He's Not Dead Yet
I. Hope. You're. En. Joy. Ing. This!
I. Don't. Own. Har. Ry. Pot. Ter!
Or! Monty Python's Flying Circuses!
Uhh…My BRAIN hurts!
The Lion Is In the Contract
Years of waking up early had trained Harry Potter to be wide awake just before the sun came up. Harry had decided, just before vacation ended, that he would start working out so that he wouldn't be so skinny; it seems that being a Metamorphmagus does not mean that you can automatically be in shape even if you can make yourself look it. Red had helped him pick out some fitness clothes and sneakers when they had gone shopping; so, a quick change of clothes later, Harry was out the common room entrance and down to the lake to start a morning jog. It was actually quite refreshing and really helped him clear his head. When he was younger, Harry ran quite a lot (mostly due to his need to escape Dudley and his gang), and, from Harry's experience, running actually was helpful in life-or-death situations. Breakfast was already being served once Harry had finished his jog; however, Harry was one of the first people down. Soon enough, students and faculty filtered into the Great Hall.
Harry had anticipated his outfit causing trouble; and so, as expected, Professor McGonagall came straight over to him.
"Mr. Potter, what are you doing?" she asked.
"Having breakfast, Professor," he answered cheerily.
"No, Mr. Potter, I mean your clothes. Why are you not in uniform?"
"Well, Professor, the Student Rulebook says that we have to wear our uniforms to class, feasts, and school functions. I am dressed this way because I have just finished my morning exercise; I assure you that I will change clothes before I head off for class."
McGonagall pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment before nodding in consent.
"Very well, Mr. Potter; carry on."
Naturally, Harry's different attire garnered further questioning from his housemates. Many of the other Gryffindors couldn't fathom why Harry would get up so early and exercise for fun.
"It's the same reason Wood has us up before dawn to practice Quidditch," he replied. "I'm sure there are plenty of people who consider doing that to be ridiculous."
Hermione seemed quite pleased that Harry had decided to start exercising as it was very good for his health; although, she seemed rather reluctant to take up Harry's invitation to join him on his morning excursions.
During breakfast, a couple of people approached Harry about the Quibbler article to ask if it was true that he was a Metamorphmagus. Harry responded by making his hair turn bright red, much to the amusement of his fellow Gryffindors. Fred and George exchanged looks, silently agreeing that Harry would indeed be an excellent prankster and that they should enlist him in an upcoming prank of theirs.
Harry finished his breakfast, told Hermione he would meet her outside the common room so they could head off to Arithmancy together, and set off in search of a shower and a change of clothes. When Harry arrived at the dormitory, he saw that Ron was still asleep. Deciding to be a good friend to the carrot-topped garbage-disposal (though Ron didn't really deserve it), Harry shouted at the top of his lungs: "Ron! Wake up if you want to get breakfast before class starts!"
It surprised Harry just how quickly Ron could move with the right motivation.
A shower and change of clothes later, Harry made his way downstairs to find Hermione. The bushy-haired girl was practically skipping with excitement as they made their way through the halls.
"So," Harry said, "where is the Arithmancy classroom?"
Hermione's excitement dwindled for a moment when she realized she wasn't exactly sure. They wandered about for a while before they met up with a few others who seemed rather lost; Harry recognized them as Daphne Greengrass and her friend Tracey Davis.
"Hi, Daphne," Harry said with a friendly wave.
"Oh, hello, Harry," Daphne responded somewhat uncertainly.
Hermione was giving Harry a weird look; never before had Harry shown any familiarity with Slytherins.
"It's nice to see you again," Harry continued and then turned to Tracey. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure?"
"Tracey Davis. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter," Tracey greeted as she offered her hand and grinned at her friend. Harry took the offered hand and placed a gentle kiss on the top.
"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Davis."
"Oh, he's definitely a keeper," Tracey whispered to Daphne who was blushing slightly.
"So," Harry continued, "may I ask where you lovely ladies are headed?"
