The novelty of the rocket launch hadn't yet worn off by next Wednesday, and over breakfast a yawning Ron was approached by several people who wanted to ask about what it had been like or when he was going to go up next.
One particularly enthusiastic Second-Year asked whether he was going to meet aliens next time, and in between fighting off the side effects of having had an Astronomy lesson last night (and being more than a bit tired as a consequence) Ron said that he was pretty sure that he'd be the weirdest thing up there.
"It is an interesting question, though," Hermione said. "Maybe there are aliens out there, and they've got a Space Law of Hiding like we've got a Statute of Secrecy."
"Well, maybe," Dean agreed. "But it seems more likely to me that most of those stories about alien abductions and flying saucers and stuff are just Obliviations which didn't quite go right."
Neville turned to look at him. "Most?"
Dean grinned. "Obviously, some of them are lies, mate."
It was a good point.
Then the post arrived, and along with the usual sorts of things they all expected – including Hedwig, who was here with the post from Dean's family – but two deliveries in quick succession came as a surprise.
Firstly, there was one from Hedwig herself, who followed up dropping a letter in front of Dean by also putting one down in front of Harry.
Surprised, Harry picked it up, but he'd only had time to notice that there was a stamp on it when a great big eagle owl swooped down to drop one letter each for Ron and Ginny.
"Huh, that's weird," Ginny said, picking hers up. It had ornate blue calligraphy on the front, and she opened it with a muttered charm before unfolding the parchment inside. "Oh, that's great!"
"It is?" Ron said, trying his best to stifle another yawn.
"Bill's getting married, to Fleur," Ginny explained. "This Easter, it says. And it says that, um, it's going to be in France, and that I can invite some guests. I bet yours says the same."
"This is the same Fleur who came really close to winning the Triwizard Tournament, right?" Neville asked. "Wow. He moves quick."
Ron shook his head. "Nah, well, maybe, but they've known each other for a while. I think?"
He shook his head, and grabbed for some pumpkin juice. "I spent hours last night talking about what it was like in space, and it was great, but I don't think I got enough sleep…"
Harry took the letter, looked at Ron to see if it was okay, then at a slight nod slit the envelope open with his claw.
Ginny was right – not that he'd expected anything else – and the invitation was written in fine calligraphy. It said that he (or, Ron, since it was addressed to Ron) could bring several guests and that they should RSVP to say how many people would be coming.
There weren't all that many details about where the wedding was being held, just that it was going to be in Normandy, but Harry supposed that maybe they'd have to set everything up there in what would appear to Muggles to just be a field.
Or maybe they hadn't finalized things yet.
The date was given, though, and that was during the Easter Holidays.
"Any of you want to come?" Ron asked, after blinking a few times and looking closely at the card.
"How much sleep did you actually get last night, Ron?" Hermione asked.
Ron looked uncertain. "I think it was at least five hours… I didn't get a chance to sleep yesterday afternoon, though, I was thinking about the…"
After another jaw-cracking yawn, he shook his head. "...the communication problem."
"All right, that's it," Hermione decided, and went off towards the Slytherin table.
Harry watched her go, confused, then shrugged his wings and looked at his own envelope.
It was addressed to 'Harry Potter, Somewhere, Probably in Scotland?' and had a couple of little beak marks on the corner opposite the stamp.
"...did you fish this out of a postbox?" Harry asked his owl, and in reply she just looked smug.
Opening it up, Harry took the contents out and started reading.
It was a printed letter from Dudley, saying that he hoped Harry was doing okay, and that he had no idea how to get a letter to him and didn't want to ask his parents. He guessed magic had something to do with it, though, so he'd just do his best.
It was kind of a nice letter to get, really. Dudley had apparently written it on one of the computers at school, because that way it was neater than his handwriting, and it wasn't very long but it was just cheering to know that Dudley wanted to stay in touch.
Harry was already planning to write a return letter when Hermione came back over from the Slytherin table.
"Here," she said, putting a cone-shaped piece of chocolate on Ron's plate. "You should have this."
Ron poked it. "Um…"
"It's a Wake-Up Walnut Whip, it'll make sure you don't feel sleepy until it wears off," Hermione explained, then lifted her gaze to Harry. "It's one of those ones we talked about last week with the Headmaster."
"Ah, I see," Harry said, remembering that meeting.
Quite a lot of the sweets the Smiths were working on, or 'working on', where the latter translated to sneaking them into the school, had effects which meant they really had to be added to the banned list – like the unpleasant Puking Pastilles (for which the punishment now included clearing up the results) or Nosebleed Nougat. But others were genuinely useful, or at least were just nice things which didn't really need to be banned. Like the Flame-Haired Fancy, which was eyecatching but not actually dangerous.
In their meeting, Dumbledore had suggested that the sweets which did not have objectionable effects should just be allowed, because they would do no harm to anyone and bring a little variety into the day.
Thinking back, Harry didn't think Dumbledore had technically told them to do something. He'd just said that he thought it would be a good idea, listened to them talk about it, then said that that sounded decided to him – and it had been, because they'd all agreed by the end.
It was very impressive, if you were paying enough attention to notice.
Ron picked up the chocolate, examined it, then ate it. Immediately his hair stood on end, staying up for a few seconds before flopping back down, and he whistled. "Wow! That's… quite something."
"Now, have the rest of your breakfast," Hermione told him. "And make sure you go straight back up to your room after Charms, you'll be just as tired when it wears off and you can get a nap while Harry and I do our Alchemy homework."
"I just realized what we need to do for the communication thing," Ron added, though he did take some sausages and a hash brown. "Shrunken typewriter with no parchment, Protean Charm to a typewriter with parchment on the ground, sorted."
A few days later, after the weekly meeting between the Head Boy, the Head Girl and the Head Master, Dumbledore asked Harry to stay.
Hermione reminded him not to be too late, not because of curfew directly but because it didn't look good if the Head Boy and Head Girl were breaking curfew even if they were allowed, and then Harry was left alone with Dumbledore.
"I am afraid we have an unfortunate topic to discuss, Harry," Dumbledore explained, walking over to a cabinet and taking out a tall glass of the sort Harry was fairly sure was called a flute.
"Is there bad news about Tom Riddle?" Harry checked. "Or, that is, Voldemort? I'm never sure what the best way to refer to him is."
"I believe I have an idea," Dumbledore told him, with a smile. "He calls himself Lord Voldemort, not merely Voldemort, and that makes it a title. Since it was not bestowed by anyone else, it is up to you as to whether you use it; his original name, however, remains Tom Riddle as he has neither changed that nor gone to any efforts to replace it with anything that is not a title."
He spread his hand. "If he had contented himself with being called Idrol Voldemort, then I would say that Idrol would be his first name."
That just made Harry confused.
"Why Idrol specifically, Professor?" he asked.
"As it happens, Tom Marvolo Riddle is an anagram of I Am Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore informed him, swishing his wand through the air for a moment to show both phrases before rearranging them. "I admit it loses a little of the charm for him to say Am Idrol Voldemort, but it is also something that could reasonably be construed to be a name. But do not let that stop you stopping me from stopping you from making your own mind up."
He paused, visibly thinking, and poured something thick and black out of a flask into the champagne flute. "Might I be right in guessing that this was brought to your mind by one of our Ravenclaws?"
