Chapter Forty-Eight – Trials and Other Tribulations
They formed a plan together. Harry, using his father's invisibility cloak, would search Filch's office for the map before the next Hogsmeade weekend. Then he would make his way back toward the Shrieking Shack, and Sirius would meet him there.
Harry didn't want to waste any time, but finding an opportunity to sneak into Filch's office was more difficult than he'd anticipated. When he wasn't in class or preparing for the end-of-term examinations, Harry was busy practicing with his Quidditch team. When he did manage to dash past Filch's door in between classes, there always seemed to be other students nearby, and he didn't want to risk someone seeing the cloak before he could vanish beneath it. Once, he tried sneaking out of bed after hours, and made his way to the now familiar spot. But that night, he was unfortunate enough to run into Mrs. Norris, and he was convinced the cat had caught his scent as she turned tail and ran, no doubt to alert her master of a student breaking the rules.
Meanwhile, the meeting with Sirius had an unexpected influence over Blaise. He was still deeply suspicious of Black and his intentions, but the revelation that the Marauders had been animagi since their school days acted impelled him into action. His enthusiasm to try the process himself returned with full force, and he insisted that Millie and Harry join the experiment.
"You heard what he said," Blaise reminded Harry during one of his pitches, "Prongs. That's what they called your dad, wasn't it? Don't you think it would be cool to be a stag like him?"
Harry didn't need any further convincing. He agreed to give it a try. He thought Millie would put up a fight, but it became clear once she saw the boys place their mandrake leaves under their tongues that she was not one to be left out. She took her leaf without a word of protest.
Blaise lasted only half an hour before spitting his out. He complained of its bitter taste, but Harry suspected that he missed the sound of his own voice. Keeping the leaf in place made it very difficult to speak normally. He was proud of himself for lasting most of the first day, only to ruin everything that night when he accidentally swallowed the leaf along with his dinner.
"Do you think it's toxic?" he said, panicked, "What if there are some kind of weird side effects? Do you think I should go see Madame Pomfrey? Won't she know what I was doing once I tell her I swallowed a mandrake leaf?"
While Blaise assured him that he would be fine, Millie merely rolled her eyes and continued to sip her soup in silence.
Harry wasn't sorry to have failed the experiment the next day as he made his way to the Quidditch pitch for another practice. Keeping the leaf under his tongue while zipping through the air on his broom and calling out to his teammates would have been an impossible task, anyway.
His mind began to drift to other topics as he scanned the cloudy late November sky. He was oddly thankful to have blacked out before slipping off his broom during the last match. If he remembered that fall, he might not have been eager to return to practice. Instead, he was watching for signs of dementors, worried that in spite of Dumbeldore's strict instructions to the ministry that they might appear on the pitch again. He thought of Professor Lupin's promise to teach him the patronus charm, and felt that the start of next term could not come fast enough.
Upon reaching the field, he was disappointed to see Draco Malfoy standing with the rest of the team. He had finally removed the useless bandages from his arm, and Flint was now inspecting it with a frown. Harry knew what he would see there. Draco's injuries had been largely exaggerated in the first place. It was impossible to think there would now be a scar or any other impediment that might keep Draco from resuming his place on the team.
Draco clearly thought the same. He called out to Harry in a triumphant voice when he noticed his approach.
"You may as well put that old Nimbus of yours away, Potter," he jeered, "There will be no need for you today. As you can see, I'm perfectly fit to fly."
Harry could have pointed out that the Nimbus brooms Draco and the rest of the team rode were only a year younger than Harry's 2000 model, but there was no need. Flint cut Draco off in the midst of his victory.
"I'm the captain and I'll decide if you're fit to fly," he responded with a stern glare.
Draco seemed prepared to meet resistance, and he quickly countered with, "Potter's position on the team was only temporary, as I understood it. Now that my bandages are off..."