"Arithmancy class," Daphne answered, "But we're completely lost."
"What a coincidence, so are we. Perhaps we should all be lost together?"
Daphne and Tracey chuckled while Hermione just rolled her eyes at Harry's blatant flirting; though it didn't stop a bemused smile forming on her face. It was nice to see Harry cheerful for once; she hated it when he went all morose and depressed.
As the group made their way around, Harry noticed a very familiar painting.
"What villains are these who trespass on my private lands?" Sir Cadogan demanded. "Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!"
"Good sir knight," Harry said in a mock-pompous tone. "We are in haste. We seek the Arithmancy classroom; would you, by any chance, happen to know the way?"
"A quest! Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!" The knight then tried and failed to mount the fat pony in the painting. "On foot, then, good sir and gentle ladies! On! On!"
Sir Cadogan led them through the many halls of Hogwarts until he finally stopped in a painting of a group of French knights, who jeered at passersby, that was just outside a classroom.
"So, we meet again, Engleesh pig-dog!" one of the Frenchmen declared.
"Aha!" Sir Cadogan proclaimed. "I wondered when I wouldst come upon you again, French-persons! Stand and fight!"
"You don' frighten us!" the Frenchman continued. "Go an' boil your bottom, son of a silly person! Your mozzer waz a 'amster an' your fazzer smelt of elderberreez!"
The Frenchman and his compatriots began to make silly faces and blow raspberries at Sir Cadogan who only became further enraged. Scowling, the portly knight turned to Harry and the girls.
"Follow me, good friends," he said, his voice heavy with vexation. "Just ignore these petulant foreigners."
"What is a portrait of French knights even doing in a British school?" said Tracey.
"Mind your own business!" shouted the French knight from before.
Sir Cadogan forcibly brushed past the French knights, being pelted with anything said Frenchmen could find as he did so.
"Yes, go, you Engleesh bed-wetting types," the Frenchman continued. "And if you zink you 'ad a nasty taunting zis time, you ain't 'eard nozzing yet! Pffffffftttttt!"
"What a strange person," Harry heard Hermione mutter as they left.
Sir Cadogan continued to lead the four students to the Arithmancy room. With a guffaw of triumph, he turned to them.
"Farewell!" he declared. "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If you ever have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!"
"Thank you, brave sir knight," Harry said, "Fare thee well." With a smug smile, Harry ushered the three, gobsmacked young ladies into the room.
"What on earth was that all about, Harry?" Hermione asked.
Harry shrugged.
"I just got the impression he would respond well to an olden-timey sort of conversation."
"I thought it was cute," Tracey said. "You sounded like a hero in an Arthurian legend."
The four took their seats just as the rest of the class entered. Harry recognized several students from DA, including Susan Bones and her friend Hannah Abbott. There was a large number of Ravenclaws, a couple more Hufflepuffs, three more Slytherins, and one other Gryffindor. The class quieted as Professor Vector entered. She was a strict-looking, middle-aged woman with long, black hair and was dressed in robes of dark red.
"Good morning, class," she said as she approached the chalkboard, "Welcome to Arithmancy. In this class, you will learn the magical power of numbers and their uses in the making of spells, the enchanting of objects, and, to a lesser extent, their use in divining the future. We will be studying two methods; the Agrippan Method and the Chaldean Method. If anyone in this class is a Muggle-born or has at least attended a Muggle school, you may find yourselves at an advantage owing to your education in Mathematics."
Harry's attention was immediately caught; in primary school, Math had been one of his favorite subjects. As the class got under way, Harry found he really enjoyed Arithmancy; he also found himself mentally hitting himself over the head for not taking this class in his previous timeline.
Harry was grinning by the time he and Hermione had to set off for Transfiguration. He gave a polite farewell to Daphne and Tracey, with the promise to see them in Care of Magical Creatures, and headed out.
Harry and Hermione took a seat at the front of the Transfiguration classroom (luckily, Harry already knew how to get there so they weren't late) and Hermione turned to face him.
