Harry Potter and the Secret Squib!
Chapter Nineteen: The Substitute
For the first time since Harry had returned to Hogwarts for his sixth year, he awoke the next morning to find that it wasn't storming – or even lightly raining – at all. As Harry briefly brushed the sleep from his eyes and straightened up his glasses, he gave a quick glance around his surroundings and was slightly startled to see that he was, in fact, laying slumped in his favourite armchair down in the Gryffindor Common Room, and not up in his dormitory where he should be. Remembering that he had come down to sit by the fire after changing into his school robes, Harry checked his watch for the current time and then walked over to the windowsill, where he began to stare down into the grounds.
Harry watched as a hooded figure made his way eerily out of the grounds through the morning fog and towards Hogsmeade. Harry's heart nearly leapt a beat; the resemblance to the man in Harry's dream was uncanny, they had the same stature, build and dark feeling to them. However, before Harry could consider the hooded person any longer, Ron and Hermione came down into the Common Room looking for him.
"There you are, mate. We wondered where you'd got to," Ron laughed, "Hermione thought you'd been abducted by Death Eaters or something."
Hermione frowned at Ron. "What do you expect me to think if Harry just goes missing in the middle of the night, Ronald?"
"I dunno... but come on! Death Eaters? How're they suppose to get in with Dumbledore watching over the school? They wouldn't stand a chance even if they did!" Ron laughed. "So, where did you go then, Harry?"
"The Owlery," Harry answered, simply. He didn't want to go into detail about the dream until Lupin had replied with his thoughts, "I had a few letters to send."
"Letters? To who?" Ron inquired, much to Harry's disappointment, but thankfully, just as Harry was about to answer, Hermione came to his rescue.
"Oh Ron, give Harry some privacy, won't you? It's not like you have to share every detail of each others lives."
"Fair enough," Ron shrugged, "so, are we going to head down to breakfast now, then?"
Harry and Hermione nodded hungrily and the three friends started to head down to the Great Hall together.
"Ron, go on ahead. I just want a word with Harry, quickly." Hermione said as they reached the Great Hall's doors several minutes later.
"Oh... alright then," Ron replied, slightly bewildered, "I'll save you two a seat."
"Right," Hermione said, as she turned back around to face Harry. "What was you really doing up last night?"
"What?" Harry asked, confused, "I already told you and Ron... I was sending Hedwig away with a letter."
"There's more to it than that," Hermione said, not letting the subject go, "I know there is... did – did something... happen?"
"What like a –"
"Dream." Hermione finished. "Precisely."
"Well..."
"Oh Harry," said Hermione, sympathetically. Harry had clearly forgotten about how inquisitive Hermione could be at times, "you really should tell Dumbledore about it… was it the same kind as last year?"
"Why should I tell you? You'll probably just go and tell everyone else like you did last time!" Harry thought, coldly, as he remembered what happened last time he had let Hermione know what happened during his dream.
"It's – it's a long story Hermione," Harry replied, simply, "I'll tell you about it later, alright?"
Hermione smiled and nodded as she departed into the Great Hall to join Ron at the Gryffindor table. Feeling extremely relieved (and sighing rather loudly), Harry quickly set off into the Great Hall for breakfast and hoped Lupin would hurry with a reply.
The ceiling of the Great Hall that morning was entirely different from what it had been just days before, as the sky was no longer black and grey, but serenely blue with several dozen frail, wispy clouds dotted around amid the sparkling rays of sunlight that ever-so-gently peered through the light fog.
"By the way, I thought you said you weren't going to continue with Potions, Ron." Harry said as he said down in the empty seat opposite his friends, and helped himself to a slice of toast.
"I wasn't going to," Ron added, "but McGonagall said something about Dumbledore wanting me to continue with it... and that he had told Snape to allow me to continue it even though I didn't get an Outstanding in my O.W.L."
"What?" Hermione said, sounding rather horrified, "that's not fair! After how hard I've worked all these years to get onto my N.E.W.T courses, you two get easy access for no real reason at all! What is Dumbledore thinking! It undermines the whole Ordinary Wizarding Level's system!"
"Hermione, get a grip!" Ron said, harshly. "It's not like me and Harry got a T grade is it? We both passed, so we deserve to be on the course! It's not our thought Snape only likes the suck-up's is it!"
But before Hermione could yell a comeback, the morning's mail, as well as several hundred rain drops, came flying down from the Great Hall's ceiling aided by their winged carriers. Harry's head shot up and instantly began scanning the group for any sign of a snowy white owl, which, unfortunately, there wasn't. However, as usual, a rather large and smart looking Ministry owl landed neatly in front of Hermione holding this morning Daily Prophet tightly in its talons.
Hermione carefully pulled the newspaper away from under the large Ministry owl and inserted five bronze Knuts into the small leather pouch tired around its leg. Yet, before Hermione had a chance to fully unfold the morning's paper, a loud and woeful shriek came from across the hall. As the whole of the hall's occupants turned to see where the cry had originated from, Susan Bones, a sixth year Hufflepuff girl with her hair plaited long down her back, sprinted from her house table and out of the Great Hall while weeping intensely, only to then be followed quickly by the Hufflepuff head of house, Professor Sprout.
"What'd you reckon is up with her?" Dean Thomas asked as the rest of the halls inhabitants all turned back to their tables and whispered indiscreetly.
"... oh no," Hermione said, sorrowfully and she stared at the front cover of the Prophet, "what a terrible way to find out..."
"What?" Harry asked, confusedly. "Hermione, what's happened?"
And without another word, Hermione slowly turned around the front page of the morning's newspaper to show Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors. The headline hit Harry as if it was a brick. He's pulse began to race as he read.
"MINISTRY OFFICIAL FOUND MURDERED
Important Ministry of Magic Official and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, AMELIA SUSAN BONES, was discovered murdered in her home last night, writes Guy Burnsteene, Ministry Reporter.
