Granger, we need to talk
Chapter 10 (Labeled as Ch 8.1 )
All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling
As I am not making money off her,
she allows me to occasionally play in her sandbox.
This chapter is what you get when an inexperienced writer writes himself into multiple corners.
It is called the "Recapitulation and Information Dump Chapter" in an attempt to fill in the skipped over plot holes and re-tie the skeins of the story into a coherent thread.
I have the feeling that more chapters like this are in my future.
Traveling frantic, all directions blind
July 29, 1998
The first three weeks of Harry feeling like a magical house-elf-in-training had passed.
The next three weeks were more of the same. It was just that house elves were happiest when frantically busy. Harry was not a happy house elf.
Frantically busy?
Hell, yes.
Happy?
No.
Do house elves have birthdays?
Harry wondered if anyone in the tent would be able to stay awake Friday night for his birthday.
The sand to stonework walls had proceeded apace. The work was a mix of boring and magically and physically tiring. The repetition of all the wand movements and spells could lull them into making mistakes. And to survivors of the Hogwarts battle, the thunder of a collapsing wall blocks could send older-than-their-years teenagers diving for cover with wands in hand. A repeat or two of that led to . . . heated finger pointing and some knock-down, drag-out, wands-pulled, hexes flying, contentious discussions, (That's what all the witches involved swore the affrays had been. Just discussions. Honest. After all, Madam Pomfrey had not been needed for any bodily repairs.) the teams had shaken down into smooth operation.
Even after three weeks, the other four guys still managed to rib Harry for having an attack of the stupids when he tried to stop a "discussion" between Sophie Roper and Padma Patil. They thought it had been hilarious how his stunned body had sprouted antlers during his stupefied collapse to the floor of the new hall leading to the Female Dormitory Rooms.
Outside of the ribbing, Harry was most disappointed he had missed the immediate "protect Harry mode" Hermione had exploded into. Everyone else thought the stylish, ichor dripping tentacles that had replaced the two girls legs had been fetching.
And often reminded them so.
Harry was of two minds about Ron and the re-building of the quidditch pitch.
Ron was working hard the days when someone else was able to work at the joke shop. He had worked to get some help from the other House Quidditch teams. And most days he had a helper or two from the pool of players or even just fans.
Hermione, Padma and of all people, Greengrass and Davis, had figured how use the Diffindo Severing Charm to section off the bad soil areas from the good grass nearby. The group then developed a new cross between a Doffodio and a Vanishing Spell to remove the useless burned soil.
Hermione had anticipated the next problem of how to build the stands. She had spent some of those bullied-from-Harry galleons to get a set of actual building plans for the spectator stands.
(Wizarding architects existed. Who knew?)
Ron had managed to get some Quidditch fans and other odds n' sods out to the pitch for the general labor work. They could perform the Accio charm to separate the old iron fittings from the charcoal, but he needed the Charms experts to do the separation cutting. And his groups were good enough to Doffodio and Vanish the old burned dirt and levitate the burned stands charcoal/dragon dung mixture into place.
He was then persuaded to send scavenging groups into the forests for miles around to gather twigs and branches that were then bound together to be transfigured into heavy timber baulks that with goblin ironmongery, could support six story spectator towers.
The last spells to transfigure the bundled twigs into great timber supports were strictly the work of The Magnificent Seven. The others were simply not as powerful as McGonagall's handpicked group. Having a bed turn back into a broken chair would probably not be dangerous and perhaps even funny.
Having a support for a six story spectator tower collapse would be disaster that not even Goblin ironmongery would help.
Harry had a problem with the Quidditch spectator stands work. He was beginning to look at it as just another call on their time and magic that was not being used on the dormitory. He had brought this up to Hermione, expecting her to be sympathetic to his concerns about getting the dormitory finished.
Wrong.
She had virtually dragged him out of the castle by his ear before tearing a strip off him for being a really bad friend and she had even called him a horrid person.
As a shocked, stuttering Harry tried to defend himself and explain to her that he was worried about finishing their work, she shouted right over him.
"Harry James Potter, you better lose that `what I am doing is more important than what you are doing' attitude right bloody now! Ron has been given a job that is very important in the Hogwarts scheme of things." She ranted on, "YOUR friend, is busting his arse trying to perform the near impossible. Your friends biggest problem is not his courage or his heart. It's his fear of failure because he knows he needs help, and the people that could help him are telling him they are too damn busy to help him out. He does not need us to bail him out, he needs us to help him out, damn it!"
