Chapter Two: Good News, Bad Breaks, Big Trouble
As usual, there was a new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, and unexpectedly, an unhappy looking Severus Snape was being bumped back to Potions in Slughorn's absence.
Hermione was named Head Girl, which was also not an unexpected occurrence.
Draco Malfoy was named Head Boy, which was an unexpected occurrence.
About as unexpected as Snape sitting in his usual spot with the faculty, as if he hadn't sort of , oh, murdered Albus Dumbledore a couple months ago.
Harry wasn't feeling so good.
Whatever it was Lupin had shot him up with to bring him around was giving him this funny feeling. Like there was something inside him that was throwing up into his guts and he had this crawly feeling inside his skin like something terrible was going to be born out of all of his orifices at once.
He was used to being strung out and seeing shit that wasn't there and people not quite looking like they should in his eyes but this was an altogether different feeling and if he had felt well enough to walk he would have gone to the can to have a fortifying snort.
What was Snape doing up there?
A little bit of hope rose within Harry.
There was a catch.
"Something's up. Dumbledore and that greasy Scouse git had something up their sleeves." He told Hermione.
"I told you everything was going to be okay this year." Hermione reminded him.
The new teacher was a celebrated if not somewhat disgraced auror named Oliver Crich. When he stood up to speak at the welcoming dinner, all of the girls over the age of 12 were paying rapt attention.
Professor Crich was tall, a little over six foot, with broad shoulders, a broad chest and great, sturdy legs with thick, meaty thighs. His hair was straight, black and unruly and so were his beard and moustache and he had feral pale blue eyes through which his wolfish nature was readily apparent.
Unlike Remus Lupin, Crich was a proud half-werewolf, from a long line of same. He had his transformative powers completely under control, and was totally comfortable with the duality of his nature.
He was reputed to be a hard-drinker, and a very lusty fellow, ravenous in his appetites for the pleasures of lie as well as an accomplished scholar.
He was a terribly handsome man, all in all.
"On behalf of your headmaster, I would like to welcome you all back to Hogwarts for what I hope will be a better year than the past few. To answer your questions, yes I am an auror, no I was not sacked, I left the Ministry because they are all a bunch of twits and arseholes, yes I did say arseholes, and yes I am a werewolf, but I have my gift completely under control, rather like an animagus. No there is no cause for alarm. Finally, I give the podium over to your Headmaster."
Harry couldn't believe it when Albus Dumbledore apparated in the middle of the room.
His quite unexpected appearance was greeted by thunderous applause. But, after the rest of the student body had taken their seats, Harry remained standing.
Sort of.
"Fuck me, Professor Dumbledore! You're not dead!" Harry exclaimed, jubilantly.
Even he had not expected that turn of events.
People would have laughed, but they were too shocked to see the condition Harry was in.
"Language, Harry, language. No, the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. They were a necessary step in the war of wits we have been waging against Lord Voldemort. A few other false trails have been laid, and there have been great changes at the Ministry of Magic over the holiday. Suffice it to say that the tide has turned against Tom Riddle. We now have the upper hand. The Ministry and Azkaban are no longer under his control, and most of his army of Death Eaters has been dealt with. He will, however, I' m sure, regroup and mount a counter-attack, but it will take him months to recover from the blows we have dealt him. We will be ready for him when he comes, and I would like to assure all of you that Hogwarts is safe from Tom Riddle, and so is Hogsmeade. So, I would like you all to concentrate on your studies and try to enjoy yourselves. Not to worry, children, the adults are going to take care of the problems, this year, for a change. Now, let's eat!"
Dumbledore sat down and then Professor McGonagall mentioned something to him and he stood up again.
"Thank you, Minerva. Oh, one more thing. Despite protests from some parents who must be in a big hurry to become grandparents early in life, contraceptive spells for young ladies will be available on a don't ask, don't tell basis in the infirmary. The process is completely confidential and no one but you will know you have had it. I must warn you though, that this spell is no protection against…the list Minerva…thank you. Ahem…no protection against AIDS, chlamydia, herpes, crabs, pants elves, gonorrhoea, syphilis, scabies, leaping dragoniferous crotch rot, HPV, snoids of, ah, either orifice, the common cold or any spells to interfere with your naughty bits. For this purpose, we also have Semi-Permanent Magical Condoms available. They will protect you against all of the aforementioned conditions, except the common cold, and spells, and also prevent pregnancy. They are made of a magical substance that bonds with your own skin so it's like not wearing one at all, and they last for three months before they must be replaced. They must, however be removed and scourgefied after each use. I think it would be wise for all of our sexually active students to avail themselves of both as soon as possible. Thank you."
