Chapter 10: Badges and Boggarts
It was the very next morning, August 28th, that the Hogwarts letters finally arrived.
Remus explained that the delay was due to Dumbledore's inability to find a suitable Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry was hardly surprised. Considering what the last four teachers had experienced (in order: death, Obliviation, being outed as a Werewolf, and spending a year locked in their own trunk) it wasn't shocking that no one wanted the position.
Harry had heard rumors since his first year that the position was cursed. If that was true, it must be possible to break the curse in a similar way to how he'd removed the spell on Mrs. Black's portrait. It might be far more difficult, but it was surely possible. Harry resolved to try using his newfound ability to Spell Sense when he got back to Hogwarts. Maybe he would be able to hear the curse in the same way he'd heard Mrs. Black's spell. If so, he might be able to develop a counter curse.
Then again, if the teacher was anything like Quirrell or Lockhart, Harry might just let the curse do its thing.
Along with the booklists came two shiny Prefect badges—one for Ron and one for Hermione.
Despite being truly happy for both his friends, the choice of Prefects still stung slightly. For Harry, it was yet another indication that Dumbledore didn't trust him.
He was also a bit worried that Ron and Hermione would leave him behind, forgetting him as they spent more and more time alone together.
His fears were abated when Ron told him that he was going to ask Mrs. Weasley to get him a new broomstick when she and Remus headed into Diagon Alley the next day. Ron explained that he wanted to try out for Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, ears going red with embarrassment as he shared his plans.
Harry was over the moon. It would be truly amazing to have his best mate on the team with him.
Harry told Ron just that, watching as a smile split Ron's face.
Just like that, everything felt right again.
In her happiness that Ron had been made a Prefect, Mrs. Weasley decided that they should have a small celebration that night. At first, she'd wanted to invite the whole Order. Upon further reflection, however, she concluded that it should be limited to just family. Harry was warmed by the fact that Mrs. Weasley referred to Sirius, Remus, and himself as family as if it required no further thought.
Mrs. Weasley had truly outdone herself in preparing for the celebration, making enough food to feed a small army, complete with all of Ron's favorites. She'd also found the time to make a huge red and gold banner that proclaimed "Congratulations to Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor Prefects!" in bright, sparkling letters.
The evening started out really well, full of laughter and good food.
Ron looked happier than Harry had ever seen him, grinning madly through dinner, eyes sparkling with happiness. Harry could see how much it meant to his friend to finally be recognized for something.
Before he'd met Sirius, Harry hadn't been able to understand why Ron cared so much about making his parents proud. Now, after experiencing how good it felt when he made Sirius happy, Harry understood Ron a lot better.
Unfortunately, the pleasant evening was about to take a rather unpleasant turn.
Harry was watching as Fred and George charmed the banner to say increasingly ridiculous things:
"Congratulations to Ron and Hermione, the new Griffin Petters."
"Congratulations to Rin and Hermine, the new Gryffindor platypus."
"Congrats to Fred and George (and Ginny), the only Weasleys smart enough to know that being a Prefect is a worthless endeavor."
Harry was trying hard to control his laughter, sides aching with the strain of keeping silent. It was truly incredible that Mrs. Weasley hadn't noticed what the twins were doing yet.
He was just choking back a snort at the latest variation when his scar began to burn, dull pain radiating across his forehead. He tried to ignore it, but it quickly grew worse, fiery agony stabbing at his head. Harry bit his lip, trying to keep from crying out.
He needed to get out of here.
Harry stood quickly and slipped from the room, not noticing the three pairs of eyes that watched him go.
His vision was blurring as he stumbled up the stairs, shapes swimming before his eyes. He had no idea where he was going, randomly turning right at the landing and pulling open the first door he came to.
He sank to his knees on the floor, head buried in his hands.
The pain rose to a crescendo, bringing with it a feeling of intense anger. Burning rage settled under his skin, licking at his insides in flames of fury.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the pain and the foreign emotion were gone.
Drawing in deep breaths, Harry uncurled from his position on the floor. As he pulled his hands away from his head, he noticed a small smear of red on his fingertips. Panicking, he put his hand back to his scar. Once again, his fingers came back stained with blood.
His scar was bleeding.