"Harry, have you given any thought what succeeding in this will do for Ron? No more will his brothers outshine him. For decades he will be known as the man who rebuilt the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch from ruin. I will bet his jealousy and fear of being only thought of as Harry Potters sidekick will blow away forever. You had better realize that this is the biggest and best opportunity you will ever have to do something tremendous for your best friend!"
"So quit whinging about how stressed and busy you are. Suck it up and start performing like a real friend."
And with that, Hermione stormed off leaving a shocked Harry to ponder another set of new problems associated with his adulthood.
Oooooo vvvvvv oooooO
Harry was also still debating whether to be upset or understanding when two weeks ago, in the middle of the month, McGonagall had requested Harry and Hermione stay after working for a meeting in her office. Having climbed the still non-rotating circular stairs, the pair settled into chairs before the Headmistress' desk. It was quite differently decorated compared to the trinket clutter that Dumbledore had during his tenure. More pictures in frames, fewer whirring gizmos and a small vase of white lilies on the left corner of the desk were the obvious changes.
"Biscuits? Tea?" she offered.
The two accepted and were soon nibbling and sipping in as normal way as possible when seated in front of a headmistress' desk.
"Miss Granger, Lord Potter," she began. "We have a unique situation at Hogwarts this coming school year. And the unique challenges will have to be met with unique solutions."
Her face became quite stern as she suddenly concentrated on Hermione.
"Miss Granger, ever since you were a First Year student here, it has been blindingly obvious that you were going to be named as Head Girl in your Seventh Year. You have exemplified every trait we look for in a Head Girl. Excellent grades, a willingness to help others, even" she flicked a quick glance at Harry, "when the dunderhead receiving the help did not appreciate it."
"Ouch," winced Harry. "Channeling Snape. That one hurt. Been true sometimes, but it still hurts."
"Why you were never given a For Services Rendered to the School Award for your Second Year solving that a basilisk was roaming our halls is beyond me." With the last she turned a withering gaze over her shoulder at the supposedly sleeping portrait of Albus Dumbledore that hung on her office wall.
When she returned her eyes back to Hermione, they had a look of sadness to them.
"I am so very sorry that I cannot in good conscience give you your dream, Hermione. If I made you Head Girl, what do I do with the true Seventh Years who may have had the same dream? As I said, unique circumstances. I will not deprive Verbena Fencroft of her opportunity that she has strived for with just as much drive as you did."
During the pause of McGonagall's words, Hermione fought to keep tears from falling. Holding tight to that vision had sometimes been the only thing that had kept her sane during the more depressing times. The fanciful picture in her mind of making sure she flashed her gleaming Head Girl Badge in Malfoy's face, often and at close range, had been her only positive thinking for weeks during sixth year.
"However, I have an alternative for your CV. (1) And this alternative means you will not be as separated from your friends as the Head Girl position would make you."
Hermione was trying hard for stoicism in the face of what she figured would be a very small bandage on her dreams fatally bleeding wound.
McGonagall's gaze switched over to Harry and then back. "If you can pass enough of the seventh year NEWT tests in August, I am offering you and Lord Potter to be Co-Heads of House for the Eighth Years. (2) This offer includes Assistant Professor standing and the opportunity to teach at least one class, and I am hoping for two classes, by each of you."
As she finished speaking, she leaned back in her chair watching the stunned young man and woman before her. She could tell that Hermione was beginning to process and assess the Erumpent Horn Fluid flask (3) that had dropped in her lap, and Harry's brain was still in its automatic denial of any special treatment because he was not good enough mode.
Almost half a minute flew by as they sorted through the offer. Surprisingly, it was Harry who responded first. He had not been caught off-balance mourning the loss of a seven year dream.
"Headmistress, I understand the offer to Hermione. She's brilliant and motivated and kind. She is someone who will make a class follow her into learning stuff."
"Why me? Neville Longbottom was the leader of the DA last year. He was a man who worked hard to protect the weak and vulnerable from the Carrow's and their junior torturers. He should be the man honored with this position."
Harry was taking a breath to continue his rant when McGonagall interrupted.
