A/N: Finally finished Chapter 18! It's a nice, long one this time. Enjoy!
"So Snape is taking care of Hedwig?" Ron asked in shock, as the trio made their way to the Defense classroom that afternoon. "Blimey Harry, do you think that's smart?"
"Professor Snape is the potions master, Ronald," Hermione said exasperatedly. "He'll be Hedwig's best chance for making a full recovery."
"I didn't really have much choice," Harry put in. "I needed help, and Snape was the first person I ran into. Literally."
"But then he turned around and gave you two weeks of detention?" Ron scoffed. "He really is a foul, greasy—"
"Snape was right, Ron!" Hermione interrupted hotly, rounding on both of the boys just as they turned a corner onto an empty corridor. "Harry has no proof that Malfoy was responsible, and he never should have pulled a wand on him!"
"Who else could it have been?" Ron challenged. "Who else would poison Harry's owl just to get back at him?"
"I have my own theory," Hermione responded, turning back around and continuing down the hallway. "But that's all it is. A theory. I'm not about to run off to confront anybody just because I have a strong feeling about—"
"Just tell us already, Hermione," Harry said impatiently, hurrying to catch up with the girl. "If Malfoy didn't do it, then who did?"
"I don't know who did. I only know who could have," Hermione stated firmly. "There is a difference, you know."
"Oh, out with it already!" Ron hissed.
Hermione glared at Ron for just a moment before finally speaking once more.
"The Malfoys are a very traditional, very old-fashioned wizarding family. Their name is scattered everywhere throughout the history books and—"
"I'm sorry, but what does this have to do with Malfoy poisoning Hedwig?" Harry interrupted.
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "Everything. Like I said, the Malfoys are old-fashioned. They would believe in a strict code of honor—"
Ron let out an involuntary laugh at that. "The Malfoys? Honorable? Have you gone completely mental?"
"If the two of you don't want to hear what I have to say—"
"No. Keep going," Harry said quickly.
"Many old wizarding families, particularly the wealthy ones, live by, or at least pretend to live by, some sort of code of honor."
"So you think Malfoy wouldn't have hurt Hedwig because it would have violated that code of honor?" Harry asked, still confused.
"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "Attacking a defenseless creature to get back at a wizard would be viewed as weak and cowardly."
"But Hermione, there is nothing honorable about the Malfoy family!" Ron argued. "They're a bunch of sneaky, slimy Slytherins, and everyone knows they were big supporters of You-Know-Who! They wouldn't care about Hedwig, or any other animal, either."
"I think you're missing the point," Hermione explained. "Of course they would bend the rules if they thought it was necessary to achieve their aims, but—"
"You don't think Malfoy would?" Harry asked skeptically.
"Not for something like this," Hermione answered. "I think that Malfoy would like to think that his family is honorable and noble, above other wizarding families. And if he really wanted to get back at you, Harry, I would think that he would come after you, not Hedwig."
"So you're saying that none of the rich, stuck-up Slytherins could have done it?" Ron asked, the disbelief clear in his voice.
"Oh, I didn't say that. There are many other families who don't care so much about honor, or even appearing to have honor."
"Then who do you think did it?" Harry asked, still not quite willing to believe that Hermione may be right.
"Well, we have to remember that whoever hurt Hedwig used poison. Now if a Slytherin did it, my guess is that it was a female."
"What?" Harry and Ron asked together.
Hermione let out another sigh. "Traditionally and historically speaking, women are believed to be the primary users of poison."
"But that's a load of rubbish," Ron argued. "Plenty of men have used poison."
"Yes, but remember that we're talking about old-fashioned wizarding families."
"So? A lot of them have still used poison."
"Probably as a last resort," Hermione answered. "But poisoning Hedwig was not the only option available to Malfoy, if he wanted to get revenge. I really don't think it was him. He isn't desperate enough."
"So who is it then?" Harry asked once again.
"My guess... is Pansy Parkinson," Hermione finally revealed, just as they reached the classroom door.
"Pansy Parkinson?" Harry repeated, raising his eyebrows.
"Well, you did see her in the owlery with Malfoy, Harry. And have you noticed how she's constantly fawning over him? I think she would do just about anything to get him to notice her."
"So you think she was trying to impress Malfoy by getting to me? By hurting my owl?" Harry finally put the pieces together. "That's so—"
"Twisted," Ron supplied, looking in horror at Hermione.