The alarm was raised when the Dark Mark – an immense glowing skull which has a serpent coming from inside the mouth, and is comprised fully of green sparks, (enchantment only known to You-Know-Who's followers) – was sent up into the sky above the powerful Witch's house to signal a killing.
It is believed, from the substantial amount of evidence gathered, that the well respected Ministry official, and friend to one Albus Dumbledore, was ambushed around five past eight yesterday evening while preparing to cook dinner. Yet, along with the body of late Madam Bones, there were reportedly two other cloaked and masked figures found dead in close proximity – both are considered to be Death Eaters.
Later, upon close examination from officials in the Magical Law Enforcement department – who are allegedly in shock and horror over the attack on their department head – discovered that before the surprise attack, Amelia's house was magically sealed from the inside. They have also announced that He Who Must Not Be Named himself, may have been present at the attack, or may have even disposed of Bones personally. In addition, it is rumoured that as well as the two bodies already found, there may have been a third Death Eater present at the assault, who may have, in fact, survived Amelia's counter-attack, this may even be the same Death Eater who was responsible for the death's of Amelia's brother, Edgar Bones, and his family around thirty years ago.
Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, who is rumoured to be in his final days of office, had this to say on the subject. "It comes as a deep shock to all of us at the Ministry about the Death of poor Madam Bones, as she was a truly gifted Witch and an outstanding head of department. Once the alarm was raised, Enforcement officials raced their fastest to get to the scene, but by the time they arrived, they were simply too late. So, it is safe to say, and I won't deny it, that moral is pretty low in the Ministry at the current moment... nevertheless, none of us can take time off to mourn this disgrace, as we have to get back to work as soon as possible in able to insure that an attack of this magnitude cannot happen again.
A full write-up of the incident will be posted later today to the new Magical Law Enforcement head, rumoured to be Malfalda Hopkirk, and Minister Fudge. More information on this incident, as well as the Ministry, will be included tomorrow."
Harry was stunned; what possible reason would Voldemort or the Death Eaters have to murder Amelia Bones? She wasn't part of the Order of the Phoenix or even an Auror, and thus wasn't any immediate threat to Voldemort at all. As Harry looked around the Gryffindor table, everyone's faces seemed to mimic his own.
"Dad always said that Madam Bones was a great witch," Ron said, glumly, "I wonder why... You-Know-Who... wanted her dead..."
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Hermione answered. "She was the head of a department that handles the whole Death Eater scene, wasn't she? Voldemort – oh, Ron – knew she would be a big loss to the Ministry... she was probably even expecting it."
"What? Expecting to be killed?" Harry asked, inconsiderately.
"Well, not necessarily to be killed, but she was probably expecting an attack of some sort... why else who she have her house locked from the inside?"
"Maybe she was just weary of thieves..." Neville added, lightly.
"I doubt it," Hermione answered, once again, "who would want to steal from the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department? You would be practically asking for a sentence in Azkaban!"
After several more minutes of deducing Voldemort's reasons for killing the important Ministry official, the Gryffindors exited the Great Hall and split up to go to their different classes; Harry, Ron and Hermione all set off to the dungeons, for their first lesson on N.E.W.T. level potions. When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people actually progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including that of Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.
"Harry," Ernie said, happily, while holding out his hand as Harry approached, but before Harry had a chance to shake it the dungeon door opened creakily and a shadowy figure of a large, weighty man behind the desk welcomed them in.
"What's happened to Snape?" Ron whispered to Harry, jokily as they filed into the room. "How much did he eat at breakfast?"
Harry held down a laugh but was then quickly knocked back by the strong smell that was contained inside the room, as the dungeon was, most unusually, already full of various different vapours and odd smells. Harry, Ron and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed several large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-coloured cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled; somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle and something flowery he thought he might have smelled at The Burrow. He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like a drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned lazily back.
"Now then, now then, now then," said the shadowed figure as they stood up from behind the desk and briefly into the candlelight, "scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making..."
Harry looked over at Ron, Hermione and Ernie somewhat bewildered; this new professor was definitely not Snape.
"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand.
"Yes, m'boy?"
"I don't mean to be rude, but – um – who exactly are you?"
"Ah, I take it Professor Dumbledore hasn't told you then?" he said as he stepped further into the candlelight and became nearly completely visible. In front of them clearly stood a man of short stature with a large belly, shiny, bald head and prominent, wide eyes. As well as a distinctive and enormous silvery walrus-like moustache. In addition to having a unique facial appearance, the hefty man was wearing a lavish, old-fashioned waistcoat with gold buttons over the top of a smart-looking, but old-fashioned none the less, robe. "I am Horace Slughorn, and will be the acting Potions Master while Professor Snape is away on... other business – Now, now, there's no need for that look Mr. Malfoy, I am just as able as your head to teach this subject... maybe even a little better – As I was saying, I am just as shocked as you all are that I am once again teaching this subject. Albus only informed me that my services were needed a few weeks ago, and even then I was reluctant to come out of – er – retirement. But, after some fine persuading by Dumbledore, which, incidentally, is quiet an amusing story which I'll have to tell you one time or another, here I am. So, does that answer your question, Mr. ... sorry, I never did catch your name?"
"Harry, sir, Harry Potter." Harry said, somewhat dazed. He suddenly had put two and two together, and figured that it was Snape he saw leaving the Hogwarts grounds earlier that morning, possibly to do the other 'business' that this new professor had spoken of.
"Oho," he said, delighted. His large eyes flying up to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore, "Oho!"
Harry looked around the class room somewhat uneasily as Slughorn continued to stare at Harry's scar. He saw Malfoy whispering to his fellow Slytherins and sniggering while looking in his direction.
"I was hoping I'd run into you this morning, Dumbledore speaks very highly of you, of course," Slughorn continued. Malfoy and his friends' sniggering grew louder, "now, where were we? Ah, yes. That's right. Scales and potion kits out, everyone... and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making."
