On the Precipice

Not wanting to talk, Harry lay on his cot and ignored everyone. Rodophous tried to coax Harry by taking in that baby voice he and his wife seemed to love so much, but Lucius told him to shut it. Surprisingly the man did. Fortunately, no one tried asking him about quidditch as a means to distract him; if they had, Harry was sure he would have screamed at them.

Harry heard the sound of the door opening at the end of the hall, but none of the pitiful whimpers from the prisoners which signaled that it was the guards again rather than the dementors. How crazy Harry’s life at gotten that he preferred his biggest fear to visit him than some guards. Harry idly wondered if a boggert would still turn into a dementor should Harry ever face one again.

Fortunately, the guards were merely handing out dinner and not there specifically for Harry again. Once they got to Harry’s cell, he refused the food. One look at Wiblin holding the food tray caused Harry to lose what little appetite he had.

As the guards moved away from his cell, Harry caught Malfoy looking at him with concern. Harry quickly looked at the walls of his cell instead. He didn’t know what to do with Malfoy’s pity. He felt too vulnerable, and Malfoy and Nott had already seen him cry once today.

Conversations sprung up around Harry, but they were soft enough that they were mostly background noise. Harry appreciated it as he could eavesdrop from one conversation to another instead of being alone with his own thoughts. Crabbe, Nott and Avery were talking about the first meal they wanted to have once they got out of Azkaban. As far as Harry could tell, only Nott was trying to appeal his sentence, but it didn’t stop the others from reminiscing about the days when their meals contained variety and flavour.

The Lestrange brothers were playing a game. It took Harry a couple of minutes to figure out it was a wizarding variant of the muggle Battleship game. Only the premise was about sending a niffler into your neighbour’s yard to look for buried treasure. Harry wasn’t sure how they kept track of where their treasure was or where they searched. Unless the bar of soap left enough residue on the wall, they must be keeping track all in their heads. Or they found a way to smuggle in stuff.

Malfoy and Mulciber were running through a list of spells. When one of the Lestrange brothers jumped in to suggest some sort of anti-clotting spell, Lucius snidely remarked that it was rather advanced and thus not likely to be part of the sixth-year curriculum. Harry realized they were planning more spells to review with him. It brought tears to his eyes again, though this time for a happier reason.

Harry fell into a fitful sleep. He was woken up twice to having dementors at his cell door. The first time, Harry pretended to still be asleep. The second time, he sat up in bed after Crabbe gave a rather particularly loud whimper. Harry watched them as they watched him. There were two dementors this time, but Harry couldn’t tell if they were the same ones he’d seen before. Neither spoke. One dementor hovered back and forth from each end of the cell door. Harry thought it was trying to get as good a look at Harry as it could despite behind unable to move around him. They left after five minutes without saying a word to him. If Harry had any other visitors that night, he slept though it.

“Why are they so interested in you?” asked an annoyed voice down the hall. Harry thought it might be Avery.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered.

“You must have got some inkling,” continued the voice.

“Leave the boy be,” Nott muttered after he spat out a mouthful of toothpaste during his morning routine.

“Just saying I’d like to know why they keep stopping by. The rest of us aren’t getting much sleep. Perhaps if they want the boy-”

“Leave it,” ordered Nott. He was watching Harry, but his eyes kept trailing down to Harry’s neck and the new prison tattoo. Self-consciously, Harry rubbed at the area. It didn’t hurt and was partially covered by the thin shirt, but Harry felt like it was as noticeable as a giant scarlet letter.

It didn’t help that when the guards brought breakfast, they too were staring at the area. Harry assumed that Burke or Wiblin must have been bragging about it to their colleges.

“Potter,” said one guard as he passed over the tray of food. “Burke shouldn’t have-”

The second guard shushed the first while elbowing him. They both left without further comment, so Harry morosely picked at his food.

“So, Potter,” Malfoy stated as he tapped the bar to remove his empty tray. “I can’t imagine you’ll be here much longer.”

“That makes one of us,” Harry said as he rubbed absently at his neck. He’d been doing it all morning.

“It might not be tomorrow,” Malfoy conceded. “However, I would be surprised if you weren’t back in time for your end of year exams. You ought to keep on top of your subjects.”

Harry recalled Malfoy and Mulciber’s conversation from the night before, and figured Malfoy was trying to see if Harry would be receptive to it. He was, but didn’t know how they would teach him new spells without actually being able to practice. It was fun ‘trying out’ the darker spells the day before, but Harry doubted he had retained more than a handful of the ones they mentioned, and he wasn’t even sure if he would be able to do the spells even if he had a wand.