"You've spent weeks being idle and doing nothing but have the first-years run errands for you while Parkinson does your homework assignments," Flint barked back. Draco, immediately cowed by the older, larger boy's tone, flinched away in shock. "Do you really think I'll throw you in a match when you haven't had a single practice all semester?"
"At least I've never had a fainting spell in the middle of a game!" Draco protested, sending a dirty glare in Harry's direction.
Flint's gaze followed Draco's and settled on Harry, who wasn't sure if he was supposed to defend himself or allow this argument to play itself out. Draco's words were cruel, but not inaccurate. The Slytherins had nearly lost their place in the tournament because of him.
"Why not have them run drills together?" Warrington suggested out of nowhere. "Malfoy needs the practice if he's going to rejoin the team, and Potter can fill in until he's back in fighting form."
Bole and Derrick both nodded their heads in agreement, and even Bletchley voiced his opinion that it wasn't a bad idea to keep a seeker in reserve.
"With one picking fights with hippogriffs and the other allergic to dementors, we could use all the seekers we can get," added Montague.
Flint didn't require any more convincing. He nodded his head, and instructed Malfoy to begin warmups. Harry, meanwhile, would practice with the snitch. Flint stopped him with a firm hand against his chest as he tried to pass by.
"Fair warning, Potter," he said, "I can put Malfoy off until the rematch, but if you pull another stunt like the last time, that's it. You'll be off the team for good."
Practice that day did not go well. Harry had always felt that his position on the team was a precarious one, but after Flint's comment and Draco's constant harassment during their drills, Harry was more dispirited than he'd ever felt leaving a Quidditch practice. Depressed and frustrated by the lack of loyalty shown him by the other members of the team, Harry made his way toward Hagrid's cabin, hoping that some tea and commiseration would do them both good.
To his surprise, Hagrid was not alone. Blaise and Millie had already walked to Hagrid's cabin to pay their old friend a visit. He was glad that they had been there before him. Hagrid was in a sorry state. It seemed Blaise and Millie had already done much to calm him down, but his shoulders still shook with sobs as he rested his head against the table. In the corner, Fang howled mournfully.
Harry reached a hand out to comfort the dog, muttering a few soothing words to silence his cries. Upon hearing Harry's voice, Hagrid lifted his distraught face from the table. In a moment he had crossed the room and flung himself around Harry's neck, his dreadful sobs growing louder while Harry's knees bucked under Hagrid's considerable weight.
"Hagrid! What's the matter?" he asked.
"Oh, yeh haven' heard? I thought the little Malfoy whelp would've told yeh by now."
"He must've had other things on his mind," Harry grumbled, thinking of Draco's smug attitude during practice that day.
He felt he might collapse if Hagrid hung about him too long, but fortunately Blaise and Millie came to his rescue. Blaise hooked his arm under one of Hagrid's in an attempt to lift some of his weight off Harry. With Millie on his other side, they were able to move the hysterical gamekeeper back to the table, where he began his lamentations anew.
Harry looked to Blaise for an explanation, and received it in quick fashion.
"It's Buckbeak," Blaise stated, and he passed a letter to Harry for his inspection.
Blaise and Millie had clearly already been acquainted with the letter's contents, so Harry made free to read the following to himself:
Dear Mr. Hagrid,
Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.
However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy...
Here Harry had to pause, barely able to restrain his anger. Draco had always been a pest, but his father was something infinitely worse. Harry knew him to be a Voldemort sympathizer at best, a Death Eater at worst. And Harry had made enemies of him only last year when he dared force him to free his house elf. Although Mr. Malfoy was the sort to flaunt his power at any opportunity, Harry couldn't help but feel that the father and son meant to injure Harry through targeting his friend. He tried to quell his ire for Hagrid's sake, and read the rest of the letter.
… this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee's offices in London on that date...
