Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and Warner. I make no money from this. Be nice if I was, but hey, I'm only borrowing these toys. I promise to return (most) of them in good condition. Possibly in even better condition than I received them.
ooOOoo
Chapter 78
Hermione had the foresight to bring a picnic and scolded Ron when he tried to see what was in the bag, telling him he would just have to wait until after they'd found the you-know-whats. They were aware of how little time they had – only two hours before Harry and Draco were booked in to give a riding lesson – so they walked at a brisk pace. Harry looked back towards the paddock as they headed into the thinner trees at the edge of the Forest. There was Simon, head over the fence as the horse watched them go.
Harry fancied the horse looked cross.
Well, Simon didn't approve of the Forest.
They found the first tree. It was still invisible, and the rocks Harry had spelled to act as a beacon were working nicely. No-one walked into the tree. They used to it work out the directions of the other two trees (or Draco, Hermione and Elmsworthy did, while Harry, Ron and Neville nodded occasionally and tried to look like they knew what the other three were on about). Elmsworthy took the opportunity to sound out the barrier potion (literally sound out, using a modified tuning fork he adjusted to the frequency of the barrier tree), and judged it excellent. He didn't quite smile, but the nod he gave was almost cheerful. Harry thought the tuning fork made rather a pleasant noise, but didn't say so in case he sounded naïve. There was a brief discussion on the merits of testing the anti-Voldie potion by taking it out to the barrier itself, but Hermione was adamant that it might alert Voldemort. Elmsworthy thought the chances were less than six and a quarter percent, but agreed that even that was a risk. Draco said that in that case they'd keep the anti-Voldie potion away from the barrier, becoming quite sharp when Ron suggested six percent was so low they didn't need to worry about risks: it was Draco's family on the line, Harry remembered. Like the reflection in Harry's mirror of late, Draco also looked tired.
"When's the election?" Harry asked as they made their way back through the trees. None of them wanted to stay in the Forest longer than they had to, and Hermione thought it would be easy enough to finish off the last of the spells when they were somewhere safer.
"Tomorrow."
"And Comrade President-In-Waiting is still currying votes," said Elmsworthy.
"I should hope I've got yours."
"Huh. I might make a protest vote. I hear Peeves is running…"
Draco snorted.
Hermione said brightly, before anyone could start arguing, "I'm terribly thirsty. Ginger beer, anyone? I made it myself." She magic'd up a set of paper cups.
They all had some as they walked. Even Draco admitted it was good. Ron and Elmsworthy held a burping contest to see who could get furthest through the alphabet. Ron won, making Neville unable to stop laughing even after he snorted ginger beer through his nose. Ron swore as his paper cup dissolved and spilled ginger beer down his arm.
Hermione gave Harry a look that said: I know, but he's got his good points, okay?
Instead of going back to the castle, they went to sit on the jetty by the lake and break out the food. Some students were out in a small boat. The giant squid was pushing them gently across the water, and by the shrieks of laughter coming across the water this was the most fun the students had had in weeks. Ron lay down on his stomach. The water was high enough for him to reach and he washed his hands, muttering to himself that he hoped there were no grindelows around.
Hermione shook her head fondly as she shook open a small blanket to lay out the sandwiches, fruit and an eclectic selection of cakes. She pointed with her chin to the little boat. "Were we ever that young?"
"No," said Elmsworthy, biting into a pear. "Mum says I was born forty years old. Ick." He wiped a rivulet of juice off his chin.
"This from the forty-year-old who sulked because he came second in a burping contest," Draco remarked.
Elmsworthy pretended he didn't hear, and surreptitiously wiped his hand on his robes. Harry tried not to smile. Those gingerbread men looked fun, and Harry wasn't above juvenile food… He took the one with a jellybean smile. His luck was in – the jellybean was orange flavoured. It went well with the gingerbread. He'd have to ask Dobby if they could have some more some time.
"Where's my paper…?" Hermione muttered, searching her bag.
"Here," said Ron. "I had it while Malfoy was teaching you about the location charms." He passed over a scroll along with a few crumbs from the donut he'd turned from an O into a C.
"Oh, ta. Those were great charms, by the way, Draco," she said.
"I'm noted for my charms," replied Draco, smirking.
Ron snorted.
"Like that paper bag summoning charm you tried on Simon?" Harry said. "Show them the bruises he gave you."
