Sine Qua Non
Disclaimer: All of this is based upon the lovely J.K. Rowling's work.
Warnings: A somewhat canon-compliant AU, Language
AN: This is the chapter that just wouldn't end.
Year Two
Harry sighs once and then again. His summer isn't going as planned at all. Sure, he's had plenty of time to finish his schoolwork – in the first week no less. Even more time to read, walk the neighborhood, visit the local library, and otherwise avoid the Dursleys. But that's during the daytime. At night, when he's so sick of books he wants to throw something, there's only so much chess he can play against his own set. He always loses anyway.
Harry supposes though this is only a side effect of the real problem.
He's bored, yes. More than that, he's lonely.
Which leaves him here. Lying in the backyard. Willing time to move faster so that it'll be later and Hedwig will be awake at least. She's the only thing he has for company these days; even if in the end, she's still just an owl. She can't talk back. She can't write back.
And maybe that's really the problem.
No one's written him at all. It's been nearly three weeks, and no matter how many times Hedwig goes out, she returns annoyed and empty-clawed.
Some friends his are. Not even writing to him at all.
Harry huffs and contemplates that, but there's a strange noise then. Liked a muffled pop from somewhere to his left.
Harry cocks his head and sits up, but he doesn't see anything. He's just standing to go look when he's suddenly very aware of a person on his other side. Harry, regretting that he doesn't even have his wand on him, glances over and all but jumps out his skin.
What?
Harry can't help it. He stares.
"What…" he breathes. "Who are you?"
The creature – for really, it can't be anything else – blinks large tennis-ball eyes at him and offers a bow that nearly reaches the ground. Harry belatedly realizes that this thing… that he – assuming here – is rather short and dressed in a dirty pillow-case.
"Dobby is sorry, Master Harry Potter sir!" it… he says then in a high voice and gives another bow. "Dobby didn't mean to startle you."
Harry opens his mouth but then promptly closes it again. Since really, he has no idea what to say.
Dobby doesn't seem to notice. "Dobby is so bad sneaking up on a great wizard, but Dobby had to come see you."
"See me?" Harry parrots before he can stop himself. "Why on earth would you want to see me?"
Harry's aware that he's been transported into some strange new universe since that's the only logical explanation. Still, he's completely unsure how that happened. And the fact that this Dobby character has come to see him personally is probably the weirdest part.
Dobby blinks at him for a second, and his face has a weirdly uncomfortable look. It seems like he wants to say something but has suddenly thought the better of it. Instead, he reaches into his pillow-case and produces a stack of paper. It takes Harry a moment, he's still not flying through a cloudless sky here, but he suddenly realizes that it's a pile of letters.
His letters.
"You have my mail," Harry states dumbly and then shakes his head. "Why do you have my mail?"
Dobby shifts his bare feet in the grass. "Dobby is… hm… Dobby is bringing your mail. It got lost! But here's it now!"
Harry would say that Dobby seems nervous, but really, it's so hard to tell. Especially since his brain is going back and forth between his mail and trying to decide what's going on to still figuring out what exactly Dobby is supposed to be.
He may have said the last part aloud, however, as Dobby offers another bow. This one is even lower than before and practically putting his face in the dirt.
"Dobby is a house-elf!" he replies, seemingly more cheerful now. Maybe because the subject has changed. "We is doing all sorts of helpful things for people! Cooking and cleaning and all sorts of things!"
"Like delivering their mail?" Harry asks suddenly.
Dobby jerks then and shifts on his feet again. "Yes, Master Harry Potter Sir!"
"Right." Harry, finally overcoming the strangeness of this all, studies Dobby more closely. Taking in the fidgeting fingers of his free hand that are now reaching up to twist at his pointed ear. "You know, you don't have to call me that. Harry works just fine."
"You is asking Dobby to use just one name. Your name!" His eyes somehow become even bigger than before, and he all but dances on the spot. "Master Harry is truly a great wizard!"
And it's back to being weird again.
Harry exhales slowly, but Dobby is too busy buzzing with happiness to really see the pained look on his face. Not even when he suddenly sobers and peers into Harry's eyes intently. Dobby looks away only to glance about for a moment before hunching and leaning forward. He comes so close to Harry then that their noses nearly touch, and his mouth barely moves as he whispers.
"Master Harry should be careful at school this year, yes," he murmurs, but his voice isn't nearly so squeaky now. "Very careful. Hogwarts is very dangerous. Especially for Master Harry!"
Harry feels his heart stutter and his blood go cold.
"What do you-"
Dobby cuts him off though as he jumps back suddenly. His head whirls over his shoulder, startled as if he'd just heard something scary from behind the fence.
"Dobby has already said too much! Far too much!" he declares then before turning back to Harry. His hand is already reaching up to twist at his ear again. "Be safe, Master Harry!"
Then, Dobby is gone. Vanished into thin air.
Thankfully, the stack of letters remains.
-O.o.O-
By the time school rolls around, Harry still hasn't put the whole episode from his mind. It's too bizarre for one. Even having spent the last year in the magical world, this is amongst the strangest things to have ever happened to Harry. And that's counting the time he accidentally spoke to a boa constrictor.
Harry doesn't know what to think about the whole thing. He's never even heard of house-elves before, much less why one would have his mail or personally deliver it. Neville's helpful in filling in the background at least and even sends him a book on various magical species. While useful, it doesn't tell Harry what he really wants to know. Or even truly explain things.
Not knowing who else to ask since Ron is unhelpful, Hermione just wants to research, and Neville seems equally confused, Harry writes to Prewett.
He's been too nervous before to write his professor, even though he'd been told it was more than okay to do so. This gives him an excuse at least, and really, he just wants some sort of explanation. Or at least an assurance that someone is taking this – whatever this is – seriously.
Prewett does. He writes back in less than a day, already promising to look into the matter.
That, of course, gives Harry the opportunity to write his professor more frequently. Ostensibly to keep up to date, but his letters turn to other matters. Prewett seems happy enough to oblige him and never once calls him out.
It becomes something of a habit every couple of mornings to see Prewett's pitch black owl perching in the tree by his bedroom. Kaiser is a friendly enough bird. Clever, too. Always seeming to show up right around the time Harry finishes his next missive.
Prewett does keep him updated on the house-elf angle. Even if it isn't much. Just that Dobby appears to belong to a high-ranked wizarding family. Still, the fact that Prewett has even bothered to find that out fills Harry with a sense of warmth. It's nice really. To be believed. To have someone actually willing to trust what he says. To search, even if there aren't answers.
That more than anything settles any lingering weirdness to the whole thing, and Harry's mind moves to other topics.
Summer is flying by quickly now. As opposed to when it dragged on earlier, now that Harry has actual correspondence to get him through, things aren't so bad. Hedwig looks much happier, too. She hates being cooped up with the Dursleys just as much as Harry.
Soon enough, it's August. Which means that Harry has his belongings packed and somehow manages not to become too antsy as he waits for the Weasleys to pick him up. The Dursleys, perhaps sensing that something's going on, wisely choose to vacate the premises for the day. Harry subsequently is left to patiently wait for them all on his own, and when Mrs. Weasley arrives with Ron in tow, she gives a very notable sniff before ushering him along.
Her eyes are very narrow as Harry locks up, but her arm is warm as it wraps around his shoulder. Apparition is not very pleasant. Rather like trying to squeeze through a doorway between two other people while wearing an incredibly tight sweater. Still, it's quick, efficient even. Which is rare enough for wizards.