"Lord Potter. I talked to Lord Longbottom two hours ago, seeking his advice on this subject. He told me that while he would very much like to teach an advanced class in Herbology, he would decline the Head of House role. He said that one year of being responsible for the lives of his fellow friends and students was all he could take. He finished his refusal with this exact quote."
"I will follow Harry into the Fires of Hades if he asks me. I cannot ask Harry to follow me."
McGonagall's calm, measured recitation left Harry speechless. Nev, the man who had followed Harry into the near disaster at the Department of Mysteries fifth year. Nev, who had the bravery to stand up to Voldemort in the courtyard until he was bound and set on fire, and then had the presence of mind to kill that sodding snake with the Sword of Gryffindor. That man said he would still follow Harry?
As of now, it was official. Harry figured Neville Longbottom was insane.
Yet, he looked so normal.
"Lord Potter. I am not asking you to lead a desperate defense of the school from a pack of sadistic, dark magic flinging maniacs. I am asking you and Miss Granger to keep semi-order in a group of people who have spent a year defying authority and running what was essentially guerilla warfare against an invader."
"Miss Weasley and the pair of you have convinced me there will be . . . issues."
Harry snorted.
Issues?
More like nightmares, questionable sanity, alcoholism, potions abuse and a host of other problems he hadn't even thought of yet. He was suddenly hard put not to chuckle. It was an epiphany for Harry. McGonagall was an academic, a teacher. She thought this offer was an honour.
Harry was figuring the offer was a quick road to hell paved with McGonagall's good intentions.
With the three of them covering each others back, maybe, just maybe, they could handle most of the problems.
The problems they couldn't?
Well, that's what older, supposedly wiser teachers were for. Harry snorted as he thought the last. His record of the teachers supporting him during his years at Hogwarts was spotty at best. His next thought had him shuddering at how the mob of DA veterans would react to having some old ex-auror with no sense of humour residing in that Head of House suite on the plans.
Hermione's brain had finally re-engaged at the words "defying authority." A lot of nights in the Fluffy room tent, the after dinner talk, fueled by beer and butterbeer, had become a re-telling of those desperate days a year ago that led to the reforming of Dumbledore's Army. The early attempts at trying to shield the younger students from the cruel whims of the Carrow's and those they recruited to help with their torture. The later plucking of the targeted children from the public halls of the castle and hiding them in the Room of Requirement. The raid on the Headmaster's office to steal the fake Sword of Gryffindor that led to the capture of Neville, Ginny and Luna. And the savage, bloody public punishment the Carrow's had exacted from them.
The nights when Neville was not there, the veterans would tell of him training the ex-students for war following the methods Harry had used in fifth year. And of the desperate plans they thought up to try to get the young ones free from the castle before Voldemort came for them and killed them all. How they had become refugees from their school in the Room of Requirement, short of food, short of hope, but not short of will. (4)
"Headmistress," Hermione said. "Instead of looking at the returning veterans as a decorum problem, have you considered using them as a resource? Seamus Finnigan, Ernie McMillan, Susan Bones and Ginny Weasley were Neville's top lieutenants during the siege of the Room of Requirements. I have a pretty good idea of what you plan for Ginny Weasley. But, have you made any plans to honor the others here at the school? Have you considered making them Eighth Year prefects? It would help spread the responsibility and time loads among more NEWT students giving everyone more study time. And it might help the fears of the younger students to realize that those who protected them once were patrolling to keep them safe again."
The stern visage McGonagall had adopted to give Hermione the bad news about the Head Girl position dropped as fast as her jaw did. Again, she had no detailed knowledge of how Dumbledore's Army had operated in the castle last year. Oh, she had gotten some idea from Aberforth Dumbledore in passing. But during last year, any talks between teachers had been brief and quiet to avoid the ever present Death Eaters.
She now realized that none of the teachers had mentioned talking to the veterans of the intra-Hogwarts struggle. Now that Miss Granger had filled in some blank spots in her knowledge of last year, she was considering how to use the information as she had suggested.
"Thank you for your thoughts, Miss Granger. I shall consider your ideas closely."
"Now, I understand I have dropped this offer on you two suddenly, but I need your answer tomorrow."
Harry and Hermione looked at each other as they rose to leave.
Her voice halted them just before the doorway.