"Sir?" Harry said, once again as he raised his hand.
"Harry, m'boy?"
"I haven't got a book or scales or anything – nor's Ron – we didn't realise we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see –"
"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention that some of you may not have the equipment needed... not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some of my scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts..."
Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and after a moments foraging emerged with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.
"Now then," said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest, so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of things you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?"
He indicated to the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Harry raised himself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.
Hermione's well-practised hand hit the air before anybody else's; Slughorn pointed at her.
"It's Veritaserum, a colourless, odourless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth." said Hermione.
"Very good, very good!" said Slughorn happily. "Now," he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table. "This one is pretty well-known... featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately, too... who can –?"
Hermione's hand was fastest once more.
"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir." She said.
Harry, too, had recognised the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance in the second cauldron, but did not resent Hermione getting the credit for answering the question; on the contrary, he was quiet pleased with her for once again taking Slughorn's eyes off Harry, and she, after all, was the one who had succeeded on making it, back in their second year.
"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here... yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused as Hermione's hand punched the air again.
"It's Amortentia!"
"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn, who was looking mighty impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"
"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione.
"Quite right! You recognised it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"
"And the stream rising characteristic spirals," said Hermione, enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smelly freshly mown grass and new parchment and –" But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.
"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment.
"Hermione Granger, sir."
"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"
"No, I don't think so sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see."
Harry saw Malfoy lean close to the boy sitting closest to him and whisper something, both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.
"Oho! So this is the "exceptionally bright Muggle-born student" that Professor Dumbledore so highly spoke off while we were discussing Mr. Potter's future in Potions," he said as Hermione turned slightly pink again, "well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger."
Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered. "Did you hear that, Harry? Dumbledore thinks I'm 'exceptional!'"
"Well, what's so impressive about that?" whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. "You already knew that Dumbledore thought you was a great witch – I'd've told this new guy if he'd asked me, too!"
Hermione smiled but made a 'shush'ing gesture, so they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.
"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room – oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking sceptically, "when you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love... and now," continued Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."
"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one." said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the colour of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, thought not a particle had spilled.
"Oho," said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect, "yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turned, smiling to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"
"It's liquid luck," said Hermione, excitedly, "it makes you lucky!"
The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Harry could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blonde head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.
"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavours tend to succeed... at least until the effects wear off."
"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" said Terry Boot, eagerly.
"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing, you know... highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally..."
"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Michael Corner with great interest.
"Twice in my life," said Slughorn. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."
He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, thought Harry, the effect was good.
"And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."
There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.
"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. Now, I must give you a warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organised competitions... sporting events, for instance, examinations or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only... and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary! So," said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it's more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does the best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"
The was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons towards them, and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really want that lucky day. Harry bent swiftly over the tattered book Slughorn had lent him.
To his annoyance he saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, so that the margins were as black as the printed portions. Bending low to decipher the ingredients (even here, the previous owner had made annotations and crossed things out) Harry hurried off towards the store cupboard, he saw Malfoy cutting up valerian roots as fast as he could.
Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing; this was both an advantage and disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the 'smooth, blackcurrant-coloured liquid' mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.
Having finished chopping his roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under all the stupid scribbles of the previous owner, who for some reason had taken issue with the order to cut up the Sopophorous Bean and had written in the alternative instruction: Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting.
"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?"
Harry looked up; Slughorn was just passing the Slytherin table.
"Yes," said Slughorn, without looking at Malfoy, "I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age..."
And he walked away. Harry bent back over his cauldron, smirking. He could tell that Malfoy had expected to be treated like Harry or Zabini; perhaps even hoped for some preferential treatment of the type he had learned to expect from Snape. It looked as though Malfoy would have to rely on nothing but talent to win the bottle of Felix Felicis.
The Sopophorous Bean was proving very difficult to cut up. Harry turned to Hermione. "Can I borrow your silver knife?"
She nodded impatiently, not taking her eyes off her potion, which was still deep purple, though according to the book ought to be turning a light shade of lilac by now. Harry crushed his bean with the flat side of the dagger. To his astonishment, it immediately exuded so much juice he was amazed the shrivelled bean could have held it all. Hastily scooping it all into the cauldron he saw, to his surprise that the potion immediately turned exactly the shade of lilac described by the textbook. His annoyance with the previous owner vanishing on the spot, Harry now squinted at the next line of instructions. According to the book, he had to sir counter-clockwise until the potion turned clear as water. According to the addition the previous owner had made, however, he ought to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counter-clockwise stir. Could the old owner be right twice? Harry stirred counter-clockwise, held his breath, and stirred once clockwise. The effect was immediate. The potion turned palest pink.
"How are you doing that?" demanded Hermione, who was red-faced and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple.
"Add a clockwise stir –"
"No, no, the book says counter-clockwise!" she snapped.
Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing. Seven stirs counter-clockwise, one clockwise, pause... seven stirs counter-clockwise, one stir clockwise...
Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid liquorice. Harry glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had certainly never happened before in this dungeon.
"And time's... up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"
Slughorn moved slowly between the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir, or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tar-like substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's navy concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread of his face.
"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good Lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent, she was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are – one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"
Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces, and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simple dumbfounded.
"How did you do that?" he whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.
"Got lucky, I suppose." said Harry, because Malfoy was within earshot.
Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for break, however, he felt safe enough to tell them. Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered.
"I s'pose you think I cheated?" he finished, aggravated by her expression.
"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she said, stiffly.
"He only followed different instructions to ours," said Ron. "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't it? But he took a risk and it paid off." He heaved a sigh. "Slughorn could've handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one's ever written in. Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, but –"
"Hang on," said a voice close by Harry's left ear and he caught a sudden waft of that flowery smell he had picture up in Slughorn's dungeon. He looked round and saw that Ginny had joined them. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"
She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once.