Millie nudged Harry's side once his perusal of the letter was complete. She was staring into a corner of Hagrid's cabin, where the hippogriff in question reclined on Hagrid's massive bed. Buckbeak was chewing on something unrecognizable, but very bloody. Harry flinched, shocked that the hadn't noticed the potentially dangerous creature before this. He bowed quickly to show his respect, and Buckbeak peered at him with one of his large, golden eyes. He seemed far more interested in gnawing his gruesome treat than observing the common formalities, and he continued to ignore their group while Hagrid diluted his fresh tankard of ale with more tears.
"Don't worry about this trial, Hagrid," Blaise was saying to him, "I'll write to Mum. She knows all about wizarding law, and she's got loads of friends in the ministry. I'm sure she can negotiate an acquittal for Buckbeak."
"Yeh'd do that for me an' Beaky?" Hagrid asked, somewhat calmer than he was before.
"Of course," said Blaise, "I'm not letting Draco get away with this. It's his own fault he got hurt. If he'd only listed to your instruction..."
"Should'na never had hippogriffs me firs' day..." Hagrid started mumbling, "Too dangerous fer third years. Coulda waited... Till fourth year, maybe..."
Millie grabbed the tankard out of Hagrid's hands and promptly dumped it in the garden outside. By the time she'd returned, Harry had already replaced Hagrid's drink with a steaming mug of tea, fresh out of the kettle. Hagrid didn't appear to notice the swap, and continued to drink wearily, spilling some of the contents into his beard.
Millie nudged Harry once more and pointed outside, through the open door from whence she'd returned. She looked toward Buckbeak with a pointed expression, and Harry understood her meaning without words.
"Couldn't you just let Buckbeak go, Hagrid?" Harry suggested.
It seemed a simple solution, but to his disappointment, Hagrid shook his head.
"Buckbeak's only an animal. He wouldn' understand somethin' like going inter hiding. He'd just come righ' back. An' besides, they'd know it was me that done it! An'... an'... I'm afraid of going back to Azkaban!"
He clenched his hands around his mug so hard that his ruddy knuckles turned white. Harry was afraid it would shatter in his hands, but Hagrid quickly released his grip and threw his face down on his crossed arms, throwing himself into another spasm of despair.
Hagrid had never spoken of his experiences in the wizard prison before. He'd been expelled as a boy for harboring a monster within the school - a monster that had been falsely accused of killing another student. Hagrid spent some time in Azkaban back then, and when he came under suspicion for similar crimes during Harry's second year, he was temporarily sent back.
Harry was burning to know more about Azkaban, but it never seemed like the right time to ask. Whenever the subject was mentioned, Hagrid would always shudder and avoid the subject. Now that he had brought it up of his own accord, and though he was consumed worry over Buckbeak, Harry felt this might be willing to talk about his experiences now.
"What was it like, when you were there?" Harry asked.
"Horrible," Hagrid said promptly. He gave the usual expected shudder, but he didn't seem inclined to change the subject. Perhaps it was all the drink he'd had, but Hagrid opened up about the subject more than anticipated. "Those dementors are the worst ov it. They take yer joy, every happy memory. They feed off it, because they can't have it fer themselves. An' they leave yeh with nuthin' but every bad memory, every horrid thought yeh ever had... It's no wonder so many people go mad in there..."
"But you were innocent, Hagrid," Harry reminded him. "Surely the dementors didn't affect you... Didn't affect you as bad as someone who was guilty?"
"Aye, I was innocent," Hagrid said roughly, "But do yeh think the dementors cared abou' that? No! I may not've had guilt over any crimes, but there was plenty of bad memories fer me to dwell on when they'd stripped everythin' else away. A dementor is a cruel, soulless creature. They don' make no difference between an innocent and guilty person..."
Harry directed a pointed look at Blaise, thinking of the suspicion he still harbored toward Sirius. Blaise caught his look and rolled his eyes, mouthing the words, "That doesn't prove anything."
