Harry Potter's day had not started well.
Granted, his night hadn't exactly ended well either. After they led the first years up to Gryffindor Tower, Dan Ellis, the sixth year Gryffindor prefect, pulled Harry aside to let him know Fred and George were his responsibility.
"It's tradition, you see," he explained. "The fifth year always has to deal with them. McPherson got lucky because Percy Weasley was Head Boy when he was a fifth year and he never let up on his brothers, but last year, McPherson and Hunt dumped them on me and now they're yours."
He looked at Harry sympathetically, clapping him on the shoulder, and added, "But cheer up. Your Granger friend seems the sort to take them on, too. Maybe you won't have to do much."
Ellis clearly thought this was a helpful comment, and Harry almost snorted with laughter. He definitely didn't want to see the disappointed look on Hermione's face if he just passed off the responsibility to her. What sort of boyfriend would that make him (or friend for that matter)? Besides, if he did that, wouldn't he just be proving Dumbledore right that he didn't deserve to be prefect?
But that wasn't even the bad part of the night. When he got to the dorm, Ron and Neville were standing side by side, irate and stony-faced, respectively, while Seamus glared back at them, hands on his hips. Dean was watching all of them with a look of extreme trepidation.
"What's going on?" Harry asked cautiously, but he had a sinking feeling that he knew. He'd recognized the way some people stared or stopped talking when he walked by in the Great Hall. He was used to that.
And here it was again.
"Seamus was just being more of an idiot than usual," Ron grit out, staring murderously at him.
"Oh, you're one to talk," Seamus snapped. "You actually believe all that rubbish about You-Know-Who?"
"Yeah, I do!" Ron yelled.
Seamus shook his head in disgust. "You're unbelievable," he snorted. "Last year, you were stomping around, moaning about how Harry was just looking for attention, and now you're defending him? When he's got this nutter story?"
Ron's ears turned red, clearly embarrassed, and he narrowed his eyes. "You're the only nutter I see," he snarled.
Harry dully recognized that Ron was standing up for him against Seamus, someone Ron had become very good friends with, but it was a small comfort. He'd known Seamus for years, had liked him, and had stupidly thought at the end of last year that Seamus had believed Harry when Rita Skeeter's story came out.
"It's not a nutter story," Harry said sharply. "It's what happened."
"Well, the Ministry says—"
"The Ministry is lying," Neville chimed in. "Their whole story is dependent on you believing Peter Pettigrew's word over Harry's."
Neville's tone indicated that you'd have to be a very special sort of dumb to do that.
"Is that it?" Harry asked quietly. "You think I'm a liar, Seamus?"
"All I know is my mam didn't want me to come back this year, and it was because of you and Dumbledore," he said harshly. "And the Ministry says Dumbledore's trying for a power play, and now here you are, Dumbledore's favorite student who backed up his mad story, rewarded with a prefect badge."
Seamus glared at the badge on Harry's chest accusingly. Harry actually did laugh this time. How ridiculous it all was — Dumbledore hadn't even wanted him to be prefect, yet here Seamus was, thinking it had been Dumbledore's gift to Harry for lying through his teeth.
"You think it's funny, do you?" Seamus asked angrily.
"Yeah, I think you're real funny," Harry replied bitterly. "You and your mum."
"Don't have a go at my mother!"
"But you can have a go at me?" Harry asked angrily. "That's all right, then?"
"Real smart move, antagonizing the prefect," Ron muttered.
"What are you going to do? Deduct points?" Seamus asked bitterly. He was standing much closer to Harry now, a defiant look on his face.
Harry rolled his eyes. If he wanted to get back at Seamus, he'd just punch him in the face, not deduct points… Though he supposed that wasn't particularly prefect-like behavior either.
"You really think Harry's going to abuse his prefect badge just to get back at some duffer who believes the lies of a man who pretended to be a rat for a decade?" Neville asked disgustedly.
Seamus looked around the room contemptuously. "You're all mad," he said, shaking his head as he slammed his wand down on his nightstand and pulled his bed curtains back violently.
Ron glared at the maroon curtains angrily, his ears glowing red. He was breathing hard and looked very much like he wanted to punch something. Harry understood the feeling.
Ron turned to Dean. "And what about you?" he challenged. "You got a problem with Harry?"
Dean held up his hands in surrender. "I never have a problem with anyone," he said reasonably, before retiring to his own bed.
Ron stalked off to his corner, muttering about nutters, while Neville smiled sympathetically at Harry.
All in all, it wasn't exactly the most conducive atmosphere for a good night's rest. Harry's dreams were filled with troubling thoughts: Images of his parents; Dumbledore taking away his prefect badge for being a nutter; Winky apologizing profusely as he felt her vicelike grip and the familiar swirl of apparition; a long walk down a corridor that ended in a locked door; and Voldemort talking to… someone.
"Your plan didn't work," Voldemort said simply, his voice cold. Every word he spoke was like an icy shiver slivering down Harry's spine.
"M-master, I thought it would," one of his followers said fearfully. He was shrouded in shadows, and Harry couldn't tell who he was.
"That was your mistake," Voldemort replied. "Mine was trusting this task to someone clearly incapable of intelligent thought."
"Next time, I'll—"
"There will be no next time," Voldemort replied. He spoke in a matter-of-fact sort of way that still somehow expressed his anger and disdain. It was far more terrifying than if he'd let his emotions overrun him and started yelling.
"M-master—"
"This is clearly a task I must do myself," Voldemort continued, his voice full of disdain. "Perhaps you should use what you have boasted is your considerable influence to solve our other problem. Or are you truly as useless now as you've been to me the past 14 years?"
Harry didn't know what happened after that. He woke shortly after, a feeling of dread overcoming him. The sight of Seamus' empty bed—how early had he gotten up to avoid Harry?—didn't help to dissipate it.
"Don't worry about it, Harry," Dean said sympathetically. "He's just—"
But even Dean couldn't seem to come up with any words to make what Seamus said any better.
Ron and Neville seemed to be of the opinion that if Seamus was going to be an idiot, it was his loss, and he was the one who'd have to feel uncomfortable in the dorm since everyone else believed Harry. Harry appreciated the sentiment, but it's not like he could pretend Seamus didn't exist. No matter what, he'd be living with someone who believed truly awful things about him.
And if Seamus believed them, what about the rest of the school, the ones who didn't know Harry as well as Seamus did?
The only good thing to come out of this was that being annoyed with Seamus had brought Neville and Ron together — at least for now.
Harry thought maybe seeing Hermione would cheer him up, but she was in a foul mood at breakfast too.
"Did you see this?" she fumed, waving a sign in Harry's face as she slammed down into the seat next to him. Ron and Neville watched her with unease.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Fred and George," she snarled. "They're trying to get students to try their untested products!"
"They're not really untested," Ron reasoned. "Fred and George have been testing everything on themselves all summer."
He was scooping eggs onto his plate, so he missed the derisive look Hermione shot him.