"It's nothing," he said, reassuringly, lowering his voice. "It's not like, you know, Riddle's diary. It's just an old textbook someone's scribbled in."
"But you're doing what it says?"
"I just tried a few tips writing in the margins, honestly Ginny, there's nothing funny –"
"Ginny's got a point," said Hermione, perking up at once. "We ought to check that there's nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?"
"Hey!" said Harry indignantly, as she pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and raised her wand.
"Specialis revelio!" she said, rapping it smartly on the front cover.
Nothing whatsoever happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and dirty and dog-earned.
"Finished?" said Harry irritably. "Or d'you want to wait and see if it does a few back flips?"
"It seems all right," said Hermione, still staring at the book suspiciously. "I mean, it really does seem to be... just a textbook."
"Good. Then I'll have it back." said Harry, snatching it off the table, but it slipped from his hand and landed open on the floor.
Nobody else was looking. Harry bent low to retrieve the book and, as he did so, he was something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, now safely hidden inside his pair of socks in his trunk upstairs; This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.
Harry continued to stare at the well-written text for several more moments, wondering slightly who exactly the Half-Blood Prince was. Yet, after hearing a rather loud shriek come from Hermione, he jumped up from under the table with his wand at the ready.
"Ronald, how dare you!"
"C'mon Hermione," Ron replied calmly, "You're just jealous because Harry won the Felix Felicates thing and you didn't!" Harry now started to feel somewhat uncomfortable in between the two. "And you're only angry because for once you didn't know how to do something better than someone else..."
Hermione hesitated and began to open her mouth in order to respond while looking fiery, but stopped and instead turned around from her seat and stormed angrily out of the Great Hall. Harry was almost positive that he heard a sob before she departed.
"Ron!" Ginny yelled as she too departed the Great Hall.
"Is it me," Ron started, "or is every girl in this school mental – er, Harry, why've you got that out?"
Harry looked down into his clutched palm and saw that he still had his wand out and raised. He smiled and shrugged. "Fell out of my pocket it when I knocked the book off..."
"So, where'd you reckon Hermione went to?" Ron said around ten minutes later as they walked down the Charms corridor on the third floor, and made their way slowly to their next class. But Ron's question was quickly answered before Harry could contemplate a response, as the bushy-haired Muggle-born had stiffly barged past them speedily and headed straight into the room without so much as a hello.
"See what I mean? Mental."
Harry gave a small smile and he and Ron headed into the classroom for their first N.E.W.T. level Charms lesson.
"Come on now, come on," Flitwick said, happily while waving the remaining students in with his wand, "we've got a busy lesson ahead of us... come on now boys, quickly, take a seat."
Harry and Ron followed Flitwick's instructions and promptly sat themselves down on the same table as Neville, Dean and Hermione, who still appeared to be showing absolutely no sign of acknowledgement to them. Harry gave a quick glance around the room and his eyes were met with several familiar faces. Ernie Macmillan had once again decided to continue with a N.E.W.T. standard class, along with numerous others of his fellow Hufflepuffs. It also seemed that Charms was popular with the remaining five Ravenclaw students, and surprisingly, even with the Slytherins, considering they had the largest group of six.
"Now, now, settle down class, there's a busy lesson ahead of us," Flitwick said, cheerily as he summoned a book from behind him, "Please get out your books and turn to page three-hundred and seven."
There was a loud bustle around the classroom as each student bent down to their bags and pulled out a rather large Advanced Guide to Successful Charming by Euan Harrows. Harry quickly flicked through the pages of the heavy book until he reached page number three-zero-seven.
"I was wondering when we'd be doing this." Ron whispered to Harry, "Been wanting to try this for years..."
"Now, as some as you may have guessed," Flitwick continued, "today we'll be working on the Confundus charm. Can anyone tell me what the charm – yes, Miss Granger?"
Hermione's hand had shot up just as promptly as it had done all Potions lesson. It would seem that all the extra reading Hermione did for her O.W.L.s was paying off after all. "It causes confusion, sir. And anyone thought to be under its influences are said to be Confunded."
"Yes! Precisely right Miss Granger." Praised Flitwick. "The confundus charm is used initially to confuse, or fool, the recipient. It works by the caster implanting false information into the mind of the receiver. Though, as helpful as this can be, the information able to be inserted is extremely limited to the power of the wizard or witch who casts it – if the caster is weak, the information shall be unstable and have a short duration."
"Sir, would it be possible to ever make the charm permanent?" asked Justin Finch-Fletchley, raising his hand.
"It would be possible... but only if done by the most skilled of wizard's – or witch, Miss Granger," Flitwick added, after spotting Hermione's disapproving frown, "now, everyone, out with your wands. Quickly, quickly."
Harry reached into his lapels and swiftly pulled his wand from his inside pocket, and held it in line with his chest, ready to start practicing the spell.
"Watch and listen closely, everyone; the enchantment and wand movements have to be done precisely in order for the spell to work, if they are not, then the spell will have absolutely no effect." Flitwick raised his wand slowly and pointed it directly at the Hufflepuff table. "Mr. Finch-Fletchley, would you care to assist? After all, you do seem rather interested in this charm."
Justin nodded nervously and made his away over to the pile of books that Flitwick was perched upon. Standing shakily, he watched as Flitwick began to swerve the wand repeatedly in front of his wide-eyed face before stopping quickly and saying, "Confundio!"
Justin's face suddenly scrunched up violently, as if he had just inhaled the scent of a hundred dungbomb's all in one breathe. Hermione and Padma Patil let out a horrified gasp between them, while the Slytherin table, with the exception of Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass and Eloise Midgen, instantly began sniggering indiscreetly. Hannah Abbott, on the other hand, quickly became hysteric and began yelling loudly that Justin was dying. Flitwick hastily pointed out the fact that Justin was no longer in discomfort, quite the opposite, as his face had slowly relaxed into a pose of complete and utter perplexity.