He gives a happy sigh when it's over, and he's standing in Ron's front lawn, blinking up at a very peculiar house.
Ron's ears turn pink when Harry tells him how brilliant it is.
-O.o.O-
Molly Weasley, Harry decides, is rather like a matronly and polite tiger. She feeds him second and third-helpings, seems to be constantly cleaning, and yet still finds it within herself to quell both twins simultaneously with a single pointed look.
It's very inspiring.
Arthur Weasley is less fierce – or fearsome, perhaps – than his wife. He's a calm sort, seemingly sensible. Unless something Muggle is mentioned, of course. Then, he becomes a star-struck fan, and Harry spends most evenings explaining everything from the telly to cars to the function of rubber duckies. There's also one notable time that involves electricity and some very undignified squealing that Harry tries hard to forget.
The other Weasleys are rather known to him. Ron, obviously. The twins and Percy.
The only remaining member of the household is their younger sister, Ginny. She's a rarely glimpsed presence in the house. The only time Harry really manages to see her is during mealtimes, and then, it's only to have her barely say a word, blush a lot, and try to put her elbow in the butter dish whenever Harry looks at her.
He prefers not to think too much about that either.
Instead, he spends the remainder of the summer uneventfully. Which is to say he's either flying, exploring, and generally enjoying himself. Even the trip to Diagon Alley is more of the same, though it's delayed by a day or so do to some weird Floo malfunction that's soon enough resolved.
Before Harry knows it, August is ending. His things are once more packed up, the Weasley parents hurry them off to the station, and he's boarding the train.
The ride to school is as uneventful as his summer. He spends most of it playing exploding snap with Neville while Hermione reads and Ron tries to put last minute touches on his assignments.
They have a carriage to themselves and are amongst the first seated at Gryffindor's table. Prewett's in his usual spot next to Snape, and he offers a wink when Harry catches his eye. Just down from them, however, there's an unknown witch. Her hair is dark, face very pale in the torchlight, but she's seemingly holding her own in conversation with Flitwick. By process of elimination she has to be Defense teacher, a fact that's only confirmed by Dumbledore after the last student is sorted.
Then, it's the feast, more announcements, a song, and shuffling off after Percy back to the tower. Walking through the castle is more relaxing than tiring though, and Harry falls into his bed in Gryffindor dorm, content to be home. He sleeps the entire night with a smile.
-O.o.O-
Professor Jones is an improvement over Quirrell. She not only knows her subject, but she doesn't stutter. Or smell. She doesn't seem afraid.
Her face remains pale, almost deathly so, but eyes are just as dark as her hair and are warm. Her manner is equally so, and Harry feels himself relaxing as more lessons pass, and he actually manages to learn something. The fact that she doesn't reek of garlic and her classroom has working lights are a nice bonus. As is the fact that he doesn't leave with a headache like he had all of the previous year.
The rest of his classes are about as expected.
McGonagall's as strict as ever, but Harry earns a rare smile by being the first one to make his beetle into a button, beating even Hermione. Much to her dismay.
Snape still hovers like an overlarge and foreboding bat, and he doesn't cut Harry one inch of slack on his work. He does, however, give Harry an O on his summer assignment. Even Neville manages a passing grade.
Flitwick beams at all of them and eagerly gushes about how well everyone did on their finals. Sprout, in turn, hustles them up to a new greenhouse and rewards points like they're going out of style. Sinistra merely gives a curt nod on seeing them all back and promptly launches into lessons like they hadn't just been gone for two months.
Binns is boring enough to cure insomnia, and Harry spends most classes doing homework for other subjects or reading the extracurricular history books that Prewett recommends.
The rest of Hogwarts isn't much a surprise either.
Hermione drags them off to the library the first chance she gets. Practically racing up to the shelves and hugging them in her eagerness to be back. Harry sighs but trails after her calmly while Neville and Ron exchange a very pained look. They spend the second evening back watching her jump from book to book in untold glee, and she doesn't even notice that they're trading frog cards beneath the table while Harry's working on the crossword from the Daily Prophet.
Study halls resume by the first Tuesday. Harry and Neville are the only ones who show up and spend most the time having dessert and talking about their respective summers. Harry lingers afterwards, receiving ruffled hair and a grin for his efforts. He doesn't even care that Prewett hasn't again mentioned Dobby, and really, Harry has rather stopped noticing by this point.
Oliver, maniac that he is, starts Quidditch practice back the first week of school. Harry is up by five and is the only one truly awake the whole time. Oliver's all for having practice three times a week, but it's quickly vetoed, and he backs off lest he have a mutiny before even playing a match.
All told, things are moving rather nicely as September eases in October and the nights turn cool.
-O.o.O-
Luna Lovegood is a very odd person.
It isn't necessarily what she says or even how she acts, though that likely doesn't help. There's simply an air about her. An aura of otherness that Harry can't quite pinpoint.
It's something in the way she moves, as if swaying to a song only she hears. Something in the cadence of her voice. Singing to some unknown melody.
Harry isn't quite sure what to make of her. To be perfectly honest. At least, not at first.
She just appears in Prewett's study halls one evening and never seems to leave afterwards. And it isn't like she asks many questions or even seems to do much studying. Mostly, she sits in the corner chair, closest to the windows, and gazes outside.
Harry isn't entirely sure why she's there at all, and truth be told, it doesn't seem like Luna has much of an idea either.
She just sits off in her own little world, barely interacting with Prewett, much less anyone else. Even when the professor approaches her, she's so distant. Dreamy as her large eyes look past him at nothing.
Harry watches her. She's something of a mystery that everyone else neglects, but he does like puzzles. Always has.
So he watches. Catches her watching everyone else. Eyes not always so distant. Instead flitting between her yearmates who already seemed to have broken off into their own little groups even by the second month in. Always clustering together, backs turned away. Leaving Luna on her own. Alone.
And suddenly, maybe it isn't really a mystery why Luna's here at all.
Harry understands perfectly what it's like being outside and looking in. That's how it was for him before Hogwarts, and not just with the Dursleys. Not just when he was treated like an unfortunate houseguest. Retrospectively, he understands some of it was his magic. That even with none of their own, the other kids in the neighborhood and his primary school had known there was something peculiar about him. That there'd been something under the surface, something different than them.
They'd never been outright mean to him; the teachers watched far too closely for that. But they'd been distant. Harry had been the odd one out. Seemingly forgotten half the time and off doing his own thing when he wasn't.
He'd never really had a place until Hogwarts. Never really had anyone until coming here.
And that decides him more than anything.
The next study hall, he sits beside Luna. It's still the front row – his row – only a little off to the side.
He knows Luna's watching without her having to turn her head, but Harry merely sits and turns to his own work. He doesn't say anything, not even when she finally moves to glance his direction. Even then, Harry only offers her a smile and nod before going back to his Charms assignment.
Luna blinks at him. Were it anyone else, she'd likely be goggling.
Harry pretends he doesn't see her surprise.
Neville gives him a long and searching look as he wanders in five minutes later. But he still takes the seat on Harry's other side.
The entire session is spent in silence between the three of them, but Harry doesn't let it bother him.
He still sits next to her the following time. And the one after that. And even after that.
But by then, Luna greets him with more than silence.
-O.o.O-
Things at Hogwarts are going rather well. Which naturally means everything takes an abrupt nosedive.
It doesn't happen until Halloween. And really, that particular holiday's shaping up to be a terrible one in general for Harry.
