Chapter 26

Fleur sidled into Marie's dorm room with a little trepidation, unsure what she'd find. Her best friend wouldn't have brought Harry back here, would she?

Not in her bed. Their bed, Fleur amended. Sometimes, when they were lonely.

Madam Maxime trusted witches of their age to have a room of their own, believing it encouraged independence and maturity. But she doubted the Headmistress would look kindly on the Boy-Who-Lived being found creeping out of the school.

Marie had missed breakfast. And lunch. Fleur was grateful she had a key to the room — what if her best friend had been killed by Harry's giant cock? That could happen. Possibly.

But instead she was greeted by Marie's soft voice, singing happily to herself, that beautiful voice of hers, the voice she hadn't heard sing in such a long time, since before she was a teenager with all the trials and angst that brought.

Fleur padded slowly forward to see Marie lying down on her bed, kicking her feet gently, staring up at the ceiling blankly. She was wearing just a nightie, her Halloween school-girl costume tossed on the floor. It was stained with cum, the intoxicating scent filling her nostrils. And the thong inside, once Beauxbatons blue, now pooled with white cum, still thick, somehow still wet.

Fleur swallowed hard, resisting the urge to snatch it up.

"Marie?"

The girl blinked and then hit her with the biggest smile she'd ever seen on her friend, a smile so self-assured and easy that it looked unfamiliar.

"Hi, Fleur." Marie bound off the bed and wrapped her in a hug. A kiss on both cheeks but not on her lips. Not like usual. "Sorry I didn't see you, I've been tied up in my head. Lots of new things to think through."

"It's dinner time, Marie." Fleur said, glancing around the room. "You missed the whole Sunday."

"Oh, right." The beautiful brunette girl blushed. "I was with Harry in his hotel this morning and well, when I came back, I guess I just had lots to think about."

"Oh, yeah?" Fleur said, swallowing hard. She stepped to her friend's kitchenette, flicking through the array of herbal teas, trying to affect disinterest. "How was he?"

"Fleur!" Marie squealed, her body falling back on her bed with a thump. "It was the best. He was…I've never. I mean, my god, I still can't—"

"I'm surprised he took you home." Fleur grimaced as she heard her own words. "I mean, surprised that he — you — moved so fast."

"Too fast, after he fucked me in the nightclub, you mean?" Marie giggled. "It's not me, I know, you know, but he's different, he's…" She shivered and sighed, flinging her arms and legs out.

Fleur snorted. "I think you need some water." She sniffed and then regretted it — Harry's cum was a musk she couldn't escape. "Maybe a shower. It's like you've never done it before. I've made you like this before."

"Not like this. Never like this." The brunette beauty said dreamily. "My whole life has changed."

"Marie." Fleur said sharply. "Snap out of it. It's just sex — you need to eat something."

Marie jumped to her knees, the bed creaking. "You don't understand. You haven't done it. You haven't had him." But her tone wasn't mocking, but…sympathetic.

Fleur began washing a teacup out in the sink, if only to stop her fists from clenching. "It's sex, Marie. A veela understands sex."

"Not like this." Marie leaped out of bed and entwined her arms around Fleur's waist, burying her head into her hair. "This isn't just sex. This is joy. This is pure. I've never felt like this — ever. It was one long orgasm, starting in my toes and reaching my heart. I thought I was going to die." She giggled, wriggling her head as she tried to make her way through Fleur's thick mane. "Are you happy for me?"

Fleur flushed. The teacup in her hand dropped loudly into the sink. Marie never acted like this. "I, yes, of course. It's just, I don't want you to be hurt, that's all. He's just a boy, still."

"Nope!" Marie smacked her lips. "Trust me. He's all man. A gorgeous, handsome, rich man with the biggest heart."

The Veela teenager snorted, hunching her shoulders over as she rescued the teacup to clean anew. "You sound like you're in love."

"Maybeee," Marie sang.

Fleur felt her lips thin as she whirled around. She grabbed her friend by the shoulders to hold her still. "Marie, listen to me. It's just good sex."

Marie wasn't dissuaded — the smile on her lips never dropped an inch. "I don't think so. He's coming back midweek, I'm going to cook him dinner. And look," She pulled her long hair away from her neck, revealing a gleaming pearl necklace. "He gave me this. Don't I look so classic? Like an movie star in the old days."

Fleur thumbed the stunning necklace, her fingers tracing around her girlfriend's clavicle. "That's not real—"

"It is so!" Marie frowned. "Look, it's got the Ophelia tag on the clasp." She beamed. "Harry said he'd put some protection spells on it, just in case. He's got enemies, you know."

"I..I just don't want him to use you. You're so beautiful and kind and…" Fleur said lamely, brushing away Marie's hair from her shoulder. Her neck was covered in hickeys.

