Disclaimer: All the characters you recognize belong to JKR. The new folks are mine, I guess, but I'd be happy to hand over any that she wants. Kirpal Singh's name belongs to the sapper in Michael Ondaatje's wonderful novel The English Patient, but the character is original. Josiah Carberry's name belongs to my undergraduate university's imaginary friend [long story ;-) ], but his character is original, too. You might recognize some of the other first-year students' surnames from canon; a handful of this year's students have relatives who have been mentioned once or twice. Those surnames are all Rowling's.
Chapter Eight: Long Day's Journey into (Longer) Night
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sent the four boys off to the boats with the rest of the first-years. On their way to the horseless carriages, they met Ginny, the twins, and several of the twins' friends; Ginny was visibly relieved to be rescued from the boisterous bunch when Hermione asked if she wanted to ride with the three of them.
"Thanks, you three," she said as they settled into their carriage. "I love Fred and George, but I was going to strangle them if I had to stay with them much longer. How was the Prefect meeting?"
The fifth-years filled her in on the relevant details of the meeting. Just as they were finishing, the carriages arrived, and they clambered out. Hogwarts Castle stood just as beautiful and imposing as it had been when they left for the summer. After the requisite moment of admiration—a moment that most students took upon returning, even after several years at Hogwarts—the four of them headed inside to the Great Hall.
As they walked to the Gryffindor table over at the far side of the Hall, they admired the usual start-of-term decorations—golden plates and goblets, hundreds of floating candles, gleaming House banners. No matter how many times Harry entered the Hall for a feast, the sight never failed to make him catch his breath.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny took seats in the middle of the Gryffindor table. Harry had instinctively led them to a spot where he could sit with his back to the wall and watch the door; the others didn't comment on this fact, but Harry wasn't sure if that was because they didn't notice or because they just didn't want to make him uncomfortable by mentioning it. In either case, they continued as normal. They bid hello to Nearly-Headless Nick (who seemed to have missed them over the summer; Harry was oddly touched) and then joined a conversation with their classmates. Dean had spent the last few weeks of the break with Seamus, and he kept everyone in stitches with his imitations of the redoubtable Mrs. Finnigan and her cowed-but-doting husband. Harry's laughter was interrupted by an excited, piping voice.
"Hiya, Harry! How was your summer? What did you do? Wow! Harry, are you a Prefect, Harry? That's brilliant!" Colin Creevey, Hogwarts fourth-year and charter member of the Harry Potter Fan Club, turned away to call down the table to his younger brother Dennis, a second-year, "Dennis, guess what, Dennis! Harry's a Prefect!"
"Cool!" Dennis called back. He raced up the table to join Colin, and the two turned the combined force of their chatter on Harry.
"Harry, guess what we did this summer, Harry. You'll never guess! Tell him, Dennis."
"Natalie set it up for us to go visit her uncle for a day to see how a magical farm runs, and we got to ride a hippogriff!"
"It was brilliant, Harry. Have you ever ridden a hippogriff, Harry?"
"Erm, once or twice," Harry said blandly, winking across the table at Hermione and feeling Ron stiffening beside him with suppressed laughter. "Once or twice" wasn't the half of it; Harry and Hermione had ridden a condemned hippogriff named Buckbeak when they had rescued Sirius at the end of their third year, and Sirius and Buckbeak had been on the lam together ever since.
"Wow! I bet you stayed on, didn't you, Harry? I stayed on for a little bit, but then I fell off. I landed in this big pile of straw. It was brilliant! Dennis didn't fall off, though; he stayed on the whole time, didn't you, Dennis?" Dennis nodded so enthusiastically that Harry was afraid his head might separate from his tiny body.
Harry tuned the Creeveys out, careful to nod and say "Uh-huh" at regular intervals, and turned his attention to the Head Table. Only one empty chair, he noted, and that was McGonagall's. Everyone else was here. Hagrid was back safely, thank Merlin, from whatever dangerous mission he'd been on for Dumbledore. Snape was back, too, and Harry supposed he ought to be glad; the Potions master was a nasty git, but he was an important ally in the fight against Voldemort, so having him back in one piece probably beat the alternative.
Colin and Dennis were just starting to quiz Harry about Quidditch when McGonagall entered with the first-years, causing silence in the Hall and saving Harry from having to answer. The first-years looked terrified, and Harry remembered the queasy feeling in his own stomach four years ago. He'd been so young then—not just in years, but in experience. He had seen things and done things in those four years that no fifteen-year-old should have had to see or do. Harry felt a sudden pang of protectiveness for the scared children waiting to be Sorted. He promised himself that he'd do what he could to see that they never had to face the darknesses that he had faced himself.
McGonagall brought the Sorting Hat forward, just as she did every year, and placed it on its three-legged stool. The tear just above its brim opened, and it began to sing in its creaky but strangely compelling voice:
"When Hogwarts school was first begun
So many years ago,
The Sorting was conducted by
Four folks whom you should know.
Brave Gryffindor loved courage and
A sense of right and wrong.
Kind Hufflepuff chose loyalty
And love of labour long.
Wise Ravenclaw prized scholarship
And love of books and lore.
Shrewd Slytherin liked cunning folks
Who always strive for more.
And now tonight we must find out
Which House is right for you.
This task is one that falls to me;
It's what I'm made to do.
I'll read your mind and all your thoughts
And from these, I'll decide
The House in which, for seven years,
You'll happily reside.
So put me on, and have no fear,
For though the Hat sees all,
I'll never tell your secrets
Whether they be great or small.
Don't worry, fret, or panic;
You need not feel any dread.
I'll put you just where you belong.
It's all there in your head!"
The tear above the brim closed again, and the students all applauded. "You reckon the four Founders sang a silly rhyming song every year back in the day?" Ron muttered to Harry.