"Not really," Harry said. "I was just wondering."
"Well, wonder away, Harry, wonder away," Dumbledore told him. "I do my best to find wonder in everything, it keeps things fresh. In any case, we were discussing Tom, and I am afraid we will have to talk about Horcruxes."
Harry nodded.
"Do we know he's still alive, Professor?" he asked. "Or… um, not dead, at least, because I'm not sure what he counted as before."
"I am worried that he is," Albus replied. "I cannot be certain, but there are things which would not have happened if he had been finally killed which have happened, or things which would have happened if he had at last passed away which have not. And there is also the Arithmantic approach, which is simply that if we are wrong here the worst that can be said is that we were worried over nothing, while if we are right here it could be very important indeed for us."
He finally sat down. "So far, each of the Horcruxes we have found has reflected a part of Tom's history and his identity. Many of them have been from his connection to the Founders of Hogwarts, powerful wizards all, and of course those were worthy vessels for his soul-"
Breaking off, Dumbledore snapped his fingers and the cupboard flew open again. "Dear me, where are my manners. Harry, would you like a glass as well?"
"What is it, Sir?" Harry asked, looking at the strange liquid in the flute.
"Chocolate," Dumbledore said, with a broad smile. "Honeydukes do an extremely dark chocolate range, and I once read about how chocolate was originally drunk by the Aztecs who gave the world such a wondrous gift, and so I thought it would be interesting to try in the original form."
Harry said that he would, and Dumbledore poured some out into a flute for him as well.
It was quite different from the hot chocolate Harry was used to. It was cold, for one thing, and there was chilli in it, and it wasn't much of a sweet drink at all.
It was, however, an interesting change. And drinking it out of a champagne flute was a novel experience as well.
"Now," Dumbledore resumed. "It appears to me as though there are these possibilities."
He began to count on his long, slender fingers. "Firstly, it may be that we have not fully considered that some part of Tom may be proud of his being such a powerful wizard from partially Muggle beginnings. It is not what I would consider probable, but it is possible, and it would be foolish to neglect it."
"So in that case it'd be something related to his being a Muggle," Harry said, following along. "Maybe something he took at the same time he murdered his family."
"Exactly," Dumbledore agreed. "Though, alas, if it is then we would be most likely to find it by finding the hiding place, and that may mean we would need to destroy the Riddle manor – but to do so would tip our hand in a way we have been careful to avoid so far."
Harry wondered if the damage to the Gaunt Shack would qualify, and said so, but Dumbledore smiled.
"Tom has not wanted to go back there in the past," he said. "Nor indeed to any of the other places he hid his Horcruxes. I am more concerned about the story reaching the news."
That was a good point.
"Secondly, it may be that we have missed a Founders' Artefact, and so in that case it would be more of how Tom thinks himself a great wizard and the equal of the Founders," Dumbledore continued. "I do not think this is likely, but again we need to think about it."
Harry took another long sip of his spicy chocolate drink.
"He was proud of being able to speak to snakes," he said. "That's why he made his diary one… could it be to do with that?"
"That was my fourth possibility," Dumbledore agreed. "Though it is hard to imagine what he could have turned into his Horcrux to qualify there, once the diary has already been considered and dealt with… still, we should think about it, clearly. And third and last, because we have already covered fourth, there is that he might consider his silver tongue to be a sign of his greatness."
"...that could mean it was anything," Harry protested, then stopped and thought about it. "Actually… I think a lot of that is already involved with the ones we've already destroyed. The hiding place for the Cup was because he persuaded a Pure-Blood witch to let him, and it's how he got the Diadem."
He finished the glass. "I don't actually think we've worked out anything useful, Professor…"
"We have worked out at least one thing," Dumbledore consoled him. "Which is the amount that we do not know. It is always helpful to know the depths of one's ignorance, even if the heights of one's knowledge are not as reassuringly high as we would like – false certainty is extremely dangerous."
About ten minutes into Monday's Defence lesson, they were in the middle of discussing one of the parables in their course book ('be mindful of rivers which form no barrier for a wizard, because one without magic may not see you cross one and yet still know you did') when Aberforth stood up from his desk.
That caught everyone's attention, and Ron stopped halfway through giving an example about Apparition and how Muggles could notice unless you made sure to allow for enough time to make the journey in a Muggle way. "...um, Professor?"
"It's snowy enough," Aberforth announced. "Come on."
With that, he left out the door – only to look back in and jerk his head. "Come on. Along you come."
Harry was decidedly confused, and he wasn't the only one, as Aberforth Dumbledore led them down three flights of stairs (it should have been more than that, but he took them through a passage which led easily down to one of the postern gates on the side of the castle without involving many floors in between) and then out onto the snowy grounds.
"Everyone line up," he instructed, waiting until they did, then began pointing his wand at the ground in front of them. "One, two, two, one, two, one…"
Each wizard or witch in the class got a number sparked onto the floor in front of them, then Aberforth stepped back.
"Those are your teams," he said. "No hitting anyone else with spells, but I want to see how creative you can be apart from that."
"...ah, Professor?" Draco said, raising his hand. "Are you telling us to have a snowball fight?"
"I'd hoped you'd be able to figure that out by yourself," Aberforth told them.
Harry put up his wing for attention, having decided that outdoors it was a lot more noticeable than a hand. "Professor?"
"Potter," Aberforth invited. "Go ahead."
Harry noticed that quite a lot of the students had already started packing together snowballs, or in the case of Neville levitating a lot of snow in the air with his wand, but nobody had actually thrown any yet – even if they'd started to drift into the two groups Aberforth had defined.
"Is there any particular reason why we're having this snowball fight?" he asked. "This is part of a Defence lesson, after all."
Aberforth considered, then – with some reluctance – gave him a respectful nod.
"You're a sharp one," he informed Harry. "And you may as well assume that you're having this snowball fight because I told you to."
"In that case," Harry said, half thinking out loud. "I think our forces are united, and you're trying to separate us."
He flared both wings. "Get him!"
For about three seconds, everyone pelted Aberforth with snow.
Then there was a sudden whoosh of air, as Aberforth performed some kind of complicated wind charm which blew all the snow around him away and sent a lot of it fountaining up to rain down on the Seventh-Years.
"I'd expected that to take a lot longer than it did," Aberforth admitted, brushing the rest of the snow off his robes.
Seamus threw another snowball, and Aberforth transfigured it into a rubber duck.
"That's something you need to keep in mind," the Professor went on. "It's easy to remember to think about this stuff when you're in a classroom, or during a test, but this is about rules to remember in life."
Harry nodded, thinking that – while he thought Aberforth could have found another way to show that – it had been a good point.
Perhaps he should think about how he'd teach the same sorts of things himself.
The rest of the lesson was taken up by an actual snowball fight, or a partly-snowball partly-magical fight, because while Aberforth had been trying to see if they'd remember the advice he'd been teaching he also wanted to see how they were at practical magic.
It was kind of impressive how much there was to pull out, especially since with the restriction on casting spells on one another they had to think more creatively, and over the course of just a single hour Harry saw a Cleaning Charm used to pre-emptively clean a snowball out of the air; a Seize and Pull Charm used to grab onto snow the other side of someone and pull it closer; Draco came up with a rather sneaky trick involving Disillusioning his snowballs before putting a much smaller snowball into them and throwing them, so someone who was expecting a small snowball got nearly flattened. Then there were Transfigurations, mostly used defensively, to create a barrier that protected someone from the snow (though Harry also saw someone Transfigure themselves a shovel and use it to hurl huge amounts of snow in one go) and some quite impressive Hexes, Jinxes and Curses fired at flying snowballs – since, after all, those weren't people so it was fine to do.
