Chapter 6 – A New Beginning
Harry's POV
When Harry opened his eyes, the world around him looked strangely blurry. Huh, that was odd. He didn't remember taking his glasses off. And what was he doing in that bed with nice, clean sheets and a pillow so soft he felt like resting his head on it forever? He was even wearing pyjamas that definitely weren't his, though they were his size. How anyone could have helped him put them on without waking him up was beyond him.
Then the memories came crashing down on him and he suddenly found himself very much awake, all his grogginess forgotten. He sat up as if the pillow were burning hot and looked around until his gaze fell on his newly repaired glasses.
He barely had the time to put them back on when a female voice he recognised as Madam Pomfrey's startled him: "Hey, hey, hey, hold your Hippogriffs, little one! It's nice to see you awake, but rest as much as you can, alright?"
Harry was hit by two different thoughts at once: the first was that no one had ever allowed him to stay in bed late―he had taken medicines the previous night, though, if those potions were the same thing as medicines, and Dudley could always stay in bed all day long when he was ill. The second thought was really stupid, and Harry was glad he had the sense not to voice it: Hold my what, now? Why is it that these witches always use a lot of words I've never heard?
Harry instantly plopped back onto the pillow, smiling slightly. He could definitely get used to it.
"How are you feeling?"
Much like Professor McGonagall, she sounded like she really cared; he supposed it was her job, though. Maybe she wouldn't be bothered if he answered with more than a couple of words. "Good. Actually, I'm feeling great! I haven't slept so well in... er, a lot of time, and―" He couldn't explain why exactly he felt better than usual; perhaps it had something to do with the first potion, the one that had been very hard to swallow because it burned and tasted every bit as horrible as the Professor had said, but he couldn't be sure of that if he didn't know what it was for.
"And Skele-Gro has worked its magic."
"I... I think so, Madam."
"Do you mind if I check something?"
She'd asked him so nicely that he couldn't help but nod, but he still scrambled back when she reached out to touch him. Did she have a sixth sense for knowing where it hurt or something?
"No! Not there, please! I-I... really don't like it."
"Let me guess, you took a bad blow right there at some point."
"Yes, but... it didn't really matter at the time."
"And it has hurt more than everywhere else ever since, am I right?"
"How did you know that?"
"I'm not a nurse for nothing. It's what I do. Now, you saw quite a lot of magic last night, didn't you?"
"It was amazing! Will I be able to do those things too, someday?"
"All in good time, Harry. Would you believe me if I told you that there was some magic at work while you slept, and that it won't hurt at all if I touch you?"
"Whoa, you fixed me like Professor McGonagall fixed my glasses? As if it had never happened?"
"You could say that."
"O-okay, give it a try." He waited with his eyes shut, but all he felt was a gentle hand poking him a little.
"See? That's what Skele-Gro does: it helps your bones grow. The reason why it hurt so much before is that you had a broken bone that hadn't been properly taken care of the way Muggles do it, but now you should be fine."
"I was right all along, then!"
"What do you mean?"
Harry had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Asking was part of her job, of course: the more she knew, the more she could do to fix him. But still, if answering was that hard, then it was no surprise that most of the people he'd met in his life disliked questions.
"It... it hurt so much I thought it had to be broken, and I really did try to tell them, but―" He couldn't get the rest of his tale out, as though he'd swallowed something that was now stuck in his throat and stopped the words from flowing.
"Shh, it's alright. I think I have a pretty good idea of what happened."
He let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure whether she knew by magic or by intuition, but to be honest, all he cared about was that he didn't have to talk about it anymore.
"Well, then, I think I have to go―"
"Go? Go where, exactly?"
"Actually, I don't know," Harry admitted, wishing he could take back what he'd said. He looked really stupid, didn't he? "It's probably Professor McGonagall who should decide what I have to do next. Where is she?"