"I can just see old Salazar Slytherin trying to come up with different rhymes for 'ambitious' every year," Harry replied quietly. Hermione shot them both the "set a good example" look, and they fell silent and shifted their attention to the Sorting.
Professor McGonagall had already unrolled the scroll of parchment containing, presumably, the names of all the first-years. She announced to the first-years, "When I call your name, you will step forward, put on the Hat, and sit on the stool to be Sorted. When the Hat announces your House, you will join your new Housemates at the appropriate table." Than, after a glance at the scroll, she called, "Aurelius, Artemis!"
A brown-haired girl, tall for her age, strode forward, picked up the Hat, put it on, and sat down. A few moments later, the Hat shouted, "Slytherin!"
Athena Aurelius joined the Slytherin table to the cheers of her Housemates, the luke-warm applause of the politer students in the other Houses, and the stony silence (or, in some cases, quiet hisses) of the less self-restrained Gryffindors. Harry shot a repressive look at the twins, who were chief among the hissers. He felt rather than saw Ron and Hermione shooting them similar looks. The twins looked at the trio as if the three had declared Potions their favorite class, but they desisted in their hissing. A House meeting about Gryffindor-Slytherin relations was, Harry saw, going to be necessary. If the Prefects were actually human, how many of the other Slytherins might be as well, given the chance?
These rather uncharacteristic thoughts drew Harry's mind away from the Sorting, and he missed several names, but the cheers of his Housemates as "Carberry, Josiah" became the first Gryffindor pulled him back. He clapped and cheered along with the other Gryffindors as they were joined by "Freeman, Amanda," "Ingram, Louise," and several others, including "Williamson, Matthew" and his friend from the train, "Tang, Richard." "Pipps, Titus" was Sorted into Hufflepuff along with "Singh, Kirpal," the fourth boy with whom Harry had his friends had spent most of the trip north.
When the final student ("Zabini, Blondelle," who joined her brother in Slytherin) had been Sorted, Professor McGonagall removed the Hat and the stool, and Professor Dumbledore stood. Blue eyes twinkling, he spread his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. His deep, gentle voice radiated calm authority as he said, "Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts. After we dine, I will require your attention for a some announcements, but for now I have only two words: Eat up."
As he took his seat, the dishes on the House tables suddenly filled with food. The inhabitants of the Hall set to the task of emptying them again. The Hall soon rang with the sounds of dinner—the clank of silverware, the splash of pumpkin juice pouring into goblets, and, above all, the sound of youthful voices making new friends and getting reacquainted with old ones. Under the cover of chatter, Harry said to Ron, "So, we're Prefects, right?"
"Reckon so."
"And does that mean we can call House meetings?"
Ron looked thoughtful. "Reckon so," he said again. "How come?"
"I was just thinking, during the Sorting. We should probably have a House meeting about, erm, how we get along with other Houses."
"Other Houses like, for example, Slytherin?"
"For example," Harry agreed his airiest and most unconcerned tones. Both boys grinned.
"Yeah. We should do that," Ron agreed. "You want to talk to Angelina about it?"
"Why don't you talk to Angelina about it?" Harry suggested. "Do you good to get to know the people on the Quidditch team."
Ron flushed to the roots of his hair, but he immediately left to talk with Angelina. Ginny, who had caught the end of the boys' conversation, smiled conspiratorially at Harry. He smiled back and returned his attention to his food.
Suddenly, Harry heard the sound of boisterous laughter from the Slytherin table. Glancing in that direction, he locked eyes with Malfoy, who pulled a face at him. Harry regarded him impassively for a moment, then stood suddenly. "What's up?" asked Ron, as he slid back into his seat.
"Malfoy. I just remembered his little stunt on the train; that's the sort of thing his Head of House should be told about."
"You're going to talk to Snape?" Ron said incredulously. "On purpose?"
"Better to do it now when he's sitting right next to Dumbledore," Harry replied.
"Yeah, probably, but still … rather you than me."
Harry grimaced in agreement and then strode to the head table. On the way, he repeated silently to himself, "Don't let him get to me. Don't let him get to me." He resolved to be calm and polite, and to rise above whatever nasty things Snape said. Arriving at the table, he said, in his most pacifying tones, "Excuse me, Professor Snape?"
Snape's black eyes narrowed when he saw who was addressing him. "What do you want, Potter?" he spat. Dumbledore gave him a sharp, swift look, but he ignored it and continued to glare at Harry.
"I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but there was an incident on the train involving some students from your House, and I thought you should know about it." Snape didn't respond, so Harry continued, "Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle were harassing a new first-year student. They tried to take away a letter that he was writing, and they interfered with his pet. Mr. Malfoy also used a very offensive word to refer to the boy's Muggle background. Luckily, some other Prefects and I were walking by on our way to the meeting, so we overheard and were able to step in before anything really bad happened." Harry paused again, and Snape still didn't answer. That was fine with Harry; the less Snape said to him, the better. "Anyway, sir, I just wanted to keep you informed."
Harry was beginning to turn to walk away when Dumbledore's voice stopped him. "Thank you, Harry, for taking your Prefect duties seriously." He paused and glanced meaningfully at Snape. When Snape didn't say anything, he continued, "I will speak to them about their behaviour." Snape shot him a furious look, which the Headmaster blithely ignored. Harry nodded his thanks, and Dumbledore asked, "How was your summer?"
"Fine. Pretty good, considering. Thank you for letting me go to the Weasleys' for the end." Harry chatted with the Headmaster a bit longer until he grew tired of trying to ignore Snape's dark looks, at which point he took his leave and returned to his friends.
As he settled back into his seat, he noticed Hermione watching him seriously. "What?" he asked.
"You didn't talk to Cho." When Harry looked blank, she added, "At the Prefect's meeting."
Harry no longer looked blank; he looked uncomfortable. He wasn't quite ready to face Cho.
"You can't just avoid her," Hermione said.
