40 (Indignation at its Zenith)
"But why was it you? I thought the sword belonged to Professor Lupin," declined Harry in argument.
"Dear old Remus and I have met over during the summer," mentioned the old man, raising his half-moon spectacles, "we've seen where this path will lead to…and we decided that it was prudent for you to yet have more protection than anybody magical can provide."
"But didn't you say you cared too much about me last year? Didn't you say it was an old man's mistake?" Harry fired two other indignant questions in a perplexed matter.
"You know, Harry," continued Dumbledore in a quieter voice, "there are some things in this life that could seem understandable, yet ironically, not. Even the eldest and wisest of men could sometimes fail to get the point.
"I do not deny that I cared about you more than I needed. Furthermore, I wouldn't just ignore you, and simply surrender you to my old pupil Tom, would I?"
"No," said Harry, scarcely understanding.
"Well, we gathered here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on honestly, "and re-united with Sybill Trelawney. She has shown us what we feared of dreadful predictions…"
"Let me guess…my death? Presumably? She always does that!"
The Headmaster gave him a small reluctant grin, and then proceeded with the talk.
"She has informed us of the worst through her crystal orb," explained Dumbledore delightedly, "and I do have faith in her as much I trust Severus Snape. Meanwhile, I knew that I couldn't do anything but provide all necessary precautions. So I decided that it was time to pass an heirloom from Hogwarts."
"Anystal?"
"Precisely," answered Dumbledore, nodding his head. "Now, I see that you have got hold of it and discovered its functions, although you did only with a few of them."
Instantly, Harry recalled the only true moment where he actually used the sword for his benefit. It was when the mysterious shadow materialized in the gloomy kitchens of Hogwarts. Accordingly to Chief Altazark, Dumbledore must've inevitably seen it coming. Nonetheless, he decided not to bring up the subject.
"And if you wonder why you were sent a spectacular Firebolt X6," continued the old man, rubbing his wrinkled chin, "perhaps you'll find out later this year."
"Planned for it already, haven't you?" mouthed Harry, exasperated. "You've seen it all along, Professor, and nevertheless, you never told me!"
The Headmaster was silent as the grave, and looked Harry directly in the eye.
"Do you mind if I ask who shared this bit of information with you, Harry?" asked Dumbledore in a tranquil matter of way.
"It doesn't matter," wailed Harry, rubbing one foot against the other, "either way, you knew it…all along…you could've prevented any of those foul…"
"Let's say that it is the way an old man chose things to happen," hissed Dumbledore earnestly.
"Well I'm sick and tired of that old man's nonsense!"
Harry glared at him, wondering if Voldemort was happy this instant. For some seconds, Harry looked at the sword that was once the property of Godric Gryffindor, one of the founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Clearly, he recalled the day where he utilized it to slay the deadly Basilisk in his second year.
"Now," spoke the Headmaster suddenly, "we've received a couple of words from the Order, and they said they've tracked down several Death Eaters fleeing across Britain. More to that, they've actually sensed queer movements nearby Hogwarts. Shortly after the incident, Mundungus Fletcher, who inherited the power of fortune-telling from his great great great grandfather, pointed out something. Lord Voldemort had sent the Heliopaths from…"
"Dark Valley, I know," interrupted Harry, "I suppose you and Mundungus are related? After all, you're not the only one who could See beyond according to the old fraud."
"Perhaps you're correct Harry," responded the old man, merely justifying the fact.
"So what are they doing here anyway?" enquired Harry curiously.
"Glad you've come back to that, Harry," commented Dumbledore, drinking the last few drops of his tea, "we believe that they carry a curse from Dark Valley, the temporary lair of old Tom…one which would extinguish every tranquil quality, love, friendship…one which could demolish the truth…the main point is that we are so lucky that Severus had told me about it beforehand."
"Snape?"
"Professor Snape," chattered the old man forcefully, "he only just informed us yesterday and it was earlier than the Order's response."
By that, Harry was reassured that the Potions Master had taken Malfoy's word for truth, thus reporting it to the Headmaster. It might've been his greatest ambition to prove himself worthy of being a member of the staff.
"Had it not been for him, things would have been eerie and chaotic," said Dumbledore, cleaning the teacup with a simple spell from his wand.
"And what about the Rangers?" questioned Harry vehemently. "Don't they deserve some of the praise and gratitude?"
"I don't deny that they've been efficient in playing their role," explained Dumbledore solemnly, "but we couldn't have acted in the right time if it hadn't been for Severus in the first place."
"But it wouldn't change the state of things," objected Harry matter-of-factly, "you foresaw it, didn't you?"
"Harry," sighed the wearied old man, "I feel that I've divulged the vital facts oHoh of current issues for you, now. I really should be going now…busy day at the Ministry."
Harry looked at him as if he was eyeing vermin.
"And what about the Heliopaths? What did you mean 'their original forms' ?"
"I do understand how you feel, Harry," murmured Professor Dumbledore sentimentally, "but I'm afraid this is not the time to discuss such things."
"Fine," moaned Harry, standing up, heading to the door.
He stormed his way out of the Headmaster's office, after the old man shot him one last look of pathos. Not only did Dumbledore admit that he's been seeing things before they came to life, but he also cut off the conversation. Presumably, he was a busy man, but he had all the time in the world to be truthful. His decision was to leave Harry lost in a wider arc of predictions and thoughts. Intense anger arose in Harry's eyes, and he felt like fresh steam. What was the Heliopaths' original form?
