Hello again, Darlings! Well, here it is: Chapter ten. As promised. Just a smidgeon late. I'm including the reviewer responses for the last two chapters at the bottom of this chapter. Fair warning, though: I'm going home for the holidays, so I'm not promising regular updates again until January. Sorry! But on the bright side, there's a good chance that the 36 solid hours of travel will give me some time to write, so starting in January, we should be in good stead.
Also, I feel the need to tell you something about the way I write. I never post a chapter until I have the next two chapters already written. That helps me to avoid plot holes, and if I need to change something for continuity's sake, then I can do it without feeling like a total noink. I tell you this because a few people have made comments which were awfully close to something coming up, and I don't want you guys to feel like I'm stealing your comments or anything.
Enjoy!
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Chapter Ten
The Death Eaters Return
Despite Harry's feelings of dread after talking to McGonagall, the following week was actually pretty good. People stopped following him around just to be sure he wasn't dead, and he always had quidditch and the DA to occuppy his mind. Not to mention the fact that classes were definitely interesting.
Everyone except Hermione seemed a little anxious about their next Care of Magical Creatures lesson, but despite being as creepy as the last lesson, it turned out okay. Hagrid introduced them to another benign Spirit creature, the Saxon Wailer. These were just as eerie as the wraiths had been but for a much different reason. While the wraiths looked frightening, the wailers looked just like a gust of glittery vapor, and you could only really see them when they passed through the smoke of a burning carniverous-rose branch. What made the wailers so unearthly was their cry—a shaky, high-pitched moan that set your hair on end. Seamus said it sounded like an infant banshee, and one of the Slytherins compared it to the cry of the augurey. Each time the Wailers passed through the smoke, the sound resonated around the class, making them all feel more than a little shaky by the end of the period.
Harry tried again to talk to Hagrid after class, but once again, he ducked out toward the forest. "Tell yer what," he said, as he pulled on his moleskin coat, "why don' you come and see me on Saturday? Aroun' three?" Then he darted off into the forest.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was also fast becoming a popular lesson, despite many students' skepticism over so young and clumsy a teacher, particularly one apointed by the Ministry. Even Hermione seemed a bit anxious.
"I hope we do something better than last lesson," she murmured to Harry as they sat down for their second lesson with Tonks.
"What? Hermione, the reversal jinx is brilliant!" Harry protested. "Think of all you can do with it! If we knew it sooner—"
"That's just it," Hermione said. "If it's so useful, why aren't wizards using it all the time? Anyway, it doesn't seem very practical. There are dozens of spells we should never reverse—really, there are only a few you can use it against at all. And how are you supposed to know exactly what spell someone's going to throw at you until after they've done it?"
"Death Eaters like to gloat," Harry said quietly. "They like to tell you what they're going to do right before they do it so that they can watch you get scared. Sometimes you know."
Hermione blinked at Harry, her eyes wide in shock. He didn't talk much about fighting the Death Eaters, at least not calmly. "O-okay," she finally conceded. "But if it's so easy to reverse spells, why don't wizards do it all the time?"
Honestly, a tiny little part of Harry had been wondering the same thing. It had seemed so easy to reverse every spell Tonks had sent at them; even though you couldn't use it against a lot of spells, it seemed like with all the duels he'd seen, he would have come across this before. Why weren't wizards using it all the time?
Fortunately, this week's lesson picked up where last week's had left off, and they were continuing with the reversal jinx. Tonks, today sporting bubblegum pink hair, had a lot more to tell them about the spell.
They began the class by reversing more jinxes, but it seemed harder today. Harry only halfway reversed the Tarantallegra spell she sent at him, and ended up with one stationary leg and one that was kicking wildly. After fifteen minutes, half the class was suffering the effects of a load of half-reversed curses. Ron had been hit with the twitchy-ears hex, and his ears randomly began flapping furiously, as though he were about to take off. Even Hermione hadn't managed to fully reverse the spell, and her right arm was frozen immobile at her side by the full-body-bind.
"Not bad," Tonks grinned surveying the class, every single student of which was nursing some bizarre partial malady. A few of them looked up at her with expressions of disgust. "I put a little more power behind these curses. In real battle it'll be harder than that, even. It's rare for you to get the chance to use the reversal jinx, and when you do, it's bloody near impossible to get it to work all the way."
Now everyone was looking at her in frustration, with the exception of Ron, who had his hands firmly clamped over his ears to prevent them from flapping too much. Even Harry felt more than a little annoyed. Why was she putting them through all this nonsense to learn a spell that she now said they couldn't even use?
"Then what's the point?" asked Neville, who was wrestling half a face full of bat-bogeys. "Professor?" he added, perhaps to soften his tone.
Tonks smiled grimly. "Good question. The point, Neville, is that the reversal jinx is one of the only defenses against the Cruciatus Curse."
A sharp intake of breath from most of the students accompanied this statement. Anything to do with the Unforgivable Curses was serious business. Harry's eyes flicked to Neville, and he noticed that despite the flapping bat-bogeys, Neville's expression had grown hard and determined.
"But Professor Moody—I mean, the fake Professor Moody—said that there is no defense against the Unforgivables!" protested Dean.
"Who do you think taught me this jinx?" Tonks said lightly, examining the back of her hand.
Seamus and Dean's jaws dropped. "You know Moody?" Dean asked in a tone of utmost awe.
"Sure," Tonks shrugged. "Mad-eye is an old friend."
"What, the real Moody?" Seamus asked.