The feast itself is fine. Full of sweets and pumpkins and enough cheer that even Vernon might perk up, but it's also loud and bright. Makes the headache Harry's been building all day that much worse. He gets up before dessert has even really started, and Neville gives him a sympathetic look. Harry vaguely recalls Neville had been back late the night before, having stayed to work on project with Sprout, and the other boy looks just as tired when he stands, too.
It's something of a cue because Hermione flashes a smile of relief and immediately grabs her bag with one hand as she pulls Ron with the other. He makes a muffled noise of protest around a mouthful of cake, but she practically elbows him into following. He does so grudgingly and with a handful of chocolate biscuits. Luna meets them by the door, as she's been prone to do the last several weeks. Ron rolls his eyes behind her back as she hums a song to herself, but he hunches his shoulders at the look Neville gives him.
The short-cut they take is one Harry's known about for months, and he only uses it because it drops them near a crossway that leads to both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor dorms. He's slightly out in front of the others, which is probably why he spots it before they do. Still, it's the last part that Harry actually sees first, and it stops him short.
Enemies of the heir, beware.
His brain can't seem to process the words, and he reads them again from the top.
The writing is neat, precise, but not very familiar. The paint – and Harry really hopes that it's paint – is red.
Beside him, Hermione gasps, and he feels Luna suddenly jerk her hand into his sleeve.
"Blimey!" Ron mutters. His tone is hoarse and shaky.
Harry follows Neville's pale pointed finger to a nearby torch. Hanging from her tail is the very stiff form of Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat. Her eyes are wide open, and her face is fixed in an expression that'd be terror on a human.
Harry swallows hard, and his stomach roils. He doesn't dare tear his eyes away though.
"Ron," he says, voice echoing painfully loud.
Ron breathes out harshly. "Yeah, mate."
"Go get somebody."
"Sure thing." Ron gives a jerky nod and steps back.
"I'll go with you," Neville volunteers too quickly.
They're off like a shot, and Harry feels both Hermione and Luna shifting closer to him. Hermione is breathing very loudly even as she murmurs the message on the wall out loud. Luna just trembles and twists her fingers even further into his sleeve. Harry looks at Mrs. Norris, and his skin crawls.
It feels like an eternity before they hear footsteps. Harry doesn't turn, still doesn't dare, but he already knows who it is.
"Is everyone alright?" Prewett asks in something bordering on a demand. His eyes flicker to the message, the cat, and to each and every shadow around them before fixing on Harry.
He doesn't have a chance to answer before Snape is beside them only seconds later.
"Mother of Mordred," the man breathes before also turning dark eyes their direction. "What happened here?"
The three of them can only shake their heads. Harry tells them all that he knows, which is very little, and he repeats the same story minutes later when reinforcements arrive. Dumbledore's eyes have long lost their twinkle by then, and McGonagall is nearly white when she finally ushers them over to Percy Weasley and a Ravenclaw prefect Harry doesn't know. Her instructions to immediately return to the dorms are very firm, but Harry can already see her gaze sliding back to the wall before she's even finished.
Still, it's more than enough to get Harry moving, and he firmly takes Luna and Hermione with him. The last he sees before turning the corner are the teachers gathered around Mrs. Norris. Dumbledore's bent over her with Snape and McGonagall hovering behind him. Meanwhile, Sprout attempts to console Filch, and Jones puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Prewett is several steps away, but he isn't looking at Mrs. Norris or Filch. Instead, his eyes are turned to the message on the wall. His gaze is cool, assessing, face almost unrecognizable.
-O.o.O-
The whole thing is naturally the talk of the school for weeks. There are rumors, hundreds of them. Even more theories. Thousands probably.
Facts are the only thing in short supply.
Hermione scours the library for any reference to the Chamber of Secrets and even dares interrupt Binns to ask. She's dismissed, of course. Binns doesn't care about anything save goblin wars and the occasional witch burning. He's less than useless.
The only reference any of them finds is actually in one of the books Prewett gave him last year. It's not much. Barely even a page, but it's more than anything else.
Harry still isn't sure why Salazar Slytherin would go so far as to attack students in his own school. Muggleborns or not. If he cared that much, why not just prevent them from entering in the first place?
"But that's too logical for most wizards, yeah?" Neville murmurs as they hunch over the book at the Gryffindor table.
Nobody around is paying the least bit of attention. Especially not since Hufflepuff's celebrating their Quidditch victory over Ravenclaw. As for their own house, Gryffindor hardly needs a reason to celebrate, and they're being even more boisterous than usual. Considering that they have the Weasley twins, that's really saying something.
As it is, no one has even noticed Luna sitting at their table. She's nearly curled into Harry's side but with her head pillowed on her arms.
"Wizards are very blind to the obvious," she says in a slight sing-song. "To many of them, if it can't be done by magic, it's not worth doing." She yawns then.
Harry nods but is interrupted before he can speak.
"I still think it's a prank," Ron mutters from their other side. Grimacing as he nearly gets knocked from his seat by the jostling fifth-years at his back. "This is exactly that kinda thing Fred and George would do."
"They'd attack a cat. Petrify her?" Hermione asks and draws her cloak closer, as if suddenly chilled. "String her up by her tail?"
"They did turn my broom into a big spider before," the redhead points out with a frown. "While I was holding it even. They've done all sorts of stuff like this at home. Hexed bedsheets to wrap around Percy in the middle of the night. Made the lights flicker and the floorboards creak to scare Ginny. Jinxed Scabbers all sorts of colors and gave him boils."
He pats his pocket and the large lump inside. Harry knows that Ron would get him out to pet, but he's already been told off by Snape just yesterday for having him out at the table. McGonagall had even threatened to confiscate him before that, too.
"You think if Filch made them mad enough, they might do this," Neville surmises before Ron can go on.
"But what about the message on the wall?" Harry questions. "Unless you think that's completely rubbish. That they just made it up."
Ron shrugs and fiddles with his pocket. Neville glances at him before taking a sip of pumpkin juice. Luna isn't even paying attention anymore. Harry is half-convinced that she's now asleep.
"The staff would've ruled that out first, I think," Hermione cuts in. "Especially since they're known trouble-makers. McGonagall at least would've questioned them." She inclines her head to the Transfiguration teacher who's in the midst of scolding a group of fourth-years who had decided this would be the perfect opportunity to enchant the dishware.
Ron makes a face, while Neville lifts his eyebrows. Harry settles for casting a glance at the head table. Few professors are in their seats, though some are scattered about the hall. Snape is completely gone. Harry had seen him stride off a while ago, and he hasn't been back since. Prewett's there though and has been the entire time. Scanning through the milling students with pleasant but narrowed eyes.
Only he's not looking around anymore. In fact, his gaze is rather fixed. On Ginny Weasley of all people. Now that Harry notices, Prewett's looking at her very intently. All but staring into her eyes. She's staring back, Harry belatedly realizes. And she only looks away when Lee Jordan walks in between them. She blinks then and shakes her head as if coming out a dream.
No one else seems to have noticed anything amiss. Even Percy who's sitting right next to her hasn't stopped talking to the girl across from them the entire time.
Harry feels his heart speed up, and he isn't certain why. Especially when Prewett's attention flickers to him then. His gaze is the same it always is when he looks at Harry, warm and soft. But Harry swallows hard, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. It must show on his face since Prewett tilts his head and his expression momentarily turns puzzled.