Harry was so happy he was beside himself.
Dumbledore was alive, he didn't have to worry about Voldemort, and the school was giving away free magical contraceptives.
"Yeh look 'appy, 'Arry. I did check with the infirmary, and they've got the rubber in double extra large size, so's fellers like us ain't left out. And don't yeh worry about You Know Who. Last time I 'eard, 'e was in Greenland, lookin' for 'alf a Little Orphan Annie decoder ring. I'll see you all in Care of Magical Creatures. This year, we're goin' to learn how to hatch a dragon egg with burlap and 'eat lamps." Hagrid told them, jokingly, as he passed their table.
"Harry, why do you need to worry about size extra large?" Hermione joked.
As if everybody in the Wizarding World hadn't heard the rumours.
Harry leered at her.
"Cos I got a Firebolt of me own, right 'ere." He said, patting his flies. "Thirteen and a half inches long and as big around as your wrist. Just like John Holmes." Harry reported.
"Really." Hermione said, drolly.
"You think I'm lyin'? Ask Ginny. G'wan, Ginny, you tell' em." Harry bragged.
Ron dropped his spoon into his soup.
Ginny punched him on the injured side of his face, and his lip split open, again.
"You are such a fucking berk, Harry!" Ginny exclaimed.
She looked over at her brother and opened her mouth to say something, but nothing would come out.
Ron looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.
"Goddam you, Harry Potter! I hope you had a good time the last time we was together, because that was the last time!" she exclaimed, and fled the table so that no one would see her cry.
Ginny was a pretty tough witch, the toughest witch at Hogwarts; she didn't like anybody to see her cry.
That galvanised Ron into action.
"You…you…you filthy bastard! You piece of shit! Of all the birds in the world, of all of them… my sister! My little sister! You had to pick her! You fucking tosser! How could you? How could you fuck my little sister!" Ron squawked, rather loudly.
"Ron, don't over react. I love Ginny. I do. I mean it." Harry explained, as he blotted his lip with his napkin.
He was about to go after her, but Ron grabbed him by the collar.
"You love her? You? You randy swine! I know how many Boy Who Lived groupies you've impaled on the end of your fucking nob! Don't you dare say you love my sister!" Ron insisted.
"Ron, don't make a scene! Ginny and I have an open relationship." Harry told him.
"Harry, it might be best if you shut the fuck up." Hermione suggested.
"A scene? A scene! I'll give you a fucking scene!"
Harry thought that Ron was going to pull out his wand and cast some spell over him, but he just hauled off and punched Harry in the nose, breaking both his nose and his glasses.
Then he tripped over his chair and ran from the Great Hall.
Harry tried to preserve some of his dignity, with blood dripping out of his nose and his mouth.
"I think my nose is broken. Again." Harry observed, glumly.
He was thankful for the fact that he was high as a kite and drink as a skunk or he would have been far more embarrassed and humiliated.
"Potter, you're a filthy swine!" Malfoy called.
It seemed everyone in the school was giving him a dirty look.
"Hermione, could you fix me glasses?' Harry asked.
"Fix them yourself! You really should have told Ron about you and Ginny! And not like that! Malfoy's right, Harry. You are a filthy swine." She said, and ran after Ron.
"Hell of a way to start the year, Harry." Neville told him.
"Fucking bollocks. I'm going to go get some air." Harry said and stumbled for the door.
He had been stumbling around the grounds for quite some time, draining the contents of his emergency flask of home-made laudanum when he noticed there was a big, black, shaggy dog following him about.
Harry finally stopped to talk to it.
"Hello, fella. You look just like my Godfather, Sirius. I wish he was still around. At least he could fix my glasses." He slurred.
"That is the least I can do, Harry! Reparo!" Episkey!"
In a flash, Harry's glasses and his nose were no longer broken, and there was his Godfather, Sirius Black, looking a bit raggedy and unkempt, but very much alive and well.
"Sirius! You're alive! Unless you're a ghost."
"No. I'm not a ghost, Harry. Here , wipe the blood off your face."
Harry took Sirius' monogrammed handkerchief and daubed at his wounds.
"Where have you been? I saw you pass through the Veil."
"Yes, Harry, but, fortunately for me, there was a mirror behind me, and that is where I ended up. Through the Looking Glass. Just like Alice in bloody Wonderland. Alive and trapped. All I could do was look through mirrors and watch what was going on in this world. Finally, I managed to navigate my way back to my own home."
"How did you know how to get out?"
