Disclaimer: All characters/places etc. recognized in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K Rowling.
Chapter 3 – McGonagall's Warning
By the next lesson, which turned out to be Transfiguration, Ron was still complaining about the unfairness of his timetable to the others, who by now were so sick of his whining all they wanted was to press his nose into the nearest wall, just to shut him up.
"Oh please, Ron!" Hermione would exasperate, every time it looked as though he were opening his mouth to make another disagreeable statement. "If you were going to be such a nuisance and moan about everything, I really don't see the point in you wanting to be here! You've returned to Hogwarts to learn new, important spells, not to gripe more than you do already!"
Ron frowned indignantly. "Stop badgering me, Hermione! You think I don't know that? Quit breathing down my neck once in a while – I was yawning!"
"Well, for all we knew, you were going to unleash another groaning rant!" Hermione quickly defended herself.
"I was not – shows how much you know!" Ron bit back, the argument continuing to grow more childish as their stress levels gradually ran higher.
Transfiguration was an interesting lesson to Ron, although his best efforts were not as successful as that of the studious Hermione. His disappointment often made her feel sorry for him, and although she sometimes asked him kindly if he required any assistance, depending on his mood, Ron would either grudgingly accept, or proudly state that he didn't need her help.
They'll be best friends again by this afternoon, Harry thought with a smile, as he stepped into the classroom after them. They can't stay mad at each other for too long, He had begun to grow used to being stuck in the middle of their petty 'discussions' by now, although Ron and Hermione rarely noticed that he even did so.
"Ow!" he whispered, feeling someone jolt their foot into the back of his leg, sharply. It caused his knee to give way forward, and in doing so, made him drop his books for the rest of his lessons.
"Sorry," a Hufflepuff girl apologised meekly, being the one to cause the accident. They were taking the period with one another – the two houses Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Harry was only thankful it wasn't a Slytherin that had knocked into him, although...as he thought about it, then quite possibly it would have occurred on purpose.
"It's all right," he replied, quickly scooping up his books in the dark. The girl seemed to have quickly disappeared, however, and Harry was talking to himself. He rolled his eyes, picked up his feet and hurried after the others.
Everyone was only just taking their seats when he appeared at the door, so he quickly snatched a place next to Ron and dropped his books on the side of the desk with a thump.
Ron jumped a little at the noise. "Thought you were never coming in," he grinned cheekily, watching as his friend scooted past his shoulder.
Harry sighed and slouched back into the chair, his head feeling strangely dizzy for some peculiar reason.
"Never mind about that," he mumbled back, trying to locate his Transfiguration book amongst the slumping pile of reading material. He tried to shoot a glance at the girl from the hallway but she was already involved in a conversation with the student next to her, giggling with her blonde hair around one of her fingers.
What is it about girls, anyway? he thought, with bitterness. Always so complicated...
Tutting, he looked away with a shake of his head and paid attention to Professor McGonagall, who had just entered the room at that minute. Everyone fell silent at her presence; her hands were tightly clasped in front of her chest and her lips were pursed into a small, thin line.
"Good afternoon, class," she said, looking over at everyone through her small spectacles. There was something about her voice that made people sit up straight and take notice. Something not as considerate as usual, and Harry could take a decent guess at what it was.
He stared across from his desk and saw Hermione squirming uncomfortably in her seat. It was one of the qualities that in his opinion, was rather ingenious about her – the way that she could see at once how the teachers wanted no funny business when they approached the students. He blinked and listened closely to the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice.
"Well, I am wholly delighted to see so many of you all here, ready to learn," she smiled, her eyes scanning the room, but finding no smiles in return. Only serious expressions were stating their willpower to do as much as they could to make a difference, and that filled Professor McGonagall with a somewhat greater pride. She cleared her throat and went on.
"You all know why you are here, and you all know that this choice is optional for you. However, in making this decision you must understand that some level of this magic may not be to your current standard. You may be encountered with some difficulty often found within...hmm, perhaps even your fifth year at Hogwarts. So if any enquires are needed, have no fear to locate help."
