Chapter 7

Yes, Homework Still Exists

By the end of that evening's dinner they all had their timetables, which they'd brought up to the Dumbledore Den. The eighth years were settling into their new accommodation more comfortably now. There was a game of Exploding Snap going on at one of the tables. People had taken to walking around in socks or even barefoot on the silky wall-to-wall carpet, which was luscious and cool underfoot and nearly came up to your ankles.

Harry and Ron were sitting on and around a couple of the beanbag chairs, along with Neville, Seamus, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan. Harry was mulling over his timetable and nibbling on one of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, cross-legged on the floor.

As well as his Healing lessons, he had double Transfiguration and double Herbology on Monday. Tuesday was Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology and double Potions in the afternoon. Wednesday was a half day, so the morning cycled between one week of Potions and Transfiguration, and his other two subjects the next week. Thursday started with double Potions, which was good in a way because he'd already be in the dungeons from next week, and bad because it was the first class of the year tomorrow and that fact made his palms sweat; then, Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures. He was pretty pleased with Friday, because though it started with Transfiguration, he had Herbology and double Care of Magical Creatures, which was a good way to round off the week as he shared both classes with Ron.

It was interesting to see that they hadn't been kidding when they said eighth year would break down the barriers between Houses. Every one of his classes was a mix of Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Or none of them were, if you looked at it a different way. They were all Dumbledore House now, weren't they?

Hermione had proposed at dinner that it was also simply because they were a smaller year group:

"If they didn't have us all in the classes together, then they would be doing twice the work for very small class sizes - maybe even just two or three pupils at a time."

She was currently in the library, writing the essay for her careers counsellor. Already, she was pretty miffed that the pair of them hadn't started theirs. And Ron was pretty miffed, too, (or more like fuming) that she wasn't taking his decisions seriously at all. And she was practically boiling over with frustration that he wasn't even going to try to get good grades, or a proper career, or a life.

Needless to say, they weren't speaking.

"Can't believe I've got double History of Magic on a Monday," Ron moaned. "I'll never be able to keep myself awake! I am already regretting like... everything. What've you got?"

"Double Transfigurations."

"Is that worse? I think it's not. Damn you."

"Hey, on Thursdays I effectively have triple Potions in the morning. Feel sorry for me yet?"

"Only a little. If you're taking these classes with Pomfrey do you think you could sneak out some Pepper-up potion so my soul doesn't leave my body at the start of every week?"

"I think Pomfrey may object."

"Yes I know, but can you do it anyway. Pleeeeease?" he wheedled.

"I promise nothing."

"That's the best I'm getting, is it? Fine. What d'you reckon the new professors will be like? I haven't got any of them."

Harry had Dr Khatri for Transfiguration and Professor Tang for both his weekly Healing Potions and regular Potions classes.

"Potions without Snape is going to be freaky. Kind of wish I still had the Half Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion-Making. My grades were so much better when I still had it..." They'd declined sharply thereafter, and the book had long since perished in the Fiendfyre that engulfed the Room of Requirement. "Might be that Professor Tang is a bit easier to learn from, though. Much as Snape was uh, great and all, he wasn't exactly the most supportive teacher."

Ron held out two hands and moved each up and down like a tipping scale. "Hero of our time. Crap with kids. Can't be good at everything."

"At least you'll be with me, Harry," said Neville. He was also sitting on the carpet, once again wearing his Peruvian jumper. The sleeves dangled over the backs of his hands.

"Yeah?"

"I'm taking Potions, too. We can fail together!" His laugh was a nervous one. "I think enough people chose Transfigurations that they are actually doing two classes for that subject, though, 'cause I've got it at a different time on here and it says it's being taught by Mr Khatri, look. And I'm taking Charms, so I'm with you in that class, Ron. I'm doing an extra curricular in Advanced Botanics and Entomology though, so we won't be in Herbology together, which kinda sucks."

Ron looked impressed. "When did you become such a swot, Neville?"

