Disclaimer: I own nothing. All the characters, settings, etc., etc. Belong to J.K. Rowling
Chapter Three --
Harry was running late to his first Defense class, as was his custom with events he did not want to attend. He reached the Defense corridor and slowed his jog to a stride, catching his breath from the dash up four flights of stairs. He carefully pushed open the door to Tonks's classroom so he wouldn't be heard. Maybe if Tonks never noticed he had entered he wouldn't have to give a partial lesson.
From his crack in the door, Harry could see Tonks talking to her group of second years jovially from a stool at the front of the room.
"So what was our Mr. Potter to do but stuff his socks into Mrs. Weasley's screaming soup to get the boiling warabee to shut up?"
Harry bit the inside of his cheek, telling stories about me nonetheless. Don't be a jerk, Harry. Don't be a jerk.
Harry interrupted her, "What I think that Professor Tonks is getting to is that warabees like to climb into small pockets of cloth and sleep. The warabee slept as it was being boiled to death, and Mrs. Weasley found her dinner to be wrapped in quite an appetizing sock, not to pride myself, of course."
The second years laughed at Harry, and a few asked him what he had been thinking that he would throw his socks into soup.
"Well, Professor Potter has come!" Tonks clapped her hands together and gestured for Harry to join her at the front of the room.
"They don't have to call me a professor," Harry muttered when he neared Tonks's side.
"Oh, don't be silly. You're teaching this class just as much as I am," Tonks beamed.
That impressive butterfly cage in Harry's stomach was opened, "Er...I dunno...."
"As a matter of fact class, it's about time for Mr. Potter's half of the lesson!" Tonks called loudly over the room, "Teach them anything you want, Harry."
Tonks rushed to a desk at the back of the room to observe Harry's lesson. Harry weakly pulled himself onto the stool and stared out over the room, looking for an inspirational object on which to base his lesson. He saw that the second year class was composed of Gryffindor's and Hufflepuff's. It wasn't long before Harry had been staring out over the class for an unnatural amount of time. Tonks cleared her throat, smiled at Harry, and winked.
"Um...today...we should probably talk about...." Harry began but then became obsessed with a boy at the back of the room who had the audacity to yawn.
An idea occurred to Harry, and he leapt from the his stool and stepped on the platform underneath the chalkboard. His back to the class, Harry told the room full of students, "There are only two things I hate about Hogwarts." He wrote on the board in large letters SLYTHERINS and SNAPE.
The room broke into appreciative laughs.
"And I'm going to teach you a nifty little curse that will simply make them both inflate with anger."
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"You taught your second year -- ."
"Tonks's second year -- ."
"-- class how to make the Slytherin's cauldrons explode?" Hermione began to turn red.
Ron quickly crammed a buttered roll into his mouth to cover his delirious laughing. Other members of Gryffindor soon began to lean into the center of the table to see Ron turn purple and flail about until Harry dislodged the roll stuck in his air passage. The roll gained momentum and velocity as it soared, landing in a perfectly good vat of ice cream on the Ravenclaw table.
"Tell her what the cauldrons do next, Harry," Ron pressed with no pause.
Hermione was busy apologizing to the Ravenclaws, "Terribly sorry - ."
She ducked to missed the regurgitated roll dripping ice cream that was catapulted from some very irate Ravenclaws.
"Do you see how sweets turn civilized people into savages?" Hermione huffed, forking the soggy roll and thrusting it under Ron's nose.
Ron ate it.
"Ron!!!"
"Anyway," Ron continued when he was done chewing, "Harry's exploding cauldrons reassemble into mouths that laugh manically then stick their tongues out and give the Slytherin's a raspberry -- ,"
"Harry!!!"
Harry smothered a chuckle and told Hermione he'd meet her in Tonks's quarters after dinner to go over some things for their private Advanced Defense lessons
-- another time consuming idea proposed by Dumbledore.
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"You two know so much already!" Tonks said exasperated.
Harry and Hermione had effortlessly blocked a series of eight curses that Tonks had prepared. Her living room had taken a beating from the repelled shattering curse. Harry was scooping shards of glass into the trash basket.
"After all those things Harry gets himself into and after the DA and extra preparation for Defense classes the past few years, we've just picked stuff up. Ron too," Hermione explained, levitating Tonks's repaired flower vases back onto the fireplace mantle.
"I can see," Tonks mumbled, "You will both make excellent aurors, that's for sure."
"Well," Hermione smiled, "we're not quite there yet --."
"Hermione's not sure she wants to be an auror," Harry interjected.
Tonks gave each a puzzled look.
"Harry doesn't think I'm capable of -- ." Hermione said sourly.
"I think you're capable of anything, but there's no need for you to put your life in danger just -- ."
"Just to do what, Harry? Help a friend? Achieve a level of professionalism -- ."
"Professionalism! Herm, you could get injured, you could die -- ."
"So could you! Nobody's stopping Mr. It from risking his life to do something he wants to do!"
Harry dropped the trash basket.
"Don't say what you're thinking," Hermione begged, "I don't want to hear about him right now, Harry."
"All right," Harry said softly.
Tonks took a deep breath and held her heart, "You two might run me to the ground. Lupin warned me of this."
"Of what?" they both demanded.
Tonks grinned, "Such focus and strength when you two work together. I tremble to think of the state any wizard or witch would find themselves in after having an unpleasant encounter with the Dream Team."
Hermione sighed, "I never liked that name."
"I'm sort of taken with it now," Harry mused, putting the trash basket back into place.
"Oh, Tonks," Hermione snapped her fingers, "did Harry tell you he's been placed on the Wizengamot?"
"Dumbledore told me," Tonks replied.
