Chapter 5: Lupin, and a Stiff Cat
Having spent most of the night waking up from nightmares about the troll, Harry came to breakfast baggy-eyed and thinking of strong tea. He saw a troll at the edge of the Great Hall, jumped back, a scream rising up, then realized it was just a suit of armor, seen from the corner of his eye.
Hermione said, "I've done that three times already."
Sitting down, Harry noticed four new faces at the high table, seated next to Dumbledore.
Two men, one older, greatly scarred man with an eyepatch over his left eye, next to him a light-brown haired man who looked somewhere in his early thirties, though it was hard to tell with wizards, but gaunt-cheeked, wearing not robes, but a tweed suit.
And two women, both middle-aged, but otherwise entirely different. One red-haired, plump, and matronly, deep dimples in her cheeks, and the other tall, dark-haired, stern and slender as a knife.
"Oh no," said Ron, staring in horror at the red-haired woman, face pale as a sheet.
"What is it?" said Harry.
Ron buried his head in his hands. "It's worse than the dementors," Ron said, and wouldn't say anything else.
Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who shrugged. The Great Hall was filled with whispering, students craning their heads to look at the four additions, but only Fred, George, and Percy had stricken looks not dissimilar to Ron's.
"The Weasleys know something." said Hermione.
Before they could drag it out of Ron, Dumbledore stood and the whispering cut short.
The old wizard's voice filled the room. "Now that you have all arrived, I have some announcements. For some time, the Ministry had been considering sending dementors onto the grounds of Hogwarts. I have not been an advocate of the option. In light of recent events, the Ministry has pushed forward with it. The dementors are now here, stationed at the entrances to the grounds."
The Hall broke into a hubbub that only ended when a great POP! and a sizzle of sparks came out of Dumbledore's wand.
A single voice continued on. "...I'll just stand right there, not afraid at all, and tell them-"
Dumbledore cut in. "It's good to know you're so reliable, Dennis Alwood."
The Ravenclaw boy's mouth shut.
Dumbledore continued, "But I have no intention of allowing any contact between them and the students of Hogwarts. Last night, some of them came quite near the castle walls." Dumbledore's voice hardened. "That won't happen again. To assist in this and other matters, I've asked a few old friends to join us at Hogwarts, and on very short notice, they've agreed. First, Alastor Moody."
Whispers rose once more as the scarred man rose and surveyed the students, and Harry realized that the 'eyepatch' was a large, bright-blue eye held in a metal loop. He gathered from the whispers that the man was famous even before Dumbledore recited a few of his accomplishments as an Auror, concluding, "Though retired from fieldwork these past few years, Alastor has continued to work as a consultant at the Auror Office, duties which he has graciously set aside to assist us here. Thank you, Alastor."
The applause as Moody sat was subdued by nerves.
"Next, Enchantress and noted duelist Emmeline Vance, who served honorably as a militia member during the war."
The dark-haired woman rose, bowed to the chamber, then sat.
"Remus Lupin, dagararist, free-lance charmer and potioneer, former militia member, and former Gryffindor House prefect." The younger man rose, bowed as well, and said something to the red-haired women as he sat.
Harry stared. Remus Lupin was a name he'd read any number of times in his father's biography.
"And finally Molly Weasley, former dagararist, circuit duelist, and militia member."
The whispering for the red-haired woman's rise was louder than it had been even for Alastor Moody, and grew louder still when she waved at the Gryffindor table, where all four Weasley boys were trying to burrow into their chairs, Fred going so far as to stick his head under the table.
"Just a dream," muttered Ron. "It's just a bad dream."
Harry began to laugh, loud and high-pitched, a little deeper as a bit of lion came uncalled to the fore.
He shut his mouth when Dumbledore called for silence again, but the laughter kept on shaking his shoulders and squeezing out through his nose.
"All four are skilled with the Patronus Charm, and in practical dueling. Mind them as you would mind Professors. Further..." Dumbledore waved his wand, and a large bar of wrapped chocolate appeared in front of each student, startling Harry's laughter away.
Dumbledore said, "This is not for snacking. Keep it with you at all times, and eat it if you encounter dementors. If any of you do happen to lose your chocolate bar, or, perhaps, eat it by accident," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "you may get another. Defense classes at all grades will have appropriately leveled units on dementors."
Students, depending on their grades, looked to either Quirrell or Pratchett.
"But in all grades, the key instruction for dealing with dementors will be simply to avoid them. They are not here for us. They are here to guard the entrances, so do not leave the school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks, disguises, or invisibility cloaks, and they do not understand pleading or excuses Give them no reason harm you. If you do, somehow, encounter one, eat your chocolate, and back away slowly. And I see I have frightened you all much too much.
