****Author's note: Thanks again, everyone for the kind reviews and notes of encouragement. Here is the regular update. Next week's update might be a bit delayed, as I have some big stuff this week at school, but hopefully we'll stay on track. Unfortunately, as it gets closer to Christmas, the updates may get a bit more irregular. I'm going home for the holiday, and that's going to throw my schedule generally out of whack. On the bright side, the 14 hour plane ride should be a good opportunity to get some writing done. ^_^
As a special gift to you visual learners out there, I did a drawing of Mira. It, and some of my other fanart, may be found at http://www.tokkiproject.com/~neoepiphany
Enjoy Chapter nine! See you next time. Neoepiphany*******
Chapter Nine
The Potions Master's Wrath
By their Charms lesson that afternoon, Harry had noticed a trend in their lessons. Flitwick, just like Hagrid and Tonks, began the class by announcing that, in light of current circumstances, he was going to be starting them off with something trickier than he usually began his NEWT level class with. He started them off on barrier magic, and they spent most of the class drawing gender lines around the floor. Most of them weren't very powerful; when Lavender tried to cross Neville's, she made it across without suffering anything worse than a bit of static electricity. Hermione's line, on the other hand, repelled Ron with such force that he flew across the classroom and knocked over a cabinet. Once again, Flitwick praised Hermione's excellent work. When the class finally ended, Gryffindor had gained ten points on account of Hermione and, surprisingly, Seamus's skill with gender barriers.
Hermione had History of Magic that afternoon, but Harry and Ron had decided not to continue that particular subject. That meant that they had the afternoon free.
"You ought to do something useful then—get a head start on your homework, or else do some research and try and figure out how those Death Eaters got at you this summer, Harry," Hermione suggested as they walked out of class.
"Come on, Hermione!" Ron groaned. "It's the first day of classes!"
"Do you have something better to do then?" Hermione asked in an annoyed sort of voice.
Harry and Ron both nodded. "Quidditch," they said as one.
So, while Hermione took notes and fought against the soporific effects of Professor Binns's monotonous drone, Harry and Ron had a spirited practice game of quidditch. The weather couldn't have been more perfect—it was warm, but not too hot, and the sky was cloudless and blue. The pitch was free since practices hadn't started yet, what with trials still being a ways off.
They borrowed a spare practice quaffle from Madame Hooch, to whose office Harry, as captain, now had the password. As soon as he mounted his broom, Harry felt a sensation of relief overwhelm him. He hadn't played quidditch, or even flown, in such a long time; it was like relaxing a muscle that had been tensed for ages. He took a few laps around the pitch, zipping in and out of the stands and the hoops, doing tricks and rolls, diving and pulling up at the very last second. Ron whooped and cheered, chasing after Harry, although he couldn't begin to keep up with Harry's Firebolt while on a Cleansweep. Finally, they grabbed the ball and began the game. Harry played chaser, and Ron took his position as keeper. Despite his lack of practice, Ron did a good job defending the hoops from Harry. Harry tried every trick he'd ever seen Alicia, Angelina, and Katie try, but only two got past Ron.
"You're really great, Ron," he said, as they packed up their stuff. "I just hope that we can get some decent chasers."
"Yeah, because our beaters are horrible," Ron said.
Harry groaned. "I'd forgotten about them," he said. "Maybe they spent the summer practicing?" Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke had taken over for the Weasley twins the previous year, and had been terribly inept at their positions.
"Kirke and Sloper? Even a year's solid practice wouldn't help those idiots very much. Can't you just make them re-try out? You know, reopen the positions?"
"I can't just chuck them off the team, no matter how much I want to," Harry frowned. "And if I make them retry for their positions, then we'll all have to retry, just to be fair."
They headed back to the castle, and met Hermione in the Entrance Hall. "I was just coming to get you," she said. "Dinner's almost over—if you hurry, you might be able to grab a plateful."
They managed to scavenge some food from the scant leftovers on the table. The first day of classes seemed to have given everyone a substantial appetite, and only bones and crumbs remained of most of the dishes. They kept discussing quidditch, constantly talking about who might be good in what position and theorizing on ways to get Sloper and Kirke to quit. Ron suggested hitting them both with some particularly nasty curses while the Slytherins were around, but, although he might like the chance to frame Malfoy, Harry didn't think this was necessarily the best course of action.
Finally, they headed off to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was working on their Care of Magical Creatures essay, and had already written what looked like well over the required ten inches.
"Take it easy, Hermione," Ron said, looking over her shoulder. "If you don't quit soon, you'll have written an entire novel on the subject."
"I don't think Hagrid meant the homework to be taken that seriously, anyway," Harry said, also peering at Hermione's parchment. "He only assigned it to get back at the Slytherins, didn't he?"
"I always take my homework seriously, thank you," Hermione sniffed.
So, while Hermione kept adding to the essay, Harry got the miniature quidditch team that Ginny had bought him for his birthday, and he and Ron got to work teaching the tiny figures quidditch moves. Harry rather suspected this would be an easier way to explain things to the team than Oliver and Angelina's chalkboards covered in little x's. Still, the entire time that he was coaxing the miniature beaters into performing the Cross-Bat Block, in the back of his mind, the confrontation with Kirke and Sloper was looming over him.
In the end, he needn't have worried. About the time that Harry had nearly summoned up his courage to go and find them, he heard a nervous little cough behind him. Harry turned around to find Jack Sloper.