"I'm not—" Harry cut himself off when he heard the annoyance in his own voice. He took a calming breath and tried again, more gently this time. "Okay, so I was kind of avoiding her, but I'm not going to do it forever. I will talk to her. Just not yet." He sighed and repeated, "Not yet."
This time last year, Harry knew, Hermione would have pressed the point. Now, though, she nodded understandingly, and Ron clapped him on the shoulder and changed the subject. Harry felt a rush of gratitude. He blinked a few times and took a sip of pumpkin juice to wash down the lump in his throat, hoping no one was paying attention to him. It wouldn't do to get soppy over how wonderful his friends were in the middle of the feast. Embarrassing, that.
Thankfully, Dumbledore was standing, ready to begin the annual announcements. All eyes shifted to the Head Table.
"Well, then!" Dumbledore said with his customary twinkle. "Now that our stomachs are filled, I must request your attention for a few moments.
"First, a reminder about acceptable bounds for students. The Forbidden Forest is, as its name implies, strictly forbidden. Any students needing further explanation of the word 'forbidden'" (here he glanced significantly at the twins) "should consult with me or with their Head of House. The village of Hogsmeade is off-limits to students below the third year, and it is also out-of-bounds to older students except on official Hogsmeade weekends.
"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has requested that I inform you of additions to the list of objects forbidden inside the castle. The list now includes Ever-Bouncing Battle Balls, Canary Creams" (Harry saw the twins exchange a glance), "Self-Turning Jump Ropes—which, incidentally, are allowed outside the castle—and Chocolate-Frosted Sugar Bombs. The full list, containing, I believe, four hundred forty-one items, is available for perusal in Mr. Filch's office should anyone care to take a look."
Dumbledore's mustache gave a telltale twitch.
He continued, "All of you know, I believe, about the House Cup. This year, I am pleased to announce the return of the Quidditch Cup—" Here he had to pause a moment to let the deafening cheers die down. "Yes, yes, a happy event. Trials will be held during the second week of term. Students interested in joining their House team should speak with Madame Hooch." Harry nudged Ron, who flushed and looked nervous.
"Finally, it is my great pleasure to introduce our new teachers. Many of you will remember Miss Delacour. She comes to us from Beauxbatons Academy in France, and she will be assisting Professor Flitwick with Charms classes and doing independent research. Please join me in welcoming her." Fleur Delacour, former Tri-Wizard Champion, stood, flicked her long, white-blonde hair, and waved a lazy hand to acknowledge the applause and cheers. Most of the cheers, Harry noticed, came from male students; some of the girls were glaring balefully at Fleur. Hermione shot Ron a repressive look, and he confined himself to polite applause. Dumbledore continued, "The other new face belongs to our new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. Please join me in welcoming Professor Lively." The new teacher, a short, slim, small-boned witch with dark red hair cut in what the Muggles called a pixie-cut (which showed how little they knew about Pixies), stood and nodded politely at the applause. She looked a little older than Snape, maybe in her early forties, and her smile was friendly but a little watchful. Harry hoped she'd be as competent as she looked, for Defence had suddenly become the most important class offered to Hogwarts students.
"And I believe that does it for announcements," Dumbledore was saying. "I hear that some of the Prefects would like to meet with their Houses," (How he had managed to hear this, Harry had no idea, but he had long ago ceased to marvel at Dumbledore's flashes of seeming-omniscience.) "so I am releasing you all to your Common Rooms. Goodnight!"
He finished with a flourishing gesture toward the door, and the Hall erupted again into the din that only a roomful of students could create. Over the din, Harry heard Hermione calling "Gryffindor first-years, follow us, please!"
Merlin's beard, thought Harry. We're really Prefects. "Gryffindor first-years, this way!" he said. Ron joined Harry and Hermione in ushering the first-years out of the Hall.
"Aw, look at ickle Ronnie-kins, being all Prefect-y!"
"Shut it, Fred," Ron said.
"Harry, Ron just told me to shut it. Is that any way for a Prefect to talk?" Fred appealed.
"Yes!" said Harry and Ron in unison. Several of the first-years giggled. Fred hung his head and pretended to slink away in shame, but he was grinning.
Hermione was pointing out landmarks as they made their way through corridors and up staircases toward Gryffindor tower. "Skip this stair; it'll grab your foot if you step on it."
"Cool!" Harry heard Matthew exclaim. He watched as the boy placed a tentative foot on the stair. Sure enough, his foot was soon stuck fast. "Cool!" he repeated. "Um, could somebody get me out, please?"
Hermione was shaking her head, and Harry could practically hear her thinking boys—honestly! He and Ron each grabbed one of Matthew's arms, and they grinned at one another over his head as they hoisted him out.
They made it the rest of the way to Gryffindor tower without incident. They said hello to the Fat Lady, who was very glad to see her new brood, taught the first-years the password ("mooncalf milk"), made their way through the portrait hole, and began looking for seats in the crowded Common Room.
"What's a mooncalf?" Matthew was asking the girl next to him—Elspeth, Harry thought, but he wasn't sure. He reckoned that, as a Prefect, he'd have to make more of an effort than usual to learn the first-years' names as soon as he could. The girl explained about mooncalves, cutting off in mid-sentence when Angelina began to address the group.
"Welcome to Gryffindor!" Angelina said. The second- through seventh-years, who were, per Dumbledore's instructions, milling about in the Common Room instead of heading to bed as they usually did after the opening meal, broke into cheers and applause. The first-years looked pleased. "I'm Angelina Johnson, and I'm a seventh-year Prefect."
"And a Quidditch Chaser!" Lee Jordan added. More cheers and whistles.
"Yes, and a Quidditch Chaser. And I got the short straw, so I have to start this meeting." Ripples of laughter. "Though, as the meeting was Potter's idea, I suppose I should let him speak up now if he wants."
