Far from having any of Harry's intended -- or rather, wishful thinking -- effects, the end result, as he expected, was much more muttering in corridors. Now, however, they seemed to include "that Sirius fellow." A result of this was to keep Harry even more secluded. The only people he felt he could talk to anymore were (in spite of himself) Ron and Hermione as well as Ginny and Hagrid, the only people he knew would, or could at least begin to, understand.
To further upset Harry, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had descended from Professor Trelawney's ladder, wearing extremely mournful faces that same week before class. Ever since this, they had been giving him a much improved version of the famous tragic look. Combined, it was all of this that, the very coming Sunday morning, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were talking in terse mutters to each other, except Ginny, who seemed resolute to talk normally.
Ginny had at some point rounded on Ron, who had been muttering for the past half hour over his porridge about nothing in particular. Harry suspected it was about the Order of the Phoenix as he caught words like "Fawkes" and "dad." They had all been sitting quite apart from anyone else so as to not be disturbed.
"You know you need tell me -- your own sister -- what's going on," said Ginny seriously, "if it's bothering you so much."
"Ginny, I don't think you --" Ron began, and then, "Hedwig?" as a stream of owls began to soar into the Great Hall.
Harry looked up and there, unmistakable among the mass of gray, was his snowy owl. A letter dangling from one of her legs, she fluttered onto Harry's shoulder.
"It's from Snape," said a disgusted Harry after he took the letter off and read who it was addressed to, while Hedwig helped herself to his quickly forgotten juice.
"Snape?" said Ginny blankly. "Snape -- Professor Snape?"
"Do you know any other greasy-haired git?" said Ron bitterly.
Realization seemed to slowly dawn on Ginny's face even as Harry stared at her.
"You know where he is, don't you?" she said slowly, as though spoiling a conspiracy, "and why he's not teaching here this year!"
"Ginny," Hermione began, clearly casting around for an excuse, "maybe you should --"
But Harry, who had had enough of secrets and cover-up stories, interrupted her.
"We do."
Ginny, Ron and Hermione all stared at him, Ron and Hermione looking as though they couldn't believe their ears.
"Oh," said Hermione anxiously, biting her lip.
"I'm sick of hiding stuff," said Harry, and then, leaning closer, he added, "Let's just come clean."
"Er, exactly how much --" Ginny began slowly, as though she almost regretted asking.
"A lot," said Hermione, who had dropped her vow of secrecy just as fast as Ron dropped his fork. "But maybe we shouldn't be talking about this in here."
"Right," said Ron, giving some fellow Gryffindors who looked as though they caught a few key words an angry look. Dean Thomas, among others, looked quickly away.
"Maybe we'll go to Hagrid's after breakfast," Hermione suggested. "And you can read Snape's letter to all of us, Harry," she said brightly, though she didn't look as happy as her voice sounded.
Harry's nod confirmed that, twenty minutes later, the four of them were to be found in Hagrid's cabin, trying to drink a cup each of scalding hot tea. When Hagrid asked why they said yes to tea and weren't drinking it, Hermione quickly lied that she wasn't as thirsty as she thought she was, trying to hide the fact that she looked as though her tongue was on fire. Her rather weak acting performance seemed to convince Hagrid, though she was waving air at her open mouth as she spoke. Harry, Ron and Ginny all nodded in agreement with her words.
"So, yeh want ter tell Ginny," said Hagrid, beaming, his beetle-black eyes fixed on Ginny, so as to not see Hermione use her wand to make ice cubes, stick one in her mouth and hand one to Ron, who gingerly tried to test his tea. "I wouldn't be so keen on the idea if Dumbledore hadn't given me the okay if yeh'd asked."
"The 'okay?'" asked Ron. "Since when?"
"Don't tell me yeh can' figure out when tha' was?"
Harry had the impression this might have been when Mr. Weasley passed away. Judging from the looks on Ginny's, Hermione's and now Ron's face, so did they.
"Anyway, allow me ter explain. Yer mum an' -- well, yer mum an' Bill and Charlie are just four -- three (I tell yeh, I still can' believe it) -- members of the Order of the Phoenix, an Order Dumbledore started ter stop You-Know-"
"Voldemort," interrupted Hermione in a superior tone, now suddenly with her arms folded, legs crossed and a dark twinge in her eyes, as though suggesting she, too, wanted a personal part in killing Voldemort.
"Him," said Hagrid in a small voice, and then more normally, "We work secretly, see, an' no one knows what we do unless we tell 'em; Dumbledore makes sure o' that. There's a lot I don' want ter say but yeh got the basic idea. We go on special jobs -- an' I ain't tellin' yeh what they are -- to find out what You-Know-"
"Voldemort."
