Harry Potter and the Exchange Student
by Christine Morgan
christine@sabledrake.com
http://www.christine-morgan.org



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Author's Note: the characters of the Harry Potter novels are the property of their creator, J.K. Rowling, and are used here without her knowledge or permission. All other characters property of the author, with the exceptions of Becca Morgan and her parents, who are themselves. November 2001. 35,000 words.
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For Becca, with love.
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Chapter Nine – The Human Howler

The matriarch Mrs. Longbottom looked no less impressive now than on the other occasions Harry had seen her. Perhaps more so, because he'd never seen her in the full fury of a rage before. He cringed. Becca, not even needing to be told who she was, did likewise. They hunkered low in their chairs at the mostly-empty Gryffindor table, wishing for spells that would make them invisible or able to slip quietly from the room. Even the potion with which Dean Thomas had had a mishap back at the start of the term would have been good.
"Why, Mrs. Longbottom," began Dumbledore, rising from his seat. "A pleasure to --"
"I demand to know what you intend to do about this fiasco," she said, acidly and without preamble.
"I presume you are referring to Neville's unfortunate … accident," Dumbledore said.
A few of the students tittered, Professor Winterwind hid his head in his hands, and Harry and Becca sank lower, studiously avoiding every gaze except each other's.
"Accident?" she spat. "You call this an accident? A shamefully flagrant piece of negligence! A malicious prank!"
"There may have been negligence involved," admitted Dumbledore while Winterwind seemed to be imitating Harry and Becca and sliding lower and lower in his chair. "The door to the room should have been properly shut and secure, I grant you that. However, it was an easily-understandable mistake."
"Look at my grandson!" she barked, fanning her hands. A shimmery wedge-shaped window of light appeared above them, showing a slightly distorted but otherwise clear view of the hospital wing and of a bed, in which lay something roughly the size of a newborn baby but quite a bit greener, wartier, and slimier. "Your nurse, whom I was led to believe was capable, informs me that this is the best she can do."
Harry stared at the lumpy Neville-thing, feeling sick.
"Madame Pomfrey is attending the situation as best she can," Dumbledore said. "True, that is the best she can do for now, but she assures me that Neville will gradually revert to his fully human form within a matter of weeks."
"That isn't good enough," Mrs. Longbottom said. Her eyes flashed like sparks struck from flint. "We happened to be having a very important family gathering over the holidays, relatives coming from all around the world, and this … this mess … is entirely unacceptable! I will have something done, and promptly."
Professor McGonagall stood beside Dumbledore. "Undoing a Transfiguration spell of this nature cannot be rushed, Mrs. Longbottom. For Neville's sake, we must be patient."
Ignoring her with magnificent disdain, Mrs. Longbottom advanced on the high table. Most of the rest of the teachers watched her come with the same frozen fascination they might have had if they'd seen a tidal wave or a tornado bearing down on them. Snape was concealing a cynical half-smile behind his hand, sharing it only with Ophidia Winterwind, who looked as though this was all being put on as entertainment for her benefit. Hagrid's eyes widened above his great shock of a beard, perhaps expecting the oncoming witch to draw her wand and start sizzling lightning bolts around the Hall. Professor Trelawney's habitual expression of sad foreknowledge was deeper than ever.
"I specifically requested Neville's transfer to another House in hopes of avoiding just such an incident as this," Mrs. Longbottom said sternly to Dumbledore. "How many times since the term began have I written you, expressing my concern? Each time, you brushed me aside, and now look! Look at what's happened! I told you that if my grandson remained in Gryffindor, something terrible would happen. I had it on good authority!"
"That's right," murmured Trelawney. "I warned her myself. I had to. I knew it probably wouldn't help but had to at least try."
"But you couldn't be bothered," Mrs. Longbottom said, with nary a break, as if the Divination teacher hadn't spoken. "You told me to put no stock in predictions, and that disrupting the balance of a school House was never undertaken lightly! Well, what do you have to say now? If you put no stock in predictions, Headmaster, then clearly you put little stock in the qualifications of your teachers. A fact that has never been more apparent than with the recent string of blunderers you've hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts! A competent instructor never would have let this happen!"
