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Made of Common Clay	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 10987 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter Nine—That But Made Them Bleed
Harry yanks his head out of the Pensieve when a shake of his hair and a gasp. Then he sits back and sighs long and loudly enough that he thinks some of the dust in this ancient room where he keeps his Pensieve—one of the cellars of Grimmauld Place—will whirl around in miniature cyclones.
He should have known, really. But he didn’t want to think that would happen. He wanted to think the past was the past and they could all go their separate ways and no one would have any bitterness about it.
Even though he thinks it was carelessness and not spite that made her do this.
Harry sighs again, bottles the memories that he removed from the head of the woman called Isabella Carzel, and then sets the bottle on a shelf next to him. A pop behind him makes him wheel around, but it’s only Kreacher. Unlike the rest of the house-elves Hermione works with, Kreacher has insisted on retaining an elf’s traditional service place.
Harry doesn’t mind. Considering how much Kreacher orders him around, he doesn’t think their relationship is that of master and servant.
“Harry Potter Auror has not been resting.”
“No. I came back and someone was in my home, Kreacher. I had to discover who let her through the wards.”
“Harry Potter Auror has been watching memories for hours. Harry Potter Auror will eat a full meal and go to bed.”
Harry lifts his hands in mock surrender and follows Kreacher up the stairs. There are plates of scrambled eggs, treacle tart, corned beef sandwiches like the ones Molly makes, and frothy chocolate custard waiting—all his favorites. Harry sits down and digs in with relish, while Kreacher watches to be sure he eats every bite.
The plates all vanish the second he’s done, and Kreacher points sternly up the stairs. Harry nods. He doesn’t spend that much time in Grimmauld Place anymore. The memories of Sirius usually depress him, and it’s too grand for him. It makes his skin prickle and itch.
But right now, he’s too tired to Apparate, and at least he knows the wards of Grimmauld Place have never been compromised, because he’s never invited anyone in but Ron and Hermione. He slogs up the stairs and goes to bed in Regulus’s room. The sheets are clean as always.
Harry closes his eyes and at least manages to sleep like a soldier, without a thought of the unpleasant confrontation that awaits him tomorrow.
*
“You asked for a private meeting, Lord Potter?”
Harry nods and leans forwards. “Yes, Lady Honeywell,” he whispers hoarsely. “There are—there are people who aren’t happy to see me sitting in the Sun Chamber, as you know.”
Honeywell reacts instinctively to his words, and raises some anti-eavesdropping spells around the room that even Harry has to admit are impressive. “The commoners? Ignore the rabble, Lord Potter. Of course it would be better if they still did not know of the Sun Chamber’s existence, but it not your fault that your lack of experience—”
“No. These are other Lords and Ladies.”
Honeywell immediately draws herself up. Harry has to admit that she looks almost intimidating. Such a pity that it’s not enough to earn his respect. “That is a serious accusation, Lord Potter.”
“I know that,” Harry says solemnly, and takes the Pensieve out of his cloak, along with the vial of liquid memories from Isabella Carzel. Everything except the most damning memory, of course, the one that revealed to him how Carzel got through his wards. “But I arrived home last night to find a woman waiting to seduce me. And she provided me with the names of her employers after I rejected her advances.”
Honeywell looks as if she’s about to faint. “No one—a Lord or Lady’s bed is sacred.”
Harry blinks. That’s not something he remembers reading in the books she lent him. Luckily, Honeywell goes on rambling and explains herself as she clutches at her cane. “The mere possibility that you might sire illegitimate heirs—”
Ah. Of course. Harry inclines his head. “Then you can understand my outrage. Will you view the memories, Lady Honeywell?”
“I will.” Her response is instant, and she doesn’t appear at all deterred when Harry wants to hold himself back from seeing the memories again. In truth, he thinks he’ll burst out laughing if he sees Lucius Malfoy and the rest standing around in black cloaks like the Death Eaters some of them were. They used enchantments to mask their voices, too, but Carzel demanded their names, so that was useless.
When Honeywell comes back from the memories, she’s clearly shaking. Harry thinks it’s fear. He wonders for a moment if he should have approached someone else. It’s true that she’s his closest ally in the Sun Chamber other than Neville, but she’s older and fragile and might take this kind of shock as a blow that stops her in her tracks.
But then Honeywell turns around, and Harry realizes the tremor in her hands was one of rage, not of fear at all.
“They are traitors to the cause of all true Lords and Ladies,” Honeywell says, in a clipped tone. “They should remember that you are the Lord of two Lines, and that puts you above all but the most ancient of families.”
Harry nods. It’s stupid rhetoric, but it’s stupid rhetoric he needs on his side at the second, so he’ll take it. “You can suggest a way to deal with them?”
“Yes, I can.” Honeywell grins at him, and Harry is surprised by how bloodthirsty it is. “And it’s much less bloody than a duel. We cannot afford to have our numbers reduced further after losing Lord Selwyn. For one thing, you have no heir to either the Potter or the Black lines, Lord Potter, and I have seen enough families lost.”
