HARRY POTTER
AND THE DEATH EATER MENACE
Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.
CHAPTER 17: Feasts, Electives and Student Organizations (conclusion)
3 September 1993
Ancient Runes
Just before nine o'clock, Harry and Blaise sauntered into the Ancient Runes classroom, and each took a seat on either side of Hermione on the front row. Just in front of them was the teacher's desk, and on it was what looked to be a small painting on an easel covered by a cloth. The teacher herself had not yet arrived.
"How was Muggle Studies?" Harry asked amiably. "Was it worth getting up an hour earlier than we did?"
Hermione smiled. "Yes, actually. It was quite informative."
"Really?!" Blaise inquired dubiously. "What in Merlin's name could anyone teach you about being a Muggle?"
"Well, probably nothing," she answered. "But I learned a great deal about the whys and hows of the Statute of Secrecy that I didn't know before. Also, I found it quite instructive to see how all the Purebloods in my class reacted to finding out about the Muggle space program. I'm looking forward to when Professor Potter introduces the topic of nuclear weapons to them."
Harry snickered at that but then schooled his face into a more dignified expression as Professor Babbling entered through a door in the back of the classroom. He'd spent some time over the summer reading up on one of Hogwarts' younger instructors but had never directly interacted with her before. After his shocking realization about Quirrell and Voldemort in November of 1991, he'd briefly been alarmed when Bathsheba Babbling showed up to breakfast one morning wearing a turban of her own. He quickly relaxed upon realizing that this not a ridiculous turban-like monstrosity like the strange headgear Quirrell had worn to conceal the Dark Pimple, but rather a traditional turban worn to recognize Babbling's ethnic heritage. In short, it was at once exotic and fashionable while also small enough to reassure Harry that the woman had nothing evil growing out of the back of her head.
According to what Harry had learned since, Bathsheba Babbling (nee Mekonnen) was of Ethiopian descent but had been raised primarily in the wizarding enclave at Timbuktu in what Muggles presently called the Republic of Mali. While Muggle Timbuktu was sparsely populated and impoverished, its magical counterpart was a thriving cosmopolitan settlement about five times the size of Diagon Alley, with a population of well over 7,000 wizards, witches, and squibs living in a bustling town hidden from Muggle eyes by powerful magic.
Although most African wizards and witches attended Uagadou, those from North Africa often had ties to Europe and so frequently went to Beauxbatons for their magical education. The young Bathsheba Mekonnen was one of those who did, graduating with honors in 1981 before embarking on an Ancient Runes mastery. She also met her future husband, David Babbling (from a once-British family that had expatriated to France in the 17th century) at Beauxbatons, but they had been semi-separated since she accepted her Hogwarts position in 1989. Mr. Babbling had refused to move to England as he held an important position in the French Ministry of Magic, but the two remained happily married despite (or perhaps because of) their separation for the majority of every year. The consensus among the older Slytherin boys was that Babbling was the best-looking Hogwarts professor – Harry was mildly disturbed to hear that his mother was a close second – but unfortunately she was still not good-looking enough to get students to sign up for her rigorous Ancient Runes class unless the student had a personal reason for taking it anyway.
"Good morning, students," Babbling said brightly as she removed the fashionable but less-exotic-than-a-turban "pointy witch's hat" worn today and placed it atop a marble bust of a surly-looking Samuel Johnson. "Welcome all to Year One of Ancient Runes, which I promise you will be perhaps the most demanding class you take at Hogwarts but hopefully also the most fulfilling. At least for those of you who are able to master the material instead of being defeated by it."
As she spoke, the woman moved to the front of her desk and leaned against it. "The first thing I wish you to know is that the name of this class is a misnomer. While our topic of choice will be 'Ancient Runes' for several years to come, I prefer to think of this class as more of an 'Introduction to Magical Linguistics.' The magic that you all use for spellwork – wands waved in intricate patters while incantations are spoken aloud – only function as they do because of the runic arrays which undergird every single Charm. Because of the meaning that you instill in wand-waving in ways you yourself thus far do not even understand."
With that, she turned around and removed the sheet that was covering the object on her desk. It was revealed as a Muggle painting depicting a wooden smoking pipe of the kind a tobacco enthusiast would have described as "bent billiard" set against a pale tan background. Beneath the pipe was a quotation in French: "Ceci n'est pas une pipe." Babbling turned back to her class.
"So, who here speaks French?" she inquired. After a few seconds of non-response, she focused her attention on Blaise. "Mr. Zabini? You spend time in France, oui?"
"Oui, I mean, yes, Professor," said Blaise who seemed a bit flustered at being called on first. "The quotation translates as 'This is not a pipe.' Although I'm not sure I understand since, well, it obviously is a pipe."
"Is it indeed, Mr. Zabini?" she asked with some amusement. "Class, does everyone agree that this is a pipe?"
No one spoke up, and several students looked back and forth in mild confusion. Finally, when it was clear that no one else was going to respond, Hermione somewhat reluctantly raised her hand.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"It's not a pipe," she said. "You can't actually put tobacco in it, light it, and smoke it. It's just a representation of a pipe. The artist's point is that the representation of a thing is not the same as the thing itself."
"Well said, Miss Granger! Five points to Gryffindor."
From a row or two back, Harry thought he heard someone mutter "know-it-all" but he couldn't identify the voice and did not wish to turn around while right in front of the teacher. Harry wasn't sure if Hermione had heard the slur, but judging by her slight frown, he suspected that was the case.
"This," Babbling continued, "is a reproduction of a work called The Treachery of Images by a Belgian Muggle artist called Rene Magritte. The original presently sits in an American museum. And what Miss Granger eloquently stated – a representation of a thing is not the same as the thing itself – is quite true ... for Muggles. Consider the Summoning Charm. It is a simple spell normally not taught before the Fifth Year but only because of the difficulties of teaching young children how to properly visualize the spell's target and also the potential safety hazards of teaching young students to summon objects from all over the place before they are old enough to appreciate the dangers of ignoring one's surroundings. The incantation is Accio, which translates from the Latin roughly as 'I summon' and the wand movement is quite simple." She paused to draw a diagram of the wand movement into the air. "And yet, if a Muggle stood before us now, pointed even the finest crafted wand from Ollivander's selection, and called out Accio Hat for hours, he could never achieve what I can with even the sloppiest wandwork and a casually muttered "ACCIO HAT."
True to her words, she cast the spell with deliberate sloppiness and was still able to summon her hat from atop Johnson's head. With an equally sloppy wave of her wand, the hat returned to its perch.
"That, students, is what makes the difference between a wizard or witch and a Muggle. The true heart of all our magic derives from one singular ability: We can forge a connection between our ideas and the physical things those ideas represent. I have told you that the word accio is simply Latin for I summon. The Summoning Charm is one of the oldest Charms still in wide use today, and it dates back to the Roman Republic. But the creators of the spell relied upon more than Latin."
With that, she turned and began writing fiery symbols into the air in front of the class, four in all. "These symbols," she said when finished "are Akkadian cuneiform, a language dating back thousands of years before Rome. And these specific symbols written in this order represent the information matrix that... well, to greatly simplify things,'explains' to the world why a Summoning Charm should work. And now, watch what happens with, shall we say, a change in perspective."
With that, she slashed her wand in the direction of the cuneiform symbols, and they moved around in the air until they were all in a straight line, with some runes rotating or flipping themselves as they moved. Once they were in place, the four runes that comprised the Summoning Charm were laid on top of each other. And to Harry's surprise, the image produced by the superimposed runes looked remarkably like the wand movements that accompanied the Accio Charm.
