betrothed and was once more disappointed by her absence. His poor mood was short-lived as the door behind him opened and his senses lit up as if someone had removed a Sensory-Deprivation Charm from him. He spun around and there she was with two other Gryffindor girls. “Harry.” “Ginevra, how delightful to see you this evening. Do you have plans to dine with your friends or …?” “Yes, I do; sorry, Harry, we have a few issues with the prefects’ duties.” He schooled his features as best he could lest his disappointment show. “But I’m sure it’ll be finished by the time we’ve eaten so…” “Well, if I may be so bold, may I have the pleasure of escorting you to …” “I’m going back to the common room to work on some homework.” “To the common room it is, then. Until later then, Ginevra, ladies.” He remained where he was as she moved across the hall, picking up girls from both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw as she did so. Satisfied that nothing untoward was going to happen to her, he took his seat at the Slytherin table, pleased for once that no one took the opportunity to introduce themselves to him. Plenty of eyes observed his every movement, though. He ate sparingly, despite the quality of the food provided, choosing to observe Ginevra rather than enjoy the repast the elves had provided. She ate at a leisurely pace, pausing frequently to speak to her friends, the more bookish of the group taking notes as the conversation continued. ~*~ She knew that he was watching her. Even if some sixth sense hadn’t told her that was the case, common sense dictated that it be so. The anticipated irritation that should have followed this knowledge did not appear; instead she took a pride in it. All around the Great Hall, she knew there were witches, and probably a few wizards, who dreamed of such attention from Harry Potter. Her heart felt strangely warmed by the knowledge and she felt herself relax. As her friends talked, she found herself more than happy to let them take the lead in things. They were bright, intelligent girls who were more than capable of sorting out such a trivial issue as the pairings for prefect patrols. “You’re very relaxed tonight, Ginny.” “Aren’t I always?” She watched her friends exchange glances before replying. “Not really. I mean, you ... well ...” the girl struggled to articulate what she was thinking. Instead of pushing for an answer, Ginny merely smiled and turned to look over her shoulder at Harry. Her friends giggled amongst themselves and she found herself begin to get irritated with them as her old self began to reassert itself. Not wanting her deteriorating mood to affect her time with Harry, she made her excuses and left. She walked slowly towards the exit, watching as he stood and made his way over to her. His stride was unhurried but he was quickly offering his arm to her. ~*~ “I trust you are replete?” He knew that it was a clumsy opening remark but social intercourse had never been a priority for him. His fears dissipated as she quickly and smoothly replied. “As my mother would say, ‘an elegant sufficiency’.” She laughed and he joined her. The incongruity of the matronly Molly Weasley using such a phrase provided a much needed moment of levity, enabling him to relax. Okay, now focus, Potter. “It’s a phrase she borrowed from my Aunt Muriel; she’s the posh one in the family, by the way.” What did he say in response to that? Did he comment on her admission that pureblood or not, her social status was vastly inferior to his? “I am unfamiliar with your wider family, Ginevra. Do you have any other relatives other than your aunt?” His reply was bland enough so as not to cause offence, whilst allowing her to choose how much of her life she revealed to him. The journey back to her common room was not a long one and he calculated that he would need to ask her three more questions to maintain the flow of conversation for their short walk. ~*~ He was nervous, that much was obvious, and his question betrayed the sheltered nature of his existence. She wasn’t sure whether it was his nerves that made her feel relaxed or merely that she was finally becoming accustomed to his presence. She enjoyed being in his company; she felt at home and she could see her future as they spent time together. The physical desire that had previously threatened to overwhelm her was there, but she was now able to be in his presence without feeling the need to rub up against him like a cat in heat. Whether she would be able to control herself if their contact became more intimate was a moot point, but she would take what she could at this stage of their relationship. As they walked, their conversation continued to be limited, but she didn’t mind. Just being with him gave her pleasure: being able to do so and maintain decorum excited her almost as much as the brief jolts of concupiscent pleasure provided by the occasional contact of his hands on hers. She knew from her patrols as a prefect that they