"Well, that's not much better," she said. "A sample size of two is almost as bad as zero."
Ron shrugged. "I don't see why you want to waste your time anyway. It's not like Fred or George will care what you have to say or stop what they're doing."
Hermione sniffed loudly. "We are prefects," she said stiffly. "We have a responsibility." She looked meaningfully at Harry.
He knew she was right. He didn't exactly share her vehemence about it, but he wasn't stupid enough to think he wouldn't have to deal with Fred and George at some point. He just wished he knew what they could possibly say that would make a difference to the twins. Because Ron was right about that—they wouldn't stop just because some prefects told them to.
"I don't see them," Hermione murmured, craning her neck as she looked around the table.
"Later then," Harry said, and Hermione smiled at his tacit agreement to do something about them with her, and it was the first really good thing to happen to Harry all day.
Hermione must've known somehow because she frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Seamus reckons Harry's lying about You-Know-Who," Neville replied. Harry and Ron were too busy glaring at the boy in question to answer her themselves.
"Oh," Hermione said, deflated. "Yes, I rather hoped Rita Skeeter would help alleviate some of that. But I guess not."
Harry didn't get the feeling she was talking about Seamus.
"Who else?" he asked.
"Lavender," she admitted. "Though she doesn't think you're a liar. She thinks Dumbledore is, and you were traumatized and just believed his story. Or some such nonsense."
That didn't exactly make Harry feel any better.
Hermione scowled, and it was clear she was still irritated with Lavender.
"But Hannah, Ernie, and Susan believe you," Neville added with more cheerfulness than Harry thought possible at the moment.
"And Parvati, Cedric, and Luna," Hermione said.
"And Dean," Ron pointed out.
"So maybe it's not so bad after all," Neville said optimistically.
Before anyone could reply, Angelina marched up to Harry to let him know she was the new quidditch captain, there were keeper tryouts on Friday, and he had to be there. For some reason, this news seemed to put Ron in an even worse mood.
Luckily, McGonagall brought a bit of good cheer when she came around with their schedules.
"We've got Slughorn!" Neville whooped, scanning the schedule. Harry felt like a weight had been lifted, and all of his friends rather looked the same. From the murmurs running up and down the Gryffindor table, everyone had realized they didn't have to deal with Snape anymore and were responding appropriately.
"I almost don't care that we've got History of Magic, Divination, Double Potions and Double Defense Against the Dark Arts today," Ron grinned.
"Don't let Sirius hear you say that," Harry warned.
He looked at Hermione, who was smiling radiantly at her schedule. On a complete impulse, he grabbed her free hand, squeezing it. Everyone in school might think he was a nutter, but he didn't have to deal with Snape for hours a day anymore, and that was something. That was more than something. And she had done that.
Hermione grinned even wider.
History of Magic was exactly as boring as Harry remembered it being, but after that they had Double Potions with Professor Slughorn, a class absolutely everyone was interested in attending.
They weren't in their usual classroom; Snape had retained that room, it appeared, but while they were still in the dungeons, this one felt a bit warmer somehow. Harry wasn't exactly sure what Professor Slughorn had done, but this room glowed with a warm light and it didn't feel nearly as cold.
"Welcome, welcome!" Professor Slughorn greeted them gaily, waving them all to their seats. Hermione practically ran to a table in the front, and Harry and Neville joined her. Ron followed them, albeit less enthusiastically. They didn't usually sit in the front in Potions.
"Today, we'll be brewing Draught of Hope, a particularly tricky NEWT level potion that will help me assess your skills," Professor Slughorn announced. "You won't find this particular spell in your book, so you'll find the directions on the board. As you work, I'll be coming around to ask you questions and see how much work we've got to do this year. As you all know, it's your OWL year, which will have significant influence on your future endeavors. Why, my old friend Millicent Bagnold told me that her OWL year was directly responsible for her becoming Minister for Magic."
And so, Slughorn went around the room, questioning everyone good-naturedly while they brewed. Some fared better than others, but somehow, Slughorn was able to drop in the name of some famous person or another. "Yes, you're exactly right about moonstone. It was actually my old friend, Darius Lewis, who discovered that moonstone could be used in healing potions… I taught Margo Rowle—a member of my house, you know, Slytherin—and wasn't surprised when she won the Order of Merlin. She was always a fabulous talent… Dirk Cresswell, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office… Barnabas Cuffe… Gwenog Jones… Bertie Higgs…" Each interview brought more and more names, close personal friends who Slughorn had taught, who also happened to be quite successful.
The potion was tough—precise measurements, ingredients that needed to be chopped a hundred different ways, 12 different rotations, and a number of ingredients (toadstool and lacewing flies, for instance) that worked fine as long as you added lavender in between, or else they'd burn a hole through the bottom of your cauldron.
Hermione concentrated hard on her potion, barely sparing the others a glance. Normally, she'd offer helpful tips, but this time she just murmured, "He just wants to see where we're all at after being taught by Snape. It does you no good if he doesn't see your real work without any help from me."
Personally, Harry was fine with that. He was just glad to have a Potions professor who didn't hate him on sight.
Soon enough, Professor Slughorn came round to their table. He eyed Harry with a particular gleam in his eye.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter," he said, almost giddily, surveying Harry's half-completed potion. "Very nice, very nice. The mandrake root is cut a bit too thin — you can tell by the slight yellow tinge to the color, but all in all, this is turning out well."
Harry had never gotten a compliment from a Potions professor in his life.
And then came the questions. Half Harry knew, some he mostly knew, and quite a few he didn't. It didn't escape his notice that most of the questions he got right — the ingredients for polyjuice potion, what a Chinese Chomping Cabbage is used for, what happens when you mix dittany and pond slime — he knew because of Hermione rambling on about the subject, and not because of anything he learned from Snape.
"Well done," Slughorn beamed. "Of course, I'm not surprised. Your mother had a particular talent for Potions."
From the way Slughorn had been looking at him and the way he had been talking, Harry expected Slughorn to be enamored with him because he was the boy who lived. He had no inkling that it would have anything to do with his mum. The mention of her startled Harry so much he accidentally added too much peppermint to his cauldron. His potion turned a little blue and Slughorn clapped him on the shoulder.
"My fault, my boy, my fault," he said, chuckling a bit. "Just add some thistle and it'll even out."
"You taught my mother?" Harry asked.
"Oh, yes," Slughorn replied. "She was an extraordinarily talented witch, and a charming girl, too. I used to tell her she should've been in my house."
"What'd she say to that?" Harry asked curiously. From everything he'd learned about her, he couldn't imagine his mum wanting to be in Slytherin.
"Oho!" Slughorn laughed. "She had some very cheeky answers to that. Of course, she could be a bit brazen in general. I liked that about her."
He smiled nostalgically, a misty look in his eyes.
"What a shame," he murmured with one last look at Harry, before turning to Hermione. She shot Harry a sympathetic glance, and then answered all of Slughorn's questions perfectly.
"And what's your name?"
"Hermione Granger, sir," she replied.
