37 (The Noble Rangers of the South)
The following day was fairly amusing at Hogwarts. Peeves, the Poltergeist, was teaching some first years the best ways to scare the daylights out of someone. He didn't recommend what nearly all of them suggested, to jump suddenly in front of someone's face and yell like a maniac. The reason behind that, as Peeves gladly explained, was that some people had very strong hearing senses, therefore knowing if someone was sneaking up on them from the back. Instead, Peeves suggested something that could be carried out in everyone's dormitory, boys' and girls'.
"Nah," joked Peeves hysterically, "ya don' wanna act like fools jumpin' in front of a lad. Yeh wanna surprise 'em. To do so, all ya gotta do is simply mutter somethin' in yer magical riff-raff, in order ter make three hideous masks appear outta nowhere. After ye've done that, charm them masks ter hover into one o' the lads' closets, an' when they open it, goodness knows what'll happen!"
And by that, Peeves flew away guffawing at the first years like a buffoon. The little ones did seem a bit exhilarated by his stunning idea. No wonder why they were glancing nervously at each other. Now, probably no one will have enough courage to touch the closet handle to purchase some socks.
"Fred and George would be certainly pleased if they heard this," babbled Ron as he and Harry entered Charms classroom. Hermione had headed them off to class, saving them their usual seat at the back.
"Hello," began Harry, taking off his torn schoolbag, sitting on the left side of Hermione. Ron lazily took out his book, which was missing a few ripped pages, finding Professor Flitwick's squeaking only just bearable.
"Hi, what took you so long?" demanded Hermione, neatly decorating her piece of clean parchment with borders.
"We were spying on Peeves," spoke Ron, giggling softly so that Flitwick wouldn't hear him.
"He was teaching a group of first year Hufflepuffs a trick," added Harry, taking out his textbook, quill, and ink bottle.
"What trick?" questioned Hermione anxiously, as she quickly raised her hand to answer a question.
After she was done, and that seemed to take ages, Harry and Ron resumed their little private chatting.
"Peeves was telling them hot to scare the wits out of their mates properly," murmured Ron, a grin rushing up his mouth.
Hermione inevitably disapproved of Peeves's mischievous attitude. She felt a dire urge to act as a prefect and report him.
"How disappointing," objected Hermione, hissing in a lower tone, "you might as well told Dumbledore about it. Especially you Ron…since you're a prefect."
"For what?" enquired Ron sarcastically.
"To put some manners into him," whispered Hermione indignantly and in a matter-of-factly way," he's got to cease the foolishness. You know, I think his uncle, Gadzy, was right to punish him by turning into him into a lousy poltergeist."
"Hermione," lisped Harry, "Peeves has been doing this for years and years. Who ever gave a damn about him? I know McGonagall scolded him a couple of times, but he got away…at least temporarily, didn't he?"
"Yeah," agreed Ron, "Hermione, could you stop acting like a noble ambitious prefect for once in life and let things go the way they want to go?"
"How could you say this? You're a prefect and it's your duty to report anything that goes berserk in this school! Anything you find powerful enough to ruin little children's helpless minds! And you Harry…you're a teacher now! The Bloody Baron will be at your service to scare Peeves into leaving this school forever!" glowered Hermione, enraged.
She kept glaring at the pair of them throughout the lesson, while scarcely listening to Professor Flitwick's screeching, intending to continue on the argument until some discipline showed up. Nevertheless, she, as a prefect and a model student, ignored their frowns and listened more carefully to the short teacher's explanation.
The class was finally over and the sixth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws have been able to learn the Sinkle Charm, which had the function of drowning anything made of flesh or bone, heavy or light, soft or rough, tiny or spacious underwater. All that enthusiastic squeaking Professor Flitwick did was just proving how the charm worked.
As Harry, Ron, and Hermione bypassed some of the nasty Slytherins, they noticed Crabbe and Goyle apologizing to Malfoy, as if they were house-elves ready to punish themselves for eternity, trying their best to convince him that it wasn't them. Still, Malfoy's stubbornness was of solid unbreakable rock that was beyond they knew.
"How magnificent," came an eerie cold voice, "turning the friends against their pal?"
Apprehensively, the three spun around to see a long black cloak that covered an annoyingly wicked teacher, Professor Snivelly, as Harry's father used to patronize him.
"What were you three thinking?" he asked furiously.
"What are you talking about?" questioned Harry in an innocent tone of voice, trying his best to burry the truth.
"What have you done?"
"Nothing," squeaked Ron, slowly gaining courage from Harry's appearing smirks.
"Honestly, Professor Snape," mumbled Hermione confidently, "why would we interfere in the business of whom we despise?"
"Well, that's the question, isn't it Miss Granger?" he growled vehemently. "Naturally, enemies loathe each other and would come up with the most intricate and hazardous set ups. Believe me, girl, I've been deceived in my youth."
