Out of the Night that Covers Me

Out of the Night that Covers Me

by Mephistedes


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XI. The Most Powerful Warriors

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A very disappointed Harry pulled himself inside, shut the door, and leaned against it, tuning out Mrs. Black hurling accusations and attacking his blood status.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was meant to be a peaceful and quiet, light and fun night. Not like this: listening to the old hag harp on about half-blood filth while nursing a hollow soreness in his chest. Draco was supposed to stay the night, lay with him in bed: talking, joking around, kissing him, falling in....

Harry swallowed, rested his head against the door, and closed his eyes. He was supposed to stay for breakfast; he promised he’d stay for breakfast.

“...HALF-BREED, FOULING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS, FRIEND OF MUDBLOODS, A HALF-BLOOD ABOMINATION!”

Harry scowled, opening his eyes to glare at the painting but stopped just short of whipping out his wand. For just as Mrs. Black opened her mouth to screech some more, a ghostly dog’s head burst from her middle to land at Harry’s feet. Harry took her moment of stunned silence to secure the drapes around her portrait, silencing her for the moment before turning to Cottenham’s Patronus.

This time, the massive silvery wolf only rumbled, “We’re coming through,” in Cottenham’s serious tone before disappearing in a wispy cloud.

“‘We?’” Harry barely managed to mutter to himself before the distinct noise of flames flaring up filtered into his ears. Assuming it came from the drawing room — since the other fireplace was the cellar kitchen — Harry rushed upstairs, wand in hand. Cottenham had never visited Grimmauld Place before, so it must’ve been an emergency for him to travel directly to his place. And who was this ‘we’ to whom he was referring?

Harry reached the landing and cautiously crept towards the drawing room, wand aloft. Another loud flare up sounded, followed by a green glow illuminating the corridor. Just as Harry poked the end of his wand around the doorframe, he felt something sharp scurry across his foot and heard the scramble of claws on wood.

He grumpily sighed and slumped against the wall; in his haste to get away, Draco had forgotten the infuriating rodent. Now, Harry was stuck with him until Draco was sensible enough to see past his irrationality. He wasn’t holding his breath on that one.

“Potter?” Harry froze at the sound of Cottenham’s voice. At least it sounded like Cottenham.

“Stay where you are! Secure authorization: password?”

He frowned as he heard a quiet scoff, followed by a murmured, “Now he wants to follow protocol?”

Harry cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “McLaggen?” God, he was going to have to disinfect wherever that git walked and breathed....

“And me,” Kingsley’s deep voice grumbled. Obviously he was as annoyed as Harry to be disturbed this late.

Harry was even more confused now. “Kingsley?”

“Yes, yes, it’s us,” came Cottenham’s impatient moan. “Now would you please — ”

“State your secure authorization,” Harry urgently repeated, holding his wand steady, “and I may consider not cursing you nine ways from Sunday.”

“Potter, seriously, come — ”

“Now!”

“Yes, fine, fine!” Cottenham grumbled. Harry evened his breathing so as to hear any furtive murmurs between the intruders. All he discerned was a muffled snicker and a distressed sigh before the S.P.O.O.K.s director feebly answered, “Nymphadora.”

Biting his lips to stifle a smirk, Harry yelled back, “Didn’t quite catch that, what?”

From the explosive sigh issued in response, Harry imagined Cottenham resembled nothing short of a bull on the charge. “Nym-pha-dor-a,” Cottenham replied, likely through gritted teeth. “I hope you enjoyed that.”

Dropping his wand, Harry rounded the corner and entered the low-lit drawing room with a halfhearted grin. “A bit, yeah. I’d offer you a seat, but I want to get back to business as quickly as possible, so apologies if I seem a bit impolite: I’m tired.” Harry knew he was far from sleep, especially with the way tonight had gone, but they didn’t know that.

Assembled before him were Cottenham, Kingsley in what looked like a robe thrown over silk pajamas, and McLaggen in his official S.P.A.R.C. robes. Kingsley and Cottenham looked quite somber and serious, while McLaggen peered curiously around with a distasteful expression. He reminded Harry strongly of Draco earlier in the evening, before everything had gone to shit....