Exasperated as he was, Harry roamed along the corridors, crept down several staircases, until at last, the door to the Great Hall stood before him. He was hoping to see Ron and Hermione waiting for him there, but of course, he remembered that Dumbledore had already dismissed them to their classes.
Wearily, Harry scooted out of the deserted Great Hall, and headed to the History of Magic classroom. While he was walking, he thought of how unbearable it was to spend the next twenty minutes listening to the grim voice of a ghost, Professor Binns. Warm sweat came rushing down the bridge of his nose. His untidy hair was sticking out in every edge, scruffy, seldom moving as he increased his pace.
As an afterthought, Harry decided to skive off History of Magic, for it only had nineteen more remaining minutes until the bell rang again. He wanted to write once more to the Order.
"Why aren't you in class, boy?" came a voice behind him, emerging from a portrait. When Harry turned around, it was seemingly a professional artist, wearing a three cornered hat with three feathers at the top center, and held a long paintbrush in his hand.
"Shut up," muttered Harry, ignoring the man.
He was approaching the Owlery, careful not to step on some owl droppings near the door that accumulated over time.
Hastily, Harry grabbed the doorknob and pulled it down, stepping into the threshold of the circular room. The whole place was filled with a lot of shelves, occupied by many breeds of owls. The floor was wet and repulsive, due to the great amount of owl droppings and feathers that lay on the ground.
Of course, Hedwig hadn't been there because she didn't return from her journey yet. Harry had previously sent her to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place seeking advice. Apparently, it took her longer time than he expected.
Over by the corner, he eyed a familiar tawny owl that kept moving recklessly, fidgeting anxiously, knocking down some neighbours.
Quickly, Harry opened his bag, and took out a quill, a bottle of ink, and one roll of parchment. He cleaned one part of the room with a deft wave from his wand, and then settled down on his knees, trying to think about what to write.
Dear Professor Lupin and Mad-Eye,
You haven't replied to my last letter as fast as I expected. Nevertheless, Malfoy's secret had been discovered at last. This morning, half way through our first lesson, Care of Magical Creatures, we were attacked by Heliopaths. Dumbledore, the staff, and the Rangers quickly acted, and were lucky that the castle wasn't brought down. The Rangers did something queer that rather looked like a green boundary protecting West Tower…Dumbledore, accordingly to Hermione, did a fair demonstration of the Stromisus Charm. I was so vexed myself that I had to see what was really going on in the…
But instantly, his quill stopped scratching against the rough surfaced parchment, as he heard an annoying hooting noise come from the window above. When Harry put his quill down, he looked up and saw a white wintry bird wing through the windowsill, landing on Harry's arm.
"Why have you been delayed so long?" he asked, relieved that Hedwig finally returned home. Speedily, he untied the parcel tied around her leg, and hastily opened it. Harry took out the letter within.
Harry-
By the time you receive this letter, the Heliopaths would probably already have attacked Hogwarts. Please Harry, do not go risk your own life…they cab be very dangerous around youngsters that haven't yet accomplished profound knowledge about magical beasts. Event though you got hold of old Anystal, it is wise to leave it to the Rangers and Professor Dumbledore. Don't venture into their plans…
Yours truly,
Remus Lupin
Harry's eyes flashed twice, as though he hadn't realized what was written. Now, even Professor Lupin, who happened to be Harry's favorite teacher, began to grow anxious. Why was he so afraid? Hasn't Harry gone through adventures that could've cost him his neck? Isn't he capable of coping with reality yet? What did he have to do to show them that he got used to everything? Deep inside his veins, Harry felt that he was truly being treated like a six year old.
Now, there was no point in resuming writing his letter. Therefore, Harry seized his wand, muttered 'Deletrius!', and the letters simply vanished. The roll of parchment was destined to not be wasted, for it could've been precious at other times. Harry shot the owls a depressed look, imagining what their lives were actually like. Indeed, they were the most reliable and faithful birds to a wizard, and did all kinds of favours by delivering messages and letter to every dwelling. However, those birds knew nothing of how Harry truly felt. After all, a human's emotions could be far more intense and intricate than those of a bird's.
Harry resisted the unbearable melancholy within his heart, and picked up his schoolbag. Noticing his watch, Harry knew that the bell was due to ring at any second now. He slowly stuffed Professor Lupin's response into his bag, ignoring how it was carelessly crumpled.
For a minute before Harry's legs lifted him up, he thought he heard a familiar squelching sound coming from the door. As he got up on his feet, he faced a rarely seen person around the Owlery enter.
"Malfoy?"
Oddly, Draco Malfoy, who's been acting rather mysteriously for the past few days, entered the Owlery, a rolled pieced of parchment held tightly between his pale fingers. He had looks of arrogance in his ungrateful little eyes, and a smirk showed on his curling lips.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" he asked in a cold voice, freezing in his place.
"Well that's none of you business, is it?" replied Harry scathingly.
"Don't talk to me like that you overconfident little shrimp!" hollered Malfoy in rage.
Hastily, Harry stuck his hand into his robes, and out came his wand, brandishing across Malfoy's face. It was raised right to the level of the blonde boy's eyes.
"Tell me, have you ever been Stunned, Malfoy?" questioned Harry, a tone of sarcasm rising in his voice.
"Ah," murmured Malfoy, grinning wickedly, "thought of attacking me, did you now, Potter? Go ahead, I double dare you."
Harry was silenced for a moment, to be involved in what he called a mini-dilemma. Should he Stun the boy, he knew that the consequence would be most severe. And should he not, he would make a coward of no nerve out of himself. As a final wise decision, Harry lowered his wand, but still shooting Malfoy hot red looks of anger and despise.
