Hobnobbing with Harpies

"Hobnobbing with Harpies"

by Paracelsus

For as long as she could remember, she'd never been worried about getting hurt. In any gathering of children her age, she had always been the largest and strongest... quite capable of looking after herself. It was the other children who ran the risk of injury - particularly if they displeased her. She never turned into a bully; she never had to, not quite. Her physical size and strength alone were usually enough to intimidate others into following her wishes.

It wasn't supposed to work the other way, thought Millicent Bulstrode as she ran for dear life through the Forbidden Forest.

Hoofbeats sounded behind her, and she made a sudden detour between two close-set trees. She pushed through some thorny underbrush, ignoring the scratches and rips to her robes, and continued to run. One hand held her wand, which she hadn't even considered using against her pursuers; the other hand held the sack she'd risked her life to fill.

Millicent glanced over her shoulder to try to spot her hunters. At the same moment, her foot caught itself in a tree root. She heard a bone snap as she fell sprawling to the ground - no pain yet, just the sound of something breaking - and her wand sailed from her grasp. Before she could retrieve it, she was surrounded.

A pair of hooves pounded the earth right in front of her face, spattering her with dirt. There was a great outcry of voices, and the Forest echoed with the sound of stampeding horses. If only they were horses...

"Human female!" bellowed a voice from overhead, and two immense hands seized her by the collar. Millicent was hauled up from the ground and held dangling in mid-air, face to face with a black-maned grotesquerie. A filthy, stinking, half-human monster.

"How many warnings must you and your kind be given? The Forest is ours, human! We do not tolerate your presence here!"

A shout of agreement rose from the other centaurs that surrounded her. Many brandished weapons - one held a longbow with an arrow nocked, ready to shoot at her. They were savages... barely more than beasts! I can't believe the Headmaster actually lets one of these... these things live at Hogwarts! But at least Firenze knew his place: away from humans. This one had actually laid hands on her! This one...

...was large enough to snap her in two - and angry enough to do it. Her hot indignation began to give way to cold fear.

"We do not harm the young, Bane..." one of the other centaurs began.

"'Young'? Look at her! This one is of breeding age!" The aptly-named Bane shook Millicent until her teeth rattled and her hard-won sack fell from her hand. "I say she must become an example! We must show the humans what will happen if they dare to invade our Forest again!"

Oh Morgana, this can't be happening, thought Millicent in terror, as the centaurs roared their approval of Bane's proposal. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, unable to bear looking at the monster that held her in its power. It was going to kill her any minute now, murder her in cold blood, she was certain of it - and for no good reason! Please, please, somebody stop this nightmare...

"Hold, Bane," called a human voice, and Millicent's heart plummeted. When I said 'somebody', I meant somebody else... With great reluctance she opened her eyes again. No, she hadn't imagined that voice. Of all the people to come and rescue her, why did it have to be him?!

Harry Potter stood before the herd of centaurs, his arms slightly spread, his palms open and facing the herd. His manner was neither passive nor aggressive; he looked Bane calmly in the eye as he spoke. "I come to sue for the girl's release." He sounded like some character in a bad fantasy novel, but at least he'd got the beasts' attention. They quieted down - most of them, anyway - and gazed at him with a mixture of solemnity and suspicion.

"You!" shouted Bane, glaring furiously at Potter. "Again you come here, unwelcome and uninvited! Are you so arrogant, Harry Potter, or merely blind, to try our patience thus?!"

"You were happy enough to see me last month, when the dementors passed through," Potter replied evenly.

There was a general murmuring among the herd, and some of the younger centaurs actually looked embarrassed. "What do you want?" one asked.

Potter pitched his voice to be heard without shouting. "You know about the attacks on the school this week." It wasn't a question.

"What has your school to do with us?" snorted a pale golden centaur.

"The same things that attacked the school are now hiding in the Forest," Potter went on. "You know this, too."

"We know this," affirmed an older-looking centaur, which stepped forward to stand between Potter and Bane.

"They threaten both our peoples..." Potter began.

"Your people, human, not ours," interrupted a reddish centaur haughtily. "Centaurs have known of harpies since ancient days... and our potions guard us against their poison."