"Hermione, please," said Hagrid weakly, then going normal again, "-- is up to. And no, I can' tell yeh what Sirius and Snape are up to, mostly 'cause I don't know meself. Besides, it's more'n me jobs worth to tell yeh if I did know. So, why don' yeh read Professor Snape's letter to us, Harry?"
Snape's letter, which was inside Harry's robes, gave him a foreboding feeling. Snape had never written to him before. His stomach slightly tense, he pulled it out, opened it and, with an ominous feeling, began to read aloud.
Potter,
It has unfortunately fallen to me to write this letter. I don't know how else to put it but you should take this sitting down. It's about Black -- ("Does he ever call anyone I'm friendly with by their first name?"; "He even calls Dumbledore 'Headmaster,'" Ron reminded him.) -- We were on a rountine job, I shall call it, when Black went misplaced -- (Harry could hear Hermione draw breath) -- but turned up the next morning -- (Hermione let out a breath of relief) -- He then did this two more times and though we questioned him many times, he refused to tell us, that is, myself or Lupin, where he ran off to. This was all before he did NOT turn up the next morning. Lupin suggested to wait a week to see if Black turns up and here we are. I, though it pains me to agree having tried to withold this information unless we were sure -- ("Signature Snape," said Ron) -- regret to inform you the following.
We have not seen nor heard from Black in two weeks. Any and all owls we have sent do not come back and we, that is to say, the Order, have some of the fastest flying owls in the country. Or at least we did. Myself, Lupin and the Headmaster are all in agreement that it is safe to say Black has been killed.
We will kill the Dark Lord, Potter. Good day to you.
Professor Snape
As Harry read, he was dimly aware of slouching lower and lower where he sat. He put the letter down, his spirits slowly ebbing away into nothingness. What did it matter that Ron and Hermione were speaking to him again? He was also dimly aware that the last two lines were in different handwriting.
Hermione, whose breaths of tension and relief had been so pronounced, seemed to think there was hope.
"Just because he's gone and they can't find him doesn't mean he's --"
"I dare you to finish that sentence," said Harry in what he hoped was his most dangerous voice. He sat up so quickly to snap at her that his glasses went askew. Fixing them, he leaned back again.
"Hermione," said Ron, whose voice had gone rather dry, "think what you're saying!"
"He's -- dead?" said Ginny absent-mindedly, an unreadable expression on her face.
"Ginny!" said Hermione sharply.
"Well our dad died too!" cried Ginny, who didn't seem to notice her reference to Sirius as Harry's father. "Why should it be so much more horrible that Sirius died?"
Ginny, who Harry had always thought had taken Mr. Weasley's death the best, was now cracking. But she doesn't understand, Harry thought to himself. Or did she? Was he blowing it all out of proportion? No, he wasn't. He only had ever had one person to really call family. How could she say such a thing? Had they kept her in the dark too long? Had not telling her anything about the Order of the Phoenix made her go all wrong? She didn't know what he knew. Yes, that must be it, Harry assured himself. And then Ron voiced what Harry thought next.
"Too many people are dying this year," he said rather quietly. "I bet it's that stupid staff."
"She does seem like a load of dark magic, doesn't she?" Harry thought aloud to himself, though he probably wouldn't have said it in Raides' presence; she was currently atop Gryffindor Tower.
"Rubbish," said Hagrid dismissively, pouring himself more tea. His tangled beard was looking a little wet. Harry didn't think it was from tea. "She saved yer life and Ron's before yeh even knew how ter use her!"
"And Harry, you're supposed to take her wherever you go!" said Hermione imploringly.
"Are you pulling a Mad-Eye and think Voldemort's -- oh shut up, Hagrid -- going to jump out of the fire and kill me now?" said Harry furiously.
Hagrid jumped so badly that the tea in his cup went everywhere. Ginny, complete with tea dripping off the hem of her robes, was staring at Hermione.
"Oh stop being childish," snapped Hermione, "it's just a name."
"Of on'y the darkest wizard ter ever live," added Hagrid, as though finishing Hermione's sentence.
"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, not caring that Hagrid, whose massive hand had been clutching the teapot, spilled the rest of the tea out on his wooden table. Hagrid, quite far from looking furious, was looking scared.
Hermione seemed to think a slight change of subject was a necessity.
"Look," she said sensibly, "maybe Sirius is just holding the owls or sending them off somewhere else. Maybe he just wants to make absolute sure no one knows where he is."
"If Dumbledore says he's dead, he's dead," said Harry, though wishing he didn't so firmly believe it. "What, d'you think Dumbledore's lying to me again?" he prompted her.
"Think sensibly, Hermione," said Hagrid, who was looking as though he was still trying to recover. "Why would Dumbledore tell Harry a dirty lie like that? And again!" he added seriously, as though Hermione was mad.
"Well, Hermione?"