"That's only because you were too nosy to follow Sirius," squabbled Harry.
"Deten…" began the Potions Master, intending to put Harry in detention. However, he knew that he was a teacher now, and could not be in detention whatsoever, neither can he lose his house some points because of him.
"Not us; we mind our own business," prattled Ron sensibly.
For some moments, the grease ball stared at him, like a mountain eagle exposing its talons ready to sink them into the bare flesh.
"Very well," gossiped Snape, an evil grin appearing on his face, "Weasley, Granger, detention!"
Ron and Hermione more or less gasped at him, as though he just lost his mind.
"As for you, Potter," continued Snape coolly, "I shall have a word with your Head of House or even the Headmaster. Perhaps one of them or both could bring you back to your old position in this ancient school. Only then, I would be most pleased to take away some points…"
He confidently marched away, his head raised high up.
"What's gone into him?" enquired Ron angrily, perplexed. "How did he ever know that we had something to do with the stinking scum?"
"I guess it's obvious," suggested Hermione, "we were giggling loudly like clown back there."
"Yeah, but what made us look so suspicious?" asked Harry, frowning.
"What had I just said?" asked Hermione, a rush of exasperation glowing on her forehead.
"But I'm telling you, ever since Harry got made a teacher, he snapped…just like that (he clicked her fingers to symbolize it). Snape's got it in for us!" squabbled Ron irritably.
"Ron, Snape's a member of the Order," declined Hermione reasonably, "and besides, how many times do I have to repeat this point? How many times have we accused Snape when he merely endangered our lives?"
Ron smirked, and left Harry and Hermione outside the grassy Divination classroom, fitted for Firenze's habitation.
"One minute," whispered Harry, as Hermione dragged him from his sleeves.
He slowly stepped into the garden-like class, careful not to squash any roses. Some students, along with Ron, were beginning to arrive, carrying about three textbooks in one hand, and their schoolbags hung over the other shoulder, settling down under the immense shadow of a huge pine tree.
"Hello Firenze," muttered Harry, as he saw the centaur carving a wooden bird.
"Harry Potter," he replied amicably, "what a pleasant surprise."
"I was just wondering…" spoke Harry, smelling the scent of oranges and pomegranate dangling down from the trees.
Instantly, he became lost for words. He did not desire to tell him about the dream. Harry wanted to inform him about how it wasn't completely identical or similar to the last time he had it. Still, he remembered how furious he got when the centaur refused to tell him the last bit of the answer.
"Yes?" came Firenze's dreamy voice.
"Oh…" said Harry hesitatingly, "I…I wanted to be reassured…is Ron really good at arrow shooting?" he sounded a bit sheepish, but actually, his fake voice was way out of course.
"Stunningly splendid," responded the centaur, nodding his head, "splendid indeed. I see that your red headed friend is believed to be a natural. He's got the Eye."
"Er…the Eye?"
"The Eye that sees beyond a particular target, Harry Potter," explained Firenze earnestly, shaking off some autumns leaves on his back, "you would've known if you continued studying the noble art of Divination."
Harry grinned fleetingly, and then turned away to leave. However, he heard the centaur's hoofs bang recklessly against the green grass.
"Harry Potter," said Firenze calmly, moving away from the chattering students, "something in your way of speech and a cloudy sensation in your eyes informs me of some uneasiness buried within your soul."
Harry felt that Firenze was utterly reading his mind.
"Um…no, everything's fine," protested Harry in a lie, sweating for some brief seconds.
The determined centaur still gazed directly into Harry's green eyes. Firenze's facial expressions virtually told Harry something vague…about his horrid dream.
No, protested a sound in Harry's head, the only way he can communicate with me is through talking…and he's not doing any. His mouth's perfectly sealed.
Quickly, Harry staggered out of the classroom, joining Hermione once again.
"What happened in there?" asked Hermione, mystified, but at the same time nervously eyeing her watch; her lesson was about to begin in two minutes.
"I…I nearly told him about the dream," purred Harry, speeding his leg's motion, "but I was reluctant…I changed my mind."
"Well, to be honest, that was wrong of you," said Hermione scathingly, "you should've told him; Harry, you need to realize that you're in grave danger, and you need all possible help you can get."
"Yeah, but what if he doesn't tell me anything? Like last time?"
"That was different, Harry," pointed out Hermione, nearly tripping over a trick step on one of the staircases leading to Arithmancy class, and trying to mollify Harry.
"Not much," objected Harry sharply, "it's the same vision."
"I know, but you said you didn't see yourself die like a wriggling worm on the floor," muttered Hermione, greeting a friend of hers from her Arithmancy class.
"Either way, Firenze will always leave me hanging on a cliff. He fears to tell me the truth," gossiped Harry hotly.
"Harry, perhaps you're the one who's afraid to confess the truth," said Hermione heatedly. "Now, you'd better be going before you get late."
