Chapter Forty-Four – Hogsmeade
Draco Malfoy was a liar. That was what Harry decided to tell himself in order to go on with life as usual. But he couldn't banish the nagging sensation that Draco would have no reason to lie about Sirius Black. Everyone already believed that Black was a Voldemort supporter, and that he escaped from Azkaban with the sole intention to come after Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. What did Draco gain by making up a story involving Harry's parents? At best, Draco was merely being the annoying, attention-seeking weasel that he usually was. At worst... He was telling the truth.
And if Draco was telling the truth, then Harry had someone to hate as much as he detested Lord Voldemort.
Fortunately, the first of October soon arrived, and Harry had something to distract him from darker thoughts. Quidditch season was swiftly approaching, and as was tradition, Slytherin would face Gryffindor in the the first match of the inter-house tournament.
Draco was still nursing his wounded arm. He sat in the common room, complaining loudly enough for anyone to hear, though only Pansy Parkinson bothered to listen.
"The pain is terrible," he was saying, "But that's nothing compared to my disappointment. There's no way I can play in this state. We'll probably have to postpone the match, and I know how disappointed the others will be."
The weather had turned cold and rainy, and hadn't let up for several days. Harry suspected that Draco wasn't sorry he couldn't play in the inclement weather. In fact, he seemed to be milking his injury for every bit of sympathy he could get. Daphne Greengrass was seated nearby with a small group of friends, and his comments seemed projected to catch her interest rather than Pansy's.
Harry, curled in a armchair and trying to focus on his homework, glared at him over the top of his wand-making textbook.
Draco noticed that he had Harry's attention, and he smirked as he continued, "Yes, I'm afraid I won't be fully recovered for another month or so at best. That horrid hippogriff is a menace. I'm sure my father wouldn't want me to put myself at further risk of harm until something is done about it."
"And there you have it," said another voice from across the room.
Harry, Draco, and Pansy all turned to see the newcomer. Harry wasn't surprised to see Blaise's familiar face, grinning from ear to ear, but he was shocked to see his choice of companion was none other than Marcus Flint.
Flint was the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and he had apparently heard enough of Malfoy's drivel to comprehend that there was no way his Seeker intended to be ready in time for their first match.
"I see what you mean," said Flint. He lifted a hand to his chin and considered Draco with a cool gaze, looking at the bandaged-wrapped arm in its sling. Before Malfoy could utter some excuse, Flint turned toward Harry and said, "Do you still want the Seeker position, Potter?"
Harry lept at the opportunity.
"Yes!" he said, throwing his book down and approaching Flint, "Yes, I'd be happy to!"
"Wait!" Draco cried, his voice slightly breaking. He cleared his throat and began again in a lower tone, "You can't be serious, Flint. This injury is nothing. I'll be at my best again before long."
"You just said it would be another month till you're better," Flint said, not bothering to look at Draco as he replied, "You expect us to delay a game for you until then?"
Draco couldn't maintain his ruse about the injury and play Seeker at the same time. He knew this, and yet he had one final gambit to play.
"I would think that my father's donation to the team deserved a bit more loyalty."
Flint's eyes now flickered toward him with a look of open dislike, as if he were staring at a particularly noxious insect rather than a member of his own Quidditch team.
"Potter's placement will be a temporary one. Until you're fit to play again."
Draco could do nothing but accept this answer for now. Shooting a final dirty look toward Harry, he stalked off toward the direction of their dormitory.
Flint waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Harry and asking, "What kind of broom did you say you had?"
"A Nimbus 2000," Harry replied.
Flint nodded his head, then added, "Play your cards right, and this temporary position could become a permanent one."
"Thank you," Harry said, his heart racing, "I won't let you down."
Flint nodded again, and gave Harry instructions to be on the pitch for practice that afternoon.
"Thanks," Harry said to Blaise as Flint sauntered away. "I owe you one."
"Yes, you do," said Blaise, returning Harry's grin, "But I wouldn't stress about it. You know I'll always have your back."