Winterwind was shaking all over. Madame Hooch, seated next to him, reached out to give him a consoling pat on the shoulder and he jumped like he was being attacked.
"Now, Charlotte," said Dumbledore placatingly, but got no further.
"Don't you 'now, Charlotte,' me, Albus Dumbledore! You know me far too well for that!" She was right in front of him now, only the table separating them, and wagging her finger in his face.
Hagrid started to get up, and she stopped him with such a look that the towering gamekeeper dropped meekly into his chair. Harry was astounded. He'd known Hagrid for years and knew that Hagrid loved nothing better than confronting the fiercest of monsters face to face, never seeing the danger that was so apparent to everyone else. When it came to a creature of this nature, though, he was as helpless as any of the rest of them might have been in the clutches of the largest spider in the Forbidden Forest.
"I hardly think this needs airing in front of all the school," Professor McGonagall said.
Again, it was as if she wasn't even present.
"What's been done? What's been done, I ask you? Has the teacher been disciplined? What of the students directly responsible for my grandson's condition?"
Here, Harry and Becca would have given anything to be under the table, but half the people were looking at them, everyone at the Slytherin table with unconcealed glee.
"Have they been sent home in disgrace?" Mrs. Longbottom wasn't shouting, wasn't roaring, but her voice rang throughout the Great Hall so strongly that it seemed to make the roofbeams shake. Quicksilver, wanting no part of this, slipped away through the door to the owlery although the drake was not terribly welcome by the feathery messengers. "Are they in detention? Have they been restricted to their dormitories to think on their actions?"
Dumbledore opened his mouth and Mrs. Longbottom ran right over him. She whirled, the hem of her robe flaring like a bell, and leveled that same accusing finger at the Gryffindor table.
"No!" she cried out. "There they sit! Stuffing themselves on cookies and cider as if they haven't a care in the world!"
As it happened, the food hadn't even appeared yet and neither Harry nor Becca had much of an appetite. But they both flinched as guiltily as if she'd caught them with their mouths crammed full of sweets. Miraculously, everyone seated near them had managed to slide, scootch, or inch away, so that they were alone at the middle of a long expanse of table, and might as well have had a spotlight pinning them in harsh brilliance.
"While Neville," she went on relentlessly, "lies in his bed of pain, his every movement agony, able to eat nothing but pureed flies and drink nothing but swampwater!"
"We didn't mean to!" The words exploded out of Becca's mouth like kernels of Snapcorn, surprising her as much as Harry. "It was an accident, it was!"
"How dare you speak to me without permission!" Mrs. Longbottom drew herself up to her full height, which was still nowhere near Hagrid's but because he was in his chair and she was on her feet, made her look nineteen feet tall.
"But she speaks the truth," Dumbledore said. "It was indeed an accident." Behind the gold frames of his half-moon spectacles, his eyes were full of reassurance for them.
"I've had my objections to certain ways in which this school has been being run for quite some time now, Dumbledore." Her attention returned to him, but Harry thought he'd always feel her stare, and would have rather been back in the Chamber of Secrets eye to eye with the basilisk.
"Charlotte --"
"I've kept my peace until now but it hasn't been easy, oh, no, it hasn't been easy at all! From Neville's first year, he's been regaling us all with stories of the escapades of young Harry Potter here. While I can't say I'm surprised that James and Lily Potter's son would be a scamp and a rules-flouter, I am shocked that you'd allow it to go on this long. Shocked! What's more, you've rewarded it! I'll never forget Neville coming home at the end of that first year, so puffed with pride he nearly floated, to tell me how he had secured the House Cup for Gryffindor. When I asked him how, he told me, still proud of it, that you, you, Albus Dumbledore, had personally awarded him ten points for fighting!"
"That's not how it was!" This time, it was Harry's turn to have the words burst out unexpectedly, and to make matters worse, he jumped up from his chair. "That's not how it was at all! Neville got those points for being brave! For being willing to stand up to us when …" He faltered as he realized there was no way to make this sound good.