"Just as I suspected," snorted Malfoy, "chicken."
A wave of exasperation bypassed.
"Beat it, before I knock the brains out of your thick head," said Harry, putting down his bag, and taking position to fight.
Immediately, Malfoy, sly as a fox, lifted the side of his robes, pulling out his own wand. He was pointing directly at Harry's chest, who stood transfixed at the sight in front of him, preparing himself for a small or big dosage of pain.
"Vulnerable, aren't you? Weasel and the mudblood aren't here for protection, are they, Potter? Couldn't do a single thing without them, could you?"
"Perhaps not," replied Harry confidently, "but I bet your father would've been proud of you this very instant. And you mother….oh well, you know, that look on her face, she'll be grinning like a sick, pale, yellow ferret…"
"Don't you dare talk about my parents like that!"
"Put it down Malfoy!" came a rough voice simultaneously. The angry boy felt a cold tip touch his bare neck that was only obscured by a smattering of his blonde-white hair.
"Ron," hissed Harry under his breath.
"Allright Harry?" it was Hermione, grinning at him fervently and at the same time, frowning at Malfoy.
"Saved by the bell," gossiped Malfoy, angrily, storming out of the Owlery at top speed.
Out of the smelly pungent room, the three marched.
"Been giving you a hard time?" enquired Ron, biting into a delicious but sour green apple.
"Definitely not," responded Harry, approaching the Charms classroom, staring at Terry Boot chattering with a couple of younger third year friends.
"What has he been doing?" asked Hermione curiously, already taking out four books for Charms.
"Dunno," replied Harry vaguely, "writing to his lonely mother, I suppose."
Ron let out a laugh, nearly choking on a jagged chunk of apple.
"I felt weak though," admitted Harry.
"What?" questioned Hermione softly, as they entered through the Charms classroom's threshold.
"I don't why…exactly," said Harry, uncertainly, "but I know that I felt strength-less for a moment or two."
"But you could've fought that nasty old twitching brat," said Ron, throwing the last remnants of his apple into the bin.
"Yeah, I know," continued Harry, "that's what makes it queer. I was raising my wand at him for a minute, but then, lowered it."
"You're being noble," giggled Hermione.
Now, who had said this before to Harry? Oh, yes, it was Phineas Nigellus, Sirius's uncle and once headmaster of the school.
Harry merely grinned, and the three of them found a table at the left front row.
Professor Flitwick spent the lesson revising five of the most complex yet effective charms the students had practised ever since the beginning of the year. Each charm required an utterly different skill and amount of concentration or focus. Therefore, tiny Professor Filius Flitwick found that it was sensible to have them refresh their minds two months before their pre-N.E.W.Ts; the time flew by as if adjusted to work on triple speed.
"All he squeaks about these days are those bloody pre-N.E.W.T tests," complained Dean Thomas, as he paired with Seamus to perform the long learnt solid division charm, "my ears stop hearing automatically whenever he mentions them."
"Me too, mate," agreed Seamus sympathetically.
The majority of students, with the spontaneous exception of Hermione, of course, had forgotten the basics of the charms they have studied. Thus, Professor Flitwick had them copy off the blackboard the ways in which each charm was specifically performed. And that included proper wand movement, the proper incantation, and the intricate amount of imagination or concentration.
The class grew duller ad the hands on the clock went further clockwise, and Harry's fingers virtually grew numb. However, one nudge in the ribs from Hermione was enough to get him going on again.
Finally, the class was over, and the door was magically and obligingly opened by the dwarf teacher, dismissing the students.
"Mind you study well for your pre-N.E.W.Ts; there are only two short months before they start," quacked Professor Flitwick enthusiastically, as he jumped off the twelve books that lay under his small feet.
"More like ages," declared Ron sarcastically.
"He's right, you know," acknowledged Hermione proudly, "I should've begun revising weeks and weeks ago."
"Give it a rest, Hermione," muttered Harry, stepping downstairs, "or you might suddenly snap in half."
She gave him one don't-joke-about-things-like-these glare, and entered the Potions classroom.
Snape had used the whole Double Potions period taunting Neville, who had failed to brew a simple Gloomy Bubble Potion. He had his point, though. That particular mixture of ingredients was way beyond his forgetful brain's knowledge, fort the potions was ranked as N.E.W.T level.
"It's not his fault," scoffed Ron hotly, "we don't take it till next year!"
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley," said Snape coolly, his lips forming the imminent unpleasant grin.
Ron frowned at the Potions Master, and resumed mixing ingredients to repeat his trial.
"I suppose by now I should think of your minds as those who are a year ahead of you, as there is no much difference," muttered Snape irritably, strolling along the aisles, "you'll have to write specified paragraphs about the properties of the Gloomy Bubble Potion, explaining what causes might lead to failure. That's to be no less than three rolls of parchment, and to be handed in tomorrow."
Harry cleaned his cauldron with a swift wave from his wand, until it was perfectly spotless. Then, he returned it to the back shelf. His bubble, however, had exploded into smithereens because of some mistake he made. Of course, Snape was most delighted to see a lapse and give Harry a big fat zero for the day's work. Ron, on the other hand, didn't manage to finish his potion-brewing for the third time, so no bubble emerged. He lost his house another five points for that. Hermione, who knew splendidly well how to brew a Gloomy Bubble Potion, had succeeded in the end. She bewitched her bubbled into reduced fist size, and then carefully positioned it in a jar.