"You see it now, students? The wand movements that accompany this Charm were designed to invoke the ancient Akkadian runes that symbolized the spell to be cast, but in a simplified format. And so it is with all Charms designed to be cast with wands. The wand movements transmit the meaning, the symbology, that underlies the intended effect, a symbology further reinforced by the use of words from a completely different language spoken aloud. With Accio, it is a direct translation of the Latin but the word which follows Accio is always uttered in the speaker's native tongue. Other spells use words from other languages or even neologisms – made-up words that invoke the concepts to be made manifest. For example, there is no language in which the words wingardium leviosa convey any true meaning or even make coherent sense. The world wing is English and invokes the idea of flight, while arduus and levis are Latin and suggest proudly elevated and light of weight, respectively. The suffix -ium is of Latin origin but in this instance conveys no meaning at all except to imply an object to which a verb action has been applied. In fact, the real reason the suffixes -osa and -ium were added was for arithmantic purposes, specifically to ensure that both words each had four syllables since the number four is conducive to motion-based spells."
Professor Babbling paused to take in her audience. On the front row, Potter, Zabini, Granger, Goldstein, and Li all seemed to follow her meaning so far (and in fact, Granger almost seemed slightly bored by the lecture). Further back, Greengrass and Davis followed, if a bit more hesitantly. Otherwise, it was a sea of blank stares. Babbling fought back a sigh. After all, she had years to make them understand one of the most arcane points of magical study.
"Among all magical cultures, everywhere in the world, there are four great principles that predominate the theory of magic: Arithmancy, Sympathy, Contagion, and Symbology. Arithmancy, about which Professor Vector will have much more to say, is the idea that numbers have inherent magical significance. Sympathy is the idea that two things which seem similar should be able to affect on another. Contagion is the idea that two things once connected should be able to affect one another still. Symbology is the idea that a symbol that represents something should be able to affect the thing symbolized. While all four are valid ways of approaching magic, for you students who were born and raised here in Wizarding Britain, arithmancy and symbology are most important, for it is only among cultures who rely on wands that we find the ability to easily draw our symbols and numbers in the air. Even among the most skilled practitioners of the Far East, it is no easy thing to use a staff or sword to draw symbols in the air in a manner that conveys meaning well enough to work magic."
"For some of you, even your very names invoke symbology although likely in ways you do not understand. Although the practice is dying out, it has been the custom in many old wizarding families to consult with nomenographers – a type of seer who specializes in the symbology of names – prior to the birth of children to ensure that the name eventually chosen for each newborn child is symbolically important enough to help that child maximize his or her wizarding potential. In the earliest days of Wizarding Britain, many of the old Roman families who founded our society used numenography to select new surnames for themselves when they formally broke ties with Mother Rome."
She glanced over at Harry. "Potter. A surname associated with creative shaping, appropriate for a family that has produced many skilled at Transfiguration."
Then, she looked farther back. "Greengrass. A surname associated with health, vitality, and life. Combined with Daphne, a Greek nymph with beauty enough to entrance the gods." Daphne blushed slightly at the description.
"Nomenography is a nearly extinct branch of divination, mainly because it is considered ... unfashionable to actively try to shape the destiny of one's own children. That said, my given name is Bathsheba, and I do not think it a coincidence that I eventually married a powerful political figure named David."
She smirked at that bon mot though Anthony Goldstein was the only one to register amusement at her remark, the other students being either more poised or simply unfamiliar with the Old Testament.
"We will begin our studies with Elder Futhark because in many ways it is the most simplistic and direct of all magical languages before we move on to increasingly sophisticated and subtle languages in future years. But do not think that because I describe Elder Futhark as simple and direct, it is something to be underestimated. The primary runes of Elder Futhark hold immense power precisely because they invoke simple, primal concepts largely devoid of nuance."
She turned again and with a flick of her wand, painted a flaming sigil in the air that resembled an S but with its curves straightened into jagged lines. "Mr. Goldstein, what is this and what is it's symbolic meaning?"
Anthony swallowed at being called on first, but he was a Ravenclaw and so, of course, was prepared. "It is the rune called Eiwaz, and it means 'yew,' referring in the tree," he said.
"Correct, although in the context of magical runes, its meaning extends to any wooden object. Three points to Ravenclaw." Babbling added another fiery rune next to the Eiwaz, one that resembled a jagged incomplete R. "And this one, Miss Granger?"
"Raido," Hermione said without hesitation. "In traditional Elder Futhark, it means 'ride' or 'journey.' It is commonly used in connection with transportation spells such as portkeys."
"Well stated," Babbling said with a smile. "Another five points to Gryffindor. And this one, Miss Greengrass?" A third rune was added that resembled like a capital M.
A few rows back, Daphne squirmed for a moment. "Um, Mannaz?" she said timidly.
"Good guess, but no," the professor replied. "This is Ehwaz, which means 'horse.'" Next, she added a rune with one that resembled a jagged lightning bolt. "And finally, this one, Mr. ... Potter?" As she turned back around to look at Harry, she stumbled on his name and stared at him with a strange expression. Harry noticed but chose to ignore it.
"I believe that one is Sowilo, which represents the Sun," he said. "When used in magic, it simply implies raw magical power and is frequently used as a power source for permanently enchanted objects."
Babbling continued to stare at his face for a moment before shaking her head as if to clear it. "Well done as well, Mr. Potter. Five points to Slytherin." She addressed the whole class. "Sowilo is a special rune. Magically speaking, it simply invokes raw, unrefined power. Thus, it is incorporated into most runic arrays that enchant objects expected to do, well, anything of a physical nature. It is so powerful, in fact, that it is only rarely incorporated into wanded spellcasting. While there are a number of powerful spells that can be cast with staffs which make use of Sowilo, most attempts to incorporate it into wand-based spells simply cause the wand itself to backfire or even shatter. In point of fact, there is exactly one wand-based spell which makes use of Sowilo – and only Sowilo – in its wand moments: The Killing Curse."
She paused as a wave of nervousness passed over the class at the mention of the Killing Curse before resuming her lecture.
"With these four runes – Eiwaz, Raido, Ehwaz, and Sowilo – we have symbolic expressions of the concepts of wood, journey, horse and power. Or to put that another way, a wooden object ridden like a steed on long journeys and powered by magic. So it should not surprise you to learn that the earliest and simplest flying broomsticks were simply common household brooms onto which these four runes were carved. Such simple enchantments could be worked by any witch or wizard with even basic training in runic magic, though they were grossly inferior to the modern custom-built brooms produced today by professional broomstick manufacturing firms which often incorporate dozens of runic arrays into their creations to allow for features such as Cushioning Charms and the like. The reason brooms are our preferred mode of flying travel is precisely because the only thing that could make use of this particular and easy-to-inscribe runic sequence would be a wooden object that could be ridden astride like a horse."
With a flick of her wand, she dismissed the four runes. "There are thirty-six Elder Futhark runes, of which twelve have been hidden from the knowledge of Muggles because they involve strictly magical concepts and so were proscribed by the Statute of Secrecy. Throughout this term, we will focus on one per class session, reviewing all the primary and sub-textual meanings associated with each rune. Then, we will begin learning how the interact with one another before constructing simple and later more complex runic arrays."
From there, Professor Babbling outlined the course objectives for the remainder of the school year and for each subsequent year of Ancient Runes through NEWTs. She also informed the class that over the Christmas Break, each of them would be responsible for personally enchanting a non-magical broom to fly ... and would be graded on how well it did fly. The end of year project would see the class broken up into teams who would jointly devise a runic array of no less than seven runes (seven being the most arithmantically stable number) that would be used to enchant a mundane object to have a magical effect. By the time class ended, a few students were already contemplating dropping the class.
Blaise Zabini was the last to leave. Before he did, he turned back to the teacher and started to speak. Before he could, however, the woman simply shook her head no, and then gently placed her hands just below her neck, atop where a black and silver amulet rested beneath her blouse. Blaise closed his mouth, nodded, and placed his own hand atop the identical amulet that was hidden under his shirt in brief communion. Then, he turned and left to catch up with his friends.
