HARRY
Strangely, Percy was late to Potions.
He hurried in five minutes after the bell had rung, breathlessly ignoring Slughorn's disapproving glance to sit down in the empty seat at Harry's table.
"Sorry, Professor," he said and began getting out his materials.
Hermione shot him a look. "How come you're late?" she whispered. "You weren't at lunch, either."
Percy only shrugged and started taking notes on the Polyjuice Potion, which Slughorn was lecturing them on. "I had some stuff to do during the break," he replied.
Harry looked up from his notes (taken, much to his pleasure, in the special colour-changing ink he had bought from Diagon Alley) when Slughorn clapped his hands.
"Now, then! I do hope you all took good notes and therefore will make good progress on your Polyjuice Potions. Except for a select few —" Here he sent a proud glance at the Gryffindor table — "Who succeeded on their first try, Friday's attempts were rather dismal."
Hermione glared at Harry, and he looked away. He had been able to produce quite a proficient potion the previous week, but only thanks to the Half-Blood Prince, which Hermione was well aware of — and harshly disapproved.
"Well, out with the cauldrons! Out with the cauldrons! Friday completed the eighty minutes needed for the knotgrass to activate — you may now begin step two of part one!" Slughorn beamed and began circulating the room as the sound of clanging scales and dragging pewter cauldrons filled the air.
"You'd better stay away from that Half-Blood Prince's directions today, Harry," Hermione hissed warningly as they began working, but Harry only ignored her and flipped open the worn textbook.
"It's the only copy of the textbook he's got!" Ron defended him, and Harry felt a surge of gratitude towards him. "Lay off Harry, you're just jealous Slughorn favours him."
"No, it's because it's not his honest work and talent!" Hermione said heatedly, crushing her lacewing flies with an unusual ferocity.
Percy made a face at his leeches. "You guys are like an old married couple, honestly," he said, dropping the leeches into his cauldron. "Can't you just, I don't know, chill out? People wrote the answers in my Algebra 1 textbook all the time."
Hermione scowled, evidently irate that the whole table seemed against her view.
Harry scooped his crushed lacewing flies into his cauldron, which bubbled and turned murkier. He checked the Prince's textbook for the next step, which was to heat the potion for thirty seconds on low heat. The Prince, however, had scribbled out the instruction and wrote: fifteen seconds on medium heat — works similarly but faster and more effective. Harry turned the heat on his cauldron to medium and counted silently to fifteen.
"The book says low heat, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed exasperatedly. "Honestly, the Prince won't be right all of the time!"
"The Prince has been right all of the time!" Harry countered hotly, getting annoyed. He turned off the heat and waved his wand, completing the stage of the potion.
Ron looked over his shoulder at his potion, a dismayed expression on his face. "Blimey, your Polyjuice is so much better than mine. Look at this —" he waved a hand at his potion, which was so thick it was almost solid, and an ugly bogey-green colour.
Hermione just scoffed and flicked her wand at her cauldron.
"Yours is just as good," Ron added quickly, but she was past responding to them.
"So what did you have to do during lunch?" She asked Percy in a clenched tone.
"Oh, I just had to do some research for…" Percy hesitated. "For Potions. I wanted to, um, get my Polyjuice potion better."
Hermione seized the opportunity with enthusiasm. "You see," she exclaimed, rounding on Harry once more, "Percy, unlike you, is actually doing the work and putting in the effort to make his potion better! You, on the other hand, are simply following the instructions of some stranger who just happened to be good at Potions!"
"It's my textbook, Hermione!" Harry retorted, irritated. "Honestly, it's not like I'm murdering someone. I'm just taking advice, that's all! Good advice!"
"Here we go again," Percy muttered.
Hermione measured out her boomslang skin and replied haughtily, "You're taking advice from a mysterious stranger who might be a Dark Wizard, for all you know."
"He's not a Dark Wizard. He's just a past student who took good notes in his textbook," Harry said flatly, more than ready to be done arguing with Hermione. Her stubbornness was sometimes terribly aggravating.
She only scoffed and dumped the boomslang into her cauldron.
When the table stayed quiet for a minute or two, Percy breathed out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Geez, finally. I was beginning to get flashbacks from me and Thalia. 'Pinecone Face' and 'Kelp Head,' those were the times." He turned to Hermione. "Did you, um, find anything out about the prophecy?" He asked hesitantly.
Hermione frowned, as did Harry. Had she kept something from them? Why would she tell Percy about a prophecy, but not them? Where had she gotten a prophecy, in the first place? The only person in the school it could have been from was Trelawney, but Hermione had quit the class years ago.
"What prophecy?" Hermione asked, brow furrowed.
"What prophecy?" Percy repeated incredulously, blinking.
"What prophecy?" Harry said.
Ron looked at them. "What?"
