Summary: Term starts at Hogwarts, Harry has yet another strange dream, and some familiar faces reappear…
Author's Notes: Surprised to see this part up so quickly? I am!
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Part Nine
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Harry walked down an echoing corridor. He did not know this part of the castle, but Hogwarts was so vast that even now, after four years, he still stumbled on passageways he had never traversed before. It was quiet up here - so quiet that he could hear his feet, padding over an ancient, worn carpet patterned with faded leaves and flowers.
All the heavy oak doors he passed were closed, and he did not know what lay behind them. Now and again he passed more of the statues and paintings with which the corridors of Hogwarts were lined. In the quiet of this remote passageway, the subjects of the paintings were all dozing, and none stirred to watch him pass.
Harry paused beside a statue of a muscular wizard on a broom, dressed in what looked like a striped Quidditch robe. Carved in stone, the wizard was forever frozen on the point of throwing the Quaffle which rested in his outstretched hand.
Harry put out his hand to touch the stone Quaffle. Gripping it, he pulled - and it lifted out of the socket, leaving the statue's hand empty…but revealing a keyhole in the palm.
Setting down the stone Quaffle, Harry reached into the pocket of his robe, feeling for the heavy silver key he knew would fit the lock and reveal the secret guarded by the statue…
It was at that moment that Ron threw a pillow at him, and Harry awoke with a start, gasping for breath. The pillow had hit him squarely in the face.
"Uh? Wha-?" he mumbled, pushing it away. His start had awoken Blackie, who was curled around his feet, and she complained with a loud mew of protest before settling herself back to sleep.
"Come on, Harry, I'm starving," Ron said. He was sitting half-dressed on the side of his bed, pulling on his socks, which had been darned by Mrs. Weasley in the holidays. "Breakfast."
Harry pulled himself into a sitting position, picked up the pillow and threw it half-heartedly back at Ron. His mind was still too much full of his interrupted dream to concentrate on wreaking vengeance. The pillow fell short and landed on the floor.
"Pathetic," said Ron. "Lucky you're not a Chaser - you'd never score with a shot like that."
"Shut up," Harry said amiably, groping for his glasses. Putting them on, he saw Dean getting dressed at the far end of the dormitory, also looking rather bleary. The off-key singing and splashing behind the bathroom door was Seamus. The curtains were still pulled around Neville's bed. He had never been good at getting up in the mornings.
"I just had a really weird dream," Harry said, climbing out of bed. "About seeing a statue of a Quidditch player…" His voice trailed off as he wondered about his dream. For the last few weeks he had been haunted by dreams about that grassy hillside, the grey stones so like the ruins of Blackdale House; but this dream seemed to have a completely different significance. He looked towards his trunk, in which the little wooden box containing the mysterious key still lay hidden.
"Yeah?" Ron sounded mildly interested. "Was it a Cannons player?"
"No, he had a stripy robe," Harry said, trying to stop an enormous yawn, but failing.
"Must have been a Wimborne Wasps player," Ron mused, giving his hair a perfunctory brushing. "Hope it wasn't Bagman."
"Caerphilly Catapults play in stripes too," said Seamus, passing the end of Harry's bed on his way back from the bathroom.
"Yeah - which way did the stripes go, Harry?"
Ron and Seamus kept up a gentle wrangle about Quidditch teams while they got ready to go down to breakfast. Harry, still wondering about the dream, the statue and the key, did not say much. He thought he might tell Ron and Hermione about it later, when they were alone.
When Ron and Harry arrived at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, they found Hermione already there, studying their new timetable and talking to Ginny. Ginny was looking rather depressed, which was explained when she told them she had just found out she had double Potions with Snape as her first lesson.
"What have we got first?" Harry asked Hermione, as he reached for the milk to pour on his porridge. The house elves were a lot better at porridge-making than Mrs. Figg was, although he would miss Sirius's fry-ups.
"Well, as it happens, we've got a free lesson this morning," Hermione told him, looking down at the timetable again. "It's supposed to be Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Professor McGonagall told me that Professor Stoddard still isn't here, so we've got nothing until History of Magic at half-past ten."
"Huh." Ron took a slice of bread from the plate that Ginny had just pushed towards him. "If I'd known that I'd have stayed in bed for another hour."
"I might go and see Dobby then," Harry said, as Hermione shot Ron a disapproving look. "I've got a present for him."