Potions
Harry's first potions class of the year (double potions with Gryffindor) passed without incident ... although he assumed that the "incident" would happen afterwards. Today was the day that Jim Potter was going to apologize to Professor Snape for his long ago and ill-fated decision to insult the man and call him "Snivellus" on his very first day of First Year Potions. Harry briefly made eye contact with Jim and mouthed "good luck" but then quickly exited. He didn't know if the imminent exchange would somehow bridge the gap between Jim and Professor Snape or make their hostility worse than ever, but either way, he expected it to be profoundly uncomfortable for anyone watching.
Nervously, Jim made his way forward to the front of the room where Snape sat behind a desk with his head down while writing notes in preparation for his next class. After several interminable seconds, Jim coughed as respectfully as he could.
"Class is dismissed, Other Potter," Snape said icily without raising his head.
"I know that ... sir. I just ... well, I was hoping I could speak to you for a moment between classes."
The quill pen paused, and Snape slowly raised his head to glare at the boy. "Regarding what, Other Potter," he said with a sneer.
Jim suppressed the flash of anger he felt at Snape's intentionally insulting phrase "Other Potter," which was how he differentiated between Jim and his twin – Sensible Potter. He took a deep breath. "I wanted to offer you an apology, Professor Snape."
The sneer did not disappear, but Jim could tell that Snape was at least mildly surprised. "An apology? And what, dare I ask, are you apologizing for this time?"
"Well, it's nothing new I've done, but ... it occurred to me that ... that I never apologized to you for insulting you on our first day of class together back when I was a First Year. When I called you ... that name. It was wrong of me and completely disrespectful and ... well, I just wanted to tell you face-to-face that I'm sorry for what I said."
Snape lifted his chin haughtily. "Your apology is rather tardy, Other Potter. About two years or so, I should say. What brought this on?" His eyes narrowed. "Did your brother put you up to this? Or your mother?"
"No," Jim said quickly. "Well, no about my mum, anyway. Harry sort of indirectly put me up to it. You see, last year, when I was in the Chamber of Secrets dying from basilisk poison..." At that, Snape's eyes did widen in surprise. "I apologized to Harry for the way I'd treated him and asked him to apologize to you on my behalf. But then ... well, I didn't die like I thought I would, and Harry told me I'd have to apologize myself. So ... here I am, I guess."
As the boy spoke, he became increasingly embarrassed at his rambling. Snape said nothing for several seconds. Then, in a swift motion, he cast spells to bar the door and to set up a privacy ward.
"We will speak of these things today, Potter, and then, we will not speak of them again. Let me begin by making one thing perfectly clear. I despise your father, and he despises me. James Potter and his band of hoodlums made my school years utterly miserable, and if he or any of them were standing there in your place offering an apology, I would never accept it under any circumstances. And you, young man, have spent most of your first two years at Hogwarts acting just as arrogantly and foolishly as your father did before you. Frankly, you epitomize everything I detest about James Potter and Gryffindor House."
The boy looked stricken at Snape's words and bowed his head in embarrassment. Snape sighed.
"Except ... except ..." Snape paused as if struggling to find the words. "You have your mother's eyes."
Jim's head jerk up in surprise as the older man continued.
"And I suppose it is possible, just barely possible, that you might also possess some fragment of her intellect and her sensibility and her capacity for decency buried deep, deep, beneath that appalling crust that looks like James Potter reborn. If you genuinely wish to show contrition for your insults to me, then do so by cultivating those traits. You will cease looking constantly for reasons to attack the Slytherin students and will refrain from referring to all of them as slimy. You will resist the insipid Gryffindor impulse to hurl yourself into danger at every opportunity. And for Merlin's sake, you will put some effort into my class! Your mother, had she not married and sired children at an absurdly young age, would likely have completed a Potions mastery around the same time as I did and might well be sitting in this chair instead of me. It is inconceivable that her son, after two years of Potions, has not yet figured out how to properly chop ... anything!"
Jim blushed slightly at that last remark as Snape leaned back in his chair.
"Do that, Other Potter, and I might accept your apology. In fact, I might even call you something besides Other Potter."
"Yes sir!" Jim said excitedly. Snape growled softly and waved his hand in dismissal as he returned to his notes. The boy quickly left, but as the door closed behind him, Snape looked up, his brow furrowed as he remembered another conversation from nearly two years before.
"It has been twenty years since you and I were sorted into different houses," he'd said to Lily. "And at long last, I can finally and truthfully say ... I'm over you."
Snape's mouth crinkled into a rueful expression as he contemplated just how "over" Lily he really was. Then, he shook his head and returned to his work.
Defense Against the Dark Arts
Heading into the first DADA class of the year, the general feelings of the Third Year students were mixed. Gilderoy Lockhart may have turned out to be a deranged petrifying lunatic, but up until that point, he had been one of the best DADA instructors in recent memory. It didn't hurt that, according to most of the female student body, he was the best-looking male faculty member since ... ever. His successor, Rufus Scrimgeour, on the other hand, was a distinguished former auror, but his teaching skills were unknown, and the consensus descriptor of his appearance was not so much "dreamy" as "terrifying."
"Good afternoon, students," he began in a gruff voice. "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, etcetera etcetara. I am Professor Rufus Scrimgeour, late of the Auror Department. And if you want to know any more about my personal history, ask around because I'm not inclined to waste my time on biographical frippery. Now, in accordance with the Ministry and ICW guidelines on defensive magic instruction, your Third Year is supposed to focus on recognizing and defending against Class XXX and XXXX creatures, with a brief overview of Class XXXXX creatures at the end of the Spring term. While I will be following that general outline, recent events have led me to conclude that two potential magical dangers normally reserved for higher-level classes deserve special and immediate consideration and so will be added to your curriculum. Accordingly, open your textbooks and turn to page 394."
Dutifully, the class did as instructed, and on page 394, across from the table outlining helpful ways to identify a werewolf, was a moving picture of a Dementor. A chill settled over the classroom, and both Harry and Jim swallowed as they remembered their own face-to-face confrontation with one of the creatures.
"As you are all aware unless you are hopelessly unobservant," Scrimgeour continued, "Hogwarts is currently playing host to about a hundred of these creatures. Ostensibly, they are to remain congregated in the airspace above the Forbidden Forest, far enough away from the school to ensure that their supernatural properties do not affect the student body in general and so that no students will be at risk for their more direct powers. Still, accidents happen, as they say, and so all students will receive instruction on defending against Dementors. With that in mind, your first homework assignment will be a report – no less than 18 inches, no more than 26 – on the known characteristics and biology of the Dementor followed by at least three practical strategies for evading or defending against one. I'll give you a few pointers for free, but don't expect full marks if you just regurgitate what I'm about to say."
"Item One. While the Dementors are here, a chocolate bar will be provided at every meal for each student. For wizards and witches, chocolate serves as an emotional stimulant that instills positive emotions to counteract the aura produced by Dementors which typically causes feelings of depression and a fixation on bad memories. Please eat chocolate in moderation and, of course, always brush your teeth after every meal."
"Item Two. Training will be offered outside of class in how to perform the Patronus Charm. To be honest, I'd always thought it impossible for anyone below the NEWTs level to produce a Patronus, but my predecessor apparently proved me wrong. Mr. Longbottom, I am informed that you are the youngest person on record as having produced a corporeal Patronus. Would you be so good as to demonstrate for the class?"
Neville blushed slightly before standing up and pointing is wand at an open area to the left of the teacher's desk. "EXPECTO PATRONUM." There was a familiar flash of silvery light, and then Elby was there in all his ursine glory. The students who had not seen the bear Patronus before were all suitably amazed (and one or two who were nearest its manifestation were also startled and frightened).
"Well done, Mr. Longbottom," said the professor. "Most impressive. Five points to Gryffindor. However, class, you will be pleased to note that as impressive as this manifestation is, a true corporeal Patronus is not necessary to repel a Dementor. The most basic manifestation of the Charm, a silvery haze sometimes referred to as a mist Patronus, will generally ward off one or two, through the corporeal Patronus is required to fend of more than that or to repel even a single Dementor that is, for some reason, particularly aggressive."
