"This year at Hogwarts will be unlike any this castle has ever seen."
-–—–-
Meet the Mugwumps
—
My Castles, My Rules
-–—–-
5
And Goodbye
August 15, 1997
Dean Thomas was mesmerized. It was night and day. Albus had always reminded him of a wise, accomplished grandfather: powerful and a little unapproachable, but fundamentally friendly.
The man in front of him was passionate, but unyielding. He was smooth around the edges, but rough in the middle. He was the uncle you stayed away from at Christmas but always wanted to hear stories about. Dean liked this guy.
—
As he was making his first remarks, the Headmaster was moving his eyes back and forth across the room like a suave politician, giving everyone the impression he was talking to them individually. But then he stopped and stared straight down the Hall, looking at no one, just looking straight at the doors. His face had no expression.
Some of you are dark of heart. You would follow Voldemort willingly. You would murder the innocent. You would torture the frail.
"I address my next comments only to you.
"You are not safe in this castle.
"We will not teach you. We will not feed you.
"You are entitled to your beliefs, and I am entitled to expel you for them. Several students have already been expelled. Some have already fled to parts unknown.
"However, know this: you may believe you have no choice, that your fate is sealed. It is not. You may fear the wrath of the darkness should you betray Voldemort's cause, but you should fear the wrath of the sunlight if you do not.
"It is never too late to do the right thing, and I make you a promise: you will be welcomed into the light with open arms. You have only to take the smallest step.
"But if you choose to place your faith in evil, I will promise you something else: the worthy people of this castle will bring you to your fate quickly."
6
Please Don't Feed the Sentries
The headmaster's eyes went back into politician mode.
"We will not pretend that darkness does not exist. We acknowledge that wizarding society is at war, and we will prepare for it. We are already preparing."
Then, a dozen or so of the men in blue started walking in, some through the front doors, some through the side. They spread out along the walls and stood still and quiet. "You have no doubt seen these gentlemen throughout your journey today. They are Hogwarts' Sentries, charged with protecting us from danger."
"It is not in the nature of a Sentry to be friendly. Call upon them anytime you are concerned for your health, safety, or security, or that of others. They are charged to protect it, and they will do so fiercely. Do not attract their attention otherwise.
"Each individual Sentry carries the full weight of my authority, superior to that of every professor. One or more Sentries may be assigned to protect one or more of you specifically. They will guide that relationship appropriately.
"Above all else, the Sentries are here to do the right thing. Although they are both capable and authorized to use deadly force, I promise you they are fully competent to decide whom to kill and who deserves to live. Very quickly they'll blend in and you'll hardly even notice them at all."
Blaise now realized this was going past his suspicions. Hogwarts would be killing its enemies — officially.
—
Dean was far more of a strategist than most knew. His darkest suspicion about Albus had always been that he was too principled to be effective in an open war. Year after year, time after time, politics and the influence of dark money got the better of him. War required tough choices, and the only person he saw making them was Harry. If Albus couldn't have kept Cedric Diggory safe during a time of peace, why should he have been handed the safety of millions during a war?
This man in front of him, though, whoever the hell he was, clearly was cut from a different cloth. Dean wasn't sure this man was a strategist, but he was sure this Headmaster knew how to run a railroad.
—
The Headmaster, outwardly confident, well-spoken, and on message, was inwardly a bit frustrated, because the Sentries obviously hadn't yet gotten the name from Harry. He didn't see why he couldn't just pick someone — he'd had this conversation at least five times — but Harry's word was final, so talk–talk–talk he continued.
7
Like What I've Done with the Place?
The Headmaster had his arms behind his back and was slowly pacing across the stage.
"You may have noticed that all seven years are not present. A separate school on the campus has been created for the first four years, the junior school. It will continue with a slightly modified version of the traditional curriculum.
"The senior school will be held in this castle. The experience here will be quite different.
"All of your professors are new."
Blaise thought, He fired all of them. He's got balls. Colin Creevey thought, Ohhhhh, poor Hagrid.
"There are many more professors than in previous years. Some professors who teach here at the senior school will also teach in the junior school.
"In one week, a number of adults will join us as special students. They will be enrolled in some of your classes and will have separate classes as well. They will be here to prepare, too. While here, they and you will be peers.
"At the Junior School, Professor McGonagall is Headmistress. Professors Flitwick, Sprout, Hooch, Vector, and Hagrid will also teach in the junior school. Rubeus Hagrid has been promoted to professor, and Argus Filch is no longer employed by the school. Their duties as keeper of keys, groundskeeper, and caretaker are being assumed by the Sentries.
"Your former professor of potions, Severus Snape, is no longer employed by the school and is wanted for the assassination of Headmaster Dumbledore. If you should see Mr. Snape, do not attempt to exact revenge. Others have already claimed the right to that pleasure."
"Professors Trelawney, Binns, and Sinistra are on sabbatical this year. Their subjects will be taught in a single elective class, Perspectives in Magic. It will meet once per month on Saturdays at 4 in the morning. I encourage you not to enroll.