"Hi," Harry said. "Come to ask about practice?" He mentally cursed this statement as soon as he had said it.
Sloper looked a little nervous. "Well, sort of. Congratulations on getting captain and all, Harry. Er… look, the thing is… I don't want to play any more."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "What?"
"Well—it's not that I don't want to play—because I do, you know," Sloper stammered. "It's just that… well…" His cheeks were flushing a brilliant red. "See, my parents are muggles… and, er… they'd never seen quidditch before, and I brought them a book about it this summer, and, er…" He suddenly sped up, as if trying to finish speaking as quickly as possible. "They thought it looked a bit dangerous and asked me not to play this year and I'm really sorry." He cleared his throat.
Harry frowned. "You're quitting the team?"
"I'm really sorry," Sloper repeated.
"Well, we're sorry to see you go, but best of luck in your future endeavors," Ron said, jumping up to shake Sloper's hand.
"Yeah, no hard feelings," Harry said, grinning. "I understand totally. Don't worry."
"Really?" Sloper said as Ron pumped his hand enthusiastically.
"Sure, no problem," Harry said.
"Thanks a bunch. I really appreciate it—thanks," Sloper said, walking away.
Harry and Ron sat back down. "Can you believe the luck?" Harry said.
"One down, one to go," Ron said. They returned to the model team, but before they had gotten very far, there was another little cough from behind Harry. Without looking up, Ron mouthed the word "Kirke."
Harry turned around. "Hello. How was your summer?"
"Fine," Andrew Kirke said, grinning. "Look—Ginny told me you're the new captain, and I need to ask you something."
Harry tried to keep his feelings of hopefulness from appearing on his face. "Oh?"
"I only signed on as a beater because I really wanted to play, you know," Kirke said. "I know I'm not any good. I've always really wanted to play chaser."
"Oh. So you want to—"
"To switch to chaser," Kirke finished.
Harry frowned again, looking rather sternly at Kirke. "I can't let you just change," he said finally. "I've never seen you play as chaser before, have I? You'll have to try out."
Kirke nodded. "I expected it. So you'll find a new beater?"
"Sure," Harry grinned. "Best of luck to you. Tryouts are two weeks from tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay," Kirke said.
Harry and Ron looked at each other happily. Harry felt as though Christmas had come early. He'd gotten rid of the beaters, and he hadn't even had to jinx them. "What were the odds of that happening?" Harry asked, shaking his head.
"Right up there with You-know-who sending you a bouquet of daisies, I'd say," Ron said. "You are, without a doubt, the luckiest guy I know."
Harry shook his head. At the moment, he was feeling pretty lucky indeed.
The next morning, however, with the prospect of Potions class coming up, Harry was feeling decidedly less lucky. Their first class of the day was Herbology, and not even a double period. Despite the rather nasty smell eminating from the Spiny Knotbush they were pruning, Harry found himself pleading that time would slow down. It was to no avail, however, and the end of class came all too quickly. There was a half-hour break after the lesson, which they spent watching Peeves pelt first-years with dungbombs, Filch chasing after them shouting. Then, it was double Potions with the Slytherins.
"I bet Snape starts us off with the worst potion he can think of," Ron said glumly as they walked down to the dungeons. "Remember the fiddly potion he gave us last year?"
Harry nodded. He'd messed up that potion and ended up with extra homework. He silently vowed not to make a single mistake today. "I just hope he breaks with tradition," Harry said. Hermione and Ron both looked at him with confused expressions. "Every single teacher so far has tried to give us something impossible to start with," he explained. "'In light of the current situation' and all that. Come on, you must've noticed!"
The three of them took their seats. At last, Snape burst into the classroom, his robes billowing out behind him. Snape looked more like an overgrown bat than he ever had. He stood in front of the room with a cold, wrathful expression on his face. He scanned the students in silence for a few moments, his eyes lingering on each face for several seconds, except for Harry's, which he skipped over. Finally, he spoke.
"So," he said, steepling his fingers, "so. We have pared down our number. We have managed to rid ourselves of most of the idiots and useless dunderheads in our midst." His eyes flicked toward the seat previously occupied by Neville. "On a normal year, I would be welcoming you all with open arms, as the best of the best; but, alas, this year, a few of the less… talented… of our number have failed to leave us." His eyes moved to a point directly above Harry's head. "I would never criticize the Headmaster's decisions, but lowering my standards for the NEWT class has permitted in certain students whose abilities are… abysmal. How they managed to scrape even an A without cheating is beyond me." Now, his eyes flicked toward Hermione, who immediately went red. Harry and Ron both opened their mouths to say something, but Hermione, who was sitting between them, poked them in the ribs. Harry closed his mouth, but continued to stare at Snape with utmost loathing. Most of the Slytherins were giggling. Harry could just make out Draco from the corner of his eye—staring at him with an infuriating grin.
"But, let us not dwell on our misfortune," Snape went on. "Today we will begin one of the most difficult potions of the wizarding world. It is, however, also one of the most useful in the art of disguises and stealth—the Polyjuice Potion." Harry inhaled sharply, and Hermione jabbed him in the ribs again. "It will take us a month to prepare, and at the conclusion of the lessons, you will each drink your potion. For that reason," his eyes returned to the spot above Harry's head, "I would advise you to try not to botch it too badly. You will be working in pairs. Anyone who ruins theirs today, of course, will receive a month's worth of zero marks. Instructions for the day are on the board and ingredients are in the cabinet." With a flick of his wand, the instructions appeared and the cabinet door popped open.