Slughorn looked even more jovial at that. "Ah yes, the witch who took on Albus Dumbledore—and won," he leaned in a bit closer, smiling conspiratorially at her. "Now, don't get me wrong, Albus is a dear friend, of course, but it would take quite the witch to get the best of him."
Hermione looked at a loss for words. "Well—I'm not sure I'd put it quite like that," she finally said.
"My dear, what else would you call me being here teaching you?" he asked. "Ernest MacMillan and Tobias Jones — they're on the Board of Governors, you know — both told me you were one to watch, and they've never steered me wrong."
Hermione turned pink, clearly flattered by that.
Slughorn turned then to Neville. Neville didn't know nearly as many answers as Harry, though he did quite well with anything related to plants.
"Neville Longbottom, eh?" Slughorn said, sizing him up. "Your parents were quite remarkable. Two of the best aurors I ever knew — and I knew Nigel Whithersby and Ethel Cooke. Why they were two of my best students — I actually introduced Nigel to his wife, Maude. She was the daughter of famous magizoologist Edmund Fargate and a celebrated harpist herself."
Neville did not look like he knew exactly what to say to that.
"Not that I'm surprised to see you three together, of course," Slughorn continued genially, indicating Harry, Hermione, and Neville. "I wouldn't expect anything less. Talent usually finds talent."
Ron made a harrumphing sort of sound, shooting a sullen glance Slughorn's way.
"Now, tell me, Neville, do you take after your mother or your father more?"
"Er, my mother, I suppose," he replied. "She liked Herbology, too."
"Yes," Slughorn replied, stroking his chin, "I seem to recall your father being more of a duelist."
"Oh, you should see Neville's banishing charm," Harry supplied. "It's legendary."
Despite their divisions, the whole class snickered at that, remembering the glorious moment when Neville sent Snape flying across the dungeon.
"Yeah," Dean piped up. "Just ask anyone."
This seemed to satisfy Slughorn's questions. He turned to Ron and asked him a few perfunctory questions about Potions, but didn't seem interested at all in "another Weasley." Ron angrily chopped up his tree bark, cutting them into haphazard pieces, which didn't help matters since it only caused a green smoke to emanate from his potion when he added them.
By the time the class was over and they all handed their potions off to Slughorn, it was clear that Hermione was the best in the class. Of course, any of the Gryffindors could have told you that before class began. Harry, however, was gratified that his potion looked at least passable.
"Wonderful," Slughorn said. "I'll take a look at these and see where you're all at. Remember, of course, that this is a NEWT level potion. I didn't expect any of you to get it perfectly. I merely wanted to see where your strengths are."
This was very good news to everyone, as the majority of their potions ranged from milky white to blood orange, when it was supposed to be a bright red when it was finished.
Hermione handed hers off — to no one's surprise it was a brilliant red — and Slughorn chortled, smiling widely at her.
"But, oh, Miss Granger! It appears you're a natural," he beamed. "I believe this deserves a little reward."
He pulled a small vial the color of molten gold out of his pocket and handed it to Hermione.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked.
"Felix Felicis," Hermione said breathlessly. "It's liquid luck!"
"Quite right," Slughorn said. "10 points to Gryffindor!"
He explained what the potion was, how difficult it was to make, and that you were to never use it for organized competitions.
"I brewed a bit as a competition for the sixth and seventh years, but I have some left over, and I say this potion more than deserves a reward," Slughorn said. Hermione eyed it happily, and Harry could already see the wheels in her brain churning about how best to use it. So could Neville, apparently, because he caught Harry's eye, nodded toward Hermione, and grinned.
"Sir, does that mean you're teaching all the post-OWL classes?" Parvati asked.
Since students could drop their classes after their OWL year, they were no longer separated by house for whichever classes they chose to take. Slughorn had seemed to take over the Gryffindor classes, but Harry wasn't sure what would happen with the older students, whose classes were more mixed.
"Oh yes," Slughorn said. "Professor Snape has his head of house duties, so it was only fair that I took on a larger class load."
He said it in a completely natural way, but Harry had the feeling the decision had much more to do with the Board of Governors than any sense of fairness toward Snape. From Hermione's raised eyebrow, she agreed.
Harry scarcely paid attention to anything in Divination — not that there was much to concentrate on — so nervous was he for Sirius' first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. As soon as the bell rang, he jumped up, making it to the trapdoor before anyone else, and Ron and Neville practically had to sprint to catch up.
They'd discussed Sirius' classes at length when they were at Wiggentree Manor. Not only was Harry nervous for Sirius, but Sirius had made it clear to both Harry and Hermione that in order to teach the class effectively, he'd have to be blunt about certain things—namely, Voldemort, people who fought Voldemort like Harry's parents, and that with Voldemort back, muggleborns like Hermione would be in danger. Harry and Hermione had readily accepted that—pretending like they weren't in danger wouldn't do anyone any good—but Harry wasn't certain how far Sirius would have to take it.
"Can you believe how much homework we've got already?" Ron moaned as they fell into step with Harry. "A foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Slughorn's essay on the different properties of calming potions, and now a month's dream diary for Trelawney!"
"The professors weren't kidding when they said we'd work harder this year than ever before," Neville commented.
"Well, at least we've got Sirius next," Ron said cheerily. "It's not like we'll get homework from him."
Harry and Neville exchanged a doubtful glance.
"You did see that book list, didn't you?" Neville asked.
"Yeah, but it's Sirius," Ron stressed. "He practically spent more time at that decrepit old house with Fred and George than any of the Order. It's not like he's a stuffy old professor."
"He sure seemed like one when he was training us," Neville cautioned Ron.
"Yeah, I've never worked harder in my life," Harry agreed, hoping the rest of the students wouldn't think Sirius was some joke.
"Oh, well, I'm fully expecting that," Ron said eagerly. "Proper training and everything. Sirius isn't like mum, he thinks we should be prepared to fight. But what's writing essays going to do?"
Harry wasn't sure what sort of homework Sirius would assign, but he reckoned it wouldn't be boring.
They were the first to arrive, and found Sirius lounging in his desk chair, reading a magazine.
"Hullo, boys," he greeted them amiably, flipping the page. "Day going all right?"
"It's gone great," Harry said, dropping his bag on a desk. "You?"
"There was this one girl who seemed to think I eat third years," Sirius mused, a puzzled look on his face. "No idea why. Everyone knows children aren't properly fattened up until at least fifth year."
The rest of the class started to file in, so Harry grinned at Sirius and took his seat.
"How was Divination?" Hermione asked, as she slipped into the seat next to him.
"Less informative than Arithmancy, I expect," Harry replied. Hermione didn't say anything, but the expression on her face plainly said, "Well, obviously."
The rest of the class was watching Sirius. Neville smiled happily at him, Ron sat forward in his chair, eager for the lesson, Dean and Parvati looked vaguely curious, Lavender skeptical, and Seamus had his arms crossed, completely defiant.
