Harry and Luna came to the unanimous decision that it would be best if the Ravenclaw kipped in the Gryffindor Common room rather than risk being caught by Filch as she snuck across the castle to her own tower. And so, while Luna built herself a nest of golden throw pillows and scarlet afghans on one of the overstuffed leather sofas, Harry told her all about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts.
They talked until the early hours of the morning, pondering just what the object could be to require such heavy protection.
"It's either really valuable, really dangerous or both," said Harry.
"And probably really rare," added Luna. "Otherwise it would be something just anybody could get."
However, since all they really knew about the object in the grubby little package was that it was about two inches long, there wasn't much chance of either of them figuring out what it was without more clues.
At six o'clock, as the earliest of risers began stirring in the upper levels of Gryffindor Tower, Luna slipped out the portrait hole with no one any the wiser. She intended to have a bit of a lie-in since the first-year Ravenclaws didn't have class until their afternoon Potions lesson. Harry was not so fortunate. He only had time enough for an hourlong nap before it was to head down to the Great Hall if he wanted to snag a bite to eat before his double Potions lesson.
Hermione Granger was still in a foul temper when Harry slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table.
"I guess Malfoy wasn't caught after all," she pointed out snippily, giving a sharp nod in the direction of the four giant hourglasses that were used to record House points.
She wasn't wrong. The number of emeralds pooled in the Slytherin hourglass was the same as it had been at dinner the night before. Furthermore, Draco Malfoy looked fresh as the preverbal daisy as he held court amongst the first year Slytherins. The triumphant look on his pointed face slipping only when he noticed that Harry was sitting at Gryffindor table looking a bit tired but otherwise whole.
For now, Harry supposed wiping the smug look off of Malfoy's face was going to have to be payback enough. At least until he could figure out something that didn't involve him breaking another school rule. The Moira had been kind in their own way the previous night – monstrous, three-headed dog not withstanding – but their favor was often a fickle thing.
The Spinners seemed to have taken a shine to Harry because they graced him with a proper revenge when the mail arrived on Monday.
Harry had just set aside a note from Professor McGonagall telling him that he was to meet up with Oliver Wood that evening at seven o'clock in the Quidditch pitch for this first official training session when Hedwig soared into the Great Hall. Her brilliant white plumage a sharp contrast to the browns and grays of the other owls, but that wasn't the only reason she drew stares that morning. She was carrying a long, thing package wrapped in brown paper.
She placed it delicately in the center of the table, then alighted onto Harry's shoulder for a bit of a rest before the returned to the Owlery. Luna gifting the snowy owl a bit sausage while Harry retrieved the letter that had been pinned to the parcel and opened it. It was from his grandad and read:
Dear Harry,
Imagine my surprise when I received a letter from your Head of House telling me that you are now on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Never mind my confusion when I see that she is requesting that I owl you your broomstick as soon as possible. Even though it is a well-known fact that students are not allowed their own broomsticks at Hogwarts until after they pass the flying course.
I understood a bit better when I received your letter about your first flying lesson. And while I am sure young Mr. Longbottom greatly appreciated the safe return of his Remembrall, I would fervently like to remind you that your life is infinitely more precious than some magic trinket. Therefore, I would be most grateful if you did not pull such a stunt again. Specifically – no more fifty-foot dives on broomsticks that are nearly as old as I am.
Your loving grandfather,
Aster Evans
P.S. I'm to remind you NOT to open the parcel at the table. Apparently, Professor McGonagall is concerned that if the other first years know you have a broomstick they'll want theirs sent from home too.
P.P.S. Congratulations on making the choir.
Harry knew that he ought to feel guilty that he'd given Grandad a fright, but it was very hard to when he knew that it was his faithful Scarlet Falcon wrapped up in the package before him.
"I'm going to take it up stairs. That way I can unwrap it and give it a quick once over before Defense Against the Darks starts," Harry told Luna. "You know just to make sure it traveled alright."
He had no more stepped into the Entrance Hall, however, when he found his way barred by Malfoy's lackies, Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy himself snatched the package from Harry's hands and felt it.
"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealously and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it now, Potter, first-years' aren't allowed them."
"And here I thought you were going to sneak yours in," Harry retorted. "Did you chicken out about that like you did last night?"
Malfoy went pink and Crabbe and Goyle began to advance on Harry menacingly but before the situation could deteriorate further, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.
"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.
"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.