Ron looked over at Harry and Hermione, grinning. "We lucked out a bit, didn't we?" he said. They stood and began shuffling their cauldrons around as the rest of the class partnered off.
"Do at least pretend not to know the potion, Ron," Hermione snapped. "We've never done it before, remember?"
"Of course, Hermione," Ron said in mock exasperation.
"Did you hear him about making us drink it? I bet you anything he's hoping to poison me," Harry said glumly.
"Well, he won't manage it will he? You'll do just fine with this potion," Hermione said. "And just to make sure, you'll partner with me."
"I will?" Harry said.
Hermione sighed. "You don't have to, of course. But I thought—"
"It's okay, Hermione," he said. "Of course I'll partner with you."
Ron's face fell slightly. "What about me?" he asked. "I always partner with Harry."
"Parvati's free," said Hermione, nodding across the room. "I'd go offer to partner with her before one of the Slytherins does it."
Ron gave her a hurt look before grabbing his cauldron and darting across the dungeon toward Parvati.
"I'll just go get our ingredients," Harry said. The line was already pretty long, but Harry didn't mind waiting. He stood there, scanning the instructions and absently twirling Sirius's ring on his finger.
"Push off, Potty," said a drawling voice as Draco pushed in front of Harry. He turned around, smiling in his sneering way. "Fancy seeing you here. I wouldn't have thought you'd have made it." He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Remedial potions, after all. But I expect you had a little outside help," Draco added flicking his eyes toward Hermione.
"I did it on my own, thanks," Harry snapped.
"Oh yes, I forgot. Perfect Potty would never cheat, would he?"
"Tell me, Draco," Harry said in an icy tone. "Had Defense against the Dark Arts yet?"
Draco looked a little startled. The student in front of him moved away from the cabinet, and he took the opportunity to turn away from Harry and rummage through the potions bottles. "Yes," he said suspiciously.
"What did you think of the new teacher?" Harry asked, now adopting a sugary tone.
Draco half-turned, looking at Harry over his shoulder and holding an over-large jar of leeches. "What, is she another friend of yours Potty? Wouldn't surprise me—the company you keep. I think she's an idiot mudblood who couldn't charm the cheese out of a goat. If she's an auror, then I'm Weasley's little brother."
"Really?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "That's very interesting, Draco. Especially since she's not only one of the aurors that helped put your Dad in Azkaban, she's also your cousin."
It was funny how the room seemed to become silent in the split seconds before the jar hit the ground. The crashing of the glass seemed amplified in the dungeon, as did the squelching as leeches rolled and flopped in every direction. A few people shrieked as the leech juice sloshed over their shoes. Draco's hand plunged into his robes, and Harry reached into his own pocket for his wand, but suddenly, Snape was standing over them, laying a restraining hand on Draco's elbow.
"Potter," Snape said, scanning the mess on the floor. He looked into Harry's eyes with an air of grim satisfaction. "On the very first lesson as well. Ten points from Gryffindor."
Harry felt a surge of anger rise up in his stomach. "But—but—Professor, I didn't—" he protested.
"Twenty points," Snape said. "And if you open your mouth to utter another syllable for the remainder of this lesson, it will be fifty points and a week's worth of detentions. Take your ingredients and sit down."
In what should have been an award-winning act of self-control, Harry made his way back toward Hermione, clutching a bottle of lacewing flies so hard that the glass was creaking in his grip. Hermione, meanwhile, was staring at Snape with a look of fierce concentration. She didn't look up until Harry dropped the jar noisily in front of her.
"That was really unfair of him, Harry," Hermione said, standing up. She conjured some little blue flames for the cauldron, and began adding ingredients. "What did you say to Malfoy? No, don't tell me—I don't want you to get in trouble. Hand me that jar, there? Snape's really gone too far this time—that was clearly all Malfoy's fault." She stirred the lacewing flies thoughtfully. "Of course, you really do need to mind your temper—"
But she fell silent at the look on Harry's face.
They worked on the potion for the rest of the class. Hermione did most of the work, with Harry more or less just handing her whatever needed to be added. He was far too angry to concentrate on something as delicate and fiddly as the Polyjuice potion. He managed to make it through the entire class with saying a thing, a feat which only increased the sense of rage boiling inside him.
Finally, the class was nearly over. Snape walked around giving marks to each of the pairs. He lingered over their cauldron for a long moment, and Harry felt rather pleased. Their potion was perfect; Harry knew it was the best one in the room. But Snape's little smile as he looked up caused another lurch in Harry's stomach.
"Full points to Miss Granger," he said coldly. "But you, Potter—you haven't touched the potion for the whole of the lesson. If you want marks in this classroom, I recommend you do the work. No points."
Harry was nearly shaking with rage as they left the class. Once they were safely away from the dungeons, he let out the yell he'd been containing all through the lesson.
Ron rubbed his ear. "Next time you feel the need to shout like that, Harry, do us a favor and warn us," he said.
"He'll do anything to take away points from Gryffindor—from me," Harry fumed. "And to give me zero marks in every lesson. And he's hoping to poison me."
"Yeah, but what can you do about it?" Ron said. "You've got to take the class…"
"No I don't," Harry said quietly.
"But McGonagall said—"
"That I ought to take it to be an auror. Fine. I won't be an auror."
Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry. "But I thought that was what you wanted to—"
Harry swung his bag onto his other arm. "It was. But if that means I have to put up with two more years of Snape, forget it. No way. I'd rather face the Death Eaters again," Harry grumbled.