"She'll be here shortly. In the meantime, Harry, you can stay. In fact, you are now officially my patient, and I say that getting out of that bed isn't good for you."
What? But I feel great! I'm not ill or anything... He was itching to know at least why he had to stay in bed, but decided that he had more reasons not to ask. First off, it was technically an order, and he didn't want to find out what would happen if he questioned it. Secondly, he'd been told to do something really nice, for once, so why complain?
"Ah, I've seen that look on so many faces... you're getting restless already, aren't you? No surprise there... I'm sure you'll find something to pass the time sooner or later, but meanwhile, it's safer for you to stay as still as possible. I think Skele-Gro has done everything it possibly could, but you never know. Besides, it isn't easy to find your way around Hogwarts when you've never seen it before. I'll bet you anything you would get lost if I let you explore on your own."
"Wow, is it really that big?" The Professor had called it a castle when she'd said the address, and the stone walls and floor seemed to match that description. He'd seen pictures of castles before and they all looked huge, but Harry was used to finding his way around the very few new places he'd visited without asking anyone for help. How different could Hogwarts be, apart from the fact that it was magical?
"Big and more than a bit complicated. I wouldn't wander without a guide if I were you."
"And I'll be more than happy to show him around as soon as you think he's ready." Professor McGonagall hadn't even greeted them, but quite frankly, that promise was a thousand times more exciting than a simple 'hello'. He noticed that her robes were tartan this time―hey, so that was where her slight accent was from. He'd had so many things to think about that his brain hadn't even bothered to recognise it as Scottish.
"But not on an empty stomach," said Madam Pomfrey. "It's about time you had breakfast, Harry."
His stomach growled a bit. It was as though curiosity had been stronger than hunger until breakfast had been mentioned. Then, a second later, he processed the whole meaning of what Madam Pomfrey had just said: one, she sounded as if giving him food didn't bother her in the least; two, if she was offering him a meal but hadn't yet given him permission to walk on his own feet, then he was going to get his very first breakfast in bed. Oh, dear. Even at the Dursleys', that was a 'special occasions only' sort of treatment, and she was willing to do it for him on a perfectly ordinary day! What was going on?
"Of course. Allow me. Snappy!"
Harry had barely had the time to wonder who or what 'Snappy' was, when a loud crack resounded in the room and someone, or something, appeared. Literally. He very nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise, then allowed himself to look. A little creature was standing where there had been nothing up until a moment before. It was quite possibly one of the ugliest things he'd ever seen, though he supposed those large eyes were sort of pretty if one gave it some thought. It was wearing only a black towel with some sort of colourful crest on it: the 'H' in the middle made him suppose this... this being had something to do with the school. It only made sense for the letter to stand for 'Hogwarts', right?
Snappy had large, droopy ears and was very small, even shorter than Harry, who was used to everyone else towering over him, but it didn't look like a child at all; in fact, the wrinkles on its skin suggested it was pretty old. Maybe the creatures of its kind stayed small forever. What was it, anyway?
"Harry, I'd like you to meet Snappy, one of the Hogwarts house-elves. Snappy, this is Harry Potter." He couldn't help but notice that his already big eyes went even wider when he heard his name. What was wrong with it? It was one of the few things the other boys didn't make fun of... much. "Fetch a healthy breakfast for him, please."
"Yes, Mistress!" Snappy said in a squeaky little voice that matched his size, then he disappeared with another crack.
"Whoa. Is everyone magical around here?"
"Pretty much, yes."
"Um... Professor, what is a house-elf, exactly?" Seconds before, he would have been ready to swear that all sorts of elves, domestic or no, were fictional, though he supposed that if wizards and witches existed, elves really weren't much of a surprise.
"It's a kind of creature whose job is to work for wizards. There are several in the school kitchens, but some of them also work for one particular teacher. In Snappy's case, me. He's really nice, as you'll see, but fair warning: house-elves are a bit... odd."