"It is the long held opinion of the Ministry that dementors are, like fire, useful, if properly controlled, which the Ministry has great experience at. There would be very little danger even if it were not for the precautions we are undertaking. As for why the Ministry has dispatched them...
"The Ministry itself is not commenting on that, so I will not comment either, except to say that the reason is known to me, and is, as you'd expect, grave. The papers will have their own surmises, which you may trust as far as you like."
That concluded Dumbledore's speech, the food appeared, and before long students were poring over early editions of The Daily Prophet, which said the dementors were at Hogwarts to catch Sirius Black. The troll that had somehow gotten into Hogwarts was likely his work. It was believed that he'd gotten hold of a wand. One article thought the Ministry was doing too much, one thought it wasn't doing enough, one thought it was doing the wrong stuff, and one thought it was a perfect choice, so all the options were covered.
Or that's what Hermione said. Harry paid minimal attention. He was staring at the High Table.
Finally, Harry stood.
Hermione said, "Where are you going?"
He pointed to Remus Lupin. "I'm going to talk to that man."
Hermione said, "He's at the High Table."
"He's not a professor though."
"I still don't think you should bother him at the High Table." That was taboo.
"He knew my parents."
"Lots of people knew your parents. Hagrid. Most of the faculty. You haven't asked any of them."
"But Lupin really knew them. Not in passing. Not as two more in a long line of students." He stared at Lupin, seeing the faint cut on a cheek, the flecks of premature grey amid the light brown hair, a stray end of pale thread poking out of a seam.
"Harry," said Hermione, "Hoot, hoot," and she touched the lids of her eyes.
Harry sat like a marionette that had had its strings cut, blinking his eyes, then rubbing the corners like they itched.
He faced Hermione, opened his eyes wide, and she nodded slightly.
Still unnerved, breathing a little heavily, Harry said, "I'll talk to him later. They'll be here a while."
#
#
Classes passed in a rush, Harry hurrying through homework between periods, his plan to do some of it the night before having been scuttled by the troll, and all the while people whose names he couldn't recall asked him about the troll, and he lied about having hidden in the corner till Dumbledore showed up.
It wasn't till after dinner, in the common room, that he and Hermione were able to corner Ron, sitting on the plush rug before one of the fires in the Gryffindor common room.
"Your mother was a dagararist?" said Harry.
Ron looked uncomfortable. "It wasn't any big deal. She talks about it a lot, but she was only maybe tenth or twelfth in Britain, which sounds great till you remember the Dagarary circuit is international, so being 10th or so in Britain has you down pretty far. About the same for Lupin, though he'd be ranked higher if he didn't have the shakes."
Lupin was the subject Harry was interested in. "The shakes?"
"Hereditary curse. Skips through generations. Sometimes it's fine, but sometimes it acts up. Even with it you can still do easy magic, but dagarary? At a high level?"
Harry said, "Then why be a dagararist?"
"Because," said a wry male voice, "it attacks my weakness."
Remus Lupin sat in one of the overstuffed chairs by the hearth, crossed one leg over the other, said, "Hello," and looked into the fire.
Harry and Hermione stared at each other.
As the man seemed to feel no further need to speak, Hermione asked the question that was on the mind of every Gryffindor in the common room, all staring at Lupin. "Why are you here? I'm sorry, that came off impolite. But it's usually only ever students."
Rather than answering, Lupin said, "What's your name?"
"Hermione Granger."
"Ah, the muggle-born girl. I hear you have a deft hand at charms." From his breast pocket he took a pencil, like what every muggle child had, wood, yellow paint, a soft pink eraser at the end. "Float it for me."
"But we're not in the practice room," said Hermione.
"I'm more than qualified to supervise. Think of me as between a Professor and a TA."
Hermione drew her wand. "Wingardium Levioso," she whispered, and the pencil rose off Lupin's hand.
"Good. Raise it."
The pencil rose to the ceiling."
"Lower it."
It lowered to just above Lupin's lap.
"Make it do a circuit around my head."
Harry could've done the first two, but making the pencil go in a smooth circle...
Lupin said, "Good. Now, through the fire, quickly, so it doesn't burn, and back above my hand."
That's what Hermione did, though the pencil got caught on the grate for a moment coming out.
"Slightly singed," said Lupin, examining it. "Now, break it."
"We haven't learned that," said Hermione.
"Yes you have. Use the same spell. Just pull on different parts of the pencil, instead of all of it."
Hermione said, "Down on one end, up on the other?" But that just made it twirl.
Lupin said, "Think of how you normally break something, with your hands."
"Down on both ends?" frowned Hermione.
"No," said Ron. "One way on both ends, the other way in the middle."
Lupin said, "You're Ron Weasley? Your mother told me about you."
Ron looked down.
"She was looking for you earlier, but I told her that her sons might not like talking to their mother at school. At least, not in front of others."