“I doubt Burke, or the other guards are going to let me owl for my school supplies. Or let me practice for an hour each day,” Harry remarked.

“Shame,” commented Rodolphus Lestrange. “Burke would be the perfect test dummy for 1001 Ways to Curse your Enemies.”

Harry snorted as he pictured Burke tied up to one of the D.A’s practice dummies.

“Since when do you need permission to do something?” asked Malfoy. “The way Draco tells it, you’ve broken every school rule there is.”

Lucius’ voice wobbled a bit over Draco’s name, but he smirked at Harry after he spoke. Harry was surprised for a moment that Draco would have talked to his father about him, but realized that he probably sent letters home complaining about ‘Saint Potter’. Harry couldn’t imagine either of Draco’s parents being that interested but felt oddly pleased by the thought. Draco had frustrated Harry enough over the years that he felt smug satisfaction that he had been equally vexing for Draco.

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” hedged Harry, but smiled for the first time that day.

“Right, allegedly,” teased Malfoy. “My point is that you can keep on top of your spell work regardless of what the guards want.”

“But I won’t be able to practice,” Harry insisted. “I’m better at remembering if I can feel the spell, you know?”

“It will take more work,” conceded Malfoy, “But you don’t have much else to do in here anyway. Plenty of time for review.”

And that was at the heart of their offer. Harry knew that if he let these men teach him spells, even more dark curses, it would be better than being left to his own thoughts. He didn’t want to dwell on what Ron, Hermione and the others might be faced with. His mind conjured images of Hermione strapped in the chair with chains, or Ron being dragged past Harry’s cell before he got his own cell down the hall. Worst was the hint of resentment that he was the only one here, but he tried his best to squash those thoughts before they festered. But that left room for thoughts about the guards and dementors to filter in. Harry didn’t want to picture Burke’s face as he tattooed Harry or the smirk he gave that just promised there was more horrid things in store.

Plus is wasn’t an altruistic offer on the part of the others. They too needed distractions to keep their own negative memories away. As Harry stared at Malfoy’s earnest expression, he wondered how he had spent his days prior to Harry’s arrival. Harry speculated whether his cell had been empty the whole time. If so, that pretty much just left Lestrange as the only person Malfoy could see. He could talk to the men on either side of him, and possibly even a few cells down if the spoke loud enough. But after months of being locked up, not allowed any visitors beside the guards or their judicial-wizards, their conversations must have grown stale. Harry’s presence shook things up and gave them something new and challenging to occupy their time with.

“How would this work?” asked Harry.

“Well, I am quite gifted in charms and transfiguration,” boasted Malfoy. It was the first instance where the man lived up to the mental image Harry carried of the arrogant Malfoy family. It surprised Harry that he didn’t mind the bragging as much as he once would have.

“I’m not half bad at charms either,” said Mulciber. While his words were humble, his tone was not. “And of course, the dark arts.”

From the cell next to Harry, Rodolphus snorted. “I taught you most of those spells.”

“Well, now you can teach Potter,” Mulciber replied.

“Er, you probably taught me more than I should know already,” stated Harry.

“We’ve barely even started,” said Malfoy. Harry wondered if that was his cue to back out. “But if it makes you feel better, we’ll start with a Hogwarts-approved defense against the dark arts review.”

“I can help with potions,” offered Crabbe.

“That one might be a bit hard,” observed Nott. Harry agreed, but wondered if he could ask some theoretical questions. Snape had never been clear, preferring to berate his students for not automatically knowing. And Slughorn assumed Harry had an excellent grasp of potions. Harry feared that posing too many questions would give him away. However, Harry discovered a new-found appreciation for the subject ever since discovering the half-blood prince’s book.

“True, but I wouldn’t mind the review,” said Harry.

“Oh! In that case, Luci could tell you about his favourite poisons,” cackled Rodolphus.

Harry’s eyebrows had flown up at that statement. Lucius wasn’t sure if it was talk of poisons or the ridiculous nickname that did it, but he decided to address the former.

“I have a small collection of rare poisons,” Lucius answered. “...for prosperity.”

“Er, right,” Harry answered.

Nott snorted at that. “Walden will help with magical creatures. Avery could help with ancient runes-”

“I don’t take ancient runes,” interrupted Harry.

“Just as well. Not sure how we’d have pulled that off without being able to read and write them,” responded Nott. “What about arithmancy?”