Harry regarded each of them with a critical eye. “So? Are you gonna stand there, or does someone want to tell me why I was dragged out of bed at such an ungodly hour?” He eyed both Kingsley and his leader in turn when they exchanged looks. “There hasn’t been another murder?”

“Potter, if there was, do you think we’d be standing here staring at you in your underpants?”

“Don’t you have some reconnoitering to do, McLaggen?” Harry lazily asked, crossing his arms. “Something important, maybe potential victim that needs watching? Or, I heard the German Minister might be a vampire: you could go shove him in a cupboard for old times’ sake.”

“Harry,” Kingsley firmly reprimanded, stopping McLaggen with a large hand against his chest, “Cormac is here to bear witness.”

Harry frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Bear witness? To what?”

The elder wizards looked fairly uncomfortable. Cormac, on the other hand, looked positively gleeful. Kingsley issued a weary sigh as he studied his hands and in that moment, he looked every bit his age and then some.

“Kingsley?” Harry prompted, a niggling sensation of disquiet worming round in his stomach. If Kingsley was this worried, it must’ve been bad. He didn’t like this: their silence, McLaggen’s toothy grin. Harry didn’t like this at all. “What is it?”

He could tell it was a great effort on Kingsley’s part to look him in the eye. How much trouble was he in? God, he hoped they hadn’t found out about his sting in Reading and Cardiff. Or worse, what happened tonight! If they knew, Harry didn’t think he’d be able to meet their eyes ever again! Then again, he could be overreacting. Whatever it was, it couldn’t possibly be as bad as they were making it out to be.

“Cormac’s formally challenging your post.”

He was wrong: it was worse.

Arching an eyebrow, Harry eyed each of the men in turn, his gaze remaining on the leering S.P.A.R.C. the longest. “At this hour?”

McLaggen gave a feeble shrug. “Better here than in the public eye of the Ministry,” Cottenham answered.

“Where I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to live the humiliation down,” the simpering git added with a snicker.

“Let’s think for a moment: humiliated and nothing, or humiliated and a cod? I know what I’d pick,” Harry smoothly retorted with a grin. He held back a chuckle for Kingsley’s sake, merely responding to McLaggen’s scowl with a raised brow.

“Gentlemen please,” the Minister reproached them both with a dark look before settling on Harry. “This is a serious matter.”

Harry nodded once. “I understand. On what grounds is this challenge based?”

“Don’t be daft, Potter,” McLaggen sneered with a nasty look. “You know exactly what I’m contesting.”

Of course Harry knew. Cormac hadn’t shut up about it since their promotions several months ago. He knew the day was coming, but he thought he had more time, the bastard....

“According to the S.P.O.O.K.-issued Stealth-Trained Auror Guild’s Guidebook — ”

“Don’t bring your bedside wank material into this.”

“Potter!” Cottenham curtly chided, shaking his head. Pursing his lips furiously, Harry kept his mouth shut, diverting his gaze to Pash’s empty cage.

“Statute five under the list of mandatory requisites states — and this is true, rule five-point-one-dash-A — ”

“You memorized it, why am I not surprised?” Harry mumbled with a mirthless scoff.

“ — that ‘All Stealth-Trained Aurors must satisfy the Animagus requirement at some point during their trial period if they are to remain on the Guild,’” McLaggen pompously recited, tugging the collar of his robes with self-importance. “As it stands, your try-out is coming to an end, Potter, and you still haven’t satisfied the S.T.A.G. obligation.”

“My trial ends in two weeks, Special Auror McLaggen,” he lightly snapped, directing a glower at the wiry-haired wizard. “I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”

“Section seven of the Guidebook outlines the S.P.O.O.K. bylaws,” said Cormac.

Harry impatiently nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m aware of all that. The point, McLaggen: preferably sometime tonight.”

Slitting his eyes in silent fury, the S.P.A.R.C. said, “Rule eight: ‘Any S.P.O.O.K. official in dispute with another regarding suspicion over met requisites or promotion founded on favoritism has the right to make a formal inquiry, and — ’”

“‘And, when said inquiry has been admitted, pending a formal investigation, the claimant holds the right to challenge the accused at any moment with confirmed Ministry officers in attendance,’” Harry evenly finished. “Did I get that right?”

