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The Art of Self-Fashioning	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 26078 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter Fifty-Six--St. Mungo's
Harry carefully stretched his hand out to its full length and flexed his claws, examining them critically. He nodded, satisfied. He had overcome the magical exhaustion that had plagued him after he had confronted Lord Dudders at the shack.
That meant they could move on St. Mungo's now.
Harry knew there would be traps waiting there. Probably Death Eaters, if Lord Dudders had any Marked Healers. And there might be people who would be willing to kill to keep him from taking his parents away.
But Harry would succeed anyway, because he was determined to. Regulus and Professor McGonagall had managed to agree on what kind of beds and food would be needed for his parents. Weasley and Granger knew nothing about it. Neville and Terry would stay out of the way. Lord Dudders had only two Horcruxes left, one of them with Harry and able to choose his own fate, the other beyond him as yet.
It was time.
Harry flowed to his feet and towards his bedroom door, but stopped long before he reached it. There were two people standing outside it. He wondered for a moment what Weasley and Granger--it was them; only they would stand there without knocking--thought they could contribute to his efforts.
Or perhaps they intended to stop him.
That intrigued Harry, because he hadn't thought they were that stupid. He opened the door, making sure Cross, who had slept with him last night, was behind him. "Yes?"
Weasley jumped like he hadn't thought Harry would address them, or maybe like he hadn't thought Harry would hear them, and gave a sharp glance at Granger. She glared sharply back, and stepped forwards to confront Harry.
It'll be stop me, then. She wouldn't look like this if she meant to offer help.
"I want you to know," Granger said, speaking as if to a child, "that what you did to Professor Dumbledore was wrong."
Harry cocked his head. "What about what he was going to do to me?"
"He wouldn't have killed you."
"I think he would have, but say you're right. Professor McGonagall told me that he thought I had Lycaon's Syndrome, which means you dissolve into magic at the end. Say that he wasn't going to kill me, just lock me away somewhere and go back to using Neville as a pawn. Is that good?"
"Neville isn't a pawn! He's important! He's the Boy-Who-Lived!"
"And a Horcrux. If you think Dumbledore didn't know that, then you're really more stupid than I thought you were, Granger."
"But Dumbledore would have--Dumbledore would have found some way to get it out of him. He wouldn't have used Neville the way you're doing."
Harry leaned a shoulder on the doorframe, amused enough to let the conversation continue for a moment. "He knew he was a Horcrux. Why did he never tell Neville? Why not explain the truth and tell him he was going to get it out of him?"
“He probably worried about who else would overhear.” Granger’s eyes were narrowed, letting him know exactly who she would have been worried about.
Harry shook his head. “Well, honestly, this conversation has little point. Dumbledore is dead, and that means we can’t know for sure what he would have done.” He had the feeling that Regulus would think he was being too generous to Dumbledore and they could say what he would have done, but he was bored of thinking about it. “Move.”
Weasley put his hand on Granger’s shoulder and murmured, “Maybe we should—”
But Granger was pressing forwards. “The only reason he’s dead is because you killed him.”
“Yes? Yes, it was me, and not Voldemort.” Harry only used the name because he knew it would make them flinch, and it did. “What were you expecting me to say? To deny it?”
“You don’t have to act like you’re proud of it.”
“I’m not.” There was dawning disbelief in her eyes, and Harry added, “I would have been proud of myself if I’d realized earlier that he was standing in the way and there was really no reason to spare his life. But at least I finally realized it and did something about it.”
Granger still stood in his way, her hands held out to either side of her and clenched into those ridiculous fists. “If you were only sorry for it! If you only acted as if you cared about the people Dumbledore left behind!”
Harry blinked. Other than Aberforth, Dumbledore’s brother, who he’d only heard of in the context of goat jokes, he had no idea Dumbledore had any family. “What? Are you saying he had children? A spouse?”
“No, I mean us! The people who admired him!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You only admired him because you didn’t know him very well and you have no idea what his plans for Neville really were. I suggest you ask Neville whether he thinks Dumbledore would have spared his life when he was trying to find some way to get rid of the Horcrux. It ought to be enlightening. Now, move.” His voice descended to enough of a growl that Cross bounded up between his feet and spat at them.
“I’m not going to let you leave. I’m going to demand that you face justice for what you did to Professor Dumbledore.”
Harry moved. One second Granger was spitting what she probably thought were proud words at him, and the next second Harry had her pinned to the wall with his claws laid across her throat. Granger cried out, a wordless squeak like a mouse, except that none of Harry’s mice would be so cowardly, and Weasley shouted.