“Er no, I didn’t take that either,” Harry said suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I am taking herbology.”

“I can help with that!” exclaimed Crabbe.

“And I can help with alchemy,” concluded Nott.

“Er...” Harry debated how to tell the man that he wasn’t taking the subject either.

“It won’t hurt to know the basics,” said Nott firmly. Harry nodded in agreement.

“Great!” Malfoy clapped his hands together. “Are we missing anything else?”

“Ancient studies?” posed Rabastan.

“Do you remember enough of it?” asked Malfoy.

“Some,” said the man defensively. Rather than argue, Malfoy just agreed that it could be added to the plans. None of the men suggested divination, which suited Harry just fine. They also did not suggest muggle studies, but Harry figured he knew more about that than any of them. Perhaps he’d offer to teach it to them the next time they brought up the dark arts.

They asked Harry to recount what he had been learning so far that year. Harry was surprised how difficult it was to remember. He knew Hermione would have been disappointed at his fumbling attempts to recall what happened in class even just a couple of weeks ago. In all honestly, most of his attention span was taken up by either Ginny or Draco. He hadn’t been paying that much attention in class. Not that he would have admitted that aloud.

Luckily, his new tutors didn’t seem to notice. They insisted Harry review the wand movements and magical theory behind each spell he mentioned. They would help fill in gaps on his grasp of the theory. Whenever he wasn’t sure about the wand movement, either Malfoy or Nott would demonstrate. Occasionally this was complicated by the fact that neither men could recall themselves. It became somewhat of a game of magical Broken Telephone where one man would demonstrate to another in the cell in front of him. It slowly moved diagonally until Harry would see for himself the wand movements. He rather hoped nothing got lost as it moved from man to man. He wouldn’t put it past the Lestrange brothers to purposely screw it up.

The review took them all the way to the lunch hour. It had been haphazard, jumping from one subject to another as Harry recalled different parts of the curriculum. What little Harry could remember filled up the time until the guards arrived. The men quieted down as the guards handed out the meals. Harry was happy to see that Burke was not among them.

“Everyone should think of one or two simple spells in their area of expertise that we can show Potter in the afternoon,” said Malfoy once the guards had left the hallway. “Though perhaps moving forward, it would be easier to focus on one or two subjects per day.”

While they ate, Crabbe started describing a plant called the Shy Tortoise Hyacinth. Much like other hyacinths, they emit a sweet-smelling odor... so long as they remain untouched. Even the slightest poke or prod causes them to emit a foul stench. Crabbe described it as a cross between feet and sulfur.

“I don’t recall that being part of Hogwarts curriculum,” stated Avery.

“No, but I used it in my sixth year to get out of taking a transfiguration test I hadn’t studied for,” Crabbed reminisced with a laugh.

“Merlin, I remember that,” moaned Malfoy. “The stench lingered for days.”

“Transfiguration? I can’t imagine professor McGonagall was too pleased,” Harry speculated.

“She wasn’t. She obliterated Slytherin’s chance to win the house cup that year,” Malfoy complained.

“She still hasn’t forgiven me,” Crabbe stated. “She told Vince his first week at Hogwarts, that if he brought any plants to class, she would ensure they ended up back in his dorm room with a permanent sticking charm.”

Harry laughed at that and was somewhat disappointed that Crabbe Jr. had never tried the same stunt. He and Ron would have laughed themselves silly knowing Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had to share a room with a temperamental and smelly plant. Harry might have even tried to sneak into their common room again in hopes to set the thing off.

“Pity we can’t owl order one for Burke,” stated Mulciber. Harry laughed as he imaged the look on the man’s face as he accidentally set it off as he opened the package.

“Except we’d be stuck smelling him every time he came to visit us,” pointed out Harry, but he couldn’t stop giggling at the mental picture.

Just as they settled down and Malfoy was getting ready to teach Harry a new charm, they heard the door at the end of the hall open again. Harry’s mood immediately plummeted. He hadn’t realized how successful the spell review was at uplifting his mood until then.

Given they just finished lunch, Harry assumed whoever was walking the halls didn’t have a benign reason for being there. And since he heard foot steps, he knew it was men and not dementors. Harry braced himself for another visit from Burke.

But it wasn’t Burke at all.

As the footsteps came to a stop in front of Harry, he found himself blinking at Scrimgeour.

“Hello Potter,” Scrimgeour greeted. Harry though the man seemed uncomfortable but was trying to put on a calm and collected front.