"Harry—you can't be serious," Ron insisted.
"I am. I'm going to talk to McGonagall right after Transfiguration."
Ron looked annoyed. Harry rather suspected he didn't want to be left alone in the class.
"Hermione," Ron said, nudging her, "you talk some sense into him. Tell him he can't drop potions."
Hermione, however, had her brow furrowed in concentration. "Since when has Snape worn an earring?" she said finally.
Harry cast a sideways look at her. "What difference does it make, Hermione?" he asked.
Ron was giving her a look of disgust. "How, Hermione—tell me how during that class—how all you managed to get out of it was Snape's new jewelry?"
Hermione scowled. "Don't the two of you ever notice things? It's not just Snape. McGonagall had on that silver necklace at the feast—since when does she wear jewelry either? And I noticed over the summer that Bill had stopped wearing his dragon tooth and started wearing a silver earring instead."
"So silver jewelry is popular at the moment," Ron said. "So what?"
"Well, don't you think it might have something to do with fighting Voldemort?" Hermione snapped at him. A group of second years passing in the opposite direction gasped and took off at a half-run when she said the name.
"What, wearing jewelry? I don't see how it could," Ron said incredulously.
Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure, but it could all be enchanted somehow. It could be some sort of charm… maybe something protective."
They sat down at the Gryffindor table, and Harry began to wolf down his lunch. They had Transfiguration that afternoon, and he knew he'd need his strength. He mentally rehearsed what he'd say to McGonagall while he listened to Hermione and Ron bickering about something or other. In fact, he was still lost in private rehearsal when Hermione stood up and announced that they had better get going or they'd be late.
Transfiguration was just as difficult as Harry had expected. All of the Gryffindors had made it into the NEWT class, and McGonagall had started them off on conjuring spells were which every bit as difficult as Harry had been told. Despite his best efforts, Harry could not conjure so much as a pin. Hermione, on the other hand, had nearly conjured a pencil (at the moment it wasn't so much a pencil as a lump of pencil-shaped, crumbly wood).
"Don't be discouraged," McGonagall announced. "Conjuring spells can be incredibly difficult. It will probably take some time to master them. I want you all to practice until our next lesson—I'm expecting everyone to conjure at least a needle on their first try."
There was a mass groan of frustration from the class as they stood to gather their things and leave. Ron was shaking his head in frustration. He had managed to conjure up a pile of dust; however, that was more of an annoyance than a victory, since the dust was now all down the front of his robes.
"Mr. Potter—I'd like a word with you, please," McGonagall called.
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd been meaning to ask if he could talk to her—the last thing he expected was a summons.
"Maybe she wants to talk to you about the quidditch team," Ron whispered, beating the dust off the front of his robes. Harry shrugged and walked up to McGonagall's desk.
"There's no need for you to wait, Mr. Weasley. I'm sure Potter can find his way back to the common room without you," McGonagall snapped. Ron's ears turned a bit red, but he hurried out after Hermione.
"Well," McGonagall said, looking sharply at Harry. Harry noticed that she was wearing a necklace, just as Hermione had said.
"Er," Harry said, feeling his own ears grow hot. "Listen, Professor, if you want to talk to me about the quidditch team—"
"No, Potter, I don't want to talk about the quidditch team," she said. Her face softened slightly. "Although I'm sure you'll find us some excellent new players. Just a hint, though—a few new beaters wouldn't go amiss."
"I'm a step ahead of you, Professor," Harry grinned.
McGonagall gave him half a smile. "What I would like to discuss, Mr. Potter, is your extra lessons."
Harry was at a loss. "Excuse me Professor?"
"I told you last year that I would help you to become and auror, and I am a witch of my word. I will be giving you supplementary lessons until you pull your marks up enough that I am confident that you will earn a sufficiently high score on your NEWTs."
"Oh, Professor, that's really not necessary—" Harry protested.
"It is necessary," McGonagall said back. "I said I would do it, and I will. I pulled a lot of strings to convince the Headmaster to extend the exception to include Potions so that you could continue in that subject as well. I will see to it that you become an auror, Potter."
"Er," Harry said again. "About potions—"
"I heard all about this morning's incident," McGonagall said. "Whether you like it or not, Professor Snape was well within his rights to penalize you. You did provoke another student."
Harry's jaw dropped at the injustice of the comment. "What about all the times he's provoked me? I got punished for all of them too!"
"Nonetheless, Professor Snape was within his rights," McGonagall snapped back. "If anything, I should think the whole thing would impress upon you the importance of staying out of trouble this year. You're under a lot of scrutiny, right now, and failing could lose you a lot more than house points."
Harry just looked at McGonagall. He couldn't believe she was standing in front of him, telling him to keep his nose clean.
"Don't look at me like that, Potter. You know as well as I do that there are plenty of people who would like to see you fall right now, and if you do, then that's a victory for their side. What you need to do is stay out of trouble, and study everything that might help you to fight the Dark wizards," she said, a very stern look in her eyes. "I will see to it that you have every tool that an auror would need to fight He-who-must-not-be-named himself, because we both know that that's exactly what He wants to happen. So you will be taking extra lessons after school starting this week."
"Couldn't we put it off until after the quidditch tryouts at least? I need time to devise our strategy," Harry said quietly.
McGonagall's face twitched. "One week. I'll give you one week. We'll start next Thursday."
Harry sighed resignedly. "Okay Professor," he said finally.