“You let her go right now!”
“No,” Harry said, his eyes on Granger. She could try to raise her wand, but it was pinned under the crook of Harry’s elbow, and anyway, she wouldn’t be able to speak the words of an incantation before he tore out her throat. “Cross.”
There was a spitting noise, a hiss, and a yowl that didn’t come from his cat. Harry held out his hand, and Cross scampered over to him and gave him Weasley’s wand.
“Now,” Harry said pleasantly into the ensuing silence, “you’re going to listen to me.”
Weasley moved towards him, from the sound, but all Harry did was clench his claws into Granger’s throat. She gurgled, and Weasley stopped. “Don’t hurt her.”
“I won’t if you listen.”
Weasley backed away. From the corner of his eye, Harry thought he could see his hands raised in surrender.
“I allowed you to come with Neville because he wanted you, and I thought you would give him some backbone and support.” Harry lowered his voice, making both Weasley and Granger strain to hear, although Granger was probably having trouble because of her own terror. “I can’t be with him all the time, and Regulus doesn’t care about him that much. Professor McGonagall trained him, and the training from some of the other professors was brutal, so I don’t blame Neville for not always trusting her.
“You’ve been nothing but trouble from the day you arrived here, instead. You insist on being included, but you have so little to offer. You keep trying to tell Neville that I’m trouble and you have to stop me. I was on the point of telling Regulus to exile you beyond the wards again, but then you would probably just go and blurt out the secret of the place to anyone who would listen.” He tightened his claws.
Granger closed her eyes as blood ran down her throat. Weasley drew breath as if to shout, but didn’t.
“Now, this. Listen to me. Dumbledore had stolen an artifact from my family. He thought I should have died. He had to know about the Horcrux in Neville, but he never bothered to tell him and give him a choice of what to do about it. He belongs dead.”
Granger had tears at the corner of her eye. Weasley was shuffling around as if he thought he could sneak up on Harry’s other side and take him by surprise. Harry turned his head and hissed a little, and Weasley’s ambitions deflated.
“Nothing you’ve done convinces me you’re ready to arrest me, or whatever you thought you would do. You’re not dead now because I don’t want to distress Neville. He’s suffered enough. Whatever friendship he sees in you, he’s entitled to keep it if he wants.”
“Neville—Neville would be the first one to tell you—” Granger swallowed against the pressure of his claws on her throat. Harry was reluctantly impressed. “That he doesn’t think he’s b-better than us in any way.”
“Oh, I know that. But I think he’s better.”
“What are you going to do?” Weasley was trying to snarl. It would have been adorable if he was a kitten. As it was, it bored Harry.
“Take you to Regulus and ask you to use a certain spell he told me about.” It had been in one of the books in the Black library. Harry had looked at them only briefly because he had been seeking information about Horcruxes, not mind magic. But Regulus had told Harry to entertain himself, or maybe because Harry had told him about Obliviating Malfoy.
He started to edge Granger along the wall towards the stairs, then turned his head when he heard no movement. “Coming, Weasley?”
“You can’t—take her all the way to Black like that!”
“Watch me,” Harry told him coolly, and did so.
*
Harry watched as Regulus sighed wearily and leaned back in the chair. The look on his face didn’t fool Harry. Someone’s conscious body language was always less revealing than their unconscious, and Harry could see the smile that tugged at the edge of Regulus’s lips.
“Are you ready to listen to me now when I tell you there was no benefit to them coming here?”
“There was benefit to Neville, and that was all I cared about.” Harry shrugged. “But now there’s none to us, you’re right. Perform the spell, and that should be what needs to be done. It won’t diminish their loyalty to Neville or their determination to stand by him.”
“And when they try to get you in trouble again?”
“If you perform the spell correctly, there should be no reason for them to do that.” Harry leaned back against the wall and looked critically at Regulus. “Or are you telling me that you’re incapable?”
Regulus laughed and leaned forwards to ruffle Harry’s hair. Harry endured it. Sometimes Regulus needed to do stupid things to express himself. “I like the way you think.” He drew his wand and turned to Weasley, who was standing next to the door, and Granger, who Harry still held with his claws across her throat.
“I don’t want to know how the spell is going to diminish us,” Weasley said. His voice was thick, but he was brave, Harry had to admit. Then again, he had never bothered to say they didn’t have that particular Gryffindor virtue. He just didn’t care about it.
