I hadn't fallen on my ass when I was swarmed by spiders, but I did when confronted by the walking corpse of my girlfriend. It's hard to look like a hardened battle wizard when you're all legs and elbows, trying to scrabble backwards across the stone floor to escape. My first love's charred husk shambled slowly after me, asking, "I was under the imperius, Harry. I needed you to save me. Instead. Instead, you made me into this. Harry, just hold me. Why won't you come to me, love?"
Why would this asshole of a professor spring something like this on me? Had someone found her near the house? Was fiendfyre dark enough to reanimate her, or was it something that Justin's ritual did? Perhaps that wraith possessed her instead? Could someone be evil enough to find her body and reanimate it just to screw with me like this? There were so many easier ways to punish me.
The man in the turban just looked on calmly from behind, with perhaps an interested but in no way triumphant expression on his face. Was this just part of the exam? Were the reanimated dead on the fourth year syllabus?
Wait. The exam. What might a younger student need to fight against that fit the equation? As Justin always drilled into me through quite painful lessons, ignore your pain, work past your fear, and solve the problem. Inferi still gave aurors difficulties, and undead with minds were even rarer and harder to fight. And why was it so specific to me? Why keep it in a closet?
It finally came to me as I hit the wall and couldn't scramble any further, and it took me another precious few moments to remember the counter and visualize what I wanted to happen. Her blackened hands were inches from my face when I shouted, "Riddikulus!" and channeled my magic. She suddenly transformed into the least threatening shambling dead person I could think of, the Fruity-Yummy Mummy from the cereal boxes. I gave a half-hearted laugh, and the boggart was sucked like it was on a bungee cord back into the cabinet, which the professor slammed shut behind it.
He leaned, relaxed, against the cabinet, and gave me a somewhat sarcastic clap. "Well, D-D-Dresden, that was t-truly a f-f-fear t-to b-behold. I suspect the n-new third years will n-not have anywhere n-n-near such an elaborate horror." He tilted his head in thought, then admitted, "With that d-degree of m-monster and without any warning, I'll have t-to c-c-call that an excellent effort."
Still trying to collect myself, and feeling the massive bruise spreading across my ass, I snarked, "Is that the whole exam, or do you need me to come back when you've gotten something else terrifying to surprise me with? Full moon's in, what, a week? I can come back then for the werewolf."
He gave me an extremely calculating look, then smirked. "N-no, I think that will b-be sufficient for the p-p-practical. I've written on the b-board several of the other c-c-creatures c-covered through fourth year. An oral examination of how t-to c-c-counter them should suffice."
The exam was pretty easy, after that. I honestly wasn't sure why this class needed to be anything more than an irregular seminar if all it taught was how to fight or evade a handful of dangerous creatures. Maybe because it took Quirrell three times as long to explain everything with that stutter? Before I left, he intimated that he was considering working my style of magic into his fifth-year classes this year, which might at least make the class less of a waste of my time.
Ultimately, other than being way behind on astronomy and British wizarding history, and needing to catch up on a few arbitrary points of the other subjects, McGonagall was happy to pass me on to take classes with people my own age. Especially since I didn't give a damn about passing the British tests, except so far as they wouldn't have an excuse to throw me out of school and back into Azkaban, I figured I'd get by.
Considering I expected to have another week of trying to catch up and working on foci, it was a surprise to me when McGonagall called me to her office on the last Sunday of August, dressed for the outdoors. "Are you interested in leaving the castle, Mr. Dresden?"
I smirked, "I knew it. Quirrell is going to make me fight a werewolf, and just wanted me to let my guard down."
"While I applaud keeping track of the full moon, as paying attention to the sky will only help repair your woefully inadequate knowledge of astronomy, I don't intend to be out nearly as late as moonrise." She gave me a moment to internalize just how thoroughly I'd been out-snarked. Oh, yeah, we were starting to understand one another. "A few of your fifth year materials and texts are not in adequate supply in the castle. I was informed that several of your housemates will be picking up their own school supplies today, so it seemed reasonable to me that taking you along would be beneficial, rather than just sending away for them."
"Pick up school supplies. Make some new friends to beat the rush. Got it."
Clearly I hadn't been sufficiently enthusiastic. "We can, of course, skip the trip if you aren't up to it."
I tried to put on a smile and think about the positives. "No, no, I appreciate the opportunity to get out of here for a little while."
McGonagall fixed me with a suspicious stare. "I expect that you will not attempt to flee or otherwise do something to cause trouble. From what Albus has informed me, at least one senior auror is likely to take advantage of such a slip." I'd been learning from her poker face, and thought I held onto how close she'd come to my plans. After a moment more of waiting for me to slip, she nodded and lit her fire. "I'm always disappointed when the school year starts and our personal floo connections are limited outside the castle for security reasons. You've used this method of travel before? We're headed to Diagon Alley."
She waited for me to take a pinch of floo powder and precede her. I idly wondered if this method of travel was working off the same theory that allowed Dumbledore's phoenix to transport him. It was the only thing that made this have any sense whatsoever. After an endless moment whirling through the flaming void that was Britain's floo network, I managed to keep my balance after being spit out in a dingy pub. Apparently, I didn't rate a second glance before the clientele went back to their breakfasts. McGonagall was only a few seconds behind me, and she at least rated a, "Morning, Minerva," from several of the patrons.
It took me a moment to realize that this was the interface between London and Diagon Alley. When Justin had brought us here a couple of times, we'd just taken a bus in and come through the front door. I followed the professor through the back and watched her tap a code onto the bricks of the back alley. As the wall faded away, I asked, "If muggles can't see the pub anyway, why do you need to know the secret to get through here?"
