Author's Notes: Only two more days. I hope you're all as excited as I am for this one. The sad thing is, after this, there'll be one more and then it's all over - so let's try not to think about that and focus on rejoicing for book six instead. I am so eager to find out who dies (that sounds terribly morbid), because what happens in this book actually happens. This isn't a might-be imaginative fan fiction story - if someone is killed off, then they're actually gone for good. And that automatically puts this story and about three quarters of the rest into the AU category. Woo hoo (note sarcasm).
I keep doing POV switches, I know, but I've given up attempting to write like Jo Rowling and have decided to do it my way. I think things get a bit tedious after a while when it's strictly written from Hermione's perspective, and since I absolutely love Harry, I just have to incorporate scenes from his POV into the story. But most importantly, I wouldn't be able to write several scenes if I couldn't do switches now and then. I was thinking about a chapter from Ron's point of view, just to, you know, explain a few things; I'm not sure though, because at this point, I don't want to add in any unecessary parts of the story for fear of it dragging on and becoming too lengthy.
I'm not quite sure what I'll be doing after this story, either. Long ago, I said I would do a Bridget Jones-esque Hermione diary of OOTP, but there's no point in that anymore, seeing as book six is nearly here, and all. Perhaps a HBP diary? That would be a nice break from writing stories such as this (very exhausting at times), so we'll see.
My Author's Notes are always so long. If that irks you all, and you'd rather me just say nothing so you could get on with reading the story, let me know. And finally, here are more answeres to your questions and comments.
Tombadgerlock: Um, well, thank you for all your reviews, I suppose. First of all, from your review of chapter nine, in response to: "ok great, ron and harry were following her with the invisibility cloak" - actually, no. They weren't following her with the cloak, they had no idea she had gone to visit Hagrid and honestly, neither had any inclination to follow her. Perhaps you deduced that from how Hermione had the feeling someone was watching her, or someone was nearby, but that was only referring to her two attackers in the forest. And from your review of chapter eight: "uh...didn't like ron making fun of hermione like that, she should have used a silencing charm on him" - well, the whole point of that entire scene would have been scrapped if she had used a Silencing Charm on him. Not only is that OOC for Hermione, it is certainly unacceptable for a Hogwarts professor, especially Hermione, to use magic on other adults during lessons. And finally, in response to your review of chapter seven: "ah well, i do hope hermione won't be stupid enough to ever go out with ron though" - seeing as this is a HG/RW story, as I have stated innumerable times before, well, you get the drift.
Flower of Scotland: Thank you, thank you, thank you for your marvelous review. I love receiving long reviews like your's; it just totally makes my day. I'm so glad to know that you think Ron was very in-character during his brawl with Braedon, and everyone else is pretty in-character as well. I try my best, but it's difficult sometimes. And no, I am not British, I am very American, but I'm happy to have a British reader! I suppose I've picked up some of my language from reading all five Harry Potters and other British books (most books I read are British chick lits) and from various movies as well. I just enjoy the British way of speaking and sense of humor more, I suppose. So if anything un-British or incorrect is ever said, I do hope you'll point it out for me.
MorphManiac: I like your thinking concerning who you're suspicious of. I'm glad to see that I've opened you up to such possibilities. I'm not going to reveal anything now, so just keep guessing, and perhaps by the end of the story you'll be right!
Oh, andthank you for all your reviews. Really. I'm so happy that I haven't lost a ton of readers and you are all still faithful (and hopefully will be even after book six). It means so much to me, honestly. You have no idea.
I know this was a quicker update, but I wanted to post this before HBP. And I got so many great reviews that I decided, what the hell, I'll just do it. So yes, this will be the last chapter before the release of the sixth book. As I've said so many times before, I do hope you all will come back to finish this after you've read it. But for now, have fun and enjoy your reading, and don't be too depressed over who dies. :)
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: INTRUDERS
"Lumos."
Harry lit his wand just in time to find a spell hurtling his way from across the dorm. Without quite meaning to, he rolled over and toppled to the ground, taking his pillow and bed sheets with him. Someone, perhaps the caster of the spell, was speaking in a low and brisk male voice, so Harry took advantage of this hiatus and scrambled to his feet, his wand clenched firmly in his right hand. The beam from of light was weak, but he could vaguely make out the outlines of five figures hovering around the bookshelf. His drowsiness and fervent yearning to return to bed were long gone as a sense of exhilaration overtook him. He hadn't been engaged in such adventure, though he was still quite unsure of what was going on, in months; his heart quickened, his palms grew sweaty, and his mind began racing. He had been waiting for this.
"EXPERLLIARMUS!" shouted one of the figures when the talking had ceased. Harry was caught off guard and he felt his wand slip from the tips of his fingers; it flew into the air and landed on the other side of his bed. He mentally cursed himself for being so inattentive. Not much could be accomplished without a wand, but perhaps he could duck whatever spells the intruders would cast at him and slink over towards the door where his wand rested.
"Incarcerous!"
Before he knew what was happening, ropes had materialized out of thin air and began tangling themselves tightly around Harry's body. He fell forward and onto the solid, wooden floor with a painful crash. There were several more murmurings from within the group of people, but he couldn't decipher their words; moments later he heard books thudding on the ground again. He twisted his neck a couple inches to see dark shadows huddled around the bookshelf. The figures were rummaging through the volumes and, when they were clearly dissatisfied, tossed them aside and moved onto new ones.