"Satisfactory," lisped Snape, curling his lip, as he noticed some minuscule pale-white spots on top of the surface, "you can leave it on the shelf over there, and if you accidentally drop the jar, nothing will make ma nay happier to take off another few points."
Obediently, Hermione moved across the aisle, watching from the edge of her eye as Snape smirked at her.
"The rotten miserable old nut," bellowed Ron in disapproval, "how could you not say something to that dingbat? Huh?"
"I hold me temper, Ron, or else, you know what trouble can be awaiting me," declared Hermione confidently. Ron went on mimicking her.
"Better not stick you tongue out on him," advised Harry, merely giggling.
To the three's relief, the bell at last rang, its sound traveling all around the castle. Quickly, they cleaned up their working areas, picked up their bags and slightly dirty wands, and found their way out of the dusky room.
"Why can't he have postponed the homework till later on in the week?" whimpered Ron in depression. "We've got tons of parchments of homework of subjects…"
Harry and Hermione detected the uneasy frightful tone in his sarcastic voice, but found on suitable way to provide some soothing comfort. Ron would have to just deal with it, for he was getting older and more responsible for his magical future.
"Did you hear from Dumbledore, Harry?" queried Neville, as he sat down on a wet seat, helping himself to some lamb chops.
"About what?"
"Those Heliopaths," explained Neville, nibbling into the toothsome food, "we saw you leave the Great Hall with him."
"Yeah," muttered Harry reluctantly, remembering the mood in the Headmaster's office, "yeah…wet talked."
"Well?" demanded an excited Seamus, drinking some sweet pumpkin juice.
"He just told me to not worry," said Harry, "he also mentioned hat the Rangers were going to deal with the Heliopaths."
"Those Rangers had better watch out," came a dreamlike voice, "the Heliopaths may be weak at the present time, but they surely are vicious."
When Harry, Ron, and Hermione ceased feasting, turning around their necks, it was Luna Lovegood, a fifth year of Ravenclaw, who most people thought of as being weird.
"Hello Luna," greeted Hermione sweetly.
"Hello," she responded hastily, averting her eyes, shifting to Harry's.
"I think we've seen enough to conclude how vicious they are, Luna," spoke Harry, scratching his forehead.
"You've seen nothing," protested Luna vehemently, "wait till you look at their original forms…"
At that, she came to silence, afraid to speak some more. Shortly after that, carrying her plate of grilled chicken, brown rice, and mashed potatoes, she skedaddled away to chat with Ginny.
"How does she know?" asked Ron, bewildered.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" pointed out Hermione, rolling up her sleeves. "Her father is The Quibbler's editor. Inevitably, her father would've had some articles about those beasts thrown into the paper."
"Yeah, but how does she know they've got original forms?" repeated Ron, puzzled.
"I've told you already," said Hermione, "she reads all the information out of that newspaper."
Harry stared at Luna, noticing that she shot him an anxious look every now and then.
"But…" began Harry uncertainly, "what if not all Heliopaths have original forms? I mean…these ones here could be special…or unique to have this trait."
"They're all of the same species, Harry," acknowledged Hermione.
Suddenly, the enormous shade of a Heliopath that happened to be lying just outside the Great Hall was reduced in size. No more flames emerged from the still tails. Also, no spikes could've been seen on the wings. It all just vanished.
"What now?" asked Ron curiously.
In brief moments, Professor Dumbledore arose from his seat at the staff table, and marched forward. He left his fellow teachers behind for supervision of pupils, having complete faith in each and every one of them. Harry saw a tense mood surrounding Professor McGonagall, who constantly kept looking over the many heads of students and swallowing lumps in her uneasy taut throat.
Snape was shooting everyone his unforgettable glare, his face turning whiter and whiter. Professor Flitwick, the tiny little Charms instructor, was in deep conversation with Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department.
"They're taking their original forms…the Heliopaths," mumbled Ginny, feeling so excited.
"Why are you so over the moon about it?" enquired Ron scathingly. "Those ruddy creatures could've burnt the castle down!"
Ginny paid no more attention, but instead, kept on observing the loud voices coming from outside.
There was a very conspicuous changed in the surrounding environment, for some sunlight rays stroke through the Great Hall's windows. Somehow, that raised the mere feeling of optimism in Harry's heart, knowing that a dreadful fear has gone…or did it really?
The lunch hour was over, and the afternoon classes were about to start. Only Harry was too preoccupied to leave the Great Hall. Through one of the windows located at the rear west end of the dwelling, he was starting to see some queer figures move around….more likely staggering. They weren't so vivid, and Harry's glasses didn't magnify the image so well. Whatever they were, Harry thought of them being drunk, for they were rocking left and right frequently against the floor.
"Harry," came Hermione's urging voice, "we've got Transfiguration."
However, his mind was drawn away to those figures. All he could've seen was a blur of red, and spikes sticking out from heads.
"Wait," he murmured, as he pulled his hand away from Ron's grip, "look."
Ron and Hermione's eyes were brought to the scene that Harry indicated. Inevitably, they were intrigued, but thought that venturing outside again to meet those beasts was far too hazardous.
"Never mind them now, Harry," purred Hermione, dragging his sleeve backwards. Yet, he resisted moving away. What he saw was just so tempting.
"No," Harry protested impatiently, "I need to see them up-close."
There was an unmistakable look of anxiety and a depressed frown on Ron's face, and he tried once more again to pull Harry back. Nonetheless, Harry's legs were already pacing on the ground, eager o discover the mystery behind the window.