"Well, that certainly was a fascinating class," she said.
"I'll say," Harry agreed. "I really am glad I chose that over Divination. When I was in Muggle school, Math was actually one of my favorite subjects."
"Mine, too; it was my second favorite; right above Science and right below History."
Slowly the classroom filled. Harry noticed that Ron was looking rather shaken and that the students from Divination all looked somber. Three guesses what happened, Harry thought. The class went much the same as before, only it was Ron and not Harry who was the subject of Trelawney's death omens. Harry enjoyed the class much more than last time; it was the one about Animagi.
When class finished, Harry went up to Professor McGonagall and asked if she had any information about becoming an Animagus; the Scottish Transfiguration teacher happily provided Harry with a series of Ministry pamphlets about the process.
"What do you think," Harry said as he and his friends headed down to lunch, "Wouldn't it be cool to become an Animagus?"
"Most definitely," Hermione agreed.
"Yeah," Ron added, not really listening. He still looked rather glum about his predicted death.
He was still scowling when they sat down to eat.
"Ron, cheer up," Hermione said as she passed him some stew. "You heard what Professor McGonagall said."
Ron grumbled but accepted the offered food. Sure enough, the two got into an argument about Divination class.
"If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves, I'm not sure I'll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared to my Arithmancy class!"
She snatched up her bag and marched out of the hall.
"What's she talking about?" Ron said. "She hasn't been to Arithmancy yet."
"Yes, she has, Ron," Harry stated. "I was there with her the entire time."
"But-but that's not possible! She'd have to be in two places at once!"
"Honestly, Ron, how can someone be in two places at once?" Harry said with a grin.
As the afternoon mail arrived, Harry's grin widened as Hedwig descended and dropped off several letters for him.
"Who's writing to you?" Ron asked.
"Nobody," Harry replied automatically.
Dear Mr. Potter, The first one read,
We have succeeded in contacting your new Potions instructor. Mr. Preston said that he would be delighted for the opportunity to teach you and that he would be more than willing to accept your classmates under his tutelage. He should be there tomorrow at about 7:30 am and will meet you in the Great Hall. We have also found a tutor in Magical Customs that you requested; she will be there on Friday at 5:00 pm.
Yours faithfully,
Frieda Bayly
Oh, P.S: You'll be pleased to know that the matter regarding Mr. Rubeus Hagrid that you informed us of has been sorted out with the Ministry and he should receive a letter by the end of the day.
The next one was from Libra Black.
Dear Mr. Potter,
You should be pleased to know that your petition for an Order of Restraint has been approved by both the Ministry of Magic and the non-magical court of law. By tomorrow morning, Mr. Severus Snape will receive an official statement informing him that he is to have no further contact with you.
Happy to be of service,
Yours sincerely,
Libra Black
The final letter was from Gringotts.
Dear Mr. Potter,
In response to your inquiry regarding the basilisk carcass, we at Gringotts have located experts on game and hunting who will arrive at Hogwarts this Saturday at 8:00 am. Once they have determined the value and removed the carcass, Gringotts will be more than happy to comply with your request that the money be awarded evenly to the victims. Messrs. Hank and Roy Spim were delighted to offer their services to your endeavor.
Yours etc.
Ragnok
Gringotts Senior Account Manager/Company Director
Harry quickly made his way back to the Gryffindor dormitory to retrieve his Monster Book of Monsters. When he entered the common room, he noticed a Gryffindor girl from his year fending off one of the demonic dissertations. She was actually handling the thing fairly well; she was standing on top of a small table as the thing snapped angrily from the ground; then, without warning, she jumped straight down onto it, crushing it beneath her feet. The text, now immobilized, was soon restrained by a thick belt.
"You know," Harry said to the girl, "if you stroke the book's spine, it will calm right down."
The girl looked at him in surprise for a moment, but then followed his advice. The book instantly stilled. Harry took a good look at the girl; she was a little taller than he was, her long, dark brown hair was somewhat disheveled, and her blue eyes looked at him with gratitude.