"It's not like that. We spent hours talking this morning, just naked and cuddling and…" Was that true? Marie couldn't meet her eyes — they'd glazed over. "We have a real connection."

Fleur found herself with nothing to say, the core of her stomach burning like she'd stretched her abdomen. It was easy for Marie, who wasn't even a Pureblood, let alone a Veela, who didn't have Mothers and Aunts and whole Royalty dictating, selling and negotiating your virginity. Marie didn't need to think about the wellbeing of her whole race when she spread her legs.

Marie wasn't going to be sent to the right place, for the right price, to ensure a Finance Minister in Bulgaria ensured the Veela were on a protected Minority tax-break list. Or sent to marry a banker in Switzerland, so the Veela didn't have their accounts closed the next time some xenophobic fuck gained office.

She must have let her feelings show on her face, because Marie's hand touched her cheek.

"Be happy for me, Fleur, won't you?" Marie's eyes shined. "Please. I'm always happy for you, aren't I?"

Fleur coughed, embarrassed, blinking away resentful thoughts. "Of course, I'm sorry." She pasted on her best attempt at a smile. "I am happy for you. I am." She repeated, as if to make it true." To hide her emotions, she wrapped her best friend up in a tight hug, squeezing her hard and trying to ignore how she smelled of Harry.

And then something else, a scent she recognized.

Fleur pulled back, her smile wry. "Are you wet?"

"No." Marie tugged down her nightie haughtily, but her laugh betrayed her. "Maybe. Sorry, I can't stop…thinking of him."

"Maybe I can help." Fleur's hand dropped to her bare thigh and slid up that skin, the same way she had so many times before, sharing a bed with her best friend, sharing little joys.

Marie flinched, snapping away from her. "Sorry, sorry, sorry." The brunette muttered.

"What?" Fleur felt her ribs squeeze tight.

"I love you, I do." Marie's eyes were large, pleading. "But I want to give this Harry thing a try, the right way, to be fair to him. I think we could be really special. So I'm going to give things…a fresh start. You understand, don't you?"

Fleur swallowed. Her heart felt like it would leap out of her dry throat. How could her throat be so dry and yet her eyes felt like they would water if she didn't keep her eyelids up. She sucked in a breath, willing a smile onto her face, willing it to be true, if only for a brief moment, before she was alone, before she could fall apart.

"Of course." Fleur smiled thinly. "I understand."

###

Susan knew what was coming. Knew it the moment she read the newspaper. She buttered her toast calmly. She poured her orange juice. She made sure no crumbs found her blouse or her skirt. She double-checked her blouse was buttoned up enough, that her skirt was neatly folded under her, on the Great Hall bench. It wouldn't do for any scandal to derail Auntie Amelia's election campaign, not when the woman was risking so much.

Hannah yawned a greeting as she fell into the bench. She was always tired these mornings, even though she looked like a million galleons — somehow her old friend had gotten even more beautiful — skin glowing, hair in just-out-the-salon waves, sheening in the right light, her lipstick a perfect shade of soft but glossy natural.

Susan would have thought she was creeping out every night to see Harry, but Susan never saw him. Even though she checked in on Hannah before bed and when she woke up — because she was a good friend and certainly not, she told herself, out of envy.

At least Hannah had stopped wearing that silly long opera glove — where her friend had got some of her fashion ideas, Susan didn't know. Still, Susan had to stop herself from saying anything about the open blouse, about the visible bra that was pushing Hannah's breasts up for all to see.

Like she did every morning, every few minutes, Hannah shot a hopeful look towards the Gryffindor table. He wasn't even there. Hannah seemed even more smitten this morning.

"What's with you?" Susan couldn't take it anymore.

"What? Nothing." Her blonde friend's pigtails shook from side to side as she giggled. She was stroking the bare skin on her arm. "Harry got me a present, that's all."

"You're not going to make me play the guessing game again, are you? More jewelry?" Susan said stiffly, reading the stories on the inside of the Prophet — Hannah hadn't spotted the cover, not yet. At least this day's paper didn't come with more salacious stories about Cedric. Harry had done a kind thing to come out against that tabloid rubbish, she admitted.

"No, it's nothing. It's private." Hannah beamed, looking over eagerly as the Great Hall doors opened. It wasn't him. Susan checked.

Everyone checked.

Harry was no longer the little boy, scrawny Harry who was always getting into scrapes and adventures, always surrounded by his two friends, whispering or arguing or brows furrowed.

Now, Harry was Lord Potter, tall and handsome, dropping in at every House table to exchange a few words here and there, to promise business meetings, to give or receive gifts. Smiles and winks for the girls.

It had been the sign for a lot of the Hogwarts ladies that they needed to make their move. Even nerdy Hermione was wearing the modern Hogwarts uniform, skirt shortened, blouse opened as far as she dared. It had been Hermione, more than any of them, that had given the rest of the Hogwarts girls a sign.