Harry tilts his head. He supposes that people can be committed to even corrupt and stupid principles. Honeywell sounds like she is. “What’s that way, Lady?”
“We’ll need to call a special meeting in the Sun Chamber. And make sure that everyone brings their stoles with them.”
*
“I have called you here today to discuss the news of a very grave betrayal against a member of our illustrious Sun Chamber.”
The Lords and Ladies start and murmur. Harry sits in the seat next to Neville with his eyes cast down and his hands folded. Even though this sudden meeting upset his plans—which were to confront the people who gave Carzel access to his wards—he has to fight to keep his shoulders still and the laughter from bubbling up inside.
This is fantastic.
“We all know the importance of keeping our bloodlines clean,” Honeywell says, stumping back and forth in front of the Sun Chamber like an animated tree. “And yet, someone dared to buy a seductress to set on our beloved Lord Potter and Lord Black!”
Harry doesn’t imagine the shudder that travels through the Malfoys and the other people Carzel named this time. It seems they’re more afraid of Honeywell than he knew.
Then again, he did know they were wary of attracting attention, or they would simply have moved against Harry openly, assured of protection by their names and blood. It seems they have a teaspoon more of sense than Harry thought.
It’s a little disappointing. But not as much as it is entertaining.
“Beloved is perhaps an overstatement,” Draco Malfoy finally says, speaking up even though Harry’s read rules that say an Heir is supposed to stay quiet in the Sun Chamber unless spoken to or unless they’re filling in for an absent parent. Given Lucius’s current attempt to murder his son with his eyes, that rule is true. “You can’t forget that we stood on opposite sides of a war not long ago, Lady Honeywell.”
Honeywell actually takes the stairs until she’s standing right next to Draco’s seat. He cowers. Harry wants to shake his head. Turning thirty hasn’t changed him. But then, neither did surviving the war and seeing what an idiot he’d been to take the Dark Mark. Harry probably ought to give up on changes coming from that direction.
“And you should not forget that blood matters in here, not Dark and Light affiliations!” Honeywell thunders, waving her cane. Harry leans forwards, but she manipulates it carefully so the cane doesn’t strike Draco. Harry leans back with a little sigh of disappointment. “Lord Potter and Lord Black has the proper blood! He is the chosen heir! You are not a Lord yet, Heir Malfoy! Remember your place.”
Draco shrinks in his seat. He also finally seems to notice his father’s glare, and refrains from glaring himself when his eyes meet Harry’s. He looks down and nods. Honeywell nods roughly back and returns to the floor.
“You have challenged a fellow Lord on ground that was not yours to fight. You have tried to corrupt his bloodline.” Honeywell stands still after she gets back to floor level, and her glance is scathing as it passes back and forth between the Lords and Ladies. “I call on the magic of the Sun Chamber to punish those who have acted dishonorably by a fellow Lord.”
Harry blinks as he watches Lucius Malfoy reach up and nearly tear the golden stole from his shoulders. Then he lowers his hand and sits with his eyes stretched wide and his lip imprisoned between his teeth. Harry turns to Neville.
“What, is this the one part of those books you didn’t read?” Neville is grinning viciously, something Harry hasn’t seen since the war and has missed. “The stoles heat up to punish them. The more heat, the worse the crime.”
“Too bad it can’t punish them for the real crimes they’ve committed,” Harry mutters as he watches a few other people—all names Carzel gave him—claw at their necks. Draco doesn’t, since he doesn’t wear the stole, but he does look pale enough to leave Harry in no doubt that he’ll get his own punishment later.
“Yeah, but the heat of the sun only punishes them for breaking the rules of the Chamber.” Neville shrugs. “‘Those who wear the sun around their necks—’”
“‘Should remember that it can burn all of them.’” Honeywell’s eyes are flashing as she looks around the room. “Yes, thank you, Lord Longbottom. There are some here who need to be reminded of that.” She thumps her cane again, and then turns to Atlas Parkinson, who is shuddering as if he can barely remember not to tear at his own skin. “Does wearing a brand of shame teach you that, Lord Parkinson?”
For a second, Harry thinks Atlas isn’t going to answer. But then he abruptly tears the stole from his neck and flings it to the floor. “I challenge Lord Potter and Lord Black to a duel!” he shouts.
Harry narrows his eyes. Honeywell never said—
“You cannot do that, my Lord,” Honeywell says, moving a step forwards. “You are branded for a crime against a fellow Lord. You have lost the right to honorably duel him until you make amends.”
“He is my enemy and my Heiress’s enemy!” Atlas shouts. Harry thinks he can actually see steam rising from the back of his neck. “I have the bloody right to challenge him whenever I bloody well please!”
“And now you are dangerously near conduct unbecoming of a Lord.” Honeywell collects eyes as she looks around the room again. “I wonder how many will vote to censure you for that?”
