Ron, Hermione, Neville, and a few others visited Harry after dinner. It was a short visit in which Harry was told that Hagrid was beating himself up about Buckbeak hurting him and was sure that Harry didn't want to see him—the reason he hadn't come to make sure he was all right—and where Madam Pomfrey shooed them out so Harry could take his potions and get some rest, thankfully with the help of Dreamless Sleep.
With some coaxing, Harry was allowed out of the infirmary the next morning just in time to attend his first lesson, which ironically happened to be Care of Magical Creatures again.
"I'm free!" Harry called cheerfully to Ron and Hermione as soon as he crossed the doors to the infirmary. Harry was pretty sure Madam Pomfrey was glaring at him with the burning he felt on the back of his head, but he didn't bother turning around to see.
Ron laughed and Hermione just shook her head in amusement.
"Honestly, Harry," Hermione sighed. "You wouldn't have to complain if you didn't get hurt."
"Yeah, mate," said Ron. "Getting hurt for Malfoy? I know you said you had some truce with him, but did you really have to pull him out of the way? I wouldn't have minded if he'd gotten a little scratch."
"Think of it this way," said Harry reasonably, "if Malfoy had gotten clawed, he would have done his best to get Hagrid fired or even get Buckbeak killed."
"That's horrible!" Hermione cried as Ron said, "But it would've been his fault!"
"Doesn't matter, does it?" asked Harry rhetorically. "He would have gone crying to his dad—"
"I resent that, Potter." Harry, Ron, and Hermione whirled around. Draco and the few Slytherins in their class were walking out of the Great Hall, most likely about to head down to the edge of the Forest for Hagrid's class like they were. Draco sniffed, "I don't cry. I complain. There's a difference."
"Like how you complained about not getting on the Slytherin team last year and had your father buy your way in?" said Harry with a lighthearted grin to tell Draco that he didn't mean it. Ron guffawed and Harry spotted a few Slytherins hiding their smiles and snickers.
Draco scoffed. "I'll have you know, I made Seeker with pure talent. My father's donation was pure coincidence." His eyes were lit up, showing that he was enjoying the banter. Then they trailed over to his injured arm that was in a sling. "Are you sure you'll be able to play in the first match with that arm, Potter?"
"I can win against you with one arm tied around my back, but thanks for the concern." Harry was grinning. He liked the banter, too. He'd oddly missed it ever since they stopped seeing each other daily after travelling back in time. Sure, they'd met up a few times to talk about this year, as well as to further their plan about being seen together and not fighting, but he was used to working hours with Draco. Only spending a few hours a week with him had made him feel oddly lonely.
The banter continued as they headed towards Hagrid's hut for their next class, joining up with the rest of the Gryffindors.
"D'you know what Hagrid has planned for this lesson?" Harry asked the group as a whole, though it was Ron and Hermione who answered.
"He said something about toning it down," Ron said with a shrug.
"Hagrid wanted us to take care of flobberworms but I managed to convince him to go over class X or XX creatures like bowtruckles or fairies," said Hermione.
"Dear Merlin, I hope we don't have to take care of flobberworms! They're pointless and disgusting!" exclaimed a Slytherin Harry recognized to be Tracey Davis. Her friend, Daphne Greengrass, likewise had a grimace on her face.
"If he does I'll threaten that I'll drop his class," Harry said with a snort. "I don't want to take care of large worms, either."
A few people look surprised, perhaps at the fact that Harry was casually talking to and agreeing with a Slytherin, but Harry ignored it. He'd learned how stupid it was to completely ignore the Slytherins, and those in other Houses, for that matter. And this was what Draco and Harry had planned—to convince both of their Houses that they didn't have to be enemies. That they could get along and work together.
Hagrid was waiting by his house and led them to the opposite side of his pumpkin patch.
"These are jobberknolls," said Hagrid, gesturing to a small enclosure full of pretty blue birds. "Yeh'll be helpin' me collect their feathers for Pr'fesser Snape." Hagrid went on to tell them a few details about them, such as the fact that they rarely made a sound except for right before they died, where they would proceed to repeat everything they'd ever heard but backwards, before allowing them to try and coax the birds into giving them feathers. You could pluck them, but it would hurt the bird, and according to their books, their feathers were more potent if freely given.