Hermione couldn't seem to answer this, so she stayed silent.
Harry thought he had felt a mood of doom and gloom before but it was nothing like this. Word of Sirius' death had spread like wildfire through the school mostly due to the Daily Prophet. Harry was of the opinion that Dumbledore had something to do with the article entitled Sirius Death. Hermione, who lately was quick to agree with anything Harry said, agreed even more readily after the article. She and Ron were talking to Harry even more than usual and seemed to forget they weren't supposed to be talking to him. Professor Trelawney, who Harry expected to continue her routine of predicting his early and imminent death, was looking scandalized one morning during Divination.
She was peering down into tea cup floating on a fire, for each student was to revisit tea leaves and burn the tea away with a fire. Her face looked pained and her magnified eyes traveled from the dregs of the cup to Harry's face. Professor Trelawney was actually biting her lip, something Harry had never seen her do before. Perhaps it was Harry's temper, which was causing him to snap at anyone. Professor McGonagall took five points from Gryffindor when he snapped at her for the fifth time for transfiguring his backpack incorrectly. But now, it looked like Professor Trelawney was thinking over whether she ought to dare say he was going to die very soon. Her mouth opened, and then sound came out. Harry braced himself.
"You will live until nature takes you, my dear," she said in her usual mysterious voice. Even Parvati Patil's and Lavender Brown's mouths were wide open.
"P-professor?" said Lavender cautiously, sounding like Professor Trelawney was making a false prediction. Harry ignored her.
"And may Merlin bless you with many kids and a very happy family."
From this day forward, the entire school, which had been used to Professor Trelawney's predictions, were now seizing on the opportunity at this change of a supposed dark future.
"Twelve kids, Harry!" shouted a gloomy-looking second year happily at him on his way to Transfiguration.
In the time between Sirius' letter and now, Professor McGonagall had written something on the blackboard he had completely forgotten about: Career Advice.
"Oooh," said Hermione who had already sat down because she hadn't been held up by several people on the way, "how could I have forgotten! Professor McGonagall mentioned right after the second -- second task," she finished, staring sideways at Harry.
"Remind me," said Ron, "how's this going to go again?"
"We're going to get our times now, I suppose. It could be during a class! Oh, I hope I don't miss a hard lesson!"
"Hermione, give me a break," said Ron in an exasperated voice. "Professor McGonagall said last class you've got the highest grade average she's seen in a very long time."
Hermione tried not to look too pleased with herself but her ears turned pink all the same.
"As I hope you all remember," said Professor McGonagall, with a significant look at Harry, "your personal advisement on a career path is coming up. I will be seeing each of you on an individual basis. Your career might determine whether you continue education once you leave Hogwarts this June."
Hermione was looking excited, a feeling Harry didn't think he could muster. He'd been happy at Hogwarts and even happier at the thought, which had now been given to him twice, of living with Sirius.
As Professor McGonagall had said, pamphlets turned up in the Gryffindor common room. There was only one career Harry had ever considered. He held the Auror pamphlet in his hand and was just about to open it when Hermione burst out, "Oh, Harry, being an Auror is really difficult!"
"Really," he said blandly. "I wonder what difficult means."
Ignoring the sulky look now painted on her face, he opened it and read.
AUROR - DARK WIZARD CATCHER
Congratulations on choosing the most prestigious career the Ministry of Magic has ever devised! You will join the top ranks in the wizarding community, travel the world over, meet with top officials in the Ministry itself, study new and experimental magic and best of all, keep the peace we have managed ever since You-Know-Who! Be prepared to work hard, however. Becoming an Auror is not an easy job in itself. In order to --
Harry didn't feel like reading anymore. He closed the pamphlet and looked over at Hermione, who had her face buried in one bearing the words Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on its front. Harry thought briefly of SPEW.
"I give up," said Ron, throwing down a pamphlet that, several years ago, his brother Bill Weasley might have looked at: Gringott's Curse-Breaker. "I don't know what I want to be. But we've all, you know, done stuff." He looked hungrily at a second Auror pamphlet.
Harry, who had just been about to put down the pamphlet, at Ron's words, stopped half-way. In truth, he had been thinking about becoming an Auror for a few years now, though he didn't think much of it when an impostor Mad-Eye Moody suggested he become one. No other life-long career had ever crossed his mind. And speaking of which, becoming an Auror would help him do the thing he really wanted to do... At this thought, Harry finished reading.
Discussion in the common room that night had been all about seventh years and their career choices. When Harry voiced his opinion, as expected, the entire common room agreed. He wasn't sure if he liked this. It made him feel as though they were just saying he could do it just because they had been agreeing with everything else he said. Glancing down the requirements again made his stomach clench.