At that, Harry crooked an eyebrow, though he did not raise his hand to inquire further. Back on the train, he'd faced off against a Dementor which indeed particularly aggressive and was hardly slowed down at all by his mist Patronus, even though he'd cast it more than once.
"We will begin offering classes this coming Sunday afternoon and every Sunday thereafter for the benefit of students who wish to attempt to learn the Patronus Charm. These classes are optional for Fourth Years and below but are mandatory for Fifth Years and up."
Then, Scrimgeour paused dramatically. "And with that out of the way, let us turn to the second magical danger I wish to discuss that are not normally a part of the Third Year curriculum: dark wizards. And more specifically, Death Eaters."
Most of the class shifted uneasily at the mention of Death Eaters. Everyone knew that five of Voldemort's inner circle had escaped Azkaban, but was Professor Scrimgeour really planning on teaching Third Years to fight dark wizards?
"Normally, the material I am about to discuss would be more appropriate for History of Magic, but since it does not consist of tedious trivia about goblin uprisings from the 15th century, I doubt Professor Binns will ever touch on it. So let us begin with a seemingly simple question: What is a Death Eater? Some might limit the term to those who took the Dark Mark and swore allegiance to You-Know-Who, but that number is actually quite small, no more than a few dozen at most, many of whom successfully proved before a court of law that they had been magically coerced into taking the Mark. Beyond marked Death Eaters, there were hundreds if not thousands of unmarked wizards and witches who served You-Know-Who in some capacity. Some were enthusiastic thugs and terrorists who derived sick pleasure from attacking Muggles and Muggleborn, as well as other wizards and witches who simply attracted their ire. Others ideologically agreed with Death Eater philosophy but lacked the courage of their convictions enough to take up arms in support of it, although they were happy to provide other forms of support. Still others wanted nothing to do with Death Eater philosophy but were bribed or blackmailed or brainwashed or Imperiused into serving anyway. Indeed, when You-Know-Who was destroyed on Halloween of 1981, no body was found. We only know of his destruction due to the fact that people who he had personally placed under the Imperius were instantly freed from his control, along with those that they had placed under the Imperius at his command and all those others that their victims had put under the curse as well. A cascade failure of Imperius control of a sort that only happens with the death of the original wizard who cast the curse, as its effects cannot survive post mortem."
Harry shivered at the professor's description of the Imperius Curse, even though he knew full well of its insidious potential ever since Regulus had used it on the real Gilderoy Lockhart to force him to self-administer the Tabula Rasa spell. On some level, Harry thought he was supposed to be deeply offended by Reg's use of an Unforgivable, but he had managed successfully not to think about it until Scrimgeour raised the topic just now. Meanwhile, Jim swallowed nervously. After all these years of being told that he'd been the one to destroy Voldemort, it had never occurred to him that no body had been recovered even though word of his death had seemed to spread almost instantly in its aftermath.
"We will spend part of each class this term reviewing the history of the Death Eater movement, from its origins as a counter-reaction to the Muggleborn civil rights movement in the 1950's and 60's to its embrace of anti-Muggle terrorism in the 1970's on to its eventual collapse after the destruction of You-Know-Who in 1981. To facilitate discussion, each student will be assigned a research topic on some facet of the Death Eater movement, whether pertaining to its history, some of its more infamous crimes, or some of its most influential members. These reports will be turned in to me before you leave for Christmas Break and will later be presented orally to the class at some point in the Spring Term. If anyone has any particular interests, please see me outside of class, and if I judge it relevant and broad enough, I may permit you to pursue it as a special project. Otherwise, all project topics will be assigned by me."
"And now that the interesting portion of today's class is complete, we shall proceed to the far less engaging topic of how to drive away an attacking grindylow by violently snapping its fingers off. Kindly turn back in your textbook to page 4."
There was a rustle of pages as the class complied. Harry found it difficult to concentrate on Scrimgeour's lecture, however, and eventually, he went through an Occlumency exercise to partition in brain into two separate thought tracks, one to listen to the lecture without distraction and take proper notes and the other to ruminate on what Scrimgeour had said about the Death Eaters and the proposed research assignments. Later, after the lesson had ended, Harry waited behind to speak with the man.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" the man said amiably while shuffling some papers.
"You said, sir, that we could pick our own research topics about the Death Eaters. I, er, had one in mind, but I think I might need some help in getting the materials to write a paper on it."
"Oh? What is your proposed topic?"
"The trial of Sirius Black," Harry said without preamble.
The DADA professor turned to study Harry, and while the boy was confident that he was not being actively legilimized, he still had the uncomfortable sensation of being scrutinized by a powerful and observant intellect that had spent decades ferreting out hidden truths. It was intimidating, bordering on unnerving. After a few seconds of such consideration, Scrimgeour spoke again.
"A provocative topic indeed. And what research materials do you think you require? I seem to recall the Daily Prophet covering that trial quite thoroughly."
"Only in summary form, Professor. I thought it would be better to go back to the original source material, so I was hoping you might be able to help me obtain an actual copy of the trial transcript."
The man nodded. "And why me, exactly?"
Harry swallowed despite himself. "Well, sir, you are the former Chief Auror. I thought you might have some contacts that could make it easier to get a copy of the transcript."
"I might," he said drily. "I find it curious, however, that you would approach me about this instead of going to your father, the current Chief Auror. Might I assume that for some reason you don't want James Potter to know about your research?"
"And just like that, he cuts to it," Harry thought ruefully. "I really shouldn't plan on getting away with anything sneaky where this guy's concerned." But while obfuscation seemed out of the question, Harry thought of a misdirection that might work.
"My father chose not to testify personally in the Sirius Black case even though he was the arresting auror. He and my mother just contributed magical affidavits. He didn't even attend the trial even though Black had supposedly been his best friend for a decade or more and yet had betrayed him to You-Know-Who. From what he's told me, he never even inquired as to why Sirius Black betrayed him. I thought that was ... odd."
Scrimgeour studied the boy for several seconds more before responding. "Yes. Decidedly so. Very well, Mr. Potter. Consider me ... intrigued. I'll make arrangements for you to get a certified copy of the Black trial transcript."
"Thank you sir," Harry said before turning to leave the room. Halfway to the door, though, Scrimgeour spoke again.
"I do hope the results of your research are fruitful, Mr. Potter and justify whatever effort I expend on your behalf."
"Translation: I'm gonna owe him for this," Harry thought to himself while keeping his face a mask of serenity. "I certainly hope so as well, Professor Scrimgeour. I'll be very grateful for any assistance you can give me."
Scrimgeour nodded and returned to his class notes as the next batch of students began filtering in. First Years, it looked like. Harry mad his way outside, and once in the hall, he exhaled deeply. He wasn't actually sure whether his research would bear any fruit at all, but a chance to read the elusive Black transcript couldn't be ignored. He headed off to his next class.
Introductory Meeting for an Unnamed Club
Harry's final class of the day was Arithmancy which passed uneventfully. It was taught by a strict but seemingly fair teacher named Septima Vector who warned of massive amounts of homework. The focus of the class was on the magical significance of numbers. For example, while the words incorporated into a spell were selected according to their symbolic significance (as Professor Babbling had discussed), the principles of Arithmancy determined things like how many syllables an incantation would need to best achieve the Charm's intended purpose. The class promised to be both rigorous and, unfortunately, rather boring, at least in Harry's initial estimation. For starters, the syllabus indicated that the first two months of Arithmancy classes would be devoted exclusively to the occult significance of the number seven. Harry noted that Vector's first name – Septima – was actually derived from the Latin word for seven, and he considered asking her if her parents had consulted a nomenographer before deciding it would be rude.