"So, basically, Snappy does chores and that sort of things for you, is that right? Why? Did you bring him to Hogwarts when he had nowhere else to go?" Harry liked him already. It looked like they had a lot in common; maybe he could try and make friends with him. Snappy didn't seem to mind being with wizards, after all, so he hoped he wouldn't run from him like everybody else.
"Yes and no. I didn't bring Snappy here personally, he was just assigned to me. Hogwarts needs a lot of house-elves, considering how many people live here for most of the year, and the Headmaster takes in those who find themselves without a job, but they don't work out of gratitude. House-elves need a job, and they're at their happiest when they have a wizard or witch to serve. They feel useless without a master, I suppose. That's no excuse to overwork little Snappy, though. I always make sure I don't ask too much of him."
"That's... that's very nice of you. And the Headmaster must be a nice person too, if he's made so many house-elves happy."
The Professor looked like she didn't exactly agree with him, but gave him a smile anyway. "Thank you. You see, not all wizards treat their house-elves well, but I feel it's only polite to be at least civil to mine, with everything he does for me."
"And... what do you do when Snappy does something wrong?"
A strange expression flashed across the Professor's face, but it disappeared so fast it could have been a trick of the light, and he didn't have time to try and read it. "Believe me, he's perfectly capable of understanding his own mistakes. The most I've ever done is make him promise not to repeat them. I would never hurt him on purpose, if that's what you were wondering."
Harry smiled. He knew he'd come to love the cat, but at that last sentence he dared to admit that maybe it was the same for the woman. It was early, terribly early to think that, but Professor McGonagall was truly amazing, and not just because of all the incredible things she could do with her wand. Snappy was there with practically the sole purpose of doing chores for her, and she still acted nice to him, even though he wasn't even―well, human. If that wasn't freaky, he didn't know what was, and she didn't care one bit.
"I'll be sure to thank him when he comes back. You really didn't have to make your elf do things for me, though. Sorry to be a bother."
"You're not, Harry. Besides―" She paused abruptly as if stopping herself from saying something inappropriate. "Ah, nevermind. I'll save that for later. Is there anything you want to talk to me about while we wait for Snappy?"
Harry had about a thousand ideas, but he couldn't pick one to start from, so he remained silent for a moment. A part of him wanted to ask if she'd already found him a new home, because surely his stay at Hogwarts couldn't be a permanent solution, but that would sound really selfish, wouldn't it?
The thought of Hogwarts inspired a safer question: "What's the castle like? Madam Pomfrey said I could get lost in here."
Harry really wouldn't have liked to be on the receiving end of the glare the nurse got. "Of all the things you could tell him about Hogwarts, that's what came to your mind first?"
"I'm sorry, Minerva, but aren't you the one who's always complaining about your students being late to class?"
"True, but half of their claims of having gotten lost are just excuses. Don't worry, Harry, you'll learn to find your way around sooner than you think. Hogwarts is big, and I won't deny that it takes some getting used to, but if everyone else manages, I don't see why you shouldn't."
Just then, Snappy reappeared with a second crack, barely balancing a tray that was definitely too large for him. Harry's eyes went about the size of saucers at the impressive display of toast, fresh fruit and more types of jam than he'd ever seen. The drink that came with it looked a bit like orange juice, but when he came closer he noticed that it didn't really smell like it.
"Thank you, Snappy!" he said, fighting the urge to pinch himself to check if he was dreaming.
The house-elf just about dropped everything he was carrying, as if those three simple words had surprised him, but steadied himself in time.
"That was really quick, as always," Professor McGonagall complimented him. Harry thought he saw him blush, but with the strange colour of his skin, it was hard to tell.
"Snappy is glad to do as Mistress says! Is there anything else Snappy can do for Mistress?"
"That will be all for now."
