Good news is, I've found my copy of OOTP, so the fic is back on schedule!
Bad news is, my sisters are hogging the blasted thing again, good grief.
Oh well, on with the show!
Yuletide Cheer.
Needless to say, Hagrid took Vergil's advice regarding Umbridge to heart, at least more than Hermione's warnings regarding his more dangerous menagerie. Every evening that weekend saw the Blue-Clad professor walking out of Hagrid's hut, long after curfew had been set, to coach the Half-Giant on Umbridge's methods and mannerisms, as he'd gathered from the various professors with the exception of Binns and Snape. The former because, as a ghost, Umbridge could do little to bother the specter, and the latter because rumors had spread regarding the one time Umbridge had sat through the Potions Master's class.
As it turned out, when Monday, and Hagrid's official return to the teaching position rolled round, the trio had been relieved that, rather than something particularly dangerous, like they'd been expecting, Hagrid had introduced the class to the enigmatic, if surprisingly docile Thestral Herd that inhabited the Hogwarts forest.
He was just going into an explanation on how the rumors regarding Thestral and misfortune were simply that, rumors, when Harry caught sight of Umbridge slipping her way towards the back of the class, her smile seeming to grow more triumphant as she eyed the clearing, clearly pleased at Vergil's absence.
Her expression swiftly changed over the course of the lesson, as Hagrid single-handedly shut down her attempts at sabotage with ease that left even Malfoy flummoxed.
When the High Inquisitor had first announced her appearance, interrupting Hagrid's explanation as to WHY Thestrals couldn't be seen save by those that had seen death, with her usual deliberate cough, the half-giant had been courteous and accommodating, but otherwise ignored the woman in favor of continuing his lecture on the spectral horses.
Umbridge, of course, kept trying to make Hagrid look bad, deliberately appearing hard of hearing or asking questions that seemed designed to fluster, to which Hagrid countered by merely repeating his last sentence at a level even Malfoy would be hard pressed to deny understanding, or casually pointing out a flaw in her question and posing it to the class, which more often than not garnered an extra five or ten points for Gryffindor on behalf of Hermione.
Harry actually fought the urge to smile as he watched Umbridge's attempts fail, idly wondering just what Professor Vergil had said to coach the normally coarse groundskeeper, as Hagrid had never been known for his wits. Oh the Groundskeeper was far from stupid, if anything he knew more about the various nasties of the world than possibly even Newt Scamander himself, but Harry would never have asked the giant to represent him in a court…maybe as a bailiff.
Umbridge had, at one point, attempted to trip Hagrid up by pointing out that the Ministry considered Thestrals dangerous. Hagrid had happily pulled out a certificate, signed by the Head of Magical Creatures department, that listed him as a fully qualified tamer of magical beasts, something that had stunned Harry as much as Umbridge, who could only gape at it in disbelief as Hagrid went on to explain the proper method for approaching the invisible steeds.
Apparently, while Thestrals COULD prove dangerous if provoked, they were no more so than their distant cousins, such as the winged horses that the Beaxbatons students had arrived with last year, or even regular horses muggles were used to. The only difference was that Thestrals ate meat, but were scavengers rather than hunters, preferring to pick up the scraps of a hunter's meal than to hunt one themselves.
Umbridge had attempted to change tactics by questioning the students, deliberately heading towards the Slytherins, who looked eager at the prospect of discrediting the Half-Giant, when the bell rang, signaling the end of the lesson, one of the shyer Thestrals promptly knocking Umbridge off her feet and into a rather foul smelling puddle of muck.
"Oh thah's too bad…" Hagrid muttered, shaking his head in apparent sympathy as the irate High Inquisitor stumbled to her feet "Thestral Manure's pretty valuable for raising plants you know, but it's so hard the find on account of it being, well, invisible."
Umbridge had stormed off with her head held high, the Slytherins avoiding her like the plague even if she came near them, hands covering their mouths, as the Gryffindors fought to keep from laughing aloud.