"Be silent, Ronan!" snapped Bane. "You speak of matters that are for centaurs alone. We do not share with humans...!"

"Humans haven't asked you for your potions," Potter pointed out reasonably. "We understand that what's fit for your people may not be fit for ours."

A couple of the centaurs began to nod their heads in agreement. Many of them had stopped pawing the ground with their hooves, and were standing motionless as they listened to the exchange. The one with the bow had relaxed the tension on the string, and let the arrow point to the ground.

"Our own potions don't match yours... yet they serve us, as yours serve you," Potter continued. "We haven't known of these things as long as you have... yet we defend ourselves when they attack us, as you must when they attack you." He spread his hands. "Neither of us wants these things to harm our peoples. We have common goals - why must we be in conflict?"

For a moment, Millicent thought that the monsters might actually be swayed by Potter's pious sentiments. Then Bane snorted contemptuously, and the illusion was shattered.

"All this is easy to say now, Harry Potter... because you want something from us. You never come into the Forest, but that you want something from us. What else can we be but in conflict?"

"Not from you," Potter corrected mildly, "but from the Forest. The moly flowers..."

"And the Forest is ours!" shouted Bane triumphantly. "Ours to have, and ours to hold! We do not permit strangers to wander on our land as though it were theirs...!"

"Strangers, Bane?" Potter asked with a slight smile. "You've just called me by name... and surely you know what the stars say about me. You know me too well to call me stranger."

The elder centaur laughed at this. "He has a point, at that. He's been in the Forest several times - when did he cease to be an intruder and instead become a visitor? He is no more a stranger than Dumbledore is."

"So we must give him license to enter the Forest whenever he wishes, Magorian?" snarled Bane.

"It wasn't my wish," said Potter. "This was an emergency. People are dying - you know the sickness the harpies bring. Is your privacy so precious that innocents must die to preserve it?"

"Humans..."

"Human innocents. You'll admit that some exist?"

Bane looked like he wanted to deny the concept altogether. But even Millicent could tell that the other centaurs no longer supported him... Potter had proved that persuasive, at least. Bane hesitated, then jerked his head with a scowl. "Very well. There is the sack of moly. Take it back to Hogwarts, use it to heal your 'dying innocents' - and never come back into our Forest."

"You're still holding the girl," Potter noted. About bloody time you remembered me, Millicent thought irritably.

"She entered the Forest without permission," Bane said, with a challenge in his voice. "Why should I deliver her to your care?"

Potter looked Bane in the eye. "So that a human might be beholden to a centaur."

Dead silence filled the clearing. Not a single centaur made a sound... all of them were looking expectantly at Bane. Millicent couldn't understand what was happening, but it was obvious that Potter had said something extraordinary.

For the first time, the angry contempt faded from Bane's features. He eyed Potter thoughtfully... and very slowly, he nodded. "Yessss... you do understand. I was mistaken."

The centaur opened his hands and let Millicent fall in a heap to the ground. Even if she'd managed to land on her feet, she would have collapsed - now that the excitement was over, her ankle was hurting like mad. She lay there, eyes downcast, her anger beginning to smolder again.

"I restore your female to you, Harry Potter," said Bane formally, "and we will speak with you later about the payment of your debt."

"I look forward to returning to the Forest to do so," said Potter, equally formal.

Bane actually snorted in amusement. "Well placed," he acknowledged. On some silent signal, the herd of centaurs wheeled about as one and galloped out of the clearing, leaving Potter standing over Millicent.

She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. After a minute, she looked up at him. Potter's face had hardened, now that he was no longer trying to cozy up to the centaurs. He looked down at her with a stony expression, his eyes half closed. "Up," he said curtly.

"I'd love to," she spat, "but your precious horse-monsters have broken my ankle."

He nodded and drew his wand from inside his robes. "Wingard--"

"NO! You idiot, that's what drew the harpies to us in the first place!" Millicent hissed. "They can tell when magic's being used!"

He nodded again and tucked his wand away, still with no change of expression. He extended his hand to her. Angrily she batted it aside. "Don't touch me! Keep your filthy half-blood paws off me!"

Potter's mouth tightened. "You're welcome." He took a step backwards and folded his arms over his chest. Clearly he was going to be of no help whatsoever. Fine... she was used to taking care of herself.