Harry arrived a quarter of an hour before the appointed time, wearing his warmest and most comfortable clothes for flying. Blaise and Millie had given Harry's offer to observe his first practice a hard pass. The weather was still too drizzly and cold to warrant them sitting in the stands for hours. He didn't hold it against them, but he longed for their support as the hulking forms of the Slytherin Quidditch team made their way across the pitch toward him.
The team under Flint was composed entirely of upperclassmen, most of them seasoned players who had been together for years. They were all massive. Seekers were traditionally the smallest players, and Harry was no different. His size would be an advantage when it came to speed, but he started to wish he was just a bit taller as the team surrounded him, sizing him up.
"Potter will be filling in for Malfoy," was all Flint said by way of introduction. Harry already knew the names of the older boys from previous matches. There were the Beaters, Derrick and Bole, who were rarely seen apart from one another on or off the pitch. Then there was the Keeper, Bletchly, a red-headed boy who stood slightly shorter than the others, but was twice the size of Harry in width. Graham Montague, a Chaser like Flint, had his sleeves rolled-up past his elbows in spite of the chilled air, as if he wanted to draw even more attention to the thick, corded muscles of his forearms. Finally, there was Cassius Warrington. He, like Harry, was new to the team that year, having replaced Adrian Pucey for the third Chaser position. He was the only one among the upperclassmen to offer Harry a smile as they began.
"Wood is determined to win the Quidditch Cup for his final year," Flint announced, referring to the captain of the Gryffindor team, "I'm just as determined that he won't get it."
What followed was a series of short commands to the other players as Flint coached them through new formations he had developed over the summer. Harry did his best to follow the directions, but it seemed that the Seeker's position figured into very few of Flint's plans. It was as if Flint planned on winning by an aggressive defense rather than depend on his Seeker for extra points.
Once Flint had run through his plans for the first set, he commanded the others to take to their brooms. Harry, uncertain of what to do, hastily called out to Flint before he could follow his team off the ground.
"Wait! What am I supposed to do?" he blurted.
Flint rolled his eyes and stalked over to a trunk containing their practice gear. Opening a small compartment on the underside of the lid, Flint pulled out the Golden Snitch.
"You have played this game, haven't you?" Flint said, looking at Harry dubiously.
In truth, Harry had only ever played one-on-one against Blaise during their holidays. For a real match, he'd only ever been a spectator.
Conscious of Flint's critical eye, Harry hastily stated that he knew the game, and recognized the Snitch for what it was.
"Then you know that your job – your only job – is to catch this stupid little thing before the other team's Seeker. Can you do that?"
"Yes," Harry said with more confidence than he felt.
Flint opened his palm, and the tiny ball unfurled its delicate, shimmering wings. Then, fast as a humming bird, the ball took flight, and zipped away into the gray sky.
"Your practice is over once you catch that thing. I don't care if it takes all night."
Harry quickly mounted his broom and pushed off. He stabilized at an altitude on par with the rest of the team, who were busy making circuits around the field, swerving around one another and changing positions in complicated patterns. Harry dragged his eyes away from the mesmerizing sight. In spite of their size, they moved quickly on the high-end racing brooms purchased for them by Mr. Malfoy. But they and their brooms were not Harry's concern right now.
Harry knew his position on the team depended on more than Draco's fake injury. If he couldn't prove himself in practice, there was nothing to stop Flint from finding another replacement until Draco could rejoin the team. Harry had nothing to barter but his skill.
He had plenty of practice with the toy Snitch Blaise had bought him during his first year, but making grabs at a practice Snitch and spying one in the rain while hovering hundreds of feet in the air were two totally different things. For a moment, Harry was cowed by the seeming impossibility of the task. Then he remembered his first experience on a broom, and how he'd dived to retrieve Neville's Rememberall after Draco chucked it to the ground. If he could do that, this should be easy.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Harry saw it. The little golden ball was somehow easier to see against the backdrop of dark gray clouds. Harry watched as it fluttered only a few yards overhead, and he instinctively directed his broom upward. The Nimbus 2000 responded instantly to his touch, and he was soon rocketing toward the low-hanging clouds, his hand outstretched toward the glistening Snitch...