Needless to say, Vergil had a most amusing read as Pollux brought him Umbridge's latest missive to Fudge, and made a note to send the Groundskeeper a little token of his appreciation later. After all, it took some patience to train a Thestral to relive themself on command.
December arrived with a flurry of falling snow that was matched only by the proverbial avalanche of homework the Professor's lumped on the Fifth-years and upwards. Some, like Professor McGonagal's traditional three foot Transfiguration essay, were already being shuffled into the mental 'in-tray' of the students, while others, such as Hagrid's assignment to list the 'most interesting beast' and it's 'unique traits', and Vergil's essay on the 'Most Effective Means of Surviving an Inferri Infestation', were already being glossed over by anyone that wasn't a Slytherin.
One of the highlights, in Harry's opinion anyways, was the teen's getting over his jealousy at not being elected prefect, as Ron and Hermione's duties soon grew not only in number, but in difficulty. They were asked to oversee everything and ANYTHING associated with their house. Harry was quite content to sit back and watch the drama unfold, as Ron could be quite verbal in his displeasure.
Surprisingly enough, Harry was actually considering spending the Holidays away from Hogwarts this year. Bad enough that Umbridge was doubtlessly planning to stay and spread her stink, but he'd recently bumped into Cho Chang in the hallways and been startled to find her crying her eyes out, only for her to swear him to secrecy and rush off back to the Ravenclaw common room. Apparently her relationship with Cedric had been a bit more than just a Yule Ball Dance and the knowledge of that fact left the teen feeling uncomfortably empty.
On a happier note, Ron had extended an invitation from the Weasleys, sans Percy of course, to spend Christmas with them. Harry had idly wondered if he could convince them to hold the festivities at Grimmauld Place, as he highly doubted that Dumbledore would approve of Sirius leaving the Order HQ, what with the Ministry still hunting for his head.
A charming distraction from this otherwise morbid thought, was Hermione's sending off a letter to one Victor Krum, international Quidditch player and one of the other Tri-Wizard Tournament Champions that had survived the rigged Tourney. Ron's obvious look of jealousy was surprisingly heartening to the Boy Who Lived, glad to see that hormones weren't just signaling him out to make total prats of themselves.
Of course, the nightmare of Nagini, Voldemort's pet serpent, attacking Arthur Weasley in the middle of the night, quite ruined the boy's mood. The fact it had been done from HARRY'S point of view hadn't helped either.
After a quick trip to Dumbledore's office, followed by a hectic night's sleep at Grimmauld Place, Harry, the Weasleys, Moody and Tonks made their way to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, which was conveniently disguised as a large, old-fashioned, red-bricked department store that, according to one local resident, was never open.
This wasn't strictly true, for the healers of St. Mungo's had sworn to never rest when it came to injuries both magical and mundane, rain or snow, day or night, there was no injury they would not treat, and no patient they would turn away from. They even treated captured Death Eaters, though admittedly not without a team of Aurors with hair triggers keeping the convicts in check.
This meant that Mr. Weasley was in the very best of hands, which Harry felt was well worth a night without sleep and potential mental trauma. Well okay, the latter sucked, but if Ron's dad was safe he could put up with it.
That was until, through the wonder of Fred and George's extendable ears, the group listened in on a conversation between the adults, where Moody unintentionally spilled the beans that Voldemort was peaking around inside Harry's head just as easily, if not easier, than Harry was riding around in the Dark Lord's, and could, if the teen's brief, inexplicable desire to mangle Dumbledore was any sign, be controlling him.
Needless to say, the Boy Who Lived's entire morning was shot to hell by that point, and Phineas Nigellus, one of the former Hogwarts Headmasters and an ancestor of Sirius, passing on an order from Dumbledore via portrait for the teen to stay in Grimmauld Place did NOT improve his mood any.