"I wonder how Winky's doing?" Hermione said, her attention diverted. "She was so upset at the end of last term - when she found out about - " Hermione's voice trailed off. Harry realised that she did not want to mention Barty Crouch, the Death-Eater son of Winky the house-elf's old master, who had so nearly killed Harry last term. Most of the Hogwarts students still did not know that their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher last year had not been Alastor Moody, but Barty Crouch posing as Moody by using Polyjuice Potion.
"Hermione, please don't start up all that Spew stuff again this year," Ron begged. "You'll make us so unpopular with the house-elves, they'll never let us in the kitchen again."
Harry suppressed a grin - and saw Ginny doing the same - as Hermione replied with great dignity. "As it happens, Ron, I don't think I will have much time for S.P.E.W. this year - what with my prefect duties, and working for OWLs. But I haven't stopped believing in the rights of house-elves, you know - well, not just house-elves, but all other non-human magic users - "
"Yes, yes, all right," Ron interrupted her, "just as long as you're not going to go around sticking badges on people, you can believe what you like - "
"So," Harry said rather loudly, cutting off what threatened to be one of the term's first arguments between Ron and Hermione, "does anyone want to come and see Dobby with me? And how about visiting Hagrid this afternoon, if we can?"
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Harry and Ron ended up visiting the kitchen after breakfast without Hermione, who had decided that it was her duty as a Prefect to make sure that the new first-years all found the correct classroom for their first lesson. Harry remembered how often he had got lost during his own first few weeks in the maze that was Hogwarts. Privately, he thought that Hermione was probably nervous of visiting the kitchen, since on her last visit she had been so outspoken in her views on elf-rights that the scandalised elves had practically thrown them out. Harry was none too sure of the welcome he and Ron would get from the house-elves, under the circumstances.
House-elves, however, obviously had short memories - either that, or they did not hold Harry or Ron responsible for Hermione's peculiar views. Harry and Ron had barely set foot in the kitchen when they were warmly greeted by the elves, who were washing-up after breakfast.
"Harry Potter, sir!" There was a shrill shriek of ecstasy from Dobby, who hurtled towards Harry wearing a delighted expression on his face, his bat-like ears waving. "Harry Potter is coming to visit Dobby on the very first morning of term! Dobby is honoured - "
"Um," Harry said uncomfortably, trying to stop these embarrassing effusions of delight. Beside him, Ron was grinning broadly. "I just came to see how you were, Dobby."
"Dobby is very fine," Dobby assured him, waving Harry and Ron to two chairs. "Thanking you kindly for asking." Dobby certainly looked well, although his maroon sweater - a gift from Ron last Christmas - clashed rather distressingly with his orange shorts and his socks - one mustard yellow, one violet.
Despite having just finished breakfast, Harry and Ron found themselves able to manage the tray of tea and biscuits the house-elves pressed upon them.
"How's Winky?" Harry asked Dobby, through a mouthful of biscuit crumbs. "Is she all right?" The last time he had seen Winky, she had been distraught over learning of her master's murder by his own son. Even before that, she had been unhappy over being freed by her old master. Dobby was the only elf Harry had ever met who had welcomed the idea of freedom.
Dobby nodded. "Winky is getting better, Harry Potter. Professor Dumbledore is helping her. She is being very upset when she is finding out about her old master, sir, but now that her old family is all gone, she is deciding that working here is not so bad, sir. Professor Dumbledore is making her his personal elf, sir, and she is working very hard looking after him."
"She's a bit like my mum, really," Ron said unexpectedly. "Needs someone to look after, I mean. Dad says Mum drives him mad when we're all at school. She spends all her time running round after him and Percy, fussing about them because she hasn't got anyone else to look after."
Harry thought about this, and decided it might be true. Personally he had rather enjoyed having Mrs. Weasley fussing over him on the occasions when he had visited The Burrow, but then he had been so little fussed over in his life that the novelty had not had a chance to wear off. He was glad, though, to hear that Winky was recovering from her traumatic parting with the Crouch family.
Harry handed over the present he had bought for Dobby in Diagon Alley during the summer holidays. Quality Quidditch Supplies now sold child-sized scarves for young Quidditch supporters, and Harry had thought Dobby might like to add a scarf to his wardrobe for the winter term. The shop had been selling scarves for all the different league teams, but Harry had bought an orange Chudley Cannons one, knowing that Ron would be outraged if he bought any other.