"Lord Potter, Miss Granger, as part of my effort to get you to agree, I will leave you with this thought. Who put you in charge of the Eighth Year dormitory work?"
The pair stopped in their tracks as they stared at the Headmistress.
Harry spoke in a puzzled tone without thinking. "Why, you did."
Hermione said nothing as she was replaying every conversation with McGonagall back through her memory.
"No, Lord Potter, I did not. And I never told any of the others you were in charge. The two of you just decided where you were going to lead them, and then you convinced them to follow along."
"We're going to tell her Yes, aren't we," said Harry as they were returning to Fluffy's room and the tent.
"Yes, yes we are," answered Hermione lifting her chin and starting to stride ahead looking determined for the first time since arriving at McGonagall's office. ""It was only a dream I had that was killed today. That which does not kill us, makes us stronger."
"Of course, the first time I see Verbena Fencroft with that Head Girl badge pinned to her robes, please restrain me when I pull my wand to hex her into the next century."
Oooooo vvvvvv oooooO
Coincidently, that night had been the second time Harry's Snuggle Witch was Daphne Greengrass. She had been waiting for her next turn with Slytherin concealed excitement. She was bored with the repetitive work. And Grangers bossy attitude about Harry and her control of his sleeping arrangements, had frankly pissed her off.
She also was not stupid. Half an hour's conversation with the Ravenclaw girls where she had flat out asked about this Marietta Edgecombe person had been scarily enlightening. According to the gossip, a curse written in pustules across the girls forehead had taken her family weeks and a thousand galleons to get the curse removed over the summer between fifth and sixth year.
In spite of herself, Daphne was impressed. Granger had performed magic that powerful as a fifth year.
What spells had she learned in three more years, and how much more powerful was she? This situation called for Slytherin cunning, not Gryffindor rashness.
It had taken several nights plotting behind the drapes of her bed with Tracey, but the plan they had formulated seemed as foolproof as their cunning could make it. After all, she was now free to find a husband on her own. The marriage contract that the Death Eaters had coerced from her father to the Flint family had been nullified by the death of Marcus Flint. And Daphne thanked her gods every day that his death had happened.
Daphne actually did not believe what she planned would hook Lord Harry Potter for her, but trolling some tasty bait in front of him could not hurt.
And it should be fun.
Harry was not asleep as she crawled into his bed in her sex-less flannel pajamas dragging her nights blanket through the four-posters drapes.
"Good evening Potter."
"Good evening Greengrass"
Harry decided to enjoy the show the beautiful blonde was putting on as she wriggled her way across the bed. Despite the flannel coverage of her chest, Harry decided from the way the fabric was moving around, Greengrass was not wearing a bra. He also could not pin down why he felt she was prolonging her hands and knees trek across his covers and making such a production of getting her blanket spread just so. The part where she turned away from him to smooth out the foot of her blanket had drawn her pajamas taut across her bottom before she turned around to wiggle under her blanket. She ended up by propping her cheek on her hand so she was looking down at with those big blue innocent eyes at Harry.
"So, anything you can talk about from your meeting with McGonagall?" Daphne figured that was a nice, safe opening. One of the tidbits she had learned during the evenings of talk in the tent was that asking Potter or Granger about any of the great adventures of the Golden Trio was to run into a stone wall. She was trying to find if he had any interests besides Quidditch, teen age girls and the work they were doing in the castle. After all, getting to know the habits of her prey had been ingrained into her starting very young.
After peering into those Oh-so-innocent eyes, Harry decided that a slightly censored account of the meeting would do no harm. He told her about McGonagall's concerns about the possible lack of decorum and other "attitudes" the veterans might be carrying about teacher authority. And about Hermione talking to her about using the maturity of the Eights and veterans to help everyone feel safer. The Assistant Professor-ships/Co-Head of House offer would remain a secret a while longer.
He finished by saying, "Oh yeah. I learned Lord Neville Longbottom is totally insane and might be teaching an advanced Herbology course this year."
Daphne's polite interest mask slipped a bit into slight shock that Potter would say such a thing about his friend. Harry smirked slightly and extinguished the lights with his wand. Daphne was left to creep over to where she could lay her head on his shoulder.
"Goodnight, Greengrass."
The reply was a sultry, "Goodnight, Potter," with an extra wiggle that pressed an uncontained breast into his ribs. If Harry could have seen the evil grin on her face, he would have had a harder time going to sleep that night.