But rather than throw a tantrum, as he'd have been wont to do in the past, Harry simply stormed up to his room, set his weapon beside the bed, and meditated as Professor Vergil had taught him, his hot, angry breaths slowly lowering until they reached the slow, calming tempo he'd been taught, doubling his efforts on making a decent barrier against mental probing. He wasn't about to give Voldemort a free reign to enter his head any time soon!
He was shaken out of his trance hours later by Ron, who announced that dinner was ready if he wanted any, before vacating the room decidedly sharpish, far too quickly than could be forgiven as the redhead's usual desire to gorge himself. Harry chose not to respond to the summons and instead turned inwards again, his mental image of the walls and grounds of Hogwarts, complete with a decidedly murderous forbidden forest, growing increasingly more tangible with each calming breath.
Surprisingly enough, Harry got his wish, in that Grimmauld Place, formerly the gloomy, ancestral home of the Blacks, Sirius' prison and Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, was soon echoing with the sounds of merriment, as the residents geared up to spend Christmas there.
Sirius was in a stellar mood, running about singing carols at the top of his lungs, his deep baritone oddly soothing despite his lanky black hair and sunken features, whilst hanging up wreathes of tinsel and holly all over the house..
Harry, who had by now retreated to Buckbeak's room, as the Hippogriff had been given lodgings in one of the quieter areas of the manor, only caught the tail ends of his godfather's good cheer. Oh he was happy for the man, after all, spending thirteen years in Azkaban more than entitled Sirius to a little good cheer, more than a little in fact, but the fact was with Ron's alienation, and Harry's own sense of violation, the teen had chosen to hole up in the manor and work on his mental exercises, only ever going down to eat the food Mrs. Weasley had left out for him at night, when he was certain the woman had gone to bed.
Hermione, eternal fusspot and know-it-all that she was, soon put a stop to that.
"Oh stop feeling all misunderstood!" the bossy, but well intentioned prefect ordered sharply, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face "Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the extendable ears…"
"We wanted to talk TO you Harry." Ginny stated, ron's younger sister cutting the boy-who-lived off, even as his face switched into an enraged scowl "but you've been hiding ever since we got back-!"
"I've been meditating." Harry cut in, looking pointedly at Ron, who's eyes widened in understanding, even as his sister and Hermione blinked in confusion "Mental exercises Professor Vergil recommended." He tapped his scar for emphasis "I just needed some peace and quiet to get my thoughts together."
"Think you can give me any tips?" Ginny asked, only to huff as her brother and Harry gaped at her like gormless sheep "Honestly, You-Know-Who's already possessed me once, don't you think I'd like to prevent that happening again?"
"Sounds like a good idea." Hermione agreed, her eyes filled with intrigue as she nodded in understanding "Who's to say that Lucius Malfoy doesn't have other items that belonged to Riddle? Ginny escaped by the hair of her teeth, but who's to say it won't happen again?"
"For one thing I don't think Malfoy's dad is as big a ponce as his son to try the same thing again." Harry stated with a mocking smirk, earning a snort from the two Weasleys, who suspected the apple didn't fall to far from the tree "For another, if he DID have more of Voldemort's old school things, why would he wait till NOW to pawn them off? For all we know Voldemort left copies of himself in every textbook he ever used."
"And considering the sheer amount of books a Hogwarts student uses during the course of their education…" Hermione muttered, her face turning quite grim at the very thought "You're right, I can't see Lucius Malfoy being so stupid to repeatedly pawn off the Dark Lord's old things…at least not the same way he did the diary."
"Can you imagine if the git had cursed his old underpants?" Ron opined suddenly, earning looks of exasperated disgust from the others "What? Think about it, there are hundreds of cursed books out there, who'd suspect a pair of woolly long-johns?"
"Just because Fred and George are complete and utter prats doesn't mean you can pass off their hexing your underwear." Ginny shot back teasingly, earning sniggers from the others as her brother flushed "Now c'mon, you can tell us about those mental exercises later, I think we'd better rescue Sirius before mum tries to hex him, he's been singing like that for hours."