The pencil wobbled in the air, and after a minute, Hermione said, "I can't manage it."
Lupin nodded, and the pencil snapped.
"But you're not even holding your wand," said Hermione.
Lupin blinked at her. "Sometime in your seventh year, your Professors will have you take a stab at wandless magic. They'll have you try simple spells that first-years learn. Now, can you fix the pencil?"
"With Reparo?"
"Yes."
Hermione said, "I've seen it in the textbook, but we haven't learned it yet."
"You don't think you can manage it on the first try?"
Hermione shook her head.
Lupin extended a finger, and the halves of the pencil snapped back together with no sign there had ever been a break. Then the pencil floated back into Lupin's breast pocket.
"You're not even using incantations," said Hermione.
Lupin said, "Unlike wandless magic, wordless magic is actually a real part of the curriculum. It'll be a significant portion of your grades in your sixth and seventh years. Don't be so impressed. Most of your professors can do what I just did; you never see it because they're modeling the basics to first-years."
Lupin continued speaking, loudly, but as if only to himself. "A tad underwhelming after how her Professors bragged. 'Better than Lily Potter,' they said. Well. I suppose it is only November 1st."
Hermione's jaw clenched, and her cheeks burned.
"You might think about whether what just offended you really ought to be offensive." He turned to Harry, who had been soaking at all in, eyes wide, wearing a stupid grin.
Lupin said, "And you I'd recognize on the street. You look so like James it hurts. But a good sort of hurt."
That was exactly the lead in Harry was looking for, but as he opened his mouth to ask about his parents, Lupin stood up.
"Where might I find a Mr. Percy Weasley? I must speak with him about my sleeping arrangements. I'm not sure where I'll bedding down, but wherever it is, it'll be distractingly nostalgic."
Hermione absorbed this. "Are there full wizards sleeping in the other three dormitories?"
"No," said Lupin. "Just Gryffindor."
#
#
"I can't find Scabbers," said Ron, as the boys got ready for bed.
"He's been missing a lot lately," said Harry, looking under his bed, and seeing only a dust bunny and some socks. "He must've found some secret place to sleep." Though privately, whenever Ron couldn't find Scabbers, Harry worried that the old rat had died, and they'd find out when there was a bad smell.
The door opened, and Lupin and Percy came in, Lupin in night clothes, carrying a briefcase and wand, a doll-house-sized bed suspended in the air above it, fit to fit in a palm. They looked around a bit, then Lupin zoomed the tiny bed into a corner.
"Give us space," said Percy, and after the boys had, the tiny bed expanded into one long, full-size bed, bigger than the boys'.
"You're sleeping here?" said Seamus.
"Was that transfiguration?" said Harry.
Lupin said, "If it were transfiguration, what kind would it be?"
Harry had to think back to his reading of his Introduction to Magical Theory book-they hadn't done anything half so dramatic in class. "It's hard to make something bigger and have it stay that way, so I'll bet you got a bed from storage, shrunk it, and now you've returned it to full size."
"Very good," said Lupin, sitting on the bed. "Percy, I'll take it from here."
Percy left, but rather than taking it from there, Lupin lay back on the bed, pointed his wand at the ceiling, and lights began to play across it, blues, greens, oranges, purples, golds and reds, like a kaleidoscope, but curvier, and not often symmetrical.
At moments, familiar shapes seemed to resolve, trees, castles, cars, animals, but the forms were lost an instant later.
The boys watched, mystified as to what to do, slightly afraid to bother him, till finally Ron said, "I'm looking for my rat, Scabbers. He's grey, he's fat, missing a finger on his front foot. I can show you a picture."
Without looking away from his light show, Lupin said, "I could bring Scabbers here with Accio if you like, but it's risky to use Accio on a living thing when you don't know where it is. Suppose his head were resting in a wire loop. Bringing him here might strangle him."
"I'll wait then," said Ron, quietly. "He'll turn up."
Lupin continued with his picture making, until Harry couldn't stand it anymore, and he said, "You were one of my father's best friends."
On the ceiling, three boys appeared. One looked very like Harry, a second must've been young Lupin, and the third was a slightly plump boy who looked a little like Neville. "James, Peter and I. We were always together." A fourth face appeared, a dark haired boy, not recognizable at all as the deranged murderer from the newspapers. "And the fourth, Sirius. I say the fourth, but if any one of us was more your father's best friend than the other two, it was Sirius. He's your godfather, you know?"
"I read that."
"James and Sirius were the ring leaders, dragging Peter and I into trouble: good honest trouble, mostly, the sort of pranks that punctuate the days. Sneaking into the other dorms and setting their quieters backward." On the ceiling, James, Sirius and Lupin in an empty dorm with Ravenclaw colors, tapping the quieters with their wands while Peter kept watch. "Charming the chairs in the library so you had to ask their permission to get up." Again, the four of them, older, laughing into their hands as vague forms struggled. "Then we'd all turn around and get top marks. Except Peter's marks were usually just okay."