"So I've been aware of this from the beginning," Mrs. Longbottom said. "I've said nothing, hoping it would get better, but it's only gotten worse. The Chamber of Secrets, consorting with criminals from Azkaban … the list goes on and on. Believe me, I have nothing but the highest regard for Mr. Potter's early deeds and for taking a stand against the Dark Arts, but he simply is not aware that not everyone is as well-protected as he is! That others, impressionable others, will watch him and get the wrong ideas, trying to emulate him. Wanting to be just like him, when most are simply not suited for such a life! It's directly because of him that my grandson is in the state he's in. Whether this incident was accidental or not, the climate of permissiveness surrounding Harry Potter is what ultimately led to it."
Snape, to Harry's dismay, was nodding as if he'd felt that way all along. Professor McGonagall was fuming so visibly that no one would have been shocked to see smoke coming from her nose and ears. Professor Trelawney had her head down and was either crying or laughing. Professor Winterwind was slumped, defeated. Hagrid was grumbling into his beard, probably wishing he had Fluffy or one of his other pets here to sic on Mrs. Longbottom. Fang the boarhound would have taken one look and fled in the opposite direction, whining with his tail between his legs.
Professor Dumbledore arched his eyebrows. "Perhaps you're right, Charlotte."
"Perhaps?"
"The circumstances of Mr. Potter's various and heroic deeds have led to a certain attitude of understanding not always extended to most students. However, I would hardly call it permissive."
"No, I suppose you wouldn't."
This was finally too much for Hagrid. "Here, now, yeh can't go talking teh him like that! Nor talking 'bout Harry like that, either. Yeh're making him out ter be some hell-raiser who don't care fer anything but what he can get away with, and that's not right! Everthing he's done, he's done trying ter help someone and do what's right, even if it's dangerous. Not fer his own glory, so get that right out of yer head too! I've been at Hogwarts fer over fifty years and I've seem them come and go, and I'm telling yeh that if more did emulate Harry, there'd be a lot fewer Dark wizards in the world and that's a fact!"
Touched as he was by this vehemently heartfelt speech on his behalf, Harry was mortified too. Couldn't he ever be just Harry? He didn't feel all that special, never had. That was what he liked best about Becca. Although by now she'd heard all the stories many times, going back to his confrontation with Voldemort when he'd been only a year old, she still acted like he was just Harry. So did Ron and Hermione and most of his other friends, but they'd all needed quite a while to get used to it.
"Enough, thank you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "Charlotte, I do understand your reasons and your concerns. I assure you, I would much rather that circumstances had given us a peaceful, placid few years here at Hogwarts. But the world is neither peaceful nor placid now, and I for one have been most grateful for the help of Harry Potter, his friends, and indeed all of our students in seeking to protect this school and those within it."
"Yet you allow reckless spell-flinging and fail to punish the miscreants," she retorted. "You ignore legitimate warnings. I will have satisfaction! Since I was unable to prevent this myself, I insist that there be fitting consequences. And if you won't provide them, I shall."
Harry gasped. "Unable to prevent … it was you! You were the one who cast the Aversion spell at the park!"
She spared him a steely, glittering glance.
"And you took my books!" Harry added. "I saw you that day at Diagon Alley! You were going into the supply store where they were found, just as I was coming out of Flourish & Blotts!"
"Is this true, Charlotte?" inquired Dumbledore.
"Yes, it is." She didn't back down or look ashamed in the least. "I would never stoop to harming a fellow wizard, even a student, without more pressing cause than this, but I did hope to discourage him. I hoped that if he stayed away from Hogwarts, or was held back or otherwise hampered by the missing books, Neville would be safe."
"This is highly irregular," scowled Dumbledore, holding out a hand to halt the livid Professor McGonagall. "Why didn't you approach me?"
"When those means failed, I did. Letter after letter until the feathers were all but worn off the wings of my poor owl." She held herself stiffly, chin high. "You know for yourself what your response to all of those letters was. Finally, as a last resort, I decided that the only way to help Neville would be to get him out of Gryffindor entirely. For all the good that did, it turns out."