"God Rest, Ye Merry Hippogriffs-!"
After rescuing his godfather from the wrath of Mrs. Weasley, a task that proved more arduous than any time Harry had faced off against the forces of Voldemort, mainly because Sirius was deliberately provoking the woman, the group settled into the Christmas spirit, the halls of Grimmauld Place echoing with the sounds of merriment that would've had Sirius' ancestors rolling in their graves, much to the last Black's glee. His mother certainly had a lot to say, but through the wonders of muggle paperclips, the heavy curtain over her portrait was soon rendered relatively silent for the duration, though Sirius had to order Kreacher, the Black's twisted house elf, not to come within ten feet of the curtains after he caught the little bugger trying to remove them.
Needless to say, when Harry awoke on Christmas morn, it was to find the foot of his bed littered with a veritable stack of presents, an overly eager Ron already rummaging through his own, admittedly larger, pile.
"Thanks for the broom compass mate." The redhead offered, a smile on his face as he held up the present in question "Better than Hermione's at any rate, she got me a homework planner of all things…"
Harry would have cautioned the redhead to be thankful but was idly placing his OWN planner to the side, vowing to never write a word in the loud, obnoxious thing if he could help it. ONE Hermione was more than enough.
His gifts from Sirius and Lupin proved far more appealing, a set of books entitled 'Practical Defensive Magic & its Use Against the Dark Arts', which boasted not only detailed instructions on a number of counter-curses, hexes, and overall wizardry, but included moving color illustrations of how to perform them, something the stale, stagnate books at Hogwarts' library lacked.
Hagrid had sent the youth a furry brown wallet with fangs, presumably an anti-theft device, and Harry would have normally put this aside with Hermione's gift were it not for a small side note at the bottom of the card, instructing him to stroke the wallet like a cat to earn it's favor. Apparently Professor Vergil had caught wind of the gift and convinced Hagrid, who could forget the silliest of things sometimes, to send the instructions with the gift. Harry made a mental note to have a gift ready for the Defense Professor when he returned. He loved Hagrid to no end, but the groundskeeper just couldn't understand that most people's definition of 'Cute & Furry' didn't include razor sharp fangs and claws that could cleave through trees.
Dressed in his traditional Christmas jumper from Mr. & Mrs. Weasley and munching away at a pie, the Boy Who Lived was idly trying to interpret Dobby's hand-made painting, his model Firebolt from Tonks zooming around his desk, when Fred and George apparated in at the foot of his bed, looking grim. Apparently Percy, the estranged son and eternal prick of the Weasley family, had returned his Christmas jumper without so much as a card. The twins had tried cheering their mother up in their usual fashion, only to forget that a mother's love outshone all wrongdoings, and that their slandering of their older brother just heightened her sorrow.
"Lupin took over." George admitted, helping himself to one of Harry's chocolate frog and sitting down on the foot of the bed, his features unreadable "Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast I reckon."
"Now what's this we hear about you learning Occlumency?" Fred asked, quirking an eyebrow at Harry's look of confusion "You know? Shielding your mind and all that? That's not even covered in theory until seventh year."
"And by then you'll be up to your ears in N.E.W.T preparations." George agreed, his grin turning particularly vindictive as he waggled his eyebrows at Ron, who was looking particularly Nervous, you think you had it bad with O.W.L tests? Sixth year and up is all preparation for N.E.W.T.S."
"Professor Vergil recommended I learn them when I told him about my scar." Harry admitted, earning a slight flinch from all three Weasleys as their eyes flicked to the infamous lightning bolt "He said it would be better than just sitting if the connection works both ways…which it DOES apparently."
"Any luck?" George asked, looking over at his friend and silent partner, though admittedly nobody knew that Harry had supplied the funding for 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes', the twins future joke shop. Nor would they if Harry's threat of hexing the duo held any merrit.