Millicent reached out where she lay and grabbed the sack of moly flowers. She tied the sack to her belt... having worked so hard to acquire them, she wasn't about to risk losing them again. She then spent another few moments on the ground looking for her wand. She found it - broken in two by the centaurs' hooves. Bedamned half-breeds! They'll pay for this!

Well, as she'd told Potter, they couldn't do magic right now anyway. Millicent slipped the wand fragments into her pocket and looked around again. Spying a fallen branch on the ground, she crawled over to it. It was about the right length, and it seemed to be sturdy enough to support her. She wished she could Transfigure it into a proper crutch, but it would have to do.

Carefully, she got to her hands and knees. She lifted the branch and planted its end into the ground. With both hands firmly grasping the branch, she pulled herself up until she was standing erect, balanced on one foot. It took a moment to get the branch under her arm... then she stepped forward, putting her weight on the branch instead of her injured foot. A couple more steps got her into the right rhythm: balance on her good foot, swing the branch forward, put weight on the branch, swing her good foot forward, balance again...

With a sudden, sharp crack! the branch broke under her weight. Instinctively Millicent tried to stand on her injured foot, and yelped in pain as it gave way beneath her. She started to tumble to the ground... and unexpectedly Potter was there, catching her, slinging her arm over his scrawny shoulders, throwing his own arm around her waist. She opened her mouth to curse at him for daring to lay hands on her...

"Shut it," snarled Potter, so fiercely that her mouth closed of its own accord. She completely forgot what she was about to say.

He thrust his face forward until it was mere inches away from hers. "I'll say this once, Bulstrode. I'm getting you out of the Forest and back to Hogwarts. I can do it with your cooperation, or without it - your choice. Though with your cooperation, it won't hurt you as much."

Turning away from her, he finished, "Either way, I'm doing it... so cope." He began to walk.

Millicent wished she had a snappy comeback to throw at him. But she'd lost the opportune moment when he'd turned away. And now, with his arm pulling her along, she had no choice but to walk with him.

Or did she? It occurred to Millicent that the situation was really ridiculous: the idea of puny Potter acting the big, muscular alpha-male was a joke. Let's see him put his Galleons where his gob is...

She waited a minute until they were stepping into a depression in the ground... then she suddenly threw her full weight onto his shoulders. She fully expected Potter to buckle under their combined load. Millicent would probably fall when he did, of course, but in that case she was determined to land on him. One way or another, though, she'd squash him and his pretensions.

She did neither. Potter didn't buckle under her weight... he staggered slightly, but he managed to carry her over the dip in the terrain and back to level ground. He neither groaned nor complained aloud. All he said was, "No more puddings for you, missy."

The nerve! Millicent was set to punch Potter's jaw for that remark - but she decided against it. For one thing, her little test had shown that Potter must be much stronger than he looked. And for another, she'd belatedly realized that, like it or not, the twirp was her best chance of escaping the Forest alive.

Still, she wasn't about to let his jibe pass unanswered. "Why didn't you sweet-talk the centaurs like that? I'm sure they'd've listened to you then... Bloody hell, Potter, nobody talks like that anymore."

She didn't expect him to reply. So she was surprised when he said, "Dumbledore's been teaching me... the right way to talk to other races. Centaurs, goblins, merpeople..."

"Pfah! Talking to half-breeds. That sounds just like Dumbledore."

"Don't knock it," Potter said coldly. "It got you out of a tight spot, didn't it?"

"Up yours."

All right, so sarcastic wit wasn't her strong suit. It never had been... at her size, she'd never needed it. Millicent had never expected to be in a situation she couldn't dominate through sheer physical presence - and now she'd found herself in two in one day.

Three, counting the harpies, she told herself as she cast her mind back...

Dumbledore had asked for volunteers that morning in the Great Hall. "The attacks by Lord Voldemort's harpies have grown more severe in the last several days. For the moment, we are keeping them off the school grounds, but they remain close at hand. And in the interim, the victims of the attacks have grown steadily worse - they're now in critical condition. Fortunately, there is a potion that can cure the illness caused by the harpies' talons, but it requires special ingredients... ingredients found only in the Forbidden Forest..."