"Thanks," she said, "Some books, huh?"
"Yep. Hagrid probably thought they were funny. I'm Harry, by the way."
"If there was ever someone who didn't need an introduction, it would be you, Harry Potter," she replied with a cheeky grin. Harry noticed that she had a somewhat diluted Scottish accent; as though she had grown up around both Scottish and English people. "I'm Fay Dunbar." She offered a friendly hand which Harry accepted.
"So, you're in Care of Magical Creatures, as well?"
"Ay, I love animals so I thought it would be perfect for me. However, these monster books are making me have second thoughts. How'd you know how to stop them attacking?"
Harry gave a non-committal shrug.
"It just seemed like the most obvious thing to do. Would you care to join me on the walk down to class?"
"I'd love to."
Harry quickly ran upstairs to get his own book and together they set off. They met up with Ron and Hermione (who weren't speaking with each other) and together they arrived outside Hagrid's hut. Hagrid looked as enthusiastic for his first class as he had been in the other timeline.
"C'mon, now, get a move on!" he called as the class approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"
They followed him out to the paddock where the hippogriffs were kept.
"Everyone gather 'round the fence here! Tha's it, make sure yeh can see! Now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books-"
"How?" the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy interrupted.
"Eh?"
"How do we open our books?"
"Just stroke the spine, of course," Harry said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world before presenting his own, unbound, book.
"Exac'ly!" Hagrid announced, clearly very pleased.
"Oh, how silly we've all been," Malfoy sneered. "We should have stroked them! Why didn't we guess?!"
"Maybe you weren't clever enough to guess it, Malfoy," Harry replied smoothly.
"And how did you figure it out, Potter?"
"I used something that you seem to be sadly lacking. A brain."
Many people snickered at that; despite the fact that they themselves hadn't known what to do.
Hagrid, realizing trouble was brewing, decided to turn attention back to class.
"God, this place is going to the dogs," Malfoy sneered once Hagrid had gone to fetch the hippogriffs. "That oaf teaching classes; my father will have a fit when-"
"Malfoy, no one cares what your father does," Harry said. "And if you go crying to him for every little thing that doesn't go your way, I seriously doubt that will gain you respect."
Before Malfoy could retort, Lavender Brown let out an "ooooh!" when she saw the hippogriffs being led forward. Harry smiled when he saw Buckbeak; there was no way he would let either him or Hagrid get in trouble for Malfoy's carelessness. Of course, when Hagrid called for a volunteer, Harry stepped forward. Harry bowed low to Buckbeak, who bowed back; then came the exhilarating ride on the hippogriff that brought back a great deal of memories for Harry. When Buckbeak landed, Harry noticed that quite a few girls were looking at him with admiration and several boys looked at him with respect.
Harry paid close attention to Malfoy throughout the lesson; sure enough, the prat insulted Buckbeak and the hippogriff reared on its hind legs. Luckily, Harry had always been rather fast; so, before Buckbeak could take a chunk out of Malfoy's arm, Harry dashed forward and knocked the blonde ponce out of the way.
"What are you doing, Potter?!"
"Saving you from getting mauled, that's what!"
Hagrid managed to get Buckbeak under control and back to the paddock. Everyone who had seen Harry push Malfoy out of the way knew that that was the only reason the ferret-faced git wasn't in the hospital wing. Harry soon found himself the hero of the day in the eyes of a number of people; especially the girls.
As Harry sat down for dinner that evening, he heard a few whispered comments.
"…and, even though he hates the prat, Harry saved him…"
"…He's so brave. You should have seen him face down the hippogriff…"
"…It takes a really sweet and chivalrous guy to protect both friends and enemies from harm…"
This is weird, Harry thought, they never said anything like that about me. Maybe my 'saving people thing' isn't so bad after all.
Of course, Ron was less than impressed.
"Why did you save Malfoy, Harry?" he asked. "He deserved to get injured for being an idiot."