It was done. He had caught it. Harry hovered in the air, looking at the tiny ball in his hand. The Snitch, having been caught, gently folded its wings around itself once again, and lay still in his palm. Harry had not expected this to be so easy.
He looked at the rest of the team, but they hadn't seemed to notice him. Flint was hovering in the middle of the pitch, barking orders at his players as they continued their circuits, now weaving around the spectator towers.
Harry didn't know what else to do, and he didn't want to interrupt practice. Pocketing the snitch, he decided to return to the ground and await further instruction there.
"Potter!" Flint cried as Harry's feet touched down on the turf.
Harry held his broom in one hand and stood at attention as Flint landed and marched angrily toward him. The rest of the team stopped their exercises and brought their brooms closer, hovering around their captain and seeker in a tight circle.
"Potter!" Flint shouted again, "Why have you stopped?"
"You said I was done when I got the snitch," Harry explained, holding up the golden ball for Flint to see.
Flint gaped at him.
"You caught it?" he asked in disbelief.
"You told me to?" Harry said questioningly. "That's what I'm supposed to do, right?"
"We've barely started drills," said Flint, "You must have caught the snitch in ten minutes."
Harry still wasn't sure why Flint looked so angry.
"Would you like me to do it faster?" he asked innocently.
Flint's scowl dispersed into a toothy grin, showing off all of his crooked, yellow teeth.
"Montague, get a time on Potter," he commanded, "Let's see if you can do that again."
Harry felt unstoppable after practice. The seemingly cold, aloof upperclassmen had entirely accepted Harry into the fold thanks to his flying, and they were all confident in their chances against Gryffindor in the upcoming match.
He rushed back to the common room after storing his Nimbus, eager to tell his friends about his success. When he arrived, he found Blaise and Millie standing with a knot of fellow Slytherins near the notice board.
"It's about Hogsmeade," Blaise explained. Typically, Harry never gave the notices a second glance, but news about Hogsmeade peaked his interest and momentarily banished thoughts of Quidditch from his mind. A flier announced the schedule of upcoming Hogsmeade trips, and the first would take place the morning of Halloween.
"Excellent," said Harry, who already had several ideas of shops he would like to visit in the magical village.
"Hey, Harry!" called a voice nearby.
It was Colin Creevy. He sat among a group of other second-year boys, and waved Harry over to him with obvious excitement.
Colin had been something of a pest last year, but that was before he'd been petrified by a basilisk in the process of coming to Harry's defense. Harry hadn't forgotten Colin's bravery standing up to the other Slytherins last year, and a fondness for the younger boy had replaced irritation. As such, he obediently answered Colin's summons.
Colin wasted no time asking, "Are you going to Hogsmeade, then?"
"Definitely," said Harry with a smile, "Do you want me to get you anything while I'm there?"
Second-year students weren't allowed to venture to the village, so he had already guessed Colin's motive in calling him over. Smiling sheepishly, Colin drew a bit of parchment out of his pocket and handed it to Harry.
"I'm all out of film for my camera," he explained, "If you could find some more for me? And some chocolate frogs?"
"Of course," Harry replied. He looked to the other boys, who seemed more in awe of Harry than Colin was. "Would any of you like me to pick up something as well?"
They were too shy to answer him, all except Colin's friend Pandey, who had a list far longer than Colin's, and seemed to contain nothing but an inventory of magical herbs and plants.
"This'll just be a trip to the apothecary," Harry said as he scanned the list, "It won't be a problem, but couldn't you just ask Snape for these? You aren't trying to make anything dangerous are you?"
"Herb's got detention from Snape," Colin explained, answering for his friend before Pandey had a chance, "He's been messing up his potions because he refuses to use anything made from living creatures."
Pandey sniffed and pushed his glasses further up his nose, "Well, how would you like it if someone used bits of you to make their potions?"
"Actually, there are some potions that do exactly that," Harry said, thinking of the Polyjuice potion Hermione had concocted last year.