"No, I hang around with the imposter. He's excellent conversation," Tonks said rolling her eyes. "Anyway, the reversal jinx doesn't reverse the curse completely, but if you're good with it, it'll lessen things enough for you to get your bearings or escape. If you can use it against these smaller spells, then you'll have a good fighting chance. I can't, and don't really want to use the Cruciatus curse on you for practice, so we'll keep trying it on these curses until you've got it down. Then, if you do get hit by the Cruciatus curse, you'll have a fighting chance. Now pair up and try it against each other."
Even potions wasn't so bad. Harry was still angry with McGonagall for not letting him quit, but at the same time, he felt like he didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction of chasing him away. He found that as long as Hermione collected their ingredients, and Harry avoided talking to Snape or Malfoy, he managed to survive lessons without being poisoned or losing too many points for Gryffindor. Snape still found excuses to take points away from him and Hermione—and Harry felt bad about ruining Hermione's deservedly perfect marks—but at least he didn't get any more zeros.
By Friday morning, things were really beginning to look up. He had set the date for the first DA meetng for Monday evening, which was slightly over a week away from the quidditch tryouts, and he was really looking forward to getting everyone together and working on some new counterjinxes and things. He had also happened to pass by a group of second years on the grounds who were practicing for the quidditch tryouts, and he was pleased to see that some of them weren't too bad.
So, Friday morning at breakfast, Harry was feeling pretty good while he listened to a noisy argument between the Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick. They seemed to be having some kind of disagreement over Peeves, and two thirds of the Gryffindors were listening with interest. Harry was just about to shout his encouragement to Nick when a large tawny owl dropped a heavy parcel in his lap.
"Ooohf," Harry said, looking down at the big box with surprise. No one ever sent him care packages; sometimes there was something for him in with the Weasley's things, but that was all.
"Presents?" Ron peered at the box. "Or did you leave something at home?"
"I don't know," Harry said, surprised. "I don't think so."
"There's a letter as well," Hermione said, untying a scroll of parchment from the owl's leg. It stretched its wings, hooted cheerfully, and took off. "Maybe you should read that first."
Hermione handed over the roll, and Harry unwound it. He read aloud,
"Dear Harry,
I'm sending along these sweets because Mrs. Weasley tells me that you don't get too many packages from home. If you want more any time, just send me an owl and I'll get some right back to you.
Remus moved back into the house Wednesday, so things aren't so dreadfully quiet here. He's good company; he knows all sorts of exciting wizard stories and he likes my meatloaf. Everyone is very busy with this and that (you know!) but I, for one, am having a good time. It's nice to be helpful.
When is your first quidditch match? I want to come (I've never seen a quidditch game!) but Remus doesn't think it's such a hot idea. He's promised to take me to a Chudley Cannons game sometime. Doesn't Ron rather like them? Are they any good?
Remus says I better stop writing and let you finish your breakfast (is it really breakfast? What are you eating?) so I will. Enjoy the sweets! See you soon,
Mira."
Harry sat down the parchment. Hermione was frowning thoughtfully, and Ron had one eyebrow raised. "She's just as flighty on paper," he muttered.
"She's getting awfully buddy-buddy with Lupin, isn't she?" Ron asked.
Harry nodded. "That doesn't make any sense either. A few weeks ago, he didn't trust her at all. I can't believe they're best friends now," he said.
"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," Hermione recited thoughtfully. "And they are both rather lonely, aren't they? It wouldn't be so bad if they were friends."
"No, not bad at all," Ron said sarcastically. "She's a lovely girl, really. Makes good pancakes. There's just that little bit about her mysterious appearance and possible ties to You-know-who, but I guess as long as she doesn't murder him in his sleep, they'll be great mates."
"Exactly," Hermione said in a dignified way. "If they're friends, he'll be able to watch her and figure out what she's up to."
"Wait," Harry said. "You think he's just pretending to be her friend so he can keep an eye on her?"
"I think it's possible," Hermione said. "If he thinks she's up to something, it'd be an excellent way to find out what."
Harry, unable to contain his curiosity, ripped open the package. There was a box of chocolate frogs, a sack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and a large basket full of gooey, homemade peanut-butter fudge bars. The smell was delicious.
"Oh, yum," Ron said, a glazed look in his eyes. "You going to share those?"
"Of course," Harry grinned.
"You only just ate breakfast, Ron," Hermione said.
"Later, of course," Ron said quickly.
"I better go put these up in the dormitory," Harry said. "We've only got a few minutes before Charms."
"Hurry, Harry, we only have five minutes!" Hermione called as Harry carried the box out of the Great Hall. Draco watched him run out of the Hall, and Harry was fairly sure that he was jealous.
He made it to Charms a little bit late, but Professor Flitwick was busy drawing a diagram on the chalkboard, and didn't notice when he slipped into his seat beside Ron.
The rest of the day went smoothly. Their lessons were pretty easy, and, since Harry and Ron weren't taking Divinations, they had the afternoon off. It was a gorgeous day, the blue skies having stuck around for the weekend, so, while Hermione went to Arithmancy, they grabbed their brooms and headed outdoors for a bit more quidditch. They spent a few glorious hours swooping around the field, Harry playing chaser again, until Ron't stomach was growling so loudly that Harry could hear it from half the pitch away.
They locked their brooms in the shed and grabbed the practice balls. They hurried back toward the castle in hopes of catching something more for dinner than just crumbs and leavings. Fortunately, they made it back much earlier than last time.