"Well, like I said. It's just a theory," the girl replied, dropping down into a seat in the near empty classroom. "I can't prove anything, and I could be completely wrong, so—"
Hermione abruptly stopped speaking then as she glanced over her shoulder and saw a group of Slytherins entering the room. Harry and Ron followed her gaze and then took their own seats, as well, carefully avoiding the Slytherins' eyes as they filed into the class and sat down on the other side of the room. Harry was sure that he had caught a quick glimpse of Malfoy, but he didn't dare look over in that direction to confirm it.
And then only moments later, it seemed, the classroom was full and Gilderoy Lockhart was standing in front of the class, flashing his smile, and waving a stack of test papers in the air. Harry had to suppress a groan. He had nearly forgotten about the test today.
"You will have one hour to complete this test," Lockhart explained jovially, as he began passing out the papers. "Now I know it's tempting, but don't start until everyone has their paper. You will have plenty of time to answer all of the questions, I promise you!"
Harry rolled his eyes at those words, and next to him, Ron was grimacing as if in pain. They exchanged a quick glance with each other and then made sure to keep their heads down when Lockhart came over to place their test papers in front of them.
Not that it did any good.
"Harry! I'm surprised I haven't seen you in my office yet, wanting to get your textbooks signed!"
Harry wanted to disappear. He could feel the entire class staring at him in that moment, and he found himself wishing that a hole would just open up in the floor and swallow him.
Would this man never leave him alone?
"I've been busy, sir," Harry responded tightly.
"Oh, of course. I figured as much, really. You only just got the books after all," the professor replied in that same, exalted tone. He moved away then, much to Harry's relief.
"You may begin!" Lockhart finally announced, after returning to the front of the room.
Harry flipped his paper over and read the first question:
1.What color were the robes that Gilderoy Lockhart was wearing on the day he met the Yeti? Describe the significance of such a wardrobe selection.
On one side, Harry heard Ron let out a quiet, strangled sound of despair, followed by a groan.
On his other side, Hermione was already scribbling out an answer against the parchment with her quill.
Harry closed his eyes then, and took a deep breath.
It was going to be a very long class period.
Harry felt a little flutter of nervousness in the pit of his stomach as he entered the potions classroom later that evening. Despite the fact that detention with Snape had not proven to be too terrible thus far, he just couldn't help but to think about how angry the man had been earlier. There was really no telling what he might do.
Harry looked over towards the sink, expecting to see a long line of cauldrons there, waiting to be scrubbed clean.
But there were none. The countertop was spotless and bare. And Harry was suddenly even more nervous than he had been just a moment before. Because now, he had no idea what to expect. And in his opinion, there was nothing worse than the unknown.
"No cauldrons, today, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled from the front of the classroom, following Harry's gaze. "We'll be trying something a little different. Sit down."
Harry moved over to the table that Snape had indicated, his eyes cast downward as he took his seat.
"Before we begin, Potter, I should tell you that I have arranged for the remainder of your detentions to be carried out with Mr. Filch."
Harry's head immediately shot up in alarm. Detention with Filch? That didn't sound good at all. "Sir?"
"You heard me, Potter. Do not make me repeat myself. You will report directly to Mr. Filch tomorrow evening for your next detention. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Harry answered quietly, although he was secretly terrified at the news.
Filch was well known for threatening students with beatings and other horrible punishments, like hanging kids from the dungeon ceilings by their ankles or wrists. But although no one else really seemed to take him too seriously, Harry had always been extra wary of the man. Uncle Vernon had never failed to follow through on any of his threats, after all. Why should Filch be any different?
"Good," Snape replied, before waving his wand in Harry's direction, causing the boy to flinch back in worry.
The professor rolled his eyes at the movement as quill and parchment popped into existence on the table in front of Harry, along with an inkpot at the boy's elbow.
"I trust you are aware of exactly why you are here tonight, Mr. Potter?" the potions master intoned, giving Harry little time to react to the items that had just appeared out of thin air.
"Yes, sir," Harry answered, wondering if Snape was going to make him write lines.
"And you also know, I presume, why your actions earlier today were deemed unacceptable?"
"Yes, sir," Harry repeated automatically, looking down.
"Excellent," Snape said silkily. "Then you should have no problem in writing me an essay on that very topic."