"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances Mr. Potter when she asked me to please excuse you from tonight's rehearsal. May I ask what model it is?"
"A Scarlet Falcon, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror spreading across Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.
Smothering his laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion, Harry continued on his way upstairs. It was true after all, if Malfoy hadn't stolen Neville Remembrall, he wouldn't have been put on the Quidditch team….
"I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking the rules?" came an angry voice from just behind him. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hands.
"And here I thought you weren't speaking to me," said Harry dryly.
The bossy girl hadn't said word one to either him or Luna since the night they had encountered the three-headed dog. But, as she was such an opinionated know-it-all, Harry hadn't really had a problem with this.
Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something then closed it once again with a scowl. Apparently, it was to be the silent treatment once again, because she threw him a dirty look and then marched away with her nose in the air.
Due to the delays caused by Malfoy and Hermione, Harry didn't have time to give his broomstick a once over before he had to dash off to make it to Defense Against the Dark Arts on time.
Harry had a hard time keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his broomstick was laying across his bed, or drifting off to the Quidditch pitch where he'd be learning how to play that evening. In fact, not even the deathly aura of the dragon bones in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom or from Binns himself were able to put a dampen on Harry good mood. In fact, he spent most of his History of Magic lesson daydreaming about flying while his dicto-quill scribbled out notes about the Soap Blizzard of 1378.
Later that evening, after a quick supper and a hasty good-bye to Luna, Harry rushed off up to his dormitory so that he could unwrap his broomstick at last. As the Scarlet Falcon rolled out onto his bedspread Harry realized he'd been worried about nothing. It had traveled just fine and looked as shiny and as well cared for as always. It's red oak hand gleaming beneath the light of the golden chandelier and its long tail of birch twigs neatly trimmed to aerodynamic perfection.
At half-past six, Harry left the castle and set off towards the Quidditch pitch. It was his first time inside the stadium. The pitch itself was an elongated oval, five hundred feet long and a hundred and eighty feet wide. At its exact center was a small circle about two feet in diameter which was where the four Quidditch balls were released from at the start of a match. At either end of the pitch were a pair of sandy ellipses that marked the boundaries of the scoring area with their three tall golden goal posts – the tallest of which reached fifty feet into the air.
As Quidditch was an aerial sport, the seating area surrounding the pitch was made up of a series of towers so that the spectators would be up high enough to see what was going on. There were seventeen towers total. Four for each House and each was decorated in their colors: red-and-gold for Gryffindor, yellow-and-black for Hufflepuff, blue-and-bronze for Ravenclaw, and green-and silver for Slytherin. The final tower with its purple coloring Harry could only assume was reserved for staff members.
Too eager to be back in the air again Harry didn't bother waiting for Wood before he mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. A joy like no other bubbling up within him as he swooped about the pitch. Weaving in and out of the goal post only to perform a quick snap roll and go speeding off down the length of the pitch.
The Scarlet Falcon was lightyears a head of the old Tinderblast he'd been riding when he'd went after Neville's Remembrall. It responded to his lightest touch and there wasn't any drag at all as its neat tail twigs cut through the air like a hot knife through butter.
"Oi, Potter, come down!" came a shout from down on the ground. It was Oliver Wood and he was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry touched down beside him as light as a feather.
"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant … you really are a natural. Now, I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining the team practice three times a week."
"Um, what days are Quidditch practices going to be on?" Harry had to ask as Wood stooped to open the crate.
"Why, do you have any other commitments?" asked Wood.
"Yes. I've got choir rehearsals on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays," Harry explained. "And maybe Saturdays as it gets closer to the Hallowe'en Feast – that's our first performance."
Wood nodded. A thoughtful look on his face.
"Our practices are Tuesdays and Thursdays after supper and in the mornings on Saturday so you should be fine," said Wood, opening the crate to reveal four ball of three different sizes. "Now tell me what you know about Quidditch already and we'll go from there."
"Erm," Harry hummed trying to determine the best place to begin. "I know there are seven players on each team and a total of four ball that are used in play. The first of the balls is the Quaffle – it's the large, red one –" he pointed at the football sized ball in the crate – "and it has a Gripping Charm on it so that it can be held on to one handed while flying as well as another charm that makes it fall really slowly if dropped…."
"D'you know which players are allowed to touch the Quaffle?" asked Wood.