Heads turned toward Harry, who felt his face turn red. The having-large-groups-of-people-look-at-you-all-the-time part of being a Prefect unnerved him a lot. "Well, erm, I'm Harry Potter, and, by some miracle, I'm a fifth-year Prefect." The Gryffindors chuckled encouragingly, and Harry, feeling a little bolder, continued, "And I wanted to have this meeting of the House before classes started so we wouldn't, erm, get off on the wrong foot. Gryffindor House has, for the past… well, quite a few years, not gotten along to well with another Hogwarts House."
"Sleazy Slytherin slimeballs!" Lee interjected. Harry waited for the hoots and catcalls to die down before trying to go on.
"Yes, that's the House I had in mind. And I'm hoping that, this year, we can, well, try to get along with the Slytherins." Noises of indignation and disbelief issued from several points in the room. Harry paused again. When the noises showed no signs of ending on their own this time, he called over the din, "I know, I know. I know exactly how lousy some of them can be. But the key idea there is some of them. Not all of them are so bad."
"Name one!" called Fred.
"Blaise Zabini," Harry replied. "He's a new Prefect, and he's a really nice fellow. All of their Prefects are pretty decent." He glanced to his fellow Prefects for support.
"Harry's right," Angelina said. "The Prefects do seem nice, and I'm hoping that they'll be able to get their Housemates to call a truce this year."
"Those of their Housemates who aren't going to be running around in black masks, anyway," George said darkly.
Harry could feel the tension in the room, but he silently blessed George for getting to the heart of the matter. Harry hadn't wanted to be the one to bring it up, but, now that the topic was out there, he could talk about it. "Okay, so we all know … well, maybe some of the first-years don't know, but they will soon … nearly all of Voldemort's followers" (Harry heard a sharp intake of the collective breath and inwardly rolled his eyes, wishing that people would calm down about saying Voldemort's name) "came from Slytherin. But that doesn't mean that everyone who comes from Slytherin follows Voldemort. Yeah, some of them are jerks, and some of them are probably going to be joining the ranks of the Death Eaters when they get out of Hogwarts. But not all of them." Harry paused for a moment to regard the roomful of sceptical faces. He threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration. "Look, I'm not asking you to be best friends with them; I'm just asking you to give them a chance. Just be nice to the ones who act decent, and ignore the ones who are jerks. Is that so much to ask?"
The room was silent. Finally, Neville Longbottom, bless his forgetful heart, said, "Queenie Greengrass helped me in Potions once. She made sure no one was looking, and she said she'd hex me if I told anyone, but she helped." He shrugged. "I'm willing to call a truce with the Slytherins, Harry. Even if no one else is."
Harry grinned across the room at Neville, and he saw Ron clap him on the back. "Aw, what the heck," Dean Thomas said. "Count me in."
Several of the other students that Harry knew a little better than the others—the other fifth-years, the Creeveys, Ginny Weasley, some younger students who particularly admired him—began to nod in agreement. However, most of the faces, especially of the older students, still looked rather closed. The nodding heads were a start, but Harry felt that he had to convince the others. He stood for a moment, racking his brain for the key to reaching the rest of his Housemates.
Across the Hall, his eyes met Ginny's. He could see that she had something to say but that she wasn't quite sure she should say it. "Ginny?" he said, in tones that he hoped were supportive.
"I was just wondering," she began hesitantly. He nodded encouragingly, and she continued, "I was just wondering how many of the people who go to the Dark go there because they feel like it's the only place for them. The only place where people will accept them."
Slowly, Harry nodded. "That's a good point. There are some Slytherins who are just bad, and they'll stay bad no matter what we do. And there are some, I think, who are good and will probably stay good no matter what we do. But I reckon there are a lot who could go either way. I didn't realise it 'til you spoke up, Ginny, but it's those last ones that made me call this meeting tonight."
His Housemates appeared to be mulling this over. All was quiet for a moment, and then Hermione spoke. "And it's for the ones who could go either way that we have to try to ignore the people like Malfoy and others who are always instigators. If the ones who haven't quite made up their minds yet see that we're not willing to stoop to the instigators' level, maybe it will make them see the differences between the two sides. Maybe it will open their eyes to how, well, childish some of the people in their House can be, and maybe it will help them decide that they don't want to be like that. Maybe it will help them see that there's more than one way."
Gradually, around the room, more heads began to nod and more voices began to assent. Hermione was winning them over. She looked meaningfully at Harry as though silently saying that it was time for him to take charge again, to put on the final touch. He said, "I know it won't be easy. Some of the Slytherins really have a grudge against us, and some of them really know how to get under people's skin. But think about the stakes. If we can keep just one person from turning to Voldemort, isn't that worth ignoring a few silly insults?"
More people were nodding now. They didn't all look happy, but they looked willing to try, and that was all Harry wanted. The identical grudging-but-resigned tones of the Weasley twins chimed, "We just want you to know, Harry…."
"… that we're only doing this for you. But we'll try."
Harry swelled with pride in his Housemates. "Thanks, Fred and George. Thanks, everyone. I really appreciate your help in improving things with Slytherin, and I think it'll make this year … better." He shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious and inarticulate. "Anyway, thanks," he said.
Ron, apparently noticing his friend's discomfort, broke in, "And, besides, if we aren't feuding with the Slytherins, we won't lose as many points, and we'll win the House Cup for sure!" This statement was greeted with cheers and whistles, and the meeting broke up in a flood of House spirit. Angelina shooed the older students to bed, Hermione led the first-year girls to their dormitory, and Harry and Ron took charge of the first-year boys. After making sure that Matthew, Richard, Josiah, Kieran, David, and Rory were settled into their room, Harry and Ron headed to the fifth-year boys' room.
Dean, still overflowing with Gryffindor spirit, greeted them with slaps on the back as soon as they entered. "Bloody good show!" he said enthusiastically. "We are going to win the House Cup! And the Quidditch Cup! And … and everything! Good show!" he finished exuberantly.