"Why should I care? I'm a teacher, and no one has the right to dock some points away from my house," he giggled sarcastically.
"You'll be taking away the students' time," she mentioned.
He felt himself rather like Ron now, for his temper certainly rose, and he was already involved in a practically incessant argument with his passionate girlfriend. Yet, he thought of his actions being wise, not babbling to
"Hey," spoke Harry, after some silence, "he told me something impressive, though. He told me Ron was actually superb in arrow shooting."
"Well," she began softly, "I guess our friend Ronald Hood is very stunning in terms of Divination."
At those words, he couldn't help himself laughing.
She slammed the door shut behind her, leaving Harry on the stone steps.
A good while later that noon, Harry was having small-talk with Ron in their Transfiguration classroom.
"What are you eating?" queried Harry, as he saw Ron's cheeks move up, down, and in circles rapidly.
"Chocolate Frogs," responded Ron, some chocolate drooling down his lips, "I need to replenish my stock of them, though. Next Hogsmeade trip will be the fine timing."
"Better swallow it before McGonagall sees you chewing it," advised Harry, nudging Ron in the left shoulder. Thus, Ron hastily used his canine teeth to chop down the chocolate into tiny miniscule bits, and rushed it down his warm throat.
"Mr. Weasley," came the stern sharp voice of Professor McGonagall. Ron was frozen in his place as if he was just electrocuted. Could she have possibly caught a glimpse of chocolate rush down his robes? Or did she notice some smudges of chocolate on his wet lips?
"Yes?" he replied reluctantly.
"I would like to see you kindly bring this guinea pig back to its first form before Transfiguration," she demanded, taking the little animal out of its cage.
"Um…sure," mumbled Ron hesitatingly, taking out his wand, biting his lips nervously, and glancing at Harry, who was merely relieved.
"Preacockster!" tittered Ron, uncertainly, as he saw the little brown and white guinea pig undergo a magical physical transformation. He half-succeeded, though. Once he muttered the incantation, waving his wand directly at the cute creature, it did start growing back into its original state, which happened to be a brilliant looking colourful male peacock. Nevertheless, there were several lapses that Ron didn't realize. First of all, the peacock had a tail other than its own colourful one. Second, two large round nostrils with bits of matted black hair dangling down were visible. And third, thick brown fur, not blue, green, yellow, rainbow coloured light feathers, covered the creature's head.
Laughter emerged from what seemed like every table in the whole classroom, and especially from the Slytherins, where Malfoy leaded the jeering. Poor Ron was embarrassed by his abysmal performance, regretting every second of chewing on Chocolate Frogs. If only he had a Time Turner like Hermione once had their third year, he would've been most successful in this part of Transfiguration. No matter, it was in the nature of Ronald Weasley to be sometimes ignorant.
"Why, thank you for your amusing show, Mr. Weasley," snarled the old woman, waving her wand, and properly vanishing the abnormal additions to the peacock, "perhaps you ought to pay more undivided attention. This is going to cover over thirty percent of your pre-N.E.W.T test, and possibly even more of your end-of-the-year exam."
If Harry was not totally mistaken, he would've seen such effort in Ron to retch. Embarrassed as he was, Ron returned to his seat, trying to shut Harry's giggling up. Hermione, on the other hand, was whispering the correct way to Transfigure the guinea pig back into a peacock. He merely listened to her hissing.
"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione," mumbled Ron indignantly, setting his head on his forearms, looking directly at Professor McGonagall.
Later in the afternoon, everyone was dismissed from their last lesson of the day, scurrying like fretted rats back to their abandoned dormitories. Harry, Ron, and Hermione decided to complete their dreadful Potions essay, which was a comparison between the essential spells used to properly brew two different potions, The Gloomy Bubble Potion, and the Red-Eyed Cabbage Potion. Previously, and to nobody's surprise, Professor Snape had delightfully explained how all of this was vital revision for pre-N.E.W.T examination. It was really getting trite, though.
The three thought of a change of studying ways. Hermione suggested drawing a vivid Venn Diagram at first, just as a brainstorming. Harry and Ron agreed, desperate for any way to end what looked like a nightmare of an essay. When finally they were done scratching their quills, which had several feathers fallen off of, against the rolls of parchment, they read it three times in succession to make sure they didn't miss a necessary point to be looked for by Snape. Shortly after that, and to Harry and Ron's annoyance, Hermione urged them to write down on another roll of parchment, for Snape had wanted an essay form, not a Venn Diagram. They were no doubt reluctant about it, but afraid of Hermione's unbearable scolding, they fired away. Ron was absolutely depressed because of the fact that the load of homework he had behind his back was more like a mountain of parchment. Harry, on the other hand, despite the fact that he hesitated in writing, had obviously thought it was for his own benefit; five lesson planners were awaiting him on his desk in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Eventually, their practically ever-lasting Potions homework was nicely completed and polished. Unfortunately, though, the three couldn't feel a single sensation in their exhausted fingers; inevitably, writing continuously for a length of six rolls of parchment was enough to torture the nerves of anyone's fingers, therefore making them numb.