Percy shook his head. "The prophecy you — oh." He sighed. "Of course it decides to start working now. Sorry, guys, you must've heard me wrong. I said, um, p — professor. Not prophecy. Did I say prophecy? That's — that's not what I meant."
Harry looked up from his boomslang skin to observe Percy, who was rummaging through his supplies for his bicorn horn intently. He squinted. "Well, what about this professor?"
"Um." Percy turned to Hermione. "Weren't you telling me about how you wanted to find out more about Professor McGonagall?"
Hermione blinked. "I did?" She seemed to consider, then perked up. "I did. I remember now, she said… er, something that made me want to learn about her. I don't really remember what it was, it must've been unimportant. I suppose I was too busy with schoolwork to research."
"Professor to prophecy? All the same, that's a strange slip-up," Ron pointed out.
Percy shrugged. "I had it on my mind. Trelawney gave us a prophecy to decipher."
Ron groaned. "Remember her 'prophecies' about you, Harry? Thought she saw a Grim every time she peered into your magic teacup?"
Harry grunted. "Don't remind me."
"She was downright awful," Hermione added. "Said I was 'unintelligent.'"
"Only someone unintelligent would call you unintelligent, 'Mione," Harry told her, and she beamed, forgetting to be mad.
Ron looked disgruntled. "Yeah, Hermione, you're smarter than the witch," he said, evidently trying to add his own compliment.
The four of them laughed, although Harry wasn't quite sure why.
After they had finished, wiping tears of mirth from their eyes, Ron spoke again in a low and excited voice. "All right, but do you all want to talk about last night?"
"Oh, that sounds awful," groaned Hermione, burying her head in her hand. "Please don't say that ever again, Ron."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine. But don't you think it was sort of… well, epic? All four of us, shooting spells at the bloody acromantulas, fighting together valiantly…" He stared off into the distance with an almost dreamy expression.
"Oh, come off it," snorted Harry, "It took you a good five minutes just to raise your wand with the rest of us. We all know you're deathly afraid of those things."
"It did not!"
"It did," said Hermione with a reluctantly amused expression.
Percy had stopped stirring his potion. "Wait, wh —"
"All right, so maybe it did," admitted Ron, looking disgruntled. "But I helped you all in the end, didn't I? I saved your arse that one time, Harry, didn't I?"
Harry nodded obligingly, remembering the giant arachnid that had been looming above his head before Ron shot it with a Stupefying Charm. "I suppose."
"Plus, I wasn't the one who insisted on helping Hagrid with Aragog." Ron sent a glare at Percy, but there was no real heat in his gaze.
"I — what?" said Percy, who for some inexplicable reason seemed to be greatly bemused.
"Hagrid had burst into tears about Aragog being sick… and then Hermione offered to help, albeit reluctantly… Hagrid said it was too dangerous for anyone but him to go and feed him while the colony was so volatile… but you told him we would help. Apparently without knowing just who — or what — Aragog was," Ron added, before launching into an enthusiastic summary of the previous night's events; it was rather redundant since all four of them had been there, but Harry, Hermione, and Percy obliged him nonetheless.
After a particularly interesting Herbology class in which Harry swore freely at his Venomous Tentacula when it grabbed at him from behind, Harry and Ron made their way back to the common room. They hurried up a particularly unstable staircase to the seventh floor, hoping not to be caught when it swung downwards to the very first storey. Harry tugged Ron up the last three steps and they tumbled into the hallway, breathless.
"Evil staircases," Ron groaned when they recovered. "Honestly, the muggles have got it right. Why should stairs move?"
"I dunno," replied Harry, readjusting his bag on his shoulder. "C'mon, let's finish Slughorn's homework before dinner."
They walked down the corridor towards the Gryffindor tower, passing the Room of
Requirement along the way. There was a little girl outside who was carrying a set of brass scales that looked much too heavy for her, and as soon as she saw Harry and Ron, she shrieked and dropped them with a loud metallic clatter.
Ron snickered, but Harry picked the scales up (he was in a rather good mood, despite Hermione's naggings about the Prince's textbook) and handed them to her, continuing onto the Gryffindor tower afterwards.
His good mood was soon spoiled, however, when he looked at the homework Slughorn had assigned at the end of the lesson. Ron moaned and put his head down on the desk in the common room.
"Slughorn, why," he complained, jabbing his quill arbitrarily at the essay prompt at the head of the page. "We've spent the entire past five days on the Polyjuice potion, he can't just give us a break… the man's off his rocker, completely off his rocker, I say…"
"You claim the professor's barmy every time they give us essays," Harry pointed out, but gazed sullenly at the long, dauntingly blank parchment scroll. "There's no way we'll finish this in an hour."
"We need Hermione," Ron added.