"But how did you know something like this would happen?" blurted Harry, and knew as soon as the question was out. He looked at Professor Trelawney. "You told her!"
"I did," she confirmed with a heaving sigh that guttered the candles in front of her. "I foresaw it over the summer holiday and though I knew it wouldn't change a thing, felt I had to warn one of my dear friends."
"We play wizard bridge," Charlotte Longbottom tossed out absently, as if irritated by being referred to as anyone's 'dear friend.'
Dumbledore motioned for quiet, which was hardly necessary as, except for a few whisperings and the occasional snicker, the Hall was utterly still so as no one would miss a word. Even the silvery, glowing forms of the various ghosts had drifted in, drawn by the commotion.
"I'm sure," Dumbledore said, "that the students involved are most deeply sorry for the part they played in these unfortunate events and will tender their apologies to Neville personally."
Harry and Becca nodded so fervently they were lucky their heads didn't come unhinged like that of Nearly Headless Nick. Mrs. Longbottom was looking like she was about to go off on another rant and say she didn't want them anywhere near the hospital wing, or around Neville, ever again for the next hundred years, but she held her tongue for a change.
"However, as it was an accident," Dumbledore continued firmly, "I hardly think detention is necessary. Nor do I think that my contacting the Ministry of Magic in reference to that Aversion spell is necessary. Unless, Charlotte, you feel otherwise?"
For a moment, Harry thought she was going to tell him to do it, that she'd take on the Ministry of Magic and claim she was only doing what she had to in defense of her family. But she grudgingly inclined her head, allowing Dumbledore to go on.
"As for Neville, I'm terribly sorry that he won't be able to join you for Christmas, but I promise you, he will have the best possible care here and should be back to normal by the start of classes. But I am going to request that you allow him to return to Gryffindor. At a time like this, a young fellow needs the support of his friends."
Mrs. Longbottom made a face like she'd just bitten into a sour-milk flavor Bean. Before she could reply, Professor Trelawney piped up with an amazingly hopeful lilt. "The worst is past," she said brightly.
"Very well," Mrs. Longbottom said. "Neville may return to Gryffindor."
A cheer rose from the scattered students at that table, quickly subdued as they caught themselves and realized this was no time to be making a lot of noise.
"But!" she added, "if anything else happens to him, anything for which these bad influence classmates are responsible, I shall have no recourse but to withdraw Neville from Hogwarts entirely."
Harry gaped. Things happened to Neville all the time. He brought most of them on himself, but Harry was sure that all the blame would be pointed at him instead of Neville from now on. He would have protested, if he'd thought it would do any good. All he could do by speaking up now, though, would be to make things worse.
"I understand," said Dumbledore gravely. "Will that settle everything to your satisfaction, Charlotte?"
"Well …" she said thoughtfully.
"Wait," came a shrill voice. Professor Winterwind coughed. "Wait. Please. I think it would help enormously, on all accounts, if I resigned."
"It would be the least you could do," said Mrs. Longbottom, sounding magnanimous.
"Here, now," Professor McGonagall sputtered. "Resign? Reginald, why? We've all agreed it was an accident."
"But it could have been avoided," he said. He couldn't look any of them in the eye. "I am so very honored by your trust in me, Professor Dumbledore. I only wish it had been warranted. I'm not the wizard you've believed me to be. I've Warded some Dark spells, I'm good at that, I'll admit … but what the students have been saying is true. It's the only thing I know. And I don't even know how I know it!"
"Yer not making any sense, man," said Hagrid gruffly.
"I was a terrible student," Winterwind said. "But somehow, I've always been able to Ward. It's more like a … like a knack than anything I ever learned. Since it's all I really know, with any confidence, it's all I could try to teach. And look what it's done. These promising young witches and wizards deserve better. None of this would have happened if I had been able to teach them Counterspells, or other defenses. I've been misleading you all. I'm no professor. Please, Headmaster Dumbledore, accept my resignation."
"I am distressed you feel this way, Reginald," said Dumbledore. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, sir. Yes, I am."