"Honestly," affirmed Ron, as he rested his sore wrist, "that twit is really getting on our nerves with those bloody, demanding, terrible pre-N.E.W.T tests."
Harry nodded sympathetically, slowly taking out his yet unfinished History of Magic homework; it was in done in two days of time, and the time was passing by as though Judgment Day wad drawing nearer.
"Well, you can't blame him, can you Ron?" commented Hermione, steeping her quill in some cold black ink. "I mean, those are the school rules, and we have virtually no power against them. Pre-N.E.W.Ts are mandatory in order to see how well you're prepared for the real N.E.W.Ts in seventh year."
"Tell me about it," sneered Ron sarcastically. "Anyway, you may be right, Hermione, but I think that rotten dingbat shall fail us purposefully, deliberately if he doesn't stop lecturing us about the ruddy tests."
"He wouldn't do such foolish thing, Ron," declined Hermione scathingly, grinning. "Few of us may fail. After all, just think of them as normal exams."
"'Just think of them as normal exams' she says," Ron imitated Hermione, "speak for yourself."
"Besides, he's a member of the…"
"Order," interrupted Harry. "Yeah, we know."
Moments of undisturbed silence passed by, while Hermione fleetingly glared at the pair of them.
"Hey Ron," came a sudden soft voice, Ginny Weasley's.
"What?" he questioned, a bit exasperated.
"How does a Crabbhopper capture its prey?" apparently, she was stuck on a homework question that Hagrid requested answering. And, as Harry thought, it might've been too early to introduce Ginny and her fifth year friends to Crabbhoppers.
"Dunno," he replied rudely, "ask the genius."
His finger pointed at Hermione, who was just about to begin reading a long chapter for Ancient Runes. Her eyes stopped momentarily, and caught fire. She was frowning at him. Ron noticed how lethal her looks could sometimes be.
"It uses the razor sharp spikes on its leathery legs to suffocate the prey starting from the throat. Then, some violet liquid is secreted to moisten the rigid skin of the victim," responded Hermione amicably.
"Thanks," muttered Ginny, scribbling down untidy letters of what she had just heard, beaming.
"By the way, Ginny," added Hermione, grinning at her, "we mentioned this in the discussion of last fifth years' Study Society meeting."
"Don't blame her," interrupted Ron, "she's as thick as her brother."
Hermione nearly raised her palm to slap him, had not Harry grabbed her from the wrist in the perfect timing.
"At least she'd be polite in asking a favour," communicated Hermione indignantly, "she's not as rude as you, Ronald. All you think about is fancy food from the kitchens, and deserving a special award for heroism!"
Utterly, Ginny was stunned by the way Hermione snapped at her brother.
"You know what," wept Hermione," I'd better be reporting this to your mother…telling her how you treat your only sister…"
In a flick of seconds, Ron jumped up from the armchair, and seized her from the elbow.
"No," he whimpered uneasily, "anything but that!"
"Well then, apologize," mouthed Hermione in a demanding vehement aspect of speaking.
"Fine," said Ron, as Harry used his chance for a laugh, "I'm sorry Ginny. I didn't mean that you were dumb."
Shocked as she was, Ginny was bewildered. Still, she grinned at her humiliated brother, nodding, accepting his apology.
"That's better now, isn't it?" joked Hermione, intending to move away. Ron's hands were still clinging to her elbow, as if permanent glue was set on the gap between the two parts.
"Ron, you could leg go of her," giggled Harry, "her elbow's not entirely broken, you know."
"Oh…sorry," he apologized yet again, pulling away his hand.
Against Hermione's words, Ron looked unbelievably pathetic. He would've sworn by now that almost every first, second, third, and fourth year currently sitting in the common room would roll with hysterical laughter.
"Well, she's got a point Ron," agreed Harry, jotting down some points for his homework, "you shouldn't be treating your sister like that."
"Siding with her, are you now?"
"I'm not siding with anyone," assured Harry, taking off his glasses, rubbing his tired eyelids and then putting his glasses back on again, "I am just saying that you'd better grow up and change your manners."
"Oh shut up," said Ron, holding out a fistful of Bertie Botts Every-Flavour Beans, "you sound just like Mum."