While Dobby was still exclaiming over the scarf, and thanking Harry with tears of gratitude, an idea occurred to Harry. "Dobby," he said, "do you know if there are any statues of Quidditch players in the castle?"
Ron looked at him in surprise. "Eh?"
"That dream I told you about," Harry explained. "I was walking along a corridor in Hogwarts and I saw a statue of a Quidditch player throwing a Quaffle. I just wondered if it was a real statue I dreamed about."
Ron rolled his eyes, but Dobby, after thinking hard for a moment, nodded his head vigorously. "Yes sir, there is a statue like the one Harry Potter is asking about. Dobby is thinking it is on the fifth floor. Dobby will check." Dobby darted away to consult with a couple of the other house-elves, who paused in their work to discuss the matter with him earnestly. A few seconds later, Dobby returned, triumphant.
"Dobby is right, sirs!" he shrilled, pleased with himself. "The other elves, they is knowing the statue Harry Potter means too."
As he tried to memorise the directions Dobby was giving them, "Up the stairs by the Arithmancy classroom, third on the left, then fourth on the right, then -" Harry felt a rush of excitement at the news that the statue he had dreamed of might really exist. And if the statue existed, if the keyhole existed, what might he find if he tried that mysterious silver key in the lock?
When Harry and Ron managed to tear themselves away from the kitchen and Dobby's attentions, Harry knew there was no chance of exploring that fifth-floor corridor immediately. They were due in their History of Magic lesson soon, and in any case he wanted to tell Hermione about the statue first. It would be unfair to go in search of the secret keyhole without her.
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Professor Binns, their ghostly History of Magic teacher, was the same as ever; and his first lesson of the term was just as tedious as usual. Shortly before the end of the lesson, however, the Gryffindor fifth-years were roused from a stupor of boredom by an announcement he made. Apparently, during the term, they were expected to research a large History of Magic project for homework, which would count towards their OWLs. The project was to be about a period of magical history of their choice, and it was to be handed in before Christmas. When Professor Binns told them how long he expected their finished project to be, Harry heard Ron muffle a groan beside him.
"It'll take hours and hours!" he mouthed at Harry, looking horrified.
"Weeks and weeks, you mean," Harry muttered back, not feeling happy about it himself. He had guessed that their workload would increase in this OWLs year, but it was starting to look as if he was not going to have much free time, what with homework and Quidditch practice. He hoped they would not get so much work in all their other classes.
"As this is quite a substantial piece of work, you will be allowed to work with a partner," Professor Binns continued in his reedy voice. "You will be awarded a joint mark. Naturally, I expect each partner to do their fair share of the work…You must give me the name of your partner and the title of your project at the next lesson."
Ron brightened at this news, and Harry wondered why, until they were outside the History of Magic classroom.
"Hermione," Ron said, using what he obviously thought were his most persuasive tones, "would you be my partner for this project?"
"No," said Hermione firmly, as they began to walk along the corridor.
"Why not?" asked Ron, looking slightly hurt.
"Because," said Hermione astutely, "you only want to work with me because you know I'll do loads of work for this project, and you want to take it easy."
Ron had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but persisted, "Oh, come on, Hermione - you haven't got a partner yet, have you?"
"I was going to ask Neville," Hermione told them. Harry wasn't surprised at this. Hermione often helped Neville with his work anyway, and it was like her to offer to work with him on this project. A thought occurred to Harry. Working together on this project might be the opportunity he had been looking for to have a few private conversations with Neville.
"Actually, Hermione," he said, "I'd quite like to work with Neville. Would you mind?"
Ron and Hermione both stared at Harry in surprise, but then Hermione shrugged.
"No, I suppose not. You ask him then, Harry."
Ron saw his chance. "Now will you work with me, Hermione?"
Hermione gave in. "All right. But you have to do half the work - you heard what Professor Binns said."
Ron agreed meekly, but said cheerfully to Harry when Hermione was out of earshot, "She'll probably give me a hard time, but we're bound to get really good marks for the project with Hermione working on it, so it'll be worth it." Harry grinned, and went off to find Neville, who agreed at once to work with him.