Harry, as usual, had woken up before his Snuggle Witch. This morning he just lay on his back, enjoying the warmth of the beautiful young woman who was draped across him up and down the right side of his body. Her head was on his shoulder with her right arm across his chest. One leg had migrated across his and was now placed between both of his. Normally he would have been embarrassed by his physical reaction to the pressure her leg was having on his manhood.
But not that morning. After the night's fracas on his four poster, Harry was surprised he had fallen asleep again, or that Greengrass was still with him.
It had been bad.
The taunting, insane-eyed, lank haired bitch had just hit Sirius with a curse that was hurling him in slow motion into the Veil of Death, and Harry was struggling against a gleefully cackling someone-not-Remus who held him while he tried and tried to get to Sirius before he disappeared.
Harry was awoken by a weight holding him down and pleading with him to wake up. Bellatrix disappeared from the replay in his mind just as a flailing arm caught someone across the head. Which elicited a loud "Oww! Bloody hell Potter, that hurt!" right in his ear. That exclamation froze him long enough for his brain to remember where he was and who had just swore at him.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to!" Harry's recent thin veneer of suave deserted him at the moment. "Are you alright?" he babbled, snatching up his wand and generating a Lumos spell so bright, it caused both teens to squint their eyes shut.
"Potter, stop! Just stop for a moment before you hurt something else!" snarled the blonde witch holding her cheek with one hand whilst grabbing his wand arm with the other hand.
Harry froze again, deciding Greengrass was zooming past the mad-at-him-stage, and was rapidly approaching totally-enraged-at-him territory.
As the moments passed, Harry realized that the way Greengrass was panting was causing her body to rub against him in interesting manner. Yep, that was definitely a breast with a hard nipple against his chest, and her crotch was rubbing against his hip. Harry was afraid to breath because he did not want those pleasant frictions to go away.
"Don't say anything, Potter," she said as her breathing evened out. "Don't move anything. Let's just . . whatever."
Daphne Greengrass at a loss for words. And she didn't try to cover her lack with her trademark Ice Queen mask. THAT had to be a first.
"Put your wand away. Lie still and let's try to not disturb the other." Putting her words into action she rolled onto her side and put her back against Harry. "Maybe we can salvage some sleep."
And to Harry' surprise he had. This pleasant thought was lazing through his head and helping his calm to his physical reactions to her presence. As his sleepy gaze wandered over her cloud of beautiful blonde hair up close, now that he was really examining them, he could see the individual hairs ranged from almost silver to deep gold in colour. His brain at first didn't connect that he was also seeing a bare shoulder. With a sexy, very thin black strap on it.
Now that got his attention. What else might be bare leapt into his brain like a whacked bludger.
"Oh no. No, no, no." Thoughts of what Hermione had told him about how she had jinxed his bed ricocheted around his skull. If Greengrass woke up with her face covered in spurting pustules, he didn't know what he would do.
"Greengrass, please wake up. Uh, Daphne could you wake up? Please?" Harry was talking in a strangled, barely above whisper, voice.
The object of his distress was trying to block out the noise that was disturbing her. It was interfering with the wonderful dream she was having. The dark dragon that had kept her prisoner was still leaking blood around the great lance buried in its chest. Her Knight was gazing at her with romantic longing in his radiant green eyes. His lips were parting to declare his eternal love for her. And something had just interrupted his declaration. Sod it all. This bed was really comfortable and she was having a great dream.
She wriggled, trying to burrow deeper into her pillow, attempting to re-capture that marvelous dream.
Except the pillow did not fluff right. And made noise. AND it made the noise that had ruined her dream. Daphne raised herself off the shoulder she had been lying upon and gave Harry Potter a slit-eyed glare that should have turned his innards to quivering jelly.
Harry, for his part, skootched away from contact with her.
"Oh, Merlin. I didn't think you were going to wake up."
"What in flaming hades is your problem Potter," she ground out.
""Your not . . I mean you're not covered the way you should be," a stuttering Harry squeaked out.
The elements of her plan flowed back into Daphne's mind.
First, seeming surprised was required. She sat up abruptly. "What do you mean not covered?"