Dammit, Harry silently cursed. With his wand across the room and magical ropes binding him, it was apparent he was certainly in trouble. He hadn't expected things to go quite so shoddily; he was bloody Auror, for Christ's sake, and Aurors just didn't lay bound on the ground while intruders fumbled around their rooms in the middle of the night. He wished Ron wasn't in the Hospital Wing, because in a situation like this, two against five was surely better than one against five. In fact, Harry thought, it was oddly coincidental that this night of all nights, when he was alone, his room would be broken into. It was actually less coincidental and more deliberate, he realized.
"Have you found it yet?" asked a gravelly female voice. Though it was harsh, it sounded rather young and petite to Harry.
"No," replied another, this one more masculine. "Keep looking. It has to be here."
The ropes were now cutting into Harry's arms and across his chest quite painfully. His breathing was constricted and he had a feeling that if he didn't act soon, he might very well be suffocated. He jerked his body awkwardly to the side until he could clearly see the intruders, all five of whom were demolishing Harry's bookshelf in their ardent search without concern. He racked his mind for some way, any way, to release the ropes and end his dilemma; he had been in sticker situations than this before and knew there was always a way out.
But there was something familiar about one of the burglars, the one who was standing closest to Harry. The person was tall and had long, flowing hair; they were wearing dark robes that reached the floor, robes that bore a great resemblance to those worn as Hogwarts uniforms. Suddenly, a cloud must have moved across the sky, and light from the moon came streaming in through a window, bathing the mysterious person in dazzling light. They did not look around, clearly unfazed as they flipped furiously through a thick dictionary on the floor, but Harry squinted. He recognized the intruder from the halls of the school.
It was the Head Girl, from Ravenclaw. The influential, studious Head Girl had broken into Harry's room during the middle of the night, assisted in binding him with ropes, and continued on to commit robbery. Needless to say, he was extremely shocked and completely confused.
Abruptly, a thought formed in his mind. Since the room was still so dark and the five intruders were clearly absorbed in their own work and thought nothing of Harry, he was sure he would not be seen. He flattened his face against the ground and peered through the space between the bed and the floorboards. His wand was visible, lying just feet from the door, an elongated shadow immobile in the darkness. It was out of his reach but so close…he knew it was not plausible, and he had never attempted the act before, but the situation was dire. Harry did not know what the Head Girl and the other four were capable of, but it was clear to him they were not in their right minds at the moment.
He shut his eyes and squeezed them, desperately concentrating on a single thought, a single word. Wand. He repeated it over and over in his mind, picturing his wand from the tip to the handle, frantically praying that the majestic powers above would listen and come to his aid. Wand. I need my wand.
Then something cold and smooth was suddenly in his right hand, something that had previously been lying across the room, rendering its owner rather useless. Harry sighed but could not bury a lingering sense of disbelief; he had just summoned his own wand to him, an act he had been told was very difficult to accomplish even amongst the best wizards. Now was not the time to congratulate himself, though. He whispered a quick counter-curse and the magical ropes vanished into thin air, leaving Harry with ragged breathing and several noticeable red marks around his arms and legs. His wand at his side, he picked himself up off the ground and crept towards the end of his four-poster. The intruders were still engrossed in their raid of his dorm, but now nearly half of it was covered in books and torn pages that had been quickly discarded.
Harry raised his wand but hesitated, unsure of what to do next. He had a notion that the Head Girl was not the only student in the room and also suspected that none of the members of the group were acting of their own accord. He hardly dared attack a student; but if it was one who had no problem attacking him, then he had to defend himself, right? It wasn't as if he could be blamed; Desdemona did Stun nearly a third of a class just weeks ago, he reminded himself, and wasn't prosecuted in the very least.
But once again, while Harry let his mind wander and commenced in becoming distracted, which was quite unlike him, one of the burglars raised their head to notice that their captive was no longer lying bound on the floor. He dropped the book he was holding in his hands and pointed towards Harry, rasping to the others, "What the – hey, over there!"
Three different curses were shot Harry's way simultaneously. Luckily, he regained his senses in time to produce a very effective Shield Charm. Blasts of red, blue, and violet light shot off the dome that surrounded Harry and ricocheted around the room, the red and violet ones coming in contact with the door, shaking it nearly off its hinges, and the blue smashing through the window. The room was showered in bits of glass; Harry flung his arms over his head and when he raised them, he grinned in delight. Now it was his turn.
Two smaller figures began to pull themselves up off the ground. Harry flung his wand forward, shouted out a spell that flew over both their heads, and stepped backwards as the dilapidated yet heavy bookshelf went toppling down onto the two intruders. They looked up momentarily but neither had the smallest chance of defending themselves. Two down, three to go, Harry mentally counted, steadying himself as the Head Girl and remaining two prowlers rose to their feet, their own wands pointed at Harry.
"You keep searching, we'll hold him off!" she shouted at one of her comrades. He nodded his head and stooped to the ground, hunting through the books that were randomly strewn across the chaotic floor.
Harry aimed a Full Body Bind towards the searcher but he skillfully rolled sideways, avoiding the jet of light by several feet. Two more curses were sent Harry's way, but he leapt backwards and ducked behind his bed, his breathing rapid and uneven. He jumped as another spell came in contact with the top of his bed post; several large chunks of wood were blown away and finally came to a clattering stop somewhere near the window.
"Tarantallegra!"
From his hiding space behind the bed, Harry watched his spell take effect on a girl who was advancing towards him. Her wand immediately slipped from her grip and fell to the floor as her legs began twitching uncontrollably. She shrieked and grabbed at one of her thighs, willing it to become immobile, but it was useless. Her legs carried her back across the room where she tripped and fell over the dark lump of the person fanatically searching through the books scattered around the floor.
