Once again, Harry found himself in a memory of the Slytherin common room with Edgar Farley and Emma Weasley. They've just witnessed Alexander, eyes downcast, go in the direction of the dorms.
"He seemed... hesitant," Emma commented.
"His whole posture was strange. I can't put my finger on it, but something is off."
Before Edgar could elaborate, memory-Alexander appeared from the dorms again, trunk in his hand. His head was once again hanging low, hair falling over the forehead and half-obscuring his face.
Edgar rushed to him and stopped suddenly. "He is shorter than me! Why is he shorter than me?"
"Yeah, I don't think you've had a growth spurt this month, and Alex was a good two inches taller than you," Emma agreed.
Other students in an overcrowded common room started to notice Alexander.
"Where are you going with your trunk, Rowle?"
"Holidays are not in another two weeks; did you celebrate our Quidditch victory a little too much yesterday?"
A burly Slytherin bumped into him, and Alexander lifted his head for a moment.
Edgar gasped. Harry looked at him questioningly.
"It's Alex, but at the same time… He looks different. Like his near-identical twin or something."
"Yes, I can see it too now," Emma agreed. "All the bits are right, but when put together—"
Not-quite-Alexander was at the entrance already, paying no mind to the questions and comments of the students around him.
Harry waved his hand, and the scene froze. Coming over to the boy as well, he studied him closely. He did seem different from the boy Harry had seen in that first memory somehow, although if Edgar hadn't pointed that out, he would have never picked up on that.
"Is it a glamour?" Emma asked. "I've seen some girls overdo it, and their faces just look weird."
"I've seen Alex put a glamour on a bruise once. He certainly did not look like this," Edgar chimed in. "But then why is he's shorter? Or do you mean it's somebody else in disguise? It makes sense!" He exclaimed in agitation.
"No, it doesn't." Harry shook his head. "Even putting general extensive glamour is easily detectable. Have you seen any new pictures of Celestina Warbeck lately? She has that slightly plasticky look on her skin no matter what, even with the best experts working for her." He had caught one of those experts this summer. The guy decided to vanish with a large sum of Celestina's galleons and start a new career of a rich layabout on Ibiza. "Using Glamour Charms to emulate somebody else's features would be glaringly obvious this close. That is why people use Polyjuice Potion, even if it's restricted and quite difficult to brew. But with Polyjuice, the impostor would look exactly like Alexander, down to every minor detail."
"Maybe the potion was brewed badly?" Edgar suggested.
Harry thought about it. Hermione once turned into a part cat, but it was not because the potion itself was faulty. With his own earlier, imperfect attempts to brew Polyjuice, it just worked for a shorter period than an hour.
"I don't know if it can have that effect," he said truthfully. "I need to consult somebody with better knowledge of Potions."
"You seemed friendly with Professor Snape today," Emma said with a snicker.
Harry glared at her, waving his hand for the memory to resume. They watched as the exit closed after memory-Alexander before finding themselves back in the Divination classroom. The mood sobered again.
"I was right that Alex wouldn't just leave," said Edgar grimly. "But this is something else entirely! We must catch Talbott and make him come clean!"
"You mustn't do anything, do you hear me?" Harry warned. "We don't know for sure if Mr. Talbott has anything to do with this, and even if he does—" Harry raised his hand, forestalling Edgar's protests. "Even if he does, he couldn't have done this alone. We don't want to spook whoever is responsible. And I certainly want to keep it out of the staffroom for now."
"Makes sense," Edgar grumbled.
"Have a little patience. We'll get to the bottom of this," Harry said. "Now. Have you figured out your Shield Charms?"
The next hour was spent coaching Edgar and Emma through first verbal and then non-verbal Protego. One of them had to fire various spells and try not to repeat themselves much, and the other had to deflect them with the shield.
"Emma, adjust your grip and don't overpower your Expelliarmus. You might think that you don't need to relearn the basics at this point, but believe me, it will do you good in the future. Now try disarming non-verbally as well.
"Edgar, don't just stand there stock-still, move and dodge. Just because we are only learning Protego, is no reason to pick up bad duelling habits along the way.
"It's a nice fancy hex, but the incantation has FOUR words in it! Your opponent won't wait for you to finish casting it as patiently as Edgar here! Oh, Richardson taught you that… Well, keep it in mind on the off-chance it pops up in the exam, I'd say.
"Come here so I can remove those donkey ears. Let it be the lesson for you to remain alert all the time. As one great Auror used to say, CONSTANT VIGILANCE! You should at least be able to notice your own spell reflected straight back at you!
"Well done, guys. You've mastered non-verbal Protego."
Teaching Defence was fun, Harry thought, restoring the tables to the middle of the classroom. If only he could teach that instead of bloody Divination.
Still, Harry pondered with a little bit more cheer while walking down to the dungeons the next day, at least as a Divination Professor, he had way more free time than any DADA teacher could ever hope for.
Snape opened the door to his office in a very grumpy mood.
"Can't you see my office hours written in big letters for the dunderheads like you? Whatever it is, it'd better be good!" he ranted. "Oh, it's you, Paul. You know there's an internal floo system in the castle, right?"