There was no sign of Hermione in the Great Hall, so they sat down with Neville, and loaded up their plates. They ate slowly, and Harry had seconds on treacle tart. Neville told them about his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, which had apparently grown to six times its original size, and had to be replanted in the Longbottom's backyard. The only problem was that neighborhood cats had a tendency to set off its defense mechanisms, and Neville's grandmother was complaining about the house being covered in swamp muck every time a stray cat wandered past.
When the three of them returned to the common room, they once again found Hermione bent over a huge roll of parchment, scribbling furiously.
"What this time, Hermione?" Ron said, picking up a book that she had perched on the arm of her chair. She plucked it back out of his hands.
"Arithmancy," she said simply, and, flicking a few pages through the book, went back to work. "And I'll thank you to keep your commentary to yourself."
Ron, with a rather hurt look, sank into a chair nearby. "It was only a question," he muttered.
Harry pulled up a chair nearby, and got out a huge piece of parchment that he had started on earlier that day. He was making an announcement about the quidditch tryouts to post on the board, and hopefully attract the good players that way. He had borrowed some drawing quills and colored inks from Dean, who liked to draw and had promised to do an illustration of the quidditch pitch at the bottom of the parchment when Harry was done with the rest of it. Harry dipped the drawing quill, which was just like a regular quill except that it had a removable point so you could get different sized lines, into a pot of brilliant scarlet ink, and wrote out "Quidditch Trials!" in big, glorious letters. Drawing wasn't really his specialty, but he could manage lettering okay.
Below that, he added, in various colors, "Positions available for three Chasers and two Beaters. Anyone welcome to try out! Tuesday, September 18th, 6:00 sharp." Harry was pleased with the result, and decided to go back and embellish the letters a bit to make them stand out. Ron was giving him helpful suggestions.
"Add a curly bit around the numbers, to make them stick out a bit more. And maybe you can put a shadow behind 'Quidditch Trials'," he said. "Hey, do you reckon we can get Dean to enchant it so that the letters change colors?"
Harry grinned. "I bet we don't even have to ask. Dean loves quidditch, right? I'm sure he'll enchant it on his own," He picked up the parchment and blew on it to dry the ink. "Speaking of which, have you seen him around? He's supposed to draw the players on—"
"I imagine he's with Ginny," Ron said, grimacing.
"So, where's she?" Harry said, looking around the common room.
"Here she comes," said Hermione, slipping her book and her neatly-rolled parchment into her bag.
Sure enough, Ginny had just stepped through the portrait hole, and was heading toward them with a solemn look on her face. She was not accompanied by Dean, as they had been hoping, but by Colin Creevey, who was the other new Gryffindor prefect. They split up just inside the room, though; Colin hurried off to join his brother at a table nearer the fire, while Ginny headed straight for them.
"Hey, Ginny," Ron called, "have you seen—"
"Not now," she interrupted him. Ron's face grew slightly red. "I've got something to tell you."
She sat down at the table beside them. Ginny reached into her robes and pulled out a slip of paper. "Colin and I were walking back from dinner, when Professor McGonagall caught us and gave me this," she said. It looked like a cutting from the Daily Prophet. "It's from the evening edition. She said I should show it to you, right away. I read it on the way here, and believe me—it isn't good."
Harry's stomach had that leaden feeling again. Ginny motioned them all closer, and they leaned in to listen.
"Special Report: You-know-who Attacks Again!
Third attack leaves three wizards hospitalized, one missing.
Supporters of He-who-must-not-be-named struck again this afternoon, attacking the Manchester home of the Jones family and putting Decimus Jones, 42, and his brother-in-law, Michael Moorecomb, 32, in St Mungo's Hospital; a third, unidentified person, presumably one of You-know-who's supporters, was also sent to St. Mungo's, and all three are listed in critical condition. Mrs. Hestia Jones, a member of the Magical containment squad and important asset to the Ministry, is currently missing.
'This is an unbelievable tragedy,' said a friend of the Jones family. 'They weren't even supposed to be home today, except poor Hestia were a bit under the weather. That's tragic, that is.'
According to one Ministry wizard, 'Mr. Moorecomb claims that he and his brother-in-law were at work [in the Potions supply shop they own on Diagon Alley] when they received an urgent magical summons from his sister. When they arrived home, she was already gone, and only two Death Eaters were still present.'"
"The article goes on," Ginny said, her eyes still racing down the page, "but that's the important bit."
"Hestia Jones?" Ron said, frowning. "Isnt' she…"
"A member of the Order," Harry whispered, nodding. "I met her last summer." Harry remembered her as a witch with black hair and very pink cheeks. They exchanged a grim look.
Hermione looked struck. "I can't believe it—they got one of us!"
"How long has she been missing?" Harry asked.
Ginny scanned the page. "The Dark Mark was spotted at four-o-clock, and it's—" she checked her watch, "nine thirty now. That's at least five and a half hours."
There was a mournful silence. Finally, Harry cleared his throat. "I think she's still alive," he murmured.
Ron looked at him, eyebrows raised. "How? Your scar?"
Harry nodded. "It hasn't hurt at all today. I'm pretty sure he'd be happy if he got one of us—it hurt when they got the Dodges. Maybe she got away."
"Did you feel anything while you were playing quidditch?" Ginny asked. "You might not have noticed if you were busy—"
Harry shook his head. "Believe me, I would have noticed. Not a thing."
Hermione frowned. "I have a bad feeling about this—besides the obvious one, I mean. It says that they were supposed to be away, right? She was only home because she was sick? Well, how did the Death Eaters know?"
"They just got lucky," Ron said.
"No—Hermione has a point," Ginny said. "They attacked in the middle of the day, and everyone knows Hestia works at the Ministry, so she shouldn't even have been there. There wouldn't have been much point in attacking an empty house, would there?"