Sirius rose from his chair and came to perch on the ledge of his desk, crossing his arms as well.
"Good afternoon, I'm Professor Black—perhaps you've heard of me?" he asked, grinning wryly, and Harry, Ron, and Neville all laughed. "You'll hear a lot in your classes in the next few days about the utmost importance of your OWL year—how your performance in every class will weigh heavily on your future. It's a load of nonsense, of course."
Everyone was startled by that, but no one was more startled than Hermione.
"Some of these classes matter, however, and this happens to be one of them," Sirius continued.
"Why?" Seamus asked.
Sirius raised his eyebrow. "Why?"
"Yeah, why's this class so important?" Seamus was clearly ready for a fight.
"Oh, I don't know," Harry muttered sarcastically. "Maybe because Voldemort's back?"
Everyone except Sirius flinched. He turned to Harry and smiled.
"Five points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," he said.
"For what?" Seamus asked, clearly certain Harry was getting points for being rude to him.
"For saying Voldemort's name," Sirius replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "First rule of Defense Against the Dark Arts: If you're too afraid to say something's name, you're probably too afraid to fight it effectively."
Hermione, Neville, and Ron all looked vaguely abashed, but Seamus was incredulous.
"You actually think we'll have to fight You-Know-Who?" he asked, looking at Sirius like he thought Azkaban had permanently scrambled his brains. Sirius smiled at Seamus dangerously.
"What's your name?"
"Seamus Finnigan."
Sirius leaned back, considering Seamus.
"No, I suppose you won't," Sirius mused, stroking his chin, and Seamus smiled triumphantly, but then Sirius turned and pointed at Dean. "But he will."
Seamus looked at the friend sitting next to him, horrified.
"I assume you're Dean Thomas, are you not?" Sirius asked. "This boy just identified himself as Finnigan, and I know those three over there, so I assume you're Thomas and not some random boy who wandered in here wanting a bit of extra learning?"
"That's right," Dean replied evenly.
Sirius looked at Dean kindly. "Your parents are muggles?"
"I never knew my birth father, but my mum and dad are, yeah," Dean confirmed. "I'm muggleborn, as far as I know."
Sirius nodded, and looked straight at Seamus. "Sooner or later, Voldemort or one of his followers is going to come after your friend. And all the muggleborns like him."
Half the class turned their gazes toward Hermione. She stiffened beside Harry. She didn't look shocked or upset, but she was also very aware that everyone was now staring at her. Harry touched her hand with his, wanting to offer some sort of support.
"The half-bloods and purebloods in the room, you can probably get by just learning enough to pass your OWL and then get your safe Ministry job, whiling away your days playing wizard chess and watching quidditch matches. But the muggleborns—and Harry, of course—don't get the choice to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts or not," Sirius said grimly, looking between Harry, Hermione, and Dean. "You learn it or you get out of the country. You learn it or you die. You're the ones I'm aiming to teach this year. And anyone else who wants to learn, I'm happy to include you, too."
Ron and Neville both sat up straighter, clearly wanting to show they were worthy of learning, but Lavender was looking between Dean and Sirius, a horrified expression on her face.
"Stop trying to scare them!" she said shrilly.
Sirius' haughty expression was back, but it was Dean who spoke.
"He's not scaring me," Dean said quietly. "He's not saying anything I haven't thought before. What do you think it means, Lavender, when Malfoy calls me or Hermione mudblood?"
Lavender, Seamus, Ron, Parvati, and Neville all flinched, but no one seemed to have a response. They all hated the word, agreed that only a vile bigot would call someone that, but none of them were muggleborn and they'd never know what it would be like to be one. Harry wouldn't know either, but he probably came the closest, seeing as Voldemort clearly wanted him dead for reasons that were still unclear to Harry. Still, no one had ever questioned Harry's right to be here at Hogwarts the way they had Hermione and Dean.
Seamus was looking at his friend like he'd never seen him, like he and Dean had never discussed this before, like he hadn't ever even really realized that Dean was muggleborn and things were different for him.
Sirius glanced around the room. "Some of you have parents who don't believe what Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter have said about Voldemort's return," he said. "Your parents are scared. Your parents remember what the war was like and they don't want to relive that. But just because we don't want something, doesn't mean it isn't happening."
His voice was quiet, but it didn't matter because he had everyone's rapt attention.
"You all have something your parents don't," he continued. "You know Harry Potter. You've known him for years. Would he make this up? Would he lie and say the man who murdered his parents was back just because his headmaster told him to?"
Harry's face felt hot and he kept his eyes focused straight ahead, so he couldn't see Seamus or Lavender's reactions. He hoped they were at least a little ashamed.
"Anyway, what you believe doesn't matter," Sirius continued brusquely. "Not really. Eventually, Harry will be proven right, and how prepared for the future you'll be will depend on how quickly you get on board."
Sirius paced around the room, and then he looked at the class, his expression softening.
"I went to school when war was brewing," Sirius said. "I had to make choices. We all did. Some of you will choose to stand and fight. Some of you won't."
His eyes fell on each of them in turn.
"Don't take this to mean I'm encouraging you to fight," he said, startling Harry. He hadn't expected that from Sirius. From Ron's raised eyebrows, he hadn't either.
"I chose to fight," Sirius said, "and I chose to do so because I was willing to die for something I believed in. I was willing to die for the people I loved. But I knew someone who chose to fight and wasn't willing to make that sacrifice—and we all would've been better off if he'd just stayed home, playing wizard chess and watching quidditch matches instead of getting involved in the war."
Pettigrew.
Now Harry could feel all eyes on him, and he felt the slight graze of Hermione's hand against his, comforting him.
"If you're not willing to do that—if you're not willing to die for Dean or Hermione, or for your muggleborn girlfriend in Hufflepuff, or your muggle dad, or for a wizarding world that's better—then just be really honest with yourself about that," Sirius said. "Study for your OWLs, stay home, and stay out of Voldemort's way. This way, you'll be much less likely to get your friends who do stand and fight killed. You don't have to make the choice right now, but you will have to make it sooner than you think."
He was quiet then, and when he spoke again, he was deadly calm. "I'll teach you what you need to know for your OWLs," he said. "And if you're so inclined, I'll give you the foundation you need to fight. If you don't believe Voldemort's a threat, I can't force you to be smarter. But I won't tolerate any backtalk about it in this classroom. Voldemort's back, and we don't have any more time to waste. Dean and Hermione deserve better than that from all of you. So if you're going to be stupid, keep your stupid opinions to yourself."
He looked straight at Seamus as he said it. No one else said a word. Hermione nodded resolutely at Sirius, and Ron was gaping at him like he'd never really seen him before.
"Now," Sirius continued, his tone lighter, "split up into pairs. We're going to learn the most basic of shield charms, though there are obviously dozens of variations."
The class stood, murmuring as they chose pairs and Sirius cleared the room of desks.
"I don't want you two wasting time on this," Sirius said to Harry and Hermione. "Your shield charms are fine. There's a sack of flour in my bottom drawer. I want you two transfiguring that into pebbles."