"And good feast," Seamus said. "The house-elves outdid themselves again."
The boys agreed that the feast had been incredible, though Neville worried that all that food so late in the day might make him have funny dreams. Eventually, Dean calmed down, the conversation wound to a halt, and the boys collapsed into their scarlet-curtained beds. But it wasn't Neville who dreamed. It was Harry.
He was walking in a forest, a forest that both was and was not the Forbidden Forest. There was a path, and he was trying to stay on it, but he kept losing it in the tangled underbrush. Trees grabbed at his cloak with—were those limbs, or were they fingers?—but he stayed on the path. The trees grew thicker now, closer together. Their limbs formed a canopy woven so tightly that he could no longer see the slightest bit of sky. It would have been too dark to see if not for a single patch of light just at the head of the path. That light, he knew, was why he had to stay on the path. He had to get to it. Had to reach the light. He kept walking. And then he ran.
The path ended in a clearing, and in the clearing was a house, and coming from the house there was light. The light. The one that it had been so urgent that he find. The house was clearly a wizarding house; it had angles just as improbable as the ones at The Burrow, but it was much grander—not a mansion, but still impressive. But it lacked the coziness of The Burrow, and Harry hoped that he wouldn't have to go in. He crept to the window, and it opened, and he could hear what was happening inside. Two people were talking.
The first voice was high and cruel, and it froze Harry's insides. Voldemort's voice. "Wait a bit longer. They go to bed rather late."
A cold, drawling voice, only slightly less cruel, responded smoothly, "It is always so much more entertaining when one has to wake them first." A pause, and then, "My lord, are you certain that my presence is not needed on this mission? Crabbe and Goyle have the best of intentions—they live to serve you, my lord, as do I—but their heads are not always, shall we say, as cool as one might wish, particularly if anything unexpected should happen."
"Lucius, my slippery friend, if Crabbe and Goyle cannot handle so routine a mission as this on their own, then they are entirely useless, and you know that I have no need for useless followers. This is a test for you, gentlemen. A very easy test, I should hope." Voldemort's voice left no doubt about what would happen if the "test" proved too difficult, and Harry shivered despite the warmth of the evening.
Two other voices grunted in reply, and the cold drawl answered, "I am sure that you know best, my lord. Though I do wish I could be there. The girl has been most impertinent to my son."
Voldemort's voice was steely as he answered, "I have more important things to concern myself with than injuries to your son's pride, Mr. Malfoy. And so do you. You have your own mission tonight, and it is much more important than the mere killing of a pair of insignificant Muggles."
Two Muggles. Killing. A girl who didn't get along with Draco Malfoy. The pieces fell together in Harry's mind, and he screamed, "NO!"
Harry bolted awake to the sound of his own voice screaming, "No!" He was clutching his forehead; his scar was throbbing. His dream was still vivid in his mind, and he knew that he had to get to Dumbledore as soon as possible. He leapt out of bed and was halfway across the room before he noticed the four sleepy faces sticking out between various bed curtains. "Nightmare," he said tersely. "I have to go to Dumbledore."
"Not by yourself." Ron was completely awake now.
There wasn't time to argue, and he didn't really feel like arguing anyway, so Harry merely said, "Come on, then; no time to lose," and continued on his way, counting on Ron to catch up. He did, and the two boys raced down the stairs, through the Common Room, and out the portrait hole. They ran through the corridors, never slowing down until they reached the gargoyle outside the entrance to the Headmaster's chambers. As they stood there, panting, Harry looked at the gargoyle in frustration. He didn't know the password. "Please let me in to see the Headmaster," he said to the gargoyle. "It's an emergency."
The gargoyle didn't respond, but someone else did. Professor Snape, with his characteristic uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere, spoke up from just behind Harry and Ron, causing both of them to jump. "It had better be some emergency, Potter, or the two of you will be in detention until you're too old to remember why."
Harry turned to face the Potions master. Fighting down the habitual annoyance that Snape always made him feel, he said, in as polite a tone as he could manage, "I need to see Professor Dumbledore immediately. Could you tell me the password, please?"
"It is not school policy to give out the Headmaster's password to every passing student, Potter," Snape replied.
"Please, sir. It's very important."
Snape sneered at him. "You always think that what you have to say is important, Potter, and it seldom is."
Throwing caution and courtesy aside, Harry took a step closer to Snape, looked straight into his cold, black eyes, and said in his deadliest tone, "The last time I needed to see the Headmaster and you held me up, Barty Crouch died. Unless you want more blood on your hands, you give me that password now."
Snape just stood there stock-still for a moment, and Harry held his gaze, refusing to back down. After a pause that felt like an eternity but probably only lasted a few seconds, he said, seemingly out of the blue, "Canary Cream."
Harry nearly blinked at the apparent non-sequiter, but, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gargoyle jump aside. "Thank you," he said. Without waiting for a reply, he bolted up the moving stairs. He heard Ron's heavy tread just a few steps behind him. When they reached the top, he pounded firmly on the Headmaster's door. Within moments, the door opened, and a dressing-gown-clad Dumbledore was ushering Harry and Ron into his office.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he said briefly, taking them in with a typically courteous nod. Then, switching quickly to business, he asked, "What's wrong, Harry?"
"I just had a nightmare, sir, and I think Death Eaters are planning to attack the Grangers's house tonight." He heard Ron gasp, and he continued, in the same breath, "Very soon. Can you stop them?"
Dumbledore didn't ask questions; he simply rose from his chair and walked to the fireplace. He tossed in a handful of Floo Powder, called out, "Lupin's Lair," and disappeared into the fire. Within moments, he was back, climbing from the fireplace and readjusting his night cap. "I've sent reinforcements. All we can do now is wait and hope." He settled back into his chair and focussed his bright blue gaze on Harry. "While we wait, Harry, why don't you tell me the details of your dream?"