For Harry's part, he found himself a target quite often – probably because of how visible he was – and felt sort of envious of Dean, who could slip into Upstart's form whenever there was an incoming snowball and avoid being hit by shrinking down so the ball missed. That envy lasted until Dean changed into his Animagus form and got hit anyway, because it didn't seem nearly as much fun to be hit by a snowball which was bigger than you were.
Dean certainly didn't seem much pleased.
Then Ron waved him over, because he'd had an idea, and the two of them hid with Hermione behind a conjured ice wall.
"Remember that thing Fred and George liked doing?" Ron asked. "Think we can combine that with a charm that makes more snow, and have it target everyone else?"
"I know how they did it, but to make it target everyone is a bit fiddly," Hermione told him, as Ron made himself a snowball. "What's the idea?"
"Reducio," Ron replied, shrinking down the snowball he'd made to the size of a marble. "Gemino. Gemino. Gemino…"
By the time he'd cast the spell eight times, they had a pile of marble-sized snowballs almost as big as Ron's torso, and he winced as a flung snowball abruptly dropped down out of the sky to hit him. "Ow. Okay, here's the idea…"
Twenty seconds later, all two hundred and fifty-six snowballs were levitating over Harry's head as he lay on his back, and he took a deep breath.
"Depulso!" he shouted, as Ron cancelled his Levitation Charm. "Finite Incantatem!"
The first spell blew the marble-snowballs into the air in a dense cloud, and the second broke the Shrinking Spell. Then Hermione enchanted the lot, and snowballs went whizzing in every which direction.
It got them absolutely barraged in return, but Harry thought it was worth it.
Christmas was fast approaching, Harry's final Christmas at Hogwarts, and he was looking forward to it.
There was always something special about Christmas at Hogwarts, perhaps just because it was time at school without work to do (and one of the two times of the year when that was true and they weren't flooded with homework), but the setting of it all helped as well – Hogwarts was a literally magical castle set in fields of snow and surrounded by deep forests, and with the efforts of several expert adult wizards contributing to the decoration it fairly sparkled even by mid-December.
This year someone – Harry thought it might have been Professor Sprout – had had an idea which had sparked everyone going further, and there was a truly gigantic Christmas tree outside the castle which reached almost as high as the seventh floor. It was hung with sparkling stars and glittering lights, and baubles swung gently in the winds no matter how strong the blizzard, while the eight colours of tinsel which wove around the tree seemed to show their colours even at night.
"So… I was reading about this," Isaac said, nodding towards the tree. "All this stuff, I mean. The stuff we think of as Christmassy."
Harry nodded, to show he was following along, but next to him Dominic quirked his head.
"Pardon?" he asked. "The stuff we think of as Christmassy?"
He waved a paw vaguely. "I thought a Christmas tree just… was Christmassy. It's in the name."
"That's what I thought too, man," Isaac said, his accent making the 'man' sound slightly strange. "But we were doing it in Muggle Studies, and the whole Christmas tree thing is actually German."
The manticore visibly considered that.
"Wait, hold on," he said, waving his paw around a bit. "Isn't Germany, um, mostly south of Britain? Because I live south of most of Britain and we almost never get snow, and we're more likely to get palm trees than pine trees."
That was a bit of a puzzle for Harry as well, now he thought about it.
"I think maybe… Germany has higher mountains?" he asked, uncertainly. "But what is English, or British, Christmassy stuff then?"
"Not sure, I don't think we've had a list," Isaac replied. "Maybe we'll have a list later on, or something, but for now it's been kind of… looking at how Muggle culture really does influence magical culture. And the Christmas tree one was kind of a good one, because everyone's so used to it and then you hear it got brought into Britain in the middle of the last century because Queen Victoria married a German prince."
He paused. "Or, wait, hold on, I think there was a Germany region but not a Germany country yet. It's weird."
"History usually is," Harry said. "It's like how current events are, but it was a long time ago so people have at least had a chance to write down explanations."
Dominic sniggered.
"Are you planning on going home for Christmas?" he asked, glancing over at Isaac.
"Don't know, really," the griffin admitted. "Yourself?"
"Definitely," Dominic nodded. "I miss my mum, and it's generally a lot warmer down there… warming charms are great, I absolutely love them, but there's a lot to be said for it just being… nice out, really."
He paused. "Comparatively, anyway. Though it's often kind of wet."
Harry was about to say something – he wanted to make a point about how the weather you grew up with was usually what felt home-like to you – but something rose above the general murmur of conversations going on nearby.
It sounded like someone was upset, and Harry loped over to try and find out what was going on.
One of the first-years, a Ravenclaw, was blinking tears out of his eyes and staring with a mixture of anger, embarrassment and betrayal at the two boys and a girl facing him.
"Shut up!" he said, half pleading. "It's nothing to do with you, okay?"
"Going to cry?" one of the boys asked, then caught sight of Harry and visibly shut up.
"It sounds like something's wrong," Harry told them all. "Would you like to try explaining?"
"It wasn't anything serious," the girl protested. "We were just talking, and…"
"-and we didn't mean to make him upset," the other boy went on. "We were talking about what we were going to do over Christmas, and he got upset all of a sudden."
"They're lying," the First-Year protested, hiccuping. "They were talking about Christmas, not me, and – and they knew I didn't want to talk about it, but…"
Harry considered.
"Do you think they deserve a detention over it?" he asked the First-Year.
"Hey-" the last of the – Harry decided he could use the word bullies – said. "That's not fair!"
"Well, do you think you deserve a detention over it?" Harry said, doing his best to sound pleasant. "I sort of assumed I knew the answer, but I could be wrong."
"I… well, no, but…" the girl said.
"No way!" one of her friends said, vehemently.
The First-Year looked conflicted, then sighed.
"I don't think so," he said. "Not, um… not this time? But that's only if it never happens again…"
Harry gave the girl a look, raising his eyebrows, and she shook her head.
"Not going to happen again," she agreed.
"That's good," Harry told her. "I will be taking five points from each of you, and if there's trouble again I will be assigning a detention."
He was quite proud of his smile. It was sort of like the ones Dumbledore did, or that was what Harry liked to think, except that as a dragon Harry sort of had an advantage in pulling off the intimidating bit.
The three students left, promising not to do it again and hurrying out of the door at the same time, and Harry moved on to the First-Year… whose name, he thought, was Grover, if he was remembering the Sorting right.
"Thanks," the young wizard said, then swallowed. "I…"
"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine," Harry told him.
"It's, um… I think I should say, at least a bit," Grover mumbled.
It seemed like all the anger he'd had before had drained away, leaving him sounding a bit numb. "It's my mum's family… my dad's the wizard, mum's a Muggle, and mum's family are kind of… they don't think it's right that I'm going to what they think is a posh school in Scotland, because there's been money trouble before and dad can't just solve it with magic or that'd be too obvious. And mum thinks they might ask questions which would be hard for me to answer, and…"
His voice had been getting quieter and quieter, and he shook his head before swallowing. "So mum said I should stay at Hogwarts over Christmas, and I'm not sure what to do over the summer…"
Harry nodded, thinking about that.
