Yay, you guys actually like this!
Yes, I am going to continue it - here's the proof - I just have rather important exams on at the moment, so my free time is limited.
I still can't believe I'm writing het. It's so difficult!
"Timetables." Hermione announced next morning as he and Ron stumbled blearily to the Gryffindor table in search of sustenance. Harry sat down beside Hermione and reached for a slice of toast as his timetable was dropped in front of him. He abandoned the toast and picked up the schedule, yawning.
"Defence Against the Dark Arts first thing. Can't be bad." Harry commented as he attempted the toast again.
"I've got that with you, haven't I?" Ron asked, peering across the table to see. "Unlucky, you've got Potions straight after!"
"Yeah, thanks for abandoning me there, Ron." he said sardonically, but Ron just grinned back, unfazed.
"He's a greasy git. You can't expect me to want to continue, can you?"
"Well, what do you want to be when you finish seventh year?" Hermione asked, delicately spearing some black pudding with her fork.
"After my talk with McGonagall last year, I asked Dad, and he said he would be able to get me a job at the Ministry." He shrugged. "I'll probably start small – paper-pusher or something – but he says that a good foundation would help me move up."
"Let's see what you're doing then." Harry reached over and took his timetable as Hermione took his own. Ron's was quite a bit different from his own – the only lesson they had together was Defence Against the Dark Arts.
"Healing?" Hermione said in surprise. Harry nodded, taking a swig of pumpkin juice and yawning thoroughly, spawning a whole chain of them down the table.
"Dumbledore thought it might be useful. It's a new subject, Pomfrey agreed that it should be introduced to us. You know, because of the war and all that." He paused eating to have a better look at Ron's timetable. "What's Economics?" he asked, puzzled.
"New one. The study of businesses and stuff like that. McGonagall said it would be good for me because I'm wanting to work at the Ministry after seventh year."
"I bet you're taking loads of subjects, aren't you?" Harry commented to Hermione, peering at her own. She appeared to have colour-coded each of the subjects, and there were quite a few less free periods on her timetable than on Harry and Ron's.
"Nothing I cant handle." She responded primly. "I'm not using the Time-Turner, at least."
"Still loads." Harry remarked, and she smiled sheepishly.
"Can you do that for ours too?" Ron asked her, pointing at the timetable. Harry presumed he was referring to the colouring.
"Of course." She replied amiably. "Hand them over."
She tapped each of the timetables with her wand, and the sessions filled with colour. Potions was red; Defence Against the Dark Arts was yellow. The subjects were the same colours on each of the sheets.
"I wonder what Professor Molina will be like?" Hermione commented absently as she spread blueberry jam on her toast.
"Well we'll find out, won't we?" Ron replied, mouth predictably full. "We've got her first lesson."
"Good morning class." Molina said briskly as she strode into the room, her robes fluttering as she marched forwards. "I am Professor Molina."
Harry looked up from where he was doodling on a spare bit of parchment, having charmed his ink to randomly change colour after five seconds. The small illustration of the Whomping Willow flashed merrily through the colours of the rainbow.
"Put that away, Mr. Potter." Molina snapped from where she was piling stacks of parchment onto the front desk, dust billowing out in a massive cloud as they landed heavily.
"That was a good start." Ron murmured to him. He jumped a foot in the air as with a sharp crack, something bright exploded beside his ear. He teetered precariously on the edge of his chair before toppling onto the floor ungraciously.
"Don't speak unless spoken to." Molina said dangerously from the front of the classroom. Ron was white as a sheet as he climbed sheepishly back onto his seat. The others were too terrified to snigger or even cough. They sat and waited silently for Molina to give them instructions. She paced up and down the aisles of the classroom as though daring one of them to quail under her glare, reading them from their bodies as she prowled through the darkened room like a panther. After stalking around the classroom once, she returned to the front desk and leaned against it, robes wrapped around her. Harry was strongly reminded of Snape.
"At your school, you are taught Defence Against the Dark Arts. The name of the subject is misleading indeed; whist I am teaching here, it is not "Defence". It is The Dark Arts." She fixed each pupil individually with a hard glare, her dark blue eyes sparkling with a disturbing ferocity. "In this class you will not only learn to defend yourself. Previously you have only been taught spells to disarm, disable, and defend. I am going to teach you how to defend – and then attack."
A very slight murmur rippled through the classroom at this statement.
"Quiet!" she barked viciously. Silence descended immediately upon the sixth years. "Open your textbooks at page three hundred and fifty five. Read. Not one word."
Harry raised his eyebrows at the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who returned his bemused look with a cool glare. The corners of Harry's mouth twisted downwards into a small frown as he bent and pulled his textbook out of his bag, flicking to page three hundred and fifty five – Distractions and Decoys. He felt rather than saw Hermione's hand go up beside him.
"Yes?"
"Miss, I thought you said we were going to learn how to attack." She began in a slightly confused tone, but Molina cut her off before she could say anything else.
"I said I was going to teach you to defend and attack. Use your ears, girl."
Hermione flushed and looked back down at her desk. Harry was sorely tempted to stick up for his best friend, but for once common sense prevailed and he kept his head down, staring resolutely at the words on the page but not actually seeing them. He knew from experience not to agitate an unknown person. He didn't particularly want another set of scars traced on his body. He found himself absently rubbing gently at the back of his right hand, and glanced down at it. Tilting it towards the light, the lines of "I must not tell lies" were clearly visible, etched into his skin.
"Concentrate, Potter!" Molina snapped. He bit back his tongue and bent his head over the book, the only noise in the room the faint sound of breathing and the odd page turning as Molina oversaw their study.