"Snappy is going back to the kitchens, then!" He deposited the tray on the bedside table with all the care in the world and went away again, leaving only air behind him. That, too, was almost starting to look normal to Harry―well, as normal as the coming and going of a creature that wasn't supposed to exist could ever be. Snappy hadn't really said much, but he could tell she'd been right in calling him a little odd, what with the disappearances and the fact that he always referred to himself by his name. And there was another thing about him that was starting to worry him.
"Why does he always call you 'Mistress'?" She'd never mentioned that title to him before and seemed to be okay with everyone else not using it, but if Snappy threw it in every few words, then it could only mean he was in serious trouble for not saying it.
"Oh, that? House-elves do it all the time. It's a tradition of theirs, I think. I don't expect it from anyone else, if that's what you were worried about. Now, why don't you help yourself? I see a nice breakfast that's just waiting for you."
Madam Pomfrey dashed out of the room as if suddenly remembering something. Harry watched her go, then his eyes went back to the food as if they had a life of their own.
"Really? I-I mean, no one was expecting me, Snappy probably went to a lot of trouble..."
"It's no trouble at all, I can assure you. You're not the only person in this castle that the elves have to feed. Some teachers don't leave the school during the summer. Snappy probably just had to ask the others for permission to take some food, and believe me when I say that there is always some extra food at Hogwarts."
Just as Harry allowed himself to spread some jam on a slice of toast, the nurse came back with yet another vial of something he'd never seen before.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to use that to get rid of the taste of this one, Harry. It's not as disgusting as Skele-Gro, though."
"Okay." He took the potion from her hand and drank it. It wasn't that bad, but he found it thicker than he had expected and had to swallow hard to get it down.
"Eat your fill, I'll go get some more of those. It's very important for you to drink one before every meal for a while; then you'll come back here and we'll check how well they've worked and go from there."
Harry wasn't sure if the food really was the best he'd ever eaten, or if it just tasted better because he was happier than he remembered being in quite a while, but after no more than two mouthfuls he'd already classified it as the best breakfast of his life.
"Slow down, Harry. You'll choke on your food if you eat so fast," said Professor McGonagall. He deliberately started chewing a little slower. There it was, his first mistake in front of her. Things could only go downhill from there.
He swallowed, not wanting to add talking with his mouth full to his list of wrongdoings, and answered in a small voice: "I'm sorry."
"I wasn't scolding you, Harry. If any of my students were here, they could tell the difference, believe me. There is nothing wrong with your manners so far; I was just worried. That's not the same."
"Worried?" Harry repeated, probably sounding silly. The Professor had been worried about him. That made him feel... well, he wasn't exactly sure how, but he was pretty sure that wasn't the right feeling at all. He should have been sorry about that, but he wasn't. All he could think about was that she cared enough to worry, and even though a little voice at the back of his head told him that being glad about worrying someone was a very bad thing, he actually mustered up the courage to tell it to shut up.
"It's... it's just that I'm used to eating pretty fast." He didn't really want to explain why, but she'd probably seen those reasons during her days as a cat: that he had to hurry because one of them could call him at any time, and if he stopped eating and came back later he would find that whatever he had left was already gone; that if he saw Dudley particularly hungry, his first reaction was to shield his food from view, otherwise he would just come and push him away to get it.
"Don't think I haven't noticed. But Harry, food isn't just a necessity, it's also something that can be enjoyed when you have time. And right now, you have all the time in the world."
That was probably why it tasted so good. While he was more than ready to bet that any food prepared at Hogwarts was probably better than Aunt Petunia's cooking or his own, especially if there had been magic involved (and quite frankly, he had yet to see anything in which it wasn't), the real reason why he liked it had very little to do with the contents of Snappy's tray. There was a whole other explanation: it was the first meal he'd ever truly enjoyed.
He ate some more, but had to push the tray away sooner than he thought. Professor McGonagall looked at it as if trying to estimate how much food was missing from the pretty display her elf had put together, then turned her attention to him: "Are you sure you're full?"
