Book Three
Harry Potter, all related characters, and the original Harry Potter narrative are properties of J. K. Rowling.
Chapter 15
The Status Quo Dies
Harry smiled. It was a beautiful day, and although he'd quite enjoyed Hagrid's rainy Care of Magical Creatures lesson last week - and happened to like rain, generally - the scudding clouds and stiff breezes were lifting the moods of his fellow students in a way torrential downpours inevitably failed to do.
"Right, everyone 'ere?" Hagrid waited a moment for any missing students to speak up about their absence, then grinned at the lot of them, the scant expanse of skin visible between his beard and brows crinkling up happily. "Let's get on wi' it, then!"
Harry steadied Skipper, who had perched himself rather precariously on Harry's shoulder. If the little Acromantula kept up that habit, Harry might have to acquire an eyepatch - or at least a peg leg. He glanced down at the stump of his right leg, checking the long-term levitation charm he'd learned from Hermione. It was much easier than keeping Wingardium Leviosa trained on a pillow all day - though that had offered a bit more control.
"I see yeh brought yer new familiar, Harry," Hagrid said as they approached the Care of Magical Creatures paddock.
Harry nodded.
"Mind if I talk about Acromantulae a bit? Tell 'em all what ter expect from the little skitterer?"
Harry shrugged.
Hagrid clapped him on the shoulder. It was a gentle gesture, for Hagrid, but Harry still stumbled from the blow.
"Sorry." Hagrid turned to the rest of his students, the sheer joy of teaching erasing his remorse. "Before we get up ter the paddock, let's learn a bit about Acromantulas! Harry here," Hagrid indicated the one-legged boy, "brought 'is new familiar along today, an' it's important yeh know what these critters kin do. Now, anyone know summat about 'em?"
Vincent raised one ponderous hand in a gesture of unprecedented self-actualization.
"Eh, Vincent, is it? Old Crabbe's boy? Go on, then, let us know."
Vincent hesitated, swallowing his laconic tendencies, then spoke. "Acromantulae are known for their growth, which keeps going as long as they live. We think they die, not because they get too old, but because they get too big." Vincent had his eyes shut, and was talking faster as he ploughed through his knowledge of fell beasties. "They've got strong poison, and as magical creatures they're full of useful bits for potions and Wizard's tools. Most of them live in India, but about forty years ago, a nest was found in Hogwarts, probably because-"
"Righ', righ', well spoken," Hagrid interrupted, speaking just a bit too loudly. Harry - along with the rest of the class, Draco included - was shocked to see Vincent Crabbe string so many words together. The lad was known as the Stoic of Hogwarts. Harry had nearly given him up as mute until their brief exchange in second year.
Vincent clammed up immediately.
"Got it on the nose about their venom, too, yeh did," Hagrid added, in a belated effort to encourage his most recalcitrant student. "Harry's familiar here's just a wee one, but yeh won't be forgetting even such a bitty Acromantula bite in a hurry. Not that Skipper here'd attack a student, o'course. Lovely creatures, they are, if they know people fer people."
"Did Crabbe say there were more of these nearby?" Parvati Patil piped up, looking rather apprehensive.
"There's a nest of 'em out in the Forbidden Forest," Hagrid explained, gesturing towards said arboreal realm of dread. "But they mostly keep ter themselves. That bunch isn't too friendly, though - the Forest's a nasty place, an' they'll do near anythin' fer a bite to eat..." Hagrid trailed off forebodingly, letting the forest's mystique do the work of warding his students away.
It seemed to be working.
Draco, of course, chose that moment to open his fool mouth. "Doesn't the Ministry have regulations about keeping dangerous creatures inside the School?"
Harry glared at the boy. Not like I asked for the spindly familiar, he thought. For a moment, he thought he might understand what Ron was always on about.
Hagrid waved the concerns away. "Perfectly normal fer a young wizard to have an Acromantula as a Familiar. Had one meself, when I was your age."
The throng of raised eyebrows showed that Hagrid's explanation had not set any minds at ease.
Draco spoke up again. "Father says you were expelled when you were our age. I don't suppose your unfriendly familiar had anything to do with that." The look of insufferable smugness on Draco's face made Harry want to punch it.
That way lies murder, he reminded himself. Stay good, Harry.
"Smarmy git," muttered Ron, eliciting his first-ever nod of agreement on the subject from Harry and Hermione. "Wait, really?"