"Huh." Draco muttered something that sounded more like a curse than a charm, but he did help Hermione fix the locations of the other two trees into the parchment.
It was finished very quickly.
"Does it work?" asked Harry, peering over Hermione's shoulder at the map.
"Should do." She gestured at the parchment, which showed a relief map of the surrounding area. Inside the barrier was very clear, with the barrier tree crisply marked. Outside it, the lines blurred slightly. Two red spots, one towards Hogsmeade, the other some distance south, pulsed faintly. "It's a little indistinct, I know, but that's the time distortion. Once you're on the other side of the barrier it'll be fine. Just make sure it's turned off while you go through the barrier, otherwise the spells will all get stripped."
Draco took a sandwich. "Who made these?"
"I asked the house elves," Hermione said. "Smoked chicken and ham. We're out of beef."
"Smoked chicken's good." He leaned back against a post and dropped a crust into the water. It was snatched from the surface by what looked like a small clawed hand. He decided not to tell Ron. Harry inhaled a chicken sandwich and then took another gingerbread man. They were the best he'd ever had. He sighed happily. The happiness dimmed when he realised he was looking around for Luna.
"I don't believe it," said Neville from where he was sitting cross-legged picking apart a seed head. At first it appeared he'd found a new species of grass, then he added, "We've been into the Forest, found a tree used for evil plans, plotted the positions of You-Know-Who's two other trees of evil, and not been maimed, hexed, exsanguinated or had a bump to the head."
"I think I stubbed my toe," Ron said helpfully.
Neville rolled his eyes. "Apart from that one major calamity, we're currently sitting in the sun enjoying a picnic. Is it just me, or is there something really strange about this situation?"
"Law of averages," Elmsworthy told him. "We were bound to luck out sooner or later." But he tapped a plank of the jetty.
Harry laughed. "You just touched wood. You're superstitious."
"Maybe a bit."
"What does touching wood have to do with superstition?" Ron asked lazily. He was stretched out next to Hermione, trying to stop the contents of a sandwich from falling outside of his mouth. If the uneven planks were uncomfortable, he didn't give any signs of it. "You never – unkh… blasted beetroot…" he grimaced and fished it out of his ear "… you never struck me as the sort to be taking Divinations, Comrade Tyrol."
"Muggle superstition," Hermione told him. "You say everything's going to be fine, then you have to touch something wooden to take away the bad luck of being optimistic. That beetroot clashes with your hair, Ron."
Draco rolled his eyes. "I don't believe it. Muggles are worse than Trelawney."
Hermione's eyes flashed and her hair became a little bushier with ire. "No, they're not."
"Yes, they bloody well are," said Elmsworthy calmly. "There's a lot of money in gullibility, so it's heavily encouraged."
"Really?" Draco looked far too interested at this.
Harry thought it safest to change the subject. "So how was Potions today?"
Someone laughed. After a couple of seconds, Harry realised it was Elmsworthy. That was new. He sat up straighter. "What happened?"
"Comrade Tyrol taught the class today," Draco informed him.
"What? What'd I miss?" And had it been good or bad?
"I made a potion," Neville said, puffing up with pride.
"You did a good job of it, too," Elmsworthy told him. "Once you colour-coded your notes to the stages and grouped categories into boxes, you were flying. You simply can't work with a list, that's all."
"Why didn't anyone tell me that before?" Neville complained. "I mean, Snape hated me, but McGonagall or Sprout? Flitwick? Trelawney? Shouldn't they have said something?"
"People are idiots. Stop relying on them."
"Oh. Okay." Neville sat back and picked up a sandwich and tried to look like he knew the difference between Elmsworthy being serious and Elmsworthy joking.
"All people?" asked Draco. He seemed to think the other Slytherin was serious.
"Probably," replied Elmsworthy calmly. "Before you ask, yes, me included."
"It must be awful for you, being such a perfectionist," Hermione chided gently. Then tweaked Ron's ear when he muttered something about the hearth calling the cauldron black. "But it was a good lesson, wasn't it? I didn't know you could use a potion for that."
"Oh yes. If you use the right combination. And you can apply it in other gingerols- and cassia-related areas, too."