"Only the three Chasers and the Keeper," said Harry promptly. "The Chasers job is to put the Quaffle through one of the opposing teams goal hoops – each goal is worth ten points – and it's the Keepers job to guard their team's hoops."
"Exactly," said Wood sounding pleased. "I'm the Gryffindor Keeper and Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell are our Chasers. What about the rest of the players and balls?"
"The two identical balls are called Bludgers," said Harry pointing to a pair of jet black balls that were slightly smaller than the Quaffle. "They're made of iron and go shooting around trying to unseat the players from their brooms, right?"
"Right," said Wood. "Now for the Bludgers I think a bit of a practical demonstration is required – here take this…"
He handed Harry a small cub that looked a bit like a stocky baseball bat.
"I'm going to release the Bludgers now, so stand back" he warned, bending down and freeing one of the jet-black balls.
Free of the straps binding it the Bludger rose high into the air and then shot straight at Harry's face with the speed of a cannon ball. Harry swung at it with the bat with all his might to stop it from caving in his face and sent it zigzagging away in the air –
Wood let out a low whistle.
"You'd make a fair Beater, Potter," he remarked. "Oh, here it comes back…"
The Bludger was streaking back toward them and Wood dove on top of it to pin it to the ground.
"Now," Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "Bludgers can be tricky buggers to deal with and that's why you have a pair of Beaters on each team to keep them away from their side, who try and knock them toward the other team. The Weasley twins are our Beaters, so it's a bit like having a pair of human Bludgers flying about."
Harry encounter with the Bludger did leave him with one burning question.
"Er – have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too worried.
"Never at Hogwarts," Wood reassured. "We've had a few broken bones, some concussions, and several teeth sacrificed to the Quidditch gods but nothing worse than that."
Why didn't any of that make Harry feel any better?
"Now you've mentioned the Chasers, Keeper and Quaffle. As well as, the Beaters and Bludgers," said Wood. "But what do you know about a Seeker and their job?"
"Um their the smallest player and they look for the Golden Snitch," said Harry.
"Very good, Harry," said Wood as he reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared to the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was also bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.
"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot especially to you since you're our Seeker. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins their team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's also why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages – I think the record is three months, they had to keep bring on substitutes so the players could get some sleep…. So, any questions?"
Harry hummed for a moment. He understood what he had to do, but it was going to be doing it that might be the problem.
"Are there any limits on where you can fly?" he asked finally.
Wood cocked his head to the side.
"Not on how high you can fly, no," he said finally. "You can't fly with the intents to collide – that's called Blatching – and you can't lock broom handles with another player to send them off course, either – that's called Blurting … those are both fouls that'll earn the other team a penalty shot…. Stooging, only applies to the Chasers … oh, and you can't leave the boundaries of the pitch either or that's a foul, too…."
"How many types of fouls are there," Harry asked amazed.
"Around seven hundred, but the full list has never been made available to the public," said Wood offhandedly. "The Department of Magical Games and Sports seems to think it'd give people 'ideas'… Any more questions?"
Harry shook his head.
"Right, we won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting the golden ball back into the crate, "it's too dark and we might lose it, then Madam Hooch would have both our heads. So, for now we'll practice with a few of these, alright?"
He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his robe pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.
Harry didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn't carry on.
"That Quidditch cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."
Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with choir rehearsals and Quidditch practice every evening – not to mention his homework – but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. And, while nothing would ever take the place of Agesander Hall in his heart, the castle had begun to feel a bit like a second home – especially now that he didn't get lost every time he went looking for the loo.
Their classes were becoming more and more interesting, too, now that they had mastered the basics. Transfiguration and Charms lessons were now divided between lectures at the start of the week and practical lessons towards the end of it. These practical lessons were strategically staggered as well so that no one had two practical lessons on the same day, so as to avoid magical exhaustion. Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons were supposed to be structured the same way, but after Quirrell's abysmal attempt at demonstrating the Knockback Jinx he decided to continue with his lecture only format.
On Hallowe'en morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin and roasting apples wafting through the corridors. An even better treat, however, was Professor Flitwick announcing in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been drying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom.
Professor Flitwick split them into pairs and gave each group a feather to practice with. Luna was partnered with Seamus Finnigan, but Harry had the rotten luck of being partnered with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell which of them was more annoyed by this. After all, Hermione had stuck by her decision to give him the silent treatment and hadn't spoken a word to him since the day his broomstick had arrived.
"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the incantation is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself with a buffalo on his chest."