But then, Snape walks in from the side door. Making a beeline for the head table and taking the seat next to Prewett. Harry can finally look away, and for some inexplicable reason, he breathes a sigh. Not sure if it's from relief or something else.
He doesn't look at Prewett for the rest of the night
-O.o.O-
December comes. Snow arrives with it.
Speculation has been thoroughly exhausted at this point, so the students turn to other matters. The faculty clearly hasn't forgotten, however. That much's clear to Harry as he watches them watch their pupils. It's not unusual for him to spot Dumbledore's shaking his head or McGonagall's pinched face or Jones' searching eyes. Harry has often seen Flitwick and Sprout trading looks or Snape and Prewett murmuring to each other. He's even passed them in the hallways a few times, wands subtly out. Harry almost things that they're casting spells, but he never sees anything or hears them say any incantations.
Searching then? For the chamber perhaps? The heir? It's hard to say.
Of course, the staff isn't the only ones who haven't forgotten about the chamber. It still dwells on Harry's mind at inopportune times. Curling into his thoughts as he does his homework. Winding around his dreams when he tries to sleep. Whispering in his ear as he walks the corridors.
The library has told him nothing though. The books all seem to be useless. His friends don't have a clue. Harry finally goes to the one person who will actually give him answers.
Prewett is there when Harry peeks his head in. The door is open; it always is. But the man is turned away, over by the aquarium that he keeps in the corner. There are several large koi inside, but Harry knows for sure there's at least one snake – Levi. In fact, she's against the glass, watching Prewett with interest as he leans down to look at her.
"It's not her," Prewett muses to himself as Harry lifts his hand to knock. "But who could it be?" He turns then and smiles, idly waving his wand over the tank. "Ah, Harry. Do come in."
Harry nods and accepts the offered chair. He knows his face must show something, especially when Prewett takes one glance at him and closes the door with a twitch of his fingers.
"I would ask what brings you by today," Prewett begins, "but I do believe I can guess. The chamber, is it?"
Harry shifts, unable to get comfortable. "What do you know about it?"
Prewett sighs and leans back. His eyes are bright, but there are slight circles beneath if Harry looks closely enough.
"Not as much as I should," the man replies. "It was before my time here, Harry. Very well before. Decades, I'd say."
"It's been open before?" Harry questions eagerly. "The chamber?"
He figures that it had to have been at some point. Particularly if people knew enough to have written it down.
Prewett nods. "Several times I'm told. But only once within the last few centuries." He grimaces for a second before his face smooths out. "That's more than enough, I can assure you."
Harry feels something cold pool in his stomach. It bites at him, gnawing and unsettled as he turns that over in his mind.
"Someone was hurt?" he asks but already knows the answer.
"Several people were hurt," Prewett replies, and his tone is peculiar. Something between gentle and furious. "One… very permanently."
It doesn't take Hermione to figure out what he means.
Harry sucks in a breath and clenches his hands. The gnawing in his belly is fully blown ripping now.
"They died, didn't they?"
Prewett closes his eyes for a long moment before looking at him again.
"Yes," he says softly, "she did."
Harry swallows hard. His hands are fists, and his heart has stuttered. He still has to ask though.
"Did they catch anyone? A culprit, I mean?"
Prewett lets out a little laugh that isn't humorous at all. He looks older then. Older than he should.
"Someone was punished," he responds, "but it's quite clear with retrospect that he wasn't involved. Merely an opportune scapegoat." His voice is still light, but there's an undercurrent that's bordering on bitterness.
Harry can quite agree with the sentiment. Especially as he thinks over the implications.
"Why?"
Since really, that's the true question.
"It was swept under the rug, Harry." Prewett shakes his head. "You have to understand how bad it looked. Students attacked. One dead. They found someone to blame and went with that to save their own necks. To cover up their failure. When the attacks stopped, they patted themselves on the back for a job well done."
Harry can hardly believe it. It's just too ridiculous. It sounds exactly like something the Dursleys would. It is something the Dursleys would do. Blame someone they didn't like when it was really Dudley.
"And they never thought that…" He shrugs helplessly. "I don't know… the real attacker was using that as a cover. Or wised up and stopped."
Prewett studies him for a moment, but his look is approving. "Magicals aren't known for using logic."
Despite himself, Harry snorts.
"Neville says that, too," he mutters.
Prewett manages a smile then. A real one. It lightens his face and chases away the shadows. Makes him seem young and bright and unafraid. Makes the cold in Harry's belly unravel and slink away. Harry sits straighter then, hands held loosely in his lap.
Prewett watches him for a long minute before inclining his head.
"Well, Neville's rather smart," he says then, almost conspiratorially.
It's a sentiment Harry agrees with completely.
-O.o.O-
"Is Professor Jones okay?" Luna asks him one day as she comes over to their table in the library and promptly wedges herself between Neville and him.
Harry, who's nice enough to move his Charms book, looks over at her. But it's Ron who answers.
"I heard that she's sick," he comments but doesn't look up from the frog cards that he's trading with Seamus at the end of the table. They've already been at it for some time now, especially since the Irish boy is the only one in Gryffindor with the card that Ron really wants.
Harry tilts his head and thinks about their professor.
The woman is a rather good Defense teacher, better than Quirrell in just about every way imaginable, but she does seem ill. Always pale and wrapped in layers of robes. Shivering despite the warmth of the castle.
"How serious?" Hermione questions as she looks up from a book propped up against her bag.
Ron gives a one-armed shrug and offers his Circe, but Seamus shakes his head.
"I don't think it's deadly or anything. She's supposedly being treated by Pomfrey." Ron taps on his Queen Maeve card, earning him a frown when he pokes over her nose.
"How do you even know this?" Dean asks from across the table, having apparently been listening in rather than finishing his Potions essay.
"My dad knows her dad," Ron says before throwing down his Agrippa, too. "They went to school together, I think. I overheard mum and him talking about it during the summer. The Defense post's supposed to be more laidback than her job at the Ministry, so she can still work as she recovers."
He smiles when Seamus finally offers the card he's been really wanting, and Ron pumps a fist in the air before accepting Henry Prewett.
"What's she do? I mean, at the Ministry?" Harry asks suddenly, trying and failing not to look at his professor's smiling face as Ron reverently lifts the card up.
It's Neville who answers though.
"I think she's a Hit Wizard… er… Witch."
"She's a Hit Witch?" Dean repeats. His quill is dripping ink all over his essay, but he doesn't even notice.
Since really, this is so ridiculous. Jones has been nothing but friendly to everyone since starting. And she's supposed to be a Hit Witch? Like a magical equivalent of a police sniper?
It boggles Harry's mind. Apparently, he's not the only one.
"But she seems so nice," Hermione murmurs, moving to pack her things away so that they can head off to dinner.
"I don't think those are mutually exclusive," Neville replies already standing and waiting for the rest of them. "My grandfather – my mum's dad – was a Hit Wizard, too. And he's probably the nicest relative I still have."
They think that over for a moment, but there isn't much to say to it. Not really. Not when they have other distractions.
The topic isn't brought up again. Especially not at dinner that night. By then, their minds are already filled with other things. Most notably when an older student, a prefect Harry thinks but doesn't recognize, races into the hall. He heads straight down the divide between tables and right up to the staff. Stopping to stand directly in front of Dumbledore. Harry can't hear what he says, but the look on the headmaster's face tells it all. The old man is up from his chair and rushing out, many of the faculty hot on his heels.
The students watch. Weary. Confused.
Soon though, the whole school knows.
They've just found a boy in the hallway, a first-year with his camera. He's been petrified.