Snape's eyes were on her as Dumbledore spoke. She knew he wanted her to volunteer. It actually made a certain amount of sense: among all of Slytherin House, she stood the best chance of succeeding in her mission - and surviving it. And the glory that would come to Slytherin, should they be responsible for saving the school, was worth the risk.

So she, along with half a dozen other volunteers - Potter included - had assembled with Sprout at Hagrid's hut. Sprout had cast some sort of seeking spell and led them deep into the Forest. Eventually they'd found the patch of moly flowers, tiny white flowers that were strong with magical virtue. The potion required a huge number of the blossoms, freshly-picked, hand-picked...

And in the midst of gathering the flowers, the harpies had descended on them. Sprout and the others were scattered; she alone had had the wit to grab the precious bag of flowers and run. And she'd escaped the harpies for the moment, and been caught by the stinking centaurs...

Only to be saved by this pathetic excuse for a wizard.

"Rest break," Potter gasped, as if to prove the truth of her opinion. He eased Millicent down so she could seat herself on a boulder, then practically flung her arm off his shoulders. He stepped away, breathing heavily, and looked back into the Forest as if searching for something. The harpies, Millicent guessed. Potter's actually showing reasonable caution, for a change...

"Why are you doing this?" she asked abruptly, before she could stop herself. She immediately wished she could take back the words: she didn't really want to know anything about him, much less his motives. Too late to think of that now...

He turned and looked at her coldly, his stone face back in place. "Someone had to," he said after a moment. "Couldn't let you die back there."

"Oh, please," she retorted. "I'm not stupid."

"Right. Whatever you say," he said, and started to turn away from her again.

"You were only interested in the moly, not in me." He paused, and Millicent sensed that her words had stung him. She pressed on. "Bringing it back to Hogwarts. Getting the glory for saving all those victims. Famous Saint Potter to the rescue again! A hundred points to Gryffindor!"

"If that were the case, I'd've taken the moly when Bane offered it to me, and left you in his tender care."

"So why didn't you?"

"I was tempted," Potter admitted. He walked back to her and made to put her arm over his shoulders. "Break's over. We need to get moving..."

Millicent didn't let him take her arm. "I'm serious. Why didn't you?" Now that she'd asked the question, she was surprised to find herself honestly curious.

"Believe me, Bulstrode, you're fast making me regret my decision." He smiled grimly. "Why'd you volunteer to gather the moly in the first place?"

She had no ready reply. Potter nodded, as though he'd proven a point, and again made to take her arm. This time she didn't object, but let him hoist her up. He looked above him, trying to judge the position of the sun, then set off.

They walked - or rather, staggered - for a while in silence. She didn't allow it to show, but Millicent was thoroughly bewildered. For the last six years she'd seen Potter at a distance, rarely interacting with him - and then, only when she was with other Slytherins, and he was with other Gryffindors. (Most notably, that show-off Mudblood and the waste-of-pureblood Weasel.) But everything she'd seen, and everything Draco had told her, had shown him to be a loser, plain and simple: always fumbling about, completely ineffectual, reacting to events rather than taking initiative. She simply couldn't square her impression of Potter with all the stories she'd heard of the blasted Boy Who Lived: defeating You-Know-Who, killing a Basilisk, winning the Triwizard Tournament, battling Death Eaters...

But as she thought about it, she was uneasily aware that the wizard by her side wasn't the youngster who'd first arrived at Hogwarts. This year alone, he'd fought the heliopaths, the Acromantulas, the dementors... and now, here he was, outfacing centaurs and helping her out of the Forest. This wizard squared with all the stories, and then some.

Should've known better than to take Malfoy's word for anything. He'd swear that day was night if it got him an advantage within the House...

"To gain an advantage," Millicent said without preamble.

"Huh?" grunted Potter.

"You asked why I volunteered to gather moly. There's a reason."

He took a minute before he responded. "Advantage? Advantage over whom?"

Millicent stared at him as though he'd just started drooling and mumbling baby-talk. It would never have occurred to her that she'd have to explain about social advantage. Surely even the bloody Gryffindors understood that!

"Me over other Slytherins," she said, as she might to a child. "Slytherin over other houses."

"Uff. It wasn't because Nott's one of the harpy victims?"