It was very difficult. Harry swished and flicked, but the feather he was supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" he intoned carefully with a precise swish and flick of his wand; the feather gave a halfhearted twitch but nothing more.
"You're saying it wrong," Hermione snapped. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, you have to make the 'gar' nice and long." It took Harry more than a little effort to rein in his temper, but his control was snapped when Hermione added, "You might be able to manage it if you weren't wasting your time mucking about on a broomstick three times a week –"
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry snarled, with a sharp swish and flick of his wand.
The feather rocketed up off the desk and nearly embedded itself into the classroom ceiling.
"A bit less force next time, Mr. Potter!" called Professor Flitwick, but he was smiling, "Wonderful effort though, well done!"
Hermione looked absolutely furious and Harry could see the other Gryffindor boys shooting him commiserating looks.
By the end of class most of them had managed to get their feathers airborne – though Luna and Seamus had needed a replacement after the Gryffindor had accidentally set their first one alight.
"Y'know its little wonder why no one wants to work with her," said Seamus empathically to Harry at the end of class. "What with the way she bosses everyone about."
"Too true," remarked Ron as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "we were partnered up in Potions last class and she was a nightmare to work with."
Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face – and was startled to see that she was in tears.
"I think she heard you," Luna remarked.
"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."
"I'm going to go and check on her," Luna informed them; her pale eyes staring at Harry expectantly.
"I'll – I'll come to," Harry relented reluctantly. He wasn't sure what good him being there would actually do.
The pair spent their lunch hour searching the castle to no avail. Hermione was nowhere to be found. It was almost as if the castle was shifting things around so that the bushy haired girl could have some privacy.
"I'm sure she'll turn up for Transfiguration," said Harry bracingly as the bell rang to signal the start of evening lessons. "I mean it's Hermione. She wouldn't miss class."
But Hermione wasn't in Transfiguration nor was she seen during the remainder of the afternoon.
It was on the way down to the Great Hall for the Hallowe'en Feast that they overheard Parvati Patil telling her twin that Hermione had apparently been sighted crying in one of the girl's loos and stated that she wanted to be left alone. There was no time for either Harry or Luna to go off and check on the bossy Gryffindor, however. As members of the choir they were part of the entertainment for the evening.
And so, while the rest of the school trickled into the Great Hall the Inter-House Choir assembled in the small antechamber that the first years had been led to before their Sorting.
"Line up in two rows everybody – first years you'll be standing in the front," Professor Flitwick instructed them. "And here we go…"
They entered the Great Hall to a polite round of applause and marched their way up to the front of the hall where they then assembled themselves in an orderly fashion in front of the High Table – just like they had practiced in the Music Room.
From their place in front of the High Table they had an excellent view of the spectacular decorations that now adorned the hall. Orange and black streamers were twining through the air like eels and thousands of bats made of confetti were fluttering from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds. The fluttering of their paper wings making the candles in the jack-o-lanterns that lined the tables stutter and flicker.
Behind them, at the Head Table, Professor Dumbledore climbed to his feet.
"Before we partake in our delicious feast I would like you to lend your ears to our very own Inter-House Choir," he announced cheerfully. "Professor Flitwick take it away."
The diminutive professor smiled at them, conjured a conductor's baton to his hand, then mouthed a countdown: one, two, three – and then they began to sing:
"Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Something wicked this way comes!
Eye of new and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Something wicked this way comes!
In the cauldron boil and bake,
Fillet of a fenny snake,
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches' mummy, maw and gulf.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Double, double, toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble!
Something wicked this way come!"
As the song wound to a close and before the students could so much as put their hands together to applaud, the doors to the Great Hall flew open with a thunderous crash and in ran Professor Quirrell.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's turban was askew and there was a look of abject terror on his face. Everyone stared in perplexed silence as he sprinted the length of the Hall, slowing only long enough to shove his way through the heart of the choir as he made a bee line towards Dumbledore in his throne like chair.
"Troll," he wheezed, as he slumped panting against the table. "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."
Then without any warning he sank to the floor in a dead faint.
There was an instant uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of the headmaster's wand to bring silence
"Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Prefects," he called, "lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately! Slytherin Prefects you are to keep your House here until informed otherwise! Mr. Duffield – Miss Kegworth –" he addressed the Head Boy and Girl – "you are to over see things here while the teachers and I deal with the troll, understood?"
What followed could best be described as organized chaos. Percy Weasley was in his element.