He was getting closer to the rear end of the Hall, and was beginning to observe how strange the images he saw from afar were. Cautiously, he approached with all means of vigilance. The window was less than a foot from him, and behind it danced the weird creatures. Through the glass window he peered, and noticed an intriguing creature indeed. It was covering its head with a red hood, and the body with a bloody, scarlet cloak. No face was yet to be discerned, for the hood made it look shadowy. Two curly horns protruded from the head, like those of mountain goats. It was noticeable that they had a hunch back; they never stood upright. This might have disquieted Harry, for he's never witnesses such phenomenon. But what attracted his attention further was a glowing waxing light that kept shimmering from underneath. It had an orange hue, which blended perfectly wit rose red. The flames sent off sparks flying in the thin air, lading against the surface of the window. Harry felt his heart quicken its beats, his mind frozen on that particular scene, his feet adjoined to the floor. Sweat began to emerge from the pores on his skin, and his hair was wile and matted. For a moment, he thought he'd seen an eye watching him from underneath the hood. To reassure himself, Harry looked more closely, his nose sending sweat down the glass window. Then, a grim look was what he observed. There was only one eye visible to Harry, and it shot him a very threatening glare…a look that symbolized a warning…an alarming of some kind…
"Potter!"
A sudden irritating cold voice broke into Harry's forces, and he turned around to see immense blackness crawl nearer.
"Why aren't you traveling the way to your class, Potter?" asked the cruel cool voice of Snape.
In reality, Harry didn't know exactly what to say. He was afraid that if he spilled it out, the Potions Master would eventually be reading other signs.
"Did you perhaps not hear me?" he repeated indignantly.
"I…I," he mumbled, as he saw Ron and Hermione watching him nervously from behind Snape, "well…I thought I saw something that interested me…"
Without realizing it, Harry accidentally bumped his shoulder against Snape's, which only lit the internal fire. Now was the prefect moment for him to dock some points from Gryffindor. However, luckily, he was interrupted by Mr. Filch, who came asking about Mrs. Norris's whereabouts.
Harry had waked away swiftly, disliking the idea of argument with Snape. For so long, Harry had the feeling that Snape would somehow urge him to drink a smattering of Veritaserum, forcing him to speak the ultimate truth. For a fleeting second, he paused, and then quickly turned his back. His eyes squinted as his vision shifted to the same rear end window, but nothing was out there anymore. There was no beam of red, orange light, nor a glimpse of two horns. Could it have been an illusion? But no, it seemed so solid and real. It had to be…
"Why do you always hove to look?" questioned Ron, as though truly concerned.
"Now Snape shall be even more suspicious of you, Harry," philosophized Hermione, frowning.
"It caught my attention…what else could I have done?" he murmured in an innocent tone of voice.
Neither of his friends spoke, and they continued their jou8rney to Professor McGonagall's' classroom. Harry's mind was crammed with thoughts and wonders about what he saw earlier. Nothing about it seemed evident, or morel likely, pertaining to the most jabbering subject that haunted Harry, Ron, and Hermione's disturbed minds… the Wolf of the Eighth Floor.
Virtually, the major portion of the lesson urged the students to pay their undivided attention to Professor McGonagall's demonstration. For the meantime, she was displaying how to properly transfigure wooden crates into Flobberworms. Simultaneously, Harry stopped recording notes on his roll of parchment, noticing how rarely he wrote, anyway. It took what looked like an age before McGonagall finally quit the demonstration, and turned it to the students. One by one, they all stood in a fairly straight queue, awaiting their turn. Harry was in the back of the line, peering over the taller heads of some Ravenclaws. Hannah Abott had accidentally transfigured he crate into a prankish little kitten. Momentarily, Professor McGonagall shot her a satisfactory look, and retrieved the little kitten to a comfortable cage located on top of a tarnished sliver cabinet.
While helplessly trying to move forward, for the students were almost stuck together, Harry couldn't help thinking about loads of stuff that stood before him. There was total, vast chaos in his troubled head. Firstly, he was guessing what the Heliopaths really looked like in their original forms. After that, another memory came back to his head. Actually, it wasn't a memory at all, rather something he's been told about the future. February was too soon to arrive, and the fourteenth of it was even sooner, not much farther. Due to his recent admirable relationship with Hermione, Harry considered what he would buy her on Valentine's Day over and over again. And who knows? Perhaps something else might come. And to think, something indeed was yet to come up on the exact same day. Harry, Ron, and Hermione virtually vowed to pay a little visit to Winky at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries…
"Mr. Weasley, could you get on with it?"
Harry's thoughts were shattered like debris when the Transfiguration teacher's stern, scolding voice was sounded. Apparently, Ron, who scarcely understood a word that came out of the old lady's mouth, was confused. Some detail about the wand motion and angle was what he had forgotten. But that was fleeting. Instantly, he recalled the information, and successfully Transfigured the crate into a Flobberworm. It didn't wiggle like Hermione's, though. Yet, he did what he was asked.
Again, the flood of worries floated back to Harry, much like a torrent of heavy river-water. One major issue that constantly heightened his anxiety was that Wolf the shadow warned him of. Harry merely knew what the so-called horrid beast looked like. True, he was told of his powers, draining and sharp. However, seeing them practically was different from talking them out. According to the shadow, the Wolf of the Eighth Floor lay still in a long deserted room in this very castle. More to that, the creature wouldn't awake until the fifth month of the year died, and the sixth was born. Harry wondered how vicious that Wolf would be, and had a flashback that very microsecond. Previously, when he and Hermione ventured into the unlit kitchens of Hogwarts, the shadow had acknowledged some things, vital facts, about the ferocious Wolf. It was said that the Wolf's howls would lose someone their soul, or petrify them. The wise shadow had also explained that there was more to just that. As he disclosed, the Wolf's evil and cruelty were far beyond any Dark wizard's.