"They knew where she was? How could they have known?" Harry asked.
"Either they have a spy in her department," Hermione said, "or in the Order."
"That's jumping to conclusions, Hermione," Ginny protested.
"They might not have wanted to find her at all," Ron said. "They might have been looking for something. Maybe she was holding something for someone, and they were trying to get at it."
"Of course, that's possible too," Hermione said, looking relieved.
They talked well into the night, always keeping their voices low and steady. They worried about other members of the Order who were no doubt out looking for Hestia. They theorized about why Hestia might have been targeted—what she was doing, why she was important—and then they talked about the earlier attack. Mr. Dodge had already left the hospital, but Mrs. Dodge had been moved to the closed ward. According to the Prophet, he visited her every day.
The whole thing left Harry feeling very drained and tired, and he was a little relieved when Hermione stood up and suggested they all go to bed and talk about it again in the morning. He hadn't realized just how tired he was until then. He and Ron said goodnight to Hermione and Ginny, and they went to their separate dormitories.
Harry lay in bed, staring at the shaft of moonlight flickering through his bed hangings. His mind wandered wildly, always returning to the face of a pink-cheeked witch and a pair of red eyes. He could almost hear that high, cold laugh in his mind. He felt sick for Hestia, and for her family. Was he imagining it, or was his scar tingling? No, he was just thinking about it so hard—it wasn't really tingling. If he just stopped thinking about it, it would stop.
He slipped into a deep and heavy sleep, dreamless and safe.
And then, with the sudden feeling of falling, he was in a dream.
He stood in the midst of a dusty room with cold white walls. Slivers of gray morning light drifted through the high windows, illuminating the woman kneeling in front of him. She had the hood of her black robe pushed back, and he could clearly see her long, shining black hair, but her head was bowed, obscuring her face from his view.
"And? To what end?" Harry asked, his voice high and cold.
"We… worked… with her for many hours, Master," the woman said in a trembling voice. "But at last she broke."
Harry felt a sudden surge of hope. "She has given us names, then? Or better yet—a location?" He looked across the room. Lying in front of a fireplace, a smear of blood across its dirty white tiles, was a black and gray bundle. No, he could tell now that it was a woman, her arms and legs tucked in close to her chest. Her face was stretched toward the light, and her eyes were open and staring. Her cheeks, once pink, were now pale and bloodless.
The woman looked up, and now Harry could see her evil smile and her heavy-lidded eyes. "Two names, my Master," she said. "Two that our spy has not given us yet."
He began to laugh, slowly at first, happy in his victory. But then, suddenly, his head began to hurt as though it were on fire. He clutched at his forehead, but the pain was spreading. He was overcome with the agony of it. He was screaming, screaming in two voices. They woman in the black robe was shouting "Master! Master, what's wrong?" And another voice was calling, "Harry, wake up! Wake up!" But the pain—the pain was overwhelming.
Harry opened his eyes. He was sitting upright in bed—Ron had grabbed his shoulders. Neville, Dean, and Seamus were all staring at him around the bed-hangings. He could see their pale faces and wide, curious eyes in the gray early- morning light streaming through the half-open curtains beside his bed.
Harry looked at Ron. Ron's eyes were the widest of all.
"Hestia's dead," Harry said.
Then he lost consciousness again.
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Reviewer Responses for Chs 8 & 9
Szihuoko—I think Hermione agreed with you about Reversio, and hopefully, today's DADA lesson assuaged your doubts somewhat. It's a tricky spell, but it has its role to play in the future. As for Harry, well, I'm sorry you thought he was putting up with too much. Hopefully you'll be happier in future.
Rathien1—She's on to me! Just kidding. :-)
Jeff—Thanks. I'm on board with the minimal romance as well.
Makotochi—Thanks. Hope you like the new chapter.
Wiccan Pussykat—Wow! Your reviews are almost as long as my chapters! Apologies for not including all the responses in the chapter 9 update. I was just plain too tired. (Fun fact: as of this update, we've topped 100pages.) I'll go chronologically here…
I hope you feel better about Reversio now that it's been explained a bit better.
As for the romances, well, I don't want to give anything away before the end… But… I am not a romance writer, I promise not to do anything hideously cliché, and I won't do anything that I can't see happening in the actual books. Does that reassure you? I know, it's cryptic, but I don't want to say too much. I also will not introduce anything without having some sort of explanation waiting in the wings, to be revealed in its own good time.
And I suppose it's obvious there's something up with the ring. I did NAME the fic after it, after all. :-)
Queen Cari—Me too. Me too.
Szelij—Brace yourself, because you're about to get the brunt of my rant for everyone who emailed me complaining that McGonagall wouldn't let Harry quit potions. You're the only one who had the guts to actually post it as a review, so you have my respect there.
I'm operating on an assumption here. I'm assuming that in Hogwarts, like in the real world, when you want to drop a class you have to get the permission of your advisor (HoH). Now, do you *honestly* think that after McGonagall, in making good on her promise to help Harry become an auror, pulled so many strings and went to so much trouble to get him into the Potions class, she'd let him quit again just because he had a bad day? Honestly? I mean, from reading the books, I can't think of any other way she'd respond than "Tough it out, Potter." Anything else would be painfully out of character. At the very, very least, she'd make him wait until his head had cooled to see if he'd gotten over it.
That's how the world works. It doesn't make Harry a puppet. It makes him subject to the same rules as everyone else.
And anyway, I don't think he really, really wanted to quit. As Wiccan PussyKat pointed out, that would be letting Snape win.