Dinner came after Arithmancy, followed by the organizational meeting for Hermione's as-yet-unnamed club. Third Years in attendance included Harry, Blaise, and Theo from Slytherin House; Hermione, Luna, Jim, and Ron from Gryffindor; Anthony and Sue Li from Ravenclaw; and Susan Bones, Justin, and Kevin Entwhistle from Hufflepuff. There was a smattering of students from other years (Penelope Clearwater and Colin Creevey, among a few others), but mainly it was kids from Hermione's peer group. Conspicuous by their absences (given their well-known friendship with both Harry and Hermione) were Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, and Amy Wilkes. In fact, out of nearly twenty students in attendance, Luna, Ron, and Susan were the only Purebloods, though several Half-bloods like Jim had been raised almost entirely in wizarding society.
Hermione had chosen the History of Magic classroom for the group's first meeting. Everyone else took a seat facing the teacher's desk while Hermione repositioned a chair in front of it to face the club. Harry smiled. Apparently the thought of simply sitting behind the desk in Binn's official "teacher's chair" was unthinkable for her. As the group settled in, he noticed the girl looking in his direction. He, Blaise, Theo, Jim, and Ron were all grouped together, and for a few seconds, Hermione seemed to study them all with an odd expression. Then, she blinked her eyes repeatedly and shook her head. Taking a deep breath, the obviously nervous girl began.
"Thank you all for coming. I've talked to most of you briefly about this, but just so we all understand what this group is about ... Over the course of the last few months, we've all had to face some disturbing truths. Let me start by saying ... I love magic. I am proud to be a witch and to be a member of a magical society. However, to be honest, I also find that I am uncomfortable with some aspects of wizarding culture. And in particular, I am very uncomfortable with the idea that under some circumstances the government of our magical society can pass laws that will essentially inflict mind control on citizens and even on children. But what I find most troubling about this is that ... no one seems to care. And worse, a lot of our fellow students seem to think that because some of us were raised in Muggle society, we simply 'don't understand' why things like this Ultimate Sanction are acceptable, and so we should just be quiet and accept how things are." She paused to catch her breath. "Well, I'm sorry, but I just can't accept that someone I consider a friend is going to be treated horribly because of a spell that everyone just happily accepts as part of magical society. I guess that's just the 'big mouth know-it-all' in me, but that's the way I feel."
Theo grimaced slightly at being made the center of attention. Even though Hermione never mentioned his name specifically, everyone at the school knew his situation, and while he was grateful for support, he had no interest in being either an object of pity or a mascot for some Muggleborn rights group.
Further back, Sue Li spoke up. "I agree with all that in principle, Granger, but ... what do you want us to do about it? I mean, as far as I know, none of us can do anything to counteract the Ultimate Sanction's effects. It would take the whole Wizengamot to overturn the magical law that makes it work. So what really is the point of this group?"
"Well, my hope is that this club can be a way for the Muggleborn, the Muggle-raised and ... the Friends of Muggleborns, I guess ... to come together and support one another. We can also work together to research issues like the Ultimate Sanction and see if anything can be done about them before anyone else gets hurt by them. And also, I would hope that through this club we could both learn more about Pureblood society and customs while also helping Pureblooded wizards and witches to understand the Muggle-raised mindset a bit better. I think the best way to counteract bigotry on both sides is work for mutual understanding."
Some of the students nodded in agreement, but others seemed more doubtful. Anthony Goldstein raised his hand. "I don't have a problem with any of that, but I would also like for the club to address other elements of the Muggle-Wizarding divide. Before you suggested this group, Hermione, I was going to ask you to join some of us in researching ways to allow Muggle technology to work in high-magic areas. Or failing that, to research how to create magical items that would more properly mimic Muggle technology. I heard you and Harry dabbled in that back in First Year but chose not to continue."
"That would be because we got a week of particularly nasty detentions for blowing out all the windows in a Second Floor classroom," Harry said drily. "Along with my eardrums. On the bright side, at least I got a fairly obscure, sonic-based attack Charm out of it."
"Oooh! Share!" said Jim, who was always on the lookout for new combat Charms. Harry laughed and said "later."
"Certainly, we can use the club as a springboard for research into things like that," Hermione said. "So long as it doesn't get in the way of our main goals."
"By the way," asked Kevin. "What's the club's name?"
"Well," Hermione began hesitantly, "that's probably our first official item of business..."
"Personally," interrupted Blaise with a smirk, "I still think 'Society for the Prevention of Abusive Magic' is a fine name."
"No. It's. Not." Hermione said curtly.
"I kind of like that," Penelope Clearwater said. "What's the problem with that name, Hermione?"
"She thinks the acronym is undignified," Harry said with a chuckle.
"What ... S.P.A.M.?" asked Susan Bones to which several Muggle-raised students sniggered in response.
"We are not calling it S.P.A.M.!" Hermione said more forcefully.
"Well why not?" asked Justin Finch-Fletchley. "I mean, this club is, as you said, for Muggleborn, Muggle-raised, and Friends of Muggles – nice phrasing that, by the way. PC but not obnoxiously so."
"Yeah," added Anthony. "And what could be more Mugglish than Spam!"
Hermione started to respond but then paused and looked at Goldstein in confusion. "Anthony, aren't you Jewish?"
The Ravenclaw straightened up in his chair and raised his chin haughtily. "Just because I would never actually eat Spam does not mean that I am unaware of its cultural significance."
By this point, the Purebloods in the room seemed hopelessly confused, and Ron leaned over towards Harry. "What is Spam, anyway?"
Harry answered with authority. "Spam is a canned pork-based meat product sold in Muggle grocery stores. Depending on who you ask, it is either a Muggle delicacy or the nastiest food stuff ever invented."
"And as an added bonus," Blaise continued mischievously, "if we go with S.P.A.M., we've already got a ready-made club song!"
"Blaise, don't!" Hermione said plaintively. But it was too late, as Zabini suddenly burst into song.
"SPAM, spam, spam, Spam! SPAM, spam, spam, Spam!"
He was soon joined by Anthony, Kevin, and Justin, who all knew the song in question and merrily joined in with three-part harmony.
"Lovely Spaaaaam! Wonderful Spaaam! Lovely Spaaaaam! Wonderful Spaaam!"
At that, Ron, Jim, and Theo all turned expectantly towards Harry. Unfortunately, the young Slytherin had never been exposed to Monty Python's Flying Circus while living with the Dursleys and so was at a loss himself. He gave a shrug. "Sorry. I got nothing."
In the front of the room, Hermione Granger covered her face with her hands as if trying to block out a recurring nightmare.
Introductory Meeting for a Different Club
Meanwhile, a much better attended, furnished, and catered meeting for the Hogwarts Cultural Preservation Society was taking place at the same time. It was held in a very spacious and comfortable room on the Sixth Floor that many years before had been the meeting space for a long defunct social group called the Slug Club. There were over forty students in attendance, and the club's organizers had arranged for punch and light appetizers provided by Hogwarts house elves. The first half-hour had been given over to socializing which nearly led to an unpleasant exchange near the punch bowl.
"Ginevra?!" exclaimed Drusilla Crabbe at the sight of her year-mate, Ginny Weasley of the notorious 'blood traitor Weasleys.' "What brings you here? I mean, isn't your family ... um?"
Ginny favored Drusilla with an expression that was bland bordering on haughty. "Isn't my family what, Drusilla? A member of the Sacred 28? Why yes indeed we are!"
Drusilla swallowed tightly at the reminder that, for all her family's Pureblood pretensions, the Crabbes could never demonstrate a purity of ancestry even close to the Weasleys, despite their current reduced circumstances. She gave a tight smile and beat a hasty retreat. As she left, Amy Wilkes came up beside Ginny to refill her own punch glass.
"I think you enjoyed that," she said.
Ginny shrugged. "A little," she said under her breath. "But it's not really any fun to beat Crabbe at a game I don't care about."
Amy nodded. "So what's the game plan?"