After fortifying Hagrid with more tea and promises of their assistance, they agreed to head to the library straightaway. Blaise wanted to write to his mother, and Harry thought they might be able to do their own research to help Hagrid. When they arrived, Blaise began writing furiously on a scroll of parchment, with the obvious intention to fill both sides with his complaints. Millie set about searching the bookshelves, and quickly located several heavy textbooks that she dragged back to their table. Harry opened one of them and looked over the table of contents with a frown. He knew at a glance that it was no good. It was a text on magical law, but dealt only with examples of muggle artifacts, and the various ways they had been misused by wizards to disastrous effects. Interesting, but not helpful.
As he stood to return the book and seek something else, he noticed Hermione Granger seated only a few tables away. She wasn't alone. She was surrounded by the other members of Harry's wand-making class. Seeing her reminded Harry of the promise he had made to Neville. With everything else that had happened since Halloween, he'd entirely forgotten to speak to Hermione about her impossible course schedule.
To most Slytherins, Hermione was little more than an insufferable busybody. To Harry, she was not only a good friend, but a very clever witch with a lot of obscure knowledge. She could be useful in their research for Hagrid, and if he approached her now, he might be able to make good on his promise to Neville at the same time.
After letting Blaise and Millie know he would be back in a moment, he made his way toward the table of would-be wand-makers. It wasn't until he was nearly on top of the group that he realized he may not be welcome. There's was a small class, and no one had thought to invite Harry to their study session. He felt the insult of being excluded, and even considered the possibility that he had been left out on account of his House, when one of the boys looked up and waved at him.
It was Anthony Goldstein, a Ravenclaw Harry had little interaction with until that moment. He grinned at Harry as if they were old friends and motioned to an open seat at their table. Harry barely had time to accept the offer before Goldstein presented him with a question.
"So, Potter. Have you solved the coring question, yet?"
Harry was stumped, "What's the coring question?"
"You mean you haven't even considered it?" Goldstein said, aghast at Harry's daring to ignore such a crucial part of their curriculum.
"It's come up in the essay," Lisa Turpin, another Ravenclaw, said as she pushed a textbook toward Harry for reference. He glanced down a the diagram – a cross section of a wand, showing the polished outer surface, white inner wood, and a delicate unicorn hair in the center.
"There are spells to get the core into the wand, of course," Goldstein continued, "But to use the spell, you need a wand. So that begs the question – if you need a wand to create a wand, how was the first wand made?"
"I keep telling you it's useless speculation," Hermione cut in, angrily blowing at a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes, "We're awarded points on if our wands work at the end of the semester, not by the method we used to core them. Besides, in all probability the first witches and wizards didn't use wands at all. Or if they did, it must have been something very different from those we use today. The first wand may have been crafted with an enchanted item that's obsolete now that we have a more practical method!"
Goldstein shook his head and looked to Turpin for support. She shrugged, and slid the textbook with the drawing back toward her for further inspection.
"What do you think, Harry?" Hermione asked, turning to him in the hopes he would take her side.
Put on the spot once again, Harry made several stammering starts before saying, "I was just planning to use the transfiguration spell McGonagall taught us. The one that turns an object from one substance to another? I thought if I turned the wand into something soft like a jelly, then I could insert the core and then turn it back into wood once I'd finished."
The idea had come to him when he was seated in transfiguration a week ago. He hadn't been aware of any "coring question" until now. He was painfully aware of the eyes of the other students staring at him, and thought that perhaps it was a stupid idea after all.
That is, until Goldstein suddenly exclaimed, "Inspired!"
"That sounds much easier than the coring charm Nobilis taught us," cried Hannah Abbott, one of the two Hufflepuffs who had been silent before.
"Are we allowed to use a spell from another class?" asked Wayne Hopkins, rifling through his notes.
"Of course we are!" declared Goldstein, "Granger said it herself, didn't she? What matters is that the wand works. You'd probably have to be sure you could transfigure the wood without damaging the core, but that may not be difficult depending on what core you choose. What were you thinking, Potter?"