-O.o.O-
Winter break doesn't come soon enough. Harry spends it at the castle, but he's among the few who stay. Neville tries to invite him over, but Harry feels guilty leaving the Weasleys in the tower alone. Most of the holidays are with them, doing everything in his power not to jump at every shadow and spending an inordinate amount of time playing and losing at chess with Ron.
He also spends time with Prewett, who always stays regardless of the holiday, and is taught the beginning stages for formal dueling. While he highly doubts it'll help him with Slytherin's monster, it does allow Harry to center himself, and he often finds that going over the motions and steps in his head eases his worries.
Yule itself is uneventful, and Harry has an even bigger haul of presents than the year before. Including not one but two sweaters from Molly Weasley and a large variety of chocolate frogs from Prewett, which coincidentally includes the man's card. Harry doesn't dare tell Ron.
Despite the tension, nothing untoward happens. Soon enough, the students return, but they don't seem the least bit reassured. It's the first week back, and they move through the hallways in packs. There's already an underground trade in talismans and lucky charms, and Neville gets a stern telling off from Hermione before he can buy a large purple crystal for protection.
Of course, that's probably preferable to what happens to Ron the fourth day back. He earns a week of detention with Snape for having Scabbers out in the Great Hall, and it's only by the skin of his teeth that Scabbers isn't taken then and there since Snape's already told him off for this before. Apparently, he doesn't find it very sanitary to have rats at the dinner table.
The first night is spent cutting up frogs. The second involves pickled newt and a shudder anytime someone asks for details. Ron has to be forced to go to the third, and only a threat from Hermione gets him heading down to the dungeons.
He's been gone for over two hours before Harry starts to worry. Usually, Snape only keeps students for an hour or until whatever task he has is finished. It'd only taken Ron twenty or so extra minutes the two previous nights, but he's still not back when curfew rolls around. No one else seems particularly concerned though. Hermione has long gone off to her room, and Neville is asleep at his desk with his head on a book. But Harry has an uneasy feeling as he walks over to Percy and tells him that Ron's still not back.
Percy gives a very put upon sigh as he rises from his chair, but he doesn't even have a chance to walk to the portrait before McGonagall's there. She's in something of a state, bun unraveling and jittery as she motions for Harry to come over. She's practically pulling him along with her as she goes back out the exit, and for all her strange behavior, she's rather tight-lipped as they head down an unfamiliar hallways and stop outside a gargoyle.
It takes Harry a moment once they're up the stairs and inside, but he quickly realizes that this is the headmaster's office. A glance around shows innumerable portraits, trinkets, a very interesting red and gold bird on a perch – one that chirps at Harry momentarily. Harry doesn't have time to investigate more thoroughly before he spots Dumbledore himself, Snape with the other heads of house, followed by several people in red robes. All of them are clustered around the headmaster's desk, whispering to each other. Seated out front and off to the side is Ron.
He's green-faced, nearly seasick as Harry moves to sit next to him. His knuckles though are white as they grip the armrests, and Harry can see that he's shaking. Something a lot like dread winds down Harry's spine to coil around his middle.
"What's going on?" Harry murmurs as they're momentarily ignored by the adults.
Ron finally looks at him. His eyes are wide and incredibly blue. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. It takes him a moment to work his jaw, and when he does, his voice is little more than a horrified whisper.
"Scabbers… He wasn't… He isn't… He's not a rat."
-O.o.O-
Harry's mind is still reeling weeks later. It's all so much, too much. Animagi and traitors and trials. Or rather, the lack thereof.
Since apparently, the ministry likes to arrest people and throw them into prison before promptly forgetting about them. And what does that say about the magical world that this is their government?
Still, it's freaking strange. Even for Harry and his weird life in general. He says as much to Prewett as they sit in the man's office and drink cocoa, purposefully not looking at Daily Prophets spread out on the table in front of them. Pettigrew's ratty face is plastered on most of them anyway.
"I just don't… I don't really get any of this," Harry confesses as he takes a sip and immediately grimaces since it's gone cold.
Prewett is nice enough to tap it with his wand to reheat it a moment later, but by then, Harry has fully turned away. He idly watches Levi – Prewett's snake – as she swims through the aquarium, slithering around the koi.
Harry sips his cocoa again, and it's thankfully warm. He sighs even as he sees Levi bobbing her head in the water.
"Why didn't anyone notice Scabbers… I mean, Pettigrew sooner?" he finally asks the question that's really been bugging him all along.
Since if Snape can figure out that Scabbers isn't just a rat by simply holding him – read, confiscating him from Ron, who by a sheer stroke of luck had actually brought him to his detention – why hadn't anyone else.
Prewett sips his own cocoa for a minute, as if collecting his thoughts.
"It wasn't really that simple, Harry. Not many people know an animagus personally. Or have even seen one before. Severus had an advantage in that he's knows Minerva… Professor McGonagall," he clarifies absently. "His magic knew that there was something wrong about Pettigrew as soon as they touched."
Harry frowns at that. Hating that it sounds so sensible and simple.
"But what about the Weasleys? How did they not notice? He lived with them for years," Harry points out.
"I highly doubt they know many animagi, Harry. As for their house…" Prewett sets down his cup. "The Weasley home might not look it, but it has rather impressive wards. A result of the last war, I suspect. Not to mention that Molly Weasley's line is known for their warding skills. It's said that they even helped with the ones on the Ministry building." He taps his fingers on the tabletop, right over Pettigrew's face. "Anyway, Pettigrew was invited, so he could get in. Guest-right, you see."
That stops Harry short.
"What?" he questions. "What's that?"
"It's protection for someone invited into the wards of a dwelling. It's ancient magic," the professor explains. "Some of the very oldest there is. Pettigrew was invited in by the Weasleys, and he had no hostile intent towards them." Prewett tilts his head up and rubs his chin. "Quite a brilliant plan really. No one outside knew it was him, and if they did, they couldn't get in the wards. Not since it would've harmed him, harmed someone invited in by the family. A guest, as it were."
"What about in the castle?" Harry waves a vague hand around them. "I mean, Ron had him here all last year, and Percy before him."
"And he was in Gryffindor dorm much of the time, no?" the professor returns easily. "Had actually been a student here himself." Prewett looks at Harry for a long moment as he mulls over that. "Time matters in magic. So does intent."
He reaches out and taps the newspapers in front of them again. Finger tracing over one section in particular.
"Pettigrew was a Gryffindor. Hogwarts knew him. The Tower recognized him as one of her own, and he never hurt the students there. Despite being a Death Eater, he never intended harm to anyone in the castle. The wards protected him," Prewett continues with a hint of frustration. "Any outsider would've been in more danger from them than Pettigrew if they were trying to capture him. A student probably would've been able to get to him, but it's also possible the wards might even recognize him as faculty given his age. Which would've gotten very messy. It already was with a staff member catching him. Luckily for us, Severus has just as much claim on and by the castle. More so since he's been both a student and professor here."
Harry turns this over in his head.
"It didn't matter that he was a rat?"
Prewett shakes his head. "No, an animagus form is technically a true one. It's based on a person's personality and magic. It's part of them. The wards didn't recognize it as a disguise, and there aren't ones against animagi specifically."
Harry isn't sure he likes that implication. Or the one where a known Death Eater can waltz in – well, be carried in – and the castle's protections don't do anything about it.
"Does this mean that any Death Eater who went to school here can get in?" Harry asks suddenly.
