Resolution
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Twenty Nine: February 1st - 17th
Once again, Harry found himself in the library with Susan. As per usual, they were tucked away in the Philosophy section, and between bites of his smuggled apple and Susan's chocolate frog, and as they procrastinated with regards to an essay set by McGonagall, Harry assisted Susan with her Ancient Runes, and Susan assisted Harry with his Arithmency. Normally, Theo made an effort to join them, but that afternoon, he'd begged off with the excuse that he was in need of Blaise Zabini's Potions expertise, and both had understood.
With regards to Potions, Zabini was probably the best in their year. It drove hermione and a select number of Ravenclaws mental, but it was undeniable, and if Harry cared the slightest for his Potions grades, he'd probably be seeking Zabini's aid, too. As it was, Snape was borderline failing him, and Harry had given up on trying to please the greasy bastard ages ago.
"Guess what?"
Harry eyed Susan, mildly wary. She'd adopted that bright eyed, giggly look that Lavender and Parvati got when they'd acquired a new piece of gossip, and that generally spelled trouble for any unfortunate male in their vicinity.
"What?"
"Wayne asked me to Hogsmeade for Valentine's Day!"
"Um, okay?"
Wayne Hopkins was another Hufflepuff in their year. He was fairly quiet, and his closest friend was Ernie MacMillan. Harry didn't know him well, and he'd probably had one conversation with the other third year, but apparently, he fancied Susan, and Harry wasn't really sure how he should feel about that.
Mostly, he was just confused about why she was telling him. It was his understanding that such topics were reserved for conversations between girl friends, and as Harry had observed, Susan had no shortage of those.
"Harry, I've been hoping he'd ask me since September!"
"O-kay," Harry acknowledged, "I'm happy for you?"
As Susan began to babble about how Wayne had asked her, and what she hoped would happen on their date, and what she thought she might wear, Harry spaced out, and considered the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. Sirius had signed his permission slip over the winter holidays, and thus, Harry would actually be going, but he wondered if he should take a date, too.
He was doubtful, but it seemed a number of his classmates had dates, and Harry didn't want to be considered an oddity once again. As it was, Seamus had plans with Lavender, and Dean had plans with Parvati, and even Theo had lunch plans with a girl in Slytherin by the name of Tracey Davis.
it bared further consideration, but as Susan asked about his own Valentine's Day plans, Harry determined that now was neither the time, nor the place.
"I didn't have anything in mind," Harry admitted, "I don't really fancy anyone, you know?"
Susan shrugged. "Maybe think about it? No one likes to be alone, after all.""
Harry grunted. So long as he didn't receive another singing valentine, he was pretty sure he didn't care either way. Susan was likely to pester him ceaselessly if he admitted that, however, and thus he kept quiet instead, returned his attention to his Ancient Runes homework, and sighed an internal breath of relief when the Hufflepuff followed suit.
He was distracted some time later by the appearance of Professor Lupin in the Philosophy section.
The Defence Professor had not visited in a while, and although Harry wasn't certain if it was because he'd found what he'd been searching for, or because he was avoiding Harry, the Gryffindor had reasoned that it was none of his business. Regardless, he was left oddly flatfooted by Lupin's reappearance, and Susan was no help whatsoever.
"Back again, Professor Lupin?"
"I am," Lupin acknowledged lightly, "I've been pondering a lot of 'big questions' recently."
"Ugh," Susan grimaced, "How can you deal with it, Professor? I hate not having definitive answers for anything."
"You learn to appreciate them over time," he answered, "It's all a matter of perspective, I believe."
Lupin met Harry's gaze then, and Harry got the impression he was referring to a lot more than just Philosophy. Their last serious conversation weighed heavy between them, and Harry bowed his head in acknowledgement of the man's words. They left him with a lot to think about, and suddenly, Ancient Runes wasn't nearly as riveting as it had been only a few moments earlier.
"Are you okay?" Susan queried. Lupin was gone.
Harry managed a smile. "Why wouldn't I be?""
Susan eyed him, unconvinced, but she didn't pursue the matter. Harry, meanwhile, tried and failed to focus on his homework, eventually conceded defeat, and withdrew a novel to pass the time.
-!- -#-
"You've gotten much better," Professor Flitwick commended, "I'm impressed by your elemental charms."
Harry managed a smile. He was breathless, having just had his arse handed to him (again), but his Charms Professor's compliments were always appreciated, and it was always nice to know others could see his improvement. He'd worked hard to reach his current skill level, and although he was by no means an expert, he was far better than when he'd started. These days, he could hold his own against Professor Flitwick for upwards of seven minutes, and the Ravenclaw Head of House had very few critiques regarding his form.
Given that he'd been absolutely abysmal to begin with, the acknowledgement was rather gratifying.
"There's always room for improvement, of course, but that will come with time - and practice, naturally. How have you found that tome I loaned you?"