"Mr. Finch-Fletchley, what do you think of my Veela heritage?" Flitwick asked, much to the confusion of the class.
Justin suddenly snapped out of his daze, mystified. His eyes quickly darted around the room and back down to the small stature of Professor Flitwick. "What, sir?" he asked.
"My Veela heritage, Mr. Finch-Fletchley," Flitwick repeated, "what do you think of it..."
"It's – it's amazing!" Justin said, in clear awe. "I couldn't believe it when you told me the other night... half Veela... wow. I'd have never thought it just by looking at you..."
Professor Flitwick nodded happily with a smile as the class quieted their laughs. After issuing Justin back to his seat, he turned back to the class and began to speak. "As you've seen, this charm can be used for a variety of different reasons, but whatever these reasons are, it mustn't be used in the wrong, and is outlawed in all professional sports and activities," he paused momentarily and continued "in an extreme case, wrong use of the Confundus charm could earn you a spell in Azkaban." A sour feeling started to fall over the class almost immediately, but the silence was broken sharply as the petite professor spoke once more. "You have been warned, now getting back on task, please split into pairs and begin practising. Good luck!"
Once again, a loud flurry came over the classroom as the students began breaking off into pairs and moving around the room. Harry quickly partnered with Ron, as did Dean with Neville, Hermione, however, crossed the commotion-filled room without word and began practicing the charm with Terry Boot, who also, it seemed was partnerless.
By the end of the lesson, the majority of the class had managed to temporally alter the memories of their partners. Ron was now thinking he was a world class Quidditch player, and Harry believed, even if it was only for a couple of minutes, that he was a mermaid, resulting in him being sent down to the hospital wing through believing he was suffocating on land, much to the delight of Malfoy.
"What were you thinking!" Hermione demanded, some twenty minutes later down in the Hospital with Harry and Ron. "Surely you would have known that making Harry think he was a mermaid would had led him to realise that he shouldn't be able to breathe! He could have had a nervous-breakdown!"
Ron gulped and shifted his gaze away from Hermione and over to the bed where Harry lay. Harry held down a snigger over of Ron's horrified face.
"Hermione, relax a bit will you?" Ron added in quickly before Hermione could get out another word. "It's not like anything bad happened, did it? What's your problem anyway? You've been biting my head off all day!"
Instead of answering back, Hermione stormed off angrily from the large room while muttering something obscene under her breath.
"Blimey," Ron sighed as he sat back down on the chair next to Harry, "What's up with her?"
"You probably should go after her..." Harry replied, "You don't want her completely ignoring you – us – again, d'you."
"Yeah, I s'pose you're right," said Ron as he got up from the wooden chair, "see you back in the Common Room later."
"Yeah, see you."
Harry laid back down on the hard, uncomfortable hospital bed and stared up onto the ceiling. As he lay there, he could feel his eyes becoming heavy over his eyes, and although he tried his hardest to resist, within moments he was asleep.
Harry once again found himself walking aimlessly through a deserted Hogwarts, much like he had done the previous night. Once again, rain was pounding hard against the windows, and thunder roared in the back ground. Not wanting to waste anymore time, Harry bolted from the castle itself and raced down the wet, stone steps which seemed to disintegrate from beneath him as he found that he was transported from the grounds and back into the middle of a deserted, muddy field. He spun around quickly, hoping to see the large oak doors behind him, but his eyes were met with nothing but mist and never-ending grass.
This dream nearly completely mimicked the one before. The rain was once again coming heavily down onto his face and wholly obscuring his vision. Harry quickly pulled of his glasses and wiped them swiftly on his soaked sleeve, before returning them promptly to his face. A large patch of mist yet again fell over the moon and took away all light from around Harry, knowing what was about to come next, Harry attempted to brace himself for the cold breeze that was about to shoot down his spine, but to no avail. Harry searched his surroundings and watched as the faint outline of a small village came into view through the all the mist and fog. He raced up to the edge of the meadow and stood, looking around at the nearby houses. As the light from a small cottage window several houses down flicked on and caught his attention, he once more got the peculiar feeling that he knew the village, or that he had been there before, which, this time for sure, he had.
Harry directed his eyes away from the cottage windows and back down to his wrist watch, which was once more reading the time as five to twelve. Forgetting what was coming next, Harry jumped as he heard the rustling of grass behind him. He once more saw the clear silhouette of a hooded figure making his way towards him through the hail and thick, long grass.
This time, however, Harry kept quiet, and didn't say anything to the approaching guest. The man once again started to become semi-visible as the moon highlighted the long black robe trailing across the muddy ground. Harry began to wonder for a second time why someone who was clearly a wizard was entering a Muggle village at this time of night, but before he could put anymore thought into the matter, he was hit with a sharp searing pain in square in his forehead. He collapsed painfully onto one knee and threw his closest hand over his lightning bolt scar to ease the pain, but once again, it was to no avail. Harry scrambled back up to his feet; hand still pressed tightly on his forehead, and looked directly towards the hooded man, who was growing closer every second.
Not wanting to take his gaze off the man, Harry avoided taking another glance around his surroundings and instead continued to focus entirely in front of him, which was growing increasing hard since the rain was becoming heavier. Suddenly Harry's scar burnt hotter than he'd felt all night, and was brought back down onto his knees with a distinct thud. Mud splattered up over Harry's robe and face, and he felt himself lightly sink into the wet earth. He began to intake sharp, deep breathes as the scar continued to grow tenderer as the figure grew closer. Soon, only meters stood between the two. Harry was determined on not allow them any closer so he weakly inserted his hand into his inside pocket and pulled out his wand, directing it at the on coming figure as he did so.
"Stop!" Harry yelled, once more, hoping it would end. Yet, there was no change. Harry was knelt in the exact same position as he was in just seconds later. The man continued growing closer and Harry's scar throbbed harder, causing him to drop his wand and bring him flat on his back in a crippled mass. Harry watched, painfully as the man stopped next to him and looked ahead; tears began to roll down Harry's cheeks as he lay, jumbled at the bottom of the man in the pouring rain. Harry's heart skipped a beat as a swift bolt of lightning struck in the distance and shone light on the figure's twisted, mutilated and ominous looking face.