Harry casually walked over to Davis and Greengrass and subtly conjured a few beetles to offer to the bird. His Darke Magick book had said that they were the birds' favourite treat. Davis and Greengrass kept glancing at him as they tried to coax the birds into their hands, but to no avail. The worms Hagrid had provided for them to coax them helped none, and in no time at all, Harry managed to get a jobberknoll to hop into his hand.
Gently petting the bird's head, Harry murmured, "They prefer beetles," to Greengrass and Davis. They glanced at one another and Greengrass conjured them some beetles to Harry's impressed surprise. Most conjuration spells involving living creatures were taught in sixth-year Transfiguration, with the earliest class being at the end of this year. Greengrass must've been ahead in her studies to be able to cast such an advanced spell.
Plot done for the moment, Harry focused back on the fragile bird in his hands. He was sure not to touch the jobberknoll's brilliant wings as birds were extremely sensitive there, so he only pet the head and the breast. "May I have a feather?" Harry asked curiously. Their Monster Book had said that jobberknolls had some intelligence—how else would they be able to repeat everything they'd ever heard, and backwards at that?—and he wondered if the bird knew and understood what he was asking.
The jobberknoll fluttered its wings and cleaned its feathers, and just as Harry was figuring that he wouldn't be getting a feather, the bird's head reared back, a bright blue speckled feather in its beak. Harry grinned and thanked the bird before taking the feather.
"How'd you do that?" Hermione's sudden voice startled both Harry and the bird, and the jobberknoll jumped from Harry's palms. "Oh, sorry!"
Harry sighed and answered, "They like beetles."
Hermione looked puzzled. "I read the whole chapter on jobberknolls—their favourite food isn't mentioned anywhere. I even checked teh anecdotes. How'd you know that?"
Harry shrugged. "I did some reading over the summer," he said. "I figured that since we're going over Dark creatures again in Defense, and not to mention this class, that it would be a good idea to do some extra reading."
"Very smart of you, Harry," Hermione complimented before saying, "So they prefer beetles? Where'd you get yours? Hagrid only has worms and grasshoppers available."
"I conjured them," Harry answered, much to Hermione's surprise.
"We're not taught insect conjuration until the end of the year!" Hermione exclaimed. "How'd you know the spell?"
Harry raised a brow and gave Hermione a pointed look. "I read ahead," he said dryly. "Just as you read ahead after hearing that we'll be conjuring stuff at the end of the year and likely know the spell yourself."
Hermione flushed. "That's different," she muttered before performing the spell. A beetle settled into her palm and Ron, who was glancing over at them, gaped at Hermione.
"You know how to conjure stuff, Hermione?" he blurted, gathering the attention of those near him.
"Hermione conjured something?"
"What is it?"
"Why's she conjuring stuff?" their classmates asked.
"Beetles," Hermione said, giving Harry and the jobberknoll that had perched back onto his finger a sideways glance. "Harry said that jobberknolls prefer them, that's why he's already gotten his feather."
"Blimey, mate," Ron said, sounding very impressed. "My bird hasn't budged at all."
As everyone tried to convince Hermione and their more talented friends to conjure them beetles, Harry wandered over to Hagrid who was cooing at a cage of jobberknolls. When Hagrid heard his approach, he refused to meet his eyes.
"I collected a feather, Hagrid. Where do you want me to put it?"
"Good job, 'arry," Hagrid said before gesturing to a crystal jar. "Put it in there."
Harry did as told and waited a moment to see if Hagrid would say anything. He didn't and Harry sighed.
"I don't blame you, you know," Harry said, looking at the jobberknoll in his palms. "It's not your fault that I got hurt, Hagrid."
"I'm yer teacher," Hagrid said. "I shou'dn't've let yeh get hurt."
"It was bound to happen sooner or later," said Harry. "Look at Kettleburn, he's missing most of his limbs. I think you got a little ambitious, that's all. Try to go slow and handle the more dangerous creatures yourself. And I liked the lesson on hippogriffs. I don't blame Buckbeak, either. I'm not angry, Hagrid, honest."
