A/N: This chapter was inspired by the dozens of Umbridge-gets-arrested-for-'blood' quill scenes that I've scene. I've always thought that she wouldn't risk her position so lightly. Oh, and for the record, the term 'blood quill' is actually a fanon invention- so, not from JKR. Therefore, I decided to call it something that sounds a little better. Cheers to the great many people at DLP who helped me with this chapter- especially Lucullus and Warlocke for their rather…amusing, at times, grammar check.
Later that night, Harry found himself sitting in one of the comfortable chairs surrounding the Gryffindor Common Room fireplace. The warm, crackling flames heated his body and made him feel extremely cosy, his eyes flittering shut as Meciel soothed his body with her marvellous control over his nervous system. To him, it was as if he were getting a massage. The other students in the common room were chatting away casually, Harry's presence intriguing but not so intriguing that he garnered all of their attention.
All in all, it was shaping to be a good night…which was why Harry had such a furious glint in his eyes when they snapped open and he stood up. He stretched his arms, giving a loud yawn, and scratched his nose. Ignoring any weird looks he received, Harry made sure he had his wand in his robe before strolling for the portrait entrance. After all, it wasn't the wisest thing to go to a detention with Umbridge without his wand.
“Harry, wait!” Somebody called out behind him and Harry sighed, whirling around with an annoyed frown on his face.
Amanda brushed off his frown with practiced ease as she approached him, looking a little uncertain and, dare he say, timid? She absently brushed her hair from the front of her face and met his gaze with her warm grey eyes.
“Listen, do you remember last year…how you coached me with some spells?” She asked quietly.
“Faintly,” Harry replied. “I remember trying to drill some survival skills into your head. There's also the more pleasant memory of me wiping the floor with you every time we practised.”
“Can you help me this year as well?” Amanda pressed and glanced over her shoulder uncertainly. “I…um…it needs to be spells that I could pass on to others…without, you know, being accused of dark magic. Do you catch my drift?”
Harry spotted Ron and Neville over Amanda's shoulders, both eying the proceedings her furtive, secretive glances. Harry narrowed his eyes and switched back to Amanda, who was fidgeting on her feet.
“Them too?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows. A scowl was already starting to form on his face. “I don't think so, brat. Trying to drill the basics of a spell into your think head is hard enough, especially since you're blonde and, well, you guys are all stupid.”
“It's just me,” Amanda said hurriedly. She gestured over her shoulder and but her lip. “There are a few of us, actually. Most of them just don't want to fail their OWLs. There are a few who believe Dumbledore and want to be prepared, and since my Dad was there and I know that he's back…”
Harry sighed.
'Meciel?' he asked.
'The more people who have the skills to fight against Lord Voldemort and his army, the better,' Meciel said thoughtfully. 'I don't see the harm. Besides, the girl has some talent and is obviously infatuated with you in some way or another. Train her well and she could be a valuable asset.'
'Hang on, I thought you despised the brat?' Harry thought. 'In fact, I remember you telling me quite clearly that you thought she was a worthless nothing.'
'You are not the only person who can put aside their differences for the greater good,' Meciel said haughtily. 'You may need an army to fight Lord Voldemort and all his forces, an army loyal to yourself and not the Ministry or Dumbledore.'
'I am not leading a damn army,' Harry protested quickly.
'Just say yes,' Meciel said over Harry's grumbling. 'Quickly now, she's looking impatient.'
“Sure, why not?” Harry asked after a moment's pause. Amusement lit up in his green eyes. “There's nothing funnier than knocking you on your arse anyway.”
Amanda flushed but grinned. She turned her head and nodded a confirmation to the small group of fifth years. While Hermione looked displeased, Ron and Neville both looked satisfied and gave wide grins back towards Amanda.
“Thanks Harry,” she said with a brilliant smile and bundled her way across the room. Harry rolled his eyes at her overly-cheery attitude and made a loud noise of disgust in the back of his throat before opening the portrait door and striding out.
“I've died and I've gone to hell,” Harry muttered with wide eyes as he stared at the inside of Professor Umbridge's office.
'You'd like Hell, I think,' Meciel said dryly. 'This is far worse. This is what heaven would look like.'
