- CHAPTER SEVEN -
A Magical Mix-Up
As it happened, they all overslept, even Hermione, and couldn't get a free moment to talk in private at breakfast. They only got a chance to speak together as they hurried towards their Defence class.
"Well? What did they say?" Ron demanded.
Harry assembled his thoughts. "Well, Flitwick says the writing is a clue to something called the Curse of Durand. McGonagall thinks that if they transfigured it away instead of using an illusion to cover it up, it might have some kind of really bad side effects. And Sprout thinks that you two were snogging in the library."
Ron's ears went a quite satisfying shade of pink at that. Hermione just breezed straight past it as if it didn't matter in the slightest.
"The Curse of Durand - I don't remember ever reading anything about that. Harry, have you?"
"Hermione, we've never read anything you don't know," Harry reminded her.
"Unless it's to do with Quidditch," added Ron.
"We'll have to scour the library for it," Hermione said. "All the books this time, not just the most up-to-date ones." They all still remembered how they'd completely missed finding out about Nicholas Flamel in their first year, because none of them had thought they might be looking for a six-hundred-year-old wizard. She sighed. "Really, I just wish the wizarding world would start using proper indexing practises, we'll be in the library forever!"
"Sounds like your idea of heaven," Ron said snidely. However, before Hermione could say anything in response, they'd walked into the classroom and under Snape's glare.
Defence Against the Dark Arts was a disaster from start to finish. This lesson they were covering some of the more difficult but powerful duelling hexes, and Snape split them into pairs. Harry, of course, got landed with Malfoy, and what was worse, he was expected to demonstrate a hex he'd never tried before in front of the whole class with no preparation.
"I assume you've done the required background reading on this, Potter?" Snape said, voice thick with sarcasm. "Then of course, you'll have no trouble demonstrating for us exactly how a successful Shuddering Hex should go."
The Shuddering Hex was like a much more violent version of the Jelly Legs Jinx, causing the victim to shake so uncontrollably they would hopefully be unable to aim their wand. Harry had done the specified reading... sort of. Since he'd already read up on much of this before, he'd simply skimmed the list of spells as a quick refresher and hoped that would be enough information. Malfoy smirked at him as he mentally raced to come up with the right incantation.
"Maxum Horrero!"
To his great humiliation, his wand produced a few grey sparks, and did absolutely nothing else. Malfoy made an exaggerated pretence of quaking in his boots, and there were a few nervous giggles across the classroom. Snape's lips twitched.
"Clearly, our resident expert has a few little... gaps in his education." He should have known Snape wouldn't take kindly to getting word of Harry's unofficial Defence lessons last year. "What's wrong, Potter? Finding things a little more difficult now you don't have your own private army to back you up?"
Harry scowled and raised his wand to try again, but Snape stopped him.
"This is a duelling lesson, Mr. Potter, not an exhibition class. In the real world, enemies seldom stand around and politely wait for you to keep going until you get it right."
I know that! Snape knew full-well he'd been in more real-life combat situations than anybody else in this classroom. In a real fight, he wouldn't be trying out a spell he'd never even practised before! He glowered helplessly as the Potions master gestured Malfoy forward.
"Five points from Gryffindor for a shameful lack of preparation. Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps you'd like to show Mr. Potter how it's done?"
Malfoy grinned smugly, and directed his wand towards Harry with a flourish. "Maxum Horrero!"
To Harry's ever-lasting glee, what came out of his wand was a spray of mist droplets and a small, rather sad purple frog. This time the ripple of laughter was much stronger.
Snape merely raised an eyebrow. "Longbottom, take Mr. Malfoy's place," he directed. "No doubt you can show us all where your classmates have been going wrong." Neville stepped up, looking apologetically towards Harry and all but shaking in terror himself. Harry knew after last year that Neville was more than capable of keeping his head in a true crisis, but there was just something about being in front of Snape that tore his self-confidence into little bits.
"Maxum Horrero!"
Harry barely had time to brace himself before he was blasted off his feet by the force of the spell. He crashed into the desk behind him and sent it flying, every part of his body seeming to convulse of its own accord as if he was being electrocuted. It was a truly spectacular Shuddering Hex.
There was a round of applause from everyone but the Slytherins. Snape was, naturally, unimpressed.
"Five points from Gryffindor for lack of control. Get up, Potter."
He couldn't. He had absolutely no command of his own body. His muscles were jittering away madly; standing over him Hermione raised a horrified hand to her mouth. He tried to speak, but his teeth were chattering too badly to get more than a useless buzz out.
Snape gave him a thoroughly disgusted look, and pointed his wand at Harry's chest. "Laxare Torus!"