Harry headed back to the Gryffindor common room with a sinking feeling in his stomach. This year hadn't gotten off to the best start, and he had a sense of strong foreboding. He just hoped things wouldn't end up as badly as last year…
As a special gift to you visual learners out there, I did a drawing of Mira. It, and some of my other fanart, may be found at http://www.tokkiproject.com/~neoepiphany
Enjoy Chapter nine! See you next time. Neoepiphany*******
Chapter Nine
The Potions Master's Wrath
By their Charms lesson that afternoon, Harry had noticed a trend in their lessons. Flitwick, just like Hagrid and Tonks, began the class by announcing that, in light of current circumstances, he was going to be starting them off with something trickier than he usually began his NEWT level class with. He started them off on barrier magic, and they spent most of the class drawing gender lines around the floor. Most of them weren't very powerful; when Lavender tried to cross Neville's, she made it across without suffering anything worse than a bit of static electricity. Hermione's line, on the other hand, repelled Ron with such force that he flew across the classroom and knocked over a cabinet. Once again, Flitwick praised Hermione's excellent work. When the class finally ended, Gryffindor had gained ten points on account of Hermione and, surprisingly, Seamus's skill with gender barriers.
Hermione had History of Magic that afternoon, but Harry and Ron had decided not to continue that particular subject. That meant that they had the afternoon free.
"You ought to do something useful then—get a head start on your homework, or else do some research and try and figure out how those Death Eaters got at you this summer, Harry," Hermione suggested as they walked out of class.
"Come on, Hermione!" Ron groaned. "It's the first day of classes!"
"Do you have something better to do then?" Hermione asked in an annoyed sort of voice.
Harry and Ron both nodded. "Quidditch," they said as one.
So, while Hermione took notes and fought against the soporific effects of Professor Binns's monotonous drone, Harry and Ron had a spirited practice game of quidditch. The weather couldn't have been more perfect—it was warm, but not too hot, and the sky was cloudless and blue. The pitch was free since practices hadn't started yet, what with trials still being a ways off.
They borrowed a spare practice quaffle from Madame Hooch, to whose office Harry, as captain, now had the password. As soon as he mounted his broom, Harry felt a sensation of relief overwhelm him. He hadn't played quidditch, or even flown, in such a long time; it was like relaxing a muscle that had been tensed for ages. He took a few laps around the pitch, zipping in and out of the stands and the hoops, doing tricks and rolls, diving and pulling up at the very last second. Ron whooped and cheered, chasing after Harry, although he couldn't begin to keep up with Harry's Firebolt while on a Cleansweep. Finally, they grabbed the ball and began the game. Harry played chaser, and Ron took his position as keeper. Despite his lack of practice, Ron did a good job defending the hoops from Harry. Harry tried every trick he'd ever seen Alicia, Angelina, and Katie try, but only two got past Ron.
"You're really great, Ron," he said, as they packed up their stuff. "I just hope that we can get some decent chasers."
"Yeah, because our beaters are horrible," Ron said.
Harry groaned. "I'd forgotten about them," he said. "Maybe they spent the summer practicing?" Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke had taken over for the Weasley twins the previous year, and had been terribly inept at their positions.
"Kirke and Sloper? Even a year's solid practice wouldn't help those idiots very much. Can't you just make them re-try out? You know, reopen the positions?"
"I can't just chuck them off the team, no matter how much I want to," Harry frowned. "And if I make them retry for their positions, then we'll all have to retry, just to be fair."
They headed back to the castle, and met Hermione in the Entrance Hall. "I was just coming to get you," she said. "Dinner's almost over—if you hurry, you might be able to grab a plateful."
They managed to scavenge some food from the scant leftovers on the table. The first day of classes seemed to have given everyone a substantial appetite, and only bones and crumbs remained of most of the dishes. They kept discussing quidditch, constantly talking about who might be good in what position and theorizing on ways to get Sloper and Kirke to quit. Ron suggested hitting them both with some particularly nasty curses while the Slytherins were around, but, although he might like the chance to frame Malfoy, Harry didn't think this was necessarily the best course of action.
Finally, they headed off to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was working on their Care of Magical Creatures essay, and had already written what looked like well over the required ten inches.
"Take it easy, Hermione," Ron said, looking over her shoulder. "If you don't quit soon, you'll have written an entire novel on the subject."
"I don't think Hagrid meant the homework to be taken that seriously, anyway," Harry said, also peering at Hermione's parchment. "He only assigned it to get back at the Slytherins, didn't he?"
"I always take my homework seriously, thank you," Hermione sniffed.
So, while Hermione kept adding to the essay, Harry got the miniature quidditch team that Ginny had bought him for his birthday, and he and Ron got to work teaching the tiny figures quidditch moves. Harry rather suspected this would be an easier way to explain things to the team than Oliver and Angelina's chalkboards covered in little x's. Still, the entire time that he was coaxing the miniature beaters into performing the Cross-Bat Block, in the back of his mind, the confrontation with Kirke and Sloper was looming over him.
In the end, he needn't have worried. About the time that Harry had nearly summoned up his courage to go and find them, he heard a nervous little cough behind him. Harry turned around to find Jack Sloper.
"Hi," Harry said. "Come to ask about practice?" He mentally cursed this statement as soon as he had said it.
Sloper looked a little nervous. "Well, sort of. Congratulations on getting captain and all, Harry. Er… look, the thing is… I don't want to play any more."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "What?"