"Have you talked to Professor Flitwick about it?" he asked. "It's all right to feel upset about a problem you didn't expect, and Professor Flitwick is one of the first people to go to speak to about that sort of problem because he's your Head of House. But you can also ask a Prefect, if you're not sure who to ask."
Isaac and Dominic had followed Harry, to see what was going on, and Harry felt deeply grateful that they hadn't drawn attention to themselves.
"Let's get you something hot to drink," Harry decided, then. "Perhaps some hot chocolate. And see if we can find someone who knows what to do."
As Harry had hoped, Professor Flitwick was available – or, rather, he'd been marking Charms homework (in this case one Harry remembered from fourth year, where the paper you turned in had to fold itself into a paper crane and hover there) and been quite available when Harry had shown up with Grover.
"I see!" he said, nodding, once Harry had explained. "Yes, I quite understand why you brought it to my attention, Mr. Potter – this does happen on occasion, especially with half-blood families."
"Does that mean there's something you can do, Professor?" Grover asked, sounding hopeful.
"There are several things I could do," Flitwick replied. "We might need to talk to your parents about which one would be best, but I can assure you that we'll have a solution for you."
He smiled up at Harry. "Thank you for helping one of my eaglets, Harry."
"Just doing what I'm supposed to, Professor," Harry said, but he felt happy about it anyway. "Oh, and, Grover – in case you haven't already noticed, just leave the mug somewhere and the House-Elves will sort it out."
"Why is it so nice?" Grover asked, looking down at his half-finished mug. "I didn't know it could taste this good!"
"I think it's mixing in the chocolate with just part of the milk, then adding the rest," Harry told him. "That's just a guess, though, my friend Ron showed me a while ago and I've never gone back."
Term finally ended, and after the End Of Term Dinner That's Not Quite A Feast (which Harry found himself involved with, at least in making sure that there were options for vegetarians and anyone who couldn't eat gluten and things like that) the friends were relaxing in Gryffindor Tower – which was now much emptier than it had been.
"So, what's everyone planning for Christmas?" Ron asked. "Mum's asked for all the Weasleys to be at the Burrow for Christmas – and Hermione, for some reason she was really insistent about Hermione – but apart from that, I don't have much of a schedule."
"I've got one," Dean said, rummaging in his pocket and taking out a piece of paper.
It listed off all the days of the Christmas holiday, and some of them were labelled with names or groups of names – like 'Auntie Olive', or 'Going to Grandads' – though others were empty.
One of them said 'drinks next door', which was a bit odd.
"This is the schedule my parents told me," Dean explained. "See, I can Apparate now, so I'm going to be at a lot of these family meetings – but that one there, with the drinks, is something where I have to go to be at home during it."
"Why – oh, hold on, this is like what we were talking about in Defence," Neville realized, snapping his fingers. "You're Apparating home for stuff like Christmas Day, but it'd be ridiculous for Muggles if you were at home one day and up in Scotland the next, and then back again two days later. So you have to act like you were at home all the time."
Dean nodded, then sniggered.
"I can get away with one day, though," he said. "Maybe two, because of you two."
He indicated Harry, then Hermione.
"Visiting a friend by Tube for the day is totally believable, and both of you live in London," he clarified. "I just need to pick which day… and it can't include the drinks one, because that's a day I'll be home to be the adult in the house for my sisters."
"Aren't some of them going to be teenagers now?" Ron frowned. "Seems a bit off."
"I could argue about it, but if I was around then it'd make sense," Dean said. "Besides, I'm basically going to take the opportunity to play some board games and stuff."
"I could come round," Harry volunteered. "I don't have many days full, except for New Years' Eve because of that fireworks display."
He sniggered suddenly. "I just remembered a character from a science fiction book who teleported around the world to make sure his birthday lasted more than twenty-four hours. It's only really sinking in that we could actually do that."
"That doesn't take magic, though, it just takes walking very slowly in a circle around the North Pole," Dean replied.
He frowned. "Wait, hold on, the North Pole's in the sea. South Pole."
"Depends when your birthday is, the North Pole is on frozen ice in winter," Hermione corrected him. "And sometimes in the summer, depending how the weather's been."
"Fine, then," Dean said, folding his arms. "It takes walking very slowly in a circle around the South Pole, or either walking or sailing around the North Pole very slowly in a circle, possibly with the help of an icebreaker."
"Or Apparating," Neville added. "Or flying."
"There's lots of ways to do it, basically," Ron summarized. "Anyway, I like the sound of that fireworks display as well… and are the wargs in the Forbidden Forest doing anything this year? They usually do, I mean, I'm just not sure if they've invited us."
"They might or might not have invited Hermione and Dean," Harry guessed. "I'm not sure for that one. But I asked June about it once, and everyone who was in the battle at the forest's edge is basically permanently invited until told otherwise."
"Huh, that's kind of cool," Ron admitted. "Do the centaurs do it as well?"
"I think the way it works is that the wargs invite us, the centaurs who are okay with it come and attend, and the other centaurs pretend nothing happens that night and do all their celebrating on a different day," Neville contributed.
"I'd say the divination exam was stupid, but I wouldn't be able to attend anyway," Dean conceded. "What about you, Harry, are you and Sirius going to do a thing?"
"Maybe, actually, if people are interested…" Harry said, thinking about it. "It might involve the Lupin Wolf Pack though. But full moon's nowhere near that time, so they'll just be about half a dozen adults watching a Christmas film."
"...actually, I just had an idea," Hermione told them.
She was just about restraining a giggle, which was an interesting look on Hermione.
"I know a good Christmas film to suggest," she explained. "Or, at least, a film that definitely happens at Christmas… Batman Returns."
"Is it good?" Neville asked. "And who's Batman? An Animagus, or a Muggle idea of one?"
"Not really," Hermione said, sounding very amused. "Oh, I want to be there just to watch, now..."
Nora approached Harry the day before Christmas to ask about what good Christmas traditions would be.
She said that she'd heard that wargs did one thing, and that humans did another thing, but that not all humans did the same things – so she was wondering what would be a good thing for dragons to do, and one idea she'd had was that the dragons could have their own style of Christmas tree where instead of leaving one big tree up all winter they could each have a tree, and then each dragon could set it on fire.
Harry thought the idea was sort of interesting, and thought about the kind of thing he'd read in all the fantasy or science fiction novels he'd gone through in the past, and decided that maybe what would be really symbolic was if the trees had presents under at Christmas and then were set on fire for New Year.
That way, the Christmas was kind of about everything the previous year had brought, and the New Year was about saying goodbye to the previous year.
"Just remember that if you decorate the tree, you should take them off before you set it on fire," Harry added, and Nora nodded several times.
"I don't want to set fire to my decorations," she agreed firmly. "Unless they're meant to be burned. Like if they're fireworks."
Harry smiled at the thought.
It would certainly be an impressive New Years tradition to start.
According to Harry's watch, Neville woke him up at exactly ten seconds after nine on Christmas Morning.
It wasn't something that Neville had planned to do, as such. It was just that that was when Neville opened one of his own presents, discovered that the Twins had sent it to him, and tried to flinch back and turn into Lapcat at the same time – with the net result that he fell off the bed and yowled.