"I thought I was doing fine until the dream the other night." Harry muttered, frowning slightly as the Weasley's flinched again "On the one hand I'm glad we could warn Dumbledore, but on the other, the fact I was riding around in Voldemort's snake…"
"Gimme dreams of hot birds and galleons any day." Fred agreed, earning a snort of laughter from the others as Harry chucked his homework planner at the older teen, the group making their way down the stairs once Harry and Ron were dressed.
After a hearty, traditional Weasley gut-bursting lunch, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione set off to visit Mr. Weasley at St. Mungo's, this time escorted by Moody and Lupin, pulling up at the hospital in a car that Harry suspected had been obtained through less than legal channels, after all it had been brought to them by Mundungus Fletcher.
Though Harry would've quite gladly stayed in the fenced vehicle if it meant he could escape the row that followed when Mount Molly erupted when the matriarch learned her husband had been messing around with Muggle remedies, namely stitches, which had apparently made his condition, if not worse, then nowhere near better. For one thing he was likely to be rendered deaf from his spouse's screams.
Enjoying a slight chuckle at Ron's expense, as the redhead defended his freckles from the misguided opinion of one of the St. Mungo's paintings, the group continued onwards to the fifth floor Tea room, only to be sidetracked on the fourth floor, SPELL DAMAGE, by inadvertently bumping into their former, 2nd year DADA professor, and overall fraud, Gilderoy Lockhart, who seemed no better off than he had been the last time they'd laid eyes on him.
Being dragged into the ward by a motherly looking healer, apparently under the presumption they'd come to visit the obliviated former wizarding sensation, the group inadvertently bumped into fellow Gryffindor Neville Longbottom, and by proxy, his domineering Grandmother Augusta, complete with stuffed vulture and umbrella.
"Friends of yours, Neville dear?" Augusta Longbottom asked graciously, the Longbottom Matriarch bearing down on the group with a regal poise that spoke of years of holding her family together with a firm hand "Ah yes," she noted, looking closely at Harry and holding out a shriveled, claw-like hand for him to shake "Yes, yes. I know who you are of course. Neville speaks most highly of you." Her eyes drifted over the rest "And you two are clearly Weasleys. Yes I know your parents-not to well of course-but fine people…and you must be Hermione Granger?" she shook the startled brunette's hand "Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots haven't you? He's a good boy," here she leveled a stern, appraising glare at her embarrassed grandson "but he just doesn't have his father's talent."
"Neville does his best." Harry cut in, elbowing Ron in the ribs before the redhead could speak out in confusion "He's top of his class in Herbology, he's even beaten out Hermione, Professor Sprout once said she'd recommend him for her position when she retires if he scores high enough."
"And he DOES do well in other classes." Hermione agreed, the bushy haired prefect smiling reassuringly at the embarrassed Gryffindor "Why in DADA class he's tied with Harry since third year, at least in practical exams."
"Theory's Hermione's stomping grounds." Ron agreed, with a self-mocking grin, the redheaded prefect rubbing his bruised ribs as he spoke "I wouldn't enter into THAT territory with an army of Aurors at my back."
"Good on you girl." Augusta applauded, a light of approval in her eyes as she nodded at the blushing brunette "Good to see a witch with ambition these days, too many rush into marriage or dally about trying to 'find themselves' good to see at least ONE with her head screwed on, I know Minerva must be proud of you-yes, Alice dear, what is it?"
Harry had to keep from flinching as Neville's mother came edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face from the photo of the original Order of the Phoenix, which Neville had inherited, and her hair hung white and wispy about her. She was reaching out to Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand, the boy reaching out without having to be told to accept the empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper his mother deposited there.
Harry locked eyes with Neville, meeting the other boy's defiant stare with a look of understanding that calmed the other boy's nerves. Had it been anyone else, Neville might have interpreted the look as pity and withdrawn into his anger, but Harry had lost his parents to Voldemort's evil as well, and so could understand what it was like to grow up without his mother, though Neville had it so much worse.