Hagrid was silent for a few moments before he gave a loud sniff. "Oh, 'arry, yer so kind," sobbed Hagrid. Harry was thankful that the large man didn't try to pull him into a hug. His hugs were rib-crushing as it was, he wasn't sure he wanted to feel the pain of having his ribs crushed and having his wounds pressed on.
After that, class went on as normal. Well, normal enough if you thought about the fact that the Gryffindors and Slytherins were actually getting along.
It wasn't until Potions the next morning did Harry and Draco's plan get set into action. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together as always, but this time, Draco plopped himself right next to Harry instead of next to his friends in Slytherin. This gained a few glances for those who hadn't been present when Harry and Draco were speaking with one another before Care of Magical Creatures, and Pansy Parkinson was giving Draco an incredulous look. Harry had somehow forgotten that Draco and Parkinson had been dating for the majority of third and fourth year before they broke it off in fifth or sixth year, and he grinned down at his notes in amusement. She looked particularly pug-like at this moment, with her wide eyes and dumbfounded expression, though Harry had to admit that his hate for Slytherins might've clouded his opinion of her. She wasn't at all ugly as he'd once thought.
Snape, as always, whirled into the classroom after the bell and slammed the door behind him. He settled behind his desk for roll call and stared at Harry and Draco when he spotted them sitting together. After a second of silence, he began to call for names before flicking his wand, causing notes to appear on the board.
Harry was rather appreciative of the fact that he was ambidextrous and so he had no issues writing his notes, though his arm did bump into Draco's a few times. They were making the Shrinking Solution today, and once their lecture on the theory on the potion was over, they were ordered to start brewing.
Harry found it particularly irritating as he tried to chop his daisy roots into equal pieces, and he startled when Draco snapped, "Give that to me before you chop your fingers off," and pulled the chopping board towards him.
Giving Draco an incredulous glance (for show, of course, this was all going to plan), Harry shrugged and started to skin his shrivelfig. It took a knack, but Harry had learned to peel all sorts of vegetables while handicapped, and so he managed to skin the shrivelfig without mutilating it. And without a second thought, he reached across the desk to skin Draco's since he was still cutting his roots for him.
The stares of their peers burned a hole in the side of Harry and Draco's heads as they continued to help prepare each other's potions ingredients, and then when they helped each other prepare their cauldrons. While Harry still did not have much finesse in the art of potions, he was much better than he had been when he was actually a thirteen-year-old, and so he didn't muck up their potions too much. Not only had he needed to get at least an Exceeds Expectations on his NEWTs in order to enter the Auror Academy, but he'd also had to take extra classes in the Academy and he'd done his research this summer.
He would get an O from Snape in Potions even if it killed him.
"Potter, Malfoy," snapped a cold voice. Harry, who was still skinning Draco's shrivelfig, just about managed to not jump at Snape's voice and injure himself further. He swallowed, pushed away the flashes of Snape on the rotted floor of the Shrieking Shack with blood staining his robes, and glanced up.
"Yes, sir?" Harry and Draco echoed one another.
"What are you doing?" he asked silkily.
"Preparing our potions ingredients, sir," said Harry, doing his best to look puzzled.
"Mr Malfoy," Snape drawled, "why are you cutting Potter's ingredients for him?"
Draco blinked up at Snape innocently. "I'm paying my debt, sir," he said seriously. "Potter took the strike from that beast that was meant for me. It is only right that I help him until he is healed."
Snape stared at him. "…'it is only right'…" he parroted slowly.
Nodding, Draco said, "Yes, of course. Potter may not be my… favourite person, but I owe him a debt. I could have been mutilated or even killed if not for him. You understand, of course?"
Something sour twisted Snape's expression. "…Of course," he said before sweeping away to yell at Neville about his dismal preparation skills.
Ron stared at Snape's back, gaping, and even Hermione was stunned. The rest of the Gryffindors were staring at Snape in disbelief and even a few Slytherins were surprised. Harry hid a smile and finished skinning the shrivelfig, moving to start heating the base to both his and Draco's cauldrons.