"I didn't want to presume."
"And yet you still pounded at my door for five minutes straight. I was in the middle of brewing. The charm alerting me to that is very distracting, I'll have you know."
"I'm sorry," Harry said sheepishly. "But hey! If you were in your lab, I wouldn't've been able to reach you by your office floo anyway!"
Snape shrugged, unrepentant. He led Harry through his office, which still had far too many nasty things floating in the jars for Harry's taste, to his private quarters hidden behind the bookshelf.
Harry looked around curiously. The living room was not much bigger than his own, but far more lived-in. The enchanted window showed the frozen Great Lake, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. The leather of the sofa and the armchair was well-worn, and there was an old record player on the coffee table.
Snape waved his wand, lighting the fireplace.
"To what do I owe the honour?"
"You promised to show me your torture chamber?" Harry said before he could hold his tongue.
"Did I?" Snape inclined his head as if seriously contemplating it.
"Erm—" Harry suddenly decided that this would be the best moment to get down to business. He told Snape about the memory he saw in Pensieve yesterday. "Can Polyjuice do that?" he asked finally.
Snape pondered over the question. "I suppose if you add too little boomslang skin or if it's past its prime… But that would usually result in the hair or certain body parts remaining unchanged."
Harry remembered Teddy and his mother's talent. "Are there any Metamorphmagi in the school right now?"
"Not that I know of. This ability is extremely rare."
"Then Polyjuice remains our best option," he said, thinking aloud. "Has anyone raided your private supplies this year?"
"A couple of times. But not the ingredients for Polyjuice," Snape said
Harry gaped at his unconcerned voice.
"There are always some students too embarrassed to go to the school Mediwitch or to me directly with their... problems," he elaborated. "Obviously, I could ward the stores in my office so that no student so much as sniffs at it. Those imbeciles then would resort to brewing with poor-quality ingredients they got who knows where or just suffer silently. And the consequences of that would be much harder to treat. All the truly dangerous ingredients are in my private lab anyway."
"That's… nice of you," Harry said in a slightly stupefied tone. He never before thought about the reason why Snape's stores were so easy to access even for the second-years, however precocious, but this explanation made sense.
Snape sneered. "There's nothing nice about me. It's a school full of brainless children who invent new ways to get into trouble each and every year. I want to spend as little of my precious time as possible dealing with them. Because who do you think will have to brew complicated cures otherwise?"
"Whatever you say, Severus." Harry smiled.
They were interrupted by a voice coming from Snape's office. "Severus? Can you come to the floo, please?"
Excusing himself, Snape went to his office. He left the door slightly ajar, so Harry didn't feel too bad for listening in.
Apparently, Professor Doge needed some Gillyweed.
"I'm conducting some experiments with Transfiguration underwater, and I've run out of this stuff at the crucial moment. You are a lifesaver, Severus!"
"Priscilla."
That reminded Harry that he needed to visit Neville. Still, he stayed in Snape's quarters for another hour, until some fifth-year Slytherins called him to break up a fight. One of the students kept trying to describe the situation in limericks, and another belched up coloured bubbles.
All in all, Harry left in good spirits and he even caught himself humming a tune as he was crossing the Great Hall. He didn't, however, want to examine his mood too closely, especially when it was bound to be soured quite soon.
Unlike the outside world, cold and painted mostly in the shades of grey, the greenhouses were bustling with warmth and colour. Some curious vines were following Harry as he made his way past giant crimson Fanged Geraniums, purple Bouncing Bulbs, and a bed of blue roses that giggled melodically as he went by. There was a row of empty pots just like the ones they once used to replant the Mandrakes. These and many more plants whose names he couldn't remember were lovingly arranged in perfect chaos. Harry had visited Neville's own greenhouse at his Grandmother's all those years ago and thought it was rather impressive, but here Neville truly shined.
Lifting his hand to knock on the door of the office that used to be Sprout's, he heard shouting on the other side.
"I'm asking you for the last time, Neville. Talk to your Grandmother!" The female voice was frustrated and angry. "I've quite resigned myself to having to listen to her complaints every time we visit, but her coming to the Leaky and lecturing me on the duties of a Longbottom woman right in front of my patrons—on a Saturday afternoon no less!—is simply unacceptable!"
"Hannah," the male voice started pleadingly, "you must understand, Gran—"
"No, Neville, I don't understand! I don't want to understand! Do you really think that it's even remotely understandable?!"
Harry heard Neville sigh. "She is just worried about us, that's all. She has these old-fashioned views on propriety that are pointless to try to change. And she is getting older . You know her health is not as good as it could be. She just wants to see her grandchildren before..." Neville's voice trailed off.
"She just wants to see grandchildren. She just wants to see grandchildren!" Hannah's voice rose to a shriek. Some flowers with almost translucent petals in the huge pot Harry had retreated behind recoiled and closed up. "That is why you married me, right? The entire reason you, Neville Longbottom, married me is that your harpy of a grandmother wanted you to have your little heirs with a nice girl from a respectable family, and I was too dazzled by a dashing hero courting me to see the truth staring me in the face!"