"Erm, Professor Dumbledore?" Ron interrupted. "Should someone tell Hermione? I think she'll be really upset if she finds out that we knew something was about to happen to her parents and we didn't tell her."
"That's a very wise idea, Ron," Dumbledore replied. "Just a moment." He Flooed away again and returned even more quickly this time. "Professor McGonagall is bringing Hermione here," he said. "Perhaps we should wait until she arrives before we continue."
The room fell silent. Harry continued to rub absently at his scar, which still twinged just a little. He felt sick. Even if Lupin and the others got there in time, no good could come of tonight, and the Grangers would never be safe. He tried to push away the feelings of self-blame that threatened to overwhelm him. Intellectually, he knew that it wasn't his fault. Nothing that Voldemort did was his fault. But that knowledge didn't take away the guilt that rose like bile in his throat. No, it wasn't his fault, but it still wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been who he was. Not a useful thought, but one whose truth he couldn't escape. So he just sat, rubbing his scar and worrying until Hermione and McGonagall arrived.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked the moment she was in the door. "Did you have a nightmare, Harry?"
"Have a seat, Hermione," Dumbledore said kindly. She did, and he continued, "Harry dreamed of an impending Death Eater attack on your parents." Hermione gasped, just as Ron had, and Dumbledore continued, "I have sent some powerful wizards to protect them, and I think they arrived in time. If they had arrived too late, one of them would already have contacted me. Since I have not heard from them yet, I'm assuming that all is well." He paused and turned his attention to Harry. "Now, Harry, why don't you fill us in on the details of your dream."
Staring at the floor, Harry quickly recounted the dream for them. He glanced up when he got to Lucius Malfoy's comment that Hermione had been "impertinent" to his son, and he saw a look of murderous rage on Ron's face. Hermione looked too shocked to be angry. Dumbledore was merely listening, his expression typically collected.
When Harry finished, Dumbledore said, "You were not able to get any sense of what Lucius Malfoy's 'mission' was to be, is that correct?" Harry nodded, and Dumbledore sighed. "I imagine we will find it out all too soon."
"I'm sorry, sir. If had stayed asleep, I might have been able to hear more, but I screamed, and it woke me up." He was a little angry with himself; he should have stayed asleep to hear more.
"No need for apologies, Harry. Given the Ministry's lack of cooperation, we cannot hope to thwart every plan of Voldemort's. If you had not awakened when you did, you might not have been able to reach me in time to save the Grangers." When Harry didn't look convinced, he added softly, "You did enough, Harry. You always do."
Dumbledore's confidence in him made Harry feel a little better. He even managed a smile.
Dumbledore turned to Ron and Hermione, including them in his next words. "I know that the three of you have never gotten on with Draco Malfoy and his friends." In spite of the tension, Harry and Ron exchanged rueful grins; that was the understatement of the century. "But I ask you not to blame the children for their parents' mistakes."
Harry and Ron looked at one another in confusion. Then, the light came on for Harry. "You mean we aren't supposed to go hex Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle to try to get even," he said.
"That is precisely what I mean."
Ron shifted, and Harry recognised the rebellious look in his eye. It was a more serious version of the Hermione-wants-me-to-do-something-and-I-don't-wanna-so-I'm-not-gonna look. Hermione must have recognised the look, too, for she spoke up for the first time since hearing the news of Harry's dream. "He's right, Ron. Fighting with them wouldn't do any good, and it would only get us in trouble. We're Prefects; we can't…."
"Can't 'set a bad example?'" Ron's voice was slightly mocking. "They're trying to kill your parents, Hermione! That's a little more serious than just making cracks about me about being poor. Are we just supposed to let them get away with it?"
Dumbledore looked like he was about to speak, but he seemed to decide to let Hermione handle it. She answered, "They aren't trying to kill my parents. Their fathers are trying to kill my parents. For once, this isn't something that they've done. They probably don't even know about it."
"I imagine that you are correct, Hermione," Dumbledore replied. "Lucius Malfoy is far too canny to implicate his son in any of his activities. I am sure that all three boys know that their fathers are Death Eaters, but I doubt that any of them know anything more specific than that." He added, so softly that Harry almost didn't hear him, "I doubt that they have any idea what it means."
Harry nodded. This whole war was, in many ways, just a game to Draco Malfoy and his friends. So far as he knew, they'd never seen anyone tortured. They'd never seen anyone die. None of it was real to them; they really did have no idea.
Hermione suddenly buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders began to shake. The shock of Harry's news had apparently worn off, and the tears of worry had come. Harry started to rise to go to her, but Dumbledore motioned for him to stay where he was. Half a moment later, Ron was gently pulling Hermione out of her chair. He put his arms around her comfortingly and let her cry against his chest. "It'll be okay," he said gently. "It'll be okay."
He looked over her head to meet Harry's eyes. Ron looked a little scared, a little out of his depth, but he was doing all the right things, and Harry was proud of him. Harry almost looked away, afraid that Ron would get one of his sudden waves of embarrassment at being caught within five feet of Hermione, but instead he held his friend's gaze and nodded approvingly. The barest hint of a grateful smile flitted across Ron's face, and the hand that was stroking Hermione's hair seemed to move a little more confidently. Good job, Ron, Harry thought.
Visibly pulling herself together, Hermione pulled a bit away from Ron. "Thanks, Ron," she said. "I'm all right now." She sat down, this time on the small sofa where Ron had been sitting. Ron sat beside her and, after a brief hesitation, took her hand. Everyone sat quietly for a moment. Then, with a faint pop, the head of Remus Lupin, former Defence teacher at Hogwarts, appeared in the fireplace.
"Professor Dumbledore," Lupin said, "The Grangers are fine, and we managed to subdue the two Death Eaters with no problems. What do we do now?"
"Where are you now?" Dumbledore asked.
"I'm home; I Apparated back here to check with you about what to do next. The others are still keeping an eye on the Grangers and the two prisoners."