"Hm, you know, the possibilities are endless…"
"What? What'd you make?" Harry was getting annoyed now. He'd missed the fun and wasn't quite sure what the fun had been. Gingerols? Cassia? What were those supposed to be? He bit the head off a third gingerbread man. Mm. There was cinnamon in it, too…
Ron grinned at him. "Relax. We made cauldron cakes."
"Most of you did. I wanted to see if I could get the degree of effervescence right for the ginger beer," Hermione said. "It worked."
"On the second time," Ron muttered.
Draco sniggered. "Glad I wasn't on that side of the room. I'll have to get a Pensieve one of these days, just to revisit the expression on Patil's face."
Harry had missed something. He scowled. Then he remembered the view of the Forest undulating away in soft dark waves on the far side of the castle as he and Simon came back from their ride, and decided that what he'd had had been at least as fine as anything anyone had experienced in class.
"Ron made those donuts. I made cauldron gingerbread men," said Neville.
Harry tried to stop the swallow but it was too late. The idea of drinking some concoction of Hermione's wasn't so foreign, not after second year and the Polyjuice Potion, but there was a limit. He was sure he felt it when the mouthful of gingerbread hit his stomach. Was it sending out the first warning bubbles, or was that his imagination? "I'm eating gingerbread men that came out of a cauldron? I'm eating gingerbread men that came out of Neville's cauldron?"
"Hey…"
"Sorry, Nev'…"
"They're fine," Draco assured Harry loftily. "Even Professor Sinistra ate one, and you know how picky she is."
Harry didn't really know much about Sinistra except she gave scads of homework. "Don't see you eating any." Harry put his hand on his stomach just in case it decided to do something weird.
"I prefer savoury food first. You know – manners and proper digestion?"
"Manners and digestion? You and Simon should compare notes," Ron said, idly seeing how far things could be pushed with Malfoy.
"True. He is a superior sort of horse, isn't he." Draco smirked, because no-one would dare dispute Simon's superiority over other members of his species and thus, thanks to Ron's implication that Draco and Simon were of a type, Draco's own superiority.
Ron only yawned and dozed off with his head in Hermione's lap.
It was a pleasant interlude and it was over too fast.
"Time to get on," Elmsworthy said eventually. "I've got a class to prepare for."
"Teacher or student?" asked Hermione, brushing crumbs out of Ron's hair.
"Teacher. First-years this time. I thought we could make toffee apples."
"Sounds fun." But Draco looked at his fellow Slytherin as if he thought the taller boy was out of his head turning Potions into cooking lessons.
"Yes. I thought that if the evil queen in the Snow White story had used a toffee apple she'd have had more success with inflicting the poison. Just a spoonful of sugar helps the necrotising pustule-producing potion go down, just like the song almost says."
"Oh." Hermione's expression, initially smiling, quickly shifted to horrified.
"What's the Snow White story?" asked Ron, scratching his stomach lazily.
"Uh, I think it's the Muggle version of 'Elderberry of Stump Cottage'."
"Oh." Ron looked ready to go back to sleep. Hermione and Harry dragged him to his feet while Draco and Neville flicked their wands and tidied up the remains of the picnic. Draco had his wand in one hand, half a gingerbread man in the other, and crumbs on his chin. Harry wondered if he should have tried a fourth one after all. The first three hadn't done anything weird.
They strolled back to the castle, not inclined to hurry. Harry and Draco trailed behind the others still arguing over the merits of cauldron cakes versus cakes from an oven.
The argument was still going when the arrived in the Entrance Hall. Ron was adamant that nothing could top his mum's cooking, and Harry was going to wait until he was sure there were no after-effects from the gingerbread men before he offered his opinion that Neville might give her a run for her money one day if he ever decided to go in to cooking. Then again, hinting that Molly Weasley mightn't be the world's best cook wouldn't sit well with Ron, so Harry decided to keep his mouth shut and was glad to disappear in the direction of the Headmaster's Office before he could be dragged into the argument.
"Any thoughts on the riding lesson?" he asked Draco.
Draco ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. His nose was starting to go pink, as were his cheeks, and he looked like he'd rather go to sleep than teach elderly wizards the finer points of equitation. He yawned, then frowned in thought. "No," he said eventually. "You?"
"I thought it would be a good idea if Hooch comes."
Draco considered a moment, then nodded. "Agreed. Or Pomfrey."
"Well, Simon likes her, but she doesn't know much about horses."