The Head Girl suddenly made a lunge at something in a corner, her eyes wide with manic glee. Harry saw this and his heart rate immediately quickened; whatever she and the others were searching for, he was sure it was something they should not get their hands on. He quickly followed and raised his wand, the formation of a spell on the tip of his tongue, but with miraculous agility the girl spun around and waved her wand first.
"Incendo!"
Harry let out a shout and tumbled backwards onto Ron's bed, the bottom of his robes aflame. He seized a pillow and began swatting at his feet frantically. Somewhere across the room, the Head Girl cackled sinisterly, which Harry was sure was quite unlike her normal laugh, and ducked down again to pick up a book. Something in Harry's gut lurched unpleasantly; whatever she was holding, a book that had been sitting on his shelf all year, completely ignored, he knew it was what they had broken into his room for. He glanced down at his feet and realized that the flames had spread to Ron's bed sheets as well as the pillow, but it seemed trivial. He tossed the pillow aside, possibly catching something else on fire, and pounced towards the Head Girl, his wand raised and ready. "STUPEFY!"
The girl blocked the spell and it rebounded back towards him. Harry leapt out of the way just in time and the spell crashed into the wall behind him, leaving a rather large hole. He whirled around to find the Head Girl dashing towards the door with the book cradled in her arms, leaving behind the two figures under the bookshelf, the mad dancing girl, and the other on the floor who had clearly not realized that the object of their search had been uncovered. Harry aimed his wand, shouted, "Colloportus," and watched as the Head Girl collided painfully with the door. She jiggled the handle hysterically even though it was unsuccessful, ducked to the ground as Harry sent another Full Body Bind her way, and rolled towards the fallen bookshelf.
"Get up!" she hissed at her remaining partner. The boy on the ground stood immediately and faced Harry, his wand at the ready, but Harry was quicker. Within moments the boy lay on the ground, immobile. The Head Girl growled and darted across the room towards the naked window.
"Stupefy!" Harry yelled, charging after her. "STUPEFY! STUPEFY, DAMMIT!"
"CRUCIO!"
Harry flung his arms over his head impulsively and veered sharply to the left, quickly coming in contact with the wall. He slid down to the floor, his head aching from the collision, and vaguely comprehended what he had just heard. The Head Girl of Hogwarts had attempted an Unforgivable Curse on him. He was completely astounded but could not find the strength to mull the thought over, as his head currently throbbed beyond logical awareness.
He could make out distant footsteps and opened one eye wearily to stare up into the face of a tall, shadowed stranger. Their face was a mixture between satisfaction and lunacy, he decided, as they peered down at him with their wand pointed forward. In their other arm was an ordinary-looking book, clenched tightly as though its owner were hanging on for dear life. A searing pain shot across Harry's forehead, one quite unconnected to his scar; he was half convinced he had sliced his head in two when he smashed into the wall. He made to stand but found it impossible, as his whole body seemed to ache from the impact.
"Too bad you never got around to reading this," said the figure, who Harry realized was a girl. The Head Girl, he quickly remembered. She motioned towards the book in her hand, a sardonic smile playing across her lips. Behind her was Ron's bed, now completely ablaze with the fire from Harry's robes. The orange light fell across her crazed face and illuminated her abnormal countenance. It seemed as if she was insane, no doubt, but the insanity appeared to be rather forced than natural. But then again, Harry knew he was nearly delirious, so it was agreeably not the best time to dwell on people's expressions.
The Head Girl, once so respected and noble, pointed her wand at Harry's chest. She opened her mouth and a curse formed on her lips, one that would surely bestow upon its victim the worst, but oddly, no words ever escaped from her mouth. Instead, her expression froze and her wand plummeted from her grip as her body tipped sideways, then landed on the floor with a deafening crash.
For the first time in many minutes, all was silent in the room except for Harry's jagged breathing.
A new figure was standing in the doorway surveying the scene with obvious shock. Their eyes traveled from the fallen Harry to the dilapidated bookcase to the five intruders strewn about the room to the blazing bed and back to Harry. The latter screwed up his eyes, trying to discern the person, and felt an immediate wave of relief overcome him once his vision cleared and he realized, with gratitude, who his savior was.
"Harry! Oh, my – what on earth happened here?" said Hermione. She stepped into the room, carefully skirting the chunks of wood that had been blown from Harry's bedpost, with her wand dangling limply at her side (its tip was still glowing from recent use). Her eyes were round with alarm as she surveyed the destroyed room and the five conquered intruders. There were clearly dozens of questions forming in her mind, Harry could tell, but who wouldn't have inquiries upon entering a room with one corner ablaze, another serving as quarters to several unconscious figures, and the floor completely covered in torn books and papers?
"It's a long story," Harry muttered from his position on the floor. Hermione saw he was injured and quickly crossed the room to his wall, bent down, and helped him to his feet. His vision swam for a moment and Hermione's face became a foggy blur before his eyes refocused, and from standing point, he was able to survey the damage that had been done to his dorm with better precision.
"Damn," he swore upon noticing Ron's flaming bed. Hermione stepped aside as he lurched past her towards the fire; window curtains were just inches from the flames, and on top of everything else that had just occurred, Harry really did not want to see his whole room burn to a crisp before the night was over. "Evanesco."
A moment later, the burning flames vanished from sight, leaving Ron's bed looking scorched and quite undesirable to sleep in. Fumes still hung in the air, swirling around by the ceiling, giving off a pungent smell of smoke even though the fire was long gone. Harry was briefly thankful he had not accidentally set his bed on fire, though he was fairly positive Ron wouldn't be all too happy to find that his mattress was nearly disintegrated.
"Are you all right?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
"I'm brilliant," Harry muttered through clenched teeth. He lifted a hand to his head and tenderly pressed it to his skin; he felt blood seeping from his hairline and was certain there would be a nice gash there to prove that he had indeed crashed into a wall.