Harry felt Ron groan beside him and collapse into his hands, the ends of his fingers brushing against the fine strands of his hair. Hermione, on the other hand, was leaning forward eagerly onto her desk, resting on her arms as though to prove to Professor McGonagall (and perhaps even the rest of the class) that no challenge was too big for her.
As for the other students, an instant sense of complicated murmuring and questionable glances spread among them. Many had not been prepared for an upgrade on their spell casting abilities, and suddenly the whole prospect of being confident in battle quickly deteriorated in a few people, Neville Longbottom especially, broke out into a mild sweat, and through a short-lived panic attack, fleetingly wondered if he should ask to be excused from the room. Lavender Brown began to subtly pass notes to her friend Parvati Patil, a worried frown on her brow.
"Now, now students, silence please," Professor McGonagall stated, in her sensible tone, unclasping her hands and holding them up for quiet. When a good majority had settled down a little, a dry smile was presented to show stability.
How does she do that? Harry wondered, his own eyes taking in the actions of every pupil in the classroom. How does she get everyone to be so calm when they're all so worried?
Professor McGonagall, after all, was the first teacher so far to mention the extensive amount of extra practice and effort they may have to be faced with, in order to be astute and reliable with their spells.
"I can tell by the looks on your faces that you have not received that news to the best attitude," said Professor McGonagall, with kindly comfort. "But not to worry, you will not be expected to become the next Albus Dumbledore by the time these few weeks are gone. As long as you feel a greater sense of initiative towards your return home, I guarantee you all successful in the near future."
Ron made another obvious groan in his seat, his foot constantly tapping the floor. Harry was unsure if he was out to get his attention, or whether he just expressed his concerns all too clearly, but he felt himself leaning over towards him. His eyes kept a close watch on the teacher as he did so.
"What's up?" he whispered.
"Oh, nothing," Ron said back, in quiet tones. "Just that I'm..."
The rest was said in inaudible response. Even with his ears strained Harry found it difficult to make out what was said.
"You're what?"
"No good, I'm no good," Ron snapped through gritted teeth.
Is that all that's bothering him? Harry thought, with some amusement. It was no secret that every year Ron had little faith in his qualities; it seemed no surprise to anyone when he wallowed in his self-conscious attitude when things didn't turn out the way he wished. He just didn't believe in his stronger side, that was all.
Harry let out a cough of a laugh. "Shut up, you'll be all right."
"Fifth year, she said, Harry! Fifth year! I could barely get through fourth!" Ron's fingers tightened in his hair, a sick, small feeling in his stomach. A cold dread...he hated thinking forward and predicting disaster like this. He was bound to fail attempts before he was ready...he wasn't like Hermione...
Harry knew that he was joking a little. But it's not a joking matter, really, he told himself, knowing how prudent he sounded. It's just...
"Don't worry about it," said Harry, trying to sound supportive. "McGonagall just said that you - "
Ron just let out another sigh. "Should've known we shouldn't have come back," he said with a half-hearted smile, "What with all this - "
"Hey, I just said that McGonagall - "
"Mr. Potter," snapped the sturdy voice of Professor McGonagall, causing Harry to turn his head away from Ron and pay attention to the teacher addressing him, her arms folded stiffly across her chest and a tension in her jaw line.
Damn, Harry cursed in his head, flopping back into a straight position again. Trust me to get into trouble...I must have raised my voice too far or something...
"Sorry, Professor," he mumbled out, his voice quieter now.
Professor McGonagall let out a low sigh, a tiny shake of the head demonstrating her disappointment.
"Honestly, Mr. Potter, I expected you of all people to at least pay attention to this teaching method, considering the situation," she said, obviously referring to Lord Voldemort's return. "But it seems that you would rather converse with Mr. Weasley than actually listen..."
Harry slouched back into his seat again, his face growing very warm.
"Now as a result, I would have reluctantly taken five points from Gryffindor for this, but because we are not bothering with them for this short amount of time, you can count yourself lucky. Please open your ears from now on." She turned back to a Hufflepuff in the front row with his hand up high in the air.