She shrugged. "I suppose. Hadn't thought of that."

Now Potter was staring at her as though she'd just started drooling and mumbling baby-talk. "What?!" she demanded, unaccountably irked.

"I rescued you from the centaurs... because it was the right thing to do," Potter told her. She gave a derisive bark of laughter. He went on, "You asked. Hard as it may be to believe, that was why."

"Oh, for...! You didn't face those monsters for my sake. You don't even like me, Potter!"

"No," he said, and though his voice had gone icy again, there was a spark of ire under the ice. "No, I don't. I did it for right's sake, not yours." After a moment, he added grudgingly, "You may have benefited."

They fell back into silence as they continued to walk. Occasionally there would be some obstacle - a ravine, for instance - which required Potter to lift Millicent and carry her full weight. It was a struggle for both of them when that happened. For him, because he could only carry her bulk with difficulty; for her, because she didn't trust any wizard to carry her; for both of them, because neither could bear to have the other touch them. They managed, though.

It was a while before Millicent spoke again. She simply couldn't get Potter's words out of her mind... or more importantly, the conviction that went with them. "Is it a Gryffindor thing?" she asked abruptly.

"You know... I could talk easier... if I weren't doing... all the work here." He paused in mid-step to recover his breath. "Is what a Gryffindor thing?" he asked after a moment.

Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure what she'd meant, either. "Well, look. In Slytherin, in any dispute, we generally tend to side with the faction we think will win. That's just common sense. There's not much percentage in joining the side you think will lose, is there?"

"Yeah, well, that's definitely a Slytherin thing. Funny, wasn't it? That Umbridge recruited her Inquisitorial Squad last year entirely from Slytherin?"

"She was the duly appointed administrator of Hogwarts. We were only supporting..."

"Bollocks! Your noses were so far up her arse that she couldn't even stand up straight. But then, come to think of it, how could anyone tell?"

Millicent's nostrils flared angrily. "If Dumbledore ever started his own Squad, you Gryffindorks would sign up fast enough!"

"That's the point. Dumbledore wouldn't. And if he did, I for one wouldn't sign up, no. It'd just be an abuse of power - it'd be wrong." Potter started walking again, setting a brisker pace, dragging Millicent along and no longer caring if she could keep up. "When you try to do the right thing, you don't do things like that. Is that a Gryffindor thing? I dunno. All I know is, it's my thing."

She wasn't going to ask him to slow down, she wouldn't try to set a slower pace, she refused to give him the satisfaction...

Potter glanced over at her - despite herself, she must have made a noise or something - and reluctantly slowed down. "And in the end, you weren't on the winning side after all, were you? Whereas fighting for the right helps make the right the winning side. Even from a purely Slytheroid point of view, it makes more sense."

"Oh, of course. It all makes perfect sense. And when you did the 'right' thing and saved me, it never occurred to you that you might gain an advantage over me?" Millicent insisted, trying to bring his motives in line with her own experience. "That I might owe you something you can collect later?"

He wheezed heavily, and for an instant she thought he might be having a seizure. Then she realized he was trying to laugh through his shortness of breath. "Owe and collect. Wizard debts and credits. Are you sure Salazar Slytherin wasn't part goblin?"

If he'd intended to shock her into speechlessness, he succeeded. He gave her a sidelong glance and said softly, "Bulstrode, if I had to keep track of how much I owe Ron and Hermione, and how much they owe me, every time we tried to do something... I'd've been dead years ago." Potter sighed and spoke to her as he might to a child - damn him. "Debts like that aren't paid back. They're paid forward."

The words made absolutely no sense. Barking, that's what he was. Any minute now, she was certain, he was going to begin strumming his lower lip and make woobling sounds. He needed a strong dose of Reality Potion, as her mother would say. "That sort of attitude's going to get you killed someday."

He closed his eyes for a second, in a pained grimace. "Yeah."

She waited for him to admit she was right, but he seemed not to understand her point. "Do you not see it? You keep fighting every threat that comes along, and you get nothing out of it! Even when you could use that fact to pile up favors, you toss them aside! I mean, any of the things Hogwarts has faced this year could have killed you..."