"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a Prefect!"
The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were all bunched together as they were led by Percy Weasley, Isobel MacDougal, Robert Hillard, and Penelope Clearwater out into the Entrance Hall and toward the marble staircase.
"How could a troll get in?" Harry heard his fellow first year Dean Thomas asked Ron Weasley.
"I don't know," replied Ron with a shrug. "They're not supposed to be very bright. Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."
As they shuffled along they were passed by different groups of people hurrying in all directions. Then as they were pushing their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry felt an insistent tugging at the sleeve of his robe. It was Luna and she was staring at him with wide fearful eyes.
"Hermione," she breathed. "She doesn't know about the troll."
Harry felt his heart drop like a stone. She was right.
"We'll – We'll just have to go and get her then," Harry decided and they ducked out of the line heading upstairs and joined the queue of Hufflepuffs heading off in the opposite direction. After they had gone a little way with them, they then slipped off down a deserted corridor and began hurrying towards the girl's toilet. They had just turned yet another corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.
"The prefects," Harry gasped, and they ducked behind the statue of a large griffin.
As they peered around it they didn't see one of the prefects coming after them but Professor Snape instead. The dour Potions Master was hurrying along the corridor with such speed that his black robes were billowing out behind him like a pair of dark wings, then he rounded the next corner and disappeared.
"What do you suppose he's doing?" Harry murmured curiously. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"
Luna shrugged looking as perplexed as he felt.
Quietly as possible, they crept out from their hiding place and up along the next corridor after the professor's fading footsteps. From the sound of it the Potions Master was heading for the Third Floor.
"Harry what if this is a diversion," Luna whispered quite suddenly. "What if someone let the troll in so that they could get at whatever's down the trapdoor… And maybe the Headmaster sent Professor Snape to check on it…."
"Maybe –" Harry began, but all thoughts of Snape and the trapdoor were driven from his mind as his death sense went wild and his nose was flooded with the foul scent of decaying flesh.
"Empty night," Luna rasped, clamping the sleeve of her robe over her nose to block the worst of the stench. "What is that?"
Before Harry could answer her, however, an odd noise reached them – a low gurgling growl and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet – as the chilled aura of Death drew ever closer.
Hearts hammering, the pair shrank into the shadows and watched as something that might have once been a troll emerged into a patch of moonlight.
It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was bloated and black and coated tarlike runlets of ichor. Emberlike eyes glowed a hellish red in the empty sockets of the small misshapen head perched atop an ill proportioned body with short legs as thick as tree trunks and long, gorilla like arms.
In one massive hand it was dragging along a huge wooden club that was easily as thick as Harry's entire body.
As Harry watched the creature lumber along pages from The Book of the Dead flicked open in his mind's eye and he knew that this monster was on of the Lesser Dead, a Draugr.
But what can I do, he wondered. He was unarmed save for his wand. His panpipes and dagger both locked in his trunk in Gryffindor Tower.
The Draugr came to a stop in front of a doorway a little way down the corridor and peered inside. Then it began to slouch its way slowly into the room. As it fully squeezed its way inside, Harry noticed that there was a key in the lock.
"There's a key in the lock," he murmured. "It wouldn't hold it for long, but we could lock it inside while we go and get a teacher."
Luna, however, was shaking her head frantically.
"No," she rasped. "No, that's the girl's toilet."
No sooner had the words left her mouth than they heard a sound that made Harry's heart nearly stop in his chest – high, petrified screams.
"Hermione!" they cried together, and the pair of them took off sprinting towards the door and then in through it.
Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The Draugr was advancing on her, knocking sinks off the walls in great sprays of porcelain shrapnel as it went.
"Luna try to distract it while I see if I can get control of the spirit animating it," Harry ordered, praying that he wasn't about to make a mistake that would lead to their lives becoming substance for the creature before them.
Luna nodded and drew her wand with a cry of "Vermillious!"
Red sparks like a round from a Muggle flare gun shot from the end of her wand and began bouncing off of the ceiling and walls in a dazzling display. Meanwhile, Harry slapped his hands together in a palm stinging clap, the sharp sound echoing louder and longer that it should have due whisper of power he had imbued it with. Then before the claps echo could fully fade Harry whistled several notes, and they too echoed with arcane power, a series of sweet sounds within the harshness of the handclap as Harry attempted to call upon Saraneth the Binder without his tools.