An OWL is required in the following subjects:
Potions
Transfiguration
Defense Against the Dark Arts
Top NEWT grades are required in the following subjects:
Potions
Transfiguration
Defense Against the Dark Arts
He couldn't think of how he would do well in his NEWTs at all. Ever since his first class with Professor Snape, he had done horrible in Potions. His Transfiguration grades weren't quite what he felt they should be either, having failed to Transfigure his backpack into a desk; it had gone all wood-like but failed to sprout legs and looked rather like a clipboard than anything else.
"I'm never going to become an Auror," Harry mumbled to himself.
"Oh, of course you won't," said a first year sadly.
It was during a Potions lesson where they were making a very potent Cleaning Solution ("Professor Sprout tells me her second years had a very nasty time with mandrakes and she still hasn't gotten the mess out," said Professor Figg), that Professor McGonagall poked her head inside the dusty, dark dungeon room.
"Arabella, it's Potter's turn now," she said and Harry, whose Potion had been finished for the past fifteen minutes (his theory was that if he concentrated on his classes, he would stop thinking about Sirius being dead), immediately began packing. "Eager, Potter, are you?"
Harry said nothing.
"So," said Professor McGonagall, "have you given any thought to what you would like to persue after Hogwarts?"
She had directed him to her office. Her desk, which was made of wood and about four times longer than a student's normal desk, though not nearly as big as Dumbledore's, was littered with pamphlets. Various names of seventh years were scribbled across them. Hermione's was on both The Wizarding Library and The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Sitting on all of the shelves circling the room, which were covered in golden and scarlet linen, were various trinkets, such as a rainbow-colored flower, pictures of most likely her family and a model of a Pensieve. A few candles were floating in mid air around her office.
Harry stared at the award from 1796 on the shelf just behind Professor McGonagall, which was directly opposite him. It was a small, golden shield. Gryffindor had won the Triwizard Cup.
A picture of Voldemort, Sirius running from dementors, a flash of a sixteen year old Tom Riddle...
"An Auror," said Harry firmly.
"Well, Potter, as you know, this demands very high grades of you --"
She went on for what seemed like hours, going over the fine ("I doubt there is any chance your Defense Against the Dark Arts test scores are going to hurt you") and the less fine ("But your Potions scores are less than acceptable, I'm afraid") points of Auror training.
"I could make a Potion if Snape wasn't breathing down my neck!" Harry cried.
"Professor Snape," she told him pointedly, one beady eye from behind her glasses staring fixedly into his own. "But Professor Figg tells me have been doing quite well these past two terms. The Ministry, of course, will except no less than near perfect, so mind you keep up your good work. I should tell you I requested a note from all of your teachers on your progress thus far and they all tell me you have been doing exceptionally well since -- as of late."
She had hesitated. For a moment, it looked like she was going to say "since Sirius died." But, her face having gone oddly slack, she was now staring at him as though she was his mother. This gave Harry a strange foreboding feeling. He glanced at Raides, who Harry agreed to let follow him around again. Her golden face was quite expressionless.
"It keeps my mind off other things," said Harry miserably.
He thought he saw, for a flicker of a moment, her smiling at him. This increased the foreboding.
"Potter, I get the feeling you don't think you have what it takes to become an Auror."
She paused. Before she could continue, Harry cut in with, "Yes, and --"
But she cut him off with, "And let me first tell you all the rest of the requirements you must meet." Her voice became monotone, as though she didn't much care for the list. "Top OWLs in I'm sure you know which subjects. Top NEWTs in the very same subjects, of course. The Ministry will be doing a background check on you." The corner of her mouth curled. "They will also do a psychological test of you" -- she was looking really funny -- "and review your criminal record" -- now she was almost grinning.
Harry couldn't see what was so funny but he tried to supress yelling at her, lest her good mood about his career choice go down the drain like he saw Professor Figg do to his Cleaning Solution as he left the classroom. He had distinctly heard her mutter, "Honestly, Harry..."
"You don't have to say anything, Potter, I know you're angry with me right now," said Professor McGonagall, rather bluntly in Harry's opinion. He took this as his cue to start talking.
"What is so funny?"
"Your Potions scores, except for this year, are quite abysmal. You are not performing up to the level of acceptance the Ministry will expect of your NEWTs for Transfiguration. You do have quite a nice criminal record -- quiet, Potter -- and I daresay Mr. Fudge thinks you're unhinged. And no one, to be honest, has been accepted as an Auror these past few years, I must say."
Harry was quite aware of his face falling.
"I just -- I just wanted -- I want to do something."
"I know --"
But before she finished her sentence, what he had been feeling for a long time came pouring out of him.
"I feel like a sitting salamander, a sheltered kid at school. 'All the adults will do it for you, Harry! Don't worry!'" Quite suddenly, there was anger rising up inside him again. "I don't get it. Why do I have to sit in here while everyone else from the Order is out there fighting!"