—
It was a simple choice, which Hermione kept emphasizing. They would pick a male Slytherin who was not from an influential family and who was not well respected by his peers. The closest Sentry would cast an aggravation spell, Agiato — which would make him irritable and easily provoked — followed by a spell to simulate someone bumping into his forearm. When the student reacted, the Headmaster would do his thing.
Why these things were so difficult for Harry was an ongoing source of concern to Ron and Hermione, because once someone was "chosen" — and Harry had made many such choices over the past month — he was quite willing to impose on that person injury, capture, or a quick death, or the injury, capture or quick death of any of the person's family or friends.
They thought he might be fighting an inner battle with himself over whether he was turning dark, which Harry refused to talk about. Indeed they often wondered the same thing about themselves. Hermione in particular was sensitive to it, because she'd grown up in the muggle world well educated about the muggle Geneva Conventions. She knew very well that singling out family and friends to intimidate someone was a war crime, and she understood why. And there she was, debating who would get the axe next and transmitting orders of execution to the Sentries, who clearly had no problem killing anyone Harry told them to kill. Am I dark, or just running a war? Couldn't I just be gray?
But at last Harry picked a name. "It's Michael Corner," he said. Ron and Hermione were flabbergasted, because not only was Michael not a Slytherin, he was a basically faithful member of the D.A. — and was placed on the list of those "trusted for loyal combat" by Harry himself only a week before.
"I decided on a new strategy," Harry said. "All we need to say is there are consequences and that it doesn't matter who. So pick someone not obvious."
Hermione held her tongue, because she argued the same thing a week earlier, which Harry rejected. "The message is that enemies are punished," he had said. Oh well; poor Michael Corner.
Ron sent the message.
8
Ouch!
Blaise's nervousness was doubling by the minute. They were going to hunt down dark wizards and train the school to do the same. He fired all the teachers or sent them down to babyland. Sabbatical my arse. These "sentries" are as nasty as they look. Special students? He wants to train the whole bloody country. But who are the faculty?
—
The most interesting change came not with the students, but with the classes. Each student would pick one of three "tracks": Scholar for those that wanted to stay far away from combat, Combat for those who wanted to be right in the middle of it, and Defense for those in the middle. There would also be a school-wide lecture every week on various topics. The first would be the history of the death eaters.
At one point, the headmaster said the students in the Combat track would "have this faculty's undivided attention. We will spend every waking minute of the day and night to teach you to succeed against our enemies."
The Combat folks would all have the same six classes: Darkness, Meditation, Strength, Strategy, Combat, and Survival. And separate classes would not be held for different years. All fifth through seventh years would have the exact same classes. "Combat and Survival are not for the faint of heart," the Headmaster said. "You will be injured frequently. I make no guarantee you will not die in class."
—
And then it finally happened. A guy at the Ravenclaw table jerked back, raised his arms to protect the injured with the uninjured and said to Cho Chang, "What are you playing at?" The Headmaster was confused for a moment, because the plan had always been to target a Slytherin. But a small nod from a Sentry told him this was the real deal.
Diffindo, the Headmaster said in a matter-of-fact voice in the middle of a sentence as he flicked his wand at Michael's arm, cutting a gash in it a foot long — which prompted the wound to bleed, Michael to curse loudly, those around him to jerk back, most of the school to lose a breath, most of Slytherin to be confused, and the Headmaster to merely finish his sentence. He hadn't even looked Michael's way. After he finished the sentence — "the table next to the doors" — the Headmaster said, "Healer," whereupon a man and woman dressed in white popped in and tended to Michael's injuries.
—
"And do we tell Michael that he was deliberately chosen, when he finds out the Headmaster is basically doing our bidding, which he will, because that's where you put him?"
"Crap. I hadn't gotten that far." Of course not.
—
The Headmaster continued: "As I was about to say, death will be your constant companion. And now the faculty. Professor Frederick Weasley."
—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—
COMING SOON
- – — 1 — – -
Harry found many members lacking.
HARRY
I keep seeing this with group after group. You can't keep coming to these things if you flinch whenever you hear his name. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort. How many flinched, Hermione?
HERMIONE
Seven.
HARRY
If we have to take turns every single meeting, we will. Voldemort.
- – — 2 — – -
Harry started to cry.
HARRY
I wouldn't let some baby fend for itself if I bloody KNEW he wouldn't...! Bloody hell, Ron. I would have sent myself to the Dursleys. I would have sent myself to the Dursleys.
He paused as Ron looked on. Whenever Harry was in one of these moods, Ron believed, it was better for Harry to let him get it out of his system, then talk. Or maybe it was better for Ron. In any event, Harry seemed not to be deep in thought as much as that he had just switched his brain off for a few seconds. But then the punchline came.
HARRY
F**k you, Albus. Just f**k you.
—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—
Elisabeth— Thank you so much!