Dumbledore thought for a moment and then instructed Lupin to bring everyone—the Grangers, Crabbe and Goyle peres, and the rest of the rescue squad—to Hogwarts by Portkey. Lupin agreed, and his head disappeared from the fire. Within a few minutes, Dumbledore's office was full of people. Harry recognised the Grangers, Lupin, Sirius, Arthur Weasley, and Mad-Eye Moody (the real one, presumably), and he assumed that the two unconscious figures with the Death Eater masks were Crabbe and Goyle. The eighth person was a stranger, a tall, very thin man with thinning brown hair who looked just a little older than Mr. Weasley. Everyone except Moody and the Death Eaters was wearing pajamas. Moody was in everyday robes, and Harry wondered if the old Auror ever slept; he kind of doubted it.
Hermione rushed to her parents and hugged them. While they stood, huddled together, Dumbledore motioned for the rescue squad to sit down; he had to Summon a few extra chairs. One of the Death Eaters began to stir; Sirius, who was walking across the room toward Harry, pulled out a wand, aimed it lazily, and said "Stupefy!" The Death Eater was still again, and Sirius continued his journey to Harry's side.
"Sirius! Where'd you get a wand?" Harry asked.
"Long story," came the reply, accompanied by a cat-with-canary grin. [SEE OUTTAKE.] Sirius pulled Harry from the chair and hugged him hard. He let go before Harry had time to hug back.
"What was that for?"
"I'm glad to see my godson," Sirius answered. "How are you?"
"Okay." Harry shrugged. When Sirius looked sceptical, he elaborated, "Relieved, mostly, but still a little shaken up."
"Prophetic dreams are creepy. If had one, I'd be a little shaky myself." Sirius took a chair next to Harry; everyone else had already found a seat. Dumbledore gestured to Lupin, indicating that he should report. Harry was strongly reminded of television shows about military operations. He realised that the analogy was appropriate; they were, he supposed, at war.
"After you left, Albus, I sent Sirius to contact Mundungus and Alastor, and then I Apparated straight to the Grangers's house. I rang the doorbell, and Mr. Granger answered. I explained what was happening, and I sent them to the cellar. Then, the Sirius arrived with the others, plus Arthur, and we spread out. Sirius and I went upstairs in case the Death Eaters tried to Apparate straight in. Mundungus, Alastor, and Arthur stayed by the front door. We turned off all the lights to make it look like everyone in the house had gone to sleep. About ten minutes later, an "Alohamora" charm was performed on the back door. Sirius heard the door open, so he and I very quietly headed for downstairs. The two Death Eaters walked through the kitchen and into the parlour. One made as far as the bottom of the staircase, where Sirius and I Stunned him. The other was a little behind the first, and Mundungus and Alastor Stunned him. It all went quite easily; we took them completely by surprise. And then I sent Sirius to call Grangers up from the cellar, and I Apparated home to get further instructions from you. Then I Apparated back to the Grangers's, and we all Portkeyed here."
"Very good," Dumbledore said. "Excellent job, gentlemen. And now there are two questions to be discussed. First, what shall we do with the apprehended Death Eaters there, and, second, where should the Grangers go?"
The Grangers looked alarmed at the second question. Mr. Granger asked, "What do you mean, where should we go? We'll go home, of course. This is all over now, isn't it?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Granger," Dumbledore answered gently. "Lord Voldemort does not take kindly to having his plans thwarted, and I imagine that, as soon as he discovers that his minions have failed, he will send a more able set to make another attempt on your lives. You are no longer safe at that house, and you are probably not safe in your dental office either."
"Then where will we go? What will we do? We have to keep up the practise," Mrs. Granger protested.
"Professor Dumbledore is right," Hermione said. "You'll have to close the office and go into hiding, or they'll come and kill you." This statement seemed to shock her parents into silence. Professor Dumbledore gave them a moment to think before he spoke again.
"You are, of course, welcome to stay here at Hogwarts, but I doubt that you'd be comfortable here; it's an odd place for Muggles. I would suggest that you go abroad—someplace where you'd like to spend a bit of time."
"What about our patients?" Mr. Granger asked. "We have appointments booked for the next eight months."
"Have your secretary cancel them. Mundungus and Alastor will accompany you back to your home to pack and to write a note to your secretary; merely say that you have had an emergency and that you must close the office until further notice. Do not tell her where you are going."
Mr. Granger looked set to protest, but his wife interrupted. "He's right, dear. This is what we need to do to be safe for Hermione." Mr. Granger fell silent, and Dumbledore continued his instructions.
"I will arrange for your finances while you are abroad. There is a special fund for Muggles who are displaced due to magical circumstances, and I have friends in that department who will not insist on my telling them the place to which you have been moved. I also suggest that you do not use your real names while you are abroad. Sirius can make Muggle documentation for you—passports and the like. He is, as I recall, an expert forger."
Harry and Ron shared another grin. It was just like Sirius to be able to forge passports.
"Do you have any questions?" Dumbledore asked.
"A million," Mr. Granger answered, "but nothing productive. If you can take care of getting us settled somewhere, then I suppose we really have no alternative but to go." His wife nodded in agreement.
"Very well. Now, the second item of business: What shall we do with Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle?"
"I wanted to kill them, but Lupin wouldn't let me." This helpful comment was from Mad-Eye Moody, of course.
Dumbledore's mustache twitched. "Thank you, Remus, for controlling your colleague. At any rate, we must turn them over to the Ministry." Moody snorted derisively; Dumbledore gave him a stern look. "Unauthorised entry into the home of a Muggle family is enough for a long sentence in Azkaban, even if the Ministry refuses to believe that they were there for Death Eater purposes."
"That's why I contacted Arthur." Sirius spoke up now. "I knew we needed a reliable witness. I can't testify; Remus is a werewolf, so juries would be prejudiced against him; Mad-Eye's considered mildly insane. Mundungus is the most reliable witness of the lot of us, and I knew his story would be much more convincing if he had someone to corroborate it."