"Potter --"
"NO!" he shouted. But both her eyes met his and the shouting drained out of him. He went back to talking a little loudly. Professor McGonagall didn't seem intent on stopping him very badly, but she didn't seem to want to give him very much consolation, either. He found his voice was shaking as he spoke again. "Snape and Lupin are out there doing whatever! Sirius was out there doing who else knows what and he died, Professor, died! At least he was doing something useful! Here, I'm stuck at school under who knows what spell, cursed with having this dark staff with me wherever I go" -- Raides didn't look offended at all. "I just -- I give up! The only one I could ever call family is dead and do you know what he was going to do after Voldemort -- quiet, Professor -- died? He was going to adopt me, so I could finally have a dad." His voice was shaking its worst yet on these last few words. Slouching back in his seat, Harry was holding his forehead with one hand, which had begun to burn dully. "And this stupid scar," he added, kicking the legs of Professor McGonagall's desk irritably.
"You have to admit, Professor, he's got heart," said Raides.
"You do realize that you have had more experience with the Dark Arts than any other student who has passed through this school since Professor Snape?" Harry gaped at her but then he found himself again.
"And how is that going to help? I suck at Transfiguration and Potions, remember?" he burst out.
"I'm being serious with you Potter, when I say this, just as you were with me a minute ago. You certainly have the makings of the career. Have you never wondered why you had always managed to escape You-Know-Who?" Professor McGonagall asked exasperatedly. "Your first year, Potter, you escaped quite a frightening situation, if I do say so myself. Your second year you experienced something I'm sure no one else your age would have gotten out clean from. And please, I thought my respect for you peaked during your fourth but every year you seem to keep topping yourself."
"That was just luck!" Harry shouted, going rather red. "If I hadn't had any help --"
"If you don't become an Auror, Nymphadora Tonks told me she would resign in protest," said Professor McGonagall, now outright smiling at him.
"Who?"
"A very nice Auror at the Ministry. Wears interesting socks. Got exceptionally high grades in Stealth training..."
"Harry?"
"WHAT?"
Lavender, who had snuck up behind Harry while he was writing an essay for Professor Sinistra about the positions of Mars and Venus in the Gryffindor common room, cowered away. There was the sound of a crashing ink bottle and the inevitable groan.
"Harry, maybe you should stop yelling at people," came Hermione's voice.
"Hermione, maybe you should take your quill and --"
"She just wanted to tell you something," came the voice of Parvati, who then appeared in front of him.
Parvati and Lavender seemed to have been following Harry around corners a lot lately. Word had spread about his wish to become an Auror, though he didn't remember telling anyone anything about his session with Professor McGonagall. He wondered briefly if this had anything to do with what they wanted to talk with him about.
"It's just -- Harry -- well --" Parvati tried to say.
"What is it, then?" asked Harry angrily.
Lavender spoke very quickly, as though it wouldn't make Harry snap at her if she said it fast enough.
"It's just that we saw stuff up in Professor Trelawney's classroom after dinner and we wanted to tell you."
Harry felt like laughing but he was saved the effort by Hermione, who stopped pretending to be busy and as if she wasn't listening.
"Oh please," she said loftily, "if you have ever found out anything worth telling up there, I'll eat Crookshanks!"
On cue, Crookshanks came out from under Harry's chair (he'd been snapping his leg at the cat) and curled up around her feet, his bottlebrush tail resting on them, which were sock-less. At Hermione's words, Parvati and Lavender both looked seriously at each other.
"Well, we were doing runes and -- and looking into more tea leaves and a crystal ball and -- oh, Harry!" cried Lavender, wiping away a tear from her eye, as Parvati wept silently at her side, "we saw you being taken off into Azkaban!"
Harry put his quill down, straightened his glasses, and looked up at her nonchalantly. Both of them were now looking at him.
"Really," he said, totally disinterested. He did take notice of the fresh tear sliding down her face. Hermione, on the other hand, made a noise of dissent while Ron was still pretending to be working. But while his quill was going, he seemed to have forgotten that it was no longer making any words; there was no more ink left on it (each word from the last paragraph was lighter and lighter until the words "dust cloud" faded into nothingness).
Parvati then nudged Lavender in the side, who went on.
"We saw that Sirius would get killed!" said Lavender. "And we saw a bunch of Runes, and they included Teiwaz" -- Hermione immediately put aside her Astronomy homework and pulled her Ancient Runes textbook out; Lavender was eyeing her -- "and -- Harry, please, you have to believe us. We know you think Divination is a bunch of rubbish, but we saw you dying in Azkaban!" said Lavender desperately.
"It says right here, Lavender, that Teiwaz means you'll have to overcome your fears, that you can't lose faith, and you will find your full potential."