“Remind me to kill something cute and fuzzy when I get out of here then,” Harry scowled as he took in the rather unique decorations that Umbridge had put up.
The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and clothes, all dyed in bright, girlish colours. Dozens of vases full of dried flowers had been placed on a dozen different doilies around the room. One of the walls now held a collection of ornamental plates, each with a horribly cute enchanted kitten that meowed pathetically, some of them hissing at Harry. The smell of the office was heavy with strong perfume, so much so that Harry's eyes began to water until Meciel blocked out his olfactory senses.
There was a door on the other side of the room, which presumably led to the bedroom, and it opened as Umbridge stepped out. Her eyes fell upon Harry and a simpering smile came over her face. Harry blinked and had to hold back a snort at the sight of her without her robes on. Her cardigan, which he had only caught glimpses before (and truthfully, he hadn't been staring too hard) had large flowery emblems and was covered in little bows, like one might find on a kitten.
“Good evening, Mr Potter,” Umbridge said sweetly. She gestured to one of the large, fluffy chairs in front of her desk. “Well, sit down.”
Harry took a seat, his face pleasant but his eyes cold. In turn, Umbridge's eyes were also cold but she was smiling as if she had just found a nice, juicy fly. She sat down behind her desk, still smiling oddly.
“Now, I've spoken to Professor Snape and we've both agreed that your detention will be lines,” Umbridge said and Harry blinked.
“Lines?” He asked sceptically. He had trouble believing that Snape would agree to something so…mundane. Harry had the feeling that the man would enjoy seeing him on his knees and scrubbing the Entrance Hall with a toothbrush- something he remembered a pair of red-haired twin moaning about last year.
“Yes, lines,” Umbridge said, a tad sharply. She motioned to the piece of blank parchment in front of him. Harry kept his pleasant smile on his face as he began to pat down his school robes- he was sure he had a quill in there somewhere.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Umbridge said quickly, after seeing Harry move. She smiled again and Harry caught a flash of her anticipation- like a shark who had caught the scent of blood. She reached into her robes and produced a quill of her own. “Use this one. You don't have to worry about ink- it makes its own.”
Harry took the quill, his eyes narrowing as Umbridge smiled coldly. He had a look at the quill. It was different from a normal quill, completely black and thin, with a very sharp tip. The moment he touched it a short burst of residual dark energy shot up his arm and his posture stiffened.
'There's a dark spell on that quill,' Meciel said sharply. 'I can feel it and- beloved, hold it closer to your nose for a moment.'
Harry did as he was told and brought the quill closer to his nose. His nostrils flared as if he was trying to inhale the quill itself and a visible shudder ran through his body. There was no mistaking the smell. Amongst the pleasantly-sour odour of dark magic was blood. It was almost an intoxicating smell and Harry had to yank it away from his nose as unwanted power tingled pleasurably in his veins.
“Well, Mr Potter?” Umbridge said, noticing Harry's pause. Her sickly smile remained on her face and she regarded Harry with something akin to dark hunger in her eyes. “Start writing 'I must not be a naughty boy'.”
“How many lines?” Harry asked slowly, staring at the quill suspiciously. Hellfire flooded into his mind and his body was on fire, raw, dark power surging through his veins as his anger grew.
“As many as it takes to…sink it,” Umbridge said slowly, almost as if she were making a great joke of something. There was a delighted smile on her flabby face as she watched Harry intently.
Harry continued to stare at the quill. His power was raging and a large part of him wanted to pull out his wand and inflict great pain on the bitch who was, in some way or another, trying to attack him. There was no way that the quill was just used for writing things down.
“Mr Potter!” Umbridge snapped.
'Well, you're the one who wanted me to 'restrain my temper',' Harry thought smartly. His hand had crept inside his robe and was gripping the end of his wand tightly. 'What expert advice do you have for me now?'
'I suggest you write a single line with it and see what happens,' Meciel said after a pause. She sounded worried, but not overly concerned. 'I do not sense a great deal of power in the magic embedded in the quill and I believe it is a passive spell. Writing one line will not cause you any permanent damage.'
Harry frowned but picked up the quill. His pleasant face disappeared and his face was blank, his eyes hard and burning with an inner fire. Slowly, Harry pressed the nub of the quill to the piece of parchment and started to write.