"Which I'll be happy to do," Mr. Weasley said.
"Thank you, Arthur. And that was good thinking, Sirius, to contact Arthur. Good work." Dumbledore smiled briefly at Sirius before continuing. "Now, before we pack them off to the Ministry, do any of you think that they might have helpful information? Should we interrogate them first?"
Harry was surprised to hear himself speaking up. "I don't think it would do much good. They seem to be really stupid, and I doubt Voldemort trusts them with much information. They might know what Lucius Malfoy was supposed to do tonight, but I sort of doubt it."
"You're probably right, Harry," Dumbledore agreed. "I think it's best to let them wake up in Azkaban. Arthur, will you help me take them to the Ministry?" Mr. Weasley nodded. "And, Mundungus and Alastor, you will take the Grangers home and help them pack? Very good. Sirius, you'll get started on those passports? Excellent. And, Remus, I suppose that leaves you to go home to bed."
"I definitely have the best job," Lupin said with a tired smile.
"Quite so. Now, let's give the Grangers a moment to themselves." Professor Dumbledore indicated a door to a room just off the office. "The three of you can use that room for a bit."
Hermione and her parents went through the door. The rest of the group broke into small clumps of conversation. Harry and Sirius joined Ron and Mr. Weasley, Remus chatted with Professor Dumbledore, and Mad-Eye Moody held forth in disgruntled tones to an amused-looking Fletcher. Several minutes later, the Grangers emerged. "We're ready, Professor Dumbledore," Mrs. Granger said.
"How will we get the Grangers back home?" Fletcher asked. "We can't Apparate from Hogwarts, and, even if we could, they can't."
"That Portkey that you came here on is round-trip. It automatically returns you to the point from which you departed." Harry shuddered at Dumbledore's matter-of-fact explanation and wondered if he'd ever be able to hear about Portkeys again without thinking of Cedric. "Arthur and I will go with you, and we'll alert the Ministry from there. Best to have them come to the scene of the crime."
"If you already have passports, I'd like to have them," Sirius said. "It's much easier to change the old ones than to start from scratch."
"They're at home," Mr. Granger replied.
"Fine. I'll collect them and then leave before the Ministry wizards arrive. I'll meet you at home, Moony?"
Remus nodded, bit them all goodnight, tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fire, and called, "Lupin's Lair!" He stepped in and was gone.
"Harry, Ron, Hermione, you three should report to Madame Pomfrey for some Dreamless Sleep potion; you need to get some rest."
"I'll sleep fine without it, Professor," Ron said. "I'm exhausted."
Harry and Hermione concurred, so Professor Dumbledore relented and agreed that they could just return to their House. He ushered them out of his office, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder and telling him again that he had done a good job. The trio rode down the moving spiral stairs, made their way out past the gargoyle, and headed back to their dorm.
At first, they were quiet, too tired and overwhelmed to chat. Then, a grin began to tug at the corners of Ron's mouth. "Harry, you know you're my best mate, and I'd stand by you through fire and flood, but would you be too offended if I don't sit with you in Potions class on Monday?"
Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. "What?" Hermione asked, perplexed.
"Well, you see, Hermione," Ron said with ill-restrained glee, "Harry spoke a bit … sharply to Snape this evening, and I reckon our favorite Potions Master is going to make him pay for it tomorrow. I just don't want to get caught in the crossfire."
"What did you say to Professor Snape, Harry?"
"He wouldn't give me the password to Dumbledore's office. It was an emergency," Harry replied with as much dignity as he could muster.
"But what did you say?" When Harry didn't answer, Hermione turned appealingly to Ron, who was more than happy to repeat Harry's remark. "Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, sounding scandalised.
"It was incredible, Hermione; you should've seen it!" Ron enthused. "First time I've ever seen the ugly git rendered speechless." He added admiringly, "You're kind of intimidating when you want to be, Harry, you know that?"
Harry groaned again in reply. He doubted he'd have a chance to do much intimidating in Potions class. Ah, well; Snape had given him the password, and the Grangers had been saved, and that was worth a few days of Snape being, well, more himself than usual. If he'd had it to do over, Harry decided that he wouldn't do anything differently. That was probably all he could ask of himself.
The trio arrived back at Gryffindor, woke up the Fat Lady to give her the password, and clambered through the portrait hole into the Common Room. They stood awkwardly for a moment, not quite ready to separate to go to their dormitories. Ron finally broke the silence. "Will you be all right by yourself, Hermione? We could, you know, sleep down here on the couches if …."
Hermione assured them that she would be fine. Then, before Harry had time to prepare himself, she was throwing her arms around him, murmuring "Thanks" into his ear, and kissing his cheek. She did the same to Ron (holding him just a bit longer, Harry noticed) and then ran up the stairs to the girl's dormitory before either of them had a chance to respond. Ron stared after her, gaping. Then he looked at Harry, bemused. "She's such a … a … girl!"
"She'll be so glad you've noticed," Harry replied. "Ow," he added half-heartedly; it hadn't actually hurt, but Harry felt that it would be bad form to ignore Ron's smack to the back of his head.
"There's no way I'm sitting with you in Potions after that crack."
"Sitting with Hermione, are you?" This time, Harry managed to duck in time to avoid the smack. Grinning, the two boys made their way up the stairs, fell into their beds, and went immediately to sleep.
Author's Note: Thanks to all the lovely people who have reviewed! Your feedback has been so helpful and encouraging. And thanks again to Yolanda for the beta and especially for her help with the Common Room scene. If you want to hear Sirius's "long story" about getting his wand, check out the outtake "A Visit to Mr. Ollivander," available on my author page. Apologies, as always, for formatting odditities.
Just a warning: It'll probably be a while before the next update. I'm out of town, and thus away from the computer, for a couple of weeks.