That had never happened before.
Harry used his sleeve to wipe the blood off his face, grateful that there wasn't very much of it. Still, it was a concerning development. Scars this old shouldn't bleed. It simply didn't make sense.
Harry was so caught up in his worries about the bleeding scar that he didn't notice the ominous rattling of the writing desk in the corner, completely oblivious to the danger lurking only feet from him.
Just as he stood to leave the room, the center drawer of the writing desk flew open, releasing an amorphous dark mass into the room.
Harry recognized it right away: a boggart.
He was just about to leave the room to find someone who could legally use magic when his boggart took shape.
It wasn't a Dementor anymore.
Instead, the dead body of Cedric Diggory appeared on the floor, pale and still.
Harry was frozen in shock, letting his hand drop from the door handle as he stared at the corpse on the floor. He was both horrified and entranced by the body, transported back to the moment when Cedric had died, remembering how loudly Amos Diggory had screamed.
All rational thought fled as Harry was overwhelmed with fear.
He was completely frozen.
There was a loud crack as the boggart changed shape.
A dead Ron was suddenly on the floor, eyes blank.
Crack.
A dead Hermione, curls splayed about her head like a ghostly halo.
Crack.
A dead Sirius, gray eyes empty.
Harry simply stared, unable to move, unable to breathe.
Was this what would eventually happen to Sirius? Would he eventually end up like this, nothing but a dead corpse at Harry's feet?
Before Harry could fall too much deeper into panic, the door flew open, nearly hitting a still-frozen Harry as it banged loudly against the wall.
In the doorway stood Remus, Sirius, and George.
Harry saw Remus glance quickly from the dead Sirius on the floor to the very much alive Sirius next to him before understanding filled his eyes.
Remus stepped in front of Harry, allowing the boggart to take the form of the full moon. "Riddikulus."
The boggart turned into a disco ball before promptly exploding.
While Remus was dealing with the boggart, Sirius rushed over to Harry. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice panicked.
Harry nodded, eyes still fixed on the place where Sirius' dead body had been, fear poisoning his blood. "I'm fine, Sirius," he whispered. "It was just a boggart."
The words sounded robotic, stilted, false.
Sirius didn't seem to believe him, but Harry didn't give him the chance to say anything else. "I'm going to turn in for the night," he said hurriedly. "I'm really tired."
With that, Harry turned and fled from the room, passing George without even looking at him, not wanting the other boy to see the fear that was still clearly written on his face.
Once he was back in his room, Harry leaned against the closed door, gasping for breath. Even now, knowing that the boggart was gone, Harry couldn't quite breathe.
He couldn't help but wonder if his boggart changing was a bad omen. Maybe the dead bodies had appeared to him because his friends really were going to die.
Harry shook his head wildly, trying to eject those thoughts from his mind. Acting on instinct, he moved toward his bed, pushing aside his pillow and grabbing the locket from underneath. He pulled the chain over his head, clutching it close to his chest. The whispering of the locket was calming, but Harry still felt like he was on the edge of completely losing his mind.
Not knowing what else to do, Harry reverted to the way he'd found comfort as a child.
He opened his wardrobe and slid inside, closing the door tightly behind him. It wasn't his cupboard, but it was close enough.
It was in this position, huddled under the hanging clothes with the locket clutched tightly in his hand, that Harry fell asleep many hours later.
He was in a dark cave, damp night air creating a bone-deep chill as the boat slid through the black waters.
Ghostly hands reached out, grabbing onto the boat.
He didn't fear them. After all, he had created them.
A black rock rose from the water, a bowl full of liquid standing at the ready.
No one would ever find this place.
The blackness of the cave faded, replaced by the darkness of an equally black hallway.
A door was at the far end.
He needed to get through that door. He needed to have what was on the other side.
Just a little bit closer...
Harry woke with his scar burning, the dream still fresh in his mind.
As he became aware of his surroundings, he thought for several moments that he was back at the Dursleys, tucked away in the cupboard under the stairs. It was only when he noticed the clothes hanging above him that he remembered where he was and what had happened the night before.
He opened the wardrobe doors and clambered out, hissing as his muscles protested the movement. His fifteen-year-old body was far less forgiving of sleeping inside tiny spaces than his ten-year-old one had been.