As Harry kept meditating, he came back to the reason behind all of this. Voldemort. Not once in his so far six years at Hogwarts had he stopped planning for Harry's death. It had worked a few times when Harry was deceived by left over remnants of Voldemort's past…by fake visions or something similar…by an impostor who had protected him until luring Harry to the Triwizard Cup, which happened to be a portkey to Voldemort. All the anguish and suffering Voldemort had caused over the years was for one main purpose…the knowledge of how to destroy Harry Potter.
Halfway through the period, Harry's turn eventually arrived, and he had to repeat his trial several times; his wand slipped out of his grip every time he raised it up. Of course, that delayed Professor McGonagall's plans for the lessons, and she glared at him as though he deliberately dropped his wand.
"All Flobberworms are to be disposed off in the large wooden barrel over there," she directed her students, pointing at the box, "clean up any slime left behind the creatures."
To Ron's disgust, he had to mop some slime that was left behind his Flobberworm. In some way, it acted similarly to and Oil-Headed Tremor, releasing internal body waste. arrto chat as Harr as ads
Hermione, luckily, had no slime under her desk, and neither did Harry. They had to shove off some dead skin that fell off their Flobberworms' bodies, though.
Just as they began to read a short chapter about Transfiguring plants as a prelude to the next lesson, Harry's eyes rolled, and an incredible thought came to his mind. Professor McGonagall happened to be the Transfiguration teacher for almost forty years at Hogwarts, and she must've studied intensive courses after her graduation, which had took place ages and ages back from now. What if she told him the properties of Heliopaths and their original forms? That way, he could easily extinguish the. But of course, and obstacle stood in his path…perhaps more than one. Dumbledore and the Noble Rangers of the South have always warned Harry to not interfere in their business, and remain on the safe side. Yet, he couldn't help it. Simply, Harry couldn't just wait days and nights, observing brutal, unexpected attacks on the huge fortress, and possibly, somewhere near. He knew that he had no power against elders' words, but just out of dire curiosity, he decided to ask.
Slowly, he snapped the textbook shut, and arose from his seat. Ron and Hermione, who sat on either side of him, momentarily ceased to read, glancing at him. His robes brushed against Ron's head as he passed by the narrow space between their table and the one behind them, which was occupied by Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst.
The old woman's wrinkled eyes moved rapidly as Harry approached her desk.
"Yes?" she asked amicably.
"Professor," he whispered softly, "I…I was wondering if you can help me by answering a simple question."
She turned silent for a brief moment, and then reluctantly nodded.
"Well," he went on, sitting down on the chair, "as a Transfiguration teacher, I presume that you have a lot of experience…"
"Main point, Potter," she interrupted impatiently.
"Um…" he started uneasily, "what I'm trying to say is…what are Heliopaths really like? I mean…the original forms of them?"
She threw an exasperated look at him, and took off her eyeglasses.
"Potter," she began sternly, "I'm afraid that I'll have to ask you to go back to your seat. As long as this is irrelevant to my class, you might as well as be quiet and resume reading. You might be a teacher, Potter, but still, that doesn't give you the right to nose into somewhat top-secret business."
That was harsh, thought Harry. Why in the world would she treat him like that, and refuse to reveal at least a smattering of information? As he coasted back to his seat, Ron and Hermione stopped reading again, shot him depressed, pathos looks, and then their eyes were fixed once again on the small text of their books.
It was only minutes to the end of the lesson, when a sudden knock was heard.
"Come in," called Professor McGonagall, putting down her quill.
Harry saw the doorknob bend down, and instantly, the door sprang open. Into the class came an unexpected visitor.
"Professor Dumbledore," murmured McGonagall, standing up to pay some respect.
"Relax, Minerva," instructed the old man amicably, polishing his half-moon spectacles with the hem of his robes, "I only came here hopeful that you might allow me to borrow a few of your young pupils."
The whole class was utterly distracted, but intrigued at the same time.
"Of course," she responded, a small grin showing on her sullen face.
"Very well then," continued the Headmaster, his grey beard reflecting some light, "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger will please follow me, and many thanks to you, Professor McGonagall."
The three were perplexed when he called out their name as if he had already rehearsed it. At once, they packed up, receiving some vague stares from the Ravenclaws, and left their seats. It was ten minutes early to leave the classroom, as Hermione would've most likely thought.
They followed the Headmaster out of the room, into a couple of corridors, and down some staircases. Evidently, Dumbledore wasn't leading them to his office, but instead, to the grounds.
"What do you think he wants from us?" whispered Hermione softly, so that Dumbledore wouldn't hear her.
"Dunno," came Ron's automatic reply, "but I reckon it's going to be something wicked!"
Harry didn't speak for a while.
The grounds were covered with wet green grass, cool enough for refreshments. Following Dumbledore's foot prints, they arrived at Hagrid's cabin, which was located at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest. Without knocking, the old man pushed the door open, and led them inside. Fang was reclining on an old torn cushion, growling softly. The many shelves that surrounded the place were occupied with teacups and pieces of china.
"Tea?" offered Dumbledore, holding a tea kettle.
"Thanks," they all replied at once.
Shortly before he was done pouring them tea, they saw the silhouette of a half-giant step in from the backdoor.
