*
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.
*
For Becca, with love.
*
Chapter Ten – Night School
It wasn't the best Christmas break
Harry had ever known, but then again, it wasn't the worst.
He had friends to exchange gifts
with now, which was a huge step up from living with the Dursleys, and there
were sleigh rides to Hogsmeade, caroling from door to door in the wizard
village, and sledding on the hill.
But on the down side, he and Becca
felt compelled to pay daily visits to Neville and were thus privy to the
grotesque changes Neville was suffering through on his way back to humanity.
He had to eat hugely to keep up with the demands on his body, and as he
spent that first week on a diet of flies and other insects, visiting at
mealtimes was especially trying.
About midway through, when Neville
had reached the approximate size of a seven-year-old child and had human
features emerging haphazardly through his froggy visage, Becca had a terribly
hard time keeping a straight face. When Harry asked her what was wrong,
she told him.
"It's just that … did you ever
see 'The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad'?"
"No," Harry said. "What's that?"
"It was one of my favorite videos
when I was a little kid," she explained. "Disney. Half was 'The Legend
of Sleepy Hollow.' One of our cats is even named Ichabod. The other half
was from 'The Wind in the Willows.'"
Harry grinned in recognition.
"Oh, sure. I've read that one."
"I know it's mean, but poor Neville
… right now he looks exactly like Mr. Toad."
"That is mean. Better not let
his grandmother hear you say that."
"I wouldn't!" Her face was solemn,
her eyes huge.
Neither of them had any desire
to ever cross Mrs. Longbottom again. She said all was forgiven,
when she deigned to speak to them on her own not-infrequent visits, but
there was a coldness about her that said while it may be forgiven,
it was most assuredly not forgotten, and if she had her way, it
never would be forgotten. By her, or by Neville, either.
Neville, to their vast relief,
didn't blame them. Or Professor Winterwind, whose resignation he received
with distress because he'd felt something in common with the ex-instructor.
He didn't even blame himself except to credit it to his ordinary brand
of clumsy bad luck that always seemed to put him in the wrong place at
exactly the wrong time.
Without Ron or any of his roommates
around, the nights were long and quiet in the Gryffindor dormitory. Harry
wasn't used to not having the sleep-sounds of anyone else around him. Even
back at Number 4 Privet Drive, he could hear Uncle Vernon's snores rattling
the windows, and the sad creak of Dudley's bed every time his porky cousin
tried to roll over.
He was up late one night, putting
off going to bed because he was in no hurry to lay there wakeful straining
his ears for some noise, and flipping through the scrapbook Sirius had
given him when his eye was caught by some notes that his father and Sirius
had swapped during one of Professor Binns' endless history classes.
In Sirius' bold, dark script:
You've got to do something about O.
In James Potter's neat handwriting:
What do you mean? It's settled.
Sirius: Not from where she's sitting.
I've seen her look at you and L.
James: So she's a little jealous.
Sirius: You don't know much about
girls, do you, my friend? (This was followed by a doodle of a rather wry-looking
smiley face).
James: Lily's teaching me all
I need to know.
Sirius: It's not L. you need to
worry about. O.'s not done with you two yet. Can see it in her eyes.
James: She knows she's not my
type, and I'm not hers. It's got nothing to do with Lily.
Sirius: Maybe you don't think
so, but mark me, O. does. Haven't you heard the saying about Hell and a
woman scorned?
This disturbed Harry. He hadn't
but glanced at it before, feeling a touch uneasy reading about his parents'
early romantic days. But now, after what he'd overheard between Snape and
Ophidia Winterwind, he had a pretty good idea who O. was and it bothered
him to think that there was indeed some truth to what she'd been saying.
She hadn't been around over the
rest of the break, having gone back to her home outside of London to gather
her things. Professor Dumbledore had offered her the temporary job of Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher. His urgent ads in the Daily Prophet
hadn't garnered a glimmer of interest, especially on such short notice.
The decision had, if Harry was
interpreting snippets and looks by the rest of the faculty correctly, been
a controversial one. Professor McGonagall in particular was incensed, and
as Snape was none too pleased himself, it made them allies of a sort. That
in itself was nearly enough to stand all of Hogwarts on end.
It got so that two days before
the rest of the students were to return, Dumbledore had to call a special
staff meeting to address the matter. Harry, giving in to the curiosity
that had been both his bane and his best weapon, donned his Invisibility
Cloak and hid in the darkest, most unused corner of the teachers' lounge
to listen.
He was sure by now that Dumbledore
had to be aware of his presence, even cloaked. After all, it had been Dumbledore
to give him the magical item in the first place, and he knew all that went
on within the castle walls. If he noticed Harry's silent presence, though,
he gave no sign. He was perhaps too otherwise occupied.