"W-what are you talking about, Hannah?" Neville stammered. "I married you because I love you!"
"Love me? I rather think I lack some crucial body parts for you to love me!"
Harry knew he needed to get out of here, but couldn't help listening in with grim fascination anyway. Giving in, he took his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket and draped it over his shoulders.
"I d-don't understand what you are implying here…"
"Oh come on, Neville. Did you think I'd be blind forever?" Harry never heard Hannah Longbottom née Abbot, bubbly Hufflepuff and the ever-cheerful owner of the Leaky Cauldron, sound so bitter. "At first, when we started dating, I thought you were a perfect gentleman, never trying so much as to put your hand up my skirt. It was so refreshing after those gits Cormac and Zacharias. I didn't think anything of it when you suggested we wait until the wedding. To think of it, I was so smitten and naïve!"
"Hannah—"
"Do. Not. Interrupt me, Neville!"
There was a whimper.
"So we got married. But things didn't get much better in the bedroom department, did they? I thought it was me, of course. But the harder I tried, the more time you spent with your precious plants. I went through every Witch Weekly's advice, you know. Sexy robes and lingerie, make-up, practically starving myself to lose those twenty pounds… All it did was make you retreat to your blasted greenhouse even faster! The blowjobs worked, I suppose. Because you could close your eyes and imagine someone else!"
"Hannah, there's never been anybody but you," Neville protested.
"Oh, I believe you. You've always been too honest and wholesome for that, at least. So there were just you and your stash of Wands and Wizards in your office."
Harry's smirk was rather gloating when Neville gasped.
"Yes, I snooped, and I'm not even sorry. It explained so much. Still, I wanted to try, I wanted to make us work. I was ready to start taking the fertility potions Augusta wanted me to. But then you took this job at Hogwarts and I realised." Hannah paused, taking a deep breath. "Nothing! Nothing I did would ever make a difference. So I went to Aunt Bathsheda, took a loan and bought the Leaky from Tom. By the way, tell your Grandmother to stop implying to everybody that I bought it with your Longbottom inheritance. I didn't take a knut of your money!"
"I told her that many times… And you are free to use it anyway!"
"I can make my own galleons now, thank you very much. Do you know what a satisfying feeling it is? To earn your own money by doing what you are good at? I guess you do, but the thing is, I didn't. I had that part-time job as a waitress in the Three B's for a bit when we were dating, of course, but then your Grandmother decided it was undignified." Hannah's voice rose higher and screechier, mocking Augusta Longbottom's pronunciation. "So I was sitting at home obsessing over why my husband is constantly hiding from me in the greenhouses and trying to please his relatives. Never again, Neville, do you hear me?"
Neville didn't say anything. Harry imagined him right now, eyes wide, opening and closing his mouth like a fish washed astrand. Or maybe he was standing there all guilty and sad, like that day when he—
"And you know what?" Hannah continued. "I'm happier right now than I've ever been before. I was so scared starting in, so sure I could never do it. Augusta certainly didn't help with her jibes, and you still seem to think it's a passing fancy I'll grow out of in a few years to start popping you children dutifully, as do Mum and Dad. Susan supported all my ideas for the pub, of course, but it's Susan. She's been unfailingly supportive ever since we were seven and Zacharias Smith ruined my birthday cake."
She paused for a moment, but there was no interruption.
"There was a moment when I was seriously going to give up and quit," she said at last. "Do you know who helped me to get through it all? Parkinson of all people!"
"Pansy Parkinson?" Neville asked in a shocked voice.
Harry was surprised as well. Pansy was quick to share gossip, but she had never told him that particular story.
"Yes, the one and only. She was at my seventh birthday party as well, you know. She said I shouldn't share my cake with all those people I don't give a fuck about and who don't give a fuck about me, the real me as a person. At best, they would eat all of my cake and leave when nothing's left. Or they would just stand around and laugh up their sleeve and gossip while someone else is ruining it."
That sounded like Pansy alright, especially a Pansy after a couple of the Inferi Revivers that Hannah served at the Leaky now.
"She told me some other interesting things as well, you know. She works with Harry Potter now. Yes, I see you remember the guy. Unsurprising, as she said you knew him rather… intimately. Broke up with him right before HIS birthday party, to start courting me, apparently."
Harry was going to murder that traitorous bitch. Slowly, and with Draco Malfoy cheering in the audience.
There was a thud and a gasp, followed by incredulous laughter.
"So it's true! I was so sure she's just taking the piss. I've seen you glance longingly at all those photos of Potter in the Prophet before, sure. But I thought you're just envious that he had the guts to be out and proud while you yourself were wanking in your greenhouse, always scared of what your Grandmother would say."
"I—" Neville started to say after a moment of heavy silence.
"Tell you what, husband dear," Hannah interrupted. "Do whatever you want. You can continue digging in your dirt, or you can go suck some cock. I don't care anymore. But you will keep your Grandmother out of my hair, and certainly out of my pub. Understood?"
"Yes, Hannah. I'll talk to her tonight, I promise."
"Good."
With that, Hannah Longbottom strode out of the office and out of the greenhouses, not once looking back. After a moment, Harry followed.