'I must not be a…'
Suddenly he let out a loud hiss. Dark energies, so faint that only Meciel could sense them, were tingling painfully in his hand and before his eyes, words started to scratch themselves into his skin. On the parchment, the quill was running with a dark red ink- no, not ink- blood, his blood.
“What the hell…?” Harry growled softly and jumped out of his seat. He glared at the quill, and then at Umbridge, who was watching him with a delighted expression on her flabby face.
'What the hell is that?' Harry spat out in his mind.
'Interesting,' Meciel murmured.
'It's taking my blood, Meciel,' Harry mentally growled and wrapped his mind with Hellfire. His nose was overrun by the distinctive scent of sulphur and dark power coursed through his veins, making him feel more alert and alive than he had been feeling all day. 'This bitch is not getting my blood! You know what spells people can cast at you if they have your blood!'
“Sit down, Mr Potter,” Umbridge ordered, her voice firm and baring no traces of the simpering, smiling woman from before. She gestured to the parchment, which was still streaked with his crimson blood. “You haven't finished your lines.”
“Fuck you,” Harry snorted derisively and was pleased to see the woman flush with colour. She arose from her seat, her eyes glittering with anger, but there was a simpering, sweet smile on her face.
“What did you just say?” Umbridge asked softly.
'Well, it appears that I win,' Meciel said flatly, although she did not sound at all upset. She regarded Umbridge with a cold callousness that only an inhuman entity could possess.
“A bit deaf, are we?” Harry mocked and cupped one of his hands around his mouth. “I said, 'Fuck You!'. You're not getting my blood.”
“It's a pity, Potter,” Umbridge said softly, making a soft tsking noise and withdrawing her wand from her pink cardigan. Her beady eyes, however, told him that she did not mean her words. “We were getting on so well before.”
“Yeah, I was faking it,” Harry snapped and paused, a sly smile coming over his face “I bet you hear that a lot.”
“Sit down, Potter,” Umbridge ordered. “And finish your lines. Otherwise, I will take fifty points from Gryffindor and give you a month's detention!”
With slow and deliberate movements, his eyes meeting Umbridge's, Harry held the quill up before him and snapped it. He winced as the dark spell flared for a single instant, causing a biting sensation to fly through his hand, and dropped the quill onto the ground. His eyes never left the Defence Professor as he ground the quill into the ground with his foot.
'Beloved…' Meciel started.
'This bitch is not taking my blood!'
“Oh dear, Potter, you've gone and done it this time,” Umbridge whispered gleefully. She levelled her wand at the fireplace and suddenly green fire exploded in a burst of green flames. “Professor Dumbledore, please come to my office. It seems as if I will have no choice but to call for the expulsion of Harry Potter.”
“Do you really think he's going to expel me?” Harry said, rolling his eyes and staring at Umbridge with nothing short of loathing on his face. “He likes me...or, he wants to like me. He's not going to let me get killed.”
“I will see to it that you get expelled,” Umbridge hissed, her eyes alight with fury.
“You don't have the power,” Harry snorted.
“Not yet,”
“Never,” Harry interjected icily. He smiled, a dangerous, feral smile, and Hellfire blazed in his eyes. “Voldemort will strike eventually, probably sooner than later, and then you'll be gone and Minister Brownie will be in deep shit. I'm hoping that the son-of-a-bitch- I mean Voldemort- kills the worthless heap of crap.”
“Minister Fudge!” Umbridge howled furiously and Harry's eyes widened as her face went taut with rage. “He is a good man!” She hissed, stalking over towards Harry with her wand levelled at him. Harry made a move to pull out his own wand, but Meciel stopped him.
'Not yet, beloved,' Meciel said carefully. 'But be wary. If she makes to cast a spell, then kill her.'