"Well—it's not that I don't want to play—because I do, you know," Sloper stammered. "It's just that… well…" His cheeks were flushing a brilliant red. "See, my parents are muggles… and, er… they'd never seen quidditch before, and I brought them a book about it this summer, and, er…" He suddenly sped up, as if trying to finish speaking as quickly as possible. "They thought it looked a bit dangerous and asked me not to play this year and I'm really sorry." He cleared his throat.
Harry frowned. "You're quitting the team?"
"I'm really sorry," Sloper repeated.
"Well, we're sorry to see you go, but best of luck in your future endeavors," Ron said, jumping up to shake Sloper's hand.
"Yeah, no hard feelings," Harry said, grinning. "I understand totally. Don't worry."
"Really?" Sloper said as Ron pumped his hand enthusiastically.
"Sure, no problem," Harry said.
"Thanks a bunch. I really appreciate it—thanks," Sloper said, walking away.
Harry and Ron sat back down. "Can you believe the luck?" Harry said.
"One down, one to go," Ron said. They returned to the model team, but before they had gotten very far, there was another little cough from behind Harry. Without looking up, Ron mouthed the word "Kirke."
Harry turned around. "Hello. How was your summer?"
"Fine," Andrew Kirke said, grinning. "Look—Ginny told me you're the new captain, and I need to ask you something."
Harry tried to keep his feelings of hopefulness from appearing on his face. "Oh?"
"I only signed on as a beater because I really wanted to play, you know," Kirke said. "I know I'm not any good. I've always really wanted to play chaser."
"Oh. So you want to—"
"To switch to chaser," Kirke finished.
Harry frowned again, looking rather sternly at Kirke. "I can't let you just change," he said finally. "I've never seen you play as chaser before, have I? You'll have to try out."
Kirke nodded. "I expected it. So you'll find a new beater?"
"Sure," Harry grinned. "Best of luck to you. Tryouts are two weeks from tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay," Kirke said.
Harry and Ron looked at each other happily. Harry felt as though Christmas had come early. He'd gotten rid of the beaters, and he hadn't even had to jinx them. "What were the odds of that happening?" Harry asked, shaking his head.
"Right up there with You-know-who sending you a bouquet of daisies, I'd say," Ron said. "You are, without a doubt, the luckiest guy I know."
Harry shook his head. At the moment, he was feeling pretty lucky indeed.
The next morning, however, with the prospect of Potions class coming up, Harry was feeling decidedly less lucky. Their first class of the day was Herbology, and not even a double period. Despite the rather nasty smell eminating from the Spiny Knotbush they were pruning, Harry found himself pleading that time would slow down. It was to no avail, however, and the end of class came all too quickly. There was a half-hour break after the lesson, which they spent watching Peeves pelt first-years with dungbombs, Filch chasing after them shouting. Then, it was double Potions with the Slytherins.
"I bet Snape starts us off with the worst potion he can think of," Ron said glumly as they walked down to the dungeons. "Remember the fiddly potion he gave us last year?"
Harry nodded. He'd messed up that potion and ended up with extra homework. He silently vowed not to make a single mistake today. "I just hope he breaks with tradition," Harry said. Hermione and Ron both looked at him with confused expressions. "Every single teacher so far has tried to give us something impossible to start with," he explained. "'In light of the current situation' and all that. Come on, you must've noticed!"
The three of them took their seats. At last, Snape burst into the classroom, his robes billowing out behind him. Snape looked more like an overgrown bat than he ever had. He stood in front of the room with a cold, wrathful expression on his face. He scanned the students in silence for a few moments, his eyes lingering on each face for several seconds, except for Harry's, which he skipped over. Finally, he spoke.
"So," he said, steepling his fingers, "so. We have pared down our number. We have managed to rid ourselves of most of the idiots and useless dunderheads in our midst." His eyes flicked toward the seat previously occupied by Neville. "On a normal year, I would be welcoming you all with open arms, as the best of the best; but, alas, this year, a few of the less… talented… of our number have failed to leave us." His eyes moved to a point directly above Harry's head. "I would never criticize the Headmaster's decisions, but lowering my standards for the NEWT class has permitted in certain students whose abilities are… abysmal. How they managed to scrape even an A without cheating is beyond me." Now, his eyes flicked toward Hermione, who immediately went red. Harry and Ron both opened their mouths to say something, but Hermione, who was sitting between them, poked them in the ribs. Harry closed his mouth, but continued to stare at Snape with utmost loathing. Most of the Slytherins were giggling. Harry could just make out Draco from the corner of his eye—staring at him with an infuriating grin.
"But, let us not dwell on our misfortune," Snape went on. "Today we will begin one of the most difficult potions of the wizarding world. It is, however, also one of the most useful in the art of disguises and stealth—the Polyjuice Potion." Harry inhaled sharply, and Hermione jabbed him in the ribs again. "It will take us a month to prepare, and at the conclusion of the lessons, you will each drink your potion. For that reason," his eyes returned to the spot above Harry's head, "I would advise you to try not to botch it too badly. You will be working in pairs. Anyone who ruins theirs today, of course, will receive a month's worth of zero marks. Instructions for the day are on the board and ingredients are in the cabinet." With a flick of his wand, the instructions appeared and the cabinet door popped open.
Ron looked over at Harry and Hermione, grinning. "We lucked out a bit, didn't we?" he said. They stood and began shuffling their cauldrons around as the rest of the class partnered off.
