He'd expected this, but he felt sick. Dumbledore had been stealing from him since he was a baby, when he was supposed to be the man responsible for Harry's safety and welfare. And Mrs Weasley…
He refused to believe it was how it looked on paper. There had to be some other explanation. His school supplies maybe cost more than he expected, or something. Surely she wouldn't steal from Harry. Surely she knew that if she needed it, Harry would happily share whatever he owned with her family?
Harry wrote a quick reply, asking Gorrak to keep the transaction list in the same place he was keeping the magical signature, but otherwise do nothing; if he started reclaiming things from Dumbledore now, it would give the game away. He was furious at the thought of his family's belongings in the claws of that manipulative old man, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The new security measures would stop Dumbledore from taking any more, at least.
As for the other issue, Harry couldn't bring himself to do anything about it yet. Thinking about Mrs Weasley being on Dumbledore's side made him feel anxious and itchy. If she was working for him, how many of her children were? Was Mr Weasley? Could he trust any of them?
He could trust the twins, he told himself. They'd known about him looking into his heritage for a whole year and hadn't said anything to anyone. As for the rest… he'd find that out in time. He would block access to his vaults, and see if anything came of it. There was little else he could do, yet.
.-.-.-.
Harry had revised his opinion of Professor Moody. The man wasn't a dick. He was insane. Everyone else seemed to be in awe of his approach to teaching, but as Harry left the classroom with green light burned into his eyelids, seeing Neville chalk-white and shaking, he couldn't possibly condone the man's methods. At least Moody had confirmed they'd only have to put up with him for the one year. Everyone around them was talking about it like it was some sort of fantastic show the man had put on even Ron couldn't stop going on about how the spider had died 'just like that!'
Harry pushed past him and hurried after Neville, slinging an arm around the taller boy's shoulders. "You alright?" he asked quietly. Neville's eyes were glazed over, like he wasn't really present.
"I think I might be sick," he admitted in a whisper. Harry urged him over to a nearby alcove, nudging him into a sitting position.
"Breathe, Nev." In their summer correspondence, Harry had learned a lot about the other boy, including what had happened to his parents. Harry could hardly imagine what it was like; having your parents alive, but them not recognising you or anyone else, their brains destroyed by excessive torture.
From Moody's words, they were going to be studying the Unforgivables a lot over the next term. Harry wished it would be worth anything to go to Dumbledore. The man had probably happily consented to showing fourteen year-olds the worst curses known to wizard-kind. Fourteen year-olds with families destroyed by those curses.
There was an odd clunking sound, and Harry turned to see Moody walking towards them. He scowled at the professor.
"It's alright, sonny," Moody assured, clapping Neville on the shoulder. "Why don't you come up to my office, have a cup of tea?" He glanced aside. "You alright there, Potter?"
"I've been better," he bit out.
"I know it seems a little harsh, but you've got to know. No point in pretending… anyway. Come on, Longbottom. I've got some books that might interest you." Neville sent Harry a pleading look, and Harry reached out to grab Neville by the arm gently.
"Actually, Professor, Neville and I were going to go finish our Charms essays before dinner. If you don't mind." He tried to stay polite, aware that the man still was a teacher, but he was reaching the end of his tether. His vision still flashed green every time he closed his eyes.
Moody stared him down for a moment, then nodded, stepping back. "If you're sure, Potter. You boys watch yourselves. Constant vigilance!" With that he limped back to his office, and Neville let out a shaky breath.
"Thanks, Harry," he murmured. "I just… I can't, right now. Not after seeing him do that. You know what they say about the Unforgivables — for them to work, you've got to mean it."
Harry swallowed harshly. Moody certainly meant it back in the classroom, with the spiders. Had the auror used the curses on people before, too? Surely even aurors weren't allowed to use that kind of force.
"What was that about, then?" Ron and Hermione appeared from nowhere apparently they hadn't gone back to the Tower like Harry thought. Ron seemed entirely oblivious to the tension in the air. "Some lesson, eh? He really knows his stuff. The way that spider just snuffed it, wow, I—" He seemed to realise who he was talking to, growing quickly silent. Harry's patience snapped.
"Fuck off, Ron," he muttered, putting an arm around Neville and heading for the library. He didn't feel like being in Gryffindor Tower right now.
.- . When he and Neville eventually ran out of excuses to be away from the common room, they made their way back. Harry saw Hermione and Ron in the corner of the common room; Hermione was holding what looked like a collection box, speaking very quickly. Ron looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. He brightened up when he saw Harry, apparently having already forgotten the dark-haired boy was mad at him. "Great! Harry! Hermione, you can tell Harry all about spew, look."
"It's S.P.E.W!" Hermione corrected, but Ron had already vaulted over the back of the armchair and headed up to the dormitory. Harry shared a confused look with Neville.
"What's in the box, Hermione?" Harry asked, already sure he was going to regret doing so.
Hermione's following tirade about house elf rights was the last straw for Harry. "Hermione," he cut her off mid-sentence, "have you ever actually spoken to a house elf?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Did you do any research whatsoever into the specifics of a house elf's bond with its family?"
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