Still, Harry had got to bed nice and early the previous night, so he shrugged it off and got to his presents (after helping Neville clear up all the confetti that had ended up everywhere, of course). There were some nice gifts, including a new Timothy Zahn book from Hermione and one Dean had spotted somewhere which was called A Diversity Of Dragons, along with a rather fine brimmed hat from Dumbledore that – through what was either excellent tailoring or very good Charms work – rested atop Harry's head without wobbling or slipping.
Harry wasn't sure about the colour, but since he was after all a wizard he could just change it to whatever he thought would work best.
There was plenty of chocolate, as well, and Harry shared a bar with Neville before the two of them went downstairs to the Common Room. Some of the younger students who were staying over were a bit over-excited, and Harry decided that the best way to deal with that would be to get everyone who was interested involved in a game of some sort.
The main conclusion that Harry drew from the following two hours was that using a Levitation Charm to play Pictionary was very difficult.
But funny.
Even with six previous Christmas Feasts as a basis, Harry was still quite surprised when everything faded onto the single massive table set up this year.
They hadn't bothered separating the courses, instead having everything at once, and there was a roast boar looking exactly like the ones in Asterix not ten feet down the table. Just a little further down than that was a large pile of chicken fried in flour and spice, which came with sour cream and lettuce to roll into a wrap, and Harry had to confess he was quite confused until Anne explained it to him.
It sounded like fried chicken was a Christmas tradition in Japan these days, and Harry supposed that that was fair enough.
"It's not something we normally have ourselves, we've lived in England our whole lives, but my great-aunt mentioned it to us over the summer," Tyler added, twirling his wand over his knife and fork to make them start cutting him some meat. "I don't think they have the wraps, though."
Harry had to pass the sausages, then, because it seemed like half the table wanted them, and then got himself two large cuts of different types of stuffing to go with his own sausages and followed it up with several types of vegetable.
The sweets went on the other plate – the House-Elves apparently having realized that it would be useful to provide a dessert plate as well as a main meal plate – and Harry decided to get a slice of Yule Log to go with his Christmas Pudding, only to discover that in this case yule log was literal and it was made out of wood.
"I've heard of this," Neville told him. "It's really hard to cut, but you can just eat it easily and it tastes sweet… the Tasteful Maple? Some name like that."
Harry cut him a piece as well, then took a bite. It was indeed sweet, just like Neville had said, and he licked his lips before moving on to one of the big centrepieces.
This year, the House-Elves had apparently decided that for their absurd confectionary projects they should pick an animal which was not the main heraldic animal of each house. So Gryffindor's lion was superseded by a griffin, with the hindquarters tiger-striped in alternating chocolate and orange flavoured sponge and the wingsmade out of hundreds of individual feathers crafted from a mix of fondant icing, Sugar Quills, chocolate, fudge, and occasionally cheese, and the next nearest one to Harry was a wolf for Hufflepuff that appeared to be made out of nearly-solid bread and butter pudding.
Ravenclaw's own centrepiece was a sphinx, one which Tanisis was digging into with every appearance of enjoyment (and which looked to Harry to be made out of jelly, though jelly that had been magically enchanted to stay together without simply collapsing into a puddle like jelly really should if it was sculpted like that) and the Slytherin one was a dragon pastry almost as big as Harry and coiled around a hoard of dozens of different sorts of biscuits.
Though, then again, Harry wasn't entirely sure which was which. It might be that the griffin one was actually for Slytherin, as they had a griffin (that being Isaac) and Gryffindor had a dragon (who Harry wasn't exactly unlikely to forget about).
"What I want to know is, what are they going to do once this isn't considered impressive enough?" Neville pondered. "Any ideas?"
Harry shook his head, not sure that he'd say them out loud even if he did.
It'd only mean it happened. Possibly next week.
After a night at Dogwarts in which a lot of werewolves were quite confused by Batman Returns, Harry went to visit the Burrow the next day. It was a long way from London so Harry had to work out different Apparition points, including using Cardiff as one (which was a nice sort of place, really), and then Godric's Hollow, before he just flew the rest of the way to give his wings a good stretch.
The Weasleys welcomed him in (along with Neville, who'd come by Floo to save time), and Dobby started working on a special feast for Harry.
"Dobby has heard all about Harry Potter's preferred foods!" the excitable House-Elf explained, as he worked busily away putting the food together.
Since Dobby was in fact using a welding torch and some of the scrap from Arthur and Ron's shed – the one which was eight times bigger on the inside, and which had the Ratatoskr up on a winch with the engine bell being fiddled with – Harry was a little bit apprehensive about what was going to result.
Or it could just be the idea of a House-Elf with a welding torch. Though he was wearing all the appropriate safety equipment.
While standing safely on the other side of the shed from the bright flashes, Bill told Harry that the Goblins of Gringotts had mentioned the good job Harry had done.
"Only once, mind," Bill clarified. "But goblins don't go in for flattery unless you deserve it – or if they think it'll make it easier to get a good deal. This wasn't one of those… I think."
He shrugged. "You never know quite where you stand with goblins, but you can get a pretty good idea if you remember the bits about their culture that are different… and remember how they are Beings, and prideful about it."
Harry nodded, thinking about Skara and how well she was doing… in that most of the concerns she brought up in the Differently Shaped meetings were nothing particularly drastic, and that she was looking forward to doing Runes and Arithmancy in Third-Year.
Also, she hadn't yet launched a Goblin Rebellion, which put paid to at least one dire prediction from the Daily Prophet's letter page.
Dobby's special meal for Harry turned out to be a sort of metal sculpture of a rooster, and while it was a lot of work to carve – it took a particularly potent cutting charm, which Hermione quickly taught him – Harry didn't mind, because there were a lot of interesting tastes in there.
He was the only person he knew who appreciated the taste of solder, for one.
"Even with so many years working with dragons, you're something different," Charlie chuckled, as Harry twisted off a leg and nibbled it – there was some bronze in there, and some brass, but it seemed to mostly be made out of cast iron. "It's partly the size, partly the strength, and partly the diet."
Harry chuckled. "And I bet that five or six years ago you'd have said I wasn't as smart?" he guessed.
"Yeah, but everything I hear about Hagrid's dragons – especially Nora – tells me that we just haven't been doing the right sort of education," Charlie agreed. "Which is, well, at Hogwarts apparently. Though it's going to be interesting to find out if one of them can teach their hatchlings."
That made Harry nod, considering it.
It actually could go either way. Empress might not even be needed any more to perpetuate the existence of Intelligent Dragons (or Being Dragons, or Cultured Dragons, or something like that.)
"Do you think that any of them will be able to go to Hogwarts?" he asked. "As students, I mean."
"Wow, that's a tricky one," Charlie admitted. "We've never seen anything like accidental magic from a dragon before, but then again we might not have been looking – and even Nora's not yet six years old, so we wouldn't necessarily expect it yet."
He frowned, thinking about that. "I wonder how you'd test it."
"Wait to see if she gets a Hogwarts letter?" Harry suggested. "Oh, how did your latest project go?"
"Badly," Charlie admitted, frowning. "We haven't been able to track down what happened. At the moment it looks like someone managed to steal the egg, and – well, obviously there is a black market trade in dragon eggs, it's how Nora reached Hagrid after all."