Harry could see Ron's attempts of trying to apologise by leaning forward onto his desk, his eyes trying to connect with his own. Instead of looking, Harry quickly waved with his hand as if to say: "Forget it," and paid his attention back to his book. He was already frustrated with himself.
"Very good, Miss Granger," he heard Professor McGonagall congratulate Hermione, on the word-perfect answer dealing with the quickest way to interchange your transformation, if you decided to change your mind.
Well, at least Hermione will put her in a better mood, he thought resentfully, pulling a face and resting his elbows onto the table. Somehow the first day seemed to be dragging on and on for him. He could still hear Professor McGonagall's voice breaking through his own thoughts.
"Right class, if you would just pay attention to this weather-vane..."
-xXx-
Harry was not in the best of moods when he left the lesson. He seemed rather downtrodden and sore, only offering mumbled responses to his friend's questions. Although he was sometimes scolded in class, it rarely happened to be McGonagall that gave him the harsh word, and he was feeling a pain in his chest at her words.
"Considering the situation..."
Those especially stung. She was almost suggesting that he wasn't thinking enough about Voldemort! Like he wasn't even bothered about him coming back to life...Cedric Diggory's death...the constant, realistic nightmares...
Like the one I had before Hogwarts, about Voldemort killing my parents, he remembered, thinking hard. I was there...somehow, I was there with them...watching him take their lives. Then I woke up, in bed...and then...
And then...
Harry desperately racked his brains, a funny cold feeling spreading through his veins. He couldn't remember anything that had happened after he had been having the argument with Dudley in his room. Somehow it all felt blurry, like...a distilled vision, or trying to look into a puddle of water during torrential rain. Messy and...confusing. How had he arrived at Hogwarts?
"Hey, Harry! Wait up!"
Ron and Hermione found it difficult to keep up with him as he stormed his way down the corridor, obviously not wanting to talk, but to think alone instead. Ron finally reached his side, concern filling his face.
"Look, I'm sorry I got you into trouble..." he started uneasily.
"It's O.K," said Harry, shrugging it off.
"I tried to say so in class, but McGonagall had her eagle-eye out and everything, and when I tried to get your attention you wouldn't look over at me - "
"I said it's O.K," Harry interrupted stiffly, leaning his head back against the wall and waiting for Hermione to catch up with them. He had let it pass in the lesson, hadn't he? When he had waved his hand? Obviously Ron had not received the message properly. He felt too shameful inside to complain about it though.
Hermione fumbled about in the dark passageway, her hand colliding with Ron's shoulder as she eventually found them.
"I thought you would have headed back to the common room already without me," she joked, smiling at them in a rather pleasant way. "Usually when we have a free period you can't wait to get back and relax – are you all right, Harry?" She had at that moment spotted Harry, a strange and puzzled frown on his face.
How did I get here? The same question buzzed in and out of Harry's ears. Waking up in his first class, safely at school...two weeks into the holidays...but no recollection of receiving a letter, or meeting with the others before going back, or telling his aunt and uncle that he would be returning for a while...
He couldn't remember any of it.
"What?" he asked Hermione, half-listening.
"I said, are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," said Harry quickly, tearing himself away from the wall and ruffling the back of his hair, giving her a cheap smile to show that he wasn't too troubled about everything. "I just have a strange feeling that the teachers have it in for me, or something."
"How d'you mean?" Ron asked curiously, a tone of humour in his voice.
"Well, first Professor Binns tells me off for sleeping in class, and now McGonagall," Harry explained, avoiding the serious look on Hermione's face as he spoke. He could almost predict her complaints of saying that they were all due to his own fault, and just as she were about to open her mouth, he said:
"Don't bother, Hermione. I know you're going to say that I walked into both lectures myself, so there's no point."
Hermione, pausing on a breath, made a little pout at Harry's statement and huffed in indignation.
"All I was saying," she began, "Is that if you were paying close attention to both professors when they were giving you the lesson, you might not be as miserable as you are now. I, myself, can't imagine why you fell asleep during History of Magic! I happen to find the Goblin Rebellion rather fascinating at times!"