"What a load of --" Ron bursted out.
"And do you know what that means, Hermione?" asked Lavender timidly, who seemed to be quelling under Harry's stare.
"It's a bunch of rubbish is what it means. Divination is the most worthless --" Before Hermione could finish her sentence, Parvati ran from the room, her face in her hands, and up the girls' dormitory staircase. This seemed to cause a change of heart in Hermione. "Well if she's that upset over it, maybe she should have picked a different subject," said Hermione as though Parvati had overreacted only just a little bit, and stared after her.
This also caused a change of heart in Harry. Could it be real if it was causing Parvati to get that upset? Or was Parvati just letting her own fears get the best of her? Without enough time to finish his thoughts, Ginny spoke.
"Harry, come on. Haven't you ever predicted anything before? And," she said quietly, and then more loudly, "and Fred and George!" Ginny's face positively lit up. "Hey, don't you remember what they did during the Quidditch World Cup? They told Ludo Bagman that Ireland would win but Krum would get the Snitch!"
"Yeah, so?" said Hermione. She was still staring where Parvati's foot had been before it disappeared behind the wall and up the stairs.
Ginny was looking exasperated, staring at the back of Hermione's bushy brown hair.
"Give me a break, how could anyone have just guessed that!"
Ron laughed and his quill fell out of his hands.
"Are you trying to tell me Fred and George are true Seers? Get real!"
But Harry didn't see it that way.
"Ron," he said, looking at him, "you remember our first bit of homework that same year?"
"Yeah, we made up a bunch of stuff for Professor Trelawney," Ron replied. Hermione folded her arms and, having finally stopping looking at the stairs, turned to Lavender.
"It's a miracle you passed that year!" said Hermione, forgetting about Parvati in an instant.
"But did you make it up," said Ginny suggestively, "really, just make it up?"
"Of course we did!" said Ron, laughing as though Ginny was mad.
"No," said Harry slowly, shaking his head as a distant memory from six years ago came to him. "No. It doesn't fit."
"No, what?"
"Six years ago I saw Gryffindor winning the House cup," said Harry to a stunned audience.
"You're joking."
"Very funny joke, Harry."
"That was the year Gryffindor was down by, what, one hundred and fifty points? Who could've predicted that Dumbledore would have given us the extra House points we needed!"
"Who could have predicted the outcome of that year's Qudditch World Cup, Ron?" said Ginny.
Hermione was starting to look slightly panicky in Harry's opinion.
"But, it's not true, isn't it?"
"It's happened more times, Hermione," said Harry, trying to remember.
"Has it? Tell me, then," Hermione demanded.
The tiniest voice belonging to Lavender said, "It's true."
"Non-sense!" said Hermione, as though this settled the argument.
"I don't believe a word of this," said Ron defiantly.
"Do me a favor, though, Ron, will you?"
"Er, okay?"
"Just -- just send a letter to Fred and George asking them."
"There, that'll settle it, then," said Hermione. "As soon as they say no, we can get on with our lives. Harry, promise me you won't believe a word of this until they reply? Because it is nonsense, you know that."
"Okay..."
"Right," said Ron.
It wasn't until three days later, when Parvati still wasn't speaking to either Harry, Ron or Hermione, skirting them in the hallways, that the letter from Fred and George arrived. Hedwig soared into the late-evening library window, much to the dismay of Madam Pince, and landed just short of Harry's ink bottle. She considered it for a moment, until her attention was diverted by Harry removing her letter.
Hermione and Ron, who were sitting at the table behind Harry, simultaneously peered over his shoulder to read the name of the sender.
"Took them long enough to reply," said Ron.
"Just read it, Harry," said Hermione huffily.
Before he'd even finished opening the envelope, Hermione and Ron both got up from their seats and sat opposite Harry. As they read upside down, he read it quietly to himself.
Our good brother Ron,
So you finally figured it out.
These things skip a few generations, as we're sure Professor Trelawney covered in your fifth year. Mum and dad didn't have it but our great, great grandfather, who we only found out about by looking through history books, was a lesser well-known Seer. Since we're the fourth generation since good old Marion, it's been passed down to us.
Don't try to force something out of yourself, though. We were just lucky to take the old crystal ball out and see what the outcome of the World Cup that year was. Fred decided we should at least try, so there you are. No more mystery, ickle Ron.
Love,
Gred and Forge.
Harry put the letter down but before it could touch the table, Ron snatched it out of his hands, not caring that a small portion of the parchment got ripped.
"No way," Ron gasped.
Harry himself hadn't decided yet if he had decided whether it was good or bad. So he could see into the future. Big deal. Though suddenly he felt very self-conscious about his glasses and was glad he had gone for the smaller ones all those years ago. Also quite suddenly, a twinge of fear gripped him. What else had he predicted that was going to come true? This must have shown on his face, because Hermione called his name. By the look on her face, she seemed to be thinking along these lines.