Madam Pomfrey came back with a box that appeared to hold a number of vials identical to the one he'd emptied before.
"This should be enough for two weeks. Oh, and I wouldn't worry if he's not very hungry, either. They do tend to make you feel a bit full... they don't call them nutrient for nothing, do they?"
"Is that what they are? Nutrient potions?"
"Yes, Harry. Something tells me you've always been rather smaller than other boys, haven't you?"
How did she know all those things about him? "Well, yes, but it's never been much of a problem. I-I mean, there was another boy in my class who was shorter than everybody else, and then we found him a lot taller when we came back after the holidays. Everyone grows up eventually, right? I just thought I had to wait."
"You're only partly right. There are other things besides time that make you grow up, and with these, you'll catch up faster."
"Okay. I can't wait." They both smiled at that―smiled, not laughed. In fact, no one had laughed at him yet.
"See you in two weeks for a refill, then." The nurse closed the box and handed it to Professor McGonagall.
"Um, so... will you give those to my new guardians or something? If you've already found some, I mean."
"Actually, Harry..." here she paused and shared a look with Madam Pomfrey, but he couldn't tell what it meant, "your new guardian is right here."
He found himself breathless once again. Cat or no cat, the Professor's real power was to shock him the moment she opened her mouth. Did she seriously mean herself?
"Really?"
"Do I look like I would lie about something so important?"
"Well... no, but it's just―"
"A lot to handle, as everything else I've told you so far. Would you feel better if I showed you the place where you'll be living?"
She looked at the nurse as if asking for her approval.
"Fine, he has my official permission to get up now."
"You'd always keep them a little longer than necessary, wouldn't you?"
"You know me too well, Minerva. But hey, you can never be too safe."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," said Harry as he scrambled out of bed.
"For doing my job?"
"For caring about me," he blurted out. Maybe saying it quickly would make it a little easier.
Harry really appreciated the Professor trying to reassure him, but his first impression of the castle outside the Hospital Wing made him think Madam Pomfrey was right: he was sure to get lost the moment he let his guide out of his sight.
Thankfully, she seemed to know exactly where she was going, so all Harry had to do was follow her closely, wishing he had eyes on the back of his neck as well as on his face so he could see all the wonders that Hogwarts had in store for him. Not having to worry much about finding his way, he had plenty of time to stare in awe at his surroundings and found that apparently there could be some magic in all sorts of objects that even his active imagination couldn't picture as being the least bit out of the ordinary. People in portraits waved and talked to him; some even moved from one frame to another to follow him, and within five minutes he was the object of all of their gossip. They passed a lot of closed doors that probably hid even more interesting things to look at, and an open one that seemed to lead to a room full of all kinds of well-polished trophies. What was more, even the staircases moved around a lot. Harry and Professor McGonagall were so lucky as to go down ones that were in the mood for staying still, but seeing everything else above them and below them shift made him a little dizzy.
"How do you remember where everything is?"
"I didn't at first, but I've lived here for so long I could walk these corridors with my eyes closed. All I can tell you is to explore and get used to it. There's no other way."
"What if I get lost?"
"There is nothing to be ashamed of in asking for directions, Harry, and trust me when I say that it's very easy to find someone to ask."
"I haven't seen anyone around, though."
"Oh, but I don't mean people... not exactly."
"Then what―" His question was interrupted, but what came out of the wall to their right was the answer. Harry started and couldn't hold back a little shriek.
"That's no way to treat our newest guest, Sir Nicholas! Taking him by surprise like that... I expected better from you. Is this some sort of test you came up with to see if you deem him brave enough for Gryffindor?" the Professor scolded him. Harry made a mental note not to cross her; she'd been nothing but nice so far, but that side of her was scary.
"I can see that! I take it you've never seen a ghost before, have you?"
"N-no, sir." He supposed calling a ghost 'sir' was appropriate, seeing as she'd just done it.