"Blend in. Look and act bigoted but not obnoxiously so. Say mean things about Theo every now and then. Be attentive without it being obvious that we're taking notes for Harry."
Amy took a sip of punch without responding, and the two girls went in search of a place to sit, not noticing how, across the room, the Carrow Twins studied them with intense unblinking eyes. The room was crowded despite its size, and after about half an hour, its organizers started moving chairs about and transfiguring benches for people to sit on. To Ginny's surprise, only about a third of those in attendance were Slytherins. The Cultural Preservation Society obviously had Pureblood Slytherin fingerprints all over it, but the upper-year Slytherins were canny enough to hold back and let Purebloods from other houses take the lead and be the public face of the new organization. In fact, there were no Slytherins among the club's officers. Officially, Cedric Diggory, Cho Chang, and Oliver Wood were in charge, though Amy had quickly intuited that the Greengrass sisters, Cassius Warrington, and some of their older peers were probably running things.
Once everyone was seated, Cedric stepped forward to give an introductory speech. "Welcome all to the inaugural meeting of the Hogwarts Cultural Preservation Society. I thank you all for coming to what I hope is the first of many enjoyable evenings to come. I want to stress that while this is at the moment a Pureblood organization, we will not in any way discriminate against any non-Purebloods who want to join us should there be any in the future. In fact, we encourage you to invite Halfbloods and even Muggleborns so that they understand what we're all about and don't get the wrong idea. Our society is not based on the idea that Purebloods are better than other wizards and witches. But by the same token, neither are we any less than them. We are simply a society with its own rich customs and history, and we deserve to have those customs and history respected just as much as anyone raised among Muggles."
"Hear, hear!" exclaimed Cormac McLaggen, and a few others clapped politely.
Diggory nodded to Cho, who continued the opening speech. "To that end, our plan is to meet regularly so that we can interact with fellow Purebloods who share a common heritage and also so that we can teach one another our family histories and traditions. Many of us have family members who work for the Ministry or even hold seats in the Wizengamot. Yet very rarely are we taught about what the Ministry and the Wizengamot do outside of the individual interests of our families. Think of the CPS as a chance to network with like-minded wizards and witches who will one day aid you in forming the backbone of our society. After all, it is only by understanding our own social heritage that we can help others to understand that heritage instead of wanting to tear it down."
Neville Longbottom frowned at that. "Is that something you think we should be worried about? Muggleborns tearing down our heritage?"
The question caught Cho and Cedric off-guard. "It's not that we're ... worried per se," Cedric said. "But at the same time, we need to be aware of how past conflicts between Purebloods and Muggleborn had played out and escalated into public violence. I don't think anyone here is a future Death Eater – I hope not, anyway – but one thing I've learned lately is that You-Know-Who might never have risen to power if there hadn't been a lot of Pureblooded wizards who were terrified of the changes Muggleborn activists of the 50's and 60's had wanted to make."
"Like what?" Ginny asked doubtfully.
To her surprise, Daphne Greengrass spoke up from behind her. "Like a Marriage law, for starters." Everyone turned to look at the young Slytherin.
"A Marriage Law?" Ginny asked in confusion.
"After Professor Lockhart gave us that lecture about werewolves and Dark Lords in which he mentioned Alexander McAvity, I decided to look him up. There were a lot of outrageous ideas put forth by his movement, and some of his supporters were even more radical than McAvity himself. Some of his most extreme supporters essentially called for the eventual abolition of Purebloods as a concept. To bring that about, they wanted a law to make it illegal for a wizard and witch to marry if they had more than four wizarding grandparents between the two of them. In your case, Weasley, all four of your grandparents were magical, so it would be illegal for you to marry anyone who wasn't either a Muggle or a third-generation squib. And if you couldn't find a suitable match on your own, the Ministry – under Muggleborn guidance – would choose a mate for you."
Ginny and Amy both looked aghast at Daphne.
"That law never got anywhere near passage," Cedric continued. "But they came very close to forcing the passage of other laws and regulations, especially after they got a Muggleborn named Nobby Leach elected Minister. Laws to inflate the OWL and NEWT scores of Muggleborns so that they could get Ministry jobs they hadn't actually earned. Laws to establish quotas for how many Muggleborns would be guaranteed Ministry jobs, along with relaxed entry standards for the Auror Corps or St. Mungo's for Muggleborns who otherwise couldn't pass the entry exams. Laws to force family businesses that had been in operation for generations to go under unless they gave jobs and even a stake in the business to Muggleborn applicants."
"And consider this, Longbottom," Zacharias Smith added pompously. "Your family is Ancient and Noble. It has been in Britain since the 5th century and has held a voice in the Wizengamot since it was founded. But if the Dark Lord McAvity had gotten his way, you would not be guaranteed the Longbottom Seat when you come of age. Instead, if you wanted it, you would have to win an election for it. Every Wizengamot member would have to stand for election, just like the Minister does." He snorted in amazement. "Think about that! They wanted to tear down a system of government that has endured for over a thousand years simply because due to an accident of breeding, they weren't born at the top, and so they wanted to drag down the ones who were. I mean, Wizarding Britain exists because of the Vows of Unity that bind the Wizengamot together. Who even knows what would happen if those vows were broken without good reason?"
Amy Wilkes spoke up. "That's all well and good, but what I want to know is: What does all this have to do with Theo No-Name?" There was a flurry of tension and perhaps anger that swirled through the room at the mention of Theo's name. Except for Ginny and Amy (who due to a peculiar quirk of her family status was not presently bound by any oaths to the Wizengamot), every single person in the room was under the effects of the Sanction.
"I mean," she continued, "that is what led Purebloods from all four Houses to decide to start this club, right? Honestly, I see a lot of people in this room who wouldn't have given each other the time of day just a few months ago."
Cedric looked away while he worked to bring his emotions under control. He honestly wanted this group to be about more than Theo No-Name, but he couldn't deny that the outcast's presence at Hogwarts was a triggering event.
"Fair enough," he finally said. "You're right. The presence of the outcast at the school was what brought us all together. But another part of it was the incident the other day at Platform 9 3/4. And particularly, what young Goldstein said to us all. I did some research on that ... Dachau place he mentioned. It was ... horrible. But it was also irrelevant to the outcast's situation. I know the Muggleborns and Muggle-raised think what happened to Theo No-Name is unfair, and perhaps it is. But ... the law that made him outcast is the law of the Wizengamot. It is the law that binds our nation together and makes all of us a part of it." He paused and took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can explain it in terms that someone unaffected can understand, Wilkes, but ... my magic tells me that Theo No-Name is an enemy and is unclean and should not be a part of our world. Now, I certainly don't plan to start anything with him and I hope none of you will as well. If nothing else, the faculty have made it clear that they won't stand for it. But I can't deny what my magic tells me anymore than what my eyes and ears do. It's too much a part of who I am to ignore."
At that, most of the assembled students actually burst into applause in response to Cedric Diggory articulating what they all felt but could not put into words. Ginny and Amy glanced at each other nervously before joining in the applause with as much enthusiasm as they could fake.
Meanwhile, back at S.P.A.M.
After an hour of discussing an agenda for the group, the inaugural meeting of S.P.A.M. finally broke up. Immediately, Hermione moved to speak with Theo, but an excited Anthony Goldstein reached her first.
"So I know it's just our first meeting," he said, "and we've got a lot of potential avenues for research. But since you've obviously actually thought about this more than I have, do you have any ideas for research avenues on why magic and technology don't mix?"
Although she heard Anthony's question, her attention was focused on Theo No-Name who had swiftly made his way out of the room without speaking to anyone else. "Plastic and electricity," she said distractedly.
"What?" Anthony said in surprise.
"What?" Hermione answered back as if fully noticing the boy for the first time. Meanwhile, Harry and Jim moved closer to listen in on the conversation.
"Plastics and electricity?" Anthony repeated. "What do you base that on? Have you found any research on this topic?"