Prewett shoots him a speculative look but seems to be considering that.
"Not necessarily," he allows. "It would depend on their intent, for one. I also suspect the headmaster is going to be updating the wards and their triggers."
Harry takes another sip of cocoa, but it sits heavily on his stomach and leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Or perhaps that's just the turn his thoughts have taken.
He looks at Daily Prophet again. From Pettigrew and his lies to the other man pictured prominently. People might be worried about Harry's role in this mess, but if anyone's a victim, it's Sirius Black.
"What will happen to him?" Harry inquires, hand sitting just under the picture. "To Mr. Black?"
"I expect he'll spend several months with healers," Prewett says softly, and his eyes look at the photo but don't really see it. "Azkaban's a horrible place, and he's been there for a decade. He'll need counseling at the very least, and most likely extensive mind healing before he'll be safe. For others. Not to mention himself."
There's something in his face. In his eyes. Something like sorrow and guilt. For what, Harry can't begin to imagine. Maybe just the knowledge that an innocent man languished for so long.
"McGonagall said…" Harry begins but falters. "She said that he's my godfather." He toys with his cup even as he says it, finger tracing around the rim before dancing along the handle. "I don't know what to think about that, honestly. I mean… I don't know him."
"You could write him," Prewett suggests, and he's watching Harry closely when he suddenly looks up. "Get to know him that way. See if you truly do want to meet with him."
Harry nods but doesn't say anything more. There really isn't any need. There's too much to think on for the moment. Too much to consider. To accept.
He just looks at the picture of Sirius Black, thin as a skeleton, gaze hollow and empty. Harry closes his eyes and exhales.
-O.o.O-
Harry does write. It takes some time. Days for him to mull it over. To weigh the pros and cons. To then find the right words to put to parchment.
It's so hard to send the first letter. He knows that this man's supposed to be his godfather, but Harry doesn't know him. Doesn't remember anything about him at all. He can spot him in many of the photos in the album Hagrid gave him at the end of last school year, but it's hard to reconcile the laughing and boisterous man with the gaunt photo the papers all seem to have slapped onto their front page.
And what's he supposed to say? How's he supposed to introduce himself? What's he to write about his life? What would an adult find interesting about a twelve-year-old? His studies? His friends? Quidditch?
In the end, he settles for writing a little bit of everything. His letter is rambling but not overly long, and he stuffs it in an envelope and offers it to Hedwig before he can change his mind. She seems to catch his mood and nibbles at his ear before taking off.
He waits for a reply almost anxiously. Not even reviewing movements and dueling stances can keep his thoughts completely occupied.
His friends watch him with saddened eyes the whole time. Hermione actually cries when he initially fills her in on the whole debacle, and Neville is nearly shaking by the end of it. Luna's very solemn, remorseful, and assures him that her father will be running the story as a special addition of his magazine.
Ron, meanwhile, seems to be in a state of denial. Alternating between pretending nothing's the matter and utter disgust that Scabbers had really been a human. Had lived in his house. Had slept on his bed.
The last part he's reminded of several times by the twins, who earn themselves a lecture from Percy, a Howler from their mother, and thorough hexing from Hermione and Neville – surprisingly enough – when their backs are turned.
Of course, it doesn't help that a mediwizard and an Auror come to interview Ron right before Pettigrew's put on trial. He has to undergo a complete medical scan and answer a boatload of questions, but fortunately, nothing else turns up. As far as anyone can tell, Pettigrew never did anything to Ron or the members of his family.
And if anything else positive comes out of this, at least Ron doesn't have to finish his week of detention. Finding out that your pet's really a Death Eater is apparently punishment enough by Snape's reckoning.
Ron finds that less than helpful when Luna points it out.
It does serve to distract him though, which is probably Luna's goal in the first place. In turn, worrying about Ron takes Harry's mind off of other things. Namely Pettigrew's guilty verdict and subsequent trip to Azkaban. The stares from the other students, questions from some very insensitive housemates about his defeat of Voldemort as a baby, and overly annoying reporters with nothing better to do but send him requests for interviews.
And finally, two days after Harry writes his godfather, he gets a reply.
-O.o.O-
Spring comes.
Neville misplaces his toad and can't find him anywhere. Not that he seems to be looking very hard. Gryffindor beats Slytherin in Quidditch, which makes Malfoy – their new Seeker – shoot death-glares his direction for several days.
The weather outside is beautiful, which is a stark contrast to the mood of the school as break arrives. The students are leaving in droves; Harry can't blame them. There's been another attack just the week before. This time, it's a Hufflepuff in Harry's year and Sir Nicholas, the Gryffindor ghost. Both had been found by the large windows on the fourth floor, ashen and petrified.
Now though, it isn't the Hufflepuff – Justin – that everyone talks about. The fact that the monster can work on ghosts seems to terrify people the most.
Nearly the whole school's gone now. Hunkered down in their homes. Harry stays, naturally. Despite Neville's offer to the contrary. The Weasleys remain, too. Their parents are gone to visit Ron's brother Charlie. Largely, Harry suspects, because they haven't been told what's going on. Otherwise, all of them would be long gone by now.
He writes to Sirius throughout this time but decides against saying anything. He still isn't sure what to make of the man or how he'd react. Their letters are somewhat stilted. Not quite formal but not overly familiar. Still testing the waters as it were.
Harry spends nearly the entire break with Prewett. It's either that or the tower since they aren't allowed to roam the hallways or visit the library without an upper year. Which basically means Percy since he's the only one left for Gryffindor, and he's too busy spending time with his girlfriend.
There are whispers that the school will be closed, but no one can confirm them. Regardless, Harry still has to pick his electives. Crossing his fingers the whole time even as Prewett looks over what he's written down on a spare piece of parchment. The professor manages a chuckle. The first Harry's heard from him in quite a while.
"You hardly need Muggle Studies, Harry," the man says with a ghost of his normal good humor. "And you aren't Miss Granger. You don't purposefully weigh yourself down for no apparent reason."
He blushes at being called out but shrugs at Hermione's description. She's something of a glutton for punishment when it comes to her studies.
"What should I take then?" he asks since he really has no idea. He isn't sure what advantages each has. Or even what real-world use they'd be.
Prewett turns over the parchment and starts writing what looks to be a list.
"Hogwarts has limited electives," he begins. "At least for third-years. There are several more that start fifth or sixth year, but many students outright ignore those options." He pauses for a moment before starting a new column. "They don't advertise it, but there are more courses that'd be available to you next year. Ones without a physical teacher on-site."
Harry blinks at this. Since no kidding, this is the first he's heard of this. And he's already endured a lecture from Percy over dinner.
"Like a mail-in course?"
"Similar," Prewett agrees as he keeps writing. "Most are done through Beauxbatons or the Roman Academy. There's another one through the Salem Institute as well, but I think only two people from Hogwarts have ever taken it, and it's been offered for decades."
He finishes with a flourish and offers the parchment back. Harry scans it slowly, realizing that he's listed each subject with a short blurb on what they entail and can be used for.
"If you want an actual teacher here," Prewett continues, capturing Harry's attention again, "then I'd suggest Arithmancy and Runes."
Harry, who's always been good with numbers and even better with languages, nods. He notices that Prewett has circled both on the parchment.
"Did you take those?"
"Not initially, but I picked them up under self-study and realized that I loved them. Very useful in wards and curse-breaking, which are coincidentally both something you can take after your OWLs." Prewett taps lower down on the parchment.