"Well, then, I'm pleased to be your first. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, ghost of Gryffindor Tower, at your service."
No one had ever been so formal to him. His transparent form was wearing very strange clothes, though―maybe that was just the way people talked when those ruffled collars were in fashion. His full name, too, was a real mouthful: he hoped he'd be okay with just 'Nicholas'.
"Nice to meet you, sir. I'm Harry, Harry Potter." If it was possible for ghostly eyebrows to shoot up, his definitely did. What was up with everyone reacting like that to his name? Snappy had been the same, and even Madam Pomfrey seemed to know him. Was it more magic? If it was, he hoped Professor McGonagall would at least teach him that, because he was getting a little tired of being the only one to need introductions.
"Nice to see you at Hogwarts at last, Mr. Potter, but if I'm not very much mistaken, it's early for that. Isn't it, Professor? My perception of time might be a little off..."
"You're right, Sir Nicholas, it is early for Harry to be a student. There is, however, a perfectly good reason for him to be here, and there will be plenty of time for explanations later. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have something important to attend to."
"Very well, then, I won't delay you any longer. Farewell." And with that, he disappeared through the same wall.
The few words they'd exchanged made Harry want to ask about a million more questions, but when Professor McGonagall stopped in front of a door and opened it, he decided he would put them off.
"Welcome to my office. That door over there leads to my private quarters. One of the rooms is mine, the other was meant for occasional guests, but it will be yours from now on. Feel free to explore."
As if the robes she was sporting that day weren't enough to show off her Scottish pride, nearly every surface in the office had some tartan plaid on it―in the very same colours she was wearing, too. She easily could have disappeared in there like some sort of chameleon. The second distinguishing feature Harry noticed were the books. Lots and lots of books, some of which placed so high one would need a ladder to reach them, though there was no such thing anywhere. Since magic appeared to be the answer to everything, it was probably the only way to get them. A shiny silver cup stood alone on a shelf behind the Professor's high-backed chair, and he thought he could see the word 'Quidditch' on it, but it was probably time to change his glasses again or something, because he couldn't possibly have read it right, unless it was yet another one of those funny terms he didn't know and that wizards and witches enjoyed using all the time.
Just out of curiosity, Harry went to the window for a glimpse of what was outside the castle. It overlooked something vaguely similar to a stadium, though it wasn't at all the same as the ones he briefly saw on TV whenever someone watched sports. The short grass and the clearly artificial lines on the ground suggested that the field was used to play some kind of game, but the oval shape and the things at either end really didn't help him understand what it was. They looked like a huge version of the little sticks that were used to make soap bubbles―for a brief instant, Harry thought that making such enormous ones would be a good enough repayment for never being allowed to play with the normal ones before.
"Do you like the view?"
"It's... interesting," he answered, hoping he didn't sound like he had no idea what he was looking at.
"Remind me to get you a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages from the library. You'll understand a lot more if you read it. I would explain you the basics myself, but there is something you have to see before we can sit and talk."
There was that word again. If Quidditch was a game, then it made sense for it to be written on a trophy, but he wasn't really sure why it was there instead of having its own spot in the room they'd passed before.
He let the Professor guide him to her quarters. One of the doors led to her bedroom, another to a small but overall nice bathroom they would both be using, and the third... he had a hard time coming to terms with what was behind the third door.
When she opened it, he let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and racked his brains for an intelligent reaction, but all that came out was: "Wow!"
The essentials for the perfect bedroom were all there, and then some. There was a desk not unlike the one in the Professor's office, a large wardrobe he didn't know exactly how he would manage to fill, yet another bookshelf, though smaller than the ones that lined every single one of her walls, and most importantly, a four-poster bed with thick red curtains that was fit for a king.
"Well? What do you think?"
"Is... is this really mine?"
"Of course it is! I promised, didn't I?"