Ron said, "You sound like my brothers, Fred and George."
There was a smile in Lupin's voice. "Filch pointed them out to me. Said I wasn't to give them any ideas."
"My father," said Harry.
"Once we were making a very difficult potion. We'd been at it forever, messing up, fixing the problem, messing up a different way, fixing that, learning as we went. It was finally almost done, just needing to simmer, we were tired, frustrated, relieved, and Peter tripped over his own feet, knocking the cauldron off the table." As Lupin spoke, the light illustrated, showing the potion spilling across the floor. "James picked up the cauldron while Peter covered his face with his hands, apologizing and apologizing. And all James said was, 'The second time, we'll know what we're doing.'
"Your father was kind, generous, charming, hardworking, at least at what interested him. He'd treat life like a game, then at the tensest moments, you'd find he knew what a serious game it was."
"Then why was he friends with Sirius Black?"
"Because They were very similar. Sirius was a good young man. Don't scoff. When I found out he'd betrayed your parents, I couldn't believe it at first. There's a small part of me that still doubts. But the Sirius I knew, though he had great virtues, also had considerable flaws. And I've never met the Wizard whose flaws weren't, if he let them, up to the task of devouring him."
"What flaws?"
"That's enough for now," said Lupin. The lights went out. "The day started early for me. I'm going to sleep."
#
#
Defense Against the Dark Arts was Harry's favorite class, except for maybe broomstick riding, but his sleep having been troubled once more with nightmares about the troll, he didn't love the idea of a double period with Slytherin.
Quirrell started it with a long, depressing discourse on dementors. Students should keep their distance and keep chocolate handy. If approached, they should make no sudden movements, but use Alarum or Periculum to call for help, and it might help to think of a thought not so much happy as beautiful, and cling to it very hard.
Seamus said, "But what actually works against dementors?"
Quirrell frowned. "Certain occlumental techniques can help, as can animal transformation, but Expecto Patronus is the primary charm. It's quite advanced, and even many excellent witches and wizards are unable to clear the mental hurdles. They tend to use wind charms or fiendfyre as poor substitutes."
"Why don't we learn that, then?" said Seamus.
Quirrell's voice was dry. "If I endeavored to teach first years fiendfyre, I would not just be fired, but possibly jailed. Not as if any of you would learn it anyway."
Seamus said, "I meant Expecto Patronus."
"You couldn't learn it."
"Still."
Quirrell sighed. "All of you, close your eyes. Yes, you too, Draco. Now everyone who wants to continue with the lesson as planned, raise your hands."
A moment passed. "Put your hands down. Now, everyone who wants to waste an hour bashing your heads against a brick wall, by which I mean, trying to learn the Patronus charm, raise your hands."
Harry raised his hand.
"Very well. Hands down. Eyes open. Beating one's head against the wall is instructive in its way. And who knows, perhaps there's a genius in our midst. Luckily, I was planning to have my third-years take a stab at it, not that it'll do them any good, so I have the materials handy.
On the board, a diagram of the wand movements appeared, which weren't too bad.
Then the forces diagram appeared, and the whole class gasped. The force diagrams Harry was used to were one to three lines long, smaller than the wand movements diagram, but this was what, 30 or 40 lines? He couldn't even read it.
Quirrell chuckled. "Getting an idea of how high the ceiling is? Let's take a look." He pointed his wand at one of the lines, and began to explain.
Ten minutes later, Harry thought he had a vague understanding of the general structure of the spell, but that only made it more intimidating.
Quirrell said, "Here's the part that stops even many great Witches and Wizards. You see this stem? As you cast the charm, you must root it in a single purely, powerfully, and wholesomely happy memory. Mere triumph or satisfaction of ego won't do. Now, watch carefully-I'll only do this once."
Quirrell closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped, his knees bent slightly, every muscle in the man's body relaxing, still for so long that Harry wondered if something had done wrong.
The man's eyes flashed open, wand raised. "Expecto Patronum." A burst of silver flew from his wand, and solidified into a great jackrabbit that raced around the room, then settled at Quirrell's feet and scratched its ears.
Quirrell flicked his wand, and it disappeared. "Now get cracking. Shelby, Robert, can you perform the charm?"
"More or less," said Shelby.
"Non-corporal," said Robert.
"Then treat this as your own practice as well."
Half an hour later, Harry felt like sitting down and resting his head on his desk. The forces were way too complicated, and that didn't even get to the happy memory. He had no idea what to use. When he'd gotten the Hogwarts letter? The first day at the Great Hall? A couple years ago, when the Dursley's had gone on a trip and he'd had the run of the house for a week?