Neville turned crimson. "I- I was here all of last year. Even if most of the stuff we learned was total, well to be honest with you, total b-bollocks. I got my Herbology N.E.W.T. already, thanks to Professor Sprout letting me secretly sit the the exam early. Don't know how, but I got an O. And they gave us that Defence Against the Dark Arts 'Outstanding' over the summer, which was amazing, so I have to get 'Exceeds Expectations' in three more classes to qualify. Though maybe they'd be happy if I got two? Since I have two Os already. I'm not sure how it works. Professor Sprout is my careers counsellor so she's looking into it for me."

"Bloody hell, Longbottom!" Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled.

"Qualify for what?" Ernie asked, tuning into the conversation as well.

Neville went even more red. "Y- you'll think it's daft," he said.

Seamus nudged him. "Not a chance. Go on, tell us."

"Well after the battle. And all the work we put into the DA and everything. I... decided that I want to follow in my parents' footsteps. You know, be an Auror."

"An Auror?" Ron leaned in. "Mate, that's fucking fantastic! Couldn't think of a better candidate! You'll be bloody brilliant!" The others agreed, loudly.

"The- there's no guarantee. Still a long shot, I mean how am I going to pass Potions for a start?"

Harry shook his head. Sure he'd pictured Neville doing something like a quiet job in Herbology before, but after seeing him in battle, it definitely made way more sense for him to be an Auror. And it was kind of nice, that one of the boys 'born on the seventh month' would keep up the good fight against the forces of evil and all that.

"Neville, you sliced a giant snake in half with a sword, fought off dozens of Death Eaters and lived - you're the Hero of Hogwarts, you do realise that? I think you - and me - can manage a little Potions class, right?" he said.

Neville darted a grateful, white smile in his direction. "Oh. Um Well. Yes, OK then."

Seamus punched the air. "That's my man!"

To one side, the two ex-Hufflepuffs put their heads together and whispered for a few seconds.

"Hey," said Ernie to the group, conspiratorially. "This calls for a celebration. Have any of you ever been to... the kitchens?"

One tickled pear; a raid on butterbeer and snacks (willingly given by a cluster of House Elves who were eager to do anything for The Harry Potter, whose heartstrings plucked painfully **once more as he thought of poor old Dobby), and an evening of boardgames and tomfoolery later, the boys turned in for the night. Harry lay drifting off on his bed, surrounded by curtains and darkness, satisfied and happy. Even the niggling thought of Draco Malfoy plotting something had faded into a background, 'deal with it later' sort of thing.

Will the whole year be like this? He thought, dreamily. He sure hoped so.

The scream cut through him like a knife. He whirled around. The dungeon, Malfoy Manor. Luna Lovegood was trembling in a corner, rocking with her hands over her ears, her pale legs marred with streaks of dirt. Ollivander's gaunt face loomed out of the shadows and he wrung his hands, feverish - "You must do something, Potter. You must do something or they will destroy her." And Ron, Ron was yelling and wrenching and pounding at the iron bars, but they wouldn't open, they wouldn't open and Hermione's terrible shriek pierced the air once more-

Harry sat up, gasping, sweat-soaked and tangled in sheets. The chink of light slicing across his bedspread through the azure curtains told him it was morning. And he wasn't at Malfoy Manor anymore. He was at Hogwarts. It was over. It wasn't real.

He waited for his heart to stop drumming enough that he could think. Right. Good. Nightmares had always plagued him, but they'd died down a bit since the night he killed Voldemort. He'd hardly had any at the Burrow. Maybe it's because I'm back at the school? Maybe it's dredging stuff up? Not exactly how he'd wanted to start the day, anyway.

He pressed his forehead to his knees. AND I've got double Potions first.

Though he'd been in a rather grim mood all through breakfast, not helped by the fact that Ron and Hermione still hadn't made up, Harry brightened a bit at the sight of Neville waiting for him outside the entrance to the dungeons. He joined in step as they walked towards the classroom.

"Is it weird that I'm missing Snape?" Neville said. "At least with him I knew what to expect."

Harry, too, felt far more nervous than he'd anticipated. He'd fought in a war, for fuck's sake. But the adrenaline from that dream earlier still hadn't abated. At least, that's what he was telling himself.