"Er..." Harry said intelligently. He'd been planning to use a phoenix feather, the same core as his current wand, but he was finding it difficult to keep up with the pace of their conversation. He saw Hermione shake her head at the direction the group was taking before standing and heading toward the bookshelves. Harry slipped after her as the group continued to discuss the merits of the different wand cores, and Goldstein suggested they experiment with non-traditional substances.
Harry called to Hermione softly, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Madame Pince, the irritable librarian. Hermione acknowledged his call with a quick glance, but turned away again directly, her index finger running rapidly over book titles.
"What is it Harry? I'm busy at the moment..."
"I can see that," said Harry, a little taken aback at the short tone of his usually friendly classmate. "I just wanted... To see how you were doing."
It was only a small lie. Harry really did care about Hermione's well-being, but at the moment, he would rather have asked her if she knew anything about defending magical creatures in a wizarding court.
"I'm fine," Hermione snapped. Harry did nothing but stare at her. Hermione's back was turned to him, but it was clear she felt the force of his silence when she begrudgingly gave up her search, and turned around to face him. "It's just this essay. It's due by the end of term, and I'm still not sure what core to use in my wand! I could just use dragon heartstring, but that's the obvious choice! What if Professor Noblis takes away points for unoriginality?"
"Um, Hermione..."
"And I don't mean to be rude Harry, but turning your wand to jelly? Are you serious about that? Because you know that spell McGonagall taught it is just as advanced as Nobilis's coring charm, and twice as likely to backfire if you get it wrong..."
"Hermione!" Harry said, raising his voice and earning a few shocked looks from the students reading nearby. Madame Pince jerked her face in his direction, and Harry took the extra precaution of standing a little further among the shelves before lowering his voice and continuing, "Hermione, you're starting to lose it! Neville's talked with me, and he's worried about you. He thinks you're taking on too much work.
Hermione attempted to brush away these worries, stating that Neville didn't know what he was talking about. But when Harry persisted in adding that he was worried about her too, Hermione bit her lip and looked down at her feet.
"And it isn't just me and Neville," Harry added, "Even Millie and Blaise have noticed! They think you're taking too many classes."
Another small lie. Blaise and Millie had noticed Hermione's odd schedule, but rather than be concerned, they considered it more of a passing diversion. Harry decided Hermione didn't need to hear this detail, and continued to push.
"We just want to see you back to normal, everyday busy Hermione. Not this new Hermione who goes around snapping about wand cores and taking every single class Hogwarts has to offer. How are you managing it anyway?"
"I don't want to worry you, Harry, but I just can't tell you!" Hermione whispered. "I swore it would be a secret!"
She said as much, but Harry knew with just a bit more prodding and the right words, he could get her to crack. Hermione must have sensed her own weakness, because before Harry could say another word, she had snatched a random book from the shelves and beat a hasty retreat back to the study group. She was safe from further interrogation so long as she was surrounded by others.
Harry sighed. He had done as Neville asked, but he was no closer to learning Hermione's secret than he was before. What was worse, he doubted Hermione would join them in searching for ways to help Hagrid now.
By the time Harry returned to his friends, Blaise had finished his letter, and was ready to send Hedwig off to his mother. Millie had likewise completed her search, and had a stack of books on magical creatures and the law that she checked out for later reading.
Blaise wanted to get his letter posted immediately, and suggested they walk to the owlry together. Harry told them to go on without him. He felt too anxious after the failure with Hermione and his worries for Hagrid to return to the common room now. He thought it would be better to have another peak at Filch's office. If the path was clear for once, he could at least have the satisfaction of fulfilling his plan with Sirius.
He found a quiet place in the hall to slip his father's cloak from his schoolbag. He still felt a trill of excitement whenever he put it on, just as he had the very first time he wore the cloak and discovered its abilities. Lately, it had been even more special to him. He thought of what Sirius said of he and his father using it at Hogwarts when they were boys, and it made him proud as he walked through the halls of the school. He wondered if his dad would approve of this sort of sneaking behavior, and if he would find it all funny, in his own way.