Harry can see the trembling eagerness even before the hands rise, and some of them are the hands of those also punished by the stoles. He wants to snort. Of course. They’ll gladly use Atlas Parkinson as their scapegoat and pretend their resentment against Harry doesn’t exist.
“I thought so.” Honeywell’s voice is smug. She faces Atlas and shakes her head. “Take your punishment like a man, Lord Parkinson, if you cannot take it as a noble.”
Atlas sits down and picks up the stole. From the wince he gives, it’s still burning. He tucks it over the back of his branded neck, and Harry hears the way he hisses.
Good. Harry turns his head a little to the side, and sees Pansy Parkinson staring at him with undisguised dislike. Harry smiles at her. She immediately goes red, but stays quiet. Draco’s outburst seems to have taught her something.
“We have always obeyed the unity of blood in the Sun Chamber,” says Honeywell sternly, looking from face to face and shaking her head a little. Harry can’t help but compare her to Professor McGonagall in his head. “We have always said that bloodlines are respected, and we have rules to deal with Lords and Ladies that you cannot stand. My fellow nobles, breaking those rules is useless. You will be found out in the end.”
Especially when they have no idea who they’re dealing with, Harry thinks idly. He’s managed to hide the truth from the people he works with in the Ministry for a dozen years. Making the Lords and Ladies of the Sun Chamber, who are stupid enough to think that bloodlines mean something, underestimate him is no game at all.
“Ready?”
Harry nearly starts out of his seat, and then realizes it’s Neville speaking. He looks at his friend with a faint smile. Of course. Neville wanted to bring one of their plans to life, and Harry agrees it’s only sensible. That will keep too many people from looking at him as the sole source of rebellion in the Sun Chamber.
Besides, why should Harry have all the fun by himself?
“Ready to support you,” he whispers, and Neville stands with a dramatic motion of his robes and stole just as the moment comes for Honeywell to open her mouth again. She’s probably going to announce that the Lords and Ladies have paid enough of a price and all is forgiven now.
Harry feels more pity for her than he did before. She’s not stupid, but her unwavering faith in those rules is.
“I wanted the Sun Chamber’s advice on something,” says Neville, his eyes cast down. He looks as bashful and shy as he used to be in Gryffindor. Harry wants so badly to laugh, but he keeps his face calm and attentive, as if he has no idea what Neville is going to say. “I am only a young Lord, and my parents are incapacitated, and it’s not easy for me to make my own decisions. And now I have so much riding on it! I’d like to know what you would say.”
“Of course we will give you any advice we can,” says Honeywell, and shows Neville a smile that is almost motherly.
“Thank you.” Neville plays with a thread at the corner of his sleeve, then looks up and takes a deep breath. “It has to do with the protestors that have been angry about the existence of the Sun Chamber, and what you think we ought to do about them…”
Harry leans back and listens as Neville weaves a tale of how frightened he is, and how he wishes for bodyguards, and how he would like some of the members of the Sun Chamber to teach him how to ward his home. It’s a more convoluted path towards embarrassing them than Harry would have taken, but this is Neville’s part of the resistance: meeker and more cunning than Harry’s.
Thinking of wards on his home makes Harry think of the confrontation yet to come. He sighs and forces himself to listen to Neville’s words instead, so he can back him up later. That will be a pure pleasure.
The confrontation, not so much.
*
“Harry! You scared the life out of me.” Ginny places a hand over her heart. Her broom has already fallen with a loud clatter on the floor.
Harry stands with his head cocked, listening. Yes, there is someone else moving in Ginny’s flat, and he doubts she would have a friend over right now. Her robe is still twitched a little to the side as if someone has recently reached beneath it. He turns and meets her eyes. “Ginny, I need to talk to you and Simon.”
Ginny scowls at him. “You gave up any claim to date me, Harry.”
“This isn’t about that.”
Ginny finally seems to realize that he isn’t smiling. She gives him an uneasy look. “Harry, what—”
“Lord Potter!” Simon sweeps out of the next room, waving a hand around as if he’s welcoming Harry to a theater. “I’m so glad to see you!”
He doesn’t look as glad as when Harry has his wand out a minute later, pointing at him. In fact, he makes an entertaining erp noise and almost stumbles over his feet trying to back away. Harry reckons that Ginny told him the truth about Harry’s magical prowess, at least, which isn’t something lots of people in the Ministry know.
“It was probably sentiment that made me keep Ginny tied into the wards,” Harry says, not looking away from Simon’s face. “It was certainly sentiment that made her let the secret slip to you, Morreth. But I want to know what made you tell the other Lords and Ladies in the Sun Chamber.” He slinks a step closer. “The faster you talk, the less I’ll hurt you. Now. Start.”
*
SickPuppy: Yes, Harry does!
BookDragon: It usually is, although it hasn't been updated in a ltitle while before this.
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Made of Common Clay