"Mr. Potter..." said the man's dark, chilling voice. Harry could feel the fear running through his blood as if it was solid, "Mr. Potter..."
"No..." Harry whimpered, agitatedly, "No..."
He started to feel nervously around the thick and long grass for any sign of his wand. Harry knew that if he could just find it he could do something, but it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack while blindfolded, as there was far too much mist for him to see even a metre clearly in front of him. The rain continued pounding his face as the man turned to speak once more...
"Mr. Potter!"
"NO!"
Madam Pomfrey jumped back several metres, clearly startled by Harry's sudden and fierce outburst. Straightening herself out, she returned back to full stature and slowly moved back over towards Harry's bed.
"... sorry," Harry muttered, nervously. "I didn't mean to... it's just I was having a bad dream..."
"Nothing to worry about, Potter," she replied, casually, "accidents happen, but next time, please remind me to just set an alarm."
Harry gave a weak smile and leaned over to check his watch; realising that he was already late for his first Occlumency class with Professor Dumbledore, Harry bolted from his bed and hastily snatched up his robe from the bedside table and headed out of the Hospital wing, much to the dismay of Madam Pomfrey.
After several minutes of sprinting frantically, Harry reached the seventh floor, and the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Bertie Bolts..." Harry said, confidently as he awaited the gargoyle to leap into activity and move, allowing him access. "Bertie Bolts!" He repeated, yet still nothing happened. Harry began pondering over his memory to make sure he had the right password, when he had came to Dumbledore's office on the first day of term, Dumbledore had used that very same password to open the door, but now... nothing.
"Ah, there you are, Harry," came a voice from behind Harry, and, much to his surprise, Dumbledore had just come up the staircase behind him, "Professor Flitwick just informed me of your grim departure from Charms, earlier today. And, evidently, by the time I had reached the hospital wing, you had already discharged your self from Madam Pomfrey's care." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled from beneath his half-moon spectacles as he walked happily towards the gargoyle. "Now, shall we enter?"
"I've been trying to, sir," Harry added, quickly while feeling dim, "I've tried the password already, but – well – nothing happened..."
"I can see that." Dumbledore smiled, casually. "I have a separate password throughout the holidays to the school year – and, until late last night, it was Bertie Bolts."
Harry spent several moments debating the thought of why Dumbledore would need a different password for the holidays in his head, but quickly remembered that Dumbledore's reasons were usually far more complex (and unnecessary) for Harry to even begin to comprehend.
"Well, as they say, better late than never," Dumbledore said as he turned to the stone gargoyle, "Acid Pops." Instantly, the gargoyle sprang to life and admitted entrance to Dumbledore and Harry, who both quickly entered the spiral chamber, made their way up the tower, and then into the office itself. The residence had barely changed since Harry was last there, but only if you ignored the large, shallow stone basin sitting neatly on the enormous, claw footed oak desk. Dumbledore strolled over to the Pensieve and ran his hand around edge, feeling the carved runes and symbols before raising his wand to his temple and pulling out a wiry, delicate strand of silver matter and placing it into the glistening substance, which was now emitting a silvery sheen of light.
"Sir, why exactly do I have to continue with Occlumency?" Harry asked, as Dumbledore sat down while feeling, once again, rather silly. "Surely Voldemort wouldn't try another – well – mind trick..."
It suddenly seemed as if all the portraits inside the office had awoken and were now listening eagerly, once more, to the conversation.
"That is also my thinking, Harry." Dumbledore answered, bewildering Harry even more as he sat down. "But, this being Voldemort, we can never be too careful. The harder it is for him to break into your mind, the easier it will be for us."
Harry nodded, even though he still wasn't quite sure with Dumbledore's answer.
"Now, as you know, Voldemort is an extremely skilled Legilimens, so it will be my job to train you to be just as capable an Occlumens –"
"As good as Voldemort?" Harry interrupted, sounded bemused. He had always heard how brilliant Voldemort was at Legilimency, and the thought of Harry being just as good at Occlumency was inconceivable.
"With proper training, yes." Dumbledore said. "You have displayed great resistance to the Cruciatus curse in the past, so that should make you adapt for learning Occlumency."
Harry nodded once more, but he still wasn't sure of the true answer. When Harry had tried learning Occlumency the previous year, he was helpless to prevent Snape breaking into his mind.
"Now, Harry, if you would please take out your wand," Dumbledore said, casually and Harry complied, while feeling nervous about what was to come next, "You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any legal ways you can think of." Several seconds passed in the room without another sound. Harry gripped his wand tightly, bracing himself and awaiting Dumbledore's attack. All the portraits in the office seem to lean in closer, curious about what was about to happen. "Legilimens!"
Once again, Harry found that he had been struck before he was completely ready. The office swam in front of his eyes and vanished, as it had done all the previous year. Memory after memory raced through Harry's mind as if they were films flickering vividly in the distance. Harry was seven; Dudley was throwing peas at him from across the table while laughing at his tiny meal portion... he was ten, and Uncle Vernon was yelling furiously at him for being spotted at the window by a neighbour... the whole Quidditch team were surrounding him in the hospital wing... he was struggling against the Merpeople while trying to rescue all the hostages... he was in the Department of Mysteries, watching Sirius duel with Bellatrix... NO!, screamed a voice from inside Harry's mind as Sirius' fate continue to unravel, I'm not seeing this again! NO ONE'S SEEING THIS AGAIN! –
Harry felt his shoulder go numb momentarily and Dumbledore's office came back into view. Releasing that he had landed sharply on the floor, Harry picked himself back up woozily and turned towards Dumbledore.