Hermione stammered for a bit before answering. "Oh, yes. I read that in a book ... somewhere. I'll have to look it up and get you the citation. But, um, yes – high levels of magic cause the structure of some kinds of plastic to degrade and also cause electrical currents to ... go all funny, making electrically-powered items likely to overload."
"The plastic issue is easily overcome," said Sue Li as she approached. "Muggles only use plastic for their devices because modern manufacturing techniques make it cheaper and easier to shape plastic into the form you need than natural materials. But with Transfiguration, there's no reason you couldn't shape the casing of, say, a TV or a stereo out of wood or metal."
"Hmm." Anthony seemed lost in thought for a moment. "But it's a much bigger problem if the mere presence of magic changes the properties of electricity. Is there any way to insulate something from magic?"
No one said anything at first, but then, Harry gave an exclamation. "Yes! Orichalcum! It's some ... stuff you can make with alchemy that's magic resistant." He turned to Jim. "The killer trains from last year's birthday party were made with orichalcum. It's what let them slice through a Protego like it wasn't even there." Jim shuddered at the recollection of his and Harry's disastrous 12th birthday party.
"Well, then," Hermione said. "I guess you've got your research avenues, Anthony. Let me know how it goes."
Soon, everyone had left the meeting room, and Hermione headed off towards Gryffindor Tower. She hadn't gotten very far when she heard Harry calling after her. She stopped and waited for him to catch up.
"So," he began with a bit of a smirk. "Now that everyone's gone ... how did you really learn that magic negatively affects plastic and electricity?"
"I told you back at the meeting," Hermione began.
"Aw, pull the other one, Hermione. We both know you have a photographic memory. There's no way that you could ever have read something as interesting as 'magic reacts badly with plastic and electricity' and not remembered what book it was in. I reckon you found it while perusing something you shouldn't have but you didn't want to say in front of the others."
Hermione looked away for a moment in embarrassment. "Alright, Harry. You've caught me. Last year, I managed to trick Professor Lockhart into giving me a pass to the Restricted Session. I was curious as to what sort of books were in there, and I found a book of research about magic and Muggle technology that the Ministry had suppressed. But I didn't want to explain where I found it, and given the sensitive nature of the research, I don't think Anthony or anyone else will be able to check it out. Satisfied?"
Harry studied his first friend for a second or two. "Sure. Thanks for being honest with me." Then, he looked around the corridor. "Can you make it back to the Tower by yourself?"
She gave him a look that reminded him she was a Gryffindor from the House Without Fear. He nodded, made his goodbyes and headed back to the Slytherin dungeon.
Later, Theo was alone in his room laying on his bed and staring intently at the ceiling when there was a soft click as Blaise entered through the secret passage. Theo snorted.
"I know we need to travel secretly because you and Harry dare not be seen with the outcast, but does that mean I'm not entitled to any privacy at all?"
Blaise put his hands up in a placating manner. "Sorry, sorry. I just wanted to see how you were. I get the strong impression that you weren't happy with S.P.A.M. and its agenda. Especially its agenda regarding you."
Theo shrugged. "Well, I guess I'm happy that there are people who want to look after me. But ... most of them don't understand what it's going to be like. And I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me."
"Spare me the martyr act, Theo. It's not appealing. What's really got you upset?"
The other boy glared at Blaise. "Okay. If you must know, I think things are bad enough for me without being someone's project. Even if it's Hermione Granger. I was afraid after last year that she was going to take up house elf rights or something silly like that. I never imagined that it would be me that she would take up as her Noble Cause. And frankly, I don't appreciate it."
Blaise chuckled. "You knew she was a Gryffindor when you befriended her, as did I. And neither of us will ever stop her from being ... her. Best to just hang on as best you can and divert her from her more Gryffindorish impulses."
Theo closed his eyes. "Yeah. Like that's going to happen."
Later, after checking in with Blaise and Theo and then collecting a "report" from Ginny and Amy, Harry entered his own room and prepared for bed. He'd been troubled since the S.P.A.M. meeting ended but he wasn't sure why. Finally, he opened up the drawer on the side table next to his bed and removed his enchanted mirror.
"Regulus Black," he said after tapping the mirror to activate it. A few seconds later, Regulus's face popped into view.
"Harry? What is it? You already talked to Sirius and me earlier today. Has something happened?"
"No, no. I ... just had a quick question for you. Last year, when you were Gilderoy Lockhart ... at any point did Hermione Granger persuade you to give her a pass to the Restricted Section?"
Regulus blinked a few times. "No, not that I recall. Why?"
"I don't know," Harry said thoughtfully. "It's just ... something odd. It's probably nothing." Harry and Regulus spoke for a few more minutes before signing off. But as Harry drifted off to sleep, his eerie and intuitive Legilimency instincts left him certain of one thing. It was not nothing.
Introductory Meeting for a Very Different Club
Just before Midnight
Knockturn Alley
The Boar's Tusk was perhaps the least reputable of the many disreputable bars and dives in Knockturn Alley. In fact, "disreputable" was an understatement – until political realities forced its name change in the 1940's, the bar was once called The Hanging Muggle. The place was packed tonight though because word had been sent out across Knockturn Alley. There was work to be done. Good paying work. Or at least there was for those who were willing to do what they were told and not really care about who got hurt along the way. None of the people in the front of the bar was carrying a Dark Mark, but there were a lot who eagerly would have if they'd impressed Lord Voldemort enough for him to offer it back in the day.
Peter Pettigrew sat alone in a backroom puttering around with some glass vials he'd brought along. With professional care, he opened up one vial and withdrew from it a single black hair with a set of tweezers. Then, he opened the second vial containing a sludgy mudlike potion and dropped the hair into it. Instantly, the potion turned to a cerulean blue and gave off the aroma of an expensive cologne mixed with a faint dash of motor oil. As the potion completed its alteration, the door opened, and Fenrir Greyback entered the room.
"Good crowd," he said. "About fifty in all. If we get enough recruits tonight, we won't even need to do this again."
"Good," Peter said ruefully. "Because I've only got three hairs left."
Moments later, Greyback returned to the main bar and yelled for everyone's attention.
"What's this about, werewolf?" yelled a drunken Aries Flint. "What are you hiring for?"
Greyback sneered. "Not me, Flint. My boss."
There was a brief murmur of surprise from many of those present. There was only one person that Fenrir Greyback ever referred to as his "boss" – Lord Voldemort. It was not Lord Voldemort, however, that stepped into the room, though it was someone who generated nearly as much fear. His hair was as black as night, and his eyes as grey as death. And miraculously, he actually seemed younger and healthier tonight than when he went into Azkaban, though no one could have imagined what dark magic caused his rejuvenation.
"Some of you know me by reputation," Peter Pettigrew said in another man's voice from behind another man's stolen face. "But I'll introduce myself anyway. I am Sirius Black, the Dark Lord's Right Hand. And on his behalf, I've got a job for you." And through the miracle of Polyjuice, Peter Pettigrew grinned with another man's teeth.
Hogwarts
The private chambers of Bathsheba Babbling
12:45 a.m.
The first day of the new term had been surprisingly stressful for Professor Babbling, and the worst part was that she didn't even know why. At the fifth degree of mastery (though she worked hard to conceal her skill from her co-workers), Babbling was probably the third-most skilled Occlumens at Hogwarts behind the Headmaster and Professor Snape. In some ways, she thought she was even ahead of Snape, who seemed to focus excessively on the defensive aspects of the art at the expense of its more subtle uses. Case in point: It was the practice of Bathsheba Babbling to keep her mind bifurcated at all times, so that even as she delivered her lectures, a part of her was intently studying those around her in pursuit of information and insight. Most of the time – indeed, nearly all of the time – that secondary thought process ran quietly and unobtrusively. Today, it did not. For a brief instant, just a few seconds into the Third Year Ancient Runes class, her subconscious shouted about something it had observed loudly enough to disrupt her conscious thought processes and lose her public composure for a few seconds. Nothing like it had ever happened before. And the worst part? After that brief but alarming shout, her second mind receded back into her subconscious without further incident. And since reviewing the mental record of that second mind usually required an hour at least of uninterrupted meditation and thought, she'd spent the entire day aware that there was some vital bit of information that she could not review. The nature of her understanding prevented her from understanding what she had already understood.