Harry was in luck. He passed only a few ghosts along his path, and none of them took any notice of his invisible presence. There was no one in the hall where Filch's office sat. Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the closed door, drawing his wand in anticipation of using magic to unlock the door. As his hand reached for the knob, it started to turn.
Harry stumbled back just in time to avoid colliding with the door as it swung open. He had to hold his hand in front of his mouth to prevent a gasp of surprise when he saw Professor Lupin standing there, looking slightly green but apparently recovered from whatever illness had been plaguing him.
He wasn't alone, Filch was near his side, apparently in the process of ejecting Lupin from his office with the angry scowl he usually reserved for students.
"I don't know where your ruddy parchment is," Filch said in his customary surly drawl. "What do you want with it anyway?"
"It has sentimental value," Lupin explained, "It once belonged to a friend of mine."
"Aye, I remember," Filch said, spitting on the ground between them, "Two of the worst troublemakers to ever curse these halls. And don't think I don't know you was one of them."
"Me?" Lupin asked innocently. Harry couldn't see his face from where he was standing, pressed against the opposite wall, but he could imagine a slight smile on his lips from his tone of voice. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Lies, all of it! You may be a professor now, but just because I never caught you don't mean I don't know you were up to something! Anyone messing around with the likes of Potter and Black was no good!"
Harry caught his breath. If they were talking about his dad and Sirius, then the scrap of parchment Lupin was asking for had to be the Marauder's Map. Sirius told him it was enchanted, so Filch likely didn't know what it was. But Lupin had to know. It was the only explanation for why he would come looking for it now.
Lupin continued to press for more information until Filch, working his jaw in consternation, finally admitted, "I don't know where your bloody parchment is! My office was pilfered a few years back. Some of the things I kept on you lot was stolen... Possibly the paper was one of them. I haven't seen it."
"Stolen..." Lupin replied in a crestfallen tone. Harry shared his disappointment. What was he supposed to tell Sirius now?
"Might be the Weasley boys that took it," Filch added, "They're the new troublemakers in the school. Might be worse than you and your friends ever were."
"I wish you wouldn't lump me in with them," Lupin said playfully, "What would my students think if they heard?"
"Maybe they'd see you for the sneaking little monster that you are!" Filch declared, and Harry saw Lupin's shoulders stiffen.
Harry had never seen Filch so disrespectful to a teacher before, and he wondered if it was because Filch remembered Lupin as a boy. After sending him off with a few more oaths and demands to be left alone, Filch slammed the door of his office in Lupin's face.
Lupin did not move for a moment, staring at the door as if he needed the time to collect himself. Harry could see his fists clench, as if he were seriously considering beating the door down. But after a moment of indecision, Lupin's hands relaxed again, and he turned to make his way back down the hall, is expression either one of indifference, or resigned suffering.
Harry took a step toward him, thinking for a moment to follow Lupin and see what he did next. But by unlucky chance, his toe hit the base of of one of the suits of armor lining the corridor, and he uttered a small oath of pain.
It had been so quiet, he thought perhaps to go unnoticed. But Lupin stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned. Staring down what must have seemed an empty hallway. His face tilted upwards, reminding Harry of a dog scenting the air for prey. But that seemed wrong. Surely Lupin couldn't smell him?
"Harry?" Lupin asked, taking a hesitant step back down the hall.
Harry's heart jumped as Lupin's hand groped the air in front of him, as if searching for something he couldn't see, but expected to find right in front of him.
He knows, Harry thought in a panic, He knows about the cloak.
Lupin soon gave up after a few more seconds of fruitless searching. He sighed, shaking his head, and without another word continued on his path toward his office. It was too risky to attempt to follow him again. Harry dithered in the hall a few minutes more, allowing Lupin a head-start, before ripping the cloak off and making a mad dash back toward his common room. Millie and Blaise needed to hear what he'd just learned.