The expensive robes she was wearing. The new jewelry, a pendant of periwinkle blue, sitting between her breasts.

It was a claim of Harry over her, because who else would buy these things? It meant he was making her a researcher, or maybe a concubine. It meant he was ready to start building his House.

Skirts got shorter. Stockings were ordered in. Flats became heels. The owls of Hogwarts flew lower every day, weighted down by the sheer amount of parcels they were carrying.

When one girl in Gryffindor tried to publicly open Romilda Vane's parcel at breakfast, it had started a vicious duel — and not, Hannah suspected, because the parcel contained her favorite box of Honeydukes.

Susan was staying out of it. She didn't need to participate in such games. She rather liked the old Harry, thank you very much. If she ordered some new underwear and a top-up of her favorite perfume, it was because the old ones weren't for purpose.

"Did you see this?!" Hannah finally saw her copy of the Prophet. Susan closed her eyes. Her blonde friend thrust it in her face.

"Yes, I saw it."

"Listen," Hannah ignored her, reading excitedly. "Lord Potter announces the Potter Foundation, a charitable organization, beginning with a twenty thousand galleon donation to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, directed at their health services for children."

"Hannah, I saw it."

"Twenty thousand galleons! Wow, can you believe it?"

"I cannot." Susan said drolly.

"He's so kind." Hannah sighed happily, pressing the newspaper down so she could read on. "In a statement, Lord Potter said, 'This donation is for the children who, like myself, had no support network when they needed it most. I received the care and generosity of our Wizarding society and so now I'm grateful to be in a position to give back.'"

"Grateful to be one of the richest men in Britain." Susan muttered. "I bet."

"Sssh, listen!" Hannah cajoled. "The Potter Foundation will champion our youngest and brightest, our underprivileged and most marginalized, from our students to our homeless, to our women and our war casualties."

"Our women?" Susan pursed her lips. "Odd phrasing. "Does he think—"

"I'm committed to fighting the war against the cowardly Dark Lord and his men, who wear masks because they know their acts are shameful. And while the war rages on, I hope that my future wife, whoever she is, will be the woman to tackle this great cause, to lead this Foundation, to make sure nobody is left behind when we finally win the war."

"Yeah, because women can't possibly fight a war." Susan snarked.

"Susie! That's not fair."

Susan sighed. "Maybe not. But Harry does things for publicity, for politics, Hannah."

"This is twenty thousand galleons and just the start, Susie." Hannah frowned at her. "And look what Harry says. 'The Potters have always been known for their philanthropy, for my parents and his parents before them. With the Potter Foundation, House Potter is committing to standing up for those who have nobody else to stand up for them.' Isn't that true? Isn't this just Harry following in his parents' footsteps?"

Susan took a long sip of her pumpkin juice, looking around the Great Hall, where all the buzz was of Harry's huge donation. "Maybe, Han, I don't know. But Harry's too smart to not think of how good this looks for him."

"Forget about what he's thinking, for once." Hannah said sharply. "Don't you see what this really is?"

"What?" Susan said, taken aback.

"It's an opportunity."

"What?"

"Twenty thousand galleons, in a single donation. Imagine how much funds the Foundation will have for the year's budget. That's more money than the official charity for the British and Irish Quidditch League. That's more money than the Prophet raise in their galas. That's more money than the Weird Sisters raised when they do that yearly thing."

"So?"

"So imagine how much good you could do if you were the woman who ran it. Imagine how much good you could do as Lady Potter. You could transform Britain."

"Hannah, don't be ridiculous—"

"I'm not! You could do more good for people than Auntie Amelia will do as Minister."

"Hardly, a charity doesn't compare—"

"No red tape, no bureaucracy, no fighting off conservatives in the Wizengamot, no endless meetings."

"Throwing money at any problem is not going to solve them. Donations have to be directed to the right places, used for the right items. The funding has to be supervised and analyzed, with in-person checks on progress every three, six, twelve months—" Susan hesitated when she saw Hannah's widening smile, triumphant.

"You're right." Hannah smiled triumphantly. "If only there was a supremely clever young woman with a background in activism, who was in the room with politicians since she was a baby, who could speak the language, who was desperate to make a difference."

"Alright, alright, Merlin." Susan complained, but she was smiling. "I get the point."

"You get Harry's big, girthy point?"

"Han!"

"What?" Hannah said innocently.

"I can see why that might be attractive. I just hope he's doing it for the right reasons."

Hannah scowled at her as she bit into a piece of toast, tearing it away. "You don't always need to see the worst in him, you know."

"And you don't always need to see the best." Susan countered. "Your mind is clouded by hormones or by how good his point is, or something…he's not perfect."