"An essay?" Harry asked, looking up at the professor with a frown.
"Yes, Potter, an essay. And I will accept no less than two feet on the subject."
"Two feet?"
"You may begin," Snape said, turning on his heel and striding back to his desk.
Harry just sighed and glared down at the parchment. A two-foot essay on why raising a wand against Malfoy was wrong? He suddenly wished that he could go back to scrubbing cauldrons. It was a tedious task, to be sure. But at least it was mindless, and it didn't require him to think so much.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked from where he was sitting at his desk, both of his eyebrows now raised.
"No, sir," Harry answered quickly, dipping his quill into the inkpot, and then setting the tip against the top of the page. He paused then, trying to decide how to begin.
He wrote out the first two lines after a minute of contemplation, but was forced to stop again when he was unsure of how to continue on after that. He knew that pointing a wand at another student could potentially be dangerous, of course. But how was he supposed to turn that into a two-foot essay? Where was Hermione when you needed her?
Thinking about Hermione just then suddenly reminded Harry about his friend's strange theory regarding the whole Hedwig incident. Personally, he thought that the girl was just overthinking the whole thing, going on about some warped sense of honor in the Malfoy family. Did she not remember what Malfoy had called her? What kind of honorable person walked around calling other people mudbloods? It didn't make sense!
Harry shook his head and tried to focus back on the task at hand. He needed to think of something else to write or he'd be there all night, with Snape glaring daggers at him and practically breathing down his neck.
The minutes ticked away, and Harry made little progress. His thoughts kept drifting back to Malfoy, and to Hedwig. He had forgotten to ask Snape for an update on his owl's condition, he suddenly remembered after a while. But surely the man would have said something if there had been any change, right? He wouldn't just—
"How far have you gotten, Potter?" Snape's voice suddenly sliced through the silence, startling Harry out of his thoughts.
Glancing down at his paper, Harry thought that he may have about six inches or so.
"About half a foot," he answered nervously, afraid of what Snape's reaction would be.
"Half a foot? What exactly have you been doing over there, Potter?" Snape asked in disbelief, getting to his feet and heading over to where Harry sat.
"I can't think of what else to say," Harry replied, keeping his eyes averted from the professor.
"And what exactly have you written about so far?" Snape questioned, stopping directly in front of Harry's table and crossing his arms.
"Well," Harry began anxiously, "Pointing a wand at people can be dangerous. Somebody could get hurt."
"Somebody could get killed," Snape corrected harshly.
"Right," Harry responded, quickly bending over his parchment to add another line to his essay.
Snape just watched him in disbelief.
"Although, I wasn't planning on doing anything really bad to Malfoy," Harry stated bravely, as he finished writing out his new sentence. "I was thinking of just using a jelly-legs curse or a bat-bogey hex. Nothing too horrible."
The potions master just stared down his long nose at Harry for several long seconds before responding.
"Be that as it may," the man eventually replied in a tight voice, "accidents can and do happen all the time, Mr. Potter. Especially with young, inexperienced wizards, such as yourself. There is no telling what kind of damage may have occurred had you and Mr. Malfoy engaged in a wand duel."
Harry was scribbling out another couple of sentences, then, and Snape just continued to watch him for a moment before running a hand tiredly down his face.
"Perhaps you should finish this essay as homework, Mr. Potter. I want you to take some time to actually think about the topic."
"Yes, sir," Harry answered, placing the quill back down on the desk, and waiting silently for further instructions.
"You may go now, Potter," Snape said dismissively, waving towards the door.
"I can?" Harry found himself asking before he could stop himself. It had been a fairly short detention, after all.
Snape rolled his eyes. "Well, I suppose I could require you to help prepare some potions ingredients for me. But then again, I think that we have both had quite enough of each other for one day, don't you, Mr. Potter?"
Harry got to his feet and rolled up his unfinished essay. "Yes, sir," he replied softly. "Good night, sir."
Snape's eyebrows once again shot up as he watched Harry turn and walk slowly towards the door. Since when did the Golden Boy tell him good night?
"Sir—" Harry began, turning back for just a brief moment.
"I will give you an update on your owl just as soon as one is available, Mr. Potter," Snape interrupted, sounding annoyed and exasperated.
"Yes, sir," Harry answered, although he didn't immediately continue on his way.