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When the first day's lessons were over, and they had had dinner in the Great Hall, Harry suggested a stroll across the grounds towards Hagrid's cabin. Hermione said doubtfully that she had been about to go to the library, Harry and Ron groaned at this, and insisted that she should come out and get some exercise before burying herself in the library for the rest of the term. Harry knew that Hermione was just as keen to see Hagrid as they were, so he was not surprised that she agreed to come without too much more persuasion.
Harry, Ron and Hermione strolled down the main steps of the castle at a leisurely pace. Summer was still lingering around the Hogwarts grounds; the stone steps were warm from the sun, and the grass was dry and browned. Groups of students were dotted around the lake, making the most of the evening sunshine, and catching up on holiday gossip.
As they walked, not hurrying, Harry thought how far away the threat of Voldemort's return seemed on such an evening, and listened to Hermione talking about the Transfiguration class they had had that afternoon. "It sounded really interesting, what Professor McGonagall was telling us about human transfiguration. I can't wait to have a go at it - "
Harry stumbled in surprise, as something twined itself around his ankles and nearly tripped him up. He managed to save himself by clutching at Ron. Looking down, he saw Blackie rubbing herself fondly against his legs, while Crookshanks followed her across the grass at a slow, majestic pace.
"Blackie!" Harry said, stroking her head affectionately. "How did you find us?"
"She must be as clever as Crookshanks," Hermione said, greeting her own pet. "She probably missed you while you were in class all day."
Blackie and Crookshanks certainly seemed determined to add themselves to the party, and they all walked on together to Hagrid's cabin, where smoke was curling out of the chimney and Fang was snoozing in the pumpkin patch. Fang opened one eye as they approached, then bounded to his feet and greeted them joyfully. One warning hiss from Crookshanks, however, kept the huge hound at a respectful distance from the two cats.
Hagrid pulled open the door of his cabin, alerted by Fang's barks. "Harry! Ron! Hermione! Good ter see yeh!"
Hagrid, who loved virtually all creatures, was delighted to be introduced to Blackie and to renew his acquaintance with Crookshanks. The two cats curled up in front of Hagrid's fireplace, having rejected the bed, which smelt of Fang and was covered in dog-hairs. Hagrid poured them all mugs of tea, and listened eagerly as Harry told him all about his summer at Gatehouse Cottage. When Hermione asked Hagrid about his summer mission for Professor Dumbledore, however, Hagrid turned suddenly evasive.
"Can't tell yeh much abou' it," he muttered, looking shiftily from side to side. "Dumbledore's orders."
"But you did go with Madame Maxime, didn't you?" Harry asked. "You sent me that crossbow as a present from both of you."
Hagrid blushed all over his enormous face. "I went with Olympe, yeah. Secret, though. Not s'posed ter talk abou' it ter you lot." And, although Harry, Ron and Hermione tried to get more information out of him, Hagrid remained resolutely silent on that subject.
"Have you heard from Madame Maxime lately?" Hermione asked at last. "Since you got back, I mean."
Hagrid blushed again. "Yeah, might'er done. Had a letter yesterday, as a matter o' fact. She's back at Beauxbatons now, o' course." He narrowed his beetle-black eyes at Hermione and his face broke into a sudden grin. "So, had any letters from tha' Viktor Krum, Hermione?"
It was Hermione's turn to look embarrassed. "He's written to me a few times, yes," she said quickly. Ron frowned, and Harry hastened to change the subject. From what Hermione had told them on the train to school, Harry knew that she had not visited Viktor Krum in the holidays, partly because he was too busy playing Quidditch and partly because Hermione's parents had not liked the idea. Hermione had told Harry and Ron that Krum had now left Durmstrang, his wizarding school, and had been signed up to play professionally for the Vratsa Vultures, Bulgaria's top Quidditch team. They had not discussed him at much length, however, as Ron was still a little touchy on the subject of Krum, who had accompanied Hermione to the Yule Ball last year.
Carrying the rock cakes they had been too polite to refuse, but too wise to eat, Harry and his friends waved Hagrid goodbye and began to walk back to the school, just as it began to grow dark. The two cats followed behind them.
They were about halfway across the grass towards the castle when Blackie began to behave in a peculiar way. Giving a sudden fierce hiss, she stiffened, and her black fur stood on end. A low growling noise came from her throat as she glared at a nearby clump of bushes.
"What's up, Blackie?" Harry asked, surprised.