"Who are they?" Hermione pointed towards one of the motionless bodies strewn across the floor. Harry followed her finger and saw it was the girl he had hit with the dancing legs jinx. She was now lying underneath the boy who had been assigned to search through the books, their limbs entangled in an uncomfortable-looking fashion. She appeared to not be completely unconscious either, although her eyes were closed; a moan escaped from her mouth and her arm twitched slightly, but other than that, there was no movement from any of the five intruders.
"Hermione, I think they're students," Harry said quietly. He watched as Hermione's eyes bulged out in her head and a hand flew to her mouth. She glanced at the Head Girl, lying frozen in the center of the floor, and probably realized that in the act of saving Harry, she had Stunned a student herself.
"What?" she whispered, distress written all over her face. "Students? How – that can't be, Harry. Why would students attack you in the middle of the night?"
Harry shook his head but stopped at once, as it only intensified his headache. "That's the Head Girl there." He pointed to the back of the Stunned girl and distinctly heard Hermione gasp. "I think the Head Boy's over there, underneath that bookshelf. I've no clue who the others are, but you probably do, since they're in your classes."
Hermione seemed unable to believe that students she taught every day had just ambushed Harry and wreaked destruction across his room while the rest of the school was fast asleep. The idea seemed so far-fetched, so wrong that even though Harry knew the five students had not acted on their own free will, he was still utterly disturbed.
"And they didn't exactly attack me," he corrected. "They were searching for something."
"In your room? Then you definitely think they were working for…?"
"This has Lestrange written all over it," Harry muttered. He crossed the room, leaving Ron's smoldering bed, and crouched down next to the fallen Head Girl. The book she had been so heavily guarding was still in her arms, looking completely unimpressive or unique, and Harry had a difficult time convincing himself that a dull-looking book could be the center of such pandemonium. He pried it from her grip and stood up, staring at the dusty black cover.
"What's that?" Hermione asked, appearing behind his shoulder.
Harry shrugged, his eyes still glued to the tome in his hands. The book appeared to be extremely old, as the title had completely worn from both the cover and the spine. There were no authors to be seen or other information that would serve as some clue as to what the book was or where it came from. He flipped it open to the first page; it was completely blank (he expected there had once been words there, too, but had also faded) except for one line at the very bottom. In sparkling purple ink, stamped along the edge of the page was PROPERTY OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC.
Hermione gasped in his ear. "What are you doing with a book from the Ministry in your room?"
"I've never seen this book before in my life," Harry replied. He began flipping through the rest of the ancient and tattered pages, hoping to find something that would enlighten him as to what exactly the book was. There was just paragraph after paragraph on each page; no words particularly jumped out at Harry, nor did any of it appear to be very interesting. He wondered why Bellatrix Lestrange, who no doubt played a large part in the night's events, would want anything to do with something so aged and boring. She had already stolen the records book from his room – did she really need anything else?
Harry flipped the book back to its cover and stared at it. Then, something ignited in his brain, and a brief recollection from long ago came rushing back. "Hold on," he said, urging his mind to retrieve the memories. "No, I have seen this book before, somewhere."
"You have?" asked an anxious Hermione.
"I think Romina lent this to me before a mission once, when I was still at the Ministry. She said it would come in handy while I was out in Iran, or Iraq, or wherever. I never felt the need to return it to the Ministry library and probably tossed it into my trunk on accident when I was packing for Hogwarts."
"But –" Hermione seemed as bewildered as Harry. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that her face was screwed up in deep contemplation, as it often was when she was presented with a confusing problem. "This doesn't make sense. What's so important about that book that five students had to break into your room in the –"
A creak and a bang suddenly interrupted their conversation, and both Harry and Hermione jumped, their wands at the ready, as the door was forcefully pushed open nearly off its hinges. Several more figures appeared on the threshold, looking as if they all had pulled themselves out of bed quite haphazardly. Desdemona, James Horn, Ginny, and Flitwick all tumbled into the room, wands in hand, and paused to gasp in unison.
"Merlin's beard," breathed Desdemona. She stepped forward, carefully avoiding treading on what had once been the mad dancing girl, and gazed around the room with her mouth open far enough to swallow a dragon, in Harry's opinion.
"James and I were down in the staff room when we heard shouts," explained Ginny. Her eyes flickered to Harry momentarily but then she looked away quickly and bent down to check the pulse of a student. Harry briefly wondered why in the world Ginny and James would be awake in the staff room at this hour of the night but things of far more importance were currently occupying his mind, so he made a mental note to ask her later. "Desdemona and Filius were awake and already down the hall by the time we made it up here."
"You should have heard the commotion from my room," said Desdemona with a note of awe in her voice. "Three doors down and it sounded like a herd of hippogriffs was destroying Hogwarts. I'll be damned if we weren't the only ones awoken."
"Harry, did you Stun her?" asked James. Harry swiveled his head to find the professor kneeling down on the floor beside the Head Girl; she was still lying on her side, her eyes open and an expression of manic glee frozen on her face.
"No, that was me," Hermione said wearily. James raised his eyebrows at her and bent down over the Head Girl again, checking her pulse just as Ginny had done. Harry realized that James, as well as most Hogwarts professors, was unacquainted with the fact that the students were not in their right minds when they had raided his room. In fact, James was most likely shocked and appalled that Hermione had Stunned a student, let alone the Head Girl.
He then realized that the four visitors would probably be eager to hear an explanation of why Harry's room was in a shambles and five unconscious students were strewn about his floor. He felt drained and tired, and after dueling with people who, amazingly, seemed to possess powers far beyond what they should have, yearned to return to bed. Explaining the attack would lead to explaining how the students broke into his room, what they were looking for, and why (though he was still curious as to was so important about the book).