"Hullo Professor Dumbledore!" grunted Hagrid excitedly. "An' what are yeh three doin' out o' class?"
"Actually, I brought them, Hagrid," explained Dumbledore, beaming.
"Oh," he grunted, "um…"
"I will inform them momentarily," continued the Headmaster, winking at the three.
Ron was absolutely perplexed. He frequently raised his eyebrows as he took quick sips out of this tea.
"The mirror, if you would please, Hagrid," spoke Dumbledore emphatically.
As Harry, Ron, and Hermione silently were watching, Hagrid opened an old dusty cupboard having some cobwebs on the handles (which Ron loathed). When his huge hairy hands were visible to their eyes again, they noticed that he was carrying a mirror with two sides. It could've been turned up and down easily.
A memory struck Harry's mind at that instant. Only months before Sirius had died, he had given Harry a two-way mirror. In his schooldays, Sirius had utilized it to communicate with Harry's father whenever they were placed in separate detentions. It wasn't much like the oval shaped mirror Hagrid was holding. Shortly, the memory faded away.
They saw Dumbledore carefully position his finger tips on the hinges and seize the mirror. Gently, he put it on the table on which the teacups and kettle were already set.
"Professor," began Hermione curiously, "might I ask…what is this?"
"Impatient as always, Miss Granger?" questioned the old man, grinning.
She slightly went pink. Harry and Ron were listening.
"Before I show you the truth about this mirror, I must make a commonly noticed comment," gossiped Dumbledore earnestly.
Under the pretence of understanding, the three nodded.
"Now," continued Dumbledore, "you three are stunningly spectacular friends. You've shown valour, friendship, care, and a bit of sacrifice over the past few years…"
He was cut off by a silent laugh from Hagrid, who was petting what seemed like an ill Fang.
"I must admit that you have rather made such an impression on all of us," he went on, calmly, "but I must point out…you have an act for getting into trouble."
That last sentence sounded a bit more like Snape's way of speech.
"Although you've had the nerves to save souls and fight cunning Death Eaters," he said, "there are some things that you have to leave for adults. And look…you are nearly adults yourselves."
Not much influence was made.
"I… don't understand, Professor," said Ron, feeling somehow lost.
"I do not blame you, Mr. Weasley," responded Dumbledore sympathetically, "let me put it this way for you…stop risking your lives in order to demolish evil, while you are still young in years."
That reminded Harry of Professor Lupin's response. What? Did saving lives and ending fears make him infamous? Or perhaps irresponsible?
"But sir," spoke Harry, putting down his mug of tea, "Voldemort's on the loose and his servants are swarming all around Britain…we've been frequently attacked this year… you don't expect us to do nothing, do you, now?"
Hermione nudged him in the ribs, as if what he had just said was offensive.
"No, Harry," agreed the old man, "I do not expect you to do nothing. However, despite the fact that you did things that other elders wouldn't have had sufficient courage to do, I should warn you. This war is coming to an end…it might be Lord Voldemort's end, or perhaps…yours, Harry."
At once, Harry heard the sound of another memory coming closer. Last year, before end of term, the Headmaster had revealed a secret to Harry. It was the content of the prophecy made about him and Voldemort nearly seventeen years ago, by Sybill Trelawney…the prophecy that held both of their fates.
Ron and Hermione had indeed known that the prophecy was smashed in the Department of Mysteries. Nevertheless, they have never actually had a clue of what was in it.
"I think it is time," talked Dumbledore, his eyes fixed on Ron and Hermione, "to unveil something that's been buried well…until a year ago."
Dazed, the pair of them listened to the old man. Within a short amount of time, they learned all about the prophecy. They now knew how Neville could've been the one chosen to be marked as the Dark Lord's equal. They learned how Voldemort chose the half-blood like himself, instead of the pureblood. They learned how one of the two couldn't survive while the other existed in life.
When the Headmaster was done talking, Ron and Hermione glanced at Harry, transfixed. True, he hadn't told them about it, fearful of violent or appalling reactions.
"I recognize that this could inevitably be overwhelming," spoke the old man again, "but in anyway, it is the ultimate truth."
Hagrid was slightly weeping, his eyes semi-full of tears.
"This is Harry's destiny," explained Dumbledore slowly, "he has to face what he was destined to confront…along the way, he might've needed, and still needs a bit of comfort…which depends on you two."
They seemed nearly flattered. At least, they were glad to be Harry's best friends.
"Now, back to the mirror," said the Headmaster, lifting the two-faced mirror to the level of their eyes, "what do you see?"
The question was imminent. But all they could see was their own reflections.
"Nothing," they all replied dully.
"Look deeper," instructed the Headmaster, spinning the mirror. A blur of a dozen figures was being shown.
"I couldn't exactly tell," said Hermione uncertainly.
Harry took one more moment to discern the things divulged from the mirror's surface. Then, he got the point.
"Chaos," he muttered.
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, "you see, if you meddle with the time hat is given to you, chaos occurs. Disorder. This mirror is designed to exhibit a glimpse of what your future might look like if you decide to risk all chances…"
Again, he was interrupted by a grunt from Hagrid.
"I kept this mirror with a trusted friend," spoke Dumbledore, indirectly meaning Hagrid, 'it was the only safe place I could keep it."
Harry's eyes widened as if he just realized a fact. Hermione, however, was quicker to speak it.
"So this is it, Headmaster," she mouthed matter-of-factly, "this is the way you've been foreseeing the future….everything about it."
He grinned, and then said, "Correct, once again, Hermione. This is how."