It wasn't until just that afternoon that Harry got the chance to help Draco instead of the other way around.
Harry was grinning in excitement as they headed up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He'd missed Lupin's teaching, but most of all, he'd missed Lupin himself. Those few hours on the train, where Remus had slept like the dead, hadn't been enough to convince him that Remus was actually here, not exactly whole or healthy, but alive.
Remus wasn't there when they arrived at the classroom and Harry sat at a table with Ron and Hermione, only bothering to pull out his book since he knew that they wouldn't need anything today. The Slytherins and the remainder of the Gryffindors joined them, chatting with one another when Lupin came in.
He smiled at the sight of them prepared and placed his old briefcase on his desk. Harry drunk in the sight of him. Where he had been grey and under the weather on the train, Remus seemed to have filled out a bit and he had some colour to his cheeks. His hair was still just starting to grey prematurely, and Harry could make out the silvery scars going across the face, but it was undoubtedly Remus. The tightness in Harry's chest receded some and he felt as if he could breathe easily.
"Good afternoon," Remus greeted them. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags? Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wand.
Everyone exchanged curious glances as they put their stuff away. At this point in time, the only 'practical' lesson they'd had was when Lockhart, the idiot, had let pixies loose on them last year.
"Right then," Remus said once everyone was ready. "If you'd follow me."
Ron and Hermione were wondering what kind of lesson they would be having, as was everyone else, as Lupin led them down the deserted corridor and around a corner, where they came upon Peeves stuffing a keyhole with chewing gum.
Remus, likely recalling his own school years as a prankster, was smiling as Peeves began to sing 'loony, loopy, Lupin.'
"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," said Lupin pleasantly. "Mr Filch won't be able to get into his brooms."
Peeves's answer was to blow a loud raspberry and so Lupin sighed.
"This is a useful little spell," Remus said, taking out his wand with a bit of mischief shining in his amber eyes. "Please watch closely." He raised his wand, said, "Waddiwasi!" and pointed it towards Peeves.
The wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves left nostril, making him curse and zoom away.
"Cool, sir!" Dean said in amazement. Remus thanked him and continued to lead them towards the staffroom door.
"Inside, please," said Remus, opening the door and gesturing them inwards.
The staffroom, panelled and long and full of mismatched furniture, was empty save for Snape. He sat in a low armchair and glared as the class filed in. As Remus went to close the door behind him, Snape sneered, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this," and left, but not before saying, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear." He was undoubtedly referring to when Hermione helped him fix his Shrinking Solution earlier that day to save Trevor from being poisoned.
While Harry would have thought it funny to see Snape's reaction to his Boggart-self wearing Mrs Longbottom's usual garb, he felt that it would have been the best. Hearing about it was one thing, but seeing it firsthand? Poor Neville wouldn't have been able to even step into the dungeons without panicking.
"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," Lupin told Snape with a raised brow just before he left, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably."
Neville's face was white as the old wardrobe began to shutter and wobble and Lupin revealed that it held a boggart in it. Harry took the chance to remind Neville that he now had a wand suited to his magic—a warrior's wand, at that—and that he should do fine.
Neville only managed a trembling smile.
"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," said Lupin. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks—I once met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoons, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice. So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?"
A few people raised their hands, including Harry, and Remus nodded at Hermione.
"It's a shape-shifter," she said. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."
"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Professor Lupin, and Hermione soaked up the praise. "So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears. This means that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"
"It's because we're in a large group," answered Harry, "it won't know which shape it should take and it'll get all confused."
"Precisely," Lupin said with something fond in his eyes as he looked at Harry. "It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake—tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.
"The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires a force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.
"We will practise the charm without wands first. After me, please… Riddikulus!"
"This class is ridiculous," Draco muttered as the class repeated the spell. Harry, despite himself, sniggered.
"Well done, Malfoy, you've got the spell right," Harry drawled quiet enough so that only those near Draco could hear. A few of the Slytherins, and not to mention Gryffindors, gave him odd looks at his 'compliment'.
"Good," said Lupin, regaining their attention. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."