They entered the old familiar Potions lab with its rows of cauldrons and jarred ingredients stacked on shelves. Everything was the same, except instead of Severus Snape hunching over the desk at the front of the room, Professor Natalie Tang was standing on it. She pointed at their heads with her wand as they walked in.

"-nine, ten - take a pew, boys, it'll be yours for the term - eleven-," she counted. She wasn't quite as short as Flitwick, but there were only a few inches in it. She had a stiff pointed hat on as if to make up for that fact.

Once the eighth years had filed in, Harry saw a few of the Ravenclaw (ex-Ravenclaw!) girls gathered at the back, Padma included, and also Susan Bones and Megan...something? And a boy whose name he couldn't remember at all - did it begin with a 'W'? Terry Boot was sitting with Dean. And Nott and Greengrass were at the front, which was unfortunate given the only remaining spots were at the station directly behind them. At least he could entertain himself by glaring at the backs of their heads. Maybe he could 'accidentally' splash a potion on their robes once in a while... He vowed to ask Ron if any of his Wizard Wheezes could be deployed in an opportune way in this setting.

There were a dozen students in the class, by the time they were all there - despite the difficulty, Potions was a fairly popular requirement for placements and higher education - and Harry was surprised not to see Malfoy in attendance. Perhaps, now that Snape wasn't teaching it and he couldn't enjoy the ruthless punishments the old Potions Master had liked to dole out to Harry and his friends, he wasn't interested in Potions anymore?

"Now!" Tang jumped down from the desk. Her hat bobbed as she circled round to the board. She reintroduced herself, writing her name in chalk; she put a heart above the 'i' in 'Natalie' and Harry tried not to let his face do anything strange. What Snape would have said in response to seeing that on his blackboard? He shuddered to imagine.

"I know you've all had a disrupted - or even non-existent - year last year. Given this is your first class back, I think we should start with something fun to get into the swing of things," she said.

Harry felt Neville relax a little beside him.

"A quiz on the uses of hyena hides in Grecian potion-making. There are two hundred and forty-two uses; let's see how many you can get. A point to Dumbledore for every correct answer. One point off for every incorrect answer. What is your name? Boot? Pleasure to meet you. You can start us off."

An hour later they were down thirty points and the mood in the room had shifted from cautious optimism to downright panic. Tang was relentless. Cheerful. Unyielding. She praised correct answers lavishly, but took points for even the slightest mistake: "Oh dear, Miss Bones, I think you'll find it's three hairs from the spotted hyena used in a coughing cure - you failed to specify the variety. In Potions you really must get the details right; as silence is to a lie, omission is as bad as a wrong answer. Of course, you'll remember for next time. Just rusty I expect. Gosh you are all a bit rusty today, aren't you?" She had laughed as if she genuinely believed this was an anomaly that would soon wear off. Harry was pretty sure he knew otherwise.

After the quiz, she had them brew a Babbling Beverage. Harry saw Padma Patil smile at this. She and her sister had concocted this potion in secret to use on Umbridge's loudspeakers in fifth year, which they'd accomplished with Harry's help. He hadn't worked so much on the potion itself though, so he couldn't enjoy the same relief.

Still, without Snape barking at him every five minutes, Neville proved much less clumsy than he used to as a partner, and was quite good at carefully stripping the core of the poinsettia stems given his Herbology experience. Between them, they managed to produce something approximating the colour and consistency described in their textbooks. It burbled merrily in the cauldron as they waved Professor Tang over to inspect it. On the way, she paused and gave a thumbs up to Nott and Greengrass, who had finished already and were packing up. Harry prickled when he saw Nott sneer behind her back.

Once she reached their bench, she took her wand out and extracted a stream of liquid out of the cauldron, letting it swirl in the air and catch the dim lamplight. She released it, and it fell back down with a plop.

"Lovely shade!" she concluded. "You must have really paid attention when cutting those poinsettias."

Neville nearly fell over backwards. Praise. For a potion. It was all a bit much, Harry suspected. He too, warmed to her in that moment. OK, so she was still a tough teacher. Tough, but fair. He'd take that any day.