The rest of the class seemed vaguely surprised that Harry and Hermione weren't joining them, but lost interest in them when they saw Neville's shield charm. Neville had always been dead last when it came to learning new spells.
"Siri—Professor Black has been teaching me a bit this summer," he told them proudly.
And seeing what Sirius had been able to do for Neville seemed to warm some of them up to him.
When class was almost over, they found out that Sirius was indeed the type to assign homework.
"Here you are," Sirius said, passing out pieces of parchments. "I've given you each various scenarios in which you might have to defend yourself with magic. For each, I want you to write a short essay explaining how you'd handle the situation using only spells you already know."
It was not the sort of homework they usually got.
Parvati was scanning the parchment. "How are you supposed to fight a giant with fourth year spells?" she wondered aloud.
"Mr. Weasley," Sirius called, startling Ron. "As I understand it, you once knocked out a troll when you were just a first year. How'd you accomplish that?"
"Wingardium Leviosa," Ron replied.
"And why'd you use that spell?"
"Er, I dunno, really," Ron said. "We'd been practicing it in Charms that day, and it was the first thing that came to mind, and I just reacted."
"Those are good instincts, "Sirius said approvingly, "but when fighting the dark arts, you need more than instincts. You need to think creatively and fight smarter, not harder. So, to answer your question Ms. Patil, be creative."
It's what Sirius had been telling Harry all summer. And for the first time, homework didn't seem so useless anymore. He wasn't just going to be copying down information from a book into an essay; he could actually see the practical applications.
"You're all dismissed," Sirius said, "but Mr. Thomas, could you hang back a minute?"
Everyone except Dean filed out. Seamus glanced awkwardly at Harry before hurrying away.
"I think that went well, don't you?" Hermione asked brightly.
"Do you think it changed any of their minds?" Harry asked.
"Didn't you see Seamus and Lavender's faces when Sirius asked that question about you lying about the man who—You-Know-Who?" Neville asked delicately. "He definitely got through."
Harry hoped Neville was right.
"Look," Hermione whispered, nudging Harry. "Fred and George are here."
They were sitting in the common room later that night writing their essays on giant wars. Fred, George and Lee were now huddled with their heads together in the far corner.
"We've got to go talk to them about paying students to test their products," Hermione said resolutely, starting to stand.
"Wait! Harry said quickly.
"Wait?" Hermione repeated dangerously. "I thought you agreed we needed to talk to them."
"I do—"
"I thought you agreed what they're doing is incredibly dangerous," she continued vehemently, working herself up as she thought about Fred and George experimenting on kids.
"Well, no, not really, but I do think we've got to talk to them," Harry agreed.
Hermione was now agape, and she dropped back into her chair. "What do you mean you don't think it's dangerous?" she asked, her voice a little thin.
"Well, I don't think it's particularly safe either," Harry said. "But they do test the products on themselves first, and it's not like there's no one around to help if something goes wrong. Madam Pomfrey is brilliant at fixing experimental magic—not to mention Dumbledore and Sirius and all the rest."
"Madam Pomfrey fixes things that go wrong in classes," Hermione pointed out. "She knows how things went wrong in the first place, but who knows what's in Fred and George's products."
"No one knew how you all got petrified second year, but she still knew how to fix it," Harry argued. "Not to mention, I don't recall us telling her you accidentally put cat hair in a polyjuice potion, but it's not like you still have a tail."
Hermione seemed to concede that point, but she still looked at Harry, dismayed.
"So you really think it's all right for them to experiment on kids just because Madam Pomfrey can probably fix them?" she asked, her voice a mixture of outrage and disappointment.
"No," Harry said. "Didn't you hear what I said earlier? I think we've got to talk to them because I don't think it's right for them to experiment on first and second years who don't know any better."
Hermione softened at that, and Harry only hesitated slightly to forge ahead, knowing she wouldn't like what he said next.
"But if Lee or Katie or Ron or Angelina wants to help them out, and Fred and George pay them? They know plenty about magic to know what they're getting themselves into. And they certainly know Fred and George well enough to know what they're capable of," Harry reasoned.
Hermione seemed to consider that and was quiet a long time. "I don't like it," she finally said.
Harry offered her a small smile. "Yeah, I sort of figured that," he admitted. "But Lee and Angelina are of age. They're adults in the eyes of the wizarding world."
Hermione frowned. "If Lee or Angelina want to, I won't stop them," Hermione finally said grudgingly. "But no one younger than 17."
Harry nodded. "Now we've just got to figure out how to get them to agree," he said. "It's not like we can just walk up to them and say, 'Don't do this or we'll give you detention.'"
But Hermione wasn't listening to him anymore.
"I don't believe it!" Hermione seethed.
Harry looked back at Fred, George, and Lee. They were now surrounded by a knot of wide-eyed first years.
"We've got to put a stop to this now," Hermione snarled. "Even if I've got to—"
She cut herself off, a dark look on her face, and Harry was filled with dread.
"Even if what?" he asked.
"Even if I've got to threated to tell their mother," Hermione answered, her voice angry and hard.
Harry's stomach plummeted at the very thought.
"Would you really?" Harry asked quietly. He couldn't believe Hermione would do that—not after that row the twins had with Molly over the joke shop the night of the prefect party.
"Well, no, of course not," she replied, biting her lip. "But they don't have to know that. They think I'm just rule-following Hermione. Why wouldn't I snitch to their mum?"
Fred and George were gesticulating enthusiastically, and the first years were nodding up at them. Lee wrote something down on a clipboard.
"And what if they call your bluff?" Harry asked. "Then you've either got to tell Mrs. Weasley or no one will respect your authority again. And if you told her—"
"It would make their relationship even worse," Hermione said miserably. "But Harry, we've got to do something—those kids could be seriously injured!"
Harry thought quickly. They couldn't threaten Fred and George with detention, but they didn't want to threaten them with Mrs. Weasley. Fred and George were pretty fearless when it came to themselves. What they needed was to either convince them this was in their best interest or in the best interest of someone they cared about.
And suddenly, it seemed so obvious.
"Fred and George aren't the only ones involved in this joke shop," he said.
Hermione's eyes lit up.
"Follow my lead," she said as she marched over to Fred and George. Harry fell in step with her.
George saw them coming and nudged his brother. Fred turned, and grinned.
"Ah, the prefects," he greeted them. "Come to try the Fainting Fancies? We pay top dollar."
Hermione crossed her arms, bringing herself to her full height. She focused on the first years. "Have they given you anything yet?" she asked.
"No," a small blonde girl answered, shaking her head.
"Then beat it," Harry told them. "We've got to talk to Fred and George."
The first years scurried off, and Fred, George, and Lee all looked at Harry askance.
"What are you playing at, Harry?" George asked.
"No more testing products on other students," Hermione warned them. "We can't stop you from testing it on yourselves, but no one else."
"Or what?" Fred asked, smirking. "You'll put us in detention?"