Merlin Brookback—Aw, I'm blushing! Thanks. :-)
Okay, that's it! See you next time. Same bat time, same bat channel.
Also, I feel the need to tell you something about the way I write. I never post a chapter until I have the next two chapters already written. That helps me to avoid plot holes, and if I need to change something for continuity's sake, then I can do it without feeling like a total noink. I tell you this because a few people have made comments which were awfully close to something coming up, and I don't want you guys to feel like I'm stealing your comments or anything.
Enjoy!
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Chapter Ten
The Death Eaters Return
Despite Harry's feelings of dread after talking to McGonagall, the following week was actually pretty good. People stopped following him around just to be sure he wasn't dead, and he always had quidditch and the DA to occuppy his mind. Not to mention the fact that classes were definitely interesting.
Everyone except Hermione seemed a little anxious about their next Care of Magical Creatures lesson, but despite being as creepy as the last lesson, it turned out okay. Hagrid introduced them to another benign Spirit creature, the Saxon Wailer. These were just as eerie as the wraiths had been but for a much different reason. While the wraiths looked frightening, the wailers looked just like a gust of glittery vapor, and you could only really see them when they passed through the smoke of a burning carniverous-rose branch. What made the wailers so unearthly was their cry—a shaky, high-pitched moan that set your hair on end. Seamus said it sounded like an infant banshee, and one of the Slytherins compared it to the cry of the augurey. Each time the Wailers passed through the smoke, the sound resonated around the class, making them all feel more than a little shaky by the end of the period.
Harry tried again to talk to Hagrid after class, but once again, he ducked out toward the forest. "Tell yer what," he said, as he pulled on his moleskin coat, "why don' you come and see me on Saturday? Aroun' three?" Then he darted off into the forest.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was also fast becoming a popular lesson, despite many students' skepticism over so young and clumsy a teacher, particularly one apointed by the Ministry. Even Hermione seemed a bit anxious.
"I hope we do something better than last lesson," she murmured to Harry as they sat down for their second lesson with Tonks.
"What? Hermione, the reversal jinx is brilliant!" Harry protested. "Think of all you can do with it! If we knew it sooner—"
"That's just it," Hermione said. "If it's so useful, why aren't wizards using it all the time? Anyway, it doesn't seem very practical. There are dozens of spells we should never reverse—really, there are only a few you can use it against at all. And how are you supposed to know exactly what spell someone's going to throw at you until after they've done it?"
"Death Eaters like to gloat," Harry said quietly. "They like to tell you what they're going to do right before they do it so that they can watch you get scared. Sometimes you know."
Hermione blinked at Harry, her eyes wide in shock. He didn't talk much about fighting the Death Eaters, at least not calmly. "O-okay," she finally conceded. "But if it's so easy to reverse spells, why don't wizards do it all the time?"
Honestly, a tiny little part of Harry had been wondering the same thing. It had seemed so easy to reverse every spell Tonks had sent at them; even though you couldn't use it against a lot of spells, it seemed like with all the duels he'd seen, he would have come across this before. Why weren't wizards using it all the time?
Fortunately, this week's lesson picked up where last week's had left off, and they were continuing with the reversal jinx. Tonks, today sporting bubblegum pink hair, had a lot more to tell them about the spell.
They began the class by reversing more jinxes, but it seemed harder today. Harry only halfway reversed the Tarantallegra spell she sent at him, and ended up with one stationary leg and one that was kicking wildly. After fifteen minutes, half the class was suffering the effects of a load of half-reversed curses. Ron had been hit with the twitchy-ears hex, and his ears randomly began flapping furiously, as though he were about to take off. Even Hermione hadn't managed to fully reverse the spell, and her right arm was frozen immobile at her side by the full-body-bind.
"Not bad," Tonks grinned surveying the class, every single student of which was nursing some bizarre partial malady. A few of them looked up at her with expressions of disgust. "I put a little more power behind these curses. In real battle it'll be harder than that, even. It's rare for you to get the chance to use the reversal jinx, and when you do, it's bloody near impossible to get it to work all the way."
Now everyone was looking at her in frustration, with the exception of Ron, who had his hands firmly clamped over his ears to prevent them from flapping too much. Even Harry felt more than a little annoyed. Why was she putting them through all this nonsense to learn a spell that she now said they couldn't even use?
"Then what's the point?" asked Neville, who was wrestling half a face full of bat-bogeys. "Professor?" he added, perhaps to soften his tone.
Tonks smiled grimly. "Good question. The point, Neville, is that the reversal jinx is one of the only defenses against the Cruciatus Curse."
A sharp intake of breath from most of the students accompanied this statement. Anything to do with the Unforgivable Curses was serious business. Harry's eyes flicked to Neville, and he noticed that despite the flapping bat-bogeys, Neville's expression had grown hard and determined.
"But Professor Moody—I mean, the fake Professor Moody—said that there is no defense against the Unforgivables!" protested Dean.
"Who do you think taught me this jinx?" Tonks said lightly, examining the back of her hand.
Seamus and Dean's jaws dropped. "You know Moody?" Dean asked in a tone of utmost awe.
"Sure," Tonks shrugged. "Mad-eye is an old friend."
"What, the real Moody?" Seamus asked.
"No, I hang around with the imposter. He's excellent conversation," Tonks said rolling her eyes. "Anyway, the reversal jinx doesn't reverse the curse completely, but if you're good with it, it'll lessen things enough for you to get your bearings or escape. If you can use it against these smaller spells, then you'll have a good fighting chance. I can't, and don't really want to use the Cruciatus curse on you for practice, so we'll keep trying it on these curses until you've got it down. Then, if you do get hit by the Cruciatus curse, you'll have a fighting chance. Now pair up and try it against each other."