The judders receded... somewhat. Harry was able to stand, but he staggered a little, and random twitches continued to assault him. For a moment he almost thought Snape looked a tiny bit taken aback - as if perhaps he'd expected Harry to be wholly cured instead of partly. The expression was gone quickly, and he couldn't be sure.
While the demonstrations continued, Harry limped over to join the others. He was beginning to think something was seriously amiss here. Neville's astonishing Shuddering Hex was one of the few spells that seemed to go right all lesson. About half the class was doing averagely, and the other half barely managing at all. And what was odd was that most of the people doing badly were the ones he would have considered the most competent in the class.
He would have written off his own failure with the Shuddering Hex as a momentary lapse, if it hadn't seemed to be part of a growing pattern. After watching Hermione - Hermione, of all people - flub a perfectly ordinary Hammer Hex, he was sure that there was something wrong.
As the torturous session finally came to an end, he moved to pull Ron and Hermione aside... and then thought better of it. What lesson had he learned again and again last year, and yet kept ignoring to make and remake the same mistakes? Harry gritted his teeth, and approached Professor Snape.
"Professor Snape?"
"What is it, Potter?" he demanded curtly.
Remembering what he'd overheard McGonagall saying in the hospital wing, Harry gestured in the direction of the window. "Professor - is it possible that the protective barrier outside is... interfering with people's spell-casting in some way? It seemed to me in class today that-"
The look Snape gave him was of course extremely cold, but - more annoyingly than that - unreadable. "Mr. Potter... kindly do not seek to pass off your own failure as a result of some kind of external interference. The Gryffindor method of charging in blindly and expecting sheer luck to carry the day may, for some unfathomable reason, be considered heroic by some, but in the real world such lack of preparation will simply get you killed. I suggest, if you actually intend to survive the coming years, you begin taking responsibility for your own actions... and stop looking to dead idiots for your role models."
That had Sirius's name written all over it, and Harry had to restrain a suddenly shockingly strong urge to deliver a backhanded slap that would knock that supercilious look right off the teacher's face. He made himself un-ball his fists, and stepped back.
Hermione came to Harry's defence. "Professor, I think Harry may be right. I was watching the class today, and I think-"
"Miss Granger, I do not recall asking for your input on this matter." Snape closed the book on the desk before him with a snap. "Especially since there is nothing to discuss. Now kindly leave the classroom immediately, as I have no desire to be exposed to your incessant imbecilic questions for any longer than I am being paid for."
They left, and caught up with Ron, who'd been lurking in the doorway listening in. Harry gave a theatrical shrug as they walked. "Let it be stated, for the record... I tried."
So much for attempting to tell his teachers about his concerns. And people wondered why he was in the habit of keeping things to himself.
"Harry, I think you may be right about this," Hermione said, hugging her books close to her stomach. "There was something seriously off in that classroom today."
"Maybe Snape sabotaged the results," Ron suggested. "He's probably planted some kind of evil, magic-sucking enchantment on the classroom so we all fail."
"Don't be absurd, Ron," she huffed disapprovingly.
"I don't think it was Snape, Ron," Harry added. "Did you see Neville earlier? He nearly blew my head off! Why would Snape sabotage everybody else and help Neville?"
"It wasn't everybody," Hermione said thoughtfully. "It was me, and you, and Malfoy, and Terry Boot-"
"Much as I hate to say this about any group that includes Malfoy," Ron interjected, "I think it was everybody who's usually really good at these kinds of spells."
"That doesn't make any sense," said Harry.
"I'll say." Ron shook his head slowly. "When Hermione can't cast a spell and Neville shows up Snape in front of everybody? Something's not right."
For the next few days they spent every spare hour in the library, hoping to discover something about the Curse of Durand. Hermione had been right - the lack of proper indexing made it a rotten job, and after hours and hours of fruitless searching, Harry threw down his copy of Magical Malice and Mythical Menaces and rubbed his eyes. "Hermione, let's take a break," he pleaded. "We've been doing this for hours! If I read one more word about famous hexes I'm not going to have room in my head for any schoolwork!"
Hermione barely raised her nose from her book. "Just let me get to the end of this bookshelf," she said indistinctly. "That's the logical place to stop for a little while, and then we can come back this evening and do the next six shelves."
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, and then grabbed an elbow each and dragged her bodily out of the library.
"Let's go and see Hagrid," Ron decided.
They hadn't had much chance to visit the friendly Groundskeeper what with all the researching and other, actually legitimately academic pursuits. Although the NEWT years might entail fewer hours of lessons, they certainly made up for it with a ton more homework and extra studying to be done.