"I consider myself lucky that I managed to cast a protection spell before we began," Dumbledore smiled, as he directed Harry's eyes to the burn mark on his wall where one of the previous headmaster's paintings used to hang.
"You ought to be more careful with that wand, boy!" spat Phineas Nigellus before departing his residence, which was laying upside-down on the floor below the scorch.
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said, awkwardly, "I didn't mean to cast a spell... it just –"
"Happened?" Dumbledore finished. "I was expecting such. You must remain focused, though. You got far too immersed in the memories themselves, and forgot about repelling me." Dumbledore paused, and continued. "Clear your mind, Harry, let go of all emotion... only then will you be able to truly master Occlumency. Let us continue," Instead of bracing himself physically, Harry relaxed his body and tried his hardest to empty his mind of all useless emotion and thoughts, which was increasingly hard considering that he had just watched his godfather's fatal battle for a second time. "Legilimens!"
Dementors were swooping over him as he raced through the air... Malfoy was facing him in the duelling arena... Death Eaters were chasing him through the Department of Mysteries... a flash of red light blinded him momentarily as Sirius' lifeless body fell weakly through the veil...
NOOOO!, Harry's mind roared again. He was back on the floor, holding he's head tightly. He's brain once more was aching as if someone had been trying to pull it from his skull.
"You must detach your emotions, Harry," Dumbledore said, forcefully, "If you keep allowing Sirius' death to get to you, you will never master Occlumency..."
Harry's blood rushed through his veins angrily, but as much as he hated Dumbledore saying it, he was right. If Harry didn't put his mourning behind him, he would never get any better at Occlumency, and with the whole wizarding world resting on his shoulders, it was something he would have to do. Harry picked himself quickly up off the floor, shut his eyes and began trying to clear his mind once more.
"Push all emotion to one side of your mind and ignore it. Focus entirely on the goal you have ahead of you, Harry... focus and master yourself..." Dumbledore raised his wand once more. "Legilimens!"
Hagrid had just blasted through the door of the rundown cottage... Fawkes flew down dropping the sorting hat... Buckbeak took off powerfully into the air... Harry was running around a deserted Hogwarts... standing on the edge of a rural muggle village... a cloaked figure was growing ominously closer... the scar on he's head roared with pain... the figure's twisted and mutilated face came into light...
Harry yelled in pain as the office came one more came into view, he's scar burned hotly on his forehead and he feel back to the floor loudly. The pain began to die down slowly and Harry got weakly back up to his feet, looking back over to Dumbledore.
"Tell me Harry, have you ever seen that memory before?" Dumbledore asked. He was now slightly paler than usual.
"Yes," Harry answered, bluntly.
"When did you first see it?" Dumbledore asked. Harry got the feeling as if he was being interrogated.
"I – well – I dreamt about it for the first time last night... not all of it though," Harry added, "I never saw his face... not until – not until earlier, when I feel asleep in the hospital wing..."
Neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke. Dumbledore was clearly in a deep thought about the dream that he had seen in Harry's mind, but Harry wasn't so sure of the significance, surely Voldemort wouldn't be trying the same ploy so soon...
"Sir does it – does it mean... anything?" Harry asked, breaking the silence finally.
"Oh yes, it definitely means something," Dumbledore answered, simply, "but I daresay what exactly that something is, I do not know."
Dumbledore's answer didn't help Harry at all, and if anything, it confused the young wizard even more.
"Well, that's enough for today then, Harry," Dumbledore said, standing up from his chair, "You will be fine getting back to your Common Room, I take it?"
Harry nodded and rubbed his prickling scar before walking over towards the spiral chamber, yet, he stopped and turned back to face Dumbledore.
"Professor, I was wondering whether I could – well – talk to the Sorting Hat, quickly?"
"The Sorting Hat?" Dumbledore repeated, puzzled while raising an eyebrow and smiling. "Certainly. I'll just be outside."
And with that, Dumbledore got charmingly off his chair and walked out from behind the desk and straight into the twisting chamber. Once he was completely disappeared from Harry's sight, Harry walked over the stool on which the old and tattered enchanted hat was kept. But suddenly, Harry stopped. He realised that he had absolutely no idea of how to awaken the hat. He spent several more moments thinking whether trying a spell on the hat, before what seemed like the perfect spell came into his mind. "Ennervate!"
Harry waited a number of seconds for activity, but it would seem that the spell had absolutely no effect. Harry began thinking back to his first year at Hogwarts, and if there had been any noticeable spell cast on the hat to make it spring into life, but through all his brain racking, he couldn't think of any enchantment said by any of the professors on the sorting night. Then suddenly, the answer hit him as if it was a Hippogriff. Harry roughly picked up the old, battered hat and thrust it on top of his head. No longer did the sides fall over Harry's face and down to his shoulder, now it sat perfectly and perkily on top of his head.
"Hmm, you shouldn't be so rough, you know... I'm not as strong as I used to be... I'm brittle, weak, old..." the hat said, snidely in his ear, "Oh... I remember you. Yours was a mind so right for Slytherin, yet had a heart made for Gryffindor, a difficult choice it was. Very difficult... but from what I've seen in this head of yours... we made the right decision..." The hat paused, momentarily before continuing. "So, why is it you come to me at such an hour, young Gryffindor?"
"I need to ask a question – a name –"
"A name?" the hat interrupted, ambiguously, "a name for whom?"
"I need to know if any by the name of Delacour entered Hogwarts this year..." Harry thought.
"Delacour, eh?" came the Sorting Hat's voice once more. "No, I'm afraid no one by that name has ever entered this great school... and believe me, I remember all that did. Now, tell me, young Gryffindor, why do you ask?"
"I overheard it," Harry answered, brusquely but nervously, "I wasn't sure whether it was a student –"
"You forget what kind of a hat I am, don't you?" the hat, sarcastically, "every thought that has ever run through this head, I have access to... there is no need to lie to such a bewitched device as I, young Potter..."