Even potions wasn't so bad. Harry was still angry with McGonagall for not letting him quit, but at the same time, he felt like he didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction of chasing him away. He found that as long as Hermione collected their ingredients, and Harry avoided talking to Snape or Malfoy, he managed to survive lessons without being poisoned or losing too many points for Gryffindor. Snape still found excuses to take points away from him and Hermione—and Harry felt bad about ruining Hermione's deservedly perfect marks—but at least he didn't get any more zeros.
By Friday morning, things were really beginning to look up. He had set the date for the first DA meetng for Monday evening, which was slightly over a week away from the quidditch tryouts, and he was really looking forward to getting everyone together and working on some new counterjinxes and things. He had also happened to pass by a group of second years on the grounds who were practicing for the quidditch tryouts, and he was pleased to see that some of them weren't too bad.
So, Friday morning at breakfast, Harry was feeling pretty good while he listened to a noisy argument between the Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick. They seemed to be having some kind of disagreement over Peeves, and two thirds of the Gryffindors were listening with interest. Harry was just about to shout his encouragement to Nick when a large tawny owl dropped a heavy parcel in his lap.
"Ooohf," Harry said, looking down at the big box with surprise. No one ever sent him care packages; sometimes there was something for him in with the Weasley's things, but that was all.
"Presents?" Ron peered at the box. "Or did you leave something at home?"
"I don't know," Harry said, surprised. "I don't think so."
"There's a letter as well," Hermione said, untying a scroll of parchment from the owl's leg. It stretched its wings, hooted cheerfully, and took off. "Maybe you should read that first."
Hermione handed over the roll, and Harry unwound it. He read aloud,
"Dear Harry,
I'm sending along these sweets because Mrs. Weasley tells me that you don't get too many packages from home. If you want more any time, just send me an owl and I'll get some right back to you.
Remus moved back into the house Wednesday, so things aren't so dreadfully quiet here. He's good company; he knows all sorts of exciting wizard stories and he likes my meatloaf. Everyone is very busy with this and that (you know!) but I, for one, am having a good time. It's nice to be helpful.
When is your first quidditch match? I want to come (I've never seen a quidditch game!) but Remus doesn't think it's such a hot idea. He's promised to take me to a Chudley Cannons game sometime. Doesn't Ron rather like them? Are they any good?
Remus says I better stop writing and let you finish your breakfast (is it really breakfast? What are you eating?) so I will. Enjoy the sweets! See you soon,
Mira."
Harry sat down the parchment. Hermione was frowning thoughtfully, and Ron had one eyebrow raised. "She's just as flighty on paper," he muttered.
"She's getting awfully buddy-buddy with Lupin, isn't she?" Ron asked.
Harry nodded. "That doesn't make any sense either. A few weeks ago, he didn't trust her at all. I can't believe they're best friends now," he said.
"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," Hermione recited thoughtfully. "And they are both rather lonely, aren't they? It wouldn't be so bad if they were friends."
"No, not bad at all," Ron said sarcastically. "She's a lovely girl, really. Makes good pancakes. There's just that little bit about her mysterious appearance and possible ties to You-know-who, but I guess as long as she doesn't murder him in his sleep, they'll be great mates."
"Exactly," Hermione said in a dignified way. "If they're friends, he'll be able to watch her and figure out what she's up to."
"Wait," Harry said. "You think he's just pretending to be her friend so he can keep an eye on her?"
"I think it's possible," Hermione said. "If he thinks she's up to something, it'd be an excellent way to find out what."
Harry, unable to contain his curiosity, ripped open the package. There was a box of chocolate frogs, a sack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and a large basket full of gooey, homemade peanut-butter fudge bars. The smell was delicious.
"Oh, yum," Ron said, a glazed look in his eyes. "You going to share those?"
"Of course," Harry grinned.
"You only just ate breakfast, Ron," Hermione said.
"Later, of course," Ron said quickly.
"I better go put these up in the dormitory," Harry said. "We've only got a few minutes before Charms."
"Hurry, Harry, we only have five minutes!" Hermione called as Harry carried the box out of the Great Hall. Draco watched him run out of the Hall, and Harry was fairly sure that he was jealous.
He made it to Charms a little bit late, but Professor Flitwick was busy drawing a diagram on the chalkboard, and didn't notice when he slipped into his seat beside Ron.
The rest of the day went smoothly. Their lessons were pretty easy, and, since Harry and Ron weren't taking Divinations, they had the afternoon off. It was a gorgeous day, the blue skies having stuck around for the weekend, so, while Hermione went to Arithmancy, they grabbed their brooms and headed outdoors for a bit more quidditch. They spent a few glorious hours swooping around the field, Harry playing chaser again, until Ron't stomach was growling so loudly that Harry could hear it from half the pitch away.
They locked their brooms in the shed and grabbed the practice balls. They hurried back toward the castle in hopes of catching something more for dinner than just crumbs and leavings. Fortunately, they made it back much earlier than last time.
There was no sign of Hermione in the Great Hall, so they sat down with Neville, and loaded up their plates. They ate slowly, and Harry had seconds on treacle tart. Neville told them about his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, which had apparently grown to six times its original size, and had to be replanted in the Longbottom's backyard. The only problem was that neighborhood cats had a tendency to set off its defense mechanisms, and Neville's grandmother was complaining about the house being covered in swamp muck every time a stray cat wandered past.