Thankfully, Harry was never faced with the nuisance of an explanation. At that moment, the door opened for the third and final time, and McGonagall appeared in the doorway, with an exhausted-looking Professor Yang behind her. McGonagall herself seemed as if she had just been rudely awakened from a much-needed slumber; her face expressed that she was half annoyed, half worried. Upon taking in the destruction of the dorm, the unconscious students, and Harry and Hermione, all evidence of annoyance had vanished and troubled concern took its place. Silent confusion was exchanged between her, Harry, and Hermione, and Harry willed her to understand so he wouldn't have to trudge through a strained elucidation with the other Professors present. Finally, as if she could read his mind, she must have comprehended this fact and straightened her posture, staring pointedly across the room at Harry.
"Potter," she said crisply, attempting to conceal her unease but failing wretchedly. "Who is – are those students, Potter?"
"Yes, M – yes, they are." For some strange reason, though it was quite inappropriate, Harry felt as if he had just been caught in a mischievous act by his professor, something he had experienced quite often during his own schooldays at Hogwarts.
"I see." McGonagall was silent for several long, agonizing moments as her eyes wandered the room, resting on each student in turn. Harry glanced at the gathered professors, who were all following her gaze and wore identical expressions of puzzlement. He briefly saw Professor Horn's eyes stray towards him and looked away, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. When he glanced at the man again, he realized James was not looking at him but was actually focused on the book he was still clenching in his hand; Harry stepped closer to Hermione and put his hand nonchalantly behind his back, concealing the book. The two locked gazes and Hermione made a face that most likely said, Don't let any of them see that book. Harry glared back, willing his face to say, I know, Hermione. I'm not that thick.
"She has been Stunned?" inquired McGonagall suddenly. Harry looked to see that she was motioning towards the Head Girl. He nodded his head slightly as Hermione opened her mouth and stated clearly that it was her doing.
McGonagall stepped back, inhaled a deep breath of air, then let it out slowly. She returned her gaze to Harry, and as hard as he tried to discern it, it was unreadable. "These students need proper medical attention," she said, turning to the five professors gathered behind her. "I trust you all to transport them safely to the Hospital Wing? Let Madam Lucille know this one was Stunned, and the others fell unconscious of their own accord. I'll be there shortly."
There were consecutive nods from the assembled professors before they all stepped forward, began conjuring up stretchers, and hauled the students onto them. Within moments, all five couples had disappeared from the disorganized dorm, and suddenly the room felt much emptier to Harry once all ten people had gone. He let out a long sigh and sunk backwards onto his bed, which he wished he had never gotten up from in the first place.
"Potter, I'll need you to owl the Aurors straight away," McGonagall said, breaking the silence. Her unreadable expression had vanished and she obviously had no intentions of hiding her worry. "This will be classified as another occurrence, and I do not doubt myself in saying the Ministry will be sending more representatives than the one we already have as soon as they find out. I wouldn't be surprised if they decided to conduct a full investigation in the morning."
Harry nodded. He let his arm relax and it fell to his side, revealing the black book with the faded cover. McGonagall glanced at it fleetingly before letting out a resigned sigh herself. "Go on, Potter. As much as we'd both like to pretend this isn't what we know it to be, I'd like to hear the explanation, anyway."
Though January terminated, the cold temperatures outside the sanctuary of the school did not. With February came less and less bouts of illnesses amongst the students, as most were finding difficulty in prolonging their symptoms, but a definite increase in showers of snow. Hogsmeade weekends were not cancelled due to the weather; however, a significant number of students usually wisely chose to stay behind, while the more adventurous ones dared to trudge through the mounting snow to the little village.
Conditions were harsh outside Hogwarts as well as inside. Hermione, along with nearly all professors, did not relent any in assigning homework to the students, especially the fifth and seventh years, both of which would be going through significant exams in four months' time. The distressed Transfiguration teacher felt closer to an emotional breakdown than ever, what with all the turmoil going on inside her mind throughout most days.
Hermione was still utterly troubled and, admittedly, frightened by the raid of Harry's room that occurred as the last days of January died. The situation had been explained to the staff with minor altercations and naturally, it leaked out to the rest of the school as well. Professors were told not to tell students anything they knew, so Hermione was forced to listen to the wild stories that flew around the school, reflecting the expansive imaginations of some students. The five students who had broken in Harry's dorm and attacked him awoke later that day in the Hospital Wing, completely unaware that they had even left their beds, as predicted. Harry had informed Hermione and McGonagall during his thorough recollection of the event that the Head Girl had attempted the Cruciatus Curse on him, something that deeply disturbed both women. This bit of information was told to no one, especially the girl and the Ministry, who turned up the morning after, led by the Minister himself and with investigators in tow. The official who had been watching over the school at the time, a young wizard that seemed to be entirely uninformed about his duties, was immediately fired and replaced with an elderly witch just hours later.
The book the students had been searching for was taken into custody by Harry himself and soon became another piece of the puzzle they were forced to hide from the Ministry. Along with McGonagall and the Aurors, who Harry had owled instantly after the attack, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were still baffled as to what sort of key the book possibly contained. Harry had taken to reading the book by night, at Hermione's suggestion, in hopes of coming across something that would be of benefit to Lestrange. His investigation had thus far been unproductive.
The night after the affair, Harry and Hermione had been sitting alone at a table in the staff room late in the night, the latter grading essays, when an owl appeared tapping on one of the windows. Harry quickly crossed the room and let the bird in; it dropped a letter into his arms and perched atop an armchair, gazing expectantly at Harry as if he were supposed to open the letter and send a response without delay. He ripped the unaddressed envelope open and scanned it over before reading it aloud to Hermione.