Madame Hooch exhaled in a disbelieving snort and said to Hagrid, in what was probably meant to be an undertone but could be clearly heard, "Bad enough we lose one every year, but this is the first time one's only made it to the halfway point!"
Winterwind flinched. "I hate to leave you in the lurch, sir, midway through the term and all, but if I stay, I'll just be doing more harm than good."
"I'm sure," broke in Ophidia Winterwind with a slow smile at Professor Dumbledore, "that someone else on the faculty would be willing to take over the DADA lessons for the rest of the year."
Snape sat up straight and brushed his lank hair back from his sallow face. His look of hopeful innocence would have been out of place enough even had he not been the head of Slytherin House, from whence all the most notorious Dark witches and wizards sprung. It was as if he was trying very hard to project the mental image of a golden halo shining above him.
Dumbledore and the other members of the faculty exchanged a long glance. Hagrid was shaking his head in short, sharp jerks. Professor Flitwick fidgeted, as if he was afraid that they might ask him to take on the additional duties. McGonagall, whose antipathy toward Snape had grown stronger as the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor deepened with each passing year, took a breath and then held it, probably holding back several words on the subject as well. Madame Hooch rolled her eyes, mouthing, "somebody's got to do it!" The others just looked back and forth, troubled.
"At the moment," said Dumbledore at last, "I'm reluctant to burden any of our professors with such an addition to their workload. Defense Against the Dark Arts is a highly challenging, demanding class that would require the full-time attention of a teacher."
"Phiddie could do it," said Reginald Winterwind all of a sudden. "She'd be right cracking at it, that she would! Miles better than me! Not that that's saying much. But she would be really good."
"Why, Reggie! That's so kind of you to say," said Ophidia. "Really, it is. But, well … I'm hardly … oh, I couldn't! I'd be so flattered even to be considered, of course …"
Snape's eyes had gone totally black. He looked at her as if she'd planned this all along, to grab the Defense Against the Dark Arts position right out from under him as cleverly as Harry caught the golden Snitch.
"I remember you," Professor Flitwick said. "Slytherin … Head Girl, too, weren't you?"
She dimpled at him, and the tiny gnomish fellow nearly fell into his soup tureen, where he surely would have drowned had it been full. "Yes, Professor."
The Slytherin table had fallen under an expectant hush, all of them leaning forward eagerly.
"And Reggie had asked me to come by a time or two as a guest speaker," she said, toying with a lock of her ebony hair in a show of modesty that made Becca sniff scornfully.
Professor McGonagall now looked as though she'd rather have Snape after all, but Dumbledore wasn't watching the urgent signals she was waving at him. He studied Ophidia intently, as she shifted sinuously under his gaze and lifted her red eyes, like pools of dark blood, to him.
"I'll have to give this matter a good deal of thought," Dumbledore said. "As a point of curiosity, however, Miss Winterwind … if the position were offered, might you be interested?"
"I'd be delighted to help out, Professor Dumbledore," she said demurely. "And I'd understand, of course, that it would be a stopgap measure until you could find someone better-suited."
Harry's spirits had improved a bit once he and Becca understood that they weren't going to be punished for their role in Neville's misfortune after all. He'd even begun looking forward to dinner, with a little wakening pang of hunger in his stomach. Now, though, he felt like everything inside of him had been replaced with solid ice.
"Well, then," said Dumbledore, apparently pleased. He looked out at the students as if only now remembering they were all still there. "We're a bit overdue for dinner, aren't we? Charlotte, perhaps you'd like to join us for the feast?"
Mollified by Winterwind's humble resignation, Mrs. Longbottom swept her robes around herself and took the unoccupied chair that had appeared by magic at Dumbledore's side. Food filled the platters, a reduced amount given the scant occupancy of the Great Hall, but what it lacked in amount it made up for in quality. A splendid banquet was laid out before them … and Harry could barely eat a bite.

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Continued in Chapter Ten -- Night School



2001 / Christine Morgan / http://www.christine-morgan.org / christine@sabledrake.com