He sighed. "It's just awful when this sort of thing happens. There's been talk about new protocols for handling it, though, like making sure any eggs being moved around have at least two custodians at all times…"
Charlie shook his head. "Anyway, I know you asked, but it's kind of depressing. How is it being Head Boy?"
Harry held in a snigger. "Haven't you had two brothers who were Head Boy?"
"Yeah, but I've already heard it from them," Charlie shrugged. "And from Fred and George, too, but not you."
That put a different complexion on it, and Harry had a few feathers from the sculpture's tail to give himself time to think. (One of them was made of aluminium, which was nice.)
"It's like being a Prefect, but more so," he said. "And… you're always thinking about whether someone's having trouble, or if you could help them out, just a bit. Because when you're a normal student, sometimes you notice things like that and you help out, but you can always tell yourself – maybe even without thinking about it – that it's someone else's responsibility. But when you're Head Boy your responsibility is the only responsibility it can be."
He shrugged his wing. "Except for a teacher."
Charlie nodded, considering that.
"It was easier with Quidditch," he said, after a bit of thought which Harry guessed had been the same sort of thinking as he'd done with.
"Actually, that reminds me, did Fred and George ever tell you what Oliver was like the year after you left?" Harry asked. "He got so focused that Fred and George forgot Gryffindor were the reigning champions…"
Partly because they could, they visited Hermione's house the next day – where a somewhat embarrassed Hermione opened her presents, and her parents reminded her that she was their daughter and they were proud of her and it was Christmas so while they were actually quite proud of how uncomfortable she was they still expected her to enjoy them. That meant Hermione found herself wondering what to do with a Game Boy Pocket and half a dozen games for it – something which Harry actually thought was quite funny, because he suspected it was the result of Hermione's own research on what could or could not work at Hogwarts – and several board games, as well as a substantial amount of chocolate.
"Don't think we didn't notice you fixed your teeth," her mother added, with a hint of censure. "But what's done is done, and we're sure you'll keep them clean."
Hermione blushed at that, then everyone looked up as the doorbell went.
"Post?" Mr. Granger asked, getting up. "It's a bit late for it, but I suppose it has been two bank holidays in a row…"
He vanished into the hallway, and then a few seconds later said a rather surprised hello to someone called Ken.
Hermione went a bit of a funny colour.
"That's my Grandad!" she said. "And my Grandma – what are they doing here?"
Neville, with quite good presence of mind, swept all the rubbish into the corner and hissed at Dean to put his wand away.
"There you are, Hermione," the grandfather in question said, and swept a smile around the room. "And who are these? Friends of yours, I hope?"
He laughed at his own joke, and Hermione's grandmother followed him.
"Goodness," she said. "I hope these aren't all your school friends, Hermione – you need some girls as well!"
"We're just the ones who are local enough to visit," Harry said. "My name's Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Oh, so this is Harry, then!" Hermione's grandfather said. "You know, I've heard about you more than once over the years, but it's a pleasure to meet you as well. Kenneth Puckle, and this is my wife Jane."
Dean and Neville introduced themselves as well, and then it was Ron's turn – but as soon as he heard Ron's name, Mr. Puckle laughed again.
"Ah, so you're the noble Ron, then," he said, shaking Ron's hand. "We've heard a lot more about you, you know. Captain of a sports team, it seems! How's that been going?"
"It's kind of difficult," Ron replied, and only someone who knew him as well as Harry did would be able to tell he was being careful. "Obviously when you're the captain a lot of it is making sure you're managing people right, rather than just being a good player, but if you're not a good player…"
He shrugged, and Mr. Puckle snapped his fingers.
"You'd have to kick yourself off the team, I think!" he chuckled. "Bit of a tricky interview, that. Who's your best batsman?"
"Batswoman, really," Ron replied. "Melody."
"Oh, so it's a team with boys and girls on it?" Mrs. Puckle said, surprised. "Not what I'd have expected."
"If you'd seen her bat, you wouldn't say that," Ron replied.
Harry was quite impressed with Ron over the next hour or so.
Mr. and Mrs. Puckle seemed to be spending quite a lot of time talking to him, and normally Harry would be worried that Ron was going to make some sort of mistake or not understand something Muggle, but he did well at talking about things like sports and science (mostly engineering) in ways that didn't actually give away how strange the Wizarding world was to the Muggle one.
Then, after that, he managed to move on to the topic of what Mr. Puckle's work had been like – he'd retired a few years ago – and Mrs. Puckle smiled and sighed at appropriate times as her husband talked about his career as an engineering designer.
Eventually Mr. Granger told his father-in-law and mother-in-law that they really needed to stop using up all of Ron's time, and that there was lunch to be had, and Ron waited until a quiet moment when neither old Muggle was in the room before letting out a relieved sigh.
"That was brilliant," Dean said, softly. "Seriously, that's the reason to take Muggle Studies right there."
"And the work on the Ratatoskr," Ron added. "I wouldn't have known half those words he used three years ago."
He glanced at where Mr. and Mrs. Puckle had gone. "But I think I might need to go home soon, just in case I slip up… hey, Harry, if they ask, I live in, um, what's a good place?"
"I'll say you're staying with me over Christmas," Harry recommended. "You and Nev, actually. And I think we need to tell Aberforth thanks for that Defence topic."
Hopping all over the country like they could added a great deal of variety to Christmas. The day after Hermione they went to Diagon Alley, which was a riot of Christmastime colour – it was even snowing very specifically in the Alley, which was a nice touch – and then everyone turned up at Dean's house, to keep him company on one of the days he absolutely had to be home with the rest of the Thomases.
Meeting Dean's sisters again was nice – Lucy was just into secondary school and quite proud of how she was doing, while Emily kept sneaking glances at Neville when she thought nobody was looking and then blushing, and young Kate was delighted when Ron revealed he'd brought his griffin statuette along.
Then Hermione got out one of the games she'd got for Christmas, which was a card game – a very peculiar card game.
The rules were straightforward enough at first, outlining how you drew cards from the deck and could play one every turn, but they were missing a way to win… something that was puzzling at first, at least until Neville put down a card that said that whoever had both the Moon and the Sun at the same time would win.
"The Twins are going to love seeing this," Ron decided, putting down a card which said that you had to play all your cards every turn except for one, and Harry groaned as he had to put down three goals in quick succession ending with a goal about a theme song. Ron's griffin inspected that last one, then sat down on it, and Kate giggled before asking if the theme song was a theme song about a griffin.
"I don't think any of us knows one of those," Neville said. "We do know a griffin, though."
"Yeah, and his theme song is Johnny Todd," Dean said, sniggering. "There's no accounting for taste."
"...pardon?" Emily asked, confused. "You know a griffin and he supports Everton? Why?"
"Well, he is a bit Scouse," Neville shrugged. "Actually, he's a lot Scouse."
"Be fair, it was where he was born," Dean pointed out. "Or, hatched. Or raised. At least one of the three."
On New Years Eve, well into the depths of a moonless overcast night and with a light dusting of snow in the air, Nora clapped her wings together.