"Do at least pretend not to know the potion, Ron," Hermione snapped. "We've never done it before, remember?"
"Of course, Hermione," Ron said in mock exasperation.
"Did you hear him about making us drink it? I bet you anything he's hoping to poison me," Harry said glumly.
"Well, he won't manage it will he? You'll do just fine with this potion," Hermione said. "And just to make sure, you'll partner with me."
"I will?" Harry said.
Hermione sighed. "You don't have to, of course. But I thought—"
"It's okay, Hermione," he said. "Of course I'll partner with you."
Ron's face fell slightly. "What about me?" he asked. "I always partner with Harry."
"Parvati's free," said Hermione, nodding across the room. "I'd go offer to partner with her before one of the Slytherins does it."
Ron gave her a hurt look before grabbing his cauldron and darting across the dungeon toward Parvati.
"I'll just go get our ingredients," Harry said. The line was already pretty long, but Harry didn't mind waiting. He stood there, scanning the instructions and absently twirling Sirius's ring on his finger.
"Push off, Potty," said a drawling voice as Draco pushed in front of Harry. He turned around, smiling in his sneering way. "Fancy seeing you here. I wouldn't have thought you'd have made it." He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Remedial potions, after all. But I expect you had a little outside help," Draco added flicking his eyes toward Hermione.
"I did it on my own, thanks," Harry snapped.
"Oh yes, I forgot. Perfect Potty would never cheat, would he?"
"Tell me, Draco," Harry said in an icy tone. "Had Defense against the Dark Arts yet?"
Draco looked a little startled. The student in front of him moved away from the cabinet, and he took the opportunity to turn away from Harry and rummage through the potions bottles. "Yes," he said suspiciously.
"What did you think of the new teacher?" Harry asked, now adopting a sugary tone.
Draco half-turned, looking at Harry over his shoulder and holding an over-large jar of leeches. "What, is she another friend of yours Potty? Wouldn't surprise me—the company you keep. I think she's an idiot mudblood who couldn't charm the cheese out of a goat. If she's an auror, then I'm Weasley's little brother."
"Really?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "That's very interesting, Draco. Especially since she's not only one of the aurors that helped put your Dad in Azkaban, she's also your cousin."
It was funny how the room seemed to become silent in the split seconds before the jar hit the ground. The crashing of the glass seemed amplified in the dungeon, as did the squelching as leeches rolled and flopped in every direction. A few people shrieked as the leech juice sloshed over their shoes. Draco's hand plunged into his robes, and Harry reached into his own pocket for his wand, but suddenly, Snape was standing over them, laying a restraining hand on Draco's elbow.
"Potter," Snape said, scanning the mess on the floor. He looked into Harry's eyes with an air of grim satisfaction. "On the very first lesson as well. Ten points from Gryffindor."
Harry felt a surge of anger rise up in his stomach. "But—but—Professor, I didn't—" he protested.
"Twenty points," Snape said. "And if you open your mouth to utter another syllable for the remainder of this lesson, it will be fifty points and a week's worth of detentions. Take your ingredients and sit down."
In what should have been an award-winning act of self-control, Harry made his way back toward Hermione, clutching a bottle of lacewing flies so hard that the glass was creaking in his grip. Hermione, meanwhile, was staring at Snape with a look of fierce concentration. She didn't look up until Harry dropped the jar noisily in front of her.
"That was really unfair of him, Harry," Hermione said, standing up. She conjured some little blue flames for the cauldron, and began adding ingredients. "What did you say to Malfoy? No, don't tell me—I don't want you to get in trouble. Hand me that jar, there? Snape's really gone too far this time—that was clearly all Malfoy's fault." She stirred the lacewing flies thoughtfully. "Of course, you really do need to mind your temper—"
But she fell silent at the look on Harry's face.
They worked on the potion for the rest of the class. Hermione did most of the work, with Harry more or less just handing her whatever needed to be added. He was far too angry to concentrate on something as delicate and fiddly as the Polyjuice potion. He managed to make it through the entire class with saying a thing, a feat which only increased the sense of rage boiling inside him.
Finally, the class was nearly over. Snape walked around giving marks to each of the pairs. He lingered over their cauldron for a long moment, and Harry felt rather pleased. Their potion was perfect; Harry knew it was the best one in the room. But Snape's little smile as he looked up caused another lurch in Harry's stomach.
"Full points to Miss Granger," he said coldly. "But you, Potter—you haven't touched the potion for the whole of the lesson. If you want marks in this classroom, I recommend you do the work. No points."
Harry was nearly shaking with rage as they left the class. Once they were safely away from the dungeons, he let out the yell he'd been containing all through the lesson.
Ron rubbed his ear. "Next time you feel the need to shout like that, Harry, do us a favor and warn us," he said.
"He'll do anything to take away points from Gryffindor—from me," Harry fumed. "And to give me zero marks in every lesson. And he's hoping to poison me."
"Yeah, but what can you do about it?" Ron said. "You've got to take the class…"
"No I don't," Harry said quietly.
"But McGonagall said—"
"That I ought to take it to be an auror. Fine. I won't be an auror."
Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry. "But I thought that was what you wanted to—"
Harry swung his bag onto his other arm. "It was. But if that means I have to put up with two more years of Snape, forget it. No way. I'd rather face the Death Eaters again," Harry grumbled.
"Harry—you can't be serious," Ron insisted.
"I am. I'm going to talk to McGonagall right after Transfiguration."