Her blonde friend put a hand on hers. "I'm not perfect, but he's trying his best. He's got no family and no role models and I just think that, considering what he's been through, what he's become, what he's becoming…he's really something."

Susan patted her friend's hand and then took it in hers to squeeze it. "I know, Hannah. I'm happy for you, really. And for him, because he's a lucky girl to have you. I'm really glad that he's treating you well, that you've always got a smile on your face nowadays. I just…"

"Just what?"

Susan winced. "Don't take this the wrong way. I didn't imagine my life as a wife to a husband with more than one woman."

Hannah blinked, surprised. "That's just wizards, Hannah. That's Merlin and Morgana, that's how all—"

"Most." She interrupted. "My father had none but my mother." Susan bit her lip. "Auntie says theirs was a love for the ages."

Hannah thought for a moment. "Just because he has others doesn't mean that it can't be a romance, a true love."

Susan snorted. "All the romance books we read, they're not harems, are they?"

The blonde girl grumbled, downing the rest of her pumpkin juice. "I just wanted you to have the happiness I have." She entwined her fingers with Susan's. "Me and you together, like always. Forever."

"I know, Han." Susan said softly. "And maybe we will. I just…" She blew out a long breath. "I don't know, there's too many unknowns. What will happen in the war? Will Harry make it through, if he's target number one? And what state will he be in, even if he does?"

"You can't think like that."

"And when Auntie is Minister, if Harry was my husband…imagine the push and pull? I'd be caught in the middle. I just…don't want to make any of those decisions yet."

Susan was expecting her friend to keep arguing with her, but instead Hannah just turned on the bench and wrapped her arms around her neck, squeezing her tight. Susan was enveloped in blonde hair and the smell of apples. "I get it." Hannah buried her head into Susan's hair and mumbled. "I just don't want you to miss out, because ready or not, it's all happening. You've seen it."

Susan hesitated. "I have."

"And Lady Potter would be something you'd be great at. You could do amazing things." Hannah's voice spoke through her skin, muffled.

They hugged for a good thirty seconds, ignoring the looks they were getting from around the Great Hall.

Susan blinked away her wet eyes. It felt good to have a hug from her best friend again. "You-you just don't want to take orders from Daphne or Cho or whoever." She jibed.

Hannah snorted, wiping her own eyes as they broke apart. "That too."

"I missed you." Susan grabbed her hand.

"Me too." Hannah beamed at her. "You'll always be my sister, even if you don't get with Harry." She squeezed her hand. "I'll never forget that when I was a little girl with no friends and no clue, you came over and took care of me. You showed me how to be a respectable witch, how to fit in with the Purebloods, how to act with the boys."

"Han—"

Hannah choked. "A-and in first year, when my robes were so tatty, you gave me yours. Pretended you were throwing them away because you had some new ones on order, remember?"

"I-I thought you believed me!"

Hannah wiped her face, laughing. "Of course not. And we shared underwear because mine were so old and hole-y, remember?" Her blue eyes watered.

Susan swallowed over a lump in her throat. "I remember. You still steal my panties."

Hannah giggled, but her voice was coarse. "I want that for the next set of Hogwarts girls, to have you to look after them. So the Muggleborns and half-bloods both have enough money for Hogwarts, for the books and the robes and the brooms and the trips."

She took a deep shuddering breath. "I want every girl to have Susan Bones as a guardian angel. And I think for you to have the wings you need to protect all of them, you'll need to be Susan Potter."

###

"Hi, Harry."

"Hiya, Harry."

"I like your robes, Harry."

"Oh, Harry."

Harry smiled and greeted everyone as he walked into the Room of Requirement for another Defense Association meeting. They were ever-popular since Umbridge was still haunting Hogwarts, even if she was keeping her head down without Fudge to back her up. She'd probably stay there until the election was decided — and Amelia Bones killed the decrees that put her in Hogwarts in the first place.

Tom's mind in his had given him a thousand attributes — things he was grateful for, things he wasn't. But, Harry reflected, perhaps the thing he used most was the ability to live comfortably as the center of attention. No longer would he wilt as the girls and guys both let him pass through the crowd. Now he stood tall, handshakes, hi-fives, hugs.

"Okay, everyone. Hope you had a good weekend. You all know Dora by now, she's joining our meetings. I'm vouching for her. Now let's get started." Dora waved. Bringing the Auror into Hogwarts had been a cute idea, but it had quickly turned annoying, being tailed for security reasons.

"Do we have to call you sir now, then?" Cho said coyly, toying with her hair. Some of the girls tittered.

"Just to establish an appropriate relationship for learning." Harry reminded. Some of the girls were looking at him like meat, perhaps emboldened by Hannah's absence. His Hannah had detention — her uniform had finally crossed the line, falling foul of Professor McGonagall. The vast cleavage of her huge perky bosoms, high on her chest and pushed up even further by her bras and altered school blouse, were apparently against the dress code. Hannah had sent him an angry note, claiming "busty discrimination".