Harry spared a moment to consider his answer. The 'Compendium of Curses' by Phalanx Dacios was predominantly a spell book, from which he'd learned a variety of jinxes, hexes, and curses. From what Harry understood, the content spanned the entirety of what was recognised as the 'magical grey area' without prejudice, and although he'd been initially wary, Harry had taken to the magic with startling ease. He never used the spells outside of practice, because in Hogwarts, he had no reason to. That said, he'd learned an extensive amount of the book's theoretical content, and a growing amount of its practical content, too.
"It's quite interesting," Harry determined, "A lot of those spells are designed for wide-range combat though; as opposed to a one-on-one duel."
"Indeed," Flitwick agreed, "In my experience, however, Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters had a certain fondness for outnumbering their opponents. I believe it would behoove you to learn spells for any kind of combative scenario. Have you ever considered Battle Transfiguration? Transmutation, perhaps? It isn't a well known fact, but Professor McGonagall is quite accomplished in both fields."
"I had considered it," Harry admitted, "I just didn't have the time. Maybe next year, if things aren't so chaotic, I'll ask, but for now, I figure I'll focus on what I'm already working on."
"That is perhaps for the best," Flitwick acknowledged, "In any case, it is your choice to make. Just know that you do have options."
Harry's smile was small. "I'll keep that in mind, Professor. Thanks, though."
"Don't mention it, Harry. Now, how do you feel about another duel?"
"Do I have a choice?"
Flitwick's grin was all teeth. "Not in the slightest."
Harry grimaced, dodged the disarming spell sent his way, and shielded himself against the steady barrage of minor jinxes and hexes that followed. He retaliated when he could, but for the most part, Flitwick kept him on the defensive, and until Harry was disarmed, that was where he stayed.
Room for improvement, indeed.
."
-!- -#-
Even in the midst of February, Hogsmeade looked like a gingerbread village come to life. It was all rustic cottages and storefronts, with snow covered roofs and streets paved by sandstone. It was quaint - like a postcard picture, or a travel magazine's Christmas special - and despite himself, Harry was amused.
"The Three Broomsticks is packed," Neville muttered, "No surprise, there."
"Is there Anywhere else we can go?" Harry queried, hands buried in his pockets, face in his scarf. "It's bloody freezing."
Neville hesitated. "There's the Hog's Head, I guess."
Harry shivered. "Sounds good. Lead the way."
The Hog's Head was, more or less, the antithesis of the Three Broomsticks. Where the latter was warm and welcoming, the former was decrepit and dreary, with questionable clientele and a cantankerous bartender. It was out of the cold though, and it sold warm apple cinnamon ciders, and Harry supposed he couldn't complain.
Seated at the bar, Harry sipped at his drink, picked at a bowl of chips, and watched disinterestedly as Neville fiddled with a galleon. His attention, however, was diverted by the distasteful rambling of a vagrant two stools down, who seemed to have something against werewolves, and one werewolf in particular.
"Word is, Greyback's headed this way, the mongrel. Hope he knows that when he gets here, he'll be met with a lot more than just innocent children to bite. The Ministry should have put that beast - and the rest of his kind - down years ago. They're a plague on society!"
The stranger's rant continued, but Harry tuned him out, and instead turned to Neville, expression grim. The news wasn't much of a surprise, but it was still unwelcome, and Harry was uncertain of how he ought to proceed. The irony was that there was an entire school full of children that Fenrir Greyback could take chunks out of, and Harry wondered what the man - beast? - was playing at.
Perhaps he'd simply lost his mind.
Either way, the wizarding community would have his head for encroaching on Hogwarts territory.
"Should probably let Theo know, at least," Neville reasoned. "He probably has as much cause to watch his back as you do."
"The teachers, too," Harry contributed. Wryly, he added, "Though I can't guarantee they'll actually listen."
He recalled, vividly, his conversation with Professor McGonagall from years earlier: their warning, her dismissal, and the life threatening adventure that had followed. He didn't hold his head of house at fault, though he knew beyond reasonable doubt that the entire debacle could have been dealt with a lot more quietly if she'd only listened.
Spilt milk, he supposed, and opted not to dwell on it. Instead, he finished the rest of his cider, ate the last of his chips, and walked with Neville back to the castle. As he did, the dagger tucked into his boot weighed heavy on his mind, and Harry dreaded the day he would have to use it. Now more than ever, it felt like an inevitability, and the thought left him hollow.
Was he prepared for that sort of confrontation?
Harry didn't think so.
Author's Note: An update, really? Hope you enjoyed.
I've been working through the chapters from the beginning, editing, and plugging in plot holes, and what have you. The chapters with titles are those that have been reposted. If you read them, I hope they're worth your time.
Anyway, that's all. Apologies for the wait. Thanks for your support. Until next time, -t.