When the three of them returned to the common room, they once again found Hermione bent over a huge roll of parchment, scribbling furiously.
"What this time, Hermione?" Ron said, picking up a book that she had perched on the arm of her chair. She plucked it back out of his hands.
"Arithmancy," she said simply, and, flicking a few pages through the book, went back to work. "And I'll thank you to keep your commentary to yourself."
Ron, with a rather hurt look, sank into a chair nearby. "It was only a question," he muttered.
Harry pulled up a chair nearby, and got out a huge piece of parchment that he had started on earlier that day. He was making an announcement about the quidditch tryouts to post on the board, and hopefully attract the good players that way. He had borrowed some drawing quills and colored inks from Dean, who liked to draw and had promised to do an illustration of the quidditch pitch at the bottom of the parchment when Harry was done with the rest of it. Harry dipped the drawing quill, which was just like a regular quill except that it had a removable point so you could get different sized lines, into a pot of brilliant scarlet ink, and wrote out "Quidditch Trials!" in big, glorious letters. Drawing wasn't really his specialty, but he could manage lettering okay.
Below that, he added, in various colors, "Positions available for three Chasers and two Beaters. Anyone welcome to try out! Tuesday, September 18th, 6:00 sharp." Harry was pleased with the result, and decided to go back and embellish the letters a bit to make them stand out. Ron was giving him helpful suggestions.
"Add a curly bit around the numbers, to make them stick out a bit more. And maybe you can put a shadow behind 'Quidditch Trials'," he said. "Hey, do you reckon we can get Dean to enchant it so that the letters change colors?"
Harry grinned. "I bet we don't even have to ask. Dean loves quidditch, right? I'm sure he'll enchant it on his own," He picked up the parchment and blew on it to dry the ink. "Speaking of which, have you seen him around? He's supposed to draw the players on—"
"I imagine he's with Ginny," Ron said, grimacing.
"So, where's she?" Harry said, looking around the common room.
"Here she comes," said Hermione, slipping her book and her neatly-rolled parchment into her bag.
Sure enough, Ginny had just stepped through the portrait hole, and was heading toward them with a solemn look on her face. She was not accompanied by Dean, as they had been hoping, but by Colin Creevey, who was the other new Gryffindor prefect. They split up just inside the room, though; Colin hurried off to join his brother at a table nearer the fire, while Ginny headed straight for them.
"Hey, Ginny," Ron called, "have you seen—"
"Not now," she interrupted him. Ron's face grew slightly red. "I've got something to tell you."
She sat down at the table beside them. Ginny reached into her robes and pulled out a slip of paper. "Colin and I were walking back from dinner, when Professor McGonagall caught us and gave me this," she said. It looked like a cutting from the Daily Prophet. "It's from the evening edition. She said I should show it to you, right away. I read it on the way here, and believe me—it isn't good."
Harry's stomach had that leaden feeling again. Ginny motioned them all closer, and they leaned in to listen.
"Special Report: You-know-who Attacks Again!
Third attack leaves three wizards hospitalized, one missing.
Supporters of He-who-must-not-be-named struck again this afternoon, attacking the Manchester home of the Jones family and putting Decimus Jones, 42, and his brother-in-law, Michael Moorecomb, 32, in St Mungo's Hospital; a third, unidentified person, presumably one of You-know-who's supporters, was also sent to St. Mungo's, and all three are listed in critical condition. Mrs. Hestia Jones, a member of the Magical containment squad and important asset to the Ministry, is currently missing.
'This is an unbelievable tragedy,' said a friend of the Jones family. 'They weren't even supposed to be home today, except poor Hestia were a bit under the weather. That's tragic, that is.'
According to one Ministry wizard, 'Mr. Moorecomb claims that he and his brother-in-law were at work [in the Potions supply shop they own on Diagon Alley] when they received an urgent magical summons from his sister. When they arrived home, she was already gone, and only two Death Eaters were still present.'"
"The article goes on," Ginny said, her eyes still racing down the page, "but that's the important bit."
"Hestia Jones?" Ron said, frowning. "Isnt' she…"
"A member of the Order," Harry whispered, nodding. "I met her last summer." Harry remembered her as a witch with black hair and very pink cheeks. They exchanged a grim look.
Hermione looked struck. "I can't believe it—they got one of us!"
"How long has she been missing?" Harry asked.
Ginny scanned the page. "The Dark Mark was spotted at four-o-clock, and it's—" she checked her watch, "nine thirty now. That's at least five and a half hours."
There was a mournful silence. Finally, Harry cleared his throat. "I think she's still alive," he murmured.
Ron looked at him, eyebrows raised. "How? Your scar?"
Harry nodded. "It hasn't hurt at all today. I'm pretty sure he'd be happy if he got one of us—it hurt when they got the Dodges. Maybe she got away."
"Did you feel anything while you were playing quidditch?" Ginny asked. "You might not have noticed if you were busy—"
Harry shook his head. "Believe me, I would have noticed. Not a thing."
Hermione frowned. "I have a bad feeling about this—besides the obvious one, I mean. It says that they were supposed to be away, right? She was only home because she was sick? Well, how did the Death Eaters know?"
"They just got lucky," Ron said.
"No—Hermione has a point," Ginny said. "They attacked in the middle of the day, and everyone knows Hestia works at the Ministry, so she shouldn't even have been there. There wouldn't have been much point in attacking an empty house, would there?"
"They knew where she was? How could they have known?" Harry asked.
"Either they have a spy in her department," Hermione said, "or in the Order."