"Prat," Draco said good-naturedly. "No, but she knows a lot about mending broken bones."
"Oh. Right. You're not optimistic today, then."
"No. I'm trying for realism."
"Novel approach. Hogwarts usually only deals in surrealism."
Draco straightened and chuckled; caught off guard he gave Harry a grin instead of a smirk. "True."
They found Remus in the office along with Flitwick and Dumbledore. That was a nice surprise. And Sirius. Which wasn't. Hooch was absent. That was not a good sign, either. Harry decided it wouldn't be considerate to ask if Pomfrey could come. And while he was pleased to see Remus, a certain four-legged Hogwartsian of the equine persuasion would think somewhat differently.
"Don't worry," Remus said quickly, "I have no intention of inciting a riot by setting foot in Simon's paddock."
"I was trying to think of a tactful way of asking you to stay away," said Draco. "Thanks for the reprieve."
Sirius gave a faint twitch of his eyebrows, but Remus smiled.
Dumbledore gestured them towards the two free chairs. Harry had noticed that there always seemed to be enough chairs for everyone, providing the room wasn't overflowing with people, of course. The chairs seldom matched. Aware that he'd come back from the paddock without changing his clothes, Harry deliberately selected the rattier moss green armchair, while Draco settled neatly onto a more severe high-backed wooden chair with a maroon velvet seat and gold tassels, not quite restraining a sneer at the Gryffindor colours.
There was a semblance of polite conversation and three teapots and a jug of milk hung in the air, pouring into cups which floated to various people. Lumps of sugar flew into cups: one for Harry, two for Flitwick and Draco, six or seven for Dumbledore. Harry noticed his tea was the same as Sirius', although his godfather had lemon rather than milk. Then, just as his attention to the trivial was beginning to irk him given that this was probably his last mortal day, they got down to business.
"Have either of you ridden a horse before?" Draco asked. "Recently, I mean."
"No," said Flitwick.
"Not recently, no," said Dumbledore. "Would you like to run through the basics here?"
Harry and Draco exchanged a look. "I think it would be easier to get Simon. Luna taught us through demonstration at the same time as she gave us the theory."
Draco was nodding. "It's also easier to remember things when you're actually doing them."
"Hm. Clothing. Professor Flitwick and I are wearing trousers. Is there anything else we should wear?"
"Um, boots with heels. Low heels, that is," Harry added, remembering that Dumbledore tended to look even taller thanks to his tendency to wear boots with a definite heel. Although he wasn't tired enough to tell Dumbledore that he should stop wearing high heels – there might be people in the room who got the Muggle reference. "Madam Hooch found some for me. Will she be here soon?" Harry asked.
Flitwick shook his shock of white hair. "Unfortunately there was a mishap in Transfigurations. She's helping until the timing spell wears off Professor McGonagall."
"Oh. She's stuck as a cat?" Draco said, his head tilted slightly in an attempt to convey an innocent sympathy that Harry (and probably everyone else in the room) didn't believe for a second. A line formed between Draco's eyes. "And Madam Hooch really can't come?"
"I'm afraid not. I realise you were counting on her, but I expect that you two have enough experience in coaxing Simon over to your point of view now that Filius and I can rely on your expertise."
Harry shot a look at Lupin. The werewolf shrugged. "Do you think you and Mr Malfoy will be up to the challenge, Harry?"
"Well, Simon's not a basilisk –"
"– His glare's up to the challenge." Remus covered a smile with his hand.
Harry smiled as Draco snorted softly. "We'll be fine," Harry said. "So. When shall we go?"
"How about now?" Dumbledore put his cup in its saucer and flicked his wand. A bag (a rustling paper bag) appeared on the table. "He likes apples, doesn't he?"
"Mr Greedy likes anything," Draco informed him.
"Not lemon drops. Never mind. All the more for me." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Would you like Professor Flitwick and myself to come to catch Simon with you, or shall we meet you down in the meadow?"
"The meadow," Draco said. "Too many people coming up to see him might make him think something odd is going on."
"Really?" said Flitwick. "He doesn't take it as a compliment?"
"That horse is a Slytherin," averred Draco. "He's instantly suspicious of anything out of the usual."
"Which would explain a lot," said Remus. "Albus?"
Dumbledore was staring out the window. Harry thought he was smiling. He seemed serene enough when he turned back to the others, however. "Hm? Oh. Yes. A Slytherin horse. Why not."