"Was there something else on your mind, Potter?" Snape snapped at him.
Harry thought about the picture in his pocket for a second, but then shook his head in the negative. He doubted Snape would want to answer any of his questions about his mother just then.
"Then I suggest you return to Gryffindor tower," Snape stated firmly. "And don't forget about your detention tomorrow."
"Yes, sir," Harry replied once again, before finally moving off towards the exit.
Everything had started out well enough the following evening as Harry stood in the trophy room, polishing some awards during his first detention with Filch. The man had simply shown him to a display case just inside the doorway, thrust a rag and some polish into his hands, and set him to the task of cleaning everything in the case. The grumbling old caretaker had then stalked off, much to Harry's relief.
Of course, the man did leave his beloved cat, Mrs. Norris, to "watch over the delinquent" until he returned.
Harry looked down at the floor as he worked on polishing a large, silver trophy in his hands, and smiled at the feline who was staring back up at him intently.
"How are you, Mrs. Norris?" he asked quietly.
The cat hissed and flicked her tail in response.
But Harry wasn't the least bit discouraged. Some of Mrs. Figg's cats were difficult to get along with, too. But he had discovered that they all came around eventually. You just needed to know how to talk to them.
"I'm sorry you got stuck with me tonight," the boy continued. "I'm sure you would much rather be hunting down mice or curling up in front of a fireplace somewhere, wouldn't you?"
The cat just continued to stare up at him with her bulging, yellow eyes.
"I know we didn't get off to a very good start last year," Harry said. "I think that was more my fault than yours, though. I was out of bed when I shouldn't have been."
Mrs. Norris let out another hiss, though Harry thought that there was a lot less feeling in it that time.
"I know, I know. But that doesn't mean that we can't still be friends, right?"
The cat's tail swished back and forth for a few seconds, and Harry turned back to his work to give the feline some time to think things over.
A minute passed. Then two. Harry finally finished polishing the silver trophy and moved on to a big plaque dedicated to the 1967 Hogwarts Gobstones Championship Team.
But it was several minutes later before he finally felt something furry rubbing up against the side of his leg, demanding his attention.
Harry looked down at the purring cat and smiled widely. "Does this mean we're friends now?" he inquired, replacing the plaque in the display case before crouching down to scratch behind Mrs. Norris' ears.
The cat purred louder and raised her head up so that Harry could scratch her neck and chin.
Harry laughed and shook his head. "Maybe later, okay? I need to get back to work now, before your master shows up and sees both of us slacking off."
Mrs. Norris suddenly turned then, and let out a strange noise that Harry thought was meant to be a warning. He stood up quickly, turning in the same direction and—
"BOO!"
Harry stumbled backwards as the cackling laughter of the school poltergeist suddenly filled his ears. And a second later, there was a sickening feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach as he felt the display case behind him suddenly begin to topple forward.
He dove to the side, only just managing to get out of the way before the entire case crashed against the floor.
The sound was deafening. Harry cringed and covered his ears, frozen in shock as Peeves zoomed around and around in circles, laughing and pointing both at Harry, and at the mess of shattered glass, splintered wood, and dinged-up trophies on the ground.
"Ooohhh, Potty wee Potter is in trouble now!" he taunted.
Harry was in too much shock to even respond.
Moments later then, pounding footsteps could be heard out in the corridor, and soon Filch was flying into the room, skidding to a halt in front of the ruined display case.
Harry wanted to run. He wanted to escape the trophy room and just run. Because there was no doubt in his mind that Filch was going to murder him now. He could see it in the man's eyes as he finally began stalking towards him, carefully avoiding the debris as he walked.
"You'll get the cane for this one, Potter. Oh, you mark my words. You'll get the cane!" Filch roared.
Harry flinched, his arms flying up in defense as he attempted to back away from the man.
But there was nowhere to go. Harry backed right into the wall, and Filch was still coming for him, reaching out, grabbing for his shoulder.
Harry let out a whimper then, and squeezed his eyes shut.
And then another voice reached his ears, and Harry's eyes flew open again.
"What is going on here?" the voice demanded, echoing off the walls.
Harry let out a small breath of relief, then, and lowered his arms from his face.
For there, standing in the entryway was none other than Severus Snape.
And Harry had never been so happy to see the man in his entire life.
A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! Please feel free to let me know what you think :)
-Ailee17