"I didn't. Kreacher decided to clean all the mirrors and I was surprised he could see me on the other side looking in. He did the dance of joy to see his master was still alive and, through some kind of Elf magic, I suppose, he just reached right in and pulled me back. Then he broke the mirror. First, Harry, I'm sorry that we adults dragged you and your friends into this war. We should be protecting you and your schoolmates, not putting you out front as cannon fodder. I don't want you to worry about any of it this year. After the Ministry Mutiny, we have everything under control." Sirius assured Harry.
"Ministry Mutiny? What's that?"
"It was rather unpleasant, Harry. Mutinies usually are. Let's just say that Scrimgeour and his ilk are out and Dumbledore's Army and the Order is in. Now, how did you get your glasses and your nose broken? Angry husband or boyfriend, irate father, bar fight, or did you short your pusher?"
Harry was surprised that Sirius knew what he'd been up to, but if he could look through mirrors and see what was happening on the other side, he must have gotten quite a few eyefuls of bad behaviour.
"It was Ron, actually. He found out I've been shagging his sister. And Ginny's not too happy with me right now, either."
Sirius winced.
"If you still want to have a friend, I think you had better go and explain yourself to him. But go see your girlfriend, first."
"Fuck that. Fuck Ron. He can go fuck himself. Everybody can go fuck themselves. " Harry spat.
"Harry, what's the matter with you? And don't say it's nothing, because I have been watching you. I've seen some of the things you've been doing and I haven't been able to believe my eyes! You're like the one man roadshow of Naked Lunch! Just what the fuck do you think you're doing to yourself? Ever since you turned fifteen, you've become an angry, surly little punk. I know you've had a lot of awful shit happen in your life, but people like Albus and I, and even Sniv-, er, Snape, and Ron and Ginny and Hermione, I might add, have nearly gotten killed trying to protect you. Even Lily's rotten family has always looked after you. They could have stuck you with foster parents, or jammed you into some piece of shit orphanage. And look at you! It's not even four o'clock and you are absolutely legless. There's stubble all over your face, and blood on your clothes, you've got eyes like glass marbles, and you smell like a Rastafarian convention. Well? This is not a rhetorical question?" Sirius demanded.
Harry fished in the pockets of his robe and produced a pack of English Ovals, and lit one with his wand.
"I suppose I've just lost too much. Lost me way. Fuck it. If I die before Voldemort gets me, I win, anyway." Harry commented.
Sirius aimed his wand at the cigarette in Harry's mouth.
"EXPELLIARIMUS!" he bellowed.
The force of the spell blew the fag out of Harry mouth and knocked him on his ass.
Sirius hauled him to his feet.
"Bullshit, Harry! I spent most of your life in Azkaban, for a crime, I might add, I did not commit! You don't know the kind of things that happen to a man in that terrible place, and you don't want to. Terrible things happen to people in life. Muggles and witches and wizards as well. There may be people better off than you, but there are many, may people a lot worse off. When you were 13 years old, Harry, you saved my life. You were one of the most promising wizards in your year, and I was proud that you were my godson. You were bright, you were charming, you had wit and courage and spirit. You still have it, somewhere, buried under your self-pity and your compulsions. You may think that personal tragedy has turned you into the ramshackle slob you are today, but it isn't. I'll tell you what's ruined you, Harry. You started believing your own bullshit, and feeling sorry for yourself. That great fat load of bollocks about you being the poor, tragic Boy Who Lived. And the rest of the bullshit about Harry the Great, Harry the Hero. If you were just plain old Harry Potter, just another young wizard trying to make his way in this world and not end up on the wrong end of a Death Curse during this time of war, well you'd not go around yelling at everyone and fucking your best mate's sister so everybody knew but him, and shrugging off school and getting high and drunk and into fights, all the while boo-hooing about how sensitive and tortured you are. Expecting to just slide through life with everyone loving you. But Harry the Hero, The Boy Who Lived, he can do what he likes. You know who else thinks that way? Tom Riddle. He's so full of himself he's restyled himself Lord Voldemort."
Sirius let go of Harry's robe and Harry stumbled a bit and fell on his arse on the ground again.
"I thought you were dead! I thought Dumbledore was dead! Everything I ever love has been taken from me!" Harry protested.
"Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Harry! Cry me a goddamn river, you spoilt little shit! Do you think you're the only one? The only one in the world who's lost everything they ever loved? It's grow-up time, and I am sick and fucking tired of listening to you snivel your way into oblivion! Your act's getting old. I know you're a better man than that. I saw the beginning of this when you were in the Order of the Phoenix, and I can see now that Snape was right about you going to hell in a handcar! Albus has been too lenient with you. Stop acting like a spoiled fucking little girl! Go back in that castle and apologise to your friend. Change your clothes, flush your stash, have a shower and a shave and start going to WAND! Why don't you apply yourself to your studies for a change? Have you seen your O.W.L's? I have. In fact, I saw you drinking rum and Cokes all night at the Hog's Head and then getting high and having a three-way with a couple of witches you picked up there the night before one of them, instead of studying. And I left before you got going, so I don't know who else came to the party, or what else when down your throat, in your lungs, or up your nose! At this rate you won't get a job collecting an auror's garbage, let alone becoming one! Let me tell you something, Harry. You're a junkie, and you're a drunk, and if you go on this way you'd better pray you choke on your own vomit or OD in the Wizard's room of some dive in Knockturn Alley. Because Tom Riddle and you are not going to have some mad megalomaniacal duel amid the ruins of Hogwarts or any romantic load of bollocks like that. He's going to be in Azkaban for the rest of his life, or end under the executioner's axe. And if you live, you are going to end up a shambling, broken-down smacked-out drunk who wears the same pot-smelling robes every day and the same trainers with puke on the toes. You'll end up driving the night bus, hoping for the appearance of ageing Potter groupies. And you will need an ocean of booze and a mountain of smack to steel yourself for pulling over and fucking some dizzy and prematurely-aged witch with a fat belly and saggy titties on top of a pile of old Daily Prophets and Chocolate Frog packets in the back of the bus after telling her the same tired, ancient stories about how you used to be the Boy Who Lived before you turned to a piss-smelling, beer-bellied old junkie sot by the age of 35." Sirius chastised him.
Harry was shocked. No one except Snape ever spoken to him like that, and hearing if from Sirius made him think. Of course, it was all true. He had given in to self-pity, and gone a long way towards believing the bullshit that people like Rita Skeeter write about him. What had happened to the courageous, dedicated boy who wanted to be an auror and saved Ginny Weasley and Sirius Black? How had he grown up to be a self-pitying pompous drunk who treated his friends like garbage and used the tragedies that he had once fought to overcome as an excuse to slide into defeat? When had he become a bitter junkie, and a thug, and all that was bad and sick and wrong in the world?
Harry knew he was out of control, and he knew he was killing himself, but he didn't know how to stop, or if he could stop, Now that he knew Dumbledore and Sirius were alive and that somebody had a plan for what to do about Voldemort, he had had some hope. He sort of wanted to turn his life around, but he was afraid his fate was already sealed.
If his parents could see him from the afterlife, what had they thought when he performed the Cruciatus Curse on some junkie doom freak witch for fifty knicker and a credit card?
What would he say to them if he met them in the next world with the toot of smack that killed him still dribbling out of his nose, and puke all over his shoes?
What then, did the deaths of his parents and Cedric Diggory and the sufferings of his godfather and Professor Dumbledore amount to?
They were in vain.
Sirius was right; no wizard's duel was necessary, he had already let Voldemort win.
Harry had seen what was on the end of his fork and it was himself, pieced with the tines and dancing a spastic death jig like a worm on the end of a hook.
"My God, Sirius, how could I let this happen to me? What can I do?"
Under the weight of his pain, his addiction, and his maddened mind sizzling and fried in firewhiskey, heroin and self-pity, Harry sunk into a puddle of black robes, limbless and jellified in the courtyard, like a heap of dry old bones settled in their own dust.
Sirius bent down, hauled Harry to his feet and put his arm around him, partially to steady him, partially to reassure him.
"Harry, you're only just 18. And you've still got an entire year of school left. You've plenty of time to turn your life around. We can get you into a treatment program of some kind. I can help you with the criminal offences you'd committed. I'm a bit higher up in the Ministry, now. If you really want to beat Lord Voldemort, you have to get clean and get your life back together. Start concentrating on your studies this term. I'm sorry I had to talk to you like that, but I only did it because I love you. Someone had to get through to you, Harry. You won't listen to your teachers. Or your friends. Having said that, I'm not just going to deliver my bit and split. You're going to be seeing a lot of me this year. I'll start going to the Hogsmeade WAND meetings After all, I'm the closest person to a father you know."
"I'll try to straighten out my act. Um, Sirius?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"It hurts when I pee, and there's yellow stuff coming out of my old fellow. I'm pretty sure I got the clap again. What do you think?"
Sirius tried to remain serious.
"Yes, Harry, you do. Go see Madame Pomfrey. One of your innumerable legions of adoring groupies has indeed given you the clap."
"Is there a potion for that?"
"No. Just the old fashioned Muggle cure."
"Penicillin and several shots in the arse with a very long needle?"
"Don't remind me."
"You sound like you know from experience."
"I was young, once. Be glad it's not leaping dragoniferous crotch rot. Come on, Harry, let's get you to the infirmary."