Harry cursed loudly. He couldn't actually believe that he had forgotten that the Sorting Hat could read into his mind. Without another moments hesitation, Harry whipped off the battered bonnet and placed it roughly back on its stool before heading down into the spiral chamber. Upon reaching the bottom, he thanked the Headmaster before finally setting off to the confines of Gryffindor Common Room and then into the Great Hall for dinner.
"Well, well, well, having a stroll all alone, are we?" came a voice from the darkness behind Harry.
"What's it look like, Malfoy?" Harry called back, coldly.
"Now, now, Potter," Malfoy spat, "A half-blood like yourself should be careful who they speak to like that…"
Ignoring Malfoy's cruel taunts, Harry tried continue walking, but was quickly cut off once again by the sixth year Slytherin.
"Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you, Potter!" yelled Malfoy, as he furiously pulled out his wand.
"If you're not going to use that… maybe you should put it away again," Harry laughed, coolly, "or, would you like to actually have a shot at me from the front, this time?"
"You may laugh now, Potter, but you won't when you find out what the Dark Lord has got planned for you."
"Did your daddy tell you to say that?" Harry laughed, "Or did ickle Draco think it up all by himself?"
Malfoy's fists clenched tightly around his wand and he spoke once more. "Laugh now, Potter, because if you knew what I knew, you wouldn't be…"
As Harry watched Malfoy disappeared back up the staircase, he wondered about what Malfoy had said… could Malfoy really know Voldemort's next attack scheme? But Harry's thinking was suddenly interrupted as he felt someone quickly collide into him, knocking him hard onto the floor. Grasping his wand furiously he threw it around him looking for any sign of his attacker, yet, all his eyes were met with was an old castle hallway brimming with portraits of startled looking witches and wizards. Pocketing his wand, Harry began to set off on his way, but was distracted as something on the floor gleamed in a single ray of sunlight and met his gaze. Harry bent down to the same level and outstretched his hand in order to inspect the silk-like cloak, but when he's hands made contact he was met with a strange, feeling that felt some way familiar. It felt as if the cloak had somehow had water woven directly into the material. Harry picked up the cloak and began scrutinizing over it for some sort of name tag, but as he did so, one of the older looking female occupants in a portrait close to him screamed horrifically.
"My dear! Your hands!"
"What? My hands? – AHH!" Harry yelled, bewildered as he looked down and saw that his hands, as well as the cloak, had completely vanished from sight. As the elderly Witch continued to shriek, Harry realised why it had felt so familiar, and why his hands no longer appeared to be in sight. Throwing off the invisibility cloak, Harry watched as he's hands came back into view, and, as he did so, something on the inside of the cloak caught his eye once more. Harry inspected the name tag and was bewildered as he saw who's name was patterned neatly on it; Albus Dumbledore.
For several more moments Harry stared at the cloak, until heard a small rustle of footsteps behind him and instinctively whipped out his wand. "Stupefy!" Harry yelled, loudly as a bolt of red light shot out of his wand. Hearing a small clunk, Harry hoped desperately that he had hit his mysterious attacker, but all that was in the darkness was a large lump of dirty rags laying in a mass on the floor. "Oh, Dobby, it's you, sorry…" Harry mumbled, "Ennervate!"
Slowly, the drowsy House-Elf began to come around, looking somewhat disorientated and lost. Getting up slowly, Dobby brushed himself down and, realising that Harry stood in front of him, straightened up as much as he could. "Harry Potter, sir," Dobby piped up, while bowing, "Dobby was not meaning to scare you, sir. Dobby was just doing Dobby's rounds, sir."
Harry smiled weakly, feeling somewhat guilty for attacking Dobby without warning, even if it was an accident. "Say Dobby, you didn't happen to see anyone else around here, did you?"
"Anyone else? Oh no Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is seeing no one, no one else." Dobby said, anxiously. "The Headmaster is giving Dobby strict instructions to keep watches, Harry Potter, and Dobby is not seeing no one other than Harry Potter, sir –"
Dobby once more opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it and began repeatedly banging his heard hardly against the stone wall while shrieking "Bad Dobby, bad!"
"Dobby, stop!" Harry yelled, as he tried to restrain the small house-elf. "Dobby!"
Slowly, Dobby turned back around to Harry, his large oval eyes filled with tears and rubbing his head. "Dobby cannot help it, sir. Dobby is failing his duties and must punish himself –"
"Duties?" Harry inquired, "What duties, Dobby?"
But before Harry could get an answer, the house-elf turned back to the stone wall and violently thumped his head against it once more. Restraining the distraught creature, Harry repeated the question.
"The Dumbledore is asking Dobby to keep watch over the Dumbledore's visitor, Harry Potter, the Dumbledore is saying he would trust Dobby with his life, sir," Harry thought to himself momentarily whether it would be safe to trust anyone's life with Dobby, after all, when trying to protect Harry in his second year Dobby had almost gotten him killed. Then again, if it wasn't for Dobby some two years later, Harry wouldn't have been able to get passed, or even survive, the second Triwizarding task, "the Dumbledore is telling Dobby to follow miss everywhere, and that I is to protect the miss if she is in trouble, sir."
"Miss? Who's miss, Dobby? Don't you know her name?" Harry asked, wondering.
"No, Harry Potter, the Dumbledore is just telling Dobby that he should guide miss around the castle," Dobby looked down towards his feet, nervously, "today was Dobby's first day, sir, and Dobby is already failing the Dumbledore's orders…"
Quickly restraining Dobby once more, Harry handed the small creature the invisibility cloak. "Well, Dobby you can't sit around talking to me all night, take the cloak and go give it back to – er – miss…"
Dobby nodded and bowed again, his large oval eyes filling with tears of joy and admiration once more. "Harry Potter truly is a most noble wizard, sir…"
"Oh, and Dobby," Harry added, "tell her to watch where she's running next time, alright?" The small house-elf nodded furiously and with a loud crack, vanished.