“That’s good, because I wasn’t planning to tell you anyway,” Regulus said, and began to trace the intricate patterns with his wand that Harry had read about in the book. He didn’t speak the incantations aloud, either, probably to keep Weasley or Granger from trying some desperate counter. His face was intent, the way it had been when he destroyed the locket and the ring.
Harry watched in silence. The patterns Regulus’s wand traced grew thicker and brighter with each repetition, until they were clearly manacles made of pale light, hovering in the air. Harry knew the spell would end when Regulus waved his wand and sent the manacles flying at Weasley and Granger, curling around their skulls and chaining the thoughts inside.
This was a more secure version of a Memory Charm, Regulus had told Harry. Obliviate couldn’t remove the memories permanently; it could only hide them, and the block could be broken, the way it must have happened with Malfoy. But Regulus’s spell would not only chain the memories of Dumbledore’s death and their hatred towards Harry inside Weasley’s and Granger’s minds, it would repair any holes in their memories neatly and fill the rips with soothing fog.
Best of all, they would be unable to comprehend any words that related to Dumbledore’s death or any of the other forbidden memories. They could read articles about it in the Daily Prophet—whenever the professors at Hogwarts stopped hiding the story and released the truth, anyway—and absorb nothing. Neville could make reference to past events and they would shrug and immediately forget what he’d said.
Harry still thought the best thing would be to warn Neville before he could get too upset that he was referencing things they couldn’t remember.
Regulus had said Weasley and Granger would need some time to recover from the spell anyway, so he might as well slip off and tell Neville while they were sleeping. Harry stood here, motionless, ready to leave the moment it was done.
“You have no right to do this to us.”
Granger’s voice was low and passionate. Harry was moved to respond the way he usually wouldn’t. “What right did you have to try and get me arrested?”
“Hush, Harry,” said Regulus, and his wand moved.
The pattern it traced in the air was strange to Harry, all flipping movements that turned back on themselves and a weird, jerky stop that seemed to separate one pattern and another. Weasley and Granger stared at Regulus as if hypnotized or lost in the patterns, their breathing deep. Harry shrugged. He wondered if it had something to do with them having more human minds than he did.
Regulus did finally begin an incantation, but it was a low, whispery chant that didn’t sound Latin. On and on it went, and Harry began to understand why more people didn’t bother with this intricate version of the Memory Charm. It would take forever to cast—not something you could use in battle or when you’d accidentally let slip a secret in front of someone else who could run.
Finally, Regulus snapped his wand down, and the shimmering patterns became more visible. They looked like blue ice filled with mist, and they formed the shapes of chains and more manacles than before. Harry nodded approvingly. This looked like magic that could keep the secrets firmly within Granger’s and Weasley’s minds.
He watched as the chains settled around their heads and they shuddered, then dropped to the floor. “Thank you, Regulus,” he murmured.
Regulus simply shook his head and put his wand away. His hand was shaking, too, Harry noticed, and he reached out to brace himself against the mantel. “Go and talk to Neville.”
Harry turned, but he did call softly, and Cross came around the corner with his tail in the air. Harry nodded to Regulus. The cat sat down and gazed at Regulus calmly. He would be in the way if Regulus tried to fall.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know that.”
Maybe the surprised tone in his voice silenced Regulus; Harry didn’t really know. He did know he was out of the room a moment later, free, slipping silently along the corridors that would take him to Neville’s room.
*
Neville listened to what Harry was saying, and what he wasn’t, his eyes on Dapple, curled in his lap. He stroked him now and then when Harry paused. But Harry didn’t pause all that often. He laid it all out, what Ron and Hermione would have done, the way he had held Hermione against the wall with his claws across his throat, what Black had done to them.
Then he paused. And he said, “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I—they made it clear that they didn’t trust you and thought you should be arrested for Dumbledore’s death.”
“I see. And you made no attempt to dissuade them?”
“I stood up against them. That was what I thought I couldn’t do.” Neville touched Dapple’s back. “He came back and helped me do it.”
Harry was silent. Neville looked him in the eye. At the moment, Harry sat motionless, and Neville thought he might consider it a betrayal that Neville hadn’t come and told him about Ron and Hermione’s plans right away.
But he wasn’t scared that Harry would hurt him, any more than he had hurt, really hurt, Ron and Hermione. He trusted Harry too much for that.
“Then you did what you had to do,” Harry said, and gave him a faint smile. “If I was as close to friends as you are to them, I don’t know if I could have done it.”
Neville shrugged a little, awkward, feeling his cheeks color. They were in his bedroom, Neville and Dapple on the bed and Harry in the chair, but honestly, Neville felt as embarrassed as if they were talking in from of Black and Professor McGonagall. “But you’re not like that. I know that. You’re my friend, but not—not in the same way Ron and Hermione are. That’s just the way it is.”