The boys looked at him in confusion, but Harry didn't offer any explanation, not wanting to get Hermione in trouble by spreading rumors. Instead, he pocketed both of their lists and asked, "Anything else?"
Colin nodded his head eagerly. "If you're able to find some film, can you get photos of Hogsmeade? I'd love to see it. Especially the Shrieking Shack. Did you know it's haunted?"
"Hogwarts is haunted," Harry replied.
"Not like the Shrieking Shack," Colin said with a delighted shudder, "They say there's some really nasty ghouls lurking there. Maybe even a poltergeist!"
"Peeves is a poltergeist," Harry said with a laugh, "And the only thing frightening about him are his terrible pranks! But if you want the picture, I'll get it for you."
His promise made, there was nothing left to do but fulfill it. With the hustle and bustle of classes and Quidditch practice to keep him busy, the long-awaited weekend arrived sooner than even Harry could have desired, and it wasn't long before one of the school's horseless carriages deposited him in the village of Hogsmeade.
Passing from the school to the little town was unpleasant, as the dementors guarded the gates of the school, as well as the perimeters of Hogsmeade. Harry averted his eyes as the carriage drove past one of the eerie creatures, but not before he noticed a grotesque, scab-like hand protruding from its dark robe.
He shivered and settled further back into his seat, and the cold feeling passed away as they moved into the town proper. There were plenty of adult wizards and witches bustling about the street as they saw to their own business. Peppered here and there Harry spied the black cloak of a Hogwarts student. The upperclassmen, accustomed to Hogsmeade after many years, laughed at the wide-eyed wonder of the third-years. But Harry didn't mind. The village was delightful.
Honeydukes lived up to every expectation, and he stuffed his pockets with not only Colin's chocolate frogs, but as many licorice wands, Bertie Bott's Beans, and Fizzing Whizbees as he could carry. Then it was off to the apothecary for Pandey, where Harry enlisted Blaise and Millie to help him pick out ingredients from the list. It was difficult work. Harry hadn't even heard of some of the herbs he had asked for. While Harry scanned the shelves, searching for something called alihotsy, Blaise called out to him.
"Mandrake leaf," Blaise said, reading the label aloud, "What do you think? Shall we have a go at becoming animagi?"
"Have a go?" Millie asked incredulously, "Did you even finish McGonagall's essay?"
"No, Harry did," Blaise replied. As usual, Harry had taken on the responsibility of completing their Transfiguration homework, while Blaise handled Charms. Apparently, the only thing Blaise remembered from the assignment was that mandrake leaves were a part of the transformation process.
"Well, it's a lot more complicated than just holding a leaf under your tongue," Millie said, looking at Harry for back-up. "There's a ritual you have to complete under a full moon, not to mention the potion you have to brew and drink at a specific time each day. It takes work. Something I know you aren't used to."
Millie was right. Harry had copied out three different versions of the essay, and was well-versed in the complicated transformation process. The mandrake leaf was only the first step, but if done incorrectly, the witch or wizard attempting to complete the rest of the ritual would be poisoned when they tried to drink the necessary potion. It was an incredibly difficult task, but the reward could be great.
"Get three mandrake leaves," Harry instructed Blaise, who gave an excited whoop as he reached for the jar. Millie rolled her eyes and Harry grinned at her.
"C'mon, Millie? Don't you want to see what you'd become?"
Finished with their shopping, they made a stop at the post office for Blaise, who insisted he wanted one of the small brown owls to carry a letter to his mother, even though Hedwig or one of the Hogwarts owls would have done just as well.
Finally, Harry managed to find some film for Colin's camera in a specialty store dealing in "muggle artifacts" and they made the rounds to all of the shops again so that Harry could snap plenty of pictures for Colin to animate later. Their tour of the village ended at the Three Brooksticks, where they stopped to catch their breath and rest their tired feet. Blaise was eager to return to school, if only so they could get started on their animagus experiment. He was already searching for the mandrake root among their many shopping bags, when Harry reminded him that there was still one more chore to complete.