"Make us write lines?" George laughed.
"I won't do anything," Hermione said airily. "But it would be a real shame for Sirius if anything were to happen to one of these first years."
Fred crossed his arms. "Meaning?" he asked.
"Well, he's your financial backer, right?" Hermione asked innocently. "And a professor in this school? How exactly do you think it'll look if one of the products he's paying to create ends up harming some kid? The press'll have a field day with that!"
Granted, the press was in Hermione's pocket, but Fred and George didn't know the details of that.
"His reputation isn't exactly the best," Harry added. "What with Azkaban and all that. Why, there's even some duffers who think he eats third years."
He leveled Fred and George with a pointed glare for starting that rumor.
"Poor Sirius is just trying to restart his life after having it unjustly taken from him," Hermione sighed.
"We know what you're doing," Fred said, narrowing his eyes, but he exchanged a troubled look with George.
"I should hope so," Hermione said wryly. "We're not exactly being subtle."
"Sirius didn't seem to have a problem with what we're doing," George told them.
"Sirius also doesn't always put his own best interests first," Hermione pointed out.
"But he does put mine first," Harry added, hoping Fred and George weren't much harder to trick than Uncle Vernon had been. "And if I pointed out to him that a bunch of kids getting sick off those products wouldn't be great for him and me, I have a feeling he might change his mind about the testing."
Fred and George looked horrified, like Harry had betrayed them.
"We didn't think you were really a prefect, Harry!" Fred said in a shocked, dismayed sort of whisper.
"Look," Harry said, "just cut it out with testing things on the younger kids. There are plenty of people at Hogwarts who are of age and want a bit of extra gold. Agree to that and I won't talk to Sirius."
"And I won't bring it up again," Hermione added grudgingly.
Fred and George exchanged a glance, and then George nodded at them.
"All right," he said, sounding as reluctant as Hermione.
"Brilliant," Harry replied, and he and Hermione returned to their table. They got what they wanted—it was probably best not to push their luck and stick around. When they settled back into their chairs, Hermione offered Harry a relieved smile.
"I can't believe that worked," she whispered.
Harry felt lighter than he had all day. They'd gotten Fred and George to agree to back down without having to run to a teacher for help. He hadn't disappointed Hermione, and best of all, he'd proven that he did have what it takes to be prefect.
Dumbledore had been wrong about him.
The next day was just as rainy as the day before. Breakfast was a mostly quiet affair, though Lavender did offer to pass a plate of kippers to Harry, which seemed to be her way of apologizing for thinking he'd made up the story about Voldemort. Seamus still wasn't looking at Harry much, or talking to any of them, and Ron kept sending him angry glares.
The only interesting thing that happened at breakfast was an odd conversation between Luna and Dean. She came over to Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Ron to say hello, and Dean, who was seated nearby (though not with Seamus), jumped up.
Harry was mostly certain Dean had never spoken to her in his life, but last night he had caught sight of the gifts Luna had given Neville and Harry for their birthdays and had gushed over them, going on about the lines and light and brush strokes. For his part, Harry just knew Luna's artwork was pretty.
But now Dean was talking to her eagerly and Luna looked rather surprised that he was doing so. Of course, she always looked a little bit surprised.
"The way you got Hermione's hair to move when she was jumping like that," Dean continued, feeling awed. "I felt like I was there—it was completely brilliant."
Much as Harry liked Dean, he didn't exactly want the bloke captivated with Hermione's hair.
"It's just a few replicating charms," Luna replied. "They were in this old book I have of my mum's."
"I'd love to see it," Dean said keenly. "Is it here at Hogwarts?"
Harry turned to Hermione, who looked just as astonished by this turn of events as he was. She shrugged her shoulders in a "who knew?" sort of gesture, a little grin on her face, just as Dean and Luna were making plans to meet later in the library to exchange the book and show each other some more sketches.
After she left, Ron looked at Dean doubtfully. "You really want to hang out with Loony Lovegood, mate?" he asked. Hermione shot him a contemptuous glare.
"She's not Loony," Harry said warningly. Luna had been a good friend and didn't deserve cracks like that.
Dean glanced between Ron and Seamus, who was now glowering at Ron. "Believe me," Dean said, "I want to."
They had both double Charms and double Transfiguration, and they were treated to double lectures about the importance of their OWL year. They also received more homework than they ever had in their life. On the plus side, they spent an hour reviewing summoning charms, and Harry, Hermione, and Neville all did extremely well, owing to all the training they'd done this summer. Flitwick had even given a little squeak and Gryffindor 15 points when Harry summoned one of the pillows nonverbally.
They worked on Vanishing Spells in Transfiguration, which proved to be exceedingly difficult. Hermione managed to vanish her snail on the third attempt, earning Gryffindor a 10-point bonus. No one else made much progress until, finally, at the end of the double session, Harry succeeded in vanishing his, too.
"Five points for Gryffindor, Potter," Professor McGonagall rewarded him. "You've been practicing your technique, I see."
"Siri—Professor Black has been giving me special lessons," Harry told her, though from the look on her face, she already knew. "And Hermione got me a Transfiguration Table for my birthday."
Professor McGonagall seemed amused at that for some reason. "Keep it up," she murmured.
They had Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon. The rain had stopped, but Harry still wasn't looking forward to it. Hagrid was still abroad so they'd have Professor Grubbly-Plank, and they still had this class with the Slytherins.
Draco Malfoy looked rather pleased with himself, gloating to the Slytherins about how Professor Slughorn stopped him after lunch to tell him how much he wished Malfoy had been in his Potions class.
"He was close personal friends with my grandfather," he boasted.
"He's close personal friends with half the wizarding world," Harry retorted, and Hermione and Neville grinned at him.
"Imagine the look on Malfoy's face if he found out you got liquid luck, Hermione?" Neville asked.
"What are you planning to do with it anyway?" Harry asked.
"Oh!" Hermione said, her voice a little high. "I don't really know—save it for something important, I expect."
Soon enough, Professor Grubbly-Plank started class. She was a pleasant enough person—direct and informative—but Harry still missed Hagrid. The lesson was on Bowtruckles, and Harry surprised himself by raising his hand to identify what they were. He recognized them from the secret garden. Hermione answered a question on what they fed on, and together, they earned Gryffindor 10 points.
Next, they had to sketch the bowtruckles. Professor Grubbly-Plank came around to see their progress, and when she spoke to Harry, she mentioned how her old friend, Silvanus Kettleburn, had told her about him and his affinity for the subject.
Harry still didn't think that was particularly true, and he was annoyed at himself for thoroughly enjoying himself during the lesson because it felt like he was betraying Hagrid somehow.
But as they walked to Herbology, Hermione and Neville both avoided the topic of their last class, and he thought they might have been thinking the same thing: It had been one of their best Care of Magical Creatures classes in a while.
Still, Harry would do anything to have Hagrid back.
Herbology was just as much work as all of their other classes—and they were given yet another essay to write— but finally, finally the day was done.