Hours later, he still hadn't answered her. It was all set, then. He was going to end up dead in a cell in Azkaban, and as he lay, still fully dressed, staring up at the canopy of his four-post bed (which he so often did lately), he tried to make sense out of everything. Harry wanted to punch the canopy, but his arm wouldn't reach. He felt small, insignificant, and powerless. Who had decided that, after all he'd been through, it would all end in a few months' time? Gripping the Order of Merlin necklace, he wasn't surprised to see that it did nothing.
But part of him didn't want to give up. Dumbledore, the one person that seemed to give him more sound advice than anybody apart from Sirius or Lupin, came to his mind.
"Hasn't your experience with the Time-Turner taught you anything, Harry? The consequences of our actions are always so complicated, so diverse, that predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed... Professor Trelawney, bless her, is living proof of that... "
And as quickly as the sense of dread seemed to settle inside of him, the fog in his head was lifting. Then he wasn't going to die in a cell at Azkaban. Or was he? The dream he remembered having that night, of him in a cell, with one dementor having Lavender's face, telling him he should have believed her, was the one he woke up with a start from. Luckily, no one else had woken up.
But in any case, Harry spent the next few days talking very little, telling teachers he didn't know the answer to any questions when he really did, saying the right mix of words, "Yeah," "Okay," and the ever elusive, "Fine," when appropriate.
Harry wasn't sure what to think, staring at his Divination homework, his glazed eyes roaming all over the pages in his textbook, yet not taking in a word about experimental Divination.
"Harry!" said Hermione's voice from behind him. "How many times do we have to go over this!"
"Go over what?"
"Yeah," said Ron's, "and how much time are you going to spend moping this year? I think you've topped last year."
"You are so insensitive, Ron!" snapped Hermione. "You --"
"And you two arguing isn't going to help any," said Harry heavily.
"He speaks!" said Ginny's voice from somewhere else in the emptying common room.
"Hi, Ginny..."
"So are you still on about Fred and George's letter?"
"So, what, does the whole school know?"
"Pretty much, yeah," Ron informed Harry.
"Kind of hard to hide something new when you all of a sudden start acting differently, mate," said Ron.
"Differently different than usual, you mean?" asked Ginny.
"Er -- yeah..."
"You two sound like you don't care," said Harry, scribbling out a bad doodle of a crystal ball between "Harry" and "Potter" at the top of his essay. He then threw the essay into the fire beside him, because two words weren't going to make Professor Trelawney give him any points.
"You can't keep thinking about it, Harry. It'll make a nutter out of you," said Ginny.
"I'm already a nutter. What if I want to be more of one?"
"So you're going to die in a cell in Azkaban," said Hermione, very much without thinking in Harry's opinion.
"Hermione, think what you're saying," said Lavender, relieving Harry of the trouble of doing so himself. She seemed to be hanging around him more than usual as of late. "Just give it a rest. That's the sort of thing Ron would say," she finished irritably. Ron didn't look offended.
"But Ron's not saying that," said Ron. "Ron's saying -- Ron's talking in the third person -- all I want you to know, Harry, is that -- that --"
"What the dope is trying to say, Harry," Ginny cut in, "is that we've been there." For a flash of a moment, Harry wanted to stab her with the quill in his hand. "Okay, so no one's predicted any of our deaths, but our dad died, and that's as good as killing us! We've got no money left. We're not sure Fred and George's joke shop can pull enough in. Mom's not working. Bill and Charlie both have houses they need to pay bills for, too. We're going to end up living in the streets not before long!"
"But you're not going to die hearing your parents' last words before they were killed, are you?" Harry put his quill down and slouched in his armchair. He applauded Ginny for making the attempt, as bad as it was. "It's just, all my life I've experienced so much... At some point, I just -- I just want to stop feeling."
It wasn't long before he felt the familiar feeling of someone putting their arms around him from his back. Ginny's voice was close to his ear. Maybe it was just the fact that someone was holding him again, maybe it was because it reminded him of Cho, or maybe it was just reminding him that someone cared, but all his anger at Ginny ebbed away.
"Harry, but you still can. And I don't know how Voldemort can keep on living and killing people and not feeling bad at all. I don't think he's human. But, after all of it, you still can. In the end, you still are human."
In the end...
"Let's just go to dinner."
Ceasing their arguement, they made for the portrait hole. Hermione pushed it open. Quite apart from their unceasing words to Harry, the hallway in which the Fat Lady opened up into was very quiet.
"More quiet than usual, it seems," Hermione commented, to which Ron added, "The Fat Lady, where has she got to?"
"What?"
