The Fourth Unforgivable

Disclaimer: The characters and places present in this story were created by J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Huge thankyou to Gaia30 (Linz) who beta-ed/omega-ed this.

Harry sat between Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall, waiting for the Sorting to begin. The train journey had been uncharacteristically uneventful. Harry reasoned that this was because Malfoy was anxious not to confront them after the end of last year, when he and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, had wound up unconscious and covered in hex marks in the train corridor. Now, awaiting the sorting, he couldn't help but feel a sort of foreboding. This year was going to be difficult, it went without saying, but now that he was here it seemed a lot more real.

Professor McGonagall began reading out names. The jittery first years approached the hat with trepidation that Harry could remember with such clarity, it could have been just yesterday. Harry's eyes slowly skimmed over the professors seated, his eyes falling on the new Defence Against Dark Arts teacher. He couldn't help but notice how familiar she looked. He turned to Ron and was about to ask if he recognised her when Dumbledore stood up. A ripple of silence spread across the Hall.

"The beginning of another year." His eyes passed over the many faces with their eyes peering back at him. "You sit here today among fellow students, classmates, and above all, among friends. In this harried time it is important to be united. Unity is all I ask of you. To find friends where you have seen only foe; that is, perhaps, a skill you would do well to develop. My plea extends from the first years, who have yet to make firm relationships with their comrades, to the departing seventh years. I cannot stress how vital it is to build these bridges, to extend your hand in friendship now before the worst has come." There was a deep silence in the hall as Dumbledore paused. His words echoed in Harry's mind. Find friends where you have only seen foe. His gaze swept involuntarily towards the Slytherin table.

"On a somewhat lighter note, I am pleased introduce you to our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Figg." Mrs. Figg gave a cursory nod as Harry's jaw dropped. That was not Mrs. Figg, or at least, not the woman he remembered. She looked nothing like old Mrs. Figg from Privet Drive, the one with a strange affinity for cats and a cupboard filled with stale cake. It was probably just the shock of seeing her out of Muggle clothes. "And," he continued, "I'd like to announce our contribution to the European Festival of Arts in the Magical Community, which will take place in May. Hogwarts will be putting on a play." Excited whispers erupted throughout the Hall.. Harry felt weary at the thought of a Hogwarts play. He looked over to the Ravenclaw table where Cho sat, her face set in a similar expression to his own. "The play is an original piece written by our very own staff and is titled The Taming of the (Blast-Ended) Skrewt" Even from across the hall, Harry could see the reactions of the staff. Snape rolled his eyes in disdain, while Hagrid beamed with pride. The excited whispering stopped almost as abruptly as it had started. The expressions on his house mates' faces clearly read, This is some sort of joke, right? Apparently Dumbledore was serious. He continued. "The date of auditions will be posted on our notice-board. It is the duty of Hogwarts School to go into the Festival's competition representing the schools of Britain, so we felt it only right to hire someone to over-see the production. Unfortunately, no one on our staff seemed especially keen to take on the extra work. Nor, did it seem, was anyone in the United Kingdom willing. But I am sure you will welcome back our new Drama teacher, Miss. Delacour, when she arrives later this week. Now, let us eat."

Harry looked over to Ron and laughed. At the words "Miss Delacour", Ron had become pale. He now sat completely still, staring off into space, which, considering the feast has just appeared on the tables, was nothing short of a miracle.

"Ron? Are you all right?" asked Hermione anxiously. It seemed to take Ron an enormous amount of effort to respond.

"Yeah, sure," he said, still a little dazed. "I'm fine." He scooped large quantities of food from the platters onto his plate, then shovelled it into his mouth at a pace Harry thought not humanly possible. Harry looked around the Hall, spearing a roast potato with his fork. There were fewer first years than usual, though he could not imagine why. Harry couldn't think of any safer place than Hogwarts, with Dumbledore, despite the hiccups over the years.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked up to Gryffindor Tower after the feast, all three smelling faintly of rice pudding. Harry remarked, "You know, Professor Figg used to be my neighbour, back at the Dursley's." Hermione yawned and nodded; Ron was too tired to comment. Finally safe in his familiar four-poster bed, he felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. He knew that as soon as he closed his eyes, the nightmares would come. He knew that sometime that week, he would have to face Snape (and his alarmingly yellow teeth and greasy hair). Despite this, he couldn't help but feel that once again he was at Hogwarts - at home.

***

The next morning, there was a large crowd gathered round the notice-board in the Great Hall, pushing and shoving to get a good look. Ron, who had again shot up over the summer, looked over the crowd and informed his-not-so-tall friends of what was going on.

"It's just a timetable for the play, there's something for you, too, Harry. A Quidditch message from Angelina."

Harry stood on his toes to try and see over the mass of people. He managed to read, "Gryffindor Quidditch Practice" before he was shoved out of the way. "Never mind," Harry said as he Hermione and Ron made their way to the Gryffindor table. "I'll just ask Angelina later."

Angelina Johnson had been elected Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain on the Hogwarts Express by the other team members.