We're hoping this won't fall into the wrong hands, but just to be safe, we won't say as much as we wish we could. I remember giving you that book now, Harry, but I don't see any reason for her to want it. I would read it through carefully though, if I were you, because new information is running scarce around here again and we could sure use some help. Brom and Kingsley are off in a country out east (I won't disclose which one) but that's as close as we can get right now. They're due back in a couple days and from the letters we've received so far, they haven't gained much of anything.
Take care of yourself and don't feel guilty about Stunning any rogue students. You didn't have any remorse for Stunning me during regulation examinations last year, remember? Keep us up to date, Harry. Best to Hermione and Ron.
R
Harry hastily scribbled a response to Romina and the Aurors before sending the owl off into the night, hoping that his letter wouldn't be intercepted, either. But other than the returned response a few days later from Mad-Eye Moody, offering his own words of wisdom, communication between them and the Aurors during oncoming weeks was infrequent.
The ever-growing problem of Lestrange wasn't the only thing on Hermione's mind, however. She found herself dwelling more and more on a certain red-haired someone ever since the incident on the grounds more than a fortnight ago. Ron had taken to appearing routinely in the staff room now, most likely in hopes of catching Hermione alone, but she was always sure to never be without company. She attempted over and over again to sort her feelings out, convinced that if she did so, her head would clear somewhat, but anger usually dominated over everything else. This resulted in her avoiding Ron as well as she could. It turned out to be quite an easy feat, she realized, as Hogwarts was so incredibly massive and she was only forced to be in contact with him a few brief times during the day. Of course, that was until he regularly began showing up in the middle of her classes.
It started out relatively innocent; Ron would come knocking on her door harmlessly and ask to borrow a spare quill or an extra inkwell, as he had run out, and Hermione couldn't object by pointing out he could've asked another professor when the staff room and his sanctuary was indeed only a few corridors away. She couldn't resist either, as the student body had already formed speculation about the pair. Obviously, news of Ron's brawl with Braedon Keleher had leaked out to the student body (Hermione highly suspected that Desdemona had let slip some version of the tale during a class just days after the duel), which oddly enough caused most students to have a newborn admiration for the mysterious man from the Ministry.
But soon Ron was showing up in her classroom more frequently, acting as if he had an important question that was between adults, or still requesting to borrow random items, insisting he had important paperwork to finish for the Ministry. Along with his recurring visits, he also came to adapt a more relaxed air; at first he had appeared hesitant and shy, but all the students knew that was not of Mr. Weasley's nature. In a short time, he had taken to sitting on empty desks at the back of the room, interjecting during Hermione's lessons and offering "educational aid", as he called it, to her pupils. The irked professor was greatly reminded of the beginning of the year during her first lesson when Ron had so rudely interrupted, peeving her beyond belief. Oddly, no words concerning the fight with Keleher were ever spoken amongst any in the room, even Ron and Hermione, but both adults knew the reason behind Ron's visitations. It appeared as if he were finally looking to patch things up, but was going about it the absolute wrong way (at least in Hermione's eyes). Since fury still presided over the rest of her emotions, she was not in any mood to forget the past quite so easily.
She knew she couldn't lose her composure in the middle of a lesson, though. Her students were already beginning to hypothesize that perhaps their Transfiguration professor was falling apart at the seams; it was rather hard for her to not completely lose her temper to the poor, unfortunate students when she was in a particularly bad mood (always the result of thinking about just how grim things were looking). Completely going off on Ron during a lesson would only confirm their worst suspicions.
But Hermione should have known it was only a matter of time before the unwelcome Weasley would push the limits too far, resulting in her losing her head. One cloudy day halfway through February, the first day of the year without a snowfall, Hermione snapped.
"I trust you all read last night's homework, chapter nine?" the professor asked, addressing the class of third-years at large. The students, seated individually at their desks and, to Hermione's amazement, paying attention for once, all nodded. She assumed the third -years were slightly more attentive than usual due to the large brightly-colored birds settled on their desks. They hadn't yet worked with animals quite as advanced as these, she knew, and was eager herself to see how much progress her students would make during the class.
"Good. The birds you see on your desks are native to the Caribbean and are, according to specialists, a most difficult breed of fowl to transfigure. If you all have read the assigned chapter like you should have, then I won't need to explain in which ways these birds are useful to wizard-kind, though they undoubtedly are.
"I would like all of you to please place your wands on your desks. We will be learning the proper wrist movement for the spell you'll be using today first, without magic."
There was a soft clattering around the room as the students rested their wands on their desks. Hermione drew out her own, waiting for her pupils to settle, and felt a small twinge of excitement as she always did when she was on the verge of teaching something new. Throughout the year, she had grown quite fond of the feeling she received from watching the young students benefit from her own teachings. She often wondered if this was experienced by all teachers, even the ones from her own days at the school.
A strange honking from the second row caught Hermione's attention. She quickly looked up to find a small, blonde girl attempting to wrestle her wand from the beak of her bird, which was emitting the unusual noise. The girl pulled her arm back as far as she could and nearly fell off her seat when the bird released its grip on her wand; it ruffled its feathers importantly and settled back on the desk, hiding its face under its wing. The small girl, her red face contrasting greatly against her pale hair, steadied herself and placed her wand back on her desk as far away from the bird as possible. Muffled giggles around the room followed.
"Sorry, I forgot to mention to keep your wands away from the birds. They love to chew on wood, coincidentally," Hermione said, forcing her mouth to remain straight. "Thank you for demonstrating that for us, Miss Roberts."