Cormac wanly grinned. “Every word.”

“And the selected moment?” Harry asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Say, how about now?” McLaggen mockingly suggested, gesturing to the staid Minister and Director. “And lo! We’ve got two department officials present. The gang’s all here.” Kingsley and Cottenham looked like they wanted nothing more than to throttle McLaggen at the moment. Harry didn’t blame them; Cormac’s presence would incite violence in even Luna.

Harry inclined his head, frowning at the darkened window. He was really in trouble. Since the case, he’d barely had any time to practice transforming. The most he’d accomplished in three years of study were unnaturally long, dark fingers and thin flaps of skin attached from elbows to his ribs. Harry had caused such a ruckus in the bathroom at seeing himself in the mirror, Kreacher exploded the door to get to him in alarm.

He’d donned gloves and voluminous sleeves for several days while finding the concentration frequency to change his arms back to normal. That had been a few months before he’d been promoted.

But that was months ago. Now? Harry closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He was so going to get McLaggen for this. A quick glance let him know of Kingsley and Cottenham’s concerned looks as they all waited for him to answer.

“And if I refuse?” he quietly offered, rapping his fingers fretfully against his elbow.

“Automatic suspension from S.P.O.O.K.s, and the next in line qualifies for the position. In this case, me,” McLaggen answered without skipping a beat. When the elders stared angrily at him, the broad-shouldered S.P.A.R.C. replied, “What? It’s says so in the Guidebook.”

“If I successfully transform?”

“That would be nothing short of a miracle,” McLaggen scorned.

“All inquiries would be dismissed and you would officially be inaugurated with the S.T.A.G.,” supplied Cottenham with some enthusiasm. Harry thought he sounded more skeptical than McLaggen did, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. McLaggen was right, after all: it’d take a miracle for him to transform now.

But Harry nodded unfalteringly. If he was going down, he’d do it with his head held high and McLaggen’s patience running low. “Fine. I accept your challenge.”

“Surprise, surprise,” the smug wizard murmured, motioning Kingsley and Cottenham aside to make room.

Harry smiled tightly as he pulled out his wand to light the fireplace for more light. “By the way, d’you need anything?” he innocently asked McLaggen. “Wet towel? An aquarium? A lure to get you in the mood, perhaps?”

Cormac appeared quite hostile, like a man at the end of his rope, but answered civilly nonetheless. “I’m good, thanks.” Before Harry even sat on the edge of the sofa, Cormac had shrunken down effortlessly into his form.

McLaggen’s slate-colored robes shriveled into greyish-green dotted scales that glistened in the orange firelight. His legs snapped together as if under a Leg-Locker Curse before diminishing into a pleated, fanning tail. The sounds of his bones popping as they shifted and dwindled rivaled the crackle of the fireplace. Harry thought he saw Cottenham shift uncomfortably in the corner of his eye. Had the situation not been so humorless, he would’ve laughed.

As Harry’s eyes traveled along McLaggen’s incredible shrinking figure, he swallowed his sick as folds of McLaggen’s neck sliced open in arcs to form gills. Cormac’s broad chest turned milky-white and slimy, and his face and neck fused into a sharp arrowhead-shape. Finally, the S.P.A.R.C.’s eyes slid across his face to either side of his body and lips grew longer and narrower.

He was a rather large cod, Harry would give him that. Still, the only good Cormac could do against a suspect was to flop around enough to slime their ankles. If he was really lucky, the scent of his Animagus alone would set anyone running in the other direction.

The form was useless, what with McLaggen jerking on the rug before the fire, his large mouth snapping open and closed and his round black eye wide and unblinking. The entire drawing room stank of fish. If it smelled like that after he left, Harry would sauté him in garlic sauce and feed him to Pash. Seriously.

All in all, McLaggen made for a disturbing sight. And what’s worse, he had an Animagus form to contend with. Harry huffed angrily, ruffling his hair and messing it up further. Unless he got his hands on some Felix Felicis in the next ten seconds, Harry knew it was all over for him.

In a matter of seconds, McLaggen returned to his human self, more full of himself than ever. Harry was seriously cursing himself for not accidentally Banishing the bloody cod into the fire when he had the chance.