The light of dawn was just breaking through the windows as Harry stretched his aching limbs and got ready for the day. In the light of morning, the boggart had lost some of its power over him. He understood now that it was just a representation of his fears. His friends and Sirius weren't doomed to die. He could protect them.
He had to protect them.
Harry made his way into the dining room and stopped dead in his tracks. George, who was never up at this time, was sitting at the table with a cup of tea, several parchments spread around him. He looked up as Harry entered, offering him one of his classic lopsided grins.
Harry, forgetting himself in his shock, blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. "Why are you up so early?"
George got a very sheepish look on his face, running his hand through his hair. "Well, to be honest, Harry," he said. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. After yesterday, you know."
Harry felt himself blush. "I'm okay, George," he said. "Really."
It was mostly true.
George stared at him for a long moment before nodding. "Okay, then."
Silence fell for just a moment before George gestured for Harry to join him at the table. "There's another reason I was waiting for you," he said. "Fred and I wanted your opinion on some of our new product ideas."
Over the next hour or so, George took Harry through the plans he and Fred had made for different product lines. Harry was particularly intrigued by the Skiving Snackboxes, knowing they would likely sell very well among the Hogwarts population.
When Harry asked George how they had made the Snackboxes, George launched into an in-depth description of their process, going into minute detail. As it turned out, George was an even bigger fan of Potions than Harry was. He even admitted, looking slightly ashamed, that he'd gotten an Outstanding on his Potions OWL.
"I let myself down on that one," George said, looking dejected. "I'm supposed to leave the academic achievement to Percy."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. He knew George was secretly pleased that he'd done well even if his prankster sensibilities would never allow him to admit it.
George, having noticed Harry's newfound interest in Potions, asked him for his thoughts on how to solve the problem they were having with the Nosebleed Nougat. They hadn't been able to figure out how to stop the bleeding.
After thinking for a bit, Harry suggested that they try including a coagulation element that was modified to activate after a set amount of time. George was immediately intrigued, and they began searching for an ingredient that might work.
When Remus walked into the dining room a little while later, he found Harry and George sitting with their heads together, surrounded by parchment. The two boys didn't even notice his entrance, too absorbed in their whispered conversation.
As the others trickled in, Harry and George reluctantly put away their project, vowing to continue working on the recipe later on.
Once everyone had arrived downstairs, the conversation turned to school supplies and book lists. Mrs. Weasley and Remus were planning to depart for Diagon Alley immediately after breakfast to beat the crowds.
Mrs. Weasley would be handling the supplies for all of her children, while Remus had offered to handle buying things for Harry and Hermione. Harry had given Remus his vault key in preparation for the trip, refusing to let Sirius pay. His godfather had already done too much for him.
Remus, who was clearly happy to foster Harry's newfound academic pursuits, also offered him some advice for getting through History of Magic, suggesting that he invest in a Dicta-Quill.
At Harry's confused look, Remus explained that a Dicta-Quill would write down anything that was said, creating a transcript of sorts, sparing the user from having to listen to Binns' droning.
Harry agreed so quickly, it made Remus laugh.
Although History of Magic was notorious for putting students to sleep, Harry knew that the actual content of Binns' lectures was accurate and interesting. The problem was that the ghost's voice was nearly as effective as the strongest Sleeping Potion on the market.
Having a transcript of the lectures would allow Harry to use History of Magic as a time to study other subjects while still having access to all the information he would need to pass his History OWL.
It was the best of both worlds.
Harry actually found himself greatly looking forward to the coming academic year at Hogwarts. The only subject he wasn't sure about was Defense Against the Dark Arts.
When Remus had seen the required textbook for the class, Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard, he had actually snorted. Apparently, the book offered no practical advice for using defensive magic. Instead, Slinkhard's suggestion for most situations was to sit quietly and wait for the Aurors to arrive. Unless the new professor planned to use the book as kindling for practicing fire-based defensive spells, things did not look good for their DADA education this year.
At least the book seemed fairly harmless. The professor who'd assigned this book was probably a person who, despite their incompetence, likely wasn't particularly evil or dangerous.
Harry had no idea just how wrong he was.