"Well, yes, but... don't get me wrong, but it doesn't really feel mine yet. It's not that I don't like it, because I do, but I just... don't get it. What did I do to deserve it?"
"Oh, Harry, a room of your own isn't something that should be deserved in the first place. As your new guardian, I'm supposed to provide you with it. It has nothing to do with you being good or bad. You have a right to it, and that's that. Now, why don't you go try out your bed and tell me if you find it comfortable? It shouldn't be too difficult for me to make it softer or harder. All you have to do is ask."
Whoa. Magic really did have its advantages. Had his new guardian been a – what was it again? – Muggle, he would have had to get used to his bed as it was, because replacing it would have been too much trouble, but with her ability to turn whatever wasn't right into something else, it was an entirely different story. He could make requests even Dudley couldn't dream of, if he wanted. The thought made his head reel. But did he want all those things or not? Harry wasn't sure. It would have been nice, of course, but somehow he didn't really think he could ever become even worse than his cousin was, and especially not overnight. It was as though being cared about took some training, and since he was very new at it, he couldn't be expected to know what to do. He loved the idea of having someone who was willing to give him what he wanted, but the problem was that he had no idea what to ask for. What the Professor had done was already more than he could have imagined; she seemed to be waiting for him to ask for more, but nothing came to his mind. It wasn't for fear of bothering her, either: it was just that what he had was enough.
It was only when he sat on his new bed and even allowed himself to bounce a little to test it that it hit him: that place was his. It didn't look or feel like it yet, but in time, he would make it so. Somewhere nice and cozy to get back to at the end of the day. A space within four walls where he could do pretty much whatever he wanted. His room. For just a split second, he wondered if the Professor would allow him to scream those words to the whole wide world, but then he thought better of it. He would look stupid if he did that, not to mention insane. It really was a special moment, though, one he wanted to savour: the cupboard had never really felt like his own, either. Maybe it was because it got more and more cramped as he grew, or because the spiders kept coming back no matter what he did to get rid of them, or because some of the stuff that was kept there wasn't his, but the sign he'd made as soon as he'd learnt to write had never been much of an improvement. This place, however, was different. First off, it was a real room, and secondly, it didn't feel like a temporary solution that would only last until they got rid of him. This was forever. He had to do something to celebrate, and suddenly, he knew exactly what that something was.
"It's... perfect. And I don't mean just the bed. Everything is perfect. I wouldn't change it one bit. Just... may I have a new 'Harry's Room' sign somewhere? It seems like the right thing to do."
"I'll get you a quill and parchment straight away."
The look on his face must have told her plainly that he'd never used those before, because she quickly added: "Use as much as you need. It's a chance to learn. A lot of Muggleborn students have terrible handwritings when they first get here. As long as you improve, you can use miles of parchment, and I won't consider it a waste at all."
"Thank you so much!"
Harry spent most of the morning sitting at his brand new desk, his failed attempts piling up in front of him, but in the end, he finally managed to make a sign he liked. It was bigger and better than the previous one, both because his writing had improved since he'd made it and because the ink the Professor had given him changed colour as he went on, making the letters look like a miniature rainbow. He had stains in unthinkable places, but he was satisfied.
"That looks great, Harry," she said approvingly, looking at it over his shoulder. Then she sent it to its place right above the door with a flick of her wand and said something he didn't catch. The parchment just stayed there.
"What, no glue?"
"Better than glue. It's a Permanent Sticking Charm. It means it will never come off."
If that wasn't proof that this was forever, Harry didn't know what was.
Author's Note: I have never handled house-elf speech in English before in my entire life, therefore I cut Snappy's lines to the bare minimum and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I also have the perfect excuse for his speaking abilities being a little better than average, thus making him easier for me to write: it appears that each known elf has a slightly different way of speaking, and that their level depends largely on how they were raised by their respective families. Considering this, I say that McGonagall has taught him well. I see her as a very nitpicky person when it comes to grammar.