"We have to go by the Shrieking Shack," Harry explained to his exhausted friends, leading them down a marked trail advertising the landmark, "I promised Colin I'd get a photo."
"I don't know why you bother humoring the little runt," Blaise complained. Harry didn't hold it against him. He was usually irritable when he was exhausted, and chances were good that he would take a long nap before the Halloween feast that night.
"Just a bit farther!" Harry said encouragingly before foraging ahead on his own.
The Shrieking Shack was the source of several Hogwarts horror-stories. Students delighted in sharing chilling tales about the abandoned home around the fire on cold nights, and as Harry approached, he could see why. The house was creepy. With its sloping gables, broken, boarded windows, and crooked stairs, it looked like a home of great misery, if not a terrible crime.
Harry lifted the camera to his face and took the picture. Through the viewfinder, he noted some movement, and lowering the camera again, he saw that the front door of the house was ajar. It swayed in the wind, occasionally striking the door frame with a loud bang before swinging open once more.
"Shall we go have a look inside?" Harry suggested, "Colin might like a photo of one of the bedrooms."
"Are you barking mad?" Blaise asked Harry as he stared at the dilapidated house.
"Scared of a few ghosts, Blaise?" said Harry with a teasing grin.
"I'd rather not fall though the floor and break both my ankles, thanks."
Harry laughed aloud, and to his surprise, heard a bark in response.
From the nearby trees, a familiar form came loping out of the shadows. With wagging tale and lolling pink tongue, it came running toward Harry before planting its paws on his chest and pushing him down to the ground.
"It's you!" Harry cried with confused delight. He'd never found a satisfactory name for the big black dog that had been his companion that summer, but he didn't need a name to recognize his friend, "How are you, boy?"
He ruffled the dog behind his ears, and it licked at his palm in an affectionate salute before turning its snout toward Harry's pockets, obviously sniffing out the candy that was hidden there.
"How did he get all the way out here?" Blaise asked.
"No idea," said Harry aloud. He absently rubbed behind the dog's ears, searching his dark brown eyes as if he could find the answers there. But the dog merely looked back at him before whining, and leaning into Harry's hand.
Harry looked to Millie, asking her if she had any ideas, but she merely shrugged her shoulders, just as confused as the boys.
"He'd have had to travel miles to get here," Blaise said, thinking aloud, "He can't have followed your scent, Harry. We rode the train the whole way."
"A coincidence?" Millie asked.
"I don't think I believe in coincidences," said Harry, finally climbing to his feet as he continued to consider the dog. It wagged its tail at him feebly, then uttered a soft whine, as if aware that he'd done something to make Harry uneasy.
"We could ask Hagrid," Blaise suggested, although with a hint of caution in his voice. Hagrid had not been himself since Buckbeak put Draco in his place. He seemed terrified of losing his position, and frightened of letting another student get hurt under his watch. As such, Care of Magical Creatures had quickly become Harry's most boring class. Watching the flobberworms was more dull than sitting through one of Professor Binn's History of Magic lessons. Harry would never admit it, of course, but it was obvious that the pressure was taking its toll on Hagrid.
Harry considered Blaise's suggestion. To his mind, providing Hagrid with the puzzle of the dog's reappearance could prove a welcome distraction from his other cares. He agreed with Blaise. The dog must have magical origins, and if anyone would know about magical beasts, it was the gamekeeper-turned-professor.
It was time to return to Hogwarts. Harry wanted a chance to talk to Hagrid before the evening feast. He said his goodbyes to the dog, who remained seated on the ground, exactly where Harry left him, for as long as Harry was in sight.
One of the school carriages took them back to the castle, but they didn't make their way toward the entrance. Instead, Harry led his friends directly across the school grounds, blazing the trail to Hagrid's cabin near the edge of the forest.