"'Write a seven-inch essay on the effects of the Polyjuice potion and why it is incompatible with animals and half-breeds?'" Harry read. "I've got no clue, that's just the way it is… how do you s'pose I can write an essay on something I don't know about?"
"Don't ask me, I dunno either… might be in the textbook. Hermione would know." He glared at his battered copy of Advanced Potion-Making as it sat on the desk innocently, scowling as if it had personally wronged him.
"Speaking of, where's Percy? I know Hermione's in Arithmancy, her schedule's loaded… but I thought his classes end at the same time as ours?"
Ron shrugged, poking his quill at his parchment listlessly. "Thought I heard him mention going to the library. He's been going an awful lot lately, don't you think?"
"Has he?" Harry frowned. "That's strange, I had the impression he hated reading."
Ron shrugged again. "Maybe he has something particularly important to research."
Harry suddenly thought, rather wishfully, how nice it would be to spend as little time on Slughorn's essay as possible. "Let's ask him to take a look at a something on Polyjuice next time he goes — that way he can do the research for us."
"You think he'll do that?" Ron perked up hopefully. "I wouldn't, if I was him… nah, Percy's awfully nice. Let's ask."
Harry grinned. "Just don't tell Hermione — she'll tell us off, or hex us into next week."
Just then the portrait door opened and the bookworm herself climbed through; she was staggering under the weight of all her textbooks, which were piled up so high that her bushy brown hair could hardly be seen from behind it. "Oh, hi, Harry, Ron —" she grunted, letting her books fall onto the table with one great heave.
"Oy, that's my essay…" Ron protested, but Harry did not defend him, knowing that it was his absence of an essay that Hermione had dumped her books on.
She ignored him anyway, sitting down in a comfy armchair with a long sigh. "It's unbelievable how much homework Professor Vector gave us, look at this —" she began ruffling through the pages of her massive Maths & Magic textbook with a stricken expression — "pages two hundred twenty to two hundred thirty-five, each page has got at least thirty problems on it — but that's not it — look, Harry, look —"
Harry, looking at the dark mass of problems in the book, was suddenly very glad he had not taken Arithmancy.
"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said, "will you get your stuff off my essay?"
This time, she obliged with a huff. "You'd think we weren't in the middle of a war, though, honestly…" she muttered, but began attacking the homework with eagerness.
Harry sat up. "That reminds me, I had a dream last night."
"Oh!" Hermione looked up. "Related to — er — You-Know-Who?"
Harry nodded, and Ron put down his quill — not that he had been writing anything, anyway, still pouting about the essay.
"I saw Voldemort in this huge room with a crystal chandelier and ornate rug," Harry began in a low voice, making sure the common room was completely empty before continuing. He chose, consciously, to omit the fact that he had been Voldemort in the dream. "He was sitting at the head of a long table with Death Eaters, they were obviously having a meeting of some sort… anyway, Bellatrix Lestrange was defending herself, because Voldemort had asked why they failed at acquiring the prophecy. He said something about it being all Lucius Malfoy's fault, which seemed to please Bellatrix. Then —" here he hesitated, casting a sideways glance at Hermione; it had been her, after all, who protested the unfair treatment of house elves in their fourth year. "When a house elf Apparated into the room with some tea, Voldemort got angry and put her under the Cruciatus —"
Hermione let out what sounded like a strangled gasp, face reddening in anger. "Why, that — evil, self-righteous — she was bringing tea! Tea! And he — and he —"
Harry waited patiently for her to run out of words, likening her in his mind to a tea kettle boiling, hot steam escaping from the spout with a high-pitched shriek and whistle… when Hermione continued ranting about the horrible cruelty of You-Know-Who, he interrupted her. "Hermione —"
"And the Cruciatus, why —"
"Hermione —"
"You'd think that he takes as much pleasure in being inhumane as —"
"Hermione!" This time it was Ron who spoke up loudly. "Let Harry finish, I reckon You-Know-Who's more important than your old SPEW movement…"
Hermione fumed indignantly, but nodded at Harry to go on.
"Right," Harry said, fidgeting with his quill. "Well — he, er — he killed her after that, and —"
Hermione let out a shriek. Her face flushed further, until Harry was sure it was the exact same colour as the Blood-Flavoured Lollipops from Honeydukes. For a moment he thought she would begin yelling once more and hoped bleakly that no one was within a kilometre distance of the Gryffindor portrait hole, but then Hermione did something that surprised both her friends —
She put her head down on the desk and cried.
"Er —" Harry looked to Ron desperately, but he was squirming uncomfortably and refused to meet his gaze. "It's all right, Hermione, I reckon the house elf… died happily knowing that the, er, SPEW movement would continue… or… or…"
"It's S.P.E.W.!" Hermione sobbed. "Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
"Right, er — Society for the — Promoting — er, of Elfish Welfare," Harry amended, feeling thoroughly lost.