"That's jumping to conclusions, Hermione," Ginny protested.
"They might not have wanted to find her at all," Ron said. "They might have been looking for something. Maybe she was holding something for someone, and they were trying to get at it."
"Of course, that's possible too," Hermione said, looking relieved.
They talked well into the night, always keeping their voices low and steady. They worried about other members of the Order who were no doubt out looking for Hestia. They theorized about why Hestia might have been targeted—what she was doing, why she was important—and then they talked about the earlier attack. Mr. Dodge had already left the hospital, but Mrs. Dodge had been moved to the closed ward. According to the Prophet, he visited her every day.
The whole thing left Harry feeling very drained and tired, and he was a little relieved when Hermione stood up and suggested they all go to bed and talk about it again in the morning. He hadn't realized just how tired he was until then. He and Ron said goodnight to Hermione and Ginny, and they went to their separate dormitories.
Harry lay in bed, staring at the shaft of moonlight flickering through his bed hangings. His mind wandered wildly, always returning to the face of a pink-cheeked witch and a pair of red eyes. He could almost hear that high, cold laugh in his mind. He felt sick for Hestia, and for her family. Was he imagining it, or was his scar tingling? No, he was just thinking about it so hard—it wasn't really tingling. If he just stopped thinking about it, it would stop.
He slipped into a deep and heavy sleep, dreamless and safe.
And then, with the sudden feeling of falling, he was in a dream.
He stood in the midst of a dusty room with cold white walls. Slivers of gray morning light drifted through the high windows, illuminating the woman kneeling in front of him. She had the hood of her black robe pushed back, and he could clearly see her long, shining black hair, but her head was bowed, obscuring her face from his view.
"And? To what end?" Harry asked, his voice high and cold.
"We… worked… with her for many hours, Master," the woman said in a trembling voice. "But at last she broke."
Harry felt a sudden surge of hope. "She has given us names, then? Or better yet—a location?" He looked across the room. Lying in front of a fireplace, a smear of blood across its dirty white tiles, was a black and gray bundle. No, he could tell now that it was a woman, her arms and legs tucked in close to her chest. Her face was stretched toward the light, and her eyes were open and staring. Her cheeks, once pink, were now pale and bloodless.
The woman looked up, and now Harry could see her evil smile and her heavy-lidded eyes. "Two names, my Master," she said. "Two that our spy has not given us yet."
He began to laugh, slowly at first, happy in his victory. But then, suddenly, his head began to hurt as though it were on fire. He clutched at his forehead, but the pain was spreading. He was overcome with the agony of it. He was screaming, screaming in two voices. They woman in the black robe was shouting "Master! Master, what's wrong?" And another voice was calling, "Harry, wake up! Wake up!" But the pain—the pain was overwhelming.
Harry opened his eyes. He was sitting upright in bed—Ron had grabbed his shoulders. Neville, Dean, and Seamus were all staring at him around the bed-hangings. He could see their pale faces and wide, curious eyes in the gray early- morning light streaming through the half-open curtains beside his bed.
Harry looked at Ron. Ron's eyes were the widest of all.
"Hestia's dead," Harry said.
Then he lost consciousness again.
*****************
Reviewer Responses for Chs 8 & 9
Szihuoko—I think Hermione agreed with you about Reversio, and hopefully, today's DADA lesson assuaged your doubts somewhat. It's a tricky spell, but it has its role to play in the future. As for Harry, well, I'm sorry you thought he was putting up with too much. Hopefully you'll be happier in future.
Rathien1—She's on to me! Just kidding. :-)
Jeff—Thanks. I'm on board with the minimal romance as well.
Makotochi—Thanks. Hope you like the new chapter.
Wiccan Pussykat—Wow! Your reviews are almost as long as my chapters! Apologies for not including all the responses in the chapter 9 update. I was just plain too tired. (Fun fact: as of this update, we've topped 100pages.) I'll go chronologically here…
I hope you feel better about Reversio now that it's been explained a bit better.
As for the romances, well, I don't want to give anything away before the end… But… I am not a romance writer, I promise not to do anything hideously cliché, and I won't do anything that I can't see happening in the actual books. Does that reassure you? I know, it's cryptic, but I don't want to say too much. I also will not introduce anything without having some sort of explanation waiting in the wings, to be revealed in its own good time.
And I suppose it's obvious there's something up with the ring. I did NAME the fic after it, after all. :-)
Queen Cari—Me too. Me too.
Szelij—Brace yourself, because you're about to get the brunt of my rant for everyone who emailed me complaining that McGonagall wouldn't let Harry quit potions. You're the only one who had the guts to actually post it as a review, so you have my respect there.
I'm operating on an assumption here. I'm assuming that in Hogwarts, like in the real world, when you want to drop a class you have to get the permission of your advisor (HoH). Now, do you *honestly* think that after McGonagall, in making good on her promise to help Harry become an auror, pulled so many strings and went to so much trouble to get him into the Potions class, she'd let him quit again just because he had a bad day? Honestly? I mean, from reading the books, I can't think of any other way she'd respond than "Tough it out, Potter." Anything else would be painfully out of character. At the very, very least, she'd make him wait until his head had cooled to see if he'd gotten over it.
That's how the world works. It doesn't make Harry a puppet. It makes him subject to the same rules as everyone else.
And anyway, I don't think he really, really wanted to quit. As Wiccan PussyKat pointed out, that would be letting Snape win.
Merlin Brookback—Aw, I'm blushing! Thanks. :-)
Okay, that's it! See you next time. Same bat time, same bat channel.