He looked at Hermione, looked at the forces, diagram, watched Hermione try the spell again, looked at the forces diagram... "It's scary how close you're getting."
"I'm a long way off," she said.
"Yeah, but you've got like twenty of them."
"How can you tell?"
"I'm watching you do it," said Harry, brow furrowed. "I mean, can't you just, when someone's trying a spell..."
"A little," she said.
Harry returned to his own efforts. It was impossible for now, sure, but if he kept at it over the course of the year, half an hour here and there in the practice room, gradually adding in more of the forces, he might be able to do it by the end of the year. Maybe. Possibly. Right?
Beside him, Hermione squealed. A silver cloud had come out of her wand. All the students stopped what they were doing to watch the silver cloud billow, Hermione jumping up and down in excitement.
Quirrell's voice was almost a yell. "Well done Miss Granger, well done indeed!" He whistled. "It's only the incorporeal form of the Patronus, which isn't half so useful as the corporal, but I'll have to go back quite far indeed to find the last time a first-year managed so much. Decades, I'm sure. And it's barely November, I'll see what doubting Mr. Lupin has to say about this." Quirrell drew himself up, took a deep breath, still smiling widely. "Now, dispel it."
Hermione did.
"Cast it again."
"Expecto Patronum," she said, but her wand made only a few sparks.
"Focus, Miss Granger. Don't be distracted by your triumph. Use the same memory as before."
Again, the silvery cloud.
Quirrell said, "The incorporeal form won't drive dementors away, but it can keep them at bay for a while." Chimes rang. "We're out of time. Take 15 minutes break, then I'll see you all on the dagarary courts."
The class filed out, Gryffindors congratulating Hermione, even Lavender saying "good job" as she hurried by, the Slytherins more or less ignoring her.
Hermione arched a brow at Harry.
"Have you been practicing that in the mirror?"
"Yes," she said, and arched her other brow.
Harry said, "I'm happy for you. A little jealous, yes, and I'd be happier if I thought I was just a couple hours of practice behind, but it's either accept it or be spiteful." He was more than a little jealous, and had the fixings to be at least a little spiteful, but the happiness for Hermione really was there too, and that's what counted, wasn't it?
Anyway, they were about to have dagarary, and he was better at that.
#
#
"Faster, Potter!"
Harry did it faster.
"Faster. Faster still. Faster, faster, faster, and stop missing! Denser too! Don't stop!"
Harry was being yelled at by a small stone bust of the head of Prilla Bliss, a famous old dagararist. It drifted through a swath of air 39 feet away, and he was supposed to hit it. Over twice the 19 feet they'd played at before, but a 19-foot court was called a bib, and this was a short court, which was longer.
He missed three straight times.
"Stop! Why did you miss? Was it fun?"
"No."
"Then don't miss!"
He had to make the flash fast, so the bust couldn't get out of the way before his flash got to it, and his aim had to be right in the first place for that to even matter, and he had to do it all at a high rate, or the bust would really yell.
"Slightly better," shouted the bust, stone mouth twisting. "You might flash an inattentive child, if the child was also deaf, blind, and paralyzed. Faster flash. Higher rate. Miss less. When you tense, your thumb changes the angle of your wand. Don't tense."
Harry began to sweat. It was the effort of casting the spell over and over, the effort of concentration, of standing in the sun, shifting on his feet, but mostly the strain of keeping his arm up. His wrist had begun to tremble, and every shot go wide, when Shelby appeared at his side.
"Take a break."
"But..." He didn't want to take a break. "It'll yell at me."
"It won't yell at anyone who isn't in the circle."
"But the others... Oh." Half the students were taking a break. Hermione, who was at the circle next to his, was sitting cross-legged by it, watching he and Shelby talk.
Hermione said, "We've still got history, and homework for charms, but no wands for the day. Knock yourself out."
Shelby said, "You should rally with someone."
"You?"
"I don't have the patience. Malfoy!"
The white haired boy, who was on the second row of courts, not far from Harry, looked up.
Shelby said, "You're hitting the bust enough. Pair with Potter."
Shelby pushed him toward the Slytherin courts, and Harry, resigning himself to it, corrected his posture as he passed through the Slytherins.
Malfoy put the bust that had been yelling at him in its box. "First to what?"
"We'll go till we stop,"
"First to eleven, must win by 2," said Malfoy.
"Whatever."
Both pointed their wands down. The classes hadn't played a lot of dagarary since that first day, and hardly any of it in double-classes with Slytherin and Gryffindors, so this was only the second they'd played each other.
Having won the first time, and having spent hour after hour in the practice room, improving his general magical abilities if not his dagarary skills, Harry felt confident of winning again.