Awkwardly, Ron patted her back, finally looking at Harry with a comically baffled expression.
They waited for her to calm down, and at last her weeping subsided; she took a deep breath and lifted her head from her arms. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying. "I'm sorry," she breathed, hiccupping, "I really don't know what came over me… that must have been uncomfortable…"
Ron, tactless as ever, was clearly about to agree. Harry, however, silenced him with a warning glance and turned to Hermione. "It's alright, 'Mione, I know how strongly you feel about the SPEW business."
She didn't comment on the fact that he had reverted back to saying the abbreviation as a word, which Harry took with relief as a sign that she was less distressed than before. "No, it wasn't about the house elf… well, yes, I suppose it was, but it's just — there's been so much work, and not enough time, and I've just been absolutely knackered… I suppose it all came out just now, I'm sorry. And then — oh, it's just so terrible, that there are awful men like that, and Harry, you have to fight him someday!" Hermione burst out, and Harry felt a warm feeling in his chest that she cared for him so much.
"We'll be with him," Ron stated dryly, and Harry appreciated the fact that he spoke it with the certainty of a statement rather than a prediction. "You and I, we'll fight You-Know-Who as well."
"Of course," Hermione said, smiling halfheartedly at Ron, "We'll be there."
Harry grinned. "Thanks. Can't let me take all the credit, can you?"
"That's what friendship's for, innit? Fighting really powerful blokes who could probably kill us with a flick of his bloody wand together?" Ron added, resigned, almost as an afterthought. "Who signed me up for this, again?"
"That," a new voice said, "is exactly what I've been telling Chiron for the past two years."
The three spun around to see Percy leaning outside the portrait hole, having come in sometime when they weren't paying attention. He had a cocky smirk on his face, like he had exposed some brilliant secret of theirs without them knowing it.
"Oh — Percy," Harry greeted him, glad it had not been some squealing fangirl come to spy on him and his friends.
"Hey," Percy said, coming over to their desk and sitting down. "Working on homework?"
Ron groaned. "Did you finish Slughorn's essay already? Nah, there's no way."
"Nope," Percy said. He frowned. "Were you crying, Hermione?"
She looked up from her Arithmancy textbook, wiping at her eyes, which were still slightly reddened. "I'm alright now, thank you."
Percy nodded, looking uncomfortable. "Okay. So what's this 'spew' business?"
"S.P.E.W.," Hermione said, emphasizing each letter. "Honestly, you boys. It stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
"The society for the — okay," Percy said, brows raised. "I'm guessing I don't want to know what that is?"
"No, you do, it's really interesting —" Hermione began.
"No, you do not," Ron said loudly at the same time, earning himself a glare. "Not unless you want a five hour-long lecture on the mistreatment of house elves. Haven't I told you, Hermione, that they enjoy serving wizards? They wouldn't have it any other way! Remember Winky?"
"Oh, don't be so daft, Ron," Hermione said, even louder. "How about Dobby? He was downright ecstatic when Harry set him free, don't try and ignore it…"
"Dobby is different," said Ron, exasperated.
Hermione clenched her quill. "Dobby is wonderful! And Winky — well, she adjusted eventually, didn't she?"
"If you call whining and screaming at the sight of clothes laid out, yeah," Ron snorted, and Percy finally decided to interrupt them.
"Guys…"
"It was a big change! I'm sure she'll appreciate —"
"Guys!" Percy wolf-whistled, a surprisingly loud noise that Harry was slightly taken aback by. Ron and Hermione fell silent, laying off their bickering for once. "Geez, finally. I don't know what house elves are, but —"
"You don't know what house elves are?" Hermione asked eagerly. "Do they not have them in America?"
Percy blinked. "No —"
Hermione's face seemed to light up. "You see, America has it right! They understand the clear abomination that is the oppression of house elves — why, they're treated like slaves here in Wizarding Britain, bloody slaves —"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Percy said, raising his hands. "I just said I didn't know what house elves are. How am I supposed to know if America has them or not? And who said anything about slaves?"
Harry chose that moment to speak up. He had felt the peculiar feeling of watching a tennis match while listening to his friends go back and forth, and it was rather dizzying. "I've got an idea," he said, and both Ron and Hermione perked up, hoping he was on their side. "What about cracking on with our homework? The essay's due on Wednesday, we haven't got all the time in the world to argue." He glared pointedly at Ron and Hermione, who had the grace to look bashful.
"Great idea, Harry!" Percy exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "Let's do it! Wow, I never thought I would get this excited about doing homework."
Harry chortled and picked up his quill. Begrudgingly, his friends did the same, and together the scratching of their quills and the soft whispers of the hearth made the air warm.
Review? Please? Pretty please with whipped cream and chocolate sauce and rainbow sprinkles and a cherry on top?
Whatever, have a good week everyone :)
unfinished . nocturne