Ron pulled his wand from his pocket. "Something nasty in the bushes?" he suggested, advancing towards them.
"Be careful," Hermione warned, glancing anxiously at Crookshanks, who was also glaring at the clump with his lamp-like eyes.
"Anyone there?" Harry said, peering into the bush. He was sure he had just heard a rustling noise. "Come out, if you're there!"
"Or we'll hex you," Ron added encouragingly.
There was a louder rustle, and Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled glances as an unfamiliar voice said, "All right, I'm coming out!" It was a boy's voice, and it sounded sulky.
A stocky figure emerged from the bushes, twigs in his hair and chocolate smeared around his mouth. It was Raymond Crabbe, Crabbe's younger brother, and from the look of him he had been having a private feast of sweets. His pockets were bulging, and so were his chubby cheeks. Harry was suddenly and irresistibly reminded of his cousin Dudley.
"What on earth were you doing in there?" Hermione asked, although it was fairly obvious.
The younger Crabbe glowered at her. "Mind your own business."
"Don't speak to her like that, she's a Prefect," Ron said sharply. "Trust a Crabbe to be stuffing his face."
"Ron," Hermione said warningly. She turned to Raymond Crabbe, obviously trying to be fair to a new student. "Look - Raymond, isn't it? - it's getting dark. You should be getting back to your common room now."
"Will if I want to," Raymond muttered rudely, before he turned abruptly and shuffled away into the twilight, sweet wrappers crackling in his pockets.
"What a chip off the old block," Ron said sarcastically. "Crabbe must be so proud."
Harry remembered that he had not told Hermione about his mysterious dream yet. As they walked back to the castle, he told Ron and Hermione everything that had happened in the dream, and reminded them about the key they had found in Lupin's trunk.
"It could be just a co-incidence that there's a statue at Hogwarts that's like the one in your dream," Hermione said, when Harry had finished talking.
"Yeah, but what if there really is a keyhole - we've got to go and have a look, haven't we?" Ron said eagerly. "It'd be weird if your dreams were predicting stuff, wouldn't it, Harry? Trelawney'd love it!"
Harry thought about the other dream he had had that summer - the strange misty hilltop, and the dark figures. He had not mentioned that dream to his friends, and something stopped him from doing so now. He was quite ready, however, to agree with Ron that they should investigate the Quidditch-player statue. "We could go and look for it now."
"No, we can't," Hermione said firmly. "We've got Transfiguration homework to do - and anyway, we'll have to be careful when we do go to find this statue, in case anyone wonders why we're sneaking about up there - "
"Oh, Hermione - "
"Well, don't forget I'm a Prefect, Ron, I have to be careful - "
"How about tomorrow night?" Harry suggested, and by the time they arrived at the castle entrance, even Hermione was ready to go looking for the mysterious statue the next evening.
Back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry was further cheered up to hear from Fred Weasley that Professor McGonagall had called a meeting of the Quidditch team before breakfast next day.
"She wants to sort out a new captain and arrange for trials to find a new keeper," Fred told them, as they settled down in chairs in the common room.
"Great," said Harry, who had missed playing Quidditch the previous year, and was looking forward to playing for Gryffindor once more.
"Professor Stoddard's coming tomorrow," Lavender Brown told them, leaning across a table towards Hermione.
"Oh good, we won't miss any more Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons," said Hermione. "I hope she's a good teacher."
"She's a widow," Parvati told them. Parvati generally managed to get hold of all the gossip. "She's going to live in Hogsmeade and only come to school every morning, because of her children."
"Aren't her children coming to Hogwarts, then?" Harry asked, wondering, not for the first time, how Parvati managed to get her information. It was unusual for Hogwarts teachers not to live in the castle during term-time, but, he reflected, perhaps Professor Dumbledore had found it so hard to get hold of a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher that he had been prepared to agree to any conditions. There was a rumour that the job was jinxed.
"No, they're too young," Parvati said importantly. "One's about nine and one's seven, I think."
This was all the gossip that Parvati had managed to find out about their new Professor, so the conversation turned to other topics. Hermione dragged a protesting Ron off to discuss the title of their History of Magic project, and Harry settled down to his Transfiguration homework, looking forward to the thought of playing Quidditch again very soon, and the prospect of looking for the statue which might or might not contain the mysterious keyhole.
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Part 10 up in another week, hopefully. Please review!