"I think we've found Snape's soul mate."
Harry snorted as he walked down to the dungeons with Hermione, having left Ron to go to Divination by himself. They had spent the whole Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson reading – once finished the chapter set, Molina had instructed them to continue reading until the end of the lesson. Hermione hadn't tried to tell her that she had already finished the whole book, though Harry knew for a fact that she had read the thing through more than once.
"Don't take what she said to heart, Hermione." He comforted her as they descended into the dank atmosphere of the dungeons. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders in a half-hug. "You're right – she's a female Snape. Just pretend she's him. Ignore her bitchy comments."
"Someone will hear you, you know!" Hermione laughed, and returned the half-hug as best she could. "She actually seems more like a Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall hybrid, actually."
Harry blinked at her.
"Only if you add McGonagall's female bits." He concurred, then screwed up his face at the mental image that resulted. "Oh, nasty thoughts…" he said with a groan. Hermione giggled.
"Yes, that is rather disturbing."
"Not as bad as Snape with female extensions."
Hermione gasped and hit Harry on the chest with one hand whilst covering her face with her other. Harry grinned at her unrepentantly.
"That's just wrong, Harry James Potter." She moaned from behind her hand.
"And Snape's right behind you." Harry shot back. With a squeak of shock, Hermione leapt a foot in the air and span around on one foot, an excuse on the tip of her tongue. It never gained voice.
There was nobody there, save a confused Ravenclaw. Hermione growled and turned back to where Harry was sniggering.
"That wasn't funny, Harry!" she protested, and made to slap him jokingly. Harry dodged away, his bag banging against his legs.
"But it was worth the look on your face."
"Potter! Granger! Stop your messing around and get in this classroom."
This time, Snape was there – his nose poking out of the Potions classroom, a distinct glare on his face. Harry had a feeling that he had only caught the very tail end of the conversation, and wasn't quite sure what to say.
"In. Now."
Trying to hide his smirk, Harry slipped into the classroom, Hermione beside him. They sat down at the back bench and tried desperately to avoid each other's eyes for the lesson – every time they looked at each other, they just started giggling.
"How was you first day back then?" Dean asked as Harry sat down in front of the fire, his Potions homework in hand. The sixth year boys (plus Hermione, but they counted her as one of them anyway) were clustered around the fireplace, in various stages of homework.
"Boring." He replied succinctly. "Yours?"
"Harry, how can you say that?" Hermione interjected in a shocked tone before Dean could reply. Harry shrugged and settled himself in an armchair, opening his Potions textbook at chapter three.
"Well, what was interesting about it?" he asked sullenly. "Molina is practically the same as Snape, so we basically had double Snape for the whole morning – that's enough to dampen anyone's mood. And we didn't so anything in Healing. She just blathered on about safety precautions."
"Not just that." She said with a frown. "But anyway, she needs to establish some ground rules before starting with the proper course, doesn't she?"
"Sounds pretty boring to be." Seamus added, and received a glare from Hermione, and shrank back down into the sofa he and Dean were sat on. Ron laughed.
"Is Seamus scared of Hermione now?"
"I am not!" the Irish boy protested, puffing his chest out and trying to stare down Hermione, but failing miserably. Harry snorted and inked his quill.
"You're never going to win, Seamus." He said mildly, writing out the title. "She's been best friends with me and Ron for five years. She's tough."
"I'm surprised it's taken him so long to realise what a formidable enemy Hermione is." Neville commented, pausing for a moment to look up from his Herbology work. Hermione looked as though she was about to argue, but then a grin spread over her face and she shook her head, smiling.
"I'm officially a boy, aren't I?" she said ruefully. Harry grinned and pulled her into a hug.
"Took you long enough to notice!"
"Harry?"
Harry started at Ron's curious voice. He turned away from the mirror to look at his red-haired friend, wearing paisley pyjamas as usual. The fitted him this year.
"Yeah?"
Ron shrugged, yawning widely and scratching his back.
"Just wondered if you were planning on getting any sleep. What were you looking at?"
"Myself, oik." Harry said sarcastically, and turned back to the mirror. The lights around it illuminated his face, and now that the glamour Hermione had cast was wearing off, he could see the changes. Ron moved to stand behind him and look over his shoulder into the mirror.
"You can see the changes, can't you?" he asked softly. Harry nodded dumbly. His face was indeed thinner, and like Hermione had said, it was also… sharper, somehow.
"They're not big, but they're noticeable." Harry said quietly, and sighed, tapping the lights with his wand to put them out. He turned to Ron in the semi-darkness and scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands.
"You'll need that redoing, mate." Ron advised. Harry nodded, then realised that he couldn't see him, and let a small growl out of his throat.
"Why does stuff like this always happen to me?" he grumbled, climbing into bed and pulling the hangings shut. Neville's snores echoed gently in the dormitory. Dean and Seamus were still down in the common room.
"Because you're the Boy-Who-Lived. It's your job."
"I didn't ask for this!" Harry snapped in the direction of Ron's bed.
"Never said you did!" he replied, affronted. "But it's true."
"Wish it wasn't." Harry muttered, turning on his side and burying his face into the pillow. He only hoped that Hermione would be able to tell him what on earth was going on this time around.
oik: an unintelligent person. British colloquialism.
Do you like it? It seems as though you do... this fic did really well, considering I only posted 3 chapters. Please review, your comments meant the world to me, and they really do inspire me. They will help me through my exams!
OK, now I'm pretty much begging for them.
But yeah... extremely welcome and very much appreciated.
smokey
has a head full of Shakespeare... cringe