As Harry stared, he decided covered-not covered was a flexible term. The black, silky, very, very low cut camisole was black, but it was not sheer nor was it opaque. And it left very little to Harry's imagination. He could see most of her breasts, but not see her nipples. He could see their outline and even the outline of her aureoles just below where the thin straps joined the body of the camisole. Yet he could not see them through the material. What the hell was that bloody thing made of?
He jerked his eyes up to her face, only to see her looking down at herself.
"Oh, I guess the transfiguration wore off," he heard her oh-so innocent voice proclaim. "Just a moment."
As Greengrass reached under her blanket for her wand, Harry was treated to a fascinating display of mammalian female pulchritude as she wobbled and jiggled.
Part of him wanted one of those damned straps to fall down, exposing her tit completely, the other part knew that act would trigger Hermione's jinx.
As Greengrass pointed her wand at herself, Harry closed his eyes. If she bungled the spell, he did not want to trigger the jinx.
Three seconds later, he heard Daphne say he could open his eyes. He was greeted with the sight of a flannel covered to the neck girl with a teasing smirk on her face.
"Awfully sorry about that," she declared. "I must have under powered the spell last night. Well, it has been an instructive night here in the Potter class bed, but it's time I was going. Ta-ta, Harry."
And with that she wriggled her way out of his four poster curtains and left the bedroom.
Hermione looked up from the book she was reading as Greengrass strolled across the sitting room and into her bedroom. She made a mental note to herself to ask Harry why the gorgeous ex-Sytherin was wearing a huge happy smirk so early in the day.
Oooooo vvvvvv oooooO
The meetings regarding his soon to be public role in the Wizenmagot with Andromeda and Narcissa Black were also eating away at his time. He was meeting at least one day a week with the Head of Family of someone who had been either an old Potter House ally, in the DA or the Order of the Phoenix.
If the family had a seat on the Wizengamot, all the better. It depended on the known politics or prejudices of the Lord or Head as to who else attended the meeting. Sometimes it was both witches and Hermione, sometimes both or only one of the sisters. Progress was slowly being made in that area of politics and influence brokering.
Harry hated it.
Some of the Lords caught on quickly and became supportive with minimal bargaining or bartering for their support. Some, mostly those who had lost someone who had been a member of the Order, were usually suspicious about Harry's motives as he was seen as having been a rabid Dumbledore supporter.
The worst were the social climbing Heads of a school mate that Harry liked and figured would join the continuing fight. Sitting politely, listening to the paternalistic maunderings disguised as advice to a young, ignorant parvenu was driving him spare. And the ones with marriage age daughters were the worst.
No, that was wrong. The worst was if Narcissa was one of his companions for the meeting. Any mistake in etiquette he made was covered in excruciating detail during his next lesson at Grimmauld Place.
No. Wrong again. Worst was the literally thousands of offered marriage contracts. By now, Harry was positive he had been offered every single witch in the country to be his wife. All his mail now was routed through Gringotts where it was checked for jinxes, hexes, curses or poison. And once again etiquette demanded that if the family making the offer was of sufficient standing in the wizarding world, he had to quill a formal response back.
He had felt a little hurt when Hermione told him she could not help as the writing had to be his. Halberdmaster had given him a partial out by showing him how to Geminio a parchment three or four times with the body of the letter already written. Then he only had to add the formal heading to the Family, his signature and address the envelope. That helped some.
Harry's largest problem was that he felt that he was running out of time. Even his upcoming birthday on Friday, had a somehow rushed, squeezed into the time available, feel to it. Last year Hermione had told him about some Muggle general who about two centuries ago had said. "Ask of me anything except for more time." (5)
That quote was becoming Harry's new boggart form.
A/N
Oh, hamster muse, where art thou? I need some inspiration.
One Curiculum Vitea.British term. Americans would use `resume.'
Two Really thought this was an original idea when I first outlined this chapter months ago.
Then read a story by canoncansodoff that had the same idea. A decade ago.
Held a small pity party, then wrote on.
Three An American would say "bombshell." An Erumpent horn is what blew up Luna's
House in Deathly Hallows.
Four A lot of how I think, and therefor write, about Hogwarts during the Carrow's reign comes from a story I read years ago. Called "Dumbledore's Army: Year of Darkness"
IMO, Very gory, very nihilistic, almost everyone dies in the end, type of work.
I will not re-read it.
Five An inaccurate rendition of the quote, but Harry did not remember it correctly.