"What about for your mastery?" Harry asks as he re-reads the bottom, which lists electives available as an upper year and the prerequisites for those.
Prewett tilts his head. "A little of everything. Curse-breaking. Creatures. Dark Arts-"
"You took a class on the Dark Arts?" Harry interrupts, flabbergasted.
"I studied Defense," Prewett reminds him gently. "That by definition includes the Dark Arts, depending on the country your program's through. Mine was from Salem." He takes in his student's very wide eyes. "You can't defend against something if you don't know anything about it, Harry." He smiles at the look on Harry's face for several seconds before continuing. "Anyway, Defense isn't my only degree. The sole mastery but not my only degree."
"It isn't?" Harry tries and fails not to sound even more surprised.
Prewett doesn't seem to buy it. He gives Harry a look that is half between fondness and exasperation.
"I may not seem like it, but I can actually study when I put my mind to it." He gives another shrug and leans back. "I've a Muggle degree in psychology as well. Salem requires a university degree or equivalent in all their mastery candidates," he explains. "I've also been studying more in-depth with runes and languages in my free time. Severus… Ah, Professor Snape thinks I should apply that towards a mastery project."
There's something in his voice, in the way he says it that makes Harry jerk his head up. He studies Prewett for a moment and offers a little smirk.
"He's been harping on you, has he?"
Prewett's face is more sheepish now. "Not in so many words, but he threatens me with getting the other faculty involved. It's all a big bother. They're meddlesome, the lot of them."
Harry can't help it. He laughs then.
It feels good. Freeing even. Lifts a weight from his soul he hasn't before realized is there.
Even better, Prewett laughs, too.
-O.o.O-
It's May now.
There hasn't been another attack since before the break. The students take it as a positive sign, but there's still an undercurrent. Still a slinking dread beneath the surface. A slithering sense of wrongness that strikes at Harry as he walks the corridors. A coiling at the base of his brain that just won't go away.
He tries to shut it out. To go about this day as normal. It really doesn't work.
Harry picks his electives. Arithmancy, Creatures, and Runes. If he wants a Defense mastery – and really, that sounds like a fantastic idea – he'll need all three eventually.
Ron has opted for the easy courses, Creatures and Divination, while Neville has agreed to both those and Runes besides. Hermione has signed up for everything offered on-site, and Harry hadn't dared tell her there were extra classes that she could also take. It's probably best that she doesn't know.
His yearmates are still deciding it seems, but he suspects that all the girls will be in Muggle Studies. Especially as he watches them goggle at Prewett during mealtimes.
"He's so handsome," Lavender breathes and nearly sticks her elbow in the scrambled eggs even as Harry looks on with bemusement.
Dean laughs, while Seamus flutters his eyelashes. Parvati's too busy also staring at Prewett to notice, and her sister Padma has joined their table since it has a better view.
Ron makes a gagging noise but wisely keeps his thoughts to himself.
This is at least better than the argument the day before when they'd nearly gotten in a catfight with the girls from Hufflepuff on his eye color. Which no one seemed to agree on, by the way.
Blue perhaps. Harry's heard several older girls say hazel. A few even swear they're green.
But looking at Professor Prewett's eyes, Harry can only say that they're tired. Weary almost. Like he's stayed up too late the night before – and maybe a few nights before that, too – and hasn't enough sleep.
He's not the only one.
Snape is even surlier than usual. He seems to have taken the attacks as a personal affront; perhaps because he's already caught Pettigrew and nothing seems to have changed. Flitwick and McGonagall too have been seen scouring the school, and Harry overheard that Spout's actually sleeping in the Hufflepuff dorms now. Jones is even paler than usual, and Harry can tell she's lost weight by how ill-fitting her robes are.
A round of chittering rouses Harry from his thoughts then, and he looks over to see Parvati blushing furiously and Lavender elbowing her in the side. Both of them are ogling Prewett as he rushes from the hall.
Hermione chooses that moment to all but slam her book shut.
"Honestly," she mutters to herself as she jerks to her feet and grabs her bag. "People are being attacked, and this is what you focus on." She shakes her head in disgust and stomps from the table.
Harry doesn't follow her, and for months later, he'll wonder why he doesn't. Even then, he still doesn't have an answer. Not then. Certainly not when McGonagall comes to Gryffindor tower and personally escorts he, Ron, and Neville to the Hospital Wing that very night.
Hours later, Harry's still at Hermione's bedside. She's stiff, face frozen in time. Hand hard and cold beneath his.
They found her in the library, McGonagall tells him with tears in her eyes. They'd found both of them in the library. Hermione and a Ravenclaw prefect, petrified and holding a mirror.
-O.o.O-
Harry barely has a grasp on it. Barely has a chance to have a grasp on things. It's all too much. They've all done so little.
He skips his classes the next day. Staying with Hermione in the Hospital Wing the entire time.
Luna wanders in later that morning and spends the day reading aloud from a storybook. Ron and Neville join them after lunch and don't leave.
They hear the announcement just before dinner, and Harry feels his heart stop, even as his blood chills. A hissing sound fills his head, and his vision whites out for moment before Luna puts a hand on his wrist and jolts him back to reality.
A student has been taken!
He meets the equally horrified looks of the others in the same moment that the door to the Hospital Wing bangs open. They all jump as Snape glides inside, but it's the people behind him that steal Harry's attention.
It's the Weasleys. It's Ron's parents followed by the twins and Percy. Only one of them is missing, and Harry knows with coiling horror exactly who it is. He doesn't have to see Molly's tears or Arthur's ashen face or see Percy with an arm around his brothers.
The anguish is there for all of them to see.
Snape escorts them in, even as he's motioning for non-family members to stand up. Neville and Luna are reluctant but follow him. He turns to Harry then, gaze dark and glittering in a manner that Harry can't quite catalog. But Harry doesn't want to leave. He can't. Not now. Not like this.
Snape unexpectedly caves. Pleading eyes are all it takes for him to let Harry remain, and he does. Sitting next to Ron on the bed across from Hermione. It has to be hours that they spend like that. It feels even longer. The clicking of Pomfrey's clock is only muffled but the occasional sob Ron's mother makes into her hands and her husband as he breathes out heavily.
Harry doesn't know what to say or do or even think. He doesn't know what the teachers are doing. Are they after Ginny? Or off battling some monster? Are they even still alive?
His thoughts are a complete whirl. Twirling and twisting and knotting into a jumble that makes even less sense than before. Harry starts to recite dueling steps and proper forms in his head, and that's probably the only reason he doesn't crawl out of his own skin from sheer worry.
The creak of the door makes him jump and nearly gives him a heart attack besides. Harry still has a hand over his chest and his wand in the other as it opens fully. He looks on blankly as a stretcher floats inside.
Prewett's right behind it. Hair ruffled and robes dusty. Face solemn but eyes brighter than Harry's ever seen. Practically glowing.
It takes a second, but Harry belatedly realizes the stretcher isn't empty. Jones is on it, whiter than a sheet and seemingly near death. Harry can see her chest rising and falling, barely. Madam Pomfrey, who has already sprang into action, is casting feverishly at her. Throwing out spells like it's the end of the world.
Maybe it is.
Prewett just lets her, moving out the way in the same manner Harry would a rogue bludger. It's only then, when Prewett has stepped more fully into the room, that Harry realizes there's another person with him. She's pale, shaking even as she bites her lip, but she's walking under her own power as Prewett leads her over to a bed.