The Study Society meeting went rather fine for the rest of today's fifth years. Hermione had utilized her incredible knowledge and memory from last year to help uncover the legend of Sir Wilberg the Seventh, who played a major role in the magical history. As Hermione had thoroughly explained, he had used his mind and courageous heart to defeat the ancient Siberian Eagles. Those were extremely eerie and vicious creatures, made from frigid ice and freezing snow. A funny thought occurred to Harry when he overheard the discussion. He thought that even Hagrid, who was commonly known for admiring all sorts of magical creatures, wouldn't fancy approaching a raging Siberian Eagle. After the introduction, Hermione mentioned the method those beasts use to kill people. Accordingly to her, the Siberian Eagles had long attacked humans unobtrusively, using their sharp glazed talons. Once the talons were pierced into the flesh, the whole body becomes frail, and gradually paralyzed and shut down. Shortly after that process, the Siberian Eagle would push their motionless victim into their frosty bodies, providing a great source of fueling energy. To do so, some ice is scraped off by their talons and sometimes long beaks, and then slowly, a hole becomes increasingly wider in size, till its size is big enough to insert the dead prey. Only then, as if with starfish, the ice body regenerates, forming a new layer of even stronger surface ice. Until about six hundred years or so from their first appearance in Siberia, Sir Wilberg the Seventh made controversial history. He found a perfect way to slay the hazardous birds, by means of setting flames on them. Although naturally ice melts due to the constant heat of fire, the Siberian Eagles' remarkably strong bodies resisted the heat of stinging flames. Therefore, Sir Wilberg, who was young at that time and had just finished Auror training by the hands of three noble men, Artomio Liliquar, Frederick Flingermile, and Theodore Pebblemania, was to think of something else to save the witches, wizards, and even Muggles who were doomed by their fait. Years of despair full of massacres, catastrophes, and vicious killing passed by, until at last, the aging wizard discovered the effective Cruciatus Curse. Along with two other curses of his discovery, Imperius, and Avada Kedavra, Sir Wilberg named these the Unforgivable Curses, which by now, almost every adult magical person knows about. They were designed by Sir Wilberg to display the most intricate, difficult, but extremely powerful brands of magic. It was he who banned their usage unless desperate for. Thanks to Sir Wilberg the Seventh, the Siberian Eagles have become extinct within three years of time, and since then, there was no sight of them at all on earth. Ever since all of them were slain, he instantly became the mid-ages' most unforgettable legend. Sir Wilberg's contribution to the wizard race, or to be more truthful, the human race, remained unique for many countless ages. s HIst
"Wow!" muttered Ginny, looking awestruck. "That's a really fascinating tale!"
"I know," said Hermione, grinning, "we've spent almost three lessons with Professor Binns last year reading the chapter over and over again, trying to analyze his decisions. Some people used to say that those three men who helped him in Auror training built a statue of him, so large that you'll have to throw back your neck in order to see the top of it. It is said that the stature represented him raising his wand at a Siberian Eagle. In the end, they stuck it to the snowy grounds of Siberia."
"When did this happen anyway?" asked a fifth year that Harry never knew; his name was Marcus Fimble.
"A great time ago," said Hermione in response, "it may have happened approximately in the year 299 B.C."
"Whoa!" whispered Ginny in amazement.
"Thanks a lot Hermione," spoke a grateful fifth year Gryffindor, Andy Jonathon, "Binns will surely be pleased with this homework…it should raise up my marks a bit…I hope I get at least 'Acceptable' in my O.W.Ls this year."
"You're most welcome," beamed Hermione, handing over her recorded notes to little Dennis Creevey, who packed everything in one huge pile, placing it in an oversized folder for end of the year revision.
"That was some fairy tale you spoke," giggled Ron, as Hermione made her way back to the armchair beside the fire, joining him and Harry.
"It's not a fairy tale, Ron. It really happened. Don't you remember Binns gossiping unceasingly about it, or did you perhaps drift away as the flames from his fireplace reached your eyes?" said Hermione scathingly, taking out some wool to knit for the house-elves.
"She's starting to believe in non-existing things," hissed Ron softly to Harry, "more like Luna Lovegood."
Although part of Harry knew that the legend was based on true hero, the other half couldn't help depress Ron. He grinned at him. Anyways, as the first half of him reminded, he believed every single word Hermione had previously spoken. It wasn't at all a myth, but a true story. Ironically, people couldn't just believe how Sir Wilberg banished those Eagles from life. In addition to that, as Harry's mind recalled another boring History of Magic class from last year, Sir Wilberg had also went on most dangerous voyages around the world, searching for evil to extinguish.
About an hour and half after the meeting was concluded, and Hermione knitted seventy one hats, the students began packing up their schoolbags, stuffing their books and quills right back to where they belonged. Dinner time was yet to arrive.
"I hope there's a juicy Chicken Fillet waiting for me on the table," said Ron hopefully; Harry noticed some stick saliva dribbling down his wet lips. Harry and Hermione weren't exactly concerned with that particular thought, and joined the throng out of the common room.