The rest of the day passed in relative normality. Harry noticed Lavender and Parvati doing short monologues throughout the day and then critiquing each other. He surmised that they would be trying out for the play. Although he wasn't quite sure why anyone would want to be associated with The Taming of the (Blast-Ended) Skrewt.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione wandered back to the common room after classes. They had just sat down when Hermione suddenly said, "I wouldn't mind being in the play." Harry and Ron turned to gape at her. "What? I could do with something to put on my CV. When you apply for a job, it looks good." Harry mouthed soundlessly at her. Ron muttered to himself. Hermione picked up a few phrases, though, including 'only in fifth year', 'with our O.W.L.s to worry about', and 'raving loony.' "Oh, come now," she insisted. "It can't be that bad, can it? And it should be fun, in a way..." She trailed off at Ron's expression..

"Well, good luck, then," Harry said, still staring at her in a bemused sort of way.

'Thanks, Harry." She turned to Ron, who was shaking his head. "Yeah, good luck, Hermione." She smiled at Ron, then went up the stairs to the girl's dorms.

***

Harry looked out at the vast Quidditch field and felt keen anticipation. He looked down at the neatly trimmed grass. (And he was back to last year, standing with the other champions while Ludo Bagman explained the third task to them. He and Cedric scrutinising the little hedges that adorned their beloved Quidditch pitch.

"Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?" said Ludo Bagman.

"Maze," grunted Viktor Krum.

He forced the memory back and it faded.) It was the first Quidditch practice of the school year, and despite all appearances, Harry was extremely nervous. What if over the course of a year he'd forgotten how to play? What if he wasn't good at Quidditch at all and it was just some 3 year fluke that had now dried up? He looked at the rest of the Gryffindor team, fighting to calm down and be rational. To the left of the team, he could see some other Gryffindors waiting to try out. Between Colin Creevey and Natalie McDonald, he could just make out Ginny's signature red hair.

"All right, then. Gather round, everyone. We may not have Oliver this year but that doesn't mean we can't win the Cup. We've done it before and we can do it again. However, we need to pick a keeper that's right if we're going to do this. Ok?" The whole team nodded at her words and Angelina smiled back at them. The people trying out were each given a couple of minutes to show their keeping skills as Alicia, Angelina and Katie aimed the Quaffle past them into the hoops. As Ginny was about to kick off Harry stopped himself from saying 'good luck,' lest she should become a flying accident. The rest of the trials went reasonably well, there were some good sixth year players and Colin showed promise but Angelina told them to think about it overnight so that they could come to a decision the next day. "Try to keep in mind," she said, "that we're not just looking for a player who's good but a player who has the potential to be great." Harry didn't think he'd seen George and Fred laugh so much.

Ron had known Hermione for a few years, they had had their differences, their minor arguments and the odd full-scale battle but overall they were good friends. He liked to think that as a friend he knew quite a bit about her so when she told him she was trying out for the play it had been beyond him that this could be the Hermione he knew. After spending some time mulling it over, he reasoned that it wasn't such a big thing, just a Festival of Arts. Thinking of ways to improve your CV while in school was a reasonably Hermione-like thing to do. He could understand, he could wish her luck, if she wanted she could ask him to watch her audition and he would happily oblige. However, he would not audition with her. She could beg, she could plead, but it would be to no avail.

"Oh, come on Ron! I'm not the only one who needs something for my CV. Besides, I know you hate studying, it'll give you an excuse not to work towards your OWLs." Ron was struck momentarily speechless.

"Are you saying I use this play to get out of doing work? Because if you are then I'm afraid I can't believe you're 'mione!" He said, a look of amazement upon his face.

"Fleur's teaching it," she stated simply. It was true, Ron couldn't argue with such a fact.

"But you're already a Prefect, surely that counts for something!" He said, desperation creeping into his voice.

"It's not the same though is it Ron? They choose those things based on marks anyway," she countered, a pleading expression on her face.

"What about Ginny?" He asked, looking around the common room for his little sister.

"I've already asked her and she's trying out for the Quidditch team anyway," Hermione said sulkily. The colour drained from Ron's face.

"What?" He exploded, "I know she was thinking about trying out but she isn't actually stupid enough...I mean to say, it's a dangerous position to play and I wouldn't want her getting hurt..." Ron trailed off at Hermione's expression, he could almost sense the feminist-rights spiel that was about to come but Hermione just shook her head and sighed in a resigned way. She picked up her books and walked away towards the girls dorms, a small piece of parchment dislodging itself from one of her books. Ron picked it up, took a quick glance at it and realised to his horror that it was a letter from Viktor Krum.

"Hermione! Here, you dropped this," he said, handing it over to her while pretending not to have noticed anything odd. She took it back and thanked him.

"So, you coming to the auditions then?" Ron thought about it for a moment and then with Krum's letter in mind said, "Yeah...but only 'cause its you."

It wasn't until half an hour later when he stood in the Great Hall, script in hand, reading lines in a nervous sort of stammer that it struck him Hermione could have dropped the letter on purpose.