The court beeped, and he got Malfoy off the draw.
Harry said, "You look good in green."
The green faded, they pointed their wands down, and Malfoy was quick enough to dodge Harry's flash. Harry was quick enough to put up a blue block to stop Malfoy's red attack, but he didn't position it quite right, and Malfoy got him.
1-1.
Then 1-2, Malfoy leading. 1-3, Malfoy leading. 2-3, Malfoy leading. 2-4. 2-5, and Harry raised a hand to request a moment, and stepped outside the circle. He was beating Malfoy at rate, and tying him at power, but losing badly at aim and speed, not to mention Malfoy seemed a lot more fluent at changing the colors.
Malfoy said, "You've got quick hands, Potter, but that's it. While you've been wasting time in the common room, I've been sweating on the practice courts."
Harry wanted to protest that he'd been spending his time in the practice room, but he only stepped back in the circle, and pointed his wand at the court.
Beep, and 3-5. 3-6, 3-7.
5-10, 6-10, he imagined a miraculous come back, 6-11, Malfoy's win, if indeed they were playing first to 11, which he hadn't objected to.
"Again, Potter?" said Malfoy.
7-11, and, as he got reckless and hurried, 4-11 for the third set.
Harry went through his other classes in a huff, and getting angrier and angrier, remembering Malfoy's smirk, trying to work out the hours to practice dagarary more. Was that worth his grade dropping in other classes? It wasn't fair. He was spending three hours a week in private occlumency and charismancy tutoring. No one else was doing that. It was impressive, actually, but no one knew about it, except Hermione, and sure, Hermione was doing better than him in every class but broomstick riding, but broomstick riding counted, and he could transform, and do charismancy, all sorts of stuff.
"Did your owl die?"
Mr. Lupin had come up behind him.
Heart in his throat, Harry said, "Is something the matter with Hedgwig?!"
"It's an expression," said Lupin. "I'm asking why you look upset."
"I'm not upset."
"Then you should ask Madam Pomfrey to take a look at your face. Something in the connection between your nerves and your facial muscles isn't right. Shelby, there you are."
The TA waved, and as Harry headed for her, Lupin did too.
Harry said, "Are you both-"
Lupin said, "Two as escort now."
Harry said, "You don't think it's a bit much?"
"No."
Harry trailed a few feet behind them, scuffing his feet on the dirt, wondering absently when the first real snow would come, once again unsure whether he liked Lupin or not.
Hagrid had four sets of tea and biscuits out, which was less interesting to Harry than the small blue dragon in a cage in the corner, puffs of smoke coming up from its nose.
"Is that legal?" said Shelby.
"No. That's why I took 'em off the feller's hands. Some experts will be by in a few days to take him away, but in the meantime, he makes fer good training. Dragons're tough. Make eye contact, but from a distance, like."
He looked into its eyes, and it shrieked, and shot a foot long jet of flame through the bars of the cage.
Hagrid frowned, and took a long look at Harry. Just a moment of eye contact...
Hagrid grunted at Lupin and Shelby, and touched his ears.
Once they had put on the pink earmuffs that cut off sound, Hagrid sat Harry down and said, "What crawled up yer butt an' died?"
It was easy to tell Hagrid; the man had already learned all of Harry's secrets, even if he'd blasted most of them back out of his own head.
When Harry had finished, Hagrid said, "It's not bad to be competitive. It's not even bad to hate losing, but it is bad to let it turn into anger at those who beat yeh."
"I know," said Harry, though if he'd been asked a moment before whether it was bad to hate losing, he would've said yes. "I thought I was over this."
Hagrid smiled. "Weekly epiphanies, like acne and pubic hair, are just part o' growing up. They don't mean anything till yeh change yer habits of thought, which takes more 'an a day or ten. Want my advice? Keep working hard, but yeh don't have to act like a stodgy old man ter learn-never known anyone better than yer daddy at making a game o' learning. Live a little. Have fun. Stop basing yer sense of who yeh are on whether or no ye're living up ter the expections ye're afraid others have of yeh."
It was the first time Harry had ever been preached at by an adult, and he didn't know what to do other than meekly say thank you.
"If yeh're calmed down a little, let's get back to that dragon. Put these on, then let it get a sniff of you."
He tossed Harry a thick leather apron, thick leather gloves, and large glass goggles. Then a muggle welding mask.
"How can I make eye-contact with the mask?" said Harry.
"Be patient." Hagrid got the dragon out of its cage. It stared at Harry, looking like it might pounce, then fell over and burped a puff of smoke.
"Cute, ain't he," said Hagrid. "Named 'im Norbert."
"Cute," said Harry.