It was something Harry hadn't actually thought of, in all his years as a dragon, and it was much louder than a handclap – and it certainly got the attention of all the other dragons at Hogwarts. They'd been ranged around a bonfire on Meade Hill outside Hogsmeade, finishing off the last of their own New Years' Feast (which Hagrid had had specially imported) but Nora was the oldest of them all and she commanded a lot of respect from the Hogwarts Dragons.
Harry sort of wondered if she'd end up being called the Mother Of Dragons in later years. Symbolically, anyway.
"Okay, everyone!" she said. "You all have your trees, right?"
She held up her own one, which had tinsel and glittering baubles on it – some of them lit from inside, tiny magical sparks which moved around at a slightly different time from the rest of the trinket – as well as a few bright orange bits woven around the branches.
It was quite a big thing for someone to hold, because it was the sort of size Harry normally saw Christmas trees as being in a Muggle home where they had to fit under the ceiling and you couldn't move the ceiling, but at the same time it was quite a small thing to be a Christmas tree for a full-sized dragon.
Harry was just pondering how he'd come to think of himself as not being a full-sized dragon, and how long he'd thought of himself as not a full-sized dragon despite having been the only dragon he knew for at least half of his time as a dragon, but then the others started to reply and he paid attention to them instead.
Sally, Ollie and Gary were first to hold theirs up, which were each decorated a little bit differently. They had the orange bits woven in, all of the dragon trees did, but Sally's one had some little crystal snowflakes in it and Ollie's one featured corks.
Perhaps it was something to do with being an Australian dragon breed.
Gary's one was almost entirely green, with all the dangling decorations the same green colour as his scales, the only exceptions being the orange bits and a few pine cones.
As for the rest, Christie looked a bit confused at first, then Lucy said it to him again and he brightened. He had to fly off to get his, which caused a bit of a delay, but everyone else had theirs and Harry was sort of interested in the differences.
Next to him, Luna was taking some notes about it.
"It's magianthropology," she explained. "Except not, because anthropology is about humans or people who are monkey shaped. One of the first things you learn when you're doing magianthropology is that that's not the word for it, but we don't have a better one."
Harry had to snigger at that, just because the idea of a discipline where the official name for it was 'it's not X, we know' tickled his meta humour bone, but then Christie flew back over with his tree and landed proudly in front of the rest of his sort-of-siblings.
"Got it!" he said.
"Hey!" Vicky protested. "That's rude! Land over there, not in front!"
"It's not very nice," Sally agreed, gently chiding, and Christie hung his head before walking back over to where he'd started.
"Good!" Nora told them. "The next bit is that you take off all the bits you want to keep, because that's the things from this year you want to keep!"
"But I want to keep all of it," Ivor said. "It looks pretty."
"You can keep all the shiny bits, and put them on another tree later," Hagrid told him. "But don't take off the orange bits."
"Why not?" Ivor asked, with a kind of petulant whine.
"If you do it right, it'll look really good," Nora told him.
She was busily doing what she'd said to do, taking the baubles off her own tree and putting them carefully in a chest – one with her name on it in slightly wobbly claw-writing – and once she was done she sank her claws into the tree trunk and held it up – supporting herself on her other three paws.
"Once you've taken off all the bits you want to keep, you do this!" she explained, and breathed out a jet of fire on the tree.
It was a pine tree, of course, and had been cut down about a week ago, and it caught fire readily. Nora held it up, using her wing to shield herself a bit as the tree turned into a blazing torch which lit the gloaming, and after about ten seconds there was a bang as the first of three Smith And Weasley fireworks went off – cracking off seven times in quick succession, sending sparks flying into the air.
Apparently there'd been a long discussion about what name to use, and eventually all four shapechangers had agreed that if you had a chance to make a pun like that you had to take it.
The tree blazed for about a minute before finally smouldering to a stop, little more than charcoal and ash, and Nora put it down again. "And that's burned up all the stuff about the old year we don't like! Who wants to be next?"
Almost as soon as the dragons had finished – Horst was last, because he'd got his tree stuck on his tail and decided to style it out by flying with the tree blazing behind him – the fireworks display from down in the village started.
Fred, George, Taira, Anna, Sirius, Remus and (after some convincing) Hermione had all helped out with the designs, sending a riot of colour and light into the air which seemed determined to drive away the chill of winter through sheer spectacle, and Harry settled himself on all fours to watch the show. There were some which were so loud they made dragons gasp and wings rustle behind him, then a quick succession of blasts which painted the appropriate symbols of every Marauder across the sky one after another in their House colours – excepting Peter, but including Percy as well as Ginny, and Harry himself as well as all of his closest friends… and ending on a stag, a great glorious red-and-gold stag, which left a lump in Harry's throat.
In America, there were big fireworks displays in the middle of summer, on Independence Day, and Harry supposed that you could say that that was better for sitting out in the middle of the night and watching them. But something about having them in the middle of winter felt more right, to him – just because it meant putting colour and light and warmth right into the middle of the darkest and coldest months of the year.
If this had been a book like Lord of the Rings, or one of the Pern books, Harry would have known just the right song or poem to sing at this moment. Unfortunately, at the moment the only thing he could think of was Do the Hippogryff, which didn't really fit.
Still, as Hogwarts and Hogsmeade said goodbye to Nineteen Ninety-Seven and welcomed in Nineteen Ninety-Eight, Harry felt quite happy with how things were going.
If Harry had been reading a book, and the main character had thought the sort of thing he'd thought over the course of the New Year, he would have immediately decided that things were about to get very bad indeed for them.
Of course, it was actually a good question as to who'd be the main character of a book he was in, if he was in a book. Ron might be a possibility, what with the whole space thing, though if that was the plot then Harry supposed the actual main arc of the story would be about space exploration and stuff and this would technically still be backstory.
But backstory or not, what it was was Seventh Year – and Nineteen Ninety-Eight, to boot. The holidays ended in the way they usually did, and then lessons began, but the lessons did not begin in the way lessons usually did.
For one thing, Dean (along with the other Seventh-Year Care of Magical Creatures students) were going off to Canada on a field trip for a week. They were off to look at magical creatures in the wild, specifically a large reserve in Quebec on René-Levasseur island.
"Where?" Neville asked.
Dean shrugged. "Dunno, but I do know that Madam Grubbly-Plank says we shouldn't take big tents with us… big tents for wizards, that is. Nothing that looks unusual from the outside, but it's okay to have, you know, four rooms in there like Harry has."
He nodded at the half-packed backpack over by his bed. "I got one in Diagon Alley. Then we're going to be going by Portkey to Iceland and Greenland, then to Canada, and after that I think there's a Floo. Canada's really big."
"Actually, let's have a look for this place," Hermione suggested, and held up her wand. "Accio."
A book came flying out of Harry's tent, which Hermione caught, then looked a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, Harry, I thought that was going to get the one from my room…"
Harry recognized it as an atlas which said Student Atlas on it – a Muggle one – and told Hermione that it was okay. Though he did take the book from her and open it himself, just to satisfy that little part of himself which occasionally grumbled things about hoards.
They all crowded around as Harry opened to the page which had Canada on it, and after staring at the page for a minute or so Dean pointed. "There it is. It's not got the name, but I remember she showed us a picture."
"Cripes, that is big," Neville said. "Hold on, it's circular. Islands aren't normally circular like that."
"If that's the one I think it is, it's a meteorite crater," Ron told them. "I wonder if that has anything to do with it."