“Atlantic cod,” McLaggen smugly announced as he patted down his robes and noisily stretched. “Of course, I know all about them. Used to fish in France, just me, old Minister Scrimgeour, rest his soul, and my Uncle — ”

“Yes, thank you, Cormac, please take your seat,” Cottenham cut in with a halfhearted grin. “Harry? Your turn.”

Staring ahead at the fire, Harry inhaled with a deep, steadying breath. Though the steadying was cut very short as the area still smelled strongly of fish, and Harry instead found himself scrunching his nose in disgust. No wonder McLaggen jumped at the chance to go first: the stench was a diversionary tactic. Add to that the fire’s heat, and it was starting to smell like a fish and chips shop.

“Sorry, can I open a window?” he rushed out, moving toward the large windows with great speed. “Got a craving for chips now.”

He unlatched the window and pushed it open, tossing his head over the sill and outside, taking in a deep lungful of wet, chilly air. Harry decided this was nice, hanging his head out the window and just breathing. It wasn’t as if the neighbors could see or judge him, after all.

No, all the judging was in the room behind him, with snotty little Codmac and tight-lipped Cottenham and Kingsley. Nothing waiting back there for him except his inevitable sacking. God, he was going to get sacked from S.T.A.G.s tonight!

And the shelter: no doubt the S.P.O.O.K.s would step in and weave a tale about him abandoning his volunteer duties to find himself or some claptrap like that. Then McLaggen would be poised to take his spot and walk his dogs, and feed his cats, and catch Rhys cuddling Headlamps in his office, and fight with Draco....

Harry squeezed the brick sill hard beneath his fingers. Draco ... he didn’t even get a chance to tell him goodbye. Draco wouldn’t be told exactly what happened, only that he was assigned to a different task. Harry puffed out a sharp breath that formed into a wispy cloud, resting his head on the cool glass.

Draco probably wouldn’t even question it; he’d likely be relieved Harry would no longer be a bother. He wouldn’t care. Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head against the glass. He would never admit that notion hurt him worse than never being part of the S.T.A.G. again.

A sudden rustle from outside had Harry’s eyes popping open in alarm. But no one could see Number Twelve, right? Though the Fidelius Charm was much weaker now than before, it was still Unplottable. Perhaps he was just being paranoid? Yes, that was it; the scent of Cormac’s fishiness was messing with his brain, that’s all.

Harry sighed, resolving to get just one more deep breath in before facing the firing squad. As he inhaled, he swore he heard an impatient huff that no doubt came from McLaggen, he really hated that git —

Harry jerked back as a whitish shadow zipped out of the darkness by the window before disappearing into the night. Though his heart skipped a beat in alarm, Harry knew he’d seen that blur before, and knew it all too well. Even with the faint glow from streetlamps, he recognized that ghostly owl from Watford — had it followed him home?

Most importantly of all, it couldn’t be Hedwig ... could it?

“We don’t have all day, Potter,” Harry cringed at McLaggen’s gleeful complaint, having briefly forgotten the matter at hand.

With a last peer into the pitch darkness, Harry pulled himself inside, but left the window ajar; the odor was still trapped in the air. He’d say nothing of the phantom, lest McLaggen next contested his psychological state of mind.

Taking a shaky breath, Harry moved to stand on the sooty rug before the hearth and faced his audience. He first looked at Cottenham, who looked nauseous, then McLaggen, who of course looked like Teddy on Christmas morning, and finally, at Kingsley.

Though the man’s angular features were practically set in stone, there was a noticeable glint in his dark eyes that definitely wasn’t the fire’s reflection.

It warmed Harry more than the flames at his back to know Kingsley had faith in him. Too bad he was setting himself up for a huge letdown. Balling his sweaty hands at his sides, Harry closed his eyes and tuned out the spitting fire and the derisive snort from the arrogant S.P.A.R.C.

Three years of study, hours of concentration, and numerous visits to local caves had come down to this moment. Harry never thought he’d be standing underdressed in his boxers — Draco’s boxers, actually — while he tried to concentrate over McLaggen’s periodic sniggers. Transform, he commanded himself, transform, transform. You know what you are; you’ve dreamed it for years, you’ve seen it!