Harry turned around. The Fat Lady was gone. And then, for the second time in his life, he heard Professor McGonagall's voice magically magnified throughout the school. In the split second between the first word ("all") and the second ("students"), Harry recalled the only other time she had done this. It was followed by the worst news Harry thought he would ever hear: Hogwarts could be closing.
"All students please return to their dormitories immediately," said her urgent voice. Here Professor McGonagall was heard blowing her nose. "Your head of House will explain."
"Oh, this can't be good," said Hermione.
And they did an about-face into the open portrait hole. Harry noticed that the Fat Lady seemed to have left her portrait in a hurry: her glass had spilled. This must be important, he thought to himself.
No sooner had they closed the portrait hole again than Professor McGonagall could be heard saying, "Why are you closing it? I'm right behind you. Thank you, Miss Brown." Professor McGonagall was dressed in sad green robes and her spectacles were lop-sided. She didn't seem to notice. "Wait until everbody is here and I will explain."
"What is it, Professor?" Hermione asked, while Professor McGonagall patted her eyes with a tissue. Harry found this none too comforting.
She didn't answer until all the Gryffindors were accounted for. When they were, she asked everyone to take a seat and to make sure they were comfortable while she herself looked the opposite though it wasn't for lack of trying -- she just looked very uneasy. Hesitating for a few moments, she then said, "Oh, I don't know how to say this so I'll just say it: Headmaster Dumbledore has been found dead."
Harry was well aware that he didn't have an immediate reaction. Instead, he let other students do it for him, trying hard to ignore the number of Gryffindors giving him accusing stares. He felt like denying it, but didn't think it would do any good.
"Dead?"
"How?"
"Who?"
"Oh!"
"Very funny, Professor!"
"How can she be lying!" said Hermione in a very distressed voice, and then adding, "How could Harry have done it!"
"I don't know myself, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, "but as soon as you're up to it, Potter, I need to speak with you."
Harry felt the all too familiar chill running up his back. She was going to take him into her office. He was going to speak with Cornelius Fudge. Someone was going to be somewhat nice and give him a trial. And then he was going to get sent to Azkaban.
Before he knew where she got to, the portrait hole was closing and people were filing up the stairs, either because they were afraid of being killed by Harry or they, like Harry, wanted time alone.
"Harry?"
"What, Hermione?"
"We'll go with you. It'll be all right."
"Right," said Harry, clenching his fists. He was as ready now as he felt he'd ever be to face the Minister of Magic. He felt both angry and scared. They were going to send him to his death one way or another. The anger overtaking the fear, he jammed a fist right through the seat beneath him, putting a hole in it. He looked back at Ron and Hermione who both quickly looked away. "Let's go," he said stiffly.
Hermione jumped in front of him and pushed the portrait hole open. As it closed, Harry kicked Raides who had followed him out of the common room. Rising a foot or so in the air, she let out a very unconvincing "ouch." Following that, he did something he had never known himself to do before: he screamed out in pure anger. Ron and Hermione jumped back, as though Harry had killed Dumbledore in front of them.
"Harry, you're not this angry," said Hermione in a very small voice and then, in a little bigger one, "What are you so angry about?"
Harry rounded on her like a wrathful eagle. He knew what it was he was feeling again but was wishing it wasn't true.
"What am I so angry about?" he yelled so close to her face he could feel her scared breath. "We've been through this a thousand times. I'm having mood swings just like I was two years ago! I have every right to be angry! And it's just as well. I don't have the Mark of Ancients. How can I? It was removed. Does anyone know -- anyone have any damn idea what causes the moodswings? Or am I just going to have this until my dying day? And at the rate things are going, that better come soon because with two deaths... Great, now I'm rambling to myself. At least I'm in a hard mood because if I wasn't, I think I'd be on the floor crying."
To make matters worse, he felt the anger leave him and the fear take over. Without stopping her, he let Hermione walk him over to the nearest wall and he felt himself slide down it. Did she know he was going to change moods like that? Or did she just make a really good guess?
"Harry, it's going to be all right. It's gonna be okay," she said soothingly.
"You keep saying that!" said Harry, burying his head in his arms, which were wrapped around his knees. "He killed Dumbledore, he killed Sirius," Harry cried, tears pouring down his face at this point. "What's to stop -- him from killing me?"
For a moment he picked his head up and looked opposite the Fat Lady's portrait -- she was still gone. Silhouetted at the far end of the corridor was Professor McGonagall. He could feel her eyes on him. He wanted to master himself but the necklace didn't work. Within seconds, Professor McGonagall was leaning against the wall opposite him, kindly peering down her glasses at him. She first sighed and then spoke.
"I think the formalities are past us at this point, Harry," she said, for the first time calling him by his first name in a you're-no-longer-my-student kind of tone.