"I did it because Malfoy would have used it as an excuse to get Hagrid into trouble," Harry retorted.
"While I don't approve of you putting yourself at risk, Harry," Hermione said, "I must admit it was a noble thing for you to have done."
Harry noticed up at the staff table that Hagrid was talking to Professor McGonagall; they both kept glancing in his direction and Harry was certain that the stern Deputy-Headmistress was smiling. A few minutes later, Harry noticed that a great deal of red gems fell into the Gryffindor hourglass. Dinner progressed slowly until an owl swooped in and delivered a letter to Hagrid. Hagrid quickly opened the message and, about a minute later, he was crying loud, happy tears.
After dinner was over, Harry made his way over to the staff table.
"Hagrid," he said innocently, "what had you so worked up?"
"H-Harry," the half-giant sniffled, "the Ministry's cleared me name in regards to the Chamber o' Secrets. I'm allowed ter get a new wand and use magic an'… everythin'!"
"Wow, congratulations, Hagrid."
Hagrid then looked at Harry.
"Now, don' play dumb, 'arry. I know you 'ad somethin' ter do with this."
"Well, I may have mentioned to my lawyers that an injustice or two was committed. And they may have brought it up with the Ministry."
It took a while before Harry was able to break away from a grateful Hagrid and go to bed.
The next day dawned bright and early, but Harry Potter was up even earlier. Another brisk, morning jog and he was set for the day. Once again, the students and staff slowly entered and took their seats. Not long after everyone was in the Great Hall, the doors swung open to admit a newcomer. He was a tall, tan man in his late twenties, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. The man strode over to Harry and shook his hand.
"Harry Potter, I presume?" he said in an American accent.
"Yes, sir?"
"I'm Robert Preston, the private Potions teacher you sent for."
"What is going on here, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"Oh, Professor," Harry said, "this is Mr. Robert Preston. I hired him to teach me Potions as I have no intention of continuing in that farce of a class that Snape teaches."
"Professor Snape," McGonagall corrected.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I cannot, in good conscience, acknowledge that man by such a prestigious title as he is as qualified to teach children as a Gestapo agent."
Many pure-bloods were confused by that statement, but the Muggle-borns all understood.
"Nevertheless," McGonagall continued, "I must inquire as to what is going on."
Her answer came in the form of an enraged Snape swooping down upon them.
"Potter!" he shouted as he waved an official-looking letter. "What is the meaning of this?!"
Instead of answering, Harry handed him a piece of paper.
"I took out a restraining order against you," Snape read. "If you attempt to communicate with me in any way, shape, or form, I will have no choice but to press charges on the grounds of harassment." Snape then ripped up the paper and began shouting. "Potter! You will cease this nonsense, at once! I am your teacher and you will treat me with respect!"
"Um, pardon, sir," Mr. Preston spoke up, "In my experience, respect is something you earn."
"Who are you?!" Snape demanded.
"As I was about to explain, I am Mr. Potter's new Potions teacher."
"I am the Potions master in this school," Snape growled.
"Well, sorry, but Mr. Potter over here hired me at the suggestion of his lawyers."
Harry turned to address McGonagall, completely ignoring Snape in the process.
"You see, ma'am, I have been very disappointed in the lack of professionalism and sub-standard teaching methods of the Hogwarts Potions instructor," he said.
"Why you insolent little whelp!" shouted Snape, but Harry ignored him.
"Mr. Preston is one of the United States' premier experts in Potions and is also a fully-qualified educator."
"I got my Teaching and Occult Studies degrees from Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts," Mr. Preston added. "Complete with an Honorable Mention."
"Besides," Harry continued, "according to the School Charter, I am perfectly at liberty to hire an instructor should I find the school has not provided a suitable one. I also extend an invitation to my year-mates to join my private classes. Professor McGonagall, is there, perhaps, a vacant room that is suitable for a Potions class as that is the first on my schedule today?"
Though her features were stoic, Minerva McGonagall was doing a mental happy-dance. She had never liked Snape, not even when he was a student, and was more than happy to stick it to him.