“He has worked hard to stabilise the Ministry,” Umbridge continued, her voice rising in fervent fanaticism. “He is a great man, who does not need to be pulled down with the evil, attention-seeking lies of a senile old man and a rebellious little boy! You, Potter, are nothing more than an attention-seeking,” and here she jabbed him on the chest with her wand, “rude,” another jab, “evil,” another jab, “disgrace to everything that is good and true about our community. When Cornelius is through with you, you'll be carted off to Azkaban like the-“
Harry, who was glancing down at his chest and at Umbridge's wand with narrowed eyes, twitched every time she prodded him and finally, he snapped. An icy cold sensation rushed over his arms, suddenly making them hard to move, but Umbridge was too close and Harry too angry to care and he swung with all of his might, back-handing her square across her stout, toad-like face.
A loud crack filled the room, bare flesh striking bare flesh, and suddenly Umbridge was falling down. Her eyes, filled with disbelief and growing fury, glared at him from the ground and she levelled her wand at him, her face contorted with anger. Harry's own wand was suddenly in his hands, runes flashing with unholy light as he gathered dark power and prepared to launch a searing bolt of power at the fallen witch. Suddenly though, the fireplace flashed with green light once more and, rotating madly from the flames, Dumbledore stepped out.
His light blue gaze seemed to take the situation in all at once; Harry's stormy, fury-ridden eyes, Umbridge's half-mad gaze, the broken quill on the ground and the bloodied parchment and the wand that was levelled at Harry and held by Umbridge's quivering hand, the witch staring at Dumbledore with an almost comically-shocked face.
“D-Dumbledore,” she simpered and groaned as she stood up. There was a red mark across her cheek and Harry knew from personal experience that it would leave a bruise in the morning. Under the headmaster's piercing stare, she lowered her wand, her face suddenly looking clammy.
Harry himself was struggling, beating back the almost-irresistible tide of Hellfire warping through his mind. A rush of feelings rose up within him, hatred, anger, fury, and the desire to kill, but he suppressed them with practised ease- although his wand was lowered reluctantly.
“Well, I hope I'm not interrupting anything here,” Dumbledore said quietly. Without taking his eyes of Umbridge, he motioned for Harry to leave. “Harry, go to my office. I'll be along shortly.”
“Dumbledore…” Harry started with a growl, but Dumbledore's eyes flashed towards him and Harry almost flinched as a never-ending pool of powerful magic swirled within them, far greater than anything Harry could muster at such short notice.
He grimaced and flicked his wand. Suddenly the piece of parchment with his blood on it was on fire, and Harry tucked his wand into his robes and with one last scowl at Umbridge, left the room.
“I hope you ripped her a new one,” Harry said coldly as Dumbledore entered his office, his eyes hard and his step strong. His long, purple robes trailed after him and Harry noticed that the stitched-on stars were glittering beautifully, casting an almost mysterious glow around the older wizard.
“Unfortunately, there was little I could do,” Dumbledore said heavily.
Harry was standing by one of the bookcases, idly browsing through a tattered old tome that floated in front of him. The pages were scrawled in an indecipherable language, more gibberish than anything else, but Harry didn't seem to have any trouble understanding it. Closing the book, entitled 'A comprehensive guide into Winter Politics' by Gellert Grindelwald, Harry turned to Dumbledore with fire in his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.
“She tried to take my blood!” Harry hissed angrily, gesturing to the back of his now-healed hand. “You know exactly what somebody could do if they had my blood! Voldemort wouldn't need to track me down; all he'd have to do is summon an entropy curse and strike at me when I'm exposed!”
“She was not trying to take your blood, Harry,” Dumbledore said, seating himself behind his desk and steepling his fingers together. His eyes flashed with something Harry could only identify as contempt. “What you were using is called a Cruento Quill. It is a rather barbaric disciplinary tool that was quite prevalent during the early years of this century. The user is forced to write lines using their own blood as a substitute. Given enough time, it is possible to carve permanent scars into the back of your hand - a deterrent for even the most hardened mischief-maker.”
“Cruento …” Harry muttered. Suddenly Meciel's illusion appeared before him, dressed in silver and white robes and sitting at the edge of Dumbledore's desk with a curious expression on her beautiful face. There was no sound, no shimmer- she was just there.
“It means 'to be stained with blood',” she said quietly, studying Dumbledore intently. Her wide silver eyes regarded him carefully, an external reflection of what she was mentally doing at that very moment.