Harry said goodbye to his friends and headed off to the fourth floor where Sirius' living quarters were. They were going to have a private dinner to catch up on the first couple of days of school.
Harry arrived at the statue of the crup Sirius had indicated, but wasn't sure what to do next. He wasn't waiting long when Sirius came striding up.
"Hello, Harry," he said, turning to the dog. "Snivellus Snape is a greasy git."
The crup leapt to the side and in its place was a doorway.
Harry looked at Sirius incredulously. "That's your password?"
Sirius grinned. "I didn't really think Snape would come round for tea, but I figured that password was the perfect way to dissuade him. Either he has to utter that sentence or he can't get in."
Sirius ushered Harry into his living quarters. There was a neat, cozy sitting room with a fireplace, as well as a kitchen area. At the back of the room were two doors, which Harry assumed led to a bedroom and a loo.
"Do you cook?" Harry asked, setting his bag down on the sofa.
"Nah, I think it's mostly for show," Sirius replied, bustling around. "When we don't eat in the Great Hall, the house elves send food up here for us."
As he said it, he waved his wand a bit, and then there was a small pop and two plates of beef stew appeared. Sirius pulled two butterbeers out of the cabinet and cooled them with a charm.
"How have your classes been?" he asked, sitting down to eat.
"All right," Harry replied. "McGonagall reckons I've gotten a lot better at Transfiguration. And Slughorn's loads better than Snape."
"Well, that's a low bar," Sirius muttered. "Though I bet old Sluggy took a liking to you."
"Er, yeah," Harry agreed, taking a bite of his stew.
"I'm not surprised," Sirius laughed. "He has a tendency to collect promising students. Tried to collect me — was quite put out that I was sorted to Gryffindor and not his house like the rest of my family. Of course, after a while, he stopped trying. Something about me always being in trouble, I think."
"Did he collect my mum?" Harry asked quietly.
Something shifted in Sirius' eyes. "Did he mention Lily?" he asked, and Harry nodded. "Yes, he quite liked her. And she was fond of him — he's a blowhard who loves to hear himself talk and is obsessed with determining his self-worth by the number of famous wizards he can name drop, but he also likes people with quick wit and a sharp mind, and your mum had both. And at the time, with the war and the attitude toward muggleborns, she wasn't about to turn up her nose at a mentor."
"He liked Hermione, too," Harry said. "He really liked her, actually."
Sirius nodded. "Well, he spent this summer helping the Board of Governors sort through this Snape mess. He would've heard a lot about Hermione, I expect."
"So he's different from the other Slytherins, then?"
Sirius pursed his lips and thought about his answer. "He puts a lot of weight on being from an old pureblood family," he finally said. "Old pureblood families tend to have a lot of power and influence, which are things Slughorn likes. But he'll also happily champion a muggleborn who he thinks will be successful in life. He's a true Slytherin in the purest sense of the word: Ambition and being close to power matter most to him, and that often coincides with blood purity — but it doesn't always."
Harry nodded. He didn't exactly like people who liked him for his fame, but Slughorn had also been suitably impressed by Harry's work in Potions. And his mother had trusted Slughorn enough to allow him to be her mentor. Sirius had warned them all in class how rough things were going to get for muggleborns, and Harry couldn't dispute that. It couldn't hurt to have Slughorn in Hermione's corner.
"What did you talk to Dean about after class yesterday?" he asked.
Sirius waved his fork around. "Wanted to make sure he was all right with the class," Sirius said. "Hermione had some warning beforehand, but I blindsided him a bit. I had to be candid to get my point across — some of these kids are real thick — but I'm sure it wasn't exactly pleasant for him or Hermione."
"Hermione seemed okay with it," Harry offered.
"Dean was too," Sirius agreed. "I liked him. Even if he does have poor taste in friends.
"Then again, who am I to talk?" He added bitterly, taking another bite of stew.
They talked about everything—classes, school, the other professors, friends, Harry's dreams. Finally, Sirius asked about Hermione.
"She's got a birthday coming up, right?" he asked.
"Yeah," Harry replied.
"Do you have anything planned?"
Harry had no idea what Hermione wanted to do for her birthday.
"I've got a gift. Well, sort of."
Sirius looked up, his eyebrows raised. "How do you 'sort of' have a gift?" he asked.
"During the eight minutes you and Augusta allotted us in Flourish and Blotts, I managed to pick up New Theory of Numerology, which she's been talking about for ages, without her seeing."
"How'd you do that?"
"Neville distracted her," Harry replied.
"Impressive."
"Not really. It's a bookstore. And Hermione. It's not like it was all that hard," Harry countered.
Sirius grinned. "So you got her something she really wants and will really appreciate," he said. "What's the problem?"
Harry hesitated. "The problem is… it's a book."
Sirius blinked. "But haven't we established Hermione likes books?" he asked.
"Yes, but… I'm her boyfriend, aren't I?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't I be getting her something better than a book? Everyone will get her books!"
"But if she wants books…" Sirius said quizzically, not understanding the problem.
Harry shook his head, irritated at his inability to communicate what he was thinking. "First year, I found this mirror that showed you your heart's desire," Harry explained. "And when Dumbledore explained to me what it was, I asked him what he saw when he looked in it."
Sirius barked with laughter. "You asked Albus Dumbledore what his heart's desire was?" he asked, amazed.
"Yeah," Harry said sheepishly.
"What did he say?"
"Socks," Harry admitted, which only cracked Sirius up more. "And, obviously, he was lying because he didn't owe me any explanations, but he also said something else: That people insisted on giving him books."
"And you think Hermione and Dumbledore are the same?"
"They're both brilliant, aren't they?" Harry asked. "And, sure they like books, but they're both more than just books. And it's all well and good for a friend or acquaintance to give you a book, but a boyfriend should be able to get you something else too. Something you'd want just as much, but that other people wouldn't think to get you."
She'd gotten him a Transfiguration Table. And he got her a book.
Sirius had a wild gleam in his eye. "Right," he said, standing up and grabbing his cloak. "Let's go to Hogsmeade. We've got a quest."
"I thought I wasn't supposed to go to Hogsmeade unless it was an official weekend," Harry pointed out, grabbing his own cloak.
"Obviously it's fine if you're with me," Sirius smiled.
And so they set off to Hogsmeade. The night was cold, and it had started raining again.
"Don't worry," Sirius said, "the stores won't close for another hour or so."
He nixed the jewelry store ("You'll want to build up to that gift," Sirius advised) or clothes ("Never buy a woman an article of clothing unless you're entirely certain of her size") but stopped in front of a pretty looking store called Sugar & Spice.
"This seems promising," Sirius said, leading them in. A chime tinkled on the door, and as soon as Harry stepped inside, he breathed in the most pleasing aroma he'd ever smelled.
The store was neat, with stacks of canisters and oddly shaped bottles filling the shelves. In each bottle was some sort of colorful liquid or paste, each in a serene color—aquamarine, peach, bubblegum pink.