As Harry pit his Will against that of the Draugr's, the Dead creature stopped a few feet from Hermione. Then it began to turn and fixed its hellish eyes upon Harry. It's desiccated mouth twisting in a snarl as it gurgled, "Little necromancer. Ulurg with feast upon your life blood and add your flesh to his own."
"Try it," Harry taunted with more bravado than he felt. Preforming the clap and whistle combo of the Binder once again, then following it up with the sweet song of Ranna the Sleep-Bringer.
The Draugr staggered as the soothing melody of Ranna washed over it, but it wasn't down for the count yet. It advanced on Harry, raising its tree trunk club as he went. He had wanted its attention, but what to do with it now that he had it?
Meanwhile, Luna – in a bout of daring worthy of any Gryffindor – dashed around the distracted Draugr and sprinted towards Hermione.
"Come on, Hermione. Come on, we've got to get out of here!" Luna urged the other girl, trying to pull her towards the door, but the Gryffindor wouldn't or most likely couldn't move. Hermione was pressed flat against the wall, her eyes impossibly wide and her mouth open with terror in a wordless scream.
As the Draugr threw its own will against Harry's spells, the young Abhorsen-in-Waiting knew he would have to do something desperate. There was no way he could properly banish the Dead being before him without his panpipes or enchanted dagger – it was too strong. If he was a fully realized Abhorsen like his grandad, then he probably could have managed it, but as it was he was fighting a battle he was losing rapidly.
And so, Harry was forced to do something extremely reckless. He drew his wand, waved it in a flickering manner, and bellowed, "Incendio!"
A jet of flames erupted from the tip of his wand and shot towards the Draugr and the effect was immediate. The creature caught alight as though it had been covered in oil instead of dripping congealed blood and ichor.
Howling with fury, the Draugr twisted and flailed its rapidly burning limbs. It's massive club whistling through the air as it moved through the room like a flaming twister. Even through it was fighting to the end, the Draugr was done and it knew it. As the body burned, Harry sensed the cold barrier between Life and Death flicker as the spirit possessing the Draugr fled its
burning body. Then like a puppet with its strings cut the now vacant corpse toppled to the floor with a thud that made the whole room tremble.
"Is it – is it dead," Hermione asked in a trembling voice.
"Technically it was never alive," said Harry, battling down the hysteria born giggle that was threatening to burst from him.
"Oh," Hermione breathed, her face as white as any of the Hogwarts ghosts'.
A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the Draugr's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Professor Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the smoldering remains, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.
Professor Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look before making his way over to examine the Draugr's remains. Professor McGonagall's eyes, however, remained fastened on Harry and his raised wand. He had never seen the expression that she was now wearing on her face before. Her lips were white and her eyes were almost popping.
"What happened here?" she demanded.
Harry wasn't really sure what he should say. He did, however, lower his wand and return it to the holster at his waist.
"Well," Professor McGonagall barked.
"Please, Professor," said a small voice out of the shadows. "They were looking for me."
It was Hermione, now on her feet thanks Luna's help.
"Miss Granger, what is the meaning of this?" demanded Professor McGonagall.
"I – I wasn't at the feast," said Hermione, a sort of shocked horror still etched upon her face. "I had gotten upset earlier and wanted to be alone…. So – so I didn't know that – that thing was lose in the castle…. Harry and Luna must have known that because they came looking for me…. I'd be dead if they hadn't…. Luna distracted it with sparks from her wand and Harry –" she turned very green and looked as though she were about to be sick – "Harry did that to it…."
If anything, this seemed to incite the Transfiguration teacher even more.
"Why didn't either of you go to one of your prefects the moment you realized Miss Granger was missing," Professor McGonagall demanded. "Instead of galivanting off?"
"We were worried and didn't think –"
"That much is obvious, Miss Lovegood," snapped Professor McGonagall, looking ready to spit sparks, "The lot of you are lucky that your foolishness didn't get any of you killed."
"Please, professor," Hermione beseeched. "They didn't have time to go and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."
Professor McGonagall stared at them each in turn with furious dark eyes.
"Mr. Potter – Miss Lovegood," she said, her voice a careful calm that was almost worse than when she had been shouting. "I am very disappointed that you did not alert one of your prefects to the danger you believed Miss Granger to be in, so five points will be taken from each of your Houses. And as for your Miss Granger, an additional five points shall be taken for being out of bounds."