The girl blushed and smiled feebly at the professor.
"Right. I want you all to follow my lead, understand? The movement is simple enough but could be disastrous if not performed correctly. Raise your arms, all together now, and make like you're drawing an invisible letter 'A' in the air. Yes, well done, very good. Just as you finish crossing the 'A', say the spell. Now, repeat after me. Rosverto Pluma."
The students made the same flowing motion in mid-air as Hermione had and repeated simultaneously, "Rosverto Pluma."
"Nicely done, class. Pick up your wands and on my count, perform the spell on your birds."
Seconds later, when the students had all re-gripped their wands in their hands and had them aimed at their own vibrant birds, the professor said loudly, "Ready? One, two, three –"
The spell echoed around the room as twenty-some bright flashes of light nearly blinded Hermione. There were more honks and squeals, and when the light had vanished, she gazed around the room hopefully. As she had expected, only a handful of birds had vanished, and in their place now rested large, multi-colored quills with the students seated behind them, smirking proudly.
"Excellent, Mr. Jones! Your quill is perfect; I've never seen one of such precision. That'll be ten points to Hufflepuff," she said, beaming at a bashful third-year boy in the front row.
The students who had failed to transfigure their birds (which turned out to be nearly the entire class, Hermione realized) continued on throughout the rest of the lesson, jabbing their wands at the birds and yelling out the spell time after time. Some of the birds, to Hermione's alarm, were growing bored and tired and had taken to poking at the student seated at their desk, either in attempts of seeking out their wands or pulling at their hair. Thankfully, most of the class seemed to be on the right track of successfully transfiguring their birds, so not many students were forced to deal with the impish creatures.
But naturally, the lesson had been going too well to last. Soon enough, amid the honks and shouts from the birds and students, the door creaked open and a visitor appeared on the threshold. Ron surveyed the scene with noticeable interest from his position, grinning and watching the class as they attempted to transform the squawking birds into quills. Then he began walking up the middle row towards Hermione's desk, carefully skirting escapees and their capturers, an annoying smirk still plastered across his face.
"Good afternoon, Professor Granger," he said when he approached Hermione. She stared off in the opposite direction as if Ron wasn't standing there at all, her smile from seeing students successful in their transformations now slipping a bit at the interruption. Most of the class had ignored Ron, as they were quite used to his visitations by now, but were also especially occupied in their current tasks. "I wasn't aware you had transformed your classroom into a zoo," he added.
"I didn't," Hermione snapped back. She left it at that.
"Well, surely you can't be teaching a lesson?" Ron asked incredulously. His eyebrows shot up in his forehead and he gestured around the room. Hermione followed his hand and did realize, a bit disappointed, that her classroom had turned rather rowdy in the past few minutes.
"Yes, I am teaching a lesson, and nobody appreciates you disrupting it. What will it be today, Ron? A spare quill? A roll of parchment? I'm sure you have very important Ministry work to be doing right now."
"True," he said, and nodded his head thoughtfully. "But somehow, I knew there was a class just a few corridors away that would need my help, and sure enough, I was right. Just look at this place. Do any of them actually know what they're doing?"
"I don't know of anyone in this room who needs your help," Hermione growled, glaring at a bookshelf in the back of the room. "And yes, they do know what they're doing, believe it or not, because I taught them. That's what a teacher does – they teach."
Ron chuckled and suddenly pulled away from Hermione's desk, which he had casually been leaning on. He began walking down the aisle, taking in the students and birds around him, then stopped in front of an olive-skinned boy from Ravenclaw. He was poking his bird hard with his wand, repeating the spell over and over, but the bird made no indication at all that it had felt his prodding. In fact, it appeared to be asleep.
"Having trouble, kid?" Ron asked him.
The boy looked around and, upon seeing that it was Ron, grinned widely and nodded his head. He jabbed the bird in its side again, but nothing happened. For a moment, Hermione wondered if it was still alive.
"This spell is nothing," Ron told the boy with a wave of his hand. "I've done it loads of times, I could probably even do it in my sleep, but I guess it all just depends on who you have as your teacher, right?"
Ron raised his head to glance at Hermione, who was standing at her desk now, watching Ron and the boy with foreboding. She was sure to glare furiously back.
"Here, I'll show you how an expert does it," said Ron. He reached inside his robe and pulled out his wand. "Then you can tell all your friends that you know how to turn birds into quills because you learned it from Ron Weasley, okay?"
The Ravenclaw boy nodded, still grinning. Hermione fumed from her place at her desk.
Ron raised his wand and made several exaggerated movements in the air, his brow furrowed. Then he lowered his wand towards the snoozing bird. The boy was watching his every movement with admiration, his eyes bulging out in his head. Ron began waving his wand in a fashion completely different from what Hermione taught the class and opened his mouth to enunciate the spell.
At that moment, there was a boisterous honking noise, and a bird from the row behind Ron and the boy took flight, with another pulling at its feathered back. Several students shrieked and made to grab the two birds but ended up colliding with one another; three fell backwards onto the floor. There was a blinding flash of dazzling light and another honk, and when the light had subsided, where there once stood a third-year Ravenclaw student there now sat a brightly-colored bird identical the rest.
"Bloody hell, that's never happened before," said an astonished Ron Weasley for the whole room to hear.
It took Hermione a moment to comprehend what exactly Ron had done; her body seemed to forget how to function properly as she watched everything in slow motion. Her mouth hung open in pure shock, and she was unable to form any coherent thoughts. But then her brain was working again, heat was rising to her face, and she balled her hands at her sides, no longer able to gulp down her words.