"The anti-muggle charms on the Leaky Cauldron aren't foolproof, and some of our enemies are magical but can't open the wall," she explained. "Let me know when you've caught up sufficiently on your history texts to tell me about all the times this wall was the final barrier against calamity."
"Fair enough," I allowed, wincing internally at getting new homework. I actually had two suspicions. One was that someone had just worked really hard on the persistent enchantment to get the wall to slide out of the way a brick at a time. The other was that McGonagall could now use remedial homework as a way to get out of answering difficult questions.
"Here's the list of purchases you need to make, and the galleons to cover it," she said, handing me a strip of parchment and a small coin purse from a pocket inside her jacket. "The Weasleys are skilled bargain hunters, so if you let them guide you, there may be enough left over for discretionary items."
We hadn't gotten deep into the Renaissance Festival-style strip mall that was Diagon Alley before McGonagall spotted the crowd we were apparently here to meet. They would be difficult to miss, since it was so rare to see so many redheads in one place. A boy about my age that seemed to be the eldest of the group apart from the obvious parents noticed us first, and got his mother's attention as they moved from one shop to the next.
While the rest waited for us to make our way over to them, the young man rushed over to us. Up close, it was obvious that he was wound extremely tightly, as he gushed, "Professor, I just cannot thank you enough for the privilege. I swear that I shall not let you down." I didn't yet really have an ear for the different English dialects, but it struck me that he was fighting very hard to speak in the "proper" received pronunciation, rather than his native accent.
It was an interesting contrast with the professor's unrepentant Scottish brogue, "I don't doubt it, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Dresden, this is one of your roommates, and the new boy's prefect for Gryffindor, Percival Weasley. This is Harry Dresden, who is transferring to Hogwarts from a private apprenticeship. I hope you'll be able to fit some time in amongst your duties and studies to look out for him."
I got the impression that Percival was about to start stammering excuses about his very limited time, and was just trying to figure out how to do so politely to his head of house. McGonagall saw it too, and sweetened the offer, "Mr. Dresden was taught a very unusual style of spellwork, that emphasizes wandless magic and making his own focus items. While he needs some help catching up in certain subjects, I believe he could be a great help to you in arithmancy, runes, and defense."
That caught his attention, and actually had him considering me rather than dismissing me out of hand. After a moment, he extended a hand, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dresden. I look forward to this arrangement."
He had a nervous, somewhat limp handshake, but I got a sense of a strong, controlled magical core. "Likewise. Do you go by Percival or…"
"Percy! You're taking too long!" said one of the other boys, who appeared to be a couple years younger, as he walked up next to us.
"Yeah! We all want to meet him," insisted another one that appeared to be a mirror image, flanking Percy from the other side.
I could feel Percy tense up as they approached, before withdrawing his hand from the handshake. I thought he also had a small nervous tic in one eye from the twins interrupting. "Percy is, indeed, fine. I suppose going by 'Weasley' will be just as hard this year."
"You're assuming a lot about whether Ron's going to make it into the house," one twin asserted.
"Charlie graduated last year," the other explained to me, "so we'll be back up to four if Ron gets in."
"Five next year, with Ginny!" added the first.
Assuming they could keep up this patter forever, I answered Percy, who was mentally retreating into his shell in the face of the barrage, "Then please call me Harry, to make things even. I don't really get the last name thing. I called my old mentor by his first name."
"What a sense of fair play!" the second twin applauded.
"I feel like we're bosom friends already," continued the first. "In that spirit, I'm Fred."
"And I'm George," explained the second. They looked at each other and shrugged. "Unless we got that backwards again."
I could suddenly see why Percy was so high-strung. Having these two for little brothers was probably exhausting. McGonagall already looked tired, and she'd presumably had a whole summer free from them. She looked like she was sending some kind of nonverbal signal to their mother to rescue her.
"Fred! George! What did I say!?" the short but seemingly formidable woman shouted at them from across the alley. "Best behavior! No antics!"
"Yes, mum!" they chorused, suddenly all angelic smiles, and headed back to the rest of their family. Percy led me over slightly behind, and McGonagall still further back, likely wondering if she'd made a huge mistake.
As we approached, their mother took it upon herself to introduce the rest of the clan before the twins could do so. She was a hugger, it turned out, which was unexpected. I had a brief moment of not knowing what to do with my arms and then I was free. "I'm Molly Weasley, this is my husband Arthur, you've met Percival, Fred, and George, and my youngest are Ronald and Ginevra." ("Ron and Ginny" the twins insisted, sotto voice.) She continued, ignoring the distraction, "Minerva mentioned you were a new transfer to Gryffindor?"
"He's so tall, and came in on Percy's year, just imagine the size of the troll they made him wrestle," one of the twins whispered to Ron. The tiny boy's eyes widened so much they nearly popped out of his head.
I tried not to snort at the boy winding up his brother, and answered Mrs. Weasley with the sanitized version of the story I'd worked out. "I had a private apprenticeship and my mentor brought me to Britain a few months ago. He died suddenly and left me in a tight spot. Headmaster Dumbledore was kind enough to make sure I didn't get… lost in the system, I guess."
While that seemed to satisfy Mrs. Weasley, there was a snort of derision from a nearby doorway, as Auror Dawlish leaned around revealing that he'd been eavesdropping. "'Died suddenly' is certainly a pleasant way of describing it. Why don't you tell your new friends what really happened, Dresden?"