“A derivative of the cruentocta curse,” Dumbledore explained. “A dark spell, designed to rupture every single blood vessel in your body. It is a horrible, painful death, spanning many hours if the counter-curse is not applied.”
“Dark magic?” Harry asked slowly. “The quill is based on dark magic?”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said gravely.
“And you caught her?” Harry said with the beginnings of a cold smile. “Good. Throw her out, lock her up in Azkaban and let one of those lesser daemons take her soul. Problem solved.”
“I'm afraid it is not that easy,” Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Dolores Umbridge has not actually performed an illegal act.”
“What?” Harry asked softly and his smile faded. His eyes took on an angry glint as he stared at Dumbledore with an icy expression on his face. “You lot absolutely hate dark magic. It's bad, it's evil, it's wrong, blah, blah, blah. How is it not illegal?”
“One of the many powers of the Hogwarts Headmaster is to decide the appropriate standard of discipline amongst the students,” Dumbledore explained softly, absently stroking his beard. The portraits on the walls were nodding in agreement with him, some of them wearing sour, angry faces. “My predecessor was quite fond of employing the strap as a means to deter mischievous behaviour. I however, feel that fear and pain do not contribute to an effective learning environment.”
“I think you should be grateful for that, beloved,” Meciel said smoothly and Harry's head turned to her, seeing a somewhat mischievous smile on her face. “I shudder to think of what you would do if Snape came after you with a cane.”
Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to Dumbledore, who was peering at him with carefully schooled eyes.
“What's that got to do with anything?” Harry snapped coldly.
“As I said, it is the responsibility of the Hogwarts Headmaster to decide what level of discipline the professors at Hogwarts will administer,” Dumbledore said. Annoyance flickered in his eyes and suddenly he looked very cold. “However, Dolores is soon to be the High Inquisitor…”
“What?” Harry interrupted with narrowed eyes. “What crap is this?”
“She is a Ministry representative,” Dumbledore said. “She will soon have an unprecedented control over Hogwarts with the full backing of the Ministry of Magic. My sources tell me that Minister Fudge and Professor Umbridge have already devised a number of 'educational decrees'- legislation allowing her to impose her own set of rules on the working of Hogwarts.”
“Fuck,” Harry growled softly.
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Now, where was I…ah, yes. Technically, Professor Umbridge has done nothing illegal. Yes, she has gone against both my word as Headmaster and the Board of Governors by introducing forbidden disciplinary techniques, but that is not a criminal offence. Had she cast the actual cruentocta curse, then rest assured, Harry, the Auror's would already be here.”
“Can't you sack her then?” Harry exclaimed furiously. He was pacing around Dumbledore's office, looking murderous as tendrils of Hellfire leaked through his body. “You're the damned Headmaster! Get rid of her for breaking your rules!”
“Professor Umbridge was brought into Hogwarts under Ministry legislation,” Dumbledore explained heavily. “Therefore, she can only be removed by Ministry legislation. It is a complicated situation, Harry, one that I fear you may have made worse for yourself.”
“Ooh, I probably shouldn't have bitch-slapped her,” Harry said, wincing.
“I have convinced Professor Umbridge that you acted out of self-defence and I have rescinded all of your detentions,” Dumbledore explained. “She is not the High Inquisitor yet. When she is, I will no longer be able to do this.”
“Well, that's good,” Harry said, his brows furrowed in thought. He seemed to come to a decision and nodded, before drawing his wand out of his robes. “Right. I'll go and kill her and we'll never have this problem again.'
“Harry,” Dumbledore said quickly, halting the young Denarian before he could even move. “You will not kill Professor Umbridge.”
“But I want to,” Harry said, in an almost child-like whine. He regarded Dumbledore with intent green eyes but the older wizard merely shook his head, not budging an inch.
“Harry,” the older wizard said in a warning tone, looking very serious. However, Harry could tell that the man's lips were twitching and there was a certain sparkle behind his half-moon glasses.
“Seriously, it will work,” Harry said earnestly, moving forward and placing his hands on Dumbledore's desk. “Meciel's great at making things look like an accident. We'll say that Professor Umbridge 'slipped' and fell onto a pile of cruento quills.”