As they moved through the corridors, descending to lower levels, they saw many teachers walking at top speed downstairs, using all the shortcuts that could cross their minds. There was also a noticeable murmur going on between the staff, and Harry wondered, as a teacher, why none of them dragged him into the conversation. Twice he's seen Madam Hooch, who had taught him the basics of flying in his first year, bite her lips nervously. Snape greasy hair flew backwards as his legs moved further quicker, and tiny Professor Flitwick was walking much like a penguin, reaching the marble staircase. Ron couldn't help it; he was half amused, and half intrigued.
When they finally entered the Great Hall, it was as if they had just walked into a humungous dimly lit cavern. Their eyes were naturally unadjusted to the sudden darkness. Usually, the Great Hall was perfectly illuminated with candle lights and torches hung high up on holders. However, this time, the candle light was gone. There was only dim light of torches, and Harry could barely see his way through the aisle. To everybody's interest, there was a conspicuous light blue hue hovering in the middle of the spacious dwelling, shimmering like shooting stars, attracting the majority of students.
"What's the matter? What's going on?" questioned Neville anxiously.
"Ouch! Lavender, that was my foot!" winced Parvati Patil, as Lavender Brown accidentally trotted over her left foot.
"Sorry," she apologized calmly, "I couldn't see in the dark, you know."
"Why are there no lights? Aren't we having dinner or something?" asked a worried Ron.
"Ron, just calm down. There must be reasons behind this alter of matters," suggested Hermione matter-of-factly, squinting at the staff table, hopeful to catch a glimpse of an old man.
Then, Harry began to notice some shadowy figures moving slowly across the staff table. Would it be the house ghosts? No...they would stand out perfectly due to the white colour. Only then did Harry realize that those figures were teachers.
"Relax everyone," came a sudden deep voice, Professor Dumbledore's, "there is absolutely no need to fret while you remain safe in here."
Helplessly, the pupils were focusing their eyes at the murky staff table. Supposedly, that's were the Headmaster's voice came from.
"Now," he continued, "there have been several changes in the environment of the long known Great Hall. Then again, you might wonder why. The staff and I had agreed to welcome a few guests that come from Ireland. They will be patrolling the castle night and day, till the end of term, providing all the protection they are able to come up with. Of course, you might also ask about the purpose of such actions. Well…I see…now that Lord Voldemort (there was a usual wince at the sound of the name) is currently running loose, perhaps recruiting every creature in his army, the Ministry of Magic, here and there, felt like doing something sensible. And so, we have reached a reasonable agreement of playing host to those people who will arrive shortly."
"I just hope those guest aren't bloody Dementors," said Ron, looking slightly appalled, "remember how it was in third year?"
But Harry had completely ignored him, listening to the rest of Dumbledore's speech.
"Yes," the Headmaster went on, still not visible among the vast blackness, "they will arrive tonight. They will mean you no harm if you stay out of their way. This is a word of alarm…do not ever bother to interfere in their business here whenever you bypass one, two, or maybe all of them…they can be easily offended, and alas, their retribution would be immensely harsh and mighty."
Malfoy, as Harry thought he saw it clearly, had and expression of fear on his face; he was holding on to Crabbe and Goyle, who were both shaking recklessly in their spots.
"It is not at all wise to provoke one of those men," said Dumbledore, "their mission here, as I have briefly explained, is to provide safety from the servants of Lord Voldemort."
There were horrid gasps emerging at the sound of the name. None the less, Harry and his friends were accustomed to it by now, and so were Dumbledore and this staff.
"Many of you have perhaps heard that the Death Eaters who were locked up in Azkaban last June, have managed somehow to escape yet again," informed Dumbledore, now his face merely showing when some of the blue hue hovered around it, "now those cruel murderers are obviously heading our way. Still, some of you may have thought…why haven't they turned up much earlier? Did Voldemort perhaps order them not to? Did they do as their master commanded? Well…I suppose Lord Voldemort has reasons behind his doings as do I…" he cut off short, without another word.
"I bet Malfoy will be relieved to see his father," joked Harry in the pitch night darkness.
"Our own loyal sources have recently detected movements of Death Eaters," spoke the Headmaster confidently, referring indirectly to the Order of the Phoenix and Ministry of Magic, "and weren't able to stop them. However, now that they are too close from being at Hogwarts, we seriously pondered many suggestions. It was at last that we agreed to accept help from outsiders. And thus, the Noble Rangers of the South are yet to arrive."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged awestruck looks.
"In case you're wondering why this normalcy has been altered," declared the old man, "we find it suitable for the Rangers. After all, they are used to their habit of living underground. Therefore, dim light should be supportive enough for them. For now, follow the blue light you see before your eyes; it will only direct you to your house table."
Obediently, the throng of students started convoying around the place. As an aid, Professor Dumbledore shot four different lights from the tip of his wand into thin air, each having a unique colour. The green one led Slytherins to their house table, while the red one directed the Gryffindors to where they belonged. Meanwhile, the blue light was followed by the crowd of murmuring Ravenclaws. Simultaneously, the Hufflepuffs were lagging behind the hovering yellow light.