The store was mostly empty except for a friendly looking woman with wide blue eyes and long dark hair pulled back in a loose braid. Unlike most of the other shopkeepers in Hogsmeade, she didn't wear robes, but a muggle dress. It was long and flowy, and didn't look at all out of place in the village, but it was also unmistakably muggle.
"Hello," she greeted them cheerily. "Looking for anything in particular?"
"A gift for a teenage girl," Sirius replied. "His girlfriend."
"Ah," she said knowingly, surveying them both, and then her eyes widened. Harry assumed she had noticed his scar, but instead she said, faintly, "Sirius Black?"
Ah. Sirius was famous, too. Sirius didn't look annoyed, but instead was squinting at the woman, as if trying to place her.
"Mary Macdonald?" he finally said, his voice unsure.
She nodded, smiling wider. "I heard you were teaching at Hogwarts now," she said.
"Yes, it's a bit of karmic justice," Sirius replied dryly, recovering well from his shock at recognizing her.
"You two know each other?" Harry asked, looking between the two.
"We were both in Gryffindor at the same time," Mary explained, "though I was a year behind him."
"Were you friends?"
Mary laughed, though there was no malice in it. "Not particularly, no," she replied. "Sirius—and your dad for that matter—were well liked and they were certainly social, but their group was really only true friends with each other. I never understood why they were so secretive until that news about Lupin leaked a couple of years ago. I suppose that's why you kept to yourselves?"
Sirius nodded.
Mary turned to Harry. "Truthfully, I knew your mother better," she told him. "I got homesick a lot my first year, and your mum always had chocolates ready for anyone who needed a good cry."
Harry tried not to think about all the chocolates he had missed out on in his childhood. Mary must've seen his discomfort because she smiled genially and said, "So, what does your girlfriend like?"
"Her hair smells like citrus," Harry replied, realizing that was not much to go on. He looked around the store, and his eyes settled on the shelves in the back where long rows of colorful candles were stored. Hermione had once told him how she'd lit a million candles when she'd been home this summer because it reminded her of Hogwarts and she liked the soft glow when she was reading.
Mary followed his gaze. "A good choice," she said approvingly. She walked toward the back of the store, limping slightly.
"What's wrong with your foot?" Harry asked before realizing that was probably a rude question. Sirius, he noticed, was also eyeing her right foot carefully, though there was something dark storming in his eyes.
"Oh," Mary smiled brightly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, "just an old injury from my Hogwarts days. Some of the older students thought it would be a bit of a laugh, but—"
She shrugged helplessly. "Anyway, it only hurts when it's raining or snowing." She smiled wryly, and then added, her voice dripping with self-deprecation, "So it was a really smart move for me to set up shop in Scotland."
Harry frowned. Most magic didn't have lasting consequences like that, not unless it was dark magic. There were exceptions, of course, but given everything Sirius had said about how things were back then and the way her smile didn't reach her eyes… he wondered just how much of a "laugh" Mary's injury had really been.
Sirius and Mary seemed to be having some sort of nonverbal conversation of their own. Harry thought they didn't know each other all that well. Did Sirius know how she had been injured? Mary broke off the eye contact.
"We've got fruity scents over here," she indicated, pointing Harry to red, orange, and yellow candles. Harry sniffed them all, and then he sniffed the ones that smelled like the ocean, the forest, the snow, parchment and libraries, cookies, Christmas, and everything in between. They all smelled nice, but not quite right.
And then his eyes fell on a small row of white candles. He picked one up and sniffed. It didn't smell like anything.
"Those are my memory candles," Mary explained. "A bit more expensive than the rest, but worth it in my opinion."
"How does it work?" Harry asked.
"You infuse it with a memory," Mary explained, and then when your girlfriend lights it, she'll be enveloped by the scent of that memory—the smell of rain or flowers, but also the emotions involved. Those get translated into scents, too."
"How does the memory get extracted?" Sirius asked.
"Well, I expect you'll be wanting to do the extracting, seeing as this is Harry Potter," Mary said, and Sirius nodded.
"No offense," he replied.
"None taken," she laughed. "It's just an extraction charm. Then you'll drip the memory on the candle, and we'll seal it with goblin wax, so the memory can't be removed from the candle."
They discussed the particulars of how each part of the spell worked. Harry's brain started to hurt from the convoluted conversation on charms theory he wouldn't learn until he was a NEWT student, but Mary and Sirius didn't seem bothered at all. If anything, Mary seemed excited that someone was so interested in her work. Finally, Sirius nodded.
"So it's all right?" Harry asked. "The memory I want to pick, it's from… it won't mess with that other charm, will it?"
Sirius shook his head. "It can't," he said. "You're not the—"
He broke off, but Harry knew he was about to say secret keeper.
The process didn't take very long at all. Sirius told Harry to think of his memory, and Harry concentrated very hard on a particularly good evening they'd spent in the Secret Garden, the setting sun bathing everything in a golden light. And when Harry sniffed the final product, it smelled exactly as he wanted.
"It'll smell even better when you light it," Mary promised.
They paid and thanked her for her help, and were about to leave when she called out again.
"Black?"
They turned.
She seemed to hesitate, as if she wasn't sure if she should continue. "I'm really glad you're doing well," she finally said, smiling sadly. "When I heard you were sent to Azkaban… I know I didn't know you that well, but it never made much sense to me. Not with what you did at Hogwarts."
Sirius nodded awkwardly and left. Harry followed, clutching the box that Mary had gift-wrapped for him.
"What did you do at school?"
"I got up to all sorts of nonsense—you know that," Sirius replied, his fake cheerful affect back.
"She meant something specific, obviously," Harry retorted.
"Well, quite a lot of my nonsense was directed at people who would grow up to become Death Eaters," Sirius replied.
"You mean the sort of people who would do the type of magic that would leave Mary Macdonald with a permanent limp and call it a laugh?" Harry asked.
Sirius eyed him approvingly. "Precisely," he replied.
"So you were a bit of a hero then."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Your dad was the noble one, Harry," he insisted. "I was mostly in it to hurt pureblood bigots like my family."
Considering Sirius had given them a whole speech just yesterday about being willing to die for the people you loved, Harry very much doubted that. But he didn't want to fight with Sirius, who didn't particularly like compliments, so he kept that opinion to himself.
Sirius took the gift back to his quarters so Hermione wouldn't see it, and Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower. He found Hermione, Neville, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny all sitting around a table together. None of them seemed too pleased.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, searching Hermione, Fred, and George for any clues that they'd gotten into a row.
"Nothing's wrong," Ron bit out, sullenly.
"Oh, like you would've wanted to go anyway," Ginny retorted, rolling her eyes.
"Don't you?" Ron asked.
"I don't," Fred muttered.
"Go where?" Harry asked, irritated at being out of the loop.
"Fred, George, Neville, and I were invited to a dinner with Professor Slughorn," Hermione explained, her tone neutral, but he could tell she was happy about it. She held up an envelope. "You've been invited too."