“It might be easier to have her die of something a little more mundane, beloved,” Meciel said idly. She had stopped observing Dumbledore and was now gazing around the room with interest, her illusion focussing on a section that Harry could barely see in his peripheral vision. “Perhaps an accidental drowning or a misspoken incantation would be better.”
“If you kill Professor Umbridge then another will take her place,” Dumbledore said tiredly, and looked strangely disappointed as he gazed at Harry. “Should that person be the victim of an unfortunate accident, another will take their place and so forth. Tell me, Harry, are you serious?”
“Well, yeah,” Harry said slowly. He rolled his eyes and beckoned Dumbledore to come in closer. “I'm going to tell you something that I've never told anyone else.”
“Yes, Harry?” Dumbledore asked and moved in closer, although the look on his face was faintly exasperated.
“I'm a sociopath,” Harry whispered into Dumbledore's ear and paused. Dumbledore lifted back and merely regarded Harry with a cool gaze. Harry frowned and scratched his chin, looking thoughtful. “Wow. That felt good to get off my chest.”
“Although I admit that your outlook on life seems to differ greatly from my own, I doubt that you are a sociopath,” Dumbledore said evenly, looking faintly amused. “For instance, sociopaths have no sense of ethics and morality.”
“You're a morality,” Harry muttered under his breath and backed away from Dumbledore's desk. He sat down with a huff and leant back as Meciel's illusion regarded him with quirked lips, looking faintly amused.
“What does that even mean, beloved?” she asked
“So, I can't kill Umbridge?” Harry asked once more, just in case Dumbledore was having doubts. However, it appeared as if he was not.
“No, you may not,” Dumbledore said firmly, shaking his head. “You would only exacerbate matters.”
“Come on,” Harry protested, looking vaguely irritated. “I know you're not as goody-goody as everybody thinks- Nobody who's ever studied the books you gave me is ever going to be up for sainthood.”
“They were a relic of my past,” Dumbledore said, almost wistfully, but when Harry turned back to him, the older wizard was staring at him with a pleasant expression.
“Okay,” Harry said abruptly. “Umbridge is a total bitch and we both know it. You can't fire her and you won't let me kill her. Are you just going to let her fuck up your school for the rest of the year?”
“We must be patient,” Dumbledore advised quietly. He adjusted his glasses and smoothed his beard, his eyes drifting to the row of magical instruments on his shelves. “Lord Voldemort will reveal himself in time. The Order of Phoenix is preparing for the inevitable conflict, but I have learned that he will not move until he has in his possession a piece of vitally important information.”
“So you're telling me that the fat-flabby bitch won't leave until Voldemort makes a move, and Voldemort won't make a move until he has his information?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows. Dumbledore inclined his head. “This information, how important is it?”
“At the present moment, there is nothing more important than keeping it out of Lord Voldemort's hands,” Dumbledore said gravely. “While it is a secret, it is unknown to him and Lord Voldemort does not like the unknown. It will make him cautious, wary, and perhaps even afraid, to venture forward.”
“That's all well and good,” Harry said bitingly. “But Umbridge is going to be High Inquisi-thingy sooner or later, sooner by the sounds of it, and she'll be after me again with those damned quills. If she does, then I will have to kill her and make it look like accident.”
“Harry…”
“Nobody gets my blood,” Harry said and his eyes flashed with Hellfire. “Voldemort got it once, but nobody else! Never again!”
Dumbledore sighed and looked incredibly weary- his face was sagging and the brightness in his eyes was dulling with stress. Meciel's illusion studied him closely, her face blank, while Harry refused to be sympathetic and stood his ground.
“I will alert the Board of Governors and let them know that Professor Umbridge has overstepped her bounds,” Dumbledore said after a moment. “Perhaps pressure from outside sources, say the media, will deter her for a short time.”
“It would be a lot easier if Voldemort were to simply reveal himself,” Meciel said, and her silver eyes narrowed in thought. “Or better yet, trick the Ministry into believing that Voldemort had revealed himself.”
Harry frowned and gazed at her illusion as a quick tumble of information rushed into his mind. He blinked, feeling slightly disorientated, and then he shook his head dazedly. After a moment, a sly grin came over his face.