Oddly, Harry didn't sense fury within him.
"But, Professor Dumbledore," swallowed Ron heavily, "if you have been seeing all that happened for years….why haven't you done something to change it?"
"Good point, Ronald," he declared, "I was just coming to that."
Harry awaited a sensible, reasonable answer.
"You see," continued the old man, raising his half-moon spectacles, "man has the ability to act in away that would save his and others' necks. Yet, man doesn't realize that he was destined to live this way. I, myself, could've avoided all the disappearances, troubles, deaths, ambushes, murders…all these years, but never did. Why? Because I wouldn't. Simply, you won't understand how complex it gets. My dears, thing were meant to be this way."
"But you could've done something!" protested Harry hotly. "If you had, Cedric would've still been living…Sirius would be alive, too…Bertha Jorkins would've still been here!"
"Harry," responded Dumbledore, in a sentimental way, "over and over…I've told you that I understand the way you feel, yet there's nothing that I can do."
Ron and Hermione both patted Harry on his shoulders, calming him down. Still, it didn't make him mollified. Why? Why did all of this have to happen if and old man could've prevented it from doing so?
"Now that I have shown you the truth," spoke Dumbledore, gradually standing up, "it's about time I end my afternoon break and head back to the Ministry."
There was nothing purposeful in his way of speaking. All of it was theoretical and explanatory…but Harry was against it. Indeed, things were mean to be this way.
"Oh, and thanks for the tea, Hagrid," spoke Dumbledore, half a second before walking out of the door.
"Me pleasure, Professor!" grunted Hagrid gleefully, shutting the door open.
"Can you believe this, Hagrid?" questioned Harry, a sarcastic smile noted on his face. "Is this just utter insanity or what!"
Hagrid slowly sat down on a chair, and looked Harry in the eye.
"Harry," grunted Hagrid sympathetically, "Dumbledore's a great man. He might've done unexplainable things, but trust me, they're for ever'one's good. Ya might not understand it now, Harry, but mark me words, soon yeh will."
"I just don't get why he never did something," groaned Harry sadly, "'things were meant to be this way'."
He imitated the Headmaster's words.
"Yeh'll be allright sooner or late, Harry," growled Hagrid sentimentally, "jest do as Dumbledore commands, an' ya'll be fine. An' mind you two stick close to him…he could use a bit o' company."
Ron and Hermione nodded fervently.
"Come on, Harry," said Hermione quietly, dragging him softly from the sleeve. Ron was silent.
"Well," murmured Hagrid, "see ya 'round, Harry."
"Yeah…bye," he responded faintly, and headed to the door.
As the three stepped down the stone steps, Harry remembered something urgent.
"Just a second," requested Harry, leaving his friends waiting outside the threshold.
"Hagrid?"
The old half-giant was carefully positioned the mirror that Dumbledore displayed back in the dusty cupboard.
"Yes, Harry?"
"Look," he started solemnly, "I've tried this with Dumbledore and McGonagall, but it didn't work…so I came to you…since you're the Care of Magical Creatures teacher…"
"What are ya trying to say, Harry?"
"I was hopeful that you could help me," he explained vaguely.
Hagrid didn't talk; he waited for more.
"Well…I was wondering if you could tell me about the nature of Heliopaths…and their original from," gossiped Harry hastily, half expecting Hagrid to remain calm.
"Oh," grunted Hagrid, glad that it was something about monstrous creatures, "Heliopaths are usually considered nocturnal."
Harry thought of that statement as ironic. The Heliopaths that had attacked the castle showed up during day time.
"They're also fire eaters…fire provides a great source o' energy for 'em, Heliopaths…what else? Oh yeah, they've got sharp spikes on their wings which can cause really serious damage if one stings ya on the back…ya'll be in the Hospital Wing fer ages…"
How barbaric, thought Harry.
"But their original forms? I'm not sure I know exactly what yeh're talking 'bout, Harry," grunted Hagrid earnestly.
There was some tone of hesitation in Professor McGonagall's voice as there was in Hagrid's.
"Thanks," muttered Harry after long silence, knowing that convincing Hagrid to tell the truth about the original forms won't do any good.
"What did you say?" enquired Ron as soon as Harry's feet made contact with the outside ground.
"I tried to get some information out of him," admitted Harry, still feeling that it wasn't enough, "it worked…for a while."
"Information about what?" asked Hermione, as she followed Harry's long strides.
"The Heliopaths' original form," explained Harry, nearly tripping over a jagged rock, "but he didn't' tell me a single thing about it…said that he didn't know what I was talking about."
"Maybe he was right," suggested Ron.
"No!" protested Harry angrily. "Can't you grasp it? They're all hiding reality from me! They're all acting stupidly under Dumbledore's orders!"
"Harry…"
"He keeps on lying or hiding secrets away from me! He doesn't realize that I need to know…I WAS MARKED AS THE DARK LORD'S EQUAL, FOR GOD'S SAKE!"
His voice was more like a thousand times magnified, spreading across the grounds.
"Keep your voice down," spoke Hermione commandingly, trying to mollify the indignant boy.
"Harry, mate," whispered Ron, "forget about that ruddy prophecy…it could be fake, you know."
"FAKE?" he shouted. "YOU SAY THE PROPHECY'S FAKE?"
Hermione shot Ron a scolding look, nevertheless, understanding that he purposed to calm down Harry.
"You know what," said Harry quietly, "I'll see you guys at dinner."
And by that, he angrily left the two, marching off to his next lesson, Defence Against the Dark Arts.