Harry feels more than sees Molly Weasley freeze. Feels the collective inhalation. And then, Molly's up. Running.
"Ginny!"
-O.o.O-
Later, while Molly Weasley is still alternating between hysterics, squeezing her daughter to death, and babbling her thanks, Harry follows Prewett to the Great Hall. It's an easy choice really. The Hospital Wing had become increasingly awkward between all the grateful Weasleys, the appearance of Dumbledore and Snape, Madam Pomfrey rushing around, and Saint Mungo's staff finally arriving. Besides, now that Ginny is saved and it's clear that the petrified students will soon be righted, there isn't much reason to stay.
Not to mention, Harry's insanely curious.
Dumbledore leads the way, while Snape and Prewett trail after. Harry can't hear them inside the spell Snape's cast, but he can tell from the way the man's left eye has narrowed and the movement of his mouth that Prewett is getting the lecture of a lifetime. The fact that the younger professor looks like a scolded but thrilled dog certainly doesn't help matters.
Of course, his reaming only seems to be put on hold as they finally come to the Great Hall. What has to be every member of the Hogwarts staff is clustered just outside the double doors, and every single one of them's in a stage of shock. Particularly when Prewett arrives and they turn as a unit to gape at him.
Dumbledore keeps walking past them, but in the doorway, he misses a step. It's only because Snape is now beside him that he doesn't go headfirst into the floor. Just beyond them, Harry can make out an enormous dark form lying between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, both of which are now overturned. Gryffindor table is little more than splinters, which is probably the origin of the rather large chunk of wood that Harry spies sticking out of an eye socket. What's left of Slytherin's house table seems to be in various stages of transfiguration, and…
And are those chicken feathers?
"What is this?" Snape asks then, and his voice is oddly blank. Like he'd forgotten how furious he's supposed to be.
"It's a basilisk," Prewett replies quite cheerfully.
He seems to have recovered admirably from the hug – read, assault – that Mrs. Weasley had unleashed upon him. In fact, for all that he's just rescued a student, battled a possessed professor, and fought an enormous monster, he seems in surprisingly good spirits.
Naturally, everyone from Dumbledore to Flitwick to Sinistra to Sprout stares at him like he's grown another head. Possibly a leg or two. Maybe a whole body. They gawp at first him and then the snake. From one to the other and back.
Harry can't blame them; he's staring, too.
"Basilisk," McGonagall repeats dully. Her voice is dry, nearly croaking, and her bun is completely undone.
Not so far away, Dumbledore's eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline. For once in his life, he seemingly has no idea what to say.
Snape, still next to him, is in much the same position.
Prewett just nods. "Quite a large one actually."
Hooch, who's the only one brave – stupid – enough to go over to the snake in the meantime, whirls around to look at him again.
"Large?" she repeats loudly. "This thing has to be seventy feet long." She nudges it with her foot, but it doesn't even budge an inch.
"Only sixty-eight," Prewett corrects. "I measured." He seems taken back when they turn to stare at him again.
There's a moment of stark silence before Snape lets out something that's the lovechild of a snort and chuckle.
"This is utterly ridiculous," he tells them then before turning to Prewett and lifting one hand into the air. "You are utterly ridiculous. This is… This is insane. You've rescued a student and another professor, battled Slytherin's monster, defeated a fifty-year-old phantom, wrecked the largest room in the castle, and you just stand here. Like this is something you do every day."
There's a pause then. As if no one quite knows what to say.
"It all turned out okay though," Prewett points out weakly. "I mean, we can fix everything. The hall and tables-"
Snape laughs then. It's a terrifying sound. Part amusement, part hysteria.
Some of the faculty seems to agree with Harry's assessment, already backing towards the basilisk. Dumbledore opens his mouth. Only to close it again before saying anything. Prewett looks at him helplessly. McGonagall just closes her eyes as she bites her lip. Flitwick puts his head in his hands, while Sprout gently pats him on the shoulder.
Snape keeps laughing. So hard he starts making small wheezing sounds and has to lean forward with hands on his knees.
"I think that I broke him," Prewett says then, utterly flummoxed.
That only makes Snape laugh harder.
-O.o.O-
June is a wonderful month.
Harry finally learns from Prewett that Dobby the house-elf previously belonged to the Malfoy family but has now been freed under rather mysterious circumstances. The students are cured of petrification in short order once the mandrakes are ready, and Hermione probably spends the first ten minutes sobbing all over Harry's shoulder. He still can't tell if it's from relief or horror that exams are coming and she missed so much study time.
Not that she really has to worry about the last part since finals are canceled for everyone but the fifth and seventh years. Mostly because of all the unrest and not the least of which because the teachers have to take turns substituting for Defense. Professor Jones remains in Saint Mungo's for the rest term, and Prewett tells him that she's already sent in her resignation since she's projected to need months to recover.
The final Quidditch game of the year comes, and Dumbledore lets them play lest he have a rebellion on his hands. Gryffindor wins, beating Ravenclaw easily and securing the Quidditch cup for the second year in a row.
Then, it's the end of term.
The feast is even cheerier than the year before, if possible. Everyone's in an excellent mood, most especially the faculty. It's been a very rough year on them, too, Harry realizes. One of their own had been possessed, after all. And another had freed her.
Still, it's rather surprising to see them so relaxed as they speak amongst themselves. Harry can even hear them bantering, positioned as he is at the end of Gryffindor table.
Snape is just shaking his head when he says, "A Death Eater, a possessed professor, and a basilisk. What next?"
"A vampire?" Prewett suggests wickedly; that earns him a glare. "Maybe a Veela."
"One can only hope," Flitwick chimes in from his other side.
Which earns him a snort from Snape, a chuckle from Prewett, and a near-sputter from McGonagall. Flitwick gives her an innocent smile.
"Really, Filius," Sprout says then, voice mild and sweet, "I never knew you felt that way about vampires."
Now, it's Flitwick's turn to start. Prewett's subsequent laugh is nearly a guffaw, and Snape smirks before he can stop himself.
They only quiet when Dumbledore chooses that moment to stand and announce the House Cup winner. Which is also Gryffindor, coincidentally enough. Though that may have something to do with the fifty points Ginny won for "keeping her head" during the encounter with Jones and the basilisk.
Either way, she's is both beaming and blushing furiously as the whole school cheers for her. She seems to take it in stride until Harry glances at her and she promptly knocks over a whole jug of pumpkin juice.
He doesn't look at her for the rest of the feast, which is probably for the best.
Soon enough, it's next day. Trevor, Neville's toad, is found lurking in a girls' bathroom right before they board the train, and the ride back is rather relaxing. Harry gathers his trunk, says his goodbyes, and ventures out the station on his own. He meets the Dursleys in the parking lot, mostly because they were too terrified to come inside, but they say absolutely nothing as he gets in the car.
The ride to Privet Drive is made in near silence, but Harry welcomes it. Particularly after Petunia reveals that she knows Sirius Black's his godfather. Harry quickly informs them that they've been exchanging letters, and the purple color Vernon's face turns is almost lovely in its irony.
Harry doesn't laugh. It's a near thing.
He also doesn't tell them that Sirius has been threatening to drop in for a visit.
Life is good.
AN: For all those wondering about Hestia Jones, recall that Lockhart didn't hold his book signing. That means Lucius Malfoy never had the chance to slip the diary to Ginny. There was also no dueling club, so that means no Polyjuice. Hagrid doesn't get threatened since the Ministry is already reeling from Pettigrew being found.
Ever Hopeful,
Azar