“That's a good idea, Meciel,” he said slowly, still smiling eerily, and he turned to Dumbledore, who was watching with inquisitive eyes. “The Ministry won't believe that Voldemort's back until he reveals himself, right?”
“That's correct,” Dumbledore said slowly.
“So, let's give them a Voldemort then,” Harry said with a calculating grin. “I could do it. Meciel can help me produce a reasonable illusion- she is rather good at that sort of thing- and I'll 'attack' Diagon Alley or something.”
“I won't kill anybody,” Harry said hurriedly as Dumbledore frowned. “I'll just rough them up a little, break a few glasses and such, maybe throw a killing curse to prove that I'm the real deal. In for a minute, out the next and voila, there's Voldemort launching an attack.”
“Your plan has merits,” Dumbledore said after a moments pause. Harry grinned but the Headmaster raised his hand, stopping him before he could say anything. “However, skilled Aurors will be able to detect the presence of residual concealment magic and they will know it is a fake. That, Harry, could endanger our cause far worse than anything else.”
“Fine,” Harry said, not deterred, and he stared at Dumbledore firmly. “What about a Death Eater cloak and mask? It makes sense that a Death Eater would use a concealment spell rather than a real robe and mask.”
“And if you get caught?” Dumbledore said severely, peering over his glasses at Harry. “Within moments, I can guarantee that Aurors will be on the scene. They are skilled, Harry, far-better trained than most of Lord Voldemort's servants. You would be hard-pressed to defeat one without killing them and, that, Harry, is something I will not allow to happen. The Ministry will need all of its Aurors very shortly.”
“But…”
“I will consider your plan, Harry,” Dumbledore said sternly. “However, if I choose to enact it then you will not be the wizard for the job. You need to concentrate all of your efforts here, Harry. Once you have your OWLs, then we will talk about your contributions to the Order.”
“My contributions,” Harry repeated icily, his mouth working over as if he had tasted something nasty. “My contributions to your…order. I thought I told you that I wasn't going to work for you. With you, sure, we'll kick Voldemort's arse side-by-side, but not for you.”
Harry's eyes were glittering with anger and he barely noticed when Meciel's illusion, which had been watching the two wizards carefully, disappeared back into his mind and her warm presence overlapped his, calming him down somewhat.
'Calm down,' Meciel soothed and Harry sighed, slightly relaxing. Dumbledore continued to stare at him with a solemn blue gaze and suddenly Harry felt the urge to smash the old man's nose back into shape.
“Whatever,” Harry interrupted derisively when Dumbledore opened his mouth. “I get it. You're the boss, the big man, the one in charge.” He strode for the door, then turned back and narrowed his eyes. “Do yourself a favour- tell Snape to shut the fuck up before I shut him up for you. I'm telling you this because I want to, um, contribute, to your Order and keep the stress of cleaning up a bloody smear in your Potions Lab.”
“I will speak to Severus about his conduct,” Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers together and not looking at all concerned about Harry's sudden hostility. “However, in the future, perhaps you should not be so antagonistic.”
“I didn't throw the damn green shit at him,” Harry said and rolled his eyes as he stepped through the door and started to walk down the stairs, his voice getting distant. “I would have aimed for his big, long crooked nose of his. Seriously, the man could use it as a dildo or something…”
Harry arrived at the bottom of the staircase with a scowl on his face. He tightened his robe around him and started to walk. Anger, determination and stubbornness raced through his mind as he briskly walked through the hallway, moving in the opposite direction of the Gryffindor tower
'I assume that we're going to initiate my plan?' Meciel asked, not sounding at all surprised or upset.
'Count on it,' Harry thought grimly as he turned a corner. His wand was clasped in his hand and began to smoke and shimmering red Hellfire rushed into it as Harry allowed the dark power to course through him. 'You do know how to cast the illusion spell, right?'
'Of course, beloved,' Meciel murmured. 'If you give me a few more minutes, I might be able to create a spell that will produce something similar to the dark mark. After all, why should we not go all the way?'
Harry nodded grimly as he stepped out of Hogwarts castle, with his cloak and blazing Hellfire to provide protection against the cold, and started to walk towards the Wizarding town of Hogsmeade- the nearest site where he could disapparate. It was going to be an interesting night…