"Put a sample on my desk. We won't be taste-testing this one today as the effects can be rather long-lasting. You can tidy up and head to lunch. Oh and take a note of the assignment on the board before you leave, please. I'd like at least ten inches on the reasons for using distilled hyena laughter in voice-alteration tinctures by Monday."

After lunch - Hermione was at the Ravenclaw table with Luna the whole time - Ron and Harry parted ways, Ron heading to his first History of Magic class and Harry to Transfiguration. They agreed to meet outside the main entrance hall so they could walk to Hagrid's hut together afterwards.

Dr Diya Khatri, an Indian woman in a pink sari, had a scientific and technical attitude to Transfiguration that surpassed even McGonagall's approach. To start the class she explained in clipped, rigorous detail the principle of Artificianimate Quasi-Dominance as a result of failed Conjuring spells, writing formulas on the board that looked to Harry like Muggle physics and diagrams that would've made an engineer cross-eyed, before pairing them off to replicate one of one another's shoes. It was an insight into her brand of humour that in doing so she seemed to enjoy, too much, a groan-worthy pun about 'two left feet.'

The desks cleared to the edges of the large classroom, the students stood in front of one another in rows, spaced out from one end of the room to the other.

Of course, she wasn't to know the history between the classmates. She wasn't to know that by pairing him with Draco Malfoy she was setting him up for one of the most awkward twenty minutes of his life. Typical...

Still, it was almost inevitable at this point.

As they faced each other, Malfoy did that thing again - that thing he'd done in Madame Malkin's where he closed his eyes as if in pain and didn't say anything - and bent to untie his shoe. Harry, quickly copied him; his fingers were clumsy with the laces and he took longer than usual to get them undone. It didn't help that he refused to tear his gaze away from Malfoy the whole time.

Slipping off the shoe, he placed it down in front of him and stood, feeling ridiculous with one snitch-patterned red sock on display.

"Accio Potter's shoe." Malfoy waved his wand. Harry jumped, both at the sound of his voice and as his shoe slid along the stone floor. They were standing far apart, compared to the other groups.

He took his own wand out of his sleeve and accio-ed Malfoy's shoe over as well. It practically shot across the room and hit his shin with a thud before falling to the ground. He rubbed his leg. Malfoy was wearing black socks. To go with his black heart...

The ex-Slytherin didn't seem to be interested in speaking any further, so Harry crouched to examine his shoe in more detail. Black, again. Shiny. But not new. Hi picked it up. The sole was worn at the heel, more on one side than the other, and there was a very slight scuff near the toe, filled in with boot polish so it was barely noticeable. Malfoy had laced it with the laces going horizontal, back and forth, rather than diagonally. He looked inside. He could, very faintly, detect his scent. He resisted the peculiar urge to inhale. It was a UK size eleven. Same shoe size. He could put Malfoy's shoe on and it would fit, probably. He was holding Draco Malfoy's bloody shoe. Life was... odd.

Dr Khatri had described and demonstrated the wrist movement as starting at a relaxed elbow on seventy-five degrees, rotating on the plane to a hundred and eighty, then forward by two inches, back towards the chest in a four-point zig-zag, a swift cut upwards and - at the last minute - a flick of the wand tip down towards the space where the conjured object should appear, ending in a tight anti-clockwise full turn from the lowest point of the circle. It was all on the board in diagram format. At the other side of the room. In tiny, crowded writing. He shrugged. He was pretty sure he had it memorised. He practiced a few times without the incantation, to get the feel of it.

He wasn't looking at what Malfoy was doing in an attempt to keep himself focused, but the phrase 'I'll do it myself if I have to!' circled inside his head like a cawing raven.

He sighed. Concentrate. He set the shoe slightly to one side in front of him and stared at the square stone paving.

"Conjurious Appiriat... Replicata!" he tried, one eye on Malfoy's shoe and the other on an empty spot beside it. He waved his wand, a bit too flamboyantly.

Nothing happened.

He repeated the movement, this time aiming to more precisely match what Dr Khatri had demonstrated. "Conjurious Appiriat... ReplicaTA!"

The space remained stubbornly empty. He tried again. Again. Again. Again.

"Conjurious Appiriat... RepliCAta!"