He hadn’t ever imagined being able to say something like this to someone, but Harry only nodded. They understood each other, Neville thought, for all the chasms that lay in between them.
“Where are you going?” he added as Harry stood up. He wasn’t sure what made him ask, except that Harry wasn’t moving as if he intended to simply walk down the corridor and back to the library.
“To St. Mungo’s to fetch my parents out. I should have done it before, but I thought—well, I thought Lord Dudders would concentrate on me and leave them alone, and I wanted to concentrate on making him mortal first. But now that he knows I know about his Horcruxes, there’s no point in hesitating.”
“Should you do that when you were suffering from magical exhaustion yesterday?”
“It’s been more than twenty-four hours.” Harry’s eyes glinted as he turned to look at Neville. Neville didn’t think he’d made any alterations to them, but they shone like an animal’s in the darkness anyway. “That’s long enough.”
“Let—let me go with you.”
Harry reached across enough distance to touch his shoulder. Dapple, left on the bed when Neville stood up, watched them alertly as if to make sure that Harry wouldn’t scratch him. “I’m sorry, Neville, but you’re not a good enough fighter if we do run into trouble.”
“Who’s going with you, then? Professor McGonagall is still tired, you said that Black performed that spell on Ron and Hermione and he won’t be recovered enough for a while—”
“Yar is going with me. And someone special.” Harry smiled.
“Harry.”
“Not right now, Neville,” Harry said, and slipped down the corridor in that way he had. Neville chased him, but wasn’t surprised when he came out at the top of the stairs and found Harry gone. He could practically blend with the shadows. Of course, since this was also the Black house, he could have found a secret passage and gone through it.
Neville stood there, hesitating. He could tell people about it, but Black and Professor McGonagall were both exhausted and that would only worry them more without making them able to do anything. Ron and Hermione would be no help even if they were awake.
Of course! Terry.
Neville turned and ran for Terry’s bedroom, knocking furiously on the door. Only after almost a minute did it occur to him that no one could have slept through the noise he was making. He stepped back, took a deep breath, and did an Unlocking Charm.
One peek in confirmed what he’d suspected.
Terry was gone.
*

Terry muttered under his breath at himself as he followed Harry out of the house. “This is stupid. You know he won’t let you come. And he’ll see you. And you can’t keep up with him on a broom.” At least Harry was taking a broom. Terry actually wasn’t sure he knew how to Apparate. It made one thing easier.
But only one thing.
Terry stepped out of the house and looked around. No, there was no one else here. Of course, everyone else was either resting or too sensible.
He stepped around the corner and stopped. Harry had his hand on a broom and was casually leaning against it. On the ground at his feet was Terry’s broom, which Black had let him keep in a shed behind the house.
Terry could feel himself flushing the dull red that his cousins had always told him was his most unattractive color. He cleared his throat. “You knew what I was going to do?”
“Yes, and I considered making you stay behind, for the same reason I told Neville. You’ve had some training, but not in a real battle, and I don’t want to be responsible for you dying if Lord Dudders is waiting for us.”
Terry said nothing. He didn’t know what decision Harry had come to, but it actually sounded hopeful for him, based on the way Harry had worded it.
Harry considered him for a moment, then nodded hard and practically threw his broom at him. Terry caught it and slung a leg over it.
“Why are you letting me come?”
“Because if I die, I don’t want Regulus and Professor McGonagall to wonder what happened to me.” Harry tossed something else to him. Terry caught it gingerly. It was a wrapped package, and when he opened it, there was a small mirror inside.
“What…”
“The Blacks used to use these mirrors to talk to each other, when there were more of them,” Harry explained. “Regulus thought about taking them along to Hogwarts, but he knew I wanted to get you and the others out of the way, so he decided there was no reason for us to communicate with them. This time, I’m going to have one, and you’re going to have one. If I die, then you can tell the others exactly what it was.”
Terry winced a little. “That’s…”
“The way I am.”
Terry nodded. Really, he knew that, and he had accepted all the risks of that coldness when he’d chosen to follow Harry to Grimmauld Place. He wrapped the cloth more firmly around the mirror and put it in his pocket. “Are we going to leave?”
“Now.” Harry climbed aboard his own broom and rose into the air like a falling leaf in reverse. Only because he went slowly on purpose could Terry follow.
But that sums up the whole damn mission, really.
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The Art of Self-Fashioning