"RON!" she shrieked deafeningly. The classroom had immediately fallen silent, including the few remaining birds. Hermione threw back her chair, ignoring the crash as it fell to the floor, and all but ran from her desk to the fourth row. Ron didn't seem to be able to move either; he gaped at the majestic bird on its stool, his wand hanging limp at his side.
Hermione reached Ron and felt a burning urge to slap him across the face, but she knew that would be overreacting. Instead, she arrived at his side and stared horrified at the Ravenclaw student, who probably was staring horrified back. "Oh, my g – Ron, what did you do!" she screamed, turning to face him.
"I didn't do anything!" he exclaimed. "I don't know what happened, if those bloody birds hadn't attacked me then –"
"Oh, sure, blame it on them!" Hermione yelled.
"I didn't do it on purpose!" said Ron. His ears began glowing red, which was always a warning sign. "D'you honestly think I'd take time out of my day to come into your classroom with the intentions of turning students into birds?"
Hermione chose not to respond (certainly a difficult challenge for her) and tenderly picked up the feathered student in her hands. He emitted a rather weak honk but stared pointedly at Ron, his beady little eyes stretched wide. Hermione had the faint notion that the Ravenclaw did not at all mind being turned into a bird, especially by such a prominent Ministry member. In fact, she expected he would feel rather important that he had survived such a thing, and would most likely go on to tell all his friends – as soon as she figured out how to turn him back, of course.
The entire class had halted to watch the scene. There were whisperings behind Hermione, and she knew what they were about. The only thing was, she didn't know how to turn him back.
"Well?" demanded a voice to her left.
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to, you know, fix him?"
Hermione stared down pityingly at the third-year in her hands. She was silent for a moment before she muttered, "I don't know how."
"You don't know how?" Ron asked loudly. "You're the Transfiguration professor and you don't know how?"
"You're the one who did this," Hermione snapped, blushing. "If you're so clever, and you obviously think you are, the way you talk about yourself all the time, you turn him back."
"I don't – well, I mean – it was an accident, I don't know how to fix him!"
"Then I'd suggest figuring something out, Ron!" said Hermione, turning to face him in a boiling temper. "You can't go around turning students into birds! What will his parents think? What will they think of me? I'm his professor, I'm responsible for him while he's in here and –"
"I don't think his parents will give a damn about you," Ron seethed. There were several mutters from behind him, but Hermione paid no attention. "I'm the one who did it, if it's anyone they'll be angry with, it'll be me."
"Watch your language!" Hermione hissed, for lack of anything better to say.
"You're overreacting, you know."
"I am not," said Hermione. "You aren't allowed to transfigure the students, Ron! If McGonagall ever found out, she'd probably sack you herself!"
"It isn't my fault, Hermione! I didn't do it on purpose!" Ron repeated, his voice rising. He gestured towards the student in Hermione's arms and accidentally swung at a bird sitting just to his right. The bird honked and took flight, causing several students to break from their motionless states and run after it, but with a flick of Hermione's wand, the bird slowed down and came to a complete stop on a desk halfway across the room.
"Well, it is your fault for being so careless! What if you'd hurt him? Something worse than this could have happened if you hadn't been so –"
"So what?"
"Reckless! Bigheaded! Interruptive! For weeks you've been disturbing my classes, showing up for no good reason at all just to irritate me so I'll do something wrong, and now this! I've had it, Ron, I've had it with you and – and your idiocy and – I have too much on my mind right now, as you should know, to deal with you! And I'd appreciate it if you stopped asking for my quills, because I need them and God knows you never return anything you ask for."
Hermione finished her short tirade breathing heavily. A stunned silence met her ears. Ron was staring at her with a mixture of hurt and disbelief and seemed unable, for the first time in minutes, to come up with a witty retort. But the glazed look in his eyes quickly vanished, as did his injured expression. His hand shot out and he quickly grabbed the bird in Hermione's hands.
"Harry will know what to do," he said curtly. "I'm sorry for interrupting your class and trying to help your students. I've only known how to do that spell for about six years, after all. I'll be sure never to show up here again. Have a nice lesson, kids," he finished, before pulling in the bird closer and turning on his heel. He stomped down the aisle, his robes billowing out behind him, and disappeared round the doorway. His footsteps reverberated down the corridor for several seconds, and Hermione stood motionless, listening to them, until they faded away entirely and once again, uncomfortable silence met her ears.
She automatically regretted everything she had just said in the past few minutes, knowing that all of it had been heard by the students, and by the end of the day, all of it would be known by the whole school. She could only imagine how her pupils would refer to her now – that professor who's off her rocker, most likely. A burning desire to go back in time and erase the entire lesson welled up inside her, as did tears in her eyes. But she blinked them back. She would not top off the period with crying, too. She had probably just obliterated all respect the students had for her, so they didn't need to be graced with her tears as well.
"Right, well –" Hermione's voice was hoarse and she choked on her words. She wasn't sure she would be able to speak at all. "Er, sorry, that wasn't – I mean, today's lesson didn't exactly go as planned. Sorry. Just…just leave the quills and the birds on your desks, I'll round them up later. You may leave when the bell sounds."
"Do we have any homework?" asked a bright voice towards the back of the assembled students. Hermione's stinging eyes shot across the room to find a girl nudging the boy who had spoken in the side.
"Er, not – not tonight, no. No homework. Good day, class."
The bell rang three minutes later. The students rose from their seats and eagerly piled out of the classroom, headed for dinner, talking loudly amongst themselves about the events of their lesson. Hermione listened behind the closed door in her office to the sound of their booming footsteps until they dwindled into nothing, leaving her alone in deafening silence. She never wanted to leave her office again.