He stopped. "On the other hand, because Muggles can't Apparate, it'd be quite a good way to keep them away from magical creatures to have the reserve in the middle of a circular lake."
"I just hope I don't get hit by another meteorite," Dean decided. "And that none of you do anything stupid while I'm not there to point out how stupid it is."
"We're not the ones who need that service," Harry told him. "I think that's more Fred and George. And Taira and Anna. And, um… about half the teachers?"
"I'll cop to needing that help," Ron said. "I'm not going to feel right taking the Ratatoskr up with the changes unless Dean's given it a look over."
"You'll want to focus on Quidditch, it's not that long until the second game of the season," Neville told him.
"And there's homework, too," Hermione hinted.
"Oh, yeah, that," Ron admitted. "Wow, I don't even have it yet and I'm already feeling like it's going to be a slog."
"You have only been doing subjects you wanted to do for years," Hermione reminded him.
"I know, I know," Ron said, and sighed. "I just feel like I'd be betraying my whole age group otherwise. Think the examiners would be okay with my handing in a spaceship instead of an exam paper?"
Harry sniggered. "With Runes, that might actually work…"
"In our first lesson together, I gave you all a very important warning," Professor McGonagall said. "I told you that anyone messing around in my class would be leaving and not coming back."
She tapped on the board, which wrote out the words Free Transfiguration. "Today we will begin our final coverage of Free Transfiguration, and as such I will say it again. Anyone messing around in my class will be leaving and not coming back."
Professor McGonagall waited for several seconds, to make sure it had sunk in, then went on. "Free Transfiguration is among the most dangerous of all magical subjects, because there are so few limits on it. While the form of the spell of a more specific Transfiguration spell is at least somewhat restrictive, and as a consequence there are limits to quite how strange the result can be, Free Transfiguration is almost unbound."
She smiled thinly. "One of the only limits is your imagination. And that is why you must be extremely careful with Free Transfiguration, because you can imagine some very unpleasant things indeed."
Harry thought about the island where dreams came true, from the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and winced.
"Fortunately, there are also other limits," Professor McGonagall added. "Those being Gamp's Laws of Transfiguration, of which there are five known and some research wizards suspect there are others. But I think that those of you intelligent enough to do as well as you did on your OWLs will doubtless realize why most Transfigurations are done with set spells rather than using Free Transfiguration."
Su put her hand up.
"Why didn't we cover this before, Professor?" she asked. "We've been doing Free Transfiguration – or, at least, bits of it – since our OWLs."
"Because, Miss Li, it is best to have done some relatively guided Free Transfiguration before you discover the real dangers to it," McGonagall told her. "In your OWLs however you were still using a spell with some guiding principle to it. Any spell which does not specify the end point is free Transfiguration to some extent, but we will be progressing this term to Transfiguration without any specifics at all."
Harry was impressed at how long she'd managed to keep her thin smile up.
"Now, with that in mind, here are the principles of accurate visualization…"
While doing his best to remember all the principles, and despite the dire warnings about what an error might bring, Harry still found time to think ruefully that it would have helped out their Apparition lessons a lot if they'd covered this last year.
But then, that was usually the way with school.
That night, Harry turned over a page.
"You should be on the one with a golden key on it," he said. "Is that right?"
"I am," Empress confirmed, her voice sounding a little distracted. "How do you spell key, again?"
"K, E, Y," Harry sounded out.
"It seems like it would have a Q or a C in it somewhere," the basilisk mumbled. "Sometimes, the magical peculiarities of Dragonish are very confusing."
"It's strange enough for me with English," Harry conceded. "I wonder if you could learn to read another language as well and what that would be like?"
"Please don't," Empress asked. "I have this terrible feeling that I'd start seeing puns everywhere. So, if I understand it correctly, they have this old golden key which they found in a…"
Her voice went slightly distant for a moment. "A chest?"
"That's right," Harry agreed.
There was a rustle of paper, as Empress closed the book to look at the front cover. "It says the key is magic. I wonder what sort of magic… since they're clearly Muggles, then perhaps it's some kind of trap?"
"I can't actually remember if we see it do something in this book," Harry admitted. "I found a lot of them… I might need to expand a few more of them."
Empress slowly turned the pages back to where they were, then shook her head. "I am sorry. We have been doing this for a while, and I think I'm losing concentration."
"That's fine," Harry assured her, closing the book and rummaging in his bag. "I thought it was a good idea to mix other books with this, but something I spotted in the library over the holidays was a book about the English language. It's by someone who usually writes quite funny travel books, so I thought maybe we should give it a go."
"I fear that I may simply end up thoroughly confused," Empress confessed. "But if you think it would be worthwhile, then we should give it a try."
Harry opened the book, but before he started reading he gave that some thought.
"You've been around for a very long time," he said. "And – I know most of it was when you were hibernating, but it still means you've got a different view of things to most other people. I think it might even be stronger."
"Oh?" Empress asked.
"Just… I was thinking about how a lot of what makes Mr. Bryson's writing good is the observations he makes about the world," Harry explained. "Observations which are about his way of looking at things without just accepting them. And it got me thinking about how wizards live a very long time, but they live a lot of that time while speaking to other people and having the world change around them, so things come at them a bit at a time and they can get used to them."
He shrugged his wings, not sure if Empress would get the idea from the rustling sound. "When Muggles or Muggle-born wizards look at magical things, they're amazed because it's new. And when wizards look at Muggle things, really look at them, then they're often amazed as well because it's new… and for you, just about everything is new. And I was wondering about how the only view you're getting is what I read you, and whether that's made you feel things to be more normal or made me feel things to be more special."
After he'd finished saying that, Harry wondered quite where that had come from.
"I think the best way to sum it up, Harry, is that while I have come from an extremely long way away in time… I have always found that the way you explain things helps me beyond measure in my understanding of those things. I do not know if I would have had the same wonder without your help – perhaps I would have done so – but thanks to what you have said I have benefitted from an inside perspective, and that has helped."
There was a bit of a pause, then, broken only by a sort of bouncing noise. Harry wondered what it was at first, then realized that it was the sound of a ball bouncing across the stone floor.
"It's a little like learning language, I suppose," she decided. "I… or, perhaps, your friend Hermione… might have been able to work out the meanings of all these words in English with nothing but these books, treating it as an enormous puzzle. But it is so much easier when someone can help you through it, and it does not mean you understand it any less well."
Harry smiled, touched.
"That's good to hear," he said, flipping through the book. "And – oh, this might be a good bit. It's about where words come from."
He cleared his throat, as quietly as he could. "If you have a morbid fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth-"
"I am sorry, Harry, but immediately you are going to need to explain something," Empress interrupted. "What is peanut butter?"
"It's… well, you take nuts called peanuts, and… sort of crush them and turn them into a paste?" Harry said, realizing about a third of the way through the sentence that he didn't really know what peanut butter was either – at least, anything like well enough to describe it without handing someone a jar. "It's kind of tasty, and sticky, and… I think the only thing I can really say is that it's food."
"I remember what you've told me about your diet, Harry," Empress chuckled. "Everything is food. But please, continue…"
AN:
Doing Seventh Year is weird, because there's very little if anything "scheduled".
Still, that's 1997 dealt with.
The Biff, Chip and Kipper books Harry has got hold of are ones I remember from primary school, since we're now into the period I was in primary school.