“Minister,” Harry responded somewhat hesitantly. He didn’t bother getting up from his cot. Instead he sat cross-legged, facing the man.

Scrimgeour gestured at the guard that had led him to Harry’s cell. The man seemed reluctant to leave, but eventually did so. Scrimgeour glanced at the nearby cells and seemed unhappy that he couldn’t dismiss the other prisoners.

“This is unfortunately business, Harry,” the man said. “Rather unfortunate.”

Harry said nothing as the man took in Harry’s cell.

“You wouldn’t believe the rumours going around,” the man continued. He paused, but Harry was determined to say nothing. He knew from the time that Scrimgeour visited at Christmas that the man would eventually come around to what he wanted to say.

“But it’s not to late to salvage this. Many people still believe in the chosen one,” Scrimgeour gave Harry an intense look. Harry merely raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. It was easier to ignore the man when they had been in the Weasley’s garden and there was a convenient gnome putzing about. The most exciting thing in Harry’s cell was the diminishing bar of soap that Harry really hoped they would replace soon.

“If you were to say, do your duty, and stand beside the ministry-”

Harry let out a disgusted noised and turned his head away from the man. It gave Scrimgeour just the right angle to see the edge of Harry’s new tattoo peaking over the collar of his shirt. The minister let out a shocked gasp. Although suddenly embarrassed and ashamed, Harry took it as a sign that Burke’s actions were not ministry approved. He hoped it was enough to get Burke fired, but considering Umbridge still had her job, Harry wasn’t going to hold his breath.

“I don’t know minister,” Harry said, doing is best to keep is voice pleasant and even. “It’s going to be awfully hard to be your mascot when your employees insist on displaying their corruption on my body. Between my hand and my neck, I’m starting quite the collection. I’m sure it’s not exactly the message you want to send.”

“Yes, well,” Scrimgeour made a visible effort to pull himself together. “It’s a story of personal growth. You can still stand alongside the ministry helping us while we help you. My offer to introduce you to the auror department still stands. We can still arrange it so that you have a bright future as an auror.”

Despite the man’s words, he was glancing at Harry’s neck and unable to completely mask his unease. Harry’s unease was also growing as it dawned on him that he might no longer be able to pursue his chosen career. Could someone with an Azkaban tattoo become an auror? Did he even still want it? Harry recalled his arrest and subsequent dash to Azkaban thanks to aurors who showed no interest in helping him. Harry had no desire to see them again, let alone work alongside them. Working in any branch of the ministry had never been so unappealing.

“Do you even hear yourself?” asked Harry, not bothering to keep the pleasant tone of moment ago. “Exactly what am I supposed to find inspiring about this situation? Nothing has changed. Like Crouch, you’re sending people to Azkaban without trials. I bet you’re still arresting random people and pretending they’re death eaters. And like Fudge, you’re pretending you have a handle on things, but you’re keeping corrupt employees who torture others. Until that changes, my answer won’t change.”

Scrimgeour did nothing to hide his displeasure.

“I don’t know what Dumbledore has been filling your head with-” he started but Harry cut him off.

“I didn’t need Dumbledore to point this out. I’ve seen it for myself. I’ve lived it,” Harry said tiredly. “Look, if you want people to believe you’re doing something, maybe you should actually do something. Something real. If you’re going to arrest someone for being a death eater, maybe make sure they really are a death eater. And take a closer look at your employees. Get rid of the ones that-”

“Harry,” Scrimgeour cut in. “You don’t know what you’re saying. These- these accusations you’re making – well, it takes a process to investigate. I can’t just fire someone because someone said something against them. It takes time to really investigate.”

“And yet, you threw in someone like Stan Shunpike into Azkaban without the same curtesy,” Harry pointed out the minister’s hypocrisy.

“You’re young,” Scrimgeour argued as he brushed Harry’s comments aside. “You just don’t grasp the full picture.”

“I think he’s understood it just fine, minister,” a sneering voice called from one of the cells. At Mulciber’s words, Scrimgeour seemed to recall that they were not truly alone. He straightened up and smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of his cloak.

“Well,” Scrimgeour said, focusing intently on Harry as if not acknowledging the others’ presence would afford him the same treatment from the inmates. “It’s all good to be Dumbledore’s man Harry, but that loyalty will not help you in here. Think about my offer, will you?”

With that, the minister turned and left. Harry listened to his limping gait as he made his way down the hall. As the door closed behind him, Harry sagged.