"Conjurious Appiriat... REPLICATA!"

"Potter, for fuck's sake stop shouting!"

He looked up. Malfoy was glowering at him. There were two left shoes in front of him. Harry couldn't tell which was his original. He stumbled back a step as Malfoy advanced on him.

"It's... it's 'ReplicatOa'. Not 'ReplicatA.' And you need to do the last bit like this." Malfoy tipped his wand almost to the ceiling, pointed it, with his slender index finger held against the length of wood, downward, and drew an infinitesimally small circle.

'Levi-O-sa...' Harry recalled a young version of Hermione's voice. So maybe he hadn't been listening. The memory brought a grin unbidden to his face.

Catching sight of it, Malfoy's own face drained of colour except for two ruddy spots on his cheekbones and, as if realising his proximity to Harry, he promptly whirled round and stalked back to the shoes. Harry noticed the front sections on the sides of his shoulder-length hair were pulled back in a loose black cord at the nape of his neck.

The blonde picked up one of the shoes and wordlessly hover-charmed it over to land at Harry's feet. The boot was blackish grey, more scuff that not, with a heel splattered with mud, worn laces, and a crumply bit in the middle. His were the same shoes he'd worn all day yesterday, he realised, and he'd played Quidditch - wait why was he feeling embarrassed about his shoes in front of Malfoy anyway?

"Your feet stink, by the way, Potter," Malfoy blurted.

Harry opened his mouth to hurl an insult right back at him, but Malfoy was already off. He strode over to where the chairs were stood upside-down on the desks, picked one up, walked back a bit, plunked it down and put his socked ankle up onto his right knee. He crossed his arms.

"Hurry up. I want my shoe back." Closed eyes. Pained expression. Opened eyes. Neutral expression. "Please."

"Oh. Um. Yeah, well... give me a minute." Harry's brain was a whirlwind. Malfoy wasn't exactly being polite, but for Malfoy? Yeah... he was being polite. The hell?

He set aside his own shoe and tried to clear his mind. The stone floor was beginning to leach the warmth from his exposed foot. He did his best to ignore the feeling, raised his wand, bent the elbow and-

"Conjurious Appiriat Replicatoa!"

A black shoe popped into existence and dropped, with a light smack, a few inches to the ground. And Gryffindor has won the Quidditch Cup. The crowd goes wild...

He bent to examine it further. Horizontal laces, size eleven. He'd even got the wear and tear right.

"Well?"

"I think... I think I did it."

Malfoy accio-ed his own shoe back towards him, the offending item whipping past Harry's face. He shoved it on his foot, tied a crude knot, picked up the replicated shoe he'd conjured earlier and headed over to where Dr Khatri was putting out a small fire that had started amongst a hill of misshapen shoes in front of... yes, of course, it was Seamus.

"I believe I have completed the assignment," Harry overheard as he shoved his now icy cold toes back into his own boot.

Dr Khatri looked sceptical. "There is 'believe' and there is 'know'. Which is it?"

"I have completed the assignment."

"Very good. Let's compare, yes?"

Harry took his cue and headed over. He held the not-Malfoy's-shoe in a finger and a thumb grip. The pair of them stood side by side, radiating awkwardness like magnets of the same poles actively trying to repel one another. Dr Khatri took both shoes.

"Legs," she said. Harry wasn't sure what she wanted, but then realised as Malfoy stuck out a foot.

"Exceptional work. You really paid attention to the details, both of you. It is customary yes, to award points? Five points to Dumbledore. Each. You may leave."

Her attention was caught by a waving student and she left them to stand there on one foot. Life kept getting... odder. They both started towards the door, Malfoy at a blistering pace.

'I'll do it myself if I have to!' Caw, caw went the raven in his brain. I should say something, right?

"Malfoy I-"

He slowed, but didn't turn around.

"I'm watching you," he finished lamely. Oh good, that didn't sound insane at all.

"I hope you die of boredom, then," Malfoy shot over his shoulder as he swept out the door.

Minutes later, Harry was relieved to get out into the open air. He was standing outside the entrance hall and didn't have to wait long before Ron turned up. The pair of them headed out to Hagrid's hut as Harry told him about his encounter.