The other hippogriffs had been cleared off weeks ago – returned to whatever flock Hagrid had borrowed them from. Only Buckbeak remained, tied to a post in Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Most of the pumpkins had been cleared away for use in the Halloween feast, but Buckbeak retained one for himself, though it had been broken and bitten to pieces by his razor-sharp break. He lifted his head as Harry and his friends approached, and gave a gentle caw of greeting, recognizing his former acquaintance. Harry, Blaise, and Millie all stopped before approaching the cabin door. They bowed to the hippogriff, exactly as they had been taught, and Buckbeak inclined his head to show his acknowledgment before reclining again.
They found Hagrid much as they expected to find him. His mood was subdued, and he was already deep in drink, though he was still lucid enough to greet them properly, and observe the formalities of offering them tea and cake. He was doing his best to appear cheerful, though his gaze continually moved to the window, where Buckbeak was visible, and Harry could see the tears threatening to fall at any moment from his bloodshot eyes.
"Hagrid," Harry began, deciding not to waste any time with small talk, "We went to Hogsmeade today."
"Righ', yer fris' trip there, eh?" Hagrid said, his voice slightly slurred. "Ow was it?"
"Oh, it was great!" Blaise began, "We had butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. And Harry bought too much candy. I tried to tell him there would be plenty of candy at the feast tonight, but he never..."
Blaise could see the look on Harry's face, reminding him that they hadn't come to tell Hagrid about a town he had visited himself countless times.
"Oh, right," he said, interrupting himself mid-sentence, "And Harry ran into someone he knows."
"Oh?" Hagrid asked, still gazing out the window at Buckbeak, only partially paying attention. "And who might that be?"
"He's... not a person," Harry began. Now that he had come to the point, he wasn't quite sure how to begin. It was odd, asking Hagrid about a dog he'd met that summer. He wasn't sure what Hagrid would make of the story. Would he take him seriously, or just dismiss the matter as an odd coincidence?
"There's this dog," Harry said, taking the direct approach. "I... found him. Over the summer, outside of Blaise's house. He seemed like a stray at the time... I fed him, and..."
"And he wouldn' leave you alone?" Hagrid said, a bit of humor coloring his subdued tones. "Tha's jus' like a dog, Harry. You shouldn'a fed 'im, unless you were ready to take on the responsibility."
"That's just the thing," Harry said, "I might have kept him, only Mrs. Zabini didn't approve. I had to leave him behind when I came to Hogwarts. But today, in Hogsmeade... I saw him again."
Hagrid gave a thoughtful hum, as if he wasn't truly listening. Then, after another moment, when Harry's words sank in, he turned his face fully away from the window for the first time, and looked at Harry with open wonder.
"Say that again, Harry? You say the dog followed you here?"
"All the way from Ascending Downs," Harry said.
"Maybe it's not the same dog?"
"It is. I'm sure of it. My question was... Are there dogs that are magic?" The question sounded childish, even to him. He quickly rephrased himself. "Or maybe there are creatures that look like dogs, but are different? You know all there is to know about magical beasts, Hagrid. You must know of something."
"There are plenty of magical canines. You'll remember Fluffy, o' course. An' then there's a few mentioned in Fantastic Beasts - the crup for instance... What did you say this dog of yers looks like?"
Harry told him. A massive hound. Shaggy black hair and long, narrow snout. Hagrid pondered over the description, turning over a few ideas in his mind and tossing them all aside.
"I dunno, Harry," he finally said with a shake of his head, "It don' sound like any creature I've ever heard of. If I didn't know any better, I'd say what yer describin' sounds like a grim."
"A grim?" asked Harry.
"It's a bad omen," Millie said, interjecting into the conversation, "But that can't be it. I've never heard of a grim that plays tug-of-war and fetch."
"Still, it can't hurt to be safe. I'd ask Professor Lupin about it, Harry. If the dog has something to do with black magic, he'd know for sure."
Harry hadn't considered going to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but he wasn't against the idea. While Hagrid's classes had grown progressively dull since the start of term, Professor Lupin's had only grown more interesting, and he was gaining quite the reputation as one of the most popular teachers in the school, with fans among each of the four houses.
It wasn't a bad idea, and Harry had made up his mind to it before he'd left Hagrid's hut. But by then, the sun was already starting to set. It was nearly time for the feast to begin.