Harry shrugged.
"If yeh want ter get technical," Hagrid replied, having finally settled his own burgeoning temper, "I was expelled fer a false accusation of openin' the Chamber o' Secrets." He glanced at Harry, who had been running free tours to the aforementioned Chamber since April of his second year. "An' killin people with ol' Scionny. 'Course as it turns out," he continued, sweeping a wary glance across the assembled students, "it was actually You-Know-Who, back before we knew 'e was evil."
Draco smiled. "I think we'll get along after all," he said, seemingly unfazed by Hagrid's slow-burning wrath. "For a gamekeeper, you're quite competent."
That doused Hagrid faster than a metaphor in a bucket of hard reality. "Never thought I'd get a compliment from a Malfoy," he muttered, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Glad ter hear it, Draco," he added in a louder voice.
Though you'd have expected this sooner, as we've been taking tea together for the past two years, Harry mused.
Ron, having had enough sappy battles of wits, interjected. "So you had a giant spider as a pet?"
"That'd be Aragog," Hagrid answered, shaking off his confusion. "Won't be takin' you lot to meet him until at least yer fifth year, though," he assured them. Noticing Hermione's frantic no don't do that gestures, he quickly amended "fer extra credit, o'course." Harry glanced at his erudite ally, finding her trapped between frustration and jubilation.
She does love extra credit.
"Now, let's get a move on," Hagrid called, stomping towards the nearest paddock. "Today," Hagrid announced, breaking Harry out of his contemplation, "we'll be lookin' at Hippogriffs!"
Harry hung back, letting the more ambulatory students take the first - and second, and third - bows with the dangerous-looking feathered monsters.
"Aren't they gorgeous?" Hermione gushed, standing by his side.
Harry shrugged. "Lately, all I can see is the claws," he told her. "And the fangs, the beaks, the fire breath that can melt a man at twenty paces..."
Hermione grumphed at him. "It's practically a Pegasus, Harry," she retorted, the stars in her eyes fading a bit at his maudlin mood. "And you're thinking of dragons. Hippogriffs don't breathe fire."
"I prefer Griffins. More Griffindor-ish."
Hermione rolled her eyes, turning back to the questionably elegant beasts. Ron and Draco had successfully impressed their respective Hippogriffs, and were challenging each other to ride.
"I mean, Griffins have lion parts. That's pretty neat."
Hermione ignored him. Hagrid seemed to be encouraging the rival Seekers, which usually gave her fits.
"They'll be fine," Harry drawled. "Draco's got contingency plans, and Ron's got secret weapon number three."
"Cayenne pies?" Hermione asked, confused.
"Er, sorry, twelve."
"...your Beretta?"
Harry had forgotten about the little sidearm. "Er, no. Sixteen?"
Hermione blinked at him, missing the boys' simultaneous takeoff. "I think we're working from different lists," she admitted, pulling out a notebook. "Sixteen wasn't roguish good looks, was it?"
"I meant Scionny's Ritual," Harry clarified, giving up a perfect view of racing Hippogriffs to bury his face in his hand.
"You could have just said," Hermione chided. "That's number seventy-five."
They were distracted by the sudden cheers of "GO GREEN!" from the pro-Draco third of the attending student body.
"Told you I'd win," Draco gloated, sliding down from his noble steed. "Buckbeak here was born to fly."
"It was practically a tie," Ron replied, quickly assuming his old nome-de-plume of Mr. Crimson.
"Face it, Weasley, the problem's not the mount."
"A rematch!" Ron demanded, stamping over to Draco. "Trade mounts!"
Harry sighed. "They do this everywhere we go," he complained. "Honestly."
"They're like little children," agreed Hermione.
"GO GREEN!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Now jus' bow to 'im, that's good, keep eye contact-"
"COME ON RON!"
"SLYTHERIN PRIDE!"
"A'right, looks like he likes yeh. Go on an' give 'im a rabbit, he's mad for rabbits."
"YOU CAN DO IT, RON!"
The rematch looked closer than the first race, though Draco was still pulling ahead at every turn.
"COME ON BUCKBEAK!"
"WENDFEATHERS, RIDE THE WIND!"
Harry was cheering as loud as he could, but it didn't seem to be helping. Ron flew at the same speed whether he got cheers or not.
"No, don't pull on 'is feathers, that's a good way ter get bit," Hagrid warned, stepping between Pansy Parkinson and the unridden Hippogriff.