Harry and a few other Gryffindors tried to work up Neville's courage as he walked forward, looking as if he was heading straight for his own execution. Lupin asked Neville about the thing that would frighten most and everyone laughed when he said Snape, Neville himself included.
"Professor Snape… hmm… Nevile, I believe you live with your grandmother?" Remus asked, something like mischief in his eyes.
"Er—yes," said Neville nervously. "But—I don't want the boggart to turn into her either."
"No, no, you misunderstand me," said Lupin with a small grin. "I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"
Neville looked startled, but said, "Well… always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress… green, normally… and sometimes a fox-fur scarf."
"And a handbag?" prompted Remus, and Harry knew that Remus knew what he was doing. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Draco hiding a grin of his own. He was amused about this, as well, not that it'd surprised Harry. Draco had thought Snape a brilliant Potions Master, but he hadn't been fond of how surly and anti-children the man had been.
"A big red one," said Neville, and Harry could see a dawning of understanding creep into his eyes. Harry couldn't tell if Neville was excited or horrified, and based upon what he recalled of Snape's reaction the last time, Harry figured it was more on the 'horrified' spectrum.
"Right then," said Lupin. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"
"Yes," said Neville, sounding horrified, much to the amusement of the Gryffindor boys who knew Neville decently well.
"When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," said Lupin. "And you will raise your wand—thus—and cry 'Riddikulus'—and concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag."
There was a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more violently as if upset that it was being mocked.
"If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn," said Lupin. "I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…"
The class went quiet as if suddenly realizing that they, too, would have to face what frightened them most. Many's faces paled, but none more so than Draco's. Something inside of Harry jolted as he realized who the boggart was likely to turn into for him—Voldemort. Not only would that frighten the class, but it would also baffle them. Why would the son of a Death Eater, who'd been just after a year old when Voldemort fell, be afraid of the Dark Lord?
"Everyone ready?" asked Lupin.
Harry rolled up the sleeves of his new shirt and watched as Lupin urged Neville to the front of the class.
"Neville, we're going to back away," said Remus, pushing the class back. "Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward… Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot—"
Neville was pale and frightened, but Harry could see a steady resolve in him as he held his wand at chest level.
"On the count of three, Neville," said Remus, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. "One—two—three—now!"
A jet of blue sparks shot from the end of Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open and Snape stepped out, a sneer on his face as he glared down at Neville with an expression full of malice.
Neville's hand trembled before he forcefully calmed himself. "R-Riddikulus!" he shouted.
With a crack, boggart-Snape soon found himself in a long, lacey green dress, a moth-eaten vulture top hat sitting upon his head, and a huge crimson handbag swinging from his hand.
There was a roar of laughter and Lupin urged Parvati forward. And then Seamus and Greengrass and Davis and Perks and Dean and Ron and then, it rounded on Draco in a bout of confusion.
Draco's face was white and his hand trembled. His hawthorn wand had risen and the boggart swirled, donning a dark cloak and pale features before Harry stepped into its view. The pale features disappeared and a chill spread over the room. The dementor's shiny, decayed hand slithered from beneath its cloak and Harry stared at his with cold eyes as everyone gasped.
"Riddikulus," Harry drawled before Remus could interrupt again, flicking his wand at the boggart-dementor. It became covered in Umbridge's usual pink garb and had a meowing kitten broach in the centre of its chest. Harry cracked a smile and snickered, prompting a few others to do so before the boggart tried to shape-shift again.
The boggart landed before Neville once more and Remus, looking a little shocked at Harry's boggart, said "Forward, Neville, and finish him off!"
Confident, Neville shouted, "Riddikulus!" Neville let out a great "Ha!" of laughter and the boggart, perhaps too confused and overwhelmed with being defeated so many times, burst into thousands of tiny wisps of smoke.
"Excellent!" Remus cried when the class broke into applause. "Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone… Let me see… five points to Gryffindor and Slytherin for every person to the boggart—ten for Neville because he did it twice… and five each to Hermione and Harry."
As Lupin assigned them reading and a small essay, Harry glanced over at Draco. His face was still a little pale, but he was no longer trembling. Draco glanced over at him and gave a shaky nod of gratitude.