Opinions on the Ophidia Winterwind
issue seemed divided strictly down the middle. The male teachers all got
a faintly besotted look every time her name was mentioned, while the female
teachers bristled like cats. Even Professor Binns, who according to rumor
still hadn't even quite come to the realization that he'd been dead for
a long, long while, roused from his habitual doze to remark on what an
excellent student she'd been, truly excellent, and deuced pretty, too.
Only Snape seemed conflicted.
He was both bristled and besotted, if Harry was any judge.
Dumbledore settled things by reminding
them that this was merely a temporary appointment until a more permanent
arrangement could be found. Here, the wizards mostly groaned unhappily,
while the witches looked grimly pleased.
By the time everyone else arrived
on the Hogwarts Express, Neville was his old self again. The last few days
had been possibly the most disconcerting of all, since he'd looked mostly
like a boy except for when his throat would suddenly puff out and he'd
utter incredibly loud croaking noises. He still had barely-noticeable webs
between his fingers and toes, but Madame Pomfrey assured him those would
fade soon.
The news about Reginald Winterwind
leaving and his sister taking his place had made the papers. Curiously,
Harry noted that while the articles included wizard photographs of him,
there were none of her. Given her more highly photogenic qualities – when
he said this to Becca, she shook her head and said, "You, too, huh? She's
going to have every boy in this school wrapped around her pinkie finger."
– Harry was puzzled by the omission.
Ron and the rest arrived back
in an excellent mood. The Weasleys had had a wonderful vacation abroad,
though with the unreliability of the foreign mail, their postcards arrived
three days into the new semester. All of them were sunburned and peeling,
and Ginny was heard to bemoan loud enough to bother Moaning Myrtle, the
girl's bathroom resident ghost, about how she'd sprouted more freckles
than ever from the hot Mediterranean sun.
Hermione, who had contrived to
get the wizard paper delivered even to her parents' Muggle home, had been
following the story keenly. She jumped straightaway on Harry's remark about
the lack of photographs.
"There aren't any of her in the
Who's
Who of Witches and Wizards, either," she said. "Or in any of
the Hogwarts albums. It really is a shame that they don't do a yearbook,
you know, I think Colin might be onto something with that."
"Yeah, I wish I'd have one to
take home with me," said Becca.
This startled Harry, who had forgotten
that Becca would be leaving Hogwarts after exams. Well, they all would,
but she'd be returning to America and not coming back. Despite her strong
accent and the strange modern-Muggle things she'd gotten in her Christmas
parcel, she had come to seem like one of them. This sidetracked him for
a moment but he returned to Hermione's point.
"Why not, I wonder? When she's
so --"
He caught himself, but not before
both girls had squinted suspiciously at him. And Ron, scratching fitfully
at his peeling sunburn, was no help.
"Gorgeous?" Ron supplied. "I tell
you, no one's going to miss a day of Defense Against the Dark Arts this
time around!"
"Night," Hermione said smugly.
"What?" Harry, Ron, and Becca
asked together.
"Isn't it obvious? She doesn't
photograph, she's never out and about before sunset – they're rescheduling
DADA to after supper and giving us a study hour during the day, hadn't
you heard? – and haven't you looked at her?"
"Oh, yeah," said Ron, winking
extravagantly.
Hermione swatted him. "I'm serious!
The white skin, the red eyes, the teeth? My parents are dentists
and I know an unnatural bite when I see one. Plus, she's registered as
an Animagus, but I think it's a false listing because isn't it too convenient
that she can turn into a bat?"
"You're saying she's a vampire?"
asked Harry, incredulous.
"Would they … they wouldn't hire
a vampire to teach school, would they?" Becca asked. "I thought that was
what Defense Against the Dark Arts was all about."
"Wait a minute!" Harry cried.
"She was at the Quidditch match! She was there with Snape! And it was broad
daylight. So how could she be a vampire?"
That stumped Hermione, who couldn't
come up with an explanation. They finished unpacking and hurried down to
dinner together, where all of Gryffindor was greeting Neville and welcoming
him back. He was blushing at all the attention, though the Slytherins were
quick to ask him if he'd eaten many bugs lately.
School got back underway, and
as the first weeks passed, Harry was unaccountably troubled by something
that he couldn't fathom. It wasn't like the prickles he'd felt before when
someone was watching him, and not even Professor Trelawney was doing much
of that anymore. She was evidently sure that the crisis had indeed passed
for once, and that Harry was no longer in imminent danger of getting himself
or someone else killed.
That, he finally figured out,
was the problem. On the previous occasions when he'd had some unknown enemy,
it usually took all year to fit the pieces together and solve the mystery.
But Neville's Gran had confessed to the Aversion spell and the missing
books, and for once, miraculously, no one was trying to kill Harry. No
shadowy plots were unfolding around him. No servants of Voldemort; the
Dark Lord had been conspicuous by his absence.