The weather was turning colder, and the three of them found Hagrid leaning on a long wooden pole as he examined the inhabitants of one of his pens with some concern. Harry peered down to see a number of creatures that resembled armoured mice trundling about in the smooth soil, drawing remarkably complex patterns together as if they knew what their fellows would be doing without even looking at them.
"Wow, what are these, Hagrid?" he wondered. They looked surprisingly non-dangerous for one of their old Care of Magical Creatures tutor's pet projects, although that could well be an illusion.
"They're Muscomens," said Hagrid, beaming proudly. "Had them imported, all the way from Brazil. Careful now yeh don' get too close, they'll give yeh a dose o' the psychic."
"A dose of the psychic?" Harry asked with a frown.
"That's right. They're telepathic, see, that's how they communicate with the rest o' the swarm. Got no ears, see."
"You can catch telepathy off them? Sounds wicked," said Ron, probably already plotting what he could get up to with the ability to read thoughts.
"It isn't Ron, it's absolutely frightful," Hermione said sternly. "People have gone mad after falling into a nest of Muscomens. Imagine being able to hear the thoughts of everyone around you all the time, and never being able to shut it off! You wouldn't know what thoughts were your own."
"No need ter worry, no need ter worry," Hagrid assured them hastily as both Harry and Ron stepped backwards. "This is only a small colony, yeh wouldn't get more than a tiny dose, an' it'd wear off in a couple o' minutes. But they could still give yeh a nasty headache, so mind yeh don't go agitatin' them."
They watched the creatures move about. Harry estimated that there were at least two dozen of them in there, which gave rise to some alarming thoughts about what must constitute a big enough colony to infect a person with telepathy forever. The little beasts were really rather cute, but the thought of stepping into a path of loose earth and falling down into a nest swarming with thousands of the things...
"Why do they draw patterns like that, Hagrid?" he asked, to clear away that mental picture.
"Ah. The more o' them you get together, the more intelligent they are, see? A colony like this isn't too bright, o' course, but they can copy things they see jus' fine. Watch this." He reached over with the wooden pole he was holding, and sketched a few simple squares in the dirt. There was a pause, and then a solitary Muscomen happened to pass over the part of ground Hagrid had sketched on. Immediately, the rest of the swarm started to draw out the exact same pattern on a larger scale.
"Cool," said Ron.
"Can I try that?" Harry asked. Hagrid handed him the pole, which at a comfortable size for Hagrid to use was several inches taller than he was.
"Jus' scratch something in the dirt there - don' yeh go writin' anythin' rude, mind," he added sternly. Harry grinned. He hadn't intended to, although he had to admit the impulse had briefly been there. Instead, he positioned the end of the pole close to where the creatures were working, and drew his initials.
"Be careful, Harry!" Hagrid's warning had him instinctually jerking his hand away, but not before one of the Muscomen had brushed against the end of the pole.
He flinched, and then felt silly about it. Nothing seemed to have happened.
"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione touched his arm. He looks really pale. Harry was about to snap something about talking about him as if he wasn't there when he realised he hadn't seen her move her lips.
I've caught telepathy! he realised.
Why isn't he saying anything?
"I think I've caught a dose of telepathy," he said out, hastily. Obviously the link only went one way. The words echoed oddly as he spoke them, as if he was hearing them through more than one set of ears.
At least - he - he - looks - wow - can - awful - I - still - wonder - wobbly - talk - what it's - there- like to have telepathic powers- Ron's, Hermione's and Hagrid's thoughts arrived in his head all at the same time, and he suddenly had a new appreciation for exactly why Muscomen infection could drive you insane.
"Best ter move away from everybody fer a while until it wears off," Hagrid counselled kindly.
As Hermione's voice in his mind started reeling off information that sounded suspiciously like a textbook entry on Muscomen infection, Harry nodded hastily and jogged away from the animal pens, towards the edge of the magical dome. It wasn't just the threat of a headache - he'd feel bad about overhearing anything he shouldn't. In fact, right now he could hear Ron's mental voice mumbling, Don't think about- oh, God, he can hear you, don't even think about thinking about- aagh! Quidditch Quidditch QuidditchQuidditchQuidditch-
Grinning despite himself, Harry moved away until the words had faded to a point where he could only make them out if he really concentrated. He turned to give a wave and a thumbs-up, just to confirm he was all right.
Now he was right up close to the dome, and to his surprise he could even hear that, a kind of very faint hum like strong electricity. Did magic make psychic noise the same way more mechanical work made actual noise? He edged closer and closer, and then-
-Suddenly he could hear voices. If you could even call them that. They were more like raw, hungry emotions, burning through his brain, overriding anything so fragile and delicate as thought.
...want... food... want... warm... foodwarmfood - want food - food - warm - want! - food want warmfoodfood - want want wantwantwantwantWANT-
He passed out.