As they sat down, Harry, Ron, and Hermione noticed some dim white light surrounding the edges of plates, bowls, and jugs. Ron was so desperate for some more light, noticing that the Rangers haven't arrived yet. Thus, he couldn't help but light his own wand, revealing some brilliant helpful light. There was no need for Harry and Hermione to light their wands, for Ron's was enough.
While Harry was chewing on some lamb chops, he sensed something much like a yellow light near him. Then, he remembered that Anystal shown yellow whenever danger was near. Instantly, he dropped down his fork, and hastily stuck his hand into his robes. Out came Anystal, but dull of colour.
"Harry, put it away before anyone sees it!" whispered Hermione commandingly.
"Is something…wrong?" asked Ron, pausing fleetingly to take a sip out of his dandelion juice.
"No," replied Harry solemnly, after making sure there was no warning, "I just thought it was gleaming yellow."
"Well, it can't be," commented Hermione, pulling Ron's lit wand closer to her so that she could see the piece of bread that had fallen off her plate, "there's nothing alarming approaching us, Harry. On the contrary, safety is coming."
Harry merely grinned at her white illuminated face.
"I wonder what those Rangers are really like," muttered Harry.
"We shall see," hissed Hermione softly.
The moonlight penetrated the high windows of the Great Hall. Then, the whole crowd sensed something rather peculiar and queer happening. The windows nearly shattered due to immense shaking and vibrations. The torches' fire was put out, and the blue hue in the air had vanished. No light other than the moonlight was present.
"What's going on?" enquired a petrified Dean Thomas, gripping his chicken leg so tightly that he heard a crack in it.
The vibrations continued without a halt, and every student in the Great Hall was frequently sliding against his neighbour.
"Ow! Harry, watch it!" grimaced Hermione, as Harry's elbow accidentally bumped into her rib cage.
The goblets were shaking almost vigorously, and the tables were repeatedly moving back and forth in an incessant pattern. This had surely heightened everybody's anxiety.
"Don't worry," Professor Dumbledore's voice was sounded again, "this is only temporary. The Rangers will be arriving any minute now. For the mean time, I suggest holding on to whoever is beside you."
Immediately, fearful of getting any more maladies, Hermione hooked her right arm into Harry's and her left into Ron's. Then, Ron tied his left arm around Ginny's shoulder, and she supported Lavender and Parvati. On the other side of Harry, he was holding firmly onto Seamus's wrist, who had his right arm hooked in Dean's; Neville's left arm was tightly wrapped around Dean's neck, almost choking him. Several fourth years and below were holding on to each other on Neville's right side.
"Did you hear that?" whispered Ginny, heavily breathing.
"Hear what?" asked Ron, noticing that the vibrations ceased.
"Ssh, listen," she ordered.
A very deep sound was indeed heard from above. Suddenly, without any alarm, Harry noticed the ceiling cracking open. There was a hole there that started moving across the two sides from the origin, fracturing the bewitched ceiling that looked like a night sky in half. Amazingly, no bricks or concrete had fallen on the students' heads, and Harry knew that Dumbledore must've done something to prevent it from happening.
In came an incredible, exotic sight. As the moonlight spread further along the Great Hall, the students witnessed a herd of humungous creatures flying downwards, one after the other; there were seven in total. Everybody had awestruck expressions on their stunned faces. The spacious creatures were no doubt magical, but looked more like whales. They had wings, and tentacles of a squid. On each creatures' curved back, were three men, hidden underneath heavy green leather robes, which were shimmering beneath the ghost light of the moon. Their heads were hooded with furry silver hoods, and they had waist length yellow hair.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione and all the others gazed, stunned at the queer sight. They bent backwards to observe the large bodies of whale-like beasts, their heads almost touching the hard ground. There was even an immense shower of soft snowflakes released from the creatures' side fins.
"Merlin's beard! What the bloody hell are those?" question Ron, his eyes gradually widening like the horizon.
The whale-like creatures and the men on top of each beast descended to lower levels, careful not to crash into any students' heads. The snowflakes remained falling down in trickles, but they magically disappeared as soon as they approached the pupils' hairs. Down slid the men with yellow hair, not a single grin on their vague faces. They marched to the front of the Great Hall, more like gliding towards the staff table.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said the old Headmaster, "I give you the Noble Rangers of the South."
Automatically, as though no one had an idea what else to do, they all applauded intensely, until the palms of their hands felt like white-hot.
After the clapping eventually subsided, some brilliant lights came back to the Great Hall, bringing along some relief to the students, and especially Neville. Yet, they were still characterized as dim.
"Here stand twenty-one courageous Rangers that have consented to join our side in battling against Lord Voldemort and his supporters," explained Dumbledore, now his face was clearly lit by the lights, "and in head of these spectacular men is Chief Altazark."