"Why, certainly, Mr. Potter," she said. "I'm sure we can accommodate you."
As the head of Gryffindor House led away Harry, his new Potions teacher, and a great majority of the third years, no one really paid any further attention to the spluttering figure of Severus Snape.
Harry wasn't too surprised that three-quarters of the third year had turned up for Mr. Preston's class; though, he was surprised to see Daphne, Tracey, and…Blaise Zabini?
"Hi, Harry," Tracey greeted.
"Hi, Tracey; hi, Daphne."
"You're probably shocked to see Slytherins here."
"A little."
"Only a moron would stay in Snape's class," Daphne stated. "You know how Snape lets Slytherins slide through class? Well, that's just setting them up for failure because he makes no attempt to correct them. We came here because we actually want to learn something."
"Me, too," Blaise said as he came over to introduce himself. "My mother is a skilled Potions Mistress and she has been increasingly disappointed in the way I've been learning."
"Well," Harry said, "everyone is welcome in this class-"
"Oi!" came an annoyed shout that caused Harry to groan. Ron Weasley marched right over to where Harry and the three Slytherins were talking. "What are a bunch of slimy snakes doing here? I thought this class was so we could get away from them."
"Ron," Harry snapped, "the classes are open to anyone who wants to actually learn Potions. Kindly show a modicum of civility."
"But, Harry, they're Slytherins!"
"Yes, and so was my grandmother."
"Your gran was a Slytherin?"
"So was yours, Weasley," Daphne stated.
"How dare you, you snake! My gran was not a Slytherin!"
"Uh, yeah, she was, Ron," Harry added. "Cedrella Weasley, your dad's mum, was born Cedrella Black." Harry remembered this from right before fifth year when he had asked Sirius about the Black family tree.
"She was disowned from the Black family for marrying Septimus Weasley, a known Muggle-lover," Daphne concurred. "Before that, she was actually a highly respected Slytherin. She was the last girl to play for the Slytherin Quidditch team and she also founded the Wizard's Chess Club."
"You're all lying!" Ron protested, completely ignoring the cool things his gran had done. "My grandmother was not a Slytherin."
Harry exchanged a look with the three Slytherins. Luckily, they were saved when Mr. Preston told them all to take a seat.
"Good morning, everyone," he said cheerily.
There was a chorus of "good morning" throughout the room. Harry noticed that everyone looked more than a little eager.
"Now, class, before we begin, it is standard practice to go over the safety regulations."
There was some confused whispering.
"What? Don't tell me your Professor Snape never told you the basic safety practices."
Harry raised his hand.
"Professor Snape's method was to tell us the instructions are on the board and then berate us if we did anything wrong."
"That's no way to teach," Mr. Preston said with a tone of disgust. "Well, looks like I'd better take it from the top." He gave a quick wave of his wand and a poster appeared on the board. He then pointed to each rule that was listed. "Rule 1: You shall conduct yourselves in a responsible manner in this classroom, Rule 2: Follow all instructions with caution and come see me if you have any questions, Rule 3: Never work alone or leave your cauldron unattended, Rule 4: Do not touch the ingredients until instructed, Rule 5: Do not eat or drink in the class, Rule 6: Come to class prepared, Rule 7: Once you have finished brewing a potion it is important that you clean your work area, Rule 8: Stay alert and inform me immediately if there is a problem, Rule 9: When working, you should always wear protective goggles, gloves, and aprons…"
"Um, I beg your pardon, sir, but what are goggles?" a pure-blood from Hufflepuff asked.
Mr. Preston looked at the student as if the boy had sprouted two heads.
"This is going to take a while," he said with a sigh.
After explaining the rest of the safety regulations and the necessary tools, it was time to begin class.
"Now, can anyone tell me why you should never sit down while brewing?"
Naturally, Hermione's hand shot up into the air.
"Yes, Miss…?"