He let it crawl over him, like a curious cat, trying to sneak its nose past his apron, which Harry wouldn't allow. He stroked it behind the head, found the spot that was just right, and it collapsed on his lap, letting out a soft little whine like a teakettle on low.
"Now yeh can take the mask off."
Harry set the welding mask on the floor, made eye-contact, and felt the little beast's perception of the procedure. As far as it was concerned, the creature in the welding mask had disappeared and been replaced by another, but that was alright, because this one smelled the same and was scratching it in the right place.
And no worries, it could eat either if it felt like it.
"It's crazy," he said.
"No. Just dumb as a doornail, convinced of its invincibility, an' highly aggressive. Not unlike some wizards I've known. Search its memories. Try an' figer out what it had fer breakfast."
"Chopped meat and a whole rabbit? That's over its own bodyweight."
"Also like some wizards I've known," said Hagrid. "Now see if yeh can't egg it into flying round the room."
Thirty minutes later, Harry was drained, and Hagrid was putting it back into its cage.
Even though it wanted to be out more, it lay quiescient in Hagrid's arms, and Harry got one more flash of insight about its mind.
"It thinks you're a dragon."
Hagrid laughed. "It tried ter fight me, an' I knocked it down, so what else could I be? Anythin' stronger an' it is an older dragon." He locked the cage.
Getting up, Harry noticed Lupin and Shelby were facing one of the few bare spots on the wall. Lupin's wand, laid on a side table, was like a projector, playing a movie of sorts, with subtitles. Harry had a wild suspicion that if he took a closer look, he'd find it was a muggle movie.
Lupin's hand, gripping the arm of his chair, was shaking slightly.
Hagrid said, "Now, occlumency. Pretend yeh didn't mind losing to Malfoy. Pretend yeh like 'im."
It didn't go well, but it didn't quite go badly. Head aching, he made his goodbyes to Hagrid, and Lupin and Shelby walked him back to the castle proper in time for dinner, where he met up with Hermione and Ron.
Ron said, "Where were you anyway?"
"Huh?" said Harry.
"Leave it alone," said Hermione.
"So Hermione gets to know, but I don't?"
That was exactly how it was, but Hermione said, "Harry has a right to his privacy."
"You two are always leaving me out of everything."
"Not everything," said Harry. He looked around. No one was particularly close to them, and the hall was loud, but he motioned for them to move their heads in close.
"Let's cause some trouble," said Harry.
"Yessss." said Ron.
"What?" said Hermione.
He explained what Lupin had said about his father's pranks.
"We shouldn't do anything like that," said Hermione.
Ron said, "We should do the one he said about people having to ask the chairs' permission to get up."
"We're not advanced enough to do that," said Harry.
Ron said, "We could stick firecracker's in people's food."
Hermione said, "Ron, that's crazy. You shouldn't do any pranks, but if you do, it should be a harmless prank that's almost fun and cool for the other students. Right?"
"Right," said Harry.
Hermione said, "If you did do a prank, and you shouldn't, you could, for example, go into one of the classrooms while it's empty, and Epoxify the chair legs so they're stuck to the floor, and then when class was supposed to start, all the students would just be standing in front of their desks, trying to sort out the problem."
"That's good," said Harry. "Gluing things is a little overdone, but we could do that one."
"I won't help," said Hermione. "I'm not involved at all."
Harry said, "We could also transform-"
Hermione interrupted him. "Charms are one thing, but you shouldn't do any transfiguration without supervision. It's dangerous."
"I suppose..." said Harry. "We could cast softening charms on the serving forks, so when people tried to serve themselves, it didn't work. But we'd have to get at the serving forks beforehand."
"Oooh, I like that," said Hermione. "I was trying to think of something with kleinbottles, but I couldn't quite work out how. Let's do that one. The fork softening." She paused. "I mean, you shouldn't do any pranks, but if you did do any pranks, that one would be the best, maybe, of the ones you've talked about so far."
Harry said, "Do you want to come?"
"Of course not," said Hermione. "Do you think we'd get in very much trouble if we were caught?"
"You get a warning the first time you're caught doing magic without supervision, and none of us have been caught at it yet-well, the troll, but we weren't in trouble-plus, everyone knows we're under a lot of stress, so I bet we'd get off with one or two detentions at worst."
#
#
When dinner was over, the three of them went downstairs and lingered within view of the doors to the kitchens, watching the hall candles slowly dim, Hermione repeatedly claiming that she was only coming along to make sure nothing bad happened, and no, of course she wouldn't be lookout, but perhaps she'd read a book by the door and loudly greet any teachers she saw. That wasn't against any rules.
The light under the door went out.
Harry started for it, but Ron said, "Wait. It's mostly house-elves that work in the kitchen, and they see in the dark. I can just imagine them dousing the lights before they're ready to leave."
As if to prove Ron's point, a slight clatter came from the kitchen doors.