"And what doesn't kill me makes me stronger," Potter interrupted. He smiled mirthlessly. "I'm surprised you've never heard that phrase: it's right up the Death Eaters' alley. On the other hand, it was coined by a Muggle, so..."

Millicent jerked her arm away from his shoulders and grabbed him by his collar before she, or he, knew what was happening. With his robes in both fists, she lifted Potter from the ground and thrust her face into his. She had to balance on her good foot - if Potter struggled, they might both fall - but at the moment, she was so incensed she wouldn't have cared if she did fall. "I - am - not - a - Death Eater!" she snarled.

He didn't flinch, but matched her glare for glare. "'Filthy half-blood paws off me'," he mimicked viciously.

"Well, that's what you are!" she screamed into his face. "You and your kind, walking around as though you owned our world! You mess everything up and you don't even know it! Yes, I want you in your place, but I don't want you d..." Millicent stopped short as she realized what she'd nearly said.

Potter blinked, then gave her a slow sardonic half-smile. "Why, Bulstrode, I believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." He reached up and began to pry her fingers loose from his robes.

"Piss off." She hurled Potter backwards with all her strength and watched him slam up against a tree. Millicent stared at him with utter loathing as he shook his head dazedly - the arrogant, insolent pig.

"Do you know," she began in an intense, quivering voice, "do you have any idea of how hard my family has worked to stay neutral? To try and keep our world in one piece, without turning into fanatics and killing our own kind? And without being killed in return? You couldn't walk that tightrope in a million years, Potter, and you know it."

Her eyes had started to sting. She brushed them hastily with the back of her hand and continued, "Hell, it's you and people like you who're going to end up getting my family killed - because you just can't leave well enough alone. You've got to stir things up, making a stink, causing the fight to happen. So don't give me your high-toned shite, Mister Bugger Who Lived! You haven't got a clue, and you never will!!"

His smile was long gone. He took a deep breath and started to reply... but couldn't seem to find the right words. He opened and closed his mouth several times, looking ridiculously like a black-haired fish, before he spoke. "The only thing evil needs to triumph... is for good to do nothing." It sounded like a quote.

He was preparing to say more when, abruptly, he jerked his head around to listen. It took Millicent a moment to hear what caught his attention: a rushing sound in the trees, the sound of many flapping wings, coming rapidly nearer. No, she thought, as her heart began to race wildly, no, not again...

"Damn, damn, damn." Potter had his wand out and pointed at her broken ankle before she could speak a word. "Ferrula," he said quickly, and a neat splint materialized around her ankle. His wand came up to point at her torso. "Wingardium Leviosa," he added, and Millicent discovered she was now light on her feet. He could've done that at any time, she realized, if I hadn't told him not to use magic...

"Go! Back to Hogwarts, now! Run!" Potter shouted, giving her a push, and without hesitation he sprinted back the way they'd come... back towards the sound of the rushing wings, and the rising sound of shrill voices...

And then they were bursting out of the foliage: the harpies. A swarm of ugly birds the size of vultures, all with women's faces snarling and shrieking. The air under their wings stank like the middens at Hogwarts, and their talons gleamed metallically. The talons were the true danger, for they spread the pestilence that was currently decimating the school...

"Reducto!" he cried, and he succeeded in getting off one good shot. Then they were swarming around him, screaming obscenities at him while they tried to tear him to bloody pieces. Potter dodged and weaved, firing off more Reductor Curses as he fought furiously - and kept the harpies' attention entirely on himself.

I have to run, Millicent thought numbly. He told me to run. Snape needs these flowers to make the potion... peoples' lives are at stake here... I have to run, NOW!

But she couldn't move. Her feet seemed frozen to the spot, and her eyes glued to the spectacle before her. She'd watched Potter dodging Bludgers in a Quidditch game - she'd observed him hurling spells in their Defense Against the Dark Arts classes - but this was a level of prowess she'd never seen, not in any wizard at any time.

But there were dozens of harpies, and only one of him.

One of the harpies tried to grab hold of Potter's wand. He shouted "Harpiae exime!" and blasted it away - but the other harpies were waiting for that moment of distraction. A second harpy stooped high from the left, aiming for Potter's face. Its talons struck Potter's glasses from his face and left three red gashes over his eyes.