would pass three favourite trysting spots of lust-filled lovers during their journey. As they passed each one, she felt her heart rate increase and the now familiar rising desire in her loins return. Still, she was in control, but memories of the dishevelled state of some of those she had apprehended flashed before her and she began to respond. As they neared the Gryffindor common room, she knew that what had been awakened would not fade away when they parted and would have to be dealt with once she was in her room. Although she was impatient to be behind closed doors, she was not keen to leave his presence. Maybe it’ll pass, maybe it’ll be controllable…oh, Merlin! “I fear that we have come to the end of our time together, Ginevra.” Her arm slipped out of his, but before it could fully escape, he had reclaimed it, and now held her hand in his. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the wave of pleasure she knew would come. Despite the preparation, her knees betrayed her and she stumbled into him as she was consumed by passion. “Are you unwell, Ginevra?” He reached out as she stumbled towards him, catching her as a stifled moan escaped from her lips. His social inadequacies disappeared as he responded as if he was treating a battlefield injury. “You look flushed, do you have a temperature?” His cool fingers rested upon her forehead, exacerbating and not relieving her situation. His touch intensified her pleasure and, doing away with all decorum, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging on for both support and to ensure the continuation of what had started. “I will take you to the hospital wing, you are clearly unwell.” He made to disentangle her but she clung onto him as if her life depended on it. “No!” she shouted, “No, I’m okay, it’s just…” Another spasm overtook her and she pushed herself against his leg, desperate for contact. “It’s just an…” she paused again as another wave washed over her, “…old Quidditch injury, it gets like this from time to time.” The high point had passed and she was able, albeit with great difficulty, to converse with him. “All the more reason for you to allow me to take you to the matron. Come, Ginevra, it is imperative that your needs are addressed and I will not be satisfied until that is so.” She reluctantly pushed herself away from him. “I promise I will go tomorrow, it’ll only take a few moments to treat.” She could see the concern in his eyes and she wondered if he could see the desire in hers. “My experience of old injuries is limited, but if it is still causing you pain, then it may be that it has been misdiagnosed. If you are agreeable, I would be happy to examine the injury for you, should you not wish to be taken to the hospital wing.” She took a deep breath, her amusement at his inability to understand what was really going on helping her to regain full control of the situation. “I’ll be fine, Harry,” she replied, backing away from him towards the portrait. “Thank you for escorting me back here, I will no doubt see you in the morning.” She turned quickly and just managed to blurt out the password before walking into the entrance. As the portrait began to close behind her, she remembered to look back at Harry’s bewildered face. “Goodnight.” ~*~ To say that Harry was confused was an understatement. He replayed the short walk from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower and was satisfied that he had behaved with decorum and therefore was unconcerned to the consequences of any of his actions. As he walked slowly back to the Slytherin dungeon, he found himself becoming increasingly agitated. It felt wrong to be leaving her when she was obviously so distressed and possibly seriously ill. More than that, he was also struggling with feelings of guilt. Although he had used some simple spells to conceal matters, he had been mortified to discover that her closeness had stirred his body to such a degree that he had found it hard not to respond to the pressure of her body on his. He stopped outside a disused classroom and leant against the door frame. Focus, Potter. Did Bella not warn you against the foibles of your peers who let their lust get the better of them? He closed his eyes and sought to retain a degree of control as he regulated his breathing. Slowly, mastery returned but not without a struggle. Once he was certain that his equilibrium had been restored, he resumed his journey. He forced himself to turn the focus of his attention from Ginevra to the situation awaiting him in his own common room. His actions amongst his housemates would have stirred much antipathy toward him which, now it had had time to ferment in the post-repast assemblies of classmates, would now be a heady brew. As he reached the entrance to the common room, he checked his wand holster and took a few moments to draw upon his magic. Whatever was waiting for him, he was determined to be ready for it.
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