At least Lily and James Potter had been killed outright; their bodies buried and laid to rest. Frank and Alice Longbottom were still alive, but it was a cursed life, without their inner fire and reasoning.
Harry honestly didn't know which was worse.
"Bloody hell…" Ron muttered, walking out of the ward with a ghastly pallor on his face, even his freckles had paled from the shock "And Kreacher's gushing over that witch's photo…little freak probably loves her, he's twisted enough…"
Harry paused at that, some inbred instinct washing over him as he combined the conversation they'd had earlier with his own experiences with Dobby. Sirius had assured him that Kreacher couldn't leave Grimmauld Place, that he was bound to the Black family home, but Harry knew from experience that Dobby could go wherever the hell he liked, even when he'd been sworn to the Malfoys.
And Bellatrix Lestrange was Sirius' cousin, a Black by Blood if no longer in name. If there were any a way a rule could be bent, it would be if Kreacher WAS, in fact, serving a member of the Black Family. It just so happened that it wasn't the current head of house.
Which is why, not ten minutes after the group had gotten through the door to Grimmauld Place, found Sirius throttling the life out of the treacherous elf in a manner oddly reminiscent of a certain father and son duo from America, complete with sound effects.
Hermione, of course, had voiced her objections to such harsh treatment, but the cold look in Harry's eyes had warded her off. It was this, after all, or Harry would've lobbed Kreacher's head off with his sword, at least this way there was a chance Kreacher would come out of it alive.
Though as the ancient elf turned blue from asphyxiation, without any signs of Sirius letting go, Harry just couldn't bring himself to stop the man, for one thing it would mean rescuing someone that could have sold out the order…for another he didn't like that look in his godfather's eyes.
While all this was going on, a certain silver haired young man, dressed in a red-leather trench coat, boots, and durable camoflage pants, opened the door to his recently purchased, abandoned bar, only to blink as he found a rather annoyed owl blinking at him from the sofa.
Whipping out a pair of personally customized pistols, the red-clad man emptied several rounds at the avian intruder, who screeched and dodged the assault with surprising ease, flying overhead and out the door before he could get a good another shot at it.
"Huh, and here I thought I'd already paid for pest control…" he muttered, twirling his handguns and holstering them in the harness on his back, moving towards the sofa only to pause as he espied a package resting on the coffee table.
Going by the shape alone it was an obvious no-brainer as to what was inside, but even so, as he removed the, admittedly plain, wrapping from the bottle, it was with a cautious air, as it could just as easily be a petrol bomb.
It was with a mild sense of disappointment that he found the bottle to be un-tampered with, though he DID quirk an eyebrow at the brand name, having never heard of 'Firewhiskey' before. Shaking his head, he picked up the little note attached to the wrapping, his brows rising as he read the short message there.
'To D. From V.'
"Well I'll be damned…" the red clad man muttered, snorting in wonderment at his twin's latest oddity "and here I hadn't even sent him a card…"
Shrugging himself out of his coat and tossing it onto the sofa alongside him, the pale haired man put his feet up on the table, popped the cork of the bottle, and took a long draught, only to spray the mouthful across the bar, choking in alarm.
"Holy shit that's good stuff!" he swore, eyeing the shimmering booze like it was liquid nirvana, before grinning, raising the bottle towards the lamplight overhead, his silver pendant shining in the light.
"And a Merry Christmas to you, Jackass." He toasted, downing another mouthful of the stuff, even as his much-abused alarm clock struck midnight.
And that'll do for now.
I know Vergil didn't make much of an appearance this chapter, but he's simply not the type to get into the festive cheer.
Reminding Hagrid to send the instructions (The big guy's been going to him for advice for just about everything lately) and sending Dante a bottle of firewhiskey are about as far as he's willing to bend, and that's pushing it.
What he's doing for the holidays you ask? Let's just say the room of requirement's getting a spring cleaning.
Vergil: Floor number 666... and counting...
Pollux: (Carrying the man's wine like a caddy) Very good master.
R&R!