Harry absently licked the sweat pearling on his upper lip and squeezed his eyes tighter. Come on, Potter: you can’t let McLaggen beat you. You can’t let that git win! There was another derisive chuckle, louder this time, but he vaguely heard Kingsley admonish the haughty S.P.A.R.C. He’ll take everything and destroy it: the Shelter, your job, Draco —

Draco. Draco who was so angry with him, that he didn’t care anymore.

Harry knew as his concentration broke for the umpteenth time in ten minutes that it was over. With the hollowness aching in his chest, he unclenched his sweaty fists and opened his eyes, conceding defeat.

When Harry was brave enough to chance a glance at the spectators, he noticed Cottenham’s shoulders were definitely lower than they had been. McLaggen looked as if he’d won a million Firebolts, and finally, Harry shifted his gaze toward the Minister.

It always felt like a knife to his chest, disappointing Kingsley. In all honesty, Harry would’ve preferred yelling or a lecture to tacit disapproval. If there was one other person than Teddy he hated failing, it was Kingsley Shacklebolt.

And tonight, the feeling was no different. Kingsley met his eyes for only a short moment, before wordlessly averting his gaze.

“So,” Cormac pleasantly purred, toying with the neck of his robes, “do you want to empty out your desk, or should I?”

“That’s enough out of you, McLaggen,” Kingsley said curtly, rising to his feet. Harry couldn’t muster the mirth to rejoice in McLaggen’s fuming scowl. “Let the parties here tonight bear witness to the results.”

Harry watched Cottenham haltingly stand before taking a hesitant step forward. Before he spoke, he gave Harry a rueful nod.

“Harry James Potter, officer STAG-011, I, Director Archibald Cottenham of the S.P.O.O.K. department, hereby demote you of your Level One S.T.A.G. position.” Cottenham opened and closed his mouth falteringly, which Harry took to understand how hard this was for him as well, before continuing. “Effective immediately, Cormac Vivien McLaggen, officer SPARC-023, will assume the Level One S.T.A.G. post.”

Naturally, McLaggen threw Harry a quiet, gloating grin at that point. It took a great effort on Harry’s part not to point out he wasn’t the one with the woman’s name. “From this point onward, you are suspended from all Ministry positions pending a thorough formal investigation.”

Harry turned to him in alarm. “Wait, all positions? So I’m not even a General Auror?” He couldn’t have heard that right, could he?

“It’s in the Guidebook, section — ”

“No — you, don’t talk,” Harry crossly rebuked, shaking his finger at McLaggen. “I wasn’t talking to you, so keep your trap shut and shove your Guidebook and your rules, you bloody cod!”

Kingsley calmly said, “Harry — ”

“No, this isn’t fair, Kingsley! The inquiry alone nullifies my post, so even if I’m cleared, I’ll have to wait a year before applying again!” shouted Harry, angrily shaking his fists. “What about the investigation, the dead Gryffindors? That psychopath is still out there! And Draco! What about him?”

“He’s not under our jurisdiction, therefore, he’s untouchable,” Cottenham explained. “He’ll be briefed on the situation.”

“So I’m a ‘situation’ now, I see how it is,” grumbled Harry. “I’m supposed to be undercover — ”

“Not anymore, you’re not.”

“Oi! Vivien! Put a sock in it!”

“Excuse me!” McLaggen exclaimed, outraged. Cormac’s purple face was strangely reminiscent of his cousin Dudley upon discovering one less gift on his birthday than the year prior. Vibrating with rage, McLaggen screeched, “I WILL NOT STAND FOR SUCH — ”

“Kingsley,” Harry evenly began, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you had better shut him up if you don’t want me pitching him out that window.”

He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder as Cormac continued whining. “Calm down, Harry.”

“I’m going to hex him.”

“A threat! Did you hear that?” McLaggen hysterically shouted, struggling against Cottenham’s clasp. “A GENUINE THREAT!”

Harry could feel the vein on his forehead throbbing as Kingsley shook his head and quietly said, “You don’t want to do that.”

“IF YOU SO MUCH AS LAY A HAND ON ME, I’LL — !”