Privately, Harry thought it had been a long time coming. The last time he'd seen her, her shirt buttons had been straining.

"Now, Hermione, what's on the agenda?"

Hermione favored him with a bright smile. Her own wavy hair fell over her eyes. "This week, sir, I thought we'd look at the Patronus Charm—"

"I want to learn to fight, to hurt them." Ernie announced loudly. The crowd split to show him, crossing his arms, pink face turned red. "I don't want to learn any more smoke spells or shield charms or fucking Expelliarmus. We're in a war against Death Eaters. How do I kill them?"

The crowd shifted uncomfortably. The room silent.

"I don't really think that's—" Hermione stuttered.

"No, he's right." Harry nodded at the angry boy.

Ernie blinked. "You'll teach me how to kill them? Like you do? Greengrass says you killed the Death Eaters that attacked her parents."

"I did. And I will." Harry paused.

"Steady on, now." Dean called out. "I came here to get better grades and yeah, be able to defend myself. I ain't here to kill people."

Seamus scratched the back of his head. "I'm not here for that, y'know, that dark shit."

Tracey snorted. "So naive."

"Alright, settle down." Harry cut over them, amplifying his voice a little with a nonverbal charm. "The truth is, I'll teach you all the nasty spells you want, it's not going to help you unless you really, deeply, desperately, want to hurt and kill the Death Eaters."

"I do." Ernie insisted.

"Do you?" Harry stared at him doubtfully. He closed his eyes for a moment, using his Occlumency to isolate his thoughts. And when he opened them, the Room of Requirement had dutifully conjured a Death Eater, robed and masked.

Some of the girls screamed.

"It's okay. It's not real." Harry explained.

But it looked real, breathing hard, wand out.

"Look at it, take it in. The masks are scary, right?" He narrated. "But not when you get used to it. Then you realize it's just a man playing dress-up."

The crowd laughed nervously.

Harry circled the Death Eater slowly, but he was looking at his students. His army, if he could sharpen them, if he could be bothered. Were they worth it? He'd thought the club just a good way of getting with the girls, of holding them to correct their posture, of inundating them with his powerful magic, of showing off as their teacher, their figure of authority.

But the boys could be useful too, but only if they shed their innocence. Voldemort would take care of that, Harry suspected — and in their rage, desperate for revenge, they would come to him. They'd never be as trustworthy or as useful as his girls, but he'd rather they were with him than against them.

Harry whispered a curse under his breath. The Death Eater was barbed in ropes — ropes of barbed wire, cutting into his flesh. Blood dripped along with black fabric, down to the floor. "This is an alternative to the Incarcerous Spell." He declared. "Now, what would we use to release a person bound by Incarcerous? Incantations, not names, please. Ron?"

His old friend was silent, his arms crossed.

"Fred, George?"

"I could cast Relashio or Emancipare." Fred volunteered. "George is always tying me up to get to breakfast first."

"I thought you were George." George countered.

"Right." Harry said hastily. "Relashio." He demonstrated — only the barbed wire ropes only cut into the Death Eater's skin even more. "Look — this curse cuts in deeper at every attempt at removing it."

"That's barbaric." Hermione gasped.

"Maybe." Harry shrugged. "But if you down a Death Eater in battle and you want to be damned sure that his allies aren't going to get him back in the fight?"

"I'd kill him instead." Ernie threatened. Next to him, Justin smiled wanly.

"Would you?" Harry raised a brow. "What would you use to kill this Death Eater?"

"I'd-I'd use a…" Ernie stuttered. "Well, that's what you're gonna teach me."

"Sure. But you already know how to kill a man. A Severing Charm at the throat will kill him. That's a seamstresses' spell. That's first year stuff. Right?"

"Right." Ernie repeated.

"Or in third year, we learned the Freezing Spell. Freeze a man's head or his heart, overpower it, he's damn near dead in seconds. Fred, George, you guys are inventive."

"Conjure something heavy on his head and that would kill him — a Bludger or a dresser." Fred suggested.

"Merlin, one of Binns' history tomes would kill a man." George said.

"Not bad." Harry nodded. "Can anyone do better?"

"Fire would do it." Susan piped up. "Everyone learns to make fire in Charms."

"Good. Put enough power in it, fire takes longer than you think to kill a man." He winced at his own words. "Or so I hear. Angelina? Seventh years can surely do better than this."

"Umm," The witch ran her fingers down her braid. "Profesor Flitwick said that Professor Sprout told him that he had to teach all of us the Gouging Spell because we were going to try digging for Snargaluff seedlings this year."