“Am I an utter idiot?” asked Harry, looking between Malfoy and Nott.

“I think you handled yourself quite well,” Malfoy responded, looking confused.

“But I might not actually get out of here,” Harry thought to Scrimgeour’s parting comment. It seemed like Dumbledore was having trouble getting Harry out of Azkaban. By now Harry had stopped expecting every sound to be Dumbledore pulling off a rescue mission, but he’d held hope that it wouldn’t be too much longer. That seemed so foolish considering Scrimgeour’s visit.

“Didn’t you hear him? He wants you on his side. Which means you still have value in the public eye. I imagine they are realizing they made an error in arresting you and are scrambling to do damage control. Your support would be the fastest way to secure it. Pardons all around,” Malfoy reasoned.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” asked Nott, seemingly out of the blue. Harry blinked at him uncomprehendingly. “You told Scrimgeour it was a sign of the ministry’s corruption.”

“Oh,” Harry glanced at his hand. I must not tell lies stood out clearly for him, but it would be hard for Nott to see from his cell.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Dolores Umbridge was a professor last year,” when both Nott and Malfoy nodded he continued, “well whenever someone pointed out the ministry’s stupidity or said Vold- you-know-who was back, she’d give them detention. It might not surprise you that I got detention a lot. She made students write lines during detention with a blood quill. Mine eventually scarred.”

Malfoy gasped drawing Harry’s attention to the man. Harry was tense. He hated thinking about Umbridge, let alone talk about her. Remembering those detentions still filled him with a sort of impotent anger. Harry half expected death eaters to approve of her methods, but Malfoy looked genuinely horrified on Harry’s behalf. Consequently, for the first time, Harry began to feel at ease with the scar. It was a relief that an adult acknowledged the harm that was done and was repulsed by it instead of attempting willful ignorance.

“Draco didn’t tell you?” asked Harry.

“Draco knew?” questioned Lucius, his voice coming out higher pitched than normal.

“I’m not sure,” Harry said slowly as he second-guessed himself and tried to remember. He knew Draco and his fellow slytherins were willing to help Umbridge, but he wasn’t sure if they did so with knowledge of exactly what went on in detention. Even if they did know, Harry wasn’t sure he could blame them for not speaking up. Harry himself had been adamant about not saying anything in the false belief that it would somehow mean Umbridge won. It seemed stupid now.

“Harry,” Nott said slowly. He was picking his words carefully. “I’m due to see my judicial-wizard soon. It is the only way we have to get messages out into the world. I’d like your permission to tell him about the blood quill... and about the tattoo.”

Harry’s hand snapped back to his neck covering the tattooed area.

“I don’t...” He had been about to say that he didn’t want people to know. Unlike with Umbridge, it wasn’t under a false assumption that it would somehow let Burke win. But it was still too new. Harry was embarrassed by it. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. If he let Nott tell his judicial-wizard, it would be in the papers and everyone would know. If he ever got out, people would look for it almost as much, if not more, than they looked for his scar.

“I think it will help you,” pressed Nott. “Scrimgeour was worried. Those rumours he spoke about – well, I’d bet they was lots of talk against the ministry for arresting the chosen one. This will further gather support for you and against the ministry. And shine a light on the corruption you spoke about.”

Harry considered it. He wasn’t sure what Nott’s motivation was. As surprisingly nice as these men had been to him, what Nott was proposing would impact the outside world. He didn’t know if this would somehow help the death eater agenda.

After a moment, Harry decided he was too tired of Azkaban not to take the chance. He didn’t know if Dumbledore, and likely Ron and Hermione were making any strides in getting him released. If Nott could help by gaining public sympathy for him, it would probably help Dumbledore more than hinder him.

“Alright,” Harry accepted Nott’s offer.

“And would you like Albert’s judicial-wizard to represent you?” prompted Lucius. “He’s quite good at his job.”

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn’t considered it mostly because he hadn’t been given the opportunity to make arrangements. He had hoped that Dumbledore had hired someone to work on his case, but with a sinking feeling, he realized the man had probably intended to represent Harry himself. Given how resistant the ministry was to Dumbledore at the moment, it was probably hindering Harry’s case more than helping.

“Yes please,” Harry said and tried not to feel disloyal to Dumbledore.

“I’ll arrange it during my next meeting,” promised Nott. Harry nodded and felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders. It wasn’t much. It might not even help. But it was a plan. A step forward. Even surrounded by concrete walls, Harry suddenly felt a little less trapped.