The man that happened to be standing in front of the twenty other men turned around slowly, glancing at the crowd. It was conspicuous that he was an aged man, perhaps eighty or a bit less. He had wrinkled eyes, a crooked nose, a long blonde-yellow beard, and some white hair on his temples.
"I am Altazark Idolisis, chief of the men that stand before me," he introduced himself politely, "we've been called for help by your Headmaster, and thus we answered his call. Although caution can sometimes be vital, it is also essential to learn how to co-operate with friends from outside your lands. Only then can we all win this war. We all stand here for one purpose…and our purpose is to vanquish the Dark Lord."
Ron got the shivers, even though Voldemort's name wasn't spoken. Harry and Hermione were still looking at the aged man, keen to know more about him and the nature of his men. They realized from his words the wisdom that Dumbledore had accomplished throughout his years.
"You might be uneasy to see us in this form, therefore I owe you all an explanation," continued Chief Altazark, his eyes narrowing, "my men and I are part human. We are descendents of Sir Wilberg the Seventh."
Ginny raised her eyebrows and her jaw fell; she looked directly at Hermione, who had previously discussed his legend this evening.
"He was part of what we call the ancient wizard race," added the yellow-haired man.
"You would also possibly wonder why the Rangers arrived here using these fascinating creatures," pointed out Professor Dumbledore, pointing his fingers at the seven whale-like creatures that were hovering above.
The students' attention was drawn back to the titanic beasts. Paradoxically, they were hovering like autumn tree leaves, regardless of their weight.
"Orchentaci have always been our traditional transport vehicles," said Chief Altazark, gazing at them, "long have they been most helpful and reliable underground. It was time to experiment their abilities above it."
"Hagrid is surely astounded by now," joked Harry under his breath. Ron and Hermione scarcely giggled.
"Now," continued the old Headmaster, "these Rangers shall be staying as residents in Hogwarts, in a unique place that rarely anyone of us could find. The Orchentaci, however, shall be traveling to the lake, for they, as Chief Altazark has informed me, are somehow related to the giant squid."
As if they were in a Muggle military army, the Rangers stood upright in their places, motionless, waiting for their boss's directions.
"Resume feasting everyone," instructed Dumbledore calmly, "meanwhile, I shall escort our new guest to their room."
They glided, accompanied by the Headmaster, along the aisle between the Gryffindor and Slytherin house tables. Harry could see a blur of Malfoy smirking at the weird Rangers, for they seldom moved their eyes to either side. Dumbledore led them out of the doors to the Great Hall, and soon they were invisible form eyesight.
"Look," whispered Hermione, raising her finger at the Orchentaci.
At a slow rate, they began to leave, flapping their wings and fins, several more snowflakes falling downwards. Their tentacles were dangling down from their bellies, and momentarily, they started spinning. A strong breeze of cool air floated by as the incredibly big creatures flapped their gigantic tails. One after the other in succession, the Orchentaci flew out of the ripped ceiling, heading to the lake. Magically, the opening caused by the beasts was sealed again, leaving not one single miniscule crack visible to the naked eye. No more moonlight from above penetrated into the ceiling, but instead, there was the bewitched night sky again, crammed with stars, and even some small moons moving gradually in circles.
"That was…cool!" roared Seamus.
"Did you see those jelly-like tentacles? Not even the giant squid could've done that odd move with them!" chattered Dean enthusiastically.
"I don't think I'll like the Rangers," purred Ron earnestly, as he went back to his precious second Chicken Fillet sandwich, "they don't seem to know the meaning of a smile."
"Maybe they are too strict," suggested Harry, slowly tearing the grilled steak into pieces.
"Whoever they are," mumbled Hermione vaguely, "they're here for our protection and safety, and that's what really matters. Dumbledore said not to offend them by any means, so we'd better keep a good distance away from them."
Harry and Ron nodded.
"I'm telling you," spoke a confident Neville, "ever since Dumbledore has got hold of the Ministry of Magic, great changes came."
"He's an amazingly mad wizard, that's who he is," added Dean humorously.
Under the current circumstances, no one was threatened, instead, relieved. Still, that didn't end Harry, Ron, and Hermione's constant worries about the near future. They've got their semi-final Quidditch matches in six days. In addition to that, the major apprehension came back to the subject of the Wolf of the Eight Floor. There was no sign of it yet, but the three were assured that it was going to wake up, and fulfill its master's desires as the sixth month is born. Harry truly wished that the shadow had told him some more about the Wolf. However, the only useful bit of information that Harry could use was that he had the sword of Anystal in his possession. Accordingly to Hermione, Anystal was a legendary blade. It was used in many battles, and had loads and loads of functions.
No more thoughts strolled across Harry's preoccupied mind, now. A grin was evident on his face, and he went back physically to his full plate and pomegranate juice.