"Perfect." Harry snapped his fingers. "The Gouging Spell is great for digging through earth and stone, but it also rips a man's face off."

"This is…scary, Harry. Sir." Katie corrected.

"It is." He admitted. "And I'm sorry. But I'm trying to prove a point. I can teach you all whatever you want to know. I'm your friendly, dare I say handsome, repository of all the spells, charms and curses that you need. But none of it will help you if you don't want to hurt and kill the bad guys. Because you already have what you need." He tapped the side of his head. "In here. Every single one of you, the next time you face a Death Eater, and I pray it isn't soon, do you know what spell you're going to use?"

Silence faced.

Harry smiled thinly. "Because I do. You're going to throw out an Expelliarmus, because that's what you know, that's what you're comfortable with. Every duel in the quad, every fight in the snow, every hallway face-off when you've got lookouts on each corner, every House argument that turns a little heated. And it's going to get you killed, because that doesn't cut it in the real world. Believe me, I tried."

He chuckled, rolling up his sweater sleeves. "Merlin, guys, I cast Expelliarmus at Voldemort himself."

The crowd chuckled, but it was a dead laugh, an anxious one.

"If there's one way that Hogwarts fails its students, it's not Binns putting us to sleep for seven years straight It's not Snape straight up abusing us. It's Expelli-fucking-armus." Harry shook his head. "But whatever I teach you, it won't help unless you're ready to hurt them. Judge me, hate me, think me dark, think me evil, trust me on one thing. I want you — friends, schoolmates — I want you alive. The only way you can stay alive is if you want to put these fuckers down."

They looked at him blankly…and for a moment, he thought he'd lost them. But then they looked at each other. Ernie saved him. Ernie clapped, slowly at first, but then quicker, building into a ferocious roar that was joined by the others.

And as the applause died down, Ernie dropped to his knees. He was red-faced and sweating, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Harry, please, I'm begging you. I'll do whatever." His whole body shook. "My Dad, oh Merlin, the things they did to him. I'll swear an alliance of Houses, I'll pay, I'll—"

"Lord Macmillan, that's enough." Harry's magic and voice silenced him. He strode to meet the downed boy and wrenched him up by his arm. The sniveling boy was desperate for direction, for safety, for revenge. "Calm yourself, collect yourself. If your House seeks answers in blood, then I, Lord Potter, will gladly help you spill it." He stepped back, gazing at allies now and future.

Harry met their gazes. "All I ask for, all I need, is your ear, so lend me it. Listen closely while I tell you how to defend your families, to spill the blood of those that would see you harm."

He was overdoing it — but when the magic was so rich and pure, sparking through his blood, he spoke like Tom, drunk with power. Absently, he was aware he was erect — one of the attributes he'd taken from Tom that was less useful.

"A demonstration of a Death Eater fight I recently had, a man I had to kill. Do not judge me, please — this was life or death. And remember, if your parents were slain like mine, would you not do the same?"

Harry closed his eyes, moving the Room of Requirement to his liking. This demonstration was actually one from Tom's memories, of a man he'd slain in Antigua. When he was young, traveling the world, searching for power and purpose. Too much alcohol in a bar, trying to impress a pretty girl. And a man had slighted him — suggested his good looks were an indication of his sexuality.

Harry flickered his eyes open. Justin had picked up Ernie, embraced him. For a second, he found his fist clenching.

Harry had never cared about a man's sexuality, had thought man was free to be free with whoever, but Tom found all others disgusting — even his right hand man Lucius. And when their two minds came together…sometimes Harry's morning pumpkin juice tasted sour when he looked upon Professor Dumbledore. Harry swept through his own mind, staring down at the ruin that was his mind-scape, a vast construction site of sand and stone, and alongside it, a tiny mud-wall that tried to contain the enormous river of memories. Harry wondered, beneath the surface of the water, how far down the well was poisoned. What other values did he hold unknowingly? He had to fight back against Tom's hatred.

Harry turned his sour smile into a bright one. He would be better than Tom. He had to be.

The Room of Requirement had a Death Eater hiding behind a mass of upturned tables. In Tom's memory, they were circular bar tables. In the room, they'd become school desks.

The conjured enemy simply threw brightly colored projectiles of light at Harry, who knelt behind his own table. In reality, Tom had Imperio'd the barstaff to stride forward, taking the hits for him.

"Now, there's so much cover between us. No clear shot at him." Harry told the watching crowd. He threw a Severing Charm over the top, and twice more, to demonstrate it did little more than cut table legs apart and slice a light fixture to the ground. "Freezing Spell, I'd have to hit him in the head or the heart, and the spell is going to lose power as it travels, so that's not going to work. Gouging Spell? Defodio!" Harry tried it — it gouged a nasty hole through a table, but the Death Eater was protected by more than one. "No dice."