"Granger, sir, Hermione Granger. If you sit down while brewing then you risk being injured if the potion were to spill as it would land right on your lap."
"Excellent. If I was authorized to award points then you would have earned ten. Yes, you should never do work like this seated; the same rule applies in Chemistry, as do most of the other rules. Now, today we will be brewing a Shrinking Solution…"
Mr. Preston talked them through the process, step at a time, and then set them to work. Each student partnered up at a cauldron and began. Mr. Preston told them he would observe how they did and promised to help them if they were having problems. As the class went on, he eventually came to Neville and Seamus' cauldron which contained a bright orange concoction.
"I'm afraid that's not quite right, boys," Mr. Preston said calmly. "Luckily, it is salvageable and I have seen far worse. Here," he pulled up the textbook, "look through the instructions and tell me where you went wrong."
Neville was blushing vibrantly as he read off several steps he missed.
"It's alright, young man. Here are some easy steps to help get your potion back to where it needs to be." He handed Neville and Seamus a slip of paper with a few, simple steps on it.
By the end of the class, everyone had brewed a satisfactory potion; the same could not be said of Snape's class, however. Everyone who had been to Mr. Preston's class agreed it was the best Potions class they'd ever been to. It was a cheery lot that made its way to Defense Against the Dark Arts.
DADA was just as interesting this time as it was in the last timeline. Once again, they faced the boggart; Harry was very interested in finding out what his boggart would be so he got in the line right behind Neville so that Lupin would have no excuse to prevent him from facing the creature. When Harry stepped forward, the boggart took a few minutes before it turned into Harry's main counselor from the Ministry of Death.
"You're running out of time, Mr. Potter," the boggart said. "If you don't get cracking, everyone will be doomed!"
"Riddikulus," Harry said. The boggart then changed into Mr. Lambert.
"Rotten! Rotten! You're no bloody use, at all! You're an utter, bloody wash-out! You make me sick, you weed!"
"Riddikulus!" Harry said, more forcefully this time.
The boggart then found itself upside-down, suspended by one ankle, with its coat hanging over its head.
Needless to say, Harry received some strange looks after that incident.
Due to the recent occurrences, it was to be expected that Harry would be approached by the Headmaster. The manipulative old bastard accosted Harry as he was on his way to dinner.
"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said in his best grandfatherly tone. "I was wondering if I could have a word."
"You can have several, sir," Harry replied. "Is this matter regarding academics or is it a social call?"
"I just want to have a talk with you, Harry. In my office."
"If the matter does not regard academics, then you will have to pre-arrange the meeting with my guardian and have both him and my Head of House present for the proceeding, as stated in the school charter."
Dumbledore looked completely confused. The boy hadn't automatically done as he asked? This wasn't a matter that could wait and Albus doubted he would get permission from Sirius Black anytime soon (the young Lord owed Albus Dumbledore nothing).
"I'm sure we can overlook those little details, Harry."
"I'm afraid not, sir. Frankly, I find it odd that an older man with no familial connection to an underage boy takes a rather too fond interest in said boy. Do you often meet with your young, male students or is it just me?"
Dumbledore had the expression of a man who had been kneed in the groin. He really did not appreciate what Harry was implying.
"Harry…"
"Another thing, sir, you should address all students by their last names. Why do you insist upon addressing me by my first name? It shows a great lack of professionalism on your part, sir." Before Dumbledore could respond, Harry continued. "If you wish to have a conversation with me in your office that does not pertain to academics, you will need permission from my guardian, sir. I bid you good day."
Dumbledore stared, incredulous, at the figure of Harry Potter proceeding into the Great Hall. The one thing that passed through the Headmaster's mind was What the Hell just happened?!
That evening, as Harry entered the Gryffindor common room, he was approached by the Weasley twins. Both were smiling the way they often did if they were about to do something against the rules.
"Hey, guys," he greeted. "You need to borrow the Map?"
"Actually," George replied, "We were wondering-"
"If you would be interested in a little…hijink we are orchestrating," Fred continued.