“You’ll do what?” Harry baited from around Kingsley’s brawny body. “Turn into a fish and take out my ankles? Flap-flap-flap, you bloody fish!”

At Kingsley’s disapproving look, Harry reined himself in. He’d seen that expression once tonight; a second time was rare from Kingsley. Harry really did not want to know what that meant.

But Cormac thrashed against Cottenham’s hold, hissing like a wildcat. “INSULTS! I have never been so insulted in my life!”

“The night’s still young,” menaced Harry.

“You’re always insulting me, but no more!” McLaggen roared. “One of these days, Potter, I swear you’re going to pay!”

“McLaggen, get a hold of yourself!” the Minister demanded. “Both of you,” added Kingsley, turning to glare at him. “You’re grown men, and Aurors, for goodness’ sake. Stop acting like tetchy first years. Now, I’ve half a mind to — ”

“Kingsley,” Harry pointedly cut in, holding up a hand to stall him, “I just lost my job. The last thing I want to hear is a lecture right now.”

The look on Kingsley’s face was much better than the dissatisfaction Harry was used to by now, but he still turned away to rest on the windowsill. The cool night air felt wonderful on his flushed skin, but even that wasn’t welcome, reminding him too much of Draco’s body pressed along his —

“How incredibly rude,” McLaggen simpered, breaking Harry from his painful reverie. The dark-haired man swallowed the curse he was ready to hurl, controlling himself. “If I were Minister, I would never let you get away with that.”

Every cell in his body boiled with affronted rage, but Harry huskily demanded, “McLaggen, get out.”

“You don’t have authority over me — ”

“This,” Harry’s voice rose to just above a whisper, “is still my house. You were not invited here, and I certainly don’t want you here.” He continued staring down at the street, feeling the tension in the room at his back. “The same goes for you, Cottenham. You, too, Kingsley.”

The atmosphere in the drawing room quickly became cooler than the temperature outside. Harry couldn’t care either way, really. He just wanted to finish the rest of the night alone.

“Well, some — ”

His wand was already hot in his palm before he spun to a halt to glare at McLaggen. “Get ... out.”

Wide-eyed and fearfully clutching the front of his robes, McLaggen sauntered to the fireplace, tossed in a pinch of Floo powder, whispered his destination, and was gone in a flash of green flame. His eyes had never left Harry’s for a second.

Harry shifted his attention to Cottenham next, who went without protest. He only flattened the rumple in his waistcoat and Flooed out of sight. Only Kingsley remained, mutely staring at him. Harry couldn’t tell from his face what he really felt, but at this point, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Finally, Kingsley’s silky voice cut through the silence. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Harry considered the question, finding that he mostly thought about what had happened earlier with Draco. But he wasn’t about to get into that, so instead he quietly replied, “I’m thinking about how much harder it’ll be to salvage our trust if you don’t leave right now.”

Kingsley’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit as Harry hefted his wand menacingly higher. With any other Minister, he’d have been thrown in Azkaban for threatening a public official; but he was already pushing his limit as it was.

“I’m not your enemy here. I did everything I could to stop McLaggen, but rules are rules. I warned you.” Kingsley said, folding his large arms. Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew Kingsley’s hand was already around the hilt of his wand, ready to wield it at a moment’s notice. Hopefully, he wasn’t too miserable enough to let it get that far. Then again....

“Go, Kingsley. Please.”

The ex-Auror lingered, his dark eyes fathomless pits of apprehension and concern Harry didn’t care to explore. Ultimately seeing that he wasn’t getting through to him, Kingsley moved across his drawing room to the roaring fireplace and took a pinch of Floo powder.

But he paused, and Harry raised an eyebrow when Kingsley turned to him. “‘The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.’” (1)

Harry smiled, a humorless grin, and faced the window. “It’s going to take a lot more than poetry to save this friendship.”

He felt Kingsley’s gaze boring holes in the back of his head for the longest while, but never turned round to face him.

Finally, he heard the murmur of a destination, saw a flash of green, and heard the flames cart Kingsley away, leaving Harry alone at last.

Which was the very last thing Harry wanted to be.

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1. Quote by Leo Tolstoy

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