Hermione hung her head. Harry could help feeling furious on her behalf. She'd been upset and wanted to be alone – there was nothing wrong with that. How could she have known that some nutter would set one of the Dead loose in the castle?
"Now," she went on. "I would like for you and Miss Lovegood to head up to the Hospital Wing so that you can both be examined by Madam Pomfrey."
They each shot worried looks at Harry, but left nevertheless.
Professor McGonagall then turned to Harry.
"Mr. Potter I would like to know where a first year learned to do that to one of the Dead," she asked, her voice deadly serious.
"I –" Harry stammered, thinking very quickly, and then it came to him. The ancient rhyme he'd been taught around the same time he'd begun learning his ABCs. He recited it for the professors then:
"When the Dead do walk, seek water's run,
For this the Dead will always shun.
Swift river's best or broadest lake
To ward the Dead and haven make.
If water fails thee, fire's thy friend;
If neither guards it will be thy end."
As he finished his recitation, shock was apparent his Head of House's face.
"There was no way to get across the lake to get away from it, so I used the Fire-Making Spell we learned in Herbology to deal with Devil's Snare," he explained.
The professor stared at him as though trying to detected any falsehood. Then, apparently satisfied that he wasn't lying, she seemed to deflate.
"I will say this much, Mr. Potter. Not may first years could have faced down one of the Dead and lived to tell the tale, much less have kept as cool a head as you and Miss Lovegood did in the situation you found yourselves in. You can tell Miss Lovegood that she has earned her House ten points. And as for you fifteen points shall be awarded to Gryffindor. I shall also be informing Professor Dumbledore about this incident."
Harry nodded barely believing what he was hearing.
"Now, I would like you join Misses Lovegood and Granger in the Hospital Wing," she added, and Harry hurried from the room before she could think to ask him about anything else.
The Hospital Wing was a single large, rectangular corridor that smelled strongly of the lemony scent of Cleaning Solution. It was also lined with two rows of neatly made beds that wouldn't have looked out of place in a period drama about the Second World War. Even the nurse, Madam Pomfrey, herself wouldn't have looked out of place in a hospital ward at the turn of the century with her starched aprons and white cap.
All of the beds were empty save for the two nearest to the door of Madam Pomfrey's office, which were occupied by Luna and Hermione. Both of them had already been made to change into a set of white hospital pajamas.
"Another one, huh," the nurse remarked with exasperation. "Here Mr. Potter you'd best change into these."
She handed him his own set of white pajamas and directed him to one of the privacy screens so that he could change. Harry was actually a bit relieved to get out of his uniform because he could swear that he could feel the oily smoke from the burning Draugr clinging to him like the scent of a crematorium.
Madam Pomfrey was passing out dinner trays with bowls of beef and barely soup, bread rolls, goblets of pumpkin juice, and apple tarts for dessert when Harry emerged.
"I'd like you each to take a dose of Mind Soothing Solution after you finish eating," she said placing a series of single dose phials with a sunny yellow potion next to their bowls of soup. "It'll help you sleep, which is the best medicine when you've experienced such a shock."
She then bustled off back into her office to let them eat in peace.
For a while Harry and Luna sat eating their soup, Hermione however kept sneaking glances at Harry from the corner of her eyes.
"What?" he asked after this had gone on for several minutes
"I've memorized our Defense Against the Dark Arts book," she began, and Harry couldn't resist rolling his eyes – of course, she had – "And when it mentioned the – the Dead it only ever mentioned running water and fire as wards. As well as special blades to slay them – never music… except – except to raise the Dead and the book never mentioned how it was done … So, what I'm trying to ask is how – how you were able to do what you did with that monster, Harry…?"
Harry didn't answer right away. Grandad's warning of Grindlewald and Great Granduncle Oleander ringing in his head. But he had to tell her something. It wouldn't do for her to think he was some common necromancer after all.
"Do you know about the Abhorsen?" he said finally.
She nodded, honey colored eyes wide and wary. "They're a necromancer that works with the International Confederation of Wizards. They banish and bind the Dead."
"My grandfather is the current Abhorsen … and I'm the Abhorsen-in-Waiting… that's how I was able to knock out the three-headed dog and how I knew what to do about the Draugr…."
"Oh," she murmured faintly. "I suppose I should thank you – the both of you – for saving my life then."
"Well, we could hardly let you get eaten," Luna remarked bluntly.
"Thanks all the same," she said with a gentle smile.
Author's Note:
"Double Trouble" by John Williams