Ron and Draco came in for a landing, Draco leading by less than a meter. The crowded students stopped shouting, half of them hoping that Ron would somehow pull ahead at the last minute. Buckbeak and Wendfeather tore into the sod in eerie silence - aside from Pansy's grumbling - with Draco still just inches ahead.
"Can't blame your mount this time, either," Draco taunted.
Ron slid to the ground, stumbling over to the crate of rabbit cadavers. "Yeah," he agreed, tossing Buckbeak a fresh-looking coney. "Buckbeak's a real trooper."
"A- huh?" Draco jibed, losing his momentum spectacularly at the sight of Ron being humble.
"I said you're right, Malfoy." Ron gave Buckbeak a pat on the neck, then turned to his eternal rival. "Buckbeak was born to fly. What do you think the odds are they'd let me ride him for Quidditch?"
Draco stared at him for a full three seconds, then they both broke down laughing.
"Ride- for Quidditch-"
"You believed me! Can't believe you'd fall for-"
"Son of a bonfire, you actually got me!"
Harry was rather surprised at this development. "Huh."
"Did they just..."
"Yeah. They got over themselves."
Hermione looked from Harry to the still-chortling rivals. "Huh."
"Still can't catch a Snitch, of course," Draco asserted, holding his ribs. "But you've caught humor."
"More than you," Ron wheezed, not even trying to stand. Buckbeak gave him a concerned look, then went back to posing majestically in the sunlight.
"Right, well," Harry rallied, deciding to ignore the sudden abolition of reason. "Our turn to bow, eh Hermione?"
Hermione nodded, still distracted by the sight of the iconic Gryffindor laughing his arse off with Slytherin's favorite poster boy.
"Potter, Granger, Weasley, Longbottom. You will stay after class."
Harry sighed. He'd hoped Snape would call them 'good enough' after the events of their last year, and let them pretend to have achieved enough competence in Potions to stop their 'remedial' classes. From the look on Snape's face, however - and the fact that it was Thursday - he suspected they were about to receive orders to continue their interminable mental training.
After whipping up something resembling a Divisive Drink, and contemplating for the umpteenth time the perpetually alliterative names of magical brews, Harry awaited the knell of long-houred fate.
Snape waited until the door had latched behind the last lucky student. "I have seen more effective Occlumency in the breakfast porridge," he snapped, cutting straight to the point. "However-"
Harry's heart skipped a beat.
"-you have surpassed every Death Eater I have had the displeasure of meeting."
Harry's heart skipped another beat. He began to grow worried.
"As such, I will no longer be training you in the mental Arts."
Harry thumped himself in the chest a few times. Feeling his heartbeat resume, he smiled faintly at the Potions Master.
Snape sneered at him. "You are still nothing before the Dark Lord's Legimency, Potter," he warned. "But as such an encounter is already fated to seal your doom - or his - there is little purpose in pursuing a mastery you can never attain."
Harry shrugged.
"Indeed. One would hope that your skill in battle is more... refined." Snape turned away, then paused, as though considering a weighty choice. "I am entrenched in the Dark Lord's confidences. Ask nothing of me, and give me no secrets. He knows you seek his destruction."
"I'd be happy with a ceasefire," Harry quipped.
Snape whirled on him, eyes flashing with dark fury. Harry's scar twinged. "Do not mock our war, boy!"
"Sorry," Harry cringed, barely holding eye contact. "Though really, if he gave up his wand and surrendered-"
"You would destroy him!" Snape hissed. "That is your purpose. Your duty."
"Er-"
"Your very reason for existing."
"I just want the killing to be over," Harry whispered. His scar stopped twinging.
Snape straightened slowly, his rage contained in about the same way that cheesecloth contains a rabid elephant. He breathed deeply, the fury in his eyes receding - not fading - until it could no longer be seen. "Make it so," he ordered.
Turning away for a second time, Snape strode to the door, clearly intent on leaving as quickly as possible. "Are there any more insipid comments?" he asked, his tone snide, hand on the knob.
Ron raised a hand, which - despite popular theory - Snape could not see while looking the other way. "Are we doing Dueling and War Games again this year?"
"You are," Snape replied evenly. "Learn them well." He tore the door open, slipping out before Harry could even see past to the corridor.
Harry caught Neville's eye. "Thursday, eh?"