In his mind, Tom used his Imperio'd victims to try a wide-reaching fire spell he'd learned in his adventures across the Caribbean islands. It was meant for the Caribbean tribes to party with, a line of fire connecting each that cast it, so a circle of flame ran from wand to wand, held aloft in the black sky, like a magic version of glow sticks at a Muggle rave. His victims ran forward and torched the whole bar.

Probably best not to pass that one on.

"Solutions, anyone? Ron, you're awful quiet."

"I don't know, why don't you ask Hermione?" The boy said tersely.

Harry shrugged. "Alright, I will. Hermione?"

"Umm…conjurations like Fred and George said?"

"Okay, let's try." He conjured heavy Bludgers in the air — one smacked against the Death Eater's shoulder, but the man quickly cast a shield to ensure the balls just thunked down and rolled uselessly off it. "Conjuration is great, but the actual objects don't hold much penetration against a good shield."

"Harry, sir, show us how to do it." Ernie begged.

"Okay, let's look. Everyone, come here, get down on the floor. I want you to see the battle just like I can. What is my view of it?"

They crawled over so they were kneeling behind the desk, just like he was, searching through the mass of desks and debris. Harry stopped himself from smirking as he saw Daphne bite her lip as she shimmied on her hands and knees — the plug he'd put in her ass must be sweet torture.

"I can see his foot!" Alicia exclaimed.

"And his head — his hair, at least." It was Terence Higgs who called that out.

"Good. Is there a clean shot that anyone feels comfortable hitting?"

"No." They chorused.

"Alright, then we need to get creative. This is how most duels will be — everyone thinks magic is all about power, but your mind is the most powerful tool you have. Every book you've ever read holds a clue, holds an idea. Who here has read Quidditch Through The Ages?"

A host of arms went up. Even Hermione's. "Good. Remember the Appleby Arrow supporters at matches, what did they used to do? Hermione?"

"They'd use a spell that conjured shooting arrows and fire them up into the sky, to show support for the team." She recited. Her face glowed. "But it was banned in 1894 because the referee was pierced through the nose."

"Good! Five points to Hermione." Harry praised. "Sagittus Arundo." He shot an arrow directly into the ground, just to show them. "See how fast and forceful that was? It shoots straight out of the wand, so you can aim it easily. And, if you visualize it differently in your mind, look at this."

He conjured a second arrow — and this one was headed at both ends — the shaft still held fletchings at the back, but a second arrowhead stuck through the feathers. "See what I do." Harry shot multiple arrows over the desk's top, narrowly missing the Death Eater. Again and again he fired, the arrows whistling past the enemy and penetrating into the wall behind him.

"But you missed." Justin peered over.

"I did. Now, let's use Fred and George's idea." He conjured two Bludgers, heavy black iron balls on the ground beside him. Tom had used the heads of the fallen Imperio'd staff.

"Now, do any of the girls feel comfortable giving me their bra? I'll return it in the same condition." Harry looked around at the girls.

Tracey scowled. Daphne blushed. Katie shimmied it off her shoulder and pulled it through her sleeve, red-faced as the boys whistled, more so when it was revealed to be pink and lacy.

"I want that back, Potter. It wasn't cheap." She threatened. "And this best not be any funny business."

"It's for the fight, I promise." Harry held his hands up. "Now, we could use any cloth or rope for this, not Katie's bra." Tom had used some spilled intestines. "But we want to keep the enemy distracted, unaware of the danger. Look carefully."

He conjured some extra cord and, with some Sticking Charms, pinned the Bludgers on either side of the bra-and-cord.

"That bra could probably hold those Bludgers, when did you grow up, Katie?" Fred cracked. Angelina punched him in the shoulder.

"Alright, now we have the punch line, now we need the setup." Harry narrated. "How can we get the Death Eater to stand up so we can hit him with Katie's bra?"

"He's standing up now and again to throw curses." Pucey noted.

"True, but we don't want to rely on good timing. Anyone else? Remember, we can see his foot, just about."

"Another arrow?" Cho suggested.

Harry knelt down and fired an arrow along the ground — and just before it hit the Death Eater's foot, it embedded into a glimmering shield.

"Good thinking." Harry said. "Shields are shaped at creation — and created in a panic. A lot of people will forget to have it go as low as their feet. Anyone? Here's a clue. Someone already said it."

"Freezing Spell!" Susan exclaimed.

"Yes! Well done, Susan." Harry smiled at her, enjoying her blush. "We'll throw it at the floor just before the man's feet — it'll freeze it."

"But he'd be fine?" Padma frowned.

"Right, but he doesn't know that. He just knows the floor he's standing on just turned icy and blue. There's no duelist in the world that wouldn't move then, because ice is the precursor to a dozen different spell chains. Watch."