"The git was in my charms class all morning. Wasn't acting strange, but he sure kept quiet. Which is strange for him, actually. So yeah, for sure up to some shady shit," said Ron. Once upon a time, 'shady shit' would've meant something relatively harmless. Nowadays, Harry wasn't so sure.

Care of Magical Creatures consisted of a small group, with just Ron, Harry, a boy called Oliver Rivers, from Ravenclaw and the burly Hufflepuff with the 'W' name. Turned out it stood for 'Wayne Hopkins'. Within five minutes, Hagrid had them all shucking Good-Fortune clams (they didn't seem particularly fortunate, all piled up in red buckets like that), which, apparently, had something to do with tomorrow's class.

Feeling he should at least spend the time doing something worthwhile, Harry - aiming for a diplomatic, neutral tone - asked after Hermione.

"Still not speaking," Ron said, prying his knife between the shells and levering the clam open.

"Think you ought to talk to her about it?"

"Gonna have to, aren't I?"

"After dinner?"

"Yep."

There. Harry felt his duty was done in the 'help your best friend with his relationship' department, so he dropped the subject in favour of speculating about Quidditch teams.

In fact, as luck would have it, as they walked back to the castle Harry finally caught sight of Rolanda Hooch ushering a group of second years from the pitch. Both he and Ron ran to catch up with her.

"Ah. McGonagall and I were just discussing this yesterday," she said after listening to their flurry of questions, the main one being: 'Can we still play on the Gryffindor Quidditch team?'

"I can't go into too much detail now," she continued. "Got this lot to sort and we haven't ironed out the wrinkles yet but the short and short of it is, no."

"What?"

She held up a hand. "Let me finish! No you may not play in the Quidditch cup. No you may not play as a House. No you may not play for Gryffindor. However. We have decided that there will be a series of more informal four-aside games running alongside the main games, with mixed teams made up of at least two Houses. Two chasers, a Beater and a Keeper apiece. No team can have more than two people from the same year. Once we've had time to arrange it, there will be sign-up sheets posted. Now I really must be going."

She walked off before Harry and Ron had a chance to comment. Or protest.

The next morning, whatever they'd said to one another, Harry was much relieved to find Ron and Hermione sat together once more at the breakfast table. It was still a slightly stiff atmosphere, but definitely an improvement. He slid in opposite them and grabbed a slice of buttered toast from the mountain on Ron's plate.

Still got my Seeker's reflexes, he chucked to himself, as Ron failed to stop him. Shame he wouldn't really be able to use them... still, he and Ron had already decided they were going to form a team with Harry as one of the Chasers and Ron as Keeper. They just needed two more players from another year.

"-such unbelievable tosh," Hermione was saying. She waved a fork for emphasis. "Harry - hello by the way - I spent all of yesterday afternoon trying to establish a thread of logic in Trelawney's methods and at every turn, every turn there was another pile of bullshit waiting for me. She had a 'vision' that I was destined to become a ruddy flower arranger, for goodness' sake."

Ron snorted and had to turn it into a cough before he ignited another fight.

"Speaking of prophecies..." Seamus Finnigan scooched over and slapped a folded copy of the The Daily Prophet down on the table. "Another attack in York. They think it was just two of 'em, but they got away with it. Burned down a small office block that belonged to the Ministry. Some injured, but no deaths this time."

Hermione paled. The attacks were frequent. Unpredictable. Petty. Bent on vengeance. Less purposeful than they had been under Voldemort. Less organised. In a way, that was just as frightening. And it was the reason she had not returned to her parents over the summer. It was the reason they were still Obliviated and living care-free and childless in Australia. Kingsley Shacklebolt, now the official Minister for Magic, had recommended they stay that way until the unrest died down, and said he would contact her with any significant updates. The systems that allowed the Dark Lord to come to power were not done in yet, even if their cause was a hopeless, bitter one, and they were liable to attack any high-profile vulnerability.

Ron bit his lip, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"I just wish I could see them again," she said, a little emptily. She held out a hand and Harry took hold of it. The three of them felt again, for a moment, the weight of the world on their shoulders...