"My first trial is next week," Harry sighed, collapsing into the armchair closest to the fire.
"Next week," Tonks rubbed the back of her head as if willing a piece of information to come to her, "Oh....oh...your first trial, huh?"
"Yeah...."
"I bet that's Shacklebolt's trial date," Tonks said gravely.
"Shacklebolt?" Hermione repeated, "What has he been accused of?"
"After last spring's um...little skirmish -- ."
Harry felt the familiar catch in his throat. Tonks continued.
" -- the ministry found out that Shacklebolt had known Sirius's whereabouts and had been lying to the ministry to protect Sirius. You see, Sirius was never cleared and can't be - now that he's dead. In such prominent cases, the wizard being cleared has to testify under the influence of truth serum. Sirius...can't do that now."
Tonks wouldn't let herself look at Harry.
"But anyway...um...the ministry is holding a case that will determine if Shacklebolt is fired for not revealing where Sirius was staying."
"How did the ministry find out in the first place?" Hermione asked.
"Sirius died in the Ministry of Magic building. Shacklebolt was there in the same room and did not capture Sirius and will not speak for himself until his trial. They've deduced the truth."
"But there weren't ministry officials around while Sirius was there -- ."
"You know Harry's map? That the Marauder's left?"
Harry and Hermione nodded.
"The ministry has something similar. They can keep tabs of the movements of who comes into their building -- which is why I didn't get in trouble for being
there. It was my night to keep watch over the building and prevent any unauthorized entrances. I saw every one come in one by one. I saw the death eaters
first, but it's not unusual for them to enter the ministry at night. Fudge protected those people for months. Said that he had granted them entrance. That Lucius
Malfoy was working on a project for him and that Lucius might bring other wizards into the building. The Order thinks he was under Imperious curse. We
knew the death eaters were looking for something to aid Voldemort, and when we found out what that was, we snuck Order members into the ministry on the
nights that ministry aurors working for the Order watched the building. The next morning we would erase the presence of which ever Order member protected
the door into the Department of Mysteries. But that's why Shacklebolt is going to trial. They know he's working for Dumbledore and that Dumbledore tried to
clear Sirius earlier. But he couldn't get a trial."
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Harry received a letter the next day, Friday, telling him that the Wizengamot trial would be held Sunday, September the fourteenth. His weekend was spent slaving over homework. His hands were gray from stubborn ink that wouldn't wash away, and Hermione had purple bags under her eyes. Harry had insisted Saturday night that she come back to Gryffindor Tower, which she finally complied to, but Sunday morning he came down the spiral staircase and could see her curled up on the floor, surrounded by stacks of books.
"Hermione this is ridiculous," Harry chided, helping her to her feet.
"Wha -- 's uuuuuup?" Ron yawned enormously from the staircase.
"Hermione pulled another all nighter and fell asleep on the floor," Harry enunciated the word 'floor' harshly as he prodded Hermione towards the couch.
"So much homework, but I'm done," Hermione whispered tiredly.
"Well, that means you can sleep today," Harry told her, collecting the books on the floor and making a pile of Hermione's stuff beside the couch.
Hermione dissolved into the couch and instantly fell asleep.
"Will you make sure someone takes her upstairs?" Harry asked Ron, "I've got to get to the ministry."
"Oh, that's right. Shacklebolt's trial is today -- ."
"Morning!"
Ginny Weasley came bounding down the girls' staircase. She stopped abruptly as she neared the couch, "Why's Hermione asleep on the couch?"
"Because she's raving mad," Ron sighed, "Stayed up all night on a Saturday doing homework."
Ginny looked to Harry, who rolled his eyes and nodded his head, "Would you get her upstairs before the whole tower wakes up and starts congregating in here. Last time we left her on the couch, we returned from breakfast to find people sitting on her."
Ginny and Ron were slapping Hermione on the cheeks and yelling "FIRE!" as Harry left through the portrait hole. Dumbledore had told Harry to come to the gates at the entrance of the school where Harry would find the headmaster with a portkey that would take him to the ministry.
Harry took his time walking across the grounds. It was one of those late summer mornings, and Harry wanted to inhale every molecule of the perfect September air. He was somewhat dispirited on his walk by the sight of Draco Malfoy on his broomstick, flying over the quidditch pitch. Harry was a little jealous, however. He would much rather be on his Firebolt than on his way to a trial.
He found Dumbledore at the gate. The old man was holding an apple core.
"Is that my portkey?" Harry asked.
"This? Oh, no. My breakfast," Dumbledore had the familiar twinkle in his eye, "Here is your portkey."
Dumbledore tipped his head to the ground beside Harry's feet. Harry looked down then jumped back a foot in shock. Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, had been beside him, her back arched and her teeth barred. Upon closer inspection, Harry realized that Mrs. Norris was not moving.
"Is she Petrified?" Harry asked, pale-faced.
"No, dear boy," Dumbledore shook his head, "She is stuffed."
Dumbledore sighed contentedly. Harry looked at his professor like he was madman.
"You mean she's dead?" Harry asked in low-tones, praying Filch didn't come running from the quidditch shed or the Forbidden Forrest, waving a sharpened ax in the air.
"Yes indeed. Mrs. Norris snuffed it this summer, and we made her the official Hogwart's portkey," Dumbledore explained, as if informing Harry that the houselves had chosen a new brand of toilet paper.
"I see..." Harry said, "Well, I should be going. Er...I'll just uh..."
Harry reached down and disgustedly picked the immobile Mrs. Norris up by the tip of the tail, holding the sneering cat at arms's length. Harry thought just as he
felt the tug at his navel that Mrs. Norris was more frightening in death.
A/N: I will update soon! Please review!