Harry cast Glacius and watched it spread under the Death Eater's feet. And then, anticipating the man's movement, anticipating him moving to different cover, Harry levitated his bra-and-all creation above the desk and hit the Bludgers with a quick-flick dual Banishing Charm, hard-powered.

Katie's bra shot forward, pink and innocent. It caught the Death Eater in the chest — and, propelled by the force of the Bludgers, it carried him forward. Hard. He was impaled on the doube-sided arrows Harry left on the wall.

A pre-prepared pincushion. The Death Eater splayed back, showering blood, arrows through his chest, legs and throat.

"Oh, fuck." George murumured, a hint of awe. Hermione squeaked. Some squealed. Someone screamed.

"Wait, why did that work?" Theodore Nott demanded. "What was the point of the Bludgers?"

In his mind, Harry rewound the fight — and the Room of Requirement rewound it with him. The Death Eater leapt forward, healed of his injuries, all the way back to just before the bra hit him.

"Look," Harry walked forward. "His wand is out and he's moving his shield with him. See that faint shine in the air? The Bludgers' are on either side of him, on either side of our bra-cord, nowhere near the shield."

Ernie followed him eagerly. "But, the bra? Why didn't the shield protect him?"

"It's not a spell." Daphne realized.

"Right. It's not magic — but the shield can protect against physical entities." Harry lectured. "So why didn't it in this case?" He asked his class.

"Because it was just a pink bra." Katie said slowly.

"Exactly!" Harry pointed at her. "Remember the first rules of magic, the things we learned in First Year. Magic is intent. The shield charm protects you from things you think are dangerous, things you think are magical. A lacy pink bra flying at you doesn't trigger your danger sense — and so your shield doesn't trigger either."

In Tom's real duel, he'd broken the man's shield with a barrage of spells before banishing his creation at him, but he had to start them off easy. He let the Room play on — and the Death Eater was thrown back and impaled once more, Katie's bra the pouch in the makeshift slingshot.

"Brilliant." Ernie murmured.

"The circumstances were a little different. I didn't have Katie's bra, for example. But this was a real fight. A real Death Eater I killed." Harry told them all. "Does anyone think less of me?"

Nobody answered.

"Did I use any evil, dark curses?" He asked them.

"None." George said, his eyes wide. He shared a glance with his twin — Harry wondered what mad plan he'd implanted in the two boys.

"But did I want that man dead? Absolutely." He said. "This is the lesson I'm trying to teach you. Am I teaching you defense? Yes. But, in time, as the war goes on, you'll lose people. All of you. Someday soon, you'll want defense to become offense. So what I'm really teaching you is creativity in fighting. The ability to think outside of the adrenaline, outside of the fight, to out-think your opponent."

They were all spellbound. Harry smiled. He had them.

"That creativity won't help you win the fight. What tips the scales, that extra one percent that you need to survive. It's intent to hurt. I don't have to tell you about the difference intent makes in magic. If you don't want them dead, you won't be able to think of ways to hurt them, and you won't come out on top. I can't help you want to kill someone. Luckily, I don't have to."

Harry sighed and crossed his arms. "Voldemort will take care of that, by taking away the ones you love. But when you're ready, my lessons will be there, at the back of your mind. Let's get started. Pair up for duels. Focus on creation and invention, not on speed. One spell-chain every thirty seconds. Dora, can you supervise with me?"

"Why her?" Cho complained.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

"Why her, sir?" She amended sheepishly.

"Dora has dueling experience, I won't explain any further. Let's go, people!" Harry barked.

The Defense Association meeting went well and as it carried on, Harry's mind couldn't help but run through the possibilities. Could he have fought this war with friends, instead of claiming his girls, using their power and resources? Was there a right way to fight back against Voldemort?

No, he decided. He needed power. Allies were all well and good, but it would still come down to him versus Voldemort, wand to wand. And to best him, he needed all the girls he could get.

Excited and chattering, the DA members dispersed at the end of the meeting, waving goodbye to him. Ron and Hermione were arguing as they left, just like old times.

Harry sighed in relief as the door shut, adjusting his robes. He was hard, still.

Power always did things to him. Power over others. He'd like to pretend it was all Tom, but Harry suspected it had always been in him. The abused little boy in the cupboard had finally a taste of power. More than a taste.

Alone at last, he closed his eyes. Four glowing pillars, pulsating and happy. His bonds. Marie and Apolline were far away, indistinct. Hannah was close by — he could almost feel her annoyance at her detention. The strongest pillar was Narcissa — his love, his lady, the one he'd had the most.

He could practically see her, happy and humming, picking out some lingerie to wear. Impatient.

Impatient for the night's entertainment.

Impatient for Harry to claim her daughter, to bring her into their house of debauchery. A family reunited.

"Well…" Harry muttered. "I'd best not keep her waiting."