"Oh, yeah, me too!" Ron said with repeated enthusiasm, but not without adding a sceptical "Not!" afterwards. It was clear that he was mocking her once again, Hermione making sure to provide him with one of her dirtiest glares.
Harry was just deciding that it was best to take off to the common room after all; they had wasted almost ten minutes standing there in the corridor, and Professor McGonagall was beginning to stare after them with a perplexed look. To avoid attention, he ripped his gaze away from the door and turned.
"Hey - " he cried out, stopping short as he felt his foot collide with something.
"What is it?" Ron asked, watching Harry bend down and lift the object up.
Harry turned it over in his hands carefully, squinting closely in the darkness of the hallway. Another thing that seemed different to him...when had the Transfiguration corridor been covered in darkness? Perhaps it was a light that had gone out, or something...
"It's...a book," he finally said. "Modern Magical History – look, it's mine...it has my name inside. I must have left it behind when that Hufflepuff girl knocked into me before the lesson started." He flicked through the book casually, before placing it quickly back into his bag. "I thought I'd picked them all up," he added.
"If it had been your Transfiguration spell book you would have landed yourself in more trouble, if not embarrassment," Hermione kindly pointed out.
"Thanks for telling me that," Harry said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
It wasn't long before Ron was guiding them, almost eagerly in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, counting off on his fingers the number of things he was planning to do in his free lesson time. Hermione insisted that he should look up some new spell techniques to impress the teachers, and to prove how serious he was about returning.
"Actually," Ron said, "I was thinking about taking a nap - "
Hermione seemed to recoil at the word, staring at Ron in disbelief. Her expression was so priceless that Harry had to force himself not to laugh out loud.
They began to take the staircase up to the seventh floor, taking a little longer than usual because of Ron and Hermione's bickering; they kept missing the drop-offs when the stairs changed routes. Harry spent these opportune moments to momentarily glance at his timetable...just Charms and then another free period before bed...Harry couldn't help smiling to himself inside.
Even though, to his worse frustration, what had he taken before History of Magic that morning? He couldn't remember any introduction or welcome from Dumbledore, not even the journey that had brought him here. That annoyed him the most, seeing as how he never forgot those.
"You have all the time to sleep at night," said Hermione, with a defensive sturdiness about her, and facing the portrait of the Fat Lady, exclaimed the password: "Artichoke."
"Of course, dear!" the Fat Lady said happily, swinging aside to let them in.
Harry followed in last, his fingertips upon his temple, struggling to create an image of the King's Cross Station in his head. Why...why wasn't it there?
Am I losing my mind? he wondered incredulously to himself. Or am I struck with some sort of... he knew it was crazy, but... amnesia? He couldn't think of anything that would actually deliver that, as he thought over it.
He really hated to admit it to himself, but this confusion was beginning to frighten him a little. It was a horrible feeling, he knew, as he took an armchair by the fire, listening mindlessly to Ron and Hermione's chatter as he stared into the flames.
A few good minutes passed with him just in deep thought, quiet and concentrated.
This is crazy.
He barely moved a muscle. It took Ron to poke his shoulder a few times until he came to his senses and looked up. There they both were, frowning in worry at him as if his behaviour was oddly uncomfortable for them. Harry blinked, suddenly realising that he hadn't for a while. His eyes itched and he rubbed them from under his glasses.
"Is anything the matter, Harry?" Hermione's voice asked.
"Well..." Harry began, rubbing at the sore spot on his arm where Ron had poked it; ready to tell all about how he really felt, but at the last minute, thought it best not to. Why worry his friends with another one of his stupid, stupid problems? They would probably laugh too, or tell him he was barking. He sighed and shook his head.
"No, nothing," he said, resting an elbow onto the arm of the chair. He continued to watch the flames in the hearth, dancing and leaping about like pixies in a ringle, curling and twisting like vines around a torn oak branch. It was a beautiful thing, fire.
Well, Harry thought so, anyway.