He gave an agonized cry and clapped one hand over his eyes... where Millicent could see the welts already inflaming, as the harpies' magical pestilence took effect. And still Potter fought on, focusing now on the harpies' shrieks, firing off spell after spell. A few still found their targets, but the harpies were circling closer now... like vultures, waiting for their victim to die, or grow too weak to defend himself.

Run, Millicent told herself desperately. Before they spot you! RUN!!

And she found herself running - towards Potter.

The harpies were startled momentarily when she ran into their midst, waving her arms and yelling. They broke off their attack on Potter and retreated to circle at a safer distance. Millicent took the opportunity to reach down and grab some rocks from the Forest floor, which she threw at the harpies in the hopes of driving them back farther. She knew it was only a brief respite.

"This is stupid," she babbled. "This is, like, mind-bogglingly stupid. I mean, I'm gimpy, you're blinded, and I don't even have a wand! We're dead. I told you, didn't I, Potter, you were going to get yourself killed..."

"Can you do Protego?"

Potter's non-sequitur distracted her from her terror. "What good would that do? It only blocks curses, not physical objects..."

"Can you DO it?! Yes or no?!"

"YES!" yelled Millicent, nettled. Of course she could do the Shielding Charm, it was a standard defensive spell...

He thrust out his wand hand. "Grab my wand, and get ready to cast it." She started to take his wand from his hand, but he shook her hand off. "Grab it along with me, and be ready... on my mark..."

She had no idea what Potter had in mind, but it wasn't as though they had any options. She laid her hand atop his, grasping his wand along with him. He raised the wand to point over their heads, and listened... and waited...

The harpies had sensed their weakness. They were circling closer, ever closer. Suddenly they broke formation and stooped en masse, shrieking in triumph, going for the kill.

"Now!" Potter cried. Immediately, Millicent shouted, "Protego!" - as at the same instant, Potter bellowed "Harpiae exime!"

A spherical wave of brilliant red light erupted from the wand's tip. As the sphere expanded in all directions, the diving harpies collided with it - and when they touched its surface, they exploded in a cloud of feathers and tissue. Half of the attaching harpies had been destroyed before the other half realized what was happening. By then it was too late: the red light was expanding too rapidly. It caught most of the remaining harpies as they attempted to retreat, and dealt with them as it had their sisters. The few surviving harpies flew out of the Forest... and, as far as Millicent could tell, away from Hogwarts, as fast as their wings could take them.

She waited a moment for the feathers to settle - and to catch her breath. "You couldn't have done that before?" she asked, when she was able to talk.

Hesitantly, Potter removed his hand from his injured eyes and tried to open them. He immediately gave a hiss of pain and clapped his hand back over his eyes. "It was... it was a combination of two spells," he managed to say. "One person couldn't do both at once..."

"Still, I wouldn't've had to run..."

"Uh... that, and I wasn't sure it would work."

"Merlin! Hell of a field test, moron." Millicent realized she was still holding Potter's hand - well, Potter's wand - and released it hastily. "And what doesn't kill you makes you stronger?"

"Let's hope so," he muttered.

It was as though those few words somehow captured how Potter had changed during the year... and why. All of You-Know-Who's attacks on the school, intended to harass and weaken Potter - kill him, if possible - had had exactly the opposite effect. They'd tempered him instead, honed his fighting skills and leadership abilities, to the point where he now stood a good chance of defeating the Dark Lord on The Day. In place of a shrimpy, unassertive Boy Who Lived, there now stood a powerful, confident Boy Who Would Live.

Millicent couldn't help wishing that he was a pureblood, that he'd been sorted into Slytherin... that he led their social circle, not Malfoy.

"Come here," she said, and drew him closer. She put her arm around his shoulders and shifted her weight to her good foot. "If you're going to be my crutch, I guess I can be your cane."

Potter nodded. "Accio glasses," he called. He caught his glasses as they flew into his hand, and tucked them into his pocket. "At least now I can use my wand. Let me know when the Wingardium Leviosa wears off."

"Trust me, you'll be the first to know. This way. Mind the log..." Carefully they began to walk, he supporting her, she guiding him.

"You shouldn't've come back for me," he said after a few minutes. "The moly was more important..."