Ron looked annoyed. Harry rather suspected he didn't want to be left alone in the class.
"Hermione," Ron said, nudging her, "you talk some sense into him. Tell him he can't drop potions."
Hermione, however, had her brow furrowed in concentration. "Since when has Snape worn an earring?" she said finally.
Harry cast a sideways look at her. "What difference does it make, Hermione?" he asked.
Ron was giving her a look of disgust. "How, Hermione—tell me how during that class—how all you managed to get out of it was Snape's new jewelry?"
Hermione scowled. "Don't the two of you ever notice things? It's not just Snape. McGonagall had on that silver necklace at the feast—since when does she wear jewelry either? And I noticed over the summer that Bill had stopped wearing his dragon tooth and started wearing a silver earring instead."
"So silver jewelry is popular at the moment," Ron said. "So what?"
"Well, don't you think it might have something to do with fighting Voldemort?" Hermione snapped at him. A group of second years passing in the opposite direction gasped and took off at a half-run when she said the name.
"What, wearing jewelry? I don't see how it could," Ron said incredulously.
Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure, but it could all be enchanted somehow. It could be some sort of charm… maybe something protective."
They sat down at the Gryffindor table, and Harry began to wolf down his lunch. They had Transfiguration that afternoon, and he knew he'd need his strength. He mentally rehearsed what he'd say to McGonagall while he listened to Hermione and Ron bickering about something or other. In fact, he was still lost in private rehearsal when Hermione stood up and announced that they had better get going or they'd be late.
Transfiguration was just as difficult as Harry had expected. All of the Gryffindors had made it into the NEWT class, and McGonagall had started them off on conjuring spells were which every bit as difficult as Harry had been told. Despite his best efforts, Harry could not conjure so much as a pin. Hermione, on the other hand, had nearly conjured a pencil (at the moment it wasn't so much a pencil as a lump of pencil-shaped, crumbly wood).
"Don't be discouraged," McGonagall announced. "Conjuring spells can be incredibly difficult. It will probably take some time to master them. I want you all to practice until our next lesson—I'm expecting everyone to conjure at least a needle on their first try."
There was a mass groan of frustration from the class as they stood to gather their things and leave. Ron was shaking his head in frustration. He had managed to conjure up a pile of dust; however, that was more of an annoyance than a victory, since the dust was now all down the front of his robes.
"Mr. Potter—I'd like a word with you, please," McGonagall called.
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd been meaning to ask if he could talk to her—the last thing he expected was a summons.
"Maybe she wants to talk to you about the quidditch team," Ron whispered, beating the dust off the front of his robes. Harry shrugged and walked up to McGonagall's desk.
"There's no need for you to wait, Mr. Weasley. I'm sure Potter can find his way back to the common room without you," McGonagall snapped. Ron's ears turned a bit red, but he hurried out after Hermione.
"Well," McGonagall said, looking sharply at Harry. Harry noticed that she was wearing a necklace, just as Hermione had said.
"Er," Harry said, feeling his own ears grow hot. "Listen, Professor, if you want to talk to me about the quidditch team—"
"No, Potter, I don't want to talk about the quidditch team," she said. Her face softened slightly. "Although I'm sure you'll find us some excellent new players. Just a hint, though—a few new beaters wouldn't go amiss."
"I'm a step ahead of you, Professor," Harry grinned.
McGonagall gave him half a smile. "What I would like to discuss, Mr. Potter, is your extra lessons."
Harry was at a loss. "Excuse me Professor?"
"I told you last year that I would help you to become and auror, and I am a witch of my word. I will be giving you supplementary lessons until you pull your marks up enough that I am confident that you will earn a sufficiently high score on your NEWTs."
"Oh, Professor, that's really not necessary—" Harry protested.
"It is necessary," McGonagall said back. "I said I would do it, and I will. I pulled a lot of strings to convince the Headmaster to extend the exception to include Potions so that you could continue in that subject as well. I will see to it that you become an auror, Potter."
"Er," Harry said again. "About potions—"
"I heard all about this morning's incident," McGonagall said. "Whether you like it or not, Professor Snape was well within his rights to penalize you. You did provoke another student."
Harry's jaw dropped at the injustice of the comment. "What about all the times he's provoked me? I got punished for all of them too!"
"Nonetheless, Professor Snape was within his rights," McGonagall snapped back. "If anything, I should think the whole thing would impress upon you the importance of staying out of trouble this year. You're under a lot of scrutiny, right now, and failing could lose you a lot more than house points."
Harry just looked at McGonagall. He couldn't believe she was standing in front of him, telling him to keep his nose clean.
"Don't look at me like that, Potter. You know as well as I do that there are plenty of people who would like to see you fall right now, and if you do, then that's a victory for their side. What you need to do is stay out of trouble, and study everything that might help you to fight the Dark wizards," she said, a very stern look in her eyes. "I will see to it that you have every tool that an auror would need to fight He-who-must-not-be-named himself, because we both know that that's exactly what He wants to happen. So you will be taking extra lessons after school starting this week."
"Couldn't we put it off until after the quidditch tryouts at least? I need time to devise our strategy," Harry said quietly.
McGonagall's face twitched. "One week. I'll give you one week. We'll start next Thursday."
Harry sighed resignedly. "Okay Professor," he said finally.
Harry headed back to the Gryffindor common room with a sinking feeling in his stomach. This year hadn't gotten off to the best start, and he had a sense of strong foreboding. He just hoped things wouldn't end up as badly as last year…