"Where do they sleep anyway?" said Hermione. "It's not in Hogwarts: A History."
Ron shrugged. "Probably just in a few rooms. They sleep together, like mice."
The hallway being clear, they snuck over to the doors, trying to lean casually against the wall as if they were just chatting. "Ron, do me a favor and look away."
"Why?"
"It's a secret." Ron was just about to protest when Harry said, "Hermione, you too."
They both turned away, Hermione pushing Ron's shoulder slightly, and Harry's ears grew, long, large, furry, leonine.
He heard the three of them breathing, a bit of tiny popping and cracking as cooling objects contracted.
The ears pulled back in. "Ron, let's go."
The door opened smoothly, without a creak, and once it had closed behind them, Ron said, "Lumos," and the tip of his wand lit.
"Put that out. We'll use as little light as possible."
"It's pitch black in here."
"Just put it out."
"Nox," said Ron, and the kitchen returned to a darkness so intense Ron could barely see his hand in front of his face.
"Just hold onto my robe," said Harry, and moved confidently through the kitchen, checking drawers as he went.
"How can you see?"
"I've got good night vision." He had an owl's eyes. "Anyway, these are them." He pulled the drawer all the way out, and set it on the floor behind the counter, the two boys squatting around it. "Light, please," Harry said, returning his eyes to normal.
Ron used lumos again and smiled at the silver serving forks.
Harry took one out which had ornate etchings on the end. "Spongify," he whispered, and the tines near the end softened to something like wet noodles.
"It has to last at least 10 hours," said Harry.
"Of course," said Ron, needing three tries to manage his own fork, but getting through his second and third in one try each.
From outside, Hermione hissed, "Clatter less."
"Yes," Harry whispered.
"Don't talk back," Hermione whispered, more loudly.
Harry rolled his eyes and got on with it, he and Ron chortling as they worked, imagining their fellow students staring wide-eyed at the silverware that had betrayed them.
They put the serving forks back, went to the door, and Harry hissed, "Clear?"
"Clear," said Hermione.
The three of them walked quickly down the dim halls, giggling now and then, though Hermione was a bit subdued.
"I didn't get to do anything," said Hermione. "No one even came. Let's do the chairs one."
"Tonight?" said Harry.
"Why not. There's still time till lights out, if we hurry."
"Snape's classroom," said Ron.
They were on their way to it, Harry just starting to wonder whether the portraits might bear witness, and maybe they should cover their heads and faces, when he heard a soft, sibilant voice.
"Who's saying that?" said Harry.
"Saying what?" said Ron.
"Just listen."
"...rip... tear... kill..."
"That," said Harry.
"I still don't hear anything," said Ron. Hermione shook her head.
"Saying it's hungry. Kill, kill, time to kill? You really don't hear it?"
"No."
"It is quiet. Come on, it's going that way."
He broke into a trot, following the sounds. "So long... so hungry... kill..."
Hermione said, "Harry, wait!"
He sped up, running, taking the stairs up after it, scared, but also laughing.
Hermione said, "Harry-"
"Shhh."
Hermione said, "A voice only you can hear. What if it's Black, luring you somewhere?"
Harry skidded to a halt. What had he been thinking? Not much, clearly. Just excited, treating a mysterious voice talking about killing with all the same seriousness as he'd reserved for turning forks soft. He took a breath. "Let's go back to the dorm. We'll do chairs some other time." The dormitory would be warm and safe, and they'd have time there to decide whether to mention this to anyone.
Harry and Hermione started back, but turned as Ron pointed to a shape within the shadows.
Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch's cat, stiff as a board, hanging by her tail from a torch bracket.
:::
Author's Note: Trust me; I have a plan. I'm afraid this chapter was a lot of talking and not a lot of doing, but the next chapter should have some more doing to make up for it. Might it even include a thrilling chase scene?! I'm not sure, I haven't written it yet. That lack of pre-written material is part of why, unfortunately, it may be a bit before the next update, plus I have some work stuff to do over the next few days.
Anyway, reviews make my heart go pitter-patter, and make my fingers go "tap-tap" at the keyboard. It is to me a very new and wonderful experience to get feedback from people I've never met.
Now on to the part that makes me feel bad, but, as my Grandma always said, "Those who don't pimp themselves won't ever be pimped at all." Go to Amazon, select books as the department, type in "Monstrosity" and select the one by JLL. (L, J L) Read the free sample. If you're interested, buy it, read it, rate it, and review it. It's only a buck. Amazon wouldn't let me make it any cheaper. It's about a talented teenage witch who has to prevent Vampires from stealing the Amber Heart even as she has to prevent her own clan from being too Machiavellian in its machinations. I'm lying, sort of. You'll see what I mean if you read it.
May the odds be ever in your favor.