"Mm hmm. I thought of that, actually," Millicent said casually.

He waited for her to continue, then sighed. "Going to tell me why?"

"So that a Gryffindor might be beholden to a Slytherin."

They continued walking for a few more minutes. Unexpectedly, his elbow prodded her in the ribs. "And what about my rescuing you earlier? Wouldn't you say that makes us even?"

"I thought you didn't worry about keeping score. Gryffindweeb."

"I thought you did. Stinkerin."

"Watch out, we're coming to a hill..."

*

It was hours before Millicent and Potter found the right path out of the Forbidden Forest - in their case, following the sound of human voices. They emerged to find a sort of emergency first-aid area set up near Hagrid's hut. Beds had been brought or conjured there, which were currently occupied by Sprout and the other volunteers for the moly expedition. To one side stood Snape, who was stirring a cauldron over a wood fire. Pomfrey was bustling about, changing dressings on some nasty looking wounds with the help of three or four students.

"Harry!" One of the students had spotted them and was running full tilt towards them. Oh wonderful, it's the Mudblood. Morgana save us. "Brace yourself," she muttered to Potter.

"Harry, you're back! Oh God, and you're hurt, look at your eyes, did the harpies attack you too? When Professor Sprout lost sight of you, she was so worried..." Granger took Potter's arm and all but yanked him from Millicent's grasp.

"Bulstrode too," Potter said in the general direction of the beds. "She broke her ankle trying to get the moly flowers back." Granger's expression showed a complete lack of sympathy. Probably still holds a grudge from our little tussle in Umbridge's office last year, decided Millicent.

"Did I hear that right, Miss Bulstrode? You were successful?" Snape left his cauldron and walked briskly to her. "Quick thinking, to bind your ankle as you did," he commented, as she handed him the sack of flowers. He quickly opened the sack and examined its contents. "Excellent. They don't seem to be terribly damaged, and they're still fresh enough to be used. But then, I expected no less of a student in my house, Miss Bulstrode."

Without warning, she found herself levitated up and over to an empty bed, as Snape took the moly back to the simmering cauldron. "You've single-handedly saved the lives of a dozen of your classmates," Snape continued. "That should be worth fifty points, at least. Well done indeed."

Millicent glanced around. Granger was leading Potter back to the first-aid area, still talking, but shooting some very dark looks at her. Potter looked both disgusted and resigned... and Millicent was suddenly sure that he'd heard every word Snape had just said, and wasn't surprised in the least.

She reached a quick decision. "Professor, I should tell you... Potter's as much responsible for getting the moly back as I am. Between the harpies and the centaurs, I'd've been lost if it weren't for him. Um, shouldn't we share whatever points are given?"

"Now that's very generous of you, Miss Bulstrode," exclaimed Pomfrey, who had gone over to Potter to inspect his wounds. "Since you insist, then it should be fifty points to Gryffindor, as well as to Slytherin. Don't you agree, Severus?"

Snape cast a cold eye on his protégé as he said sourly, "Very well, Madam. Now if you'll give me a moment's peace, I'll have the potion ready in just a few minutes." Millicent knew she'd pay for her burst of charity when she returned to Slytherin's dungeons, but she firmly reminded herself she had ulterior motives.

So that a Gryffindor might be beholden to a Slytherin.

A quick glance at Potter confirmed her hopes. Pomfrey and Granger were still fussing over Potter's eye wounds... but Potter himself look gobsmacked. Oh yes, he'd heard her sharing points between the two of them. She didn't have to suggest it - and he hadn't expected it. And now his own basic fairness would require him to give something in return.

And don't think I won't collect, Potter.

She still didn't like him - and she knew he didn't like her. He was ignorant of wizarding ways, and managed to be both naïve and arrogant. And his idealism was going to get him killed someday. Millicent was absolutely certain of that.

But if the harpies had killed him today, it wouldn't have slowed the Dark Lord's attacks one iota. The strife that split the wizarding world wasn't Potter's fault, merely because he took a side. Perhaps his wasn't the winning side...

But still, I'll contact Dad... it might be worth exploring ways we could offer our help - secretly, of course. We still need to appear neutral.

Call it the new Slytherin thing. All I know is, from now on it's my thing.