Why, he didn't even have his usual
war with Slytherin, since they'd been disqualified from Quidditch for the
remainder of the year. It meant more games for the rest of them as Gryffindor,
Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff vied for the championship. In previous years,
the other two Houses had been quick to support Gryffindor, knowing that
Gryffindor was the team with the best chance to beat Slytherin, and nobody
wanted Slytherin to win. But with them out of the picture, the rivalry
between the remaining three heated up.
Hermione had been right about
one thing. Their schedules had been rearranged to accommodate a nighttime
DADA class, with a study hall in the slot it had normally occupied. Ophidia
Winterwind was never seen at breakfast or lunch, but was always present
at dinner.
And now that the idea had been put into Harry's head, he watched her
intently to see if she actually ate. It looked like she did, but
never very much, and what was in her goblet could have been wine. It was
very dark, and very red, though.
When it came to teaching, even
Hermione had to admit that the new Professor Winterwind knew what she was
doing.
"Well, she'd have to, wouldn't
she?" Ron countered with a shrug. "If she is one and all."
"A vampire?" Becca still wasn't
decided.
"A Dark witch," Ron said. "She's
like one of the Series II Chocolate Frogs, really."
"How so?" Becca, still sensitive
about the Neville incident, was touchy when it came to anything having
to do with frogs.
"Tempting," said Ron, "but with
hemlock filling."
"The only good thing about this,"
said Hermione irritably, "is that at least now you pay attention in class!"
"We'd just do well to all stay
on our toes," Harry said.
Though as the weeks went by and
lessons were strictly normal, he started to catch himself thinking that
he'd be glad of some sort of plots or other distractions. He'd gotten so
used to them that normal life at Hogwarts was almost dull by comparison.
It did mean a lot less time spent in the infirmary, though.
He was also braced for Ophidia
Winterwind to single him out, perhaps remark on having known his parents,
perhaps try to get back at them a generation removed for whatever slights
she felt she'd met at their hands. None of that happened. She treated him
much as she did the other students, particularly the boys, upon whom she
doted while tolerating the girls. Hermione had quite a bit to say about
that, and even more to say about the way the boys went all glassy-eyed,
as if they were hypnotized by the teacher's mere presence.
Harry finally took it upon himself
to come right out and ask Professor Dumbledore about these things that
stayed on his mind. Given Harry's impressive record, the Headmaster's door
was always open to him, and he welcomed Harry into his office.
"And what can I do for you this
fine spring day, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked.
"Well, sir, I don't mean to nose
around," Harry began diffidently.
"Every time you do, it seems that
it is to Hogwarts' benefit," Dumbledore said with a kind smile.
Emboldened, Harry made a half-smile.
"Thank you, sir. I was wondering … it's about Professor Winterwind …"
"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Ophidia
Winterwind. Quite the, shall we say, unusual professor."
"Is she a vampire?" Harry just
threw it out and waited to see what would happen.
Dumbledore didn't look particularly
surprised, but mulled it over thoughtfully all the same. "A vampire. What
makes you ask that, Mr. Potter?"
He outlined all of Hermione's
reasons, feeling a little silly standing here in a patch of warm sunshine
filtering through the smoked glass window of Dumbledore's office. On the
walls all around him, portraits of previous headmasters dozed dustily in
the sun.
"I see," said Dumbledore, and
he sounded amused. "For the record, then, and you may repeat this to all
of your inquisitive friends, Ophidia Winterwind is not, in fact, a vampire."
He paused. "Not in the accepted sense of the word."
Harry's brows knit. "The accepted
sense?"
"Never mind that last. While she
does project a certain image, I guarantee that no one needs to start wearing
garlic collars to bed at night."
Remembering the rancid garlic
smell that had followed Professor Quirrell about, Harry was glad to hear
it. He couldn't quite do what Dumbledore wished and 'never mind' what he
meant about her not being a vampire 'in the accepted sense of the word,'
but he did have another question.
"She knew my parents, didn't she?"
"Yes, Harry. They were students
together. Although in different Houses, of course."
"Of course," Harry agreed automatically.
"Was she … my father … I …"
Dumbledore smiled gently. "If
it will set your mind at ease, to my knowledge she and your father went
to one dance together, a Halloween ball in Hogsmeade. One dance, Harry,
no more."
"Did my father dump her?"
"Are you asking if Ophidia Winterwind
might, as Professor Snape does, harbor a grudge from those olden days?"
"I guess so, yes," Harry said
with a little laugh to show he knew how silly that sounded.
But Dumbledore didn't laugh with
him. "I suppose it might be possible. Unlikely, and I doubt it very much,
but possible."
"Oh."
His worried feelings must have
shown, because Dumbledore clapped a paternal hand on his shoulder. "Don't
let it trouble you, my young friend. As I said, I doubt it very much. It
appears, in fact, that Professor Winterwind is doing an exemplary job.
I'm even thinking of asking her to stay on for next year!"
**
Concluded in Chapter Eleven -- Uncle Vernon's Mistake
2001 / Christine Morgan / http://www.christine-morgan.org
/ christine@sabledrake.com |