Harry looked at the twins' eager faces, grinned, and nodded.
Omake:
Meanwhile, miles away at an old manor house, Lord Richard Acton poured his guest a glass of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.
"I was well acquainted with both your grandfathers, Lord Black," he said. "You are practically a clone of old Arcturus, both in appearance and disposition. Though, you have a bit of Pollux's temper in you."
"Really?" Sirius said with a slight wince.
"It's not a bad thing, young man. You give your family too little credit. Arcturus was a good man; he wouldn't even let your family disinherit you."
"He-He did that?"
"Oh, yes. Your grandfather Pollux and his harpy of a daughter wanted to arrange it so you would meet with an unfortunate 'accident.'"
"What about my father?"
"Oh, Orion just wanted everyone to leave him alone. For years until his death, your father would come by this house and visit my son Charles. I remember the night you ran away. Your father showed up at three-in-the-morning, got sozzled on bourbon, and was heard to exclaim 'why couldn't the lucky little bastard have taken me with him?'"
"Wow," Sirius said with slightly teary eyes, "didn't know the old man cared so much."
"Oh, he cared about you, there's no doubt about that. It's just your mother he couldn't stand. Whenever he came by our house, the first thing he would say was 'haven't seen my wife, have you?' and when we said 'no' he would reply 'oh, thank God for that.'"
The two men chuckled.
"Oh, Charles gave me a copy of a memory of one of his visits to your house after you had left. Care to see?"
"Sure."
Lord Acton led Sirius over to an old pensieve and deposited a memory.
"After you," he said.
It wasn't too hard to recognize the glowering figure of the aged Orion Black seated across from his banshee of a wife. In-between the two of them was Charles Acton who looked perfectly at-ease.
"There's Bellatrix, she's my brother's eldest," Walburga said, "She has a respectable job at the Ministry and is married to a decent pure-blood boy named Rodolphus Lestrange."
"Rodolphus…who used to be a hairdresser?" Charles asked.
"Yes, that's right. I think he's a splendid young man. Mind you, my husband doesn't; he thinks he's a bit, uh, thinks he's a bit flash."
"I hate him, I hate his guts," Orion growled out.
"Of course, they come down on most weekends, so you'll be able to meet them then."
"I'd love to," Charles said in a slight monotone. "Hairdressing sounds most interesting."
"Oh, yes, and very important, too. If you don't take care of your scalp, you get Spattergroit."
Sirius shook his head in disbelief. He knew his mum was nuts, but clearly she had just gone right off-the-handle after he left.
"Then there's our son, Regulus, he's our youngest. Mind you, he's a bit of a problem…at least my husband thinks so, anyway."
"Nasty little piece of work he is," Orion grumbled. "I hate him."
"Mind you, the one we don't hear much about nowadays is Narcissa. She's my brother's youngest. She married Lucius Malfoy, a respectable member of the community and a very influential figure at the Ministry. They live in Wiltshire. They have a lovely little boy, Draco, who's going to be a year old in a few months. Draco looks absolutely the spitting-image of his father. Do you want to see a photo?"
"Oh, yes, please," said Charles.
"All right."
Walburga stood up and went inside to find the afore-mentioned photograph.
"A right little bastard," Orion snarled once his wife had gone. "I hate him. He's got eyes like a little pig's; just like his mother. She's a disaster. Really horrible-looking person, she is. I thought that one would stay on the shelf; but along comes this stupid Malfoy git. He's a real creepy little bastard, he is. I hate him. At least Andromeda and Sirius managed to get out while they still could. If one more member of this family married another snotty, little bastard or joined up with that Voldemort git, I don't know what I'd do. Really horrible person that Voldemort bastard is. I hate him. Of course, Wally won't hear a word against him. Just wish I could get out of this rotten hell-hole."
"This is a nice area," Charles said, changing the subject.
"It's like a bloody graveyard. I hate it."
"It's handy for the shops and convenient for the west end."
"If you like going to the west end; I think it's a stinking dump."