Finally, at the end of a long day (she'd spent several hours after supper meeting with NEWT-level students to go over their individualized research projects) Babbling sat down at the desk in her private rooms to begin the process of unknotting the tangle of interwoven thoughts that were both the sword and shield of an Occlumens of her level. As part of her nightly ritual, she began by brewing a stout cup of mint tea and letting the aroma lure her into a relaxed state. She took a sip and then sat at her writing desk, placing the saucer and cup off to the side. The desk itself sat in front of a large window with a beautiful view of Black Lake and the gibbous moon above it. Bathsheba relaxed for a few moments to take in the view. Then, she picked up a self-inking quill and allowed her second mind to control her hand, using it to draw across a fresh parchment in swirling patterns as she thought about the day's events.
Surprisingly quickly, she found the source of the disturbance. It was something about the very beginning of class. Something to do with ... Harry Potter. Her hand jerked slightly, and for an instant, the swirling pattern of her hand motion was replaced with a sharp movement as she sketched out the Wunjo rune, which meant "joy" or "excitement." Her hand resumed its lazy swirling patter as she thought back on her memories of the boy. He'd done good work in class and seemed prepared for the material. She studied her memories of his face. Perfectly coiffed hair that suggested vanity, or perhaps just a burning desire to differentiate himself from his family. (Everyone on the faculty knew about his relations with the Potters.) Brilliant green eyes that flashed with remarkable intelligence. (And was he a practicing Occlumens? And Legilimens too? She should find a chance to discreetly talk to Blaise about that.) Very expensive and heavily charmed glasses. (A cunning mind that sought to prepare for all eventualities? Or just one in the grip of paranoia? Why not both?) And on the side of his head, a jagged scar in the same general location as his more famous sibling's notorious "V" scar. (Caused by falling masonry or something like that during You-Know-Who's attack on Jim Potter, or so she seemed to recall. Odd that it should look so much like a lightning bolt.)
Suddenly, her hand jerked sharply, almost painfully, and Babbling looked down to see that her second mind had drawn a large depiction of the Sowilo run that had taken up half the page.
"Strange," she thought to herself. "I wonder what brought that on." She closed her eyes and reviewed her memories once more but more slowly. And as she focused her attention on Harry's scar once more, her hand jerked a second time. She did not even need to open her eyes and look to know that once again, her second mind had drawn the Sowilo. "Something about Potter's scar and the Sowilo. Something ..."
She gasped and her eyes opened wide as the insight gripped her. "Harry Potter's scar looks like the Sowilo rune! No, what are you saying, Bathsheba. It doesn't just look like the Sowilo rune! It's a perfect representation of Sowilo. Almost as if someone had deliberately ...!"
At that, Babbling's attention was suddenly diverted by a soft clattering sound. She looked down and, to her surprise, saw that her tea cup was shaking. Within seconds, however, the intensity of the vibrations grew to the point that mint tea sloshed out of the cup and onto the saucer, which was itself vibrating to the point that it had started to move slowly across the desk. The rattling of the cup and saucer was soon joined by a violent rattling from the window in front of the witch. And that sound as well was joined by yet another – a strange discordant hum that came from everywhere and nowhere and slowly increased in volume, as if it were the herald of a terrible something.
Babbling looked around the room in rising panic. Then, she quickly drew a deep centering breath and closed her eyes once more. A look of serenity fell upon her face. It was a lie. Deep beneath the apparent calm of her first mind, her second mind was frantic and terrified as it desperately erased memories, threw up psychic shields, rewove mental pathways, and instilled subconscious commands that the first mind would not understand even as it carried them out. As this internal work was accomplished, Babbling's calm external visage assumed a dreamlike quality before she smiled, as if amused by her own foolishness.
"Honestly, Bathsheba," she said aloud. "You're being ridiculous. That scar looks nothing like a Sowilo or any other rune." As the witch spoke to herself, the rattling and humming slowly diminished even as she unconsciously pulled forth a clean sheet of parchment and began to write upon it.
"You're just tired and seeing things," she said amiably as all thoughts of the scar's true significance were systematically purged from her conscious mind. "It's just a scar. Probably caused by falling masonry or something like that. Nothing unusual about it at all."
While she spoke, her hands worked on their own, folding the message she had written into an envelope which she quickly sealed and addressed. Then, she rested her hands on the desk, and after a few seconds, her eyes fluttered open. She appeared relaxed, all of her former anxiety about the day washed away by her meditations. Glancing down at the table, she noticed a letter that she must have written earlier but forgotten to mail. She looked over at the clock on the wall. It was not yet one o'clock. Late, but not too late to send a letter to one of her dearest friends (and the person who had helped her get her Hogwarts position four years earlier) relating how her son had performed on his first day of class.
"That was what I put in the letter, wasn't it?" Bathsheba thought to herself for a moment before shrugging the matter off. Whatever she'd written was undoubtedly what she'd meant to write. She put on a robe and made her way to the Owlery to post the late night letter. Then, she returned to her room and her bed. By the time she fell asleep, she'd forgotten all about the letter as completely as she'd forgotten everything else.
But her second mind remembered. And while her first mind slumbered, her second mind recounted everything it had learned to her third mind, the one that Bathsheba Babbling almost never thought about. The one that remembered all the things that she could only allow herself to know when the time was right.
The Hogwarts owl flew swiftly and delivered its message the next day while its recipient was taking lunch alone on a terrace in Marseilles. She gave the owl a treat and sent it along. After noting the unusually shaky (but still familiar) handwriting on the envelope, she opened the letter and carefully read its contents.
S—
He is the one we seek, but I cannot say more. Powerful and terrible forces surround him. Tell your son to proceed with the utmost caution. Do not contact me again about these matters until I meet with you next summer. I will remember nothing of these affairs before I see you in person.
B—
Below the sender's initial was a quotation in Latin: "Novissima autem inimica destrucetur mors." And below that was a sigil of a triangle within a circle and bisected by a vertical line. Countess Zabini read the letter three times before wadding up the paper and incinerating it with her wand. Her eyes betrayed nothing of what she thought about the message, but her hand tightly gripped the black and silver medallion hanging from her neck through the fabric of her blouse even as she watched the paper burn.
Next: Quidditch Tryouts. Magical Kung Fu. Secret Identities Revealed. All this plus the Final Fate of Binky the Rabbit.
AN1: Sorry about the delay. This was a long, demanding chapter with a lot of different viewpoints to keep straight.
UPDATED ON 3/22/18 WITH ADDITIONAL NOTES
AN2: It has been pointed out by eagle-eyed readers (krisni, Mel72000, Jeb59, and probably others I've missed) that this chapter conflicts with the prologue with regard to Bathsheba Babbling's educational background, to which I can only say "OOOPS!" I'll make a decision as to whether she went to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons in the next few days and edit whichever chapter is incorrect. Probably the latter which means I'll change the Ch1 reference to her being a Slytherin.
AN3: After agonizing over the matter for quite some time, I have decided to go with my first instinct and say that the part of Bathsheba Babbling will be played by Nadiya Hussain even though (a) she is not Ethiopian but rather British Bangledishi and (b) she is not an actress but rather the winner of Series 6 of the Great British Bakeoff. These drawbacks are outweighed in my mind by the fact that I adore Nadiya Hussain and also by the fact that my first mental image of Professor Babbling came from Nadiya appearing on Would I Lie To You wearing a very fashionable dress and a brilliant blue turban while dazzling people with her wit.