"Well, because he's a Gryffindor horse, that's why," Harry said, glaring at Draco.
"You said he is intelligent by horse standards. That makes him a Ravenclaw," Flitwick put in, earning himself a huff from Sirius and a definite smile from Dumbledore.
"Perhaps he needs his own House," Remus said diplomatically. "A barn." He looked up at a dusty old shelf. "What do you think, Hat?"
The Sorting Hat yawned. "I don't usually Sort livestock. Well, there was Aberforth's goat, which only really Sorted into Gryffindor because he wanted it to be. But if you insist, bring this Simon by at the beginning of the next school year. I may invent a new category just for him." The tip of the Hat slumped forward and there was the soft sound of it snoring.
ooOOoo
Draco and Harry (and a shaggy black dog that was clever enough to stay at the edge of Harry's glare) took the bag of apples and Simon's tack up to the paddock. They walked up in silence. Simon was pleased to see them and especially delighted to get the apples. He even condescended to touch noses with Snuffles.
While leading the horse down, the silence started to get on Harry's already fraying nerves. He couldn't talk to Draco about tonight, of course, but it would seem suspicious if they didn't talk of anything. So they exchanged a few quiet sentences about tomorrow's elections, keeping their voices down as if they didn't want the dog to hear. Harry had no illusions: dogs have excellent hearing and Sirius would be able to hear every word they said. But it created the atmosphere of privacy and should have left Sirius in no doubt that his presence was unwanted. (And Draco and Harry would be here tomorrow for the elections rather than on the other side of the barrier or the other side of the Final Mystery.)
Sirius didn't transform back until they were in the meadow. It annoyed Harry no end that Simon whinnied to him. Sirius ruffled the horse's forelock fondly.
"Needs a wash," the Animagus commented.
Harry scowled. "What's your brand of pet shampoo?"
Sirius didn't reply to the barb. This annoyed Harry even more. Simon banged his head up and down against Harry's shoulder, trying to get rid of that itch that always built up under the headpiece of the bridle, distracting Harry before he could say something that would make Dumbledore step in. Not that Dumbledore would – he always had Harry fight his own battles as well as everyone else's, Harry said to himself with an aftertaste of that bitterness he'd gone to bed with last night. But Flitwick might give him a pointed look and Harry's respect for the diminutive teacher had grown over the years.
Draco rode Simon around in wide circles, talking as he went, explaining what he was doing and how he was setting and obtaining his goals. He used simple language and Harry was surprised by how well he fell into lecturer mode. Flitwick's uneasiness was visibly subsiding as the Slytherin made controlling what must look like a large, dangerous creature seem like child's play. Simon was being very obliging today. Harry kept his fingers crossed that this happy state would continue. You never quite knew with Simon.
Draco turned Simon and halted him four square just in front of the people on the ground, then backed up Simon a few steps and managed a fairly decent quarter turn on the forehand so Simon was side on to his audience, Simon a fraction over the bit and moving forward instead of pivoting around his forefeet, but not too bad for a novice rider. Simon was now near side on to them, ready for his first rider. Harry nodded to Draco in approval (and was secretly astonished he now knew almost as much jargon for riding a horse as he did for a broom). Draco smirked proudly. A non-Slytherin would have beamed.
Draco dismounted but didn't yield the reins when Harry walked forward. "Who's first?" he asked softly.
Harry tried to look innocent. "I think Dumbledore should have the first ride."
Draco frowned and asked sotto voce if Ron had bribed him with chocolate frogs.
"No. I take it Elmsworthy offered you something."
"Yeah. Half the profits. You didn't even hold out for even one frog? You're a mug."
Harry turned towards the three standing at a respectful distance. It struck Harry as odd that a headmaster of Hogwarts and a professor should be standing at a respectful distance. Flitwick looked pale behind his beard. As for Sirius, he seemed to be trying not to make himself overly obvious.
"Sir? Would you like to have the first ride?" Harry asked Dumbledore.
But Dumbledore and Flitwick had already decided between themselves to have Flitwick up on the horse first, although Flitwick was looking increasingly alarmed. Draco smirked at Harry. Harry ignored him and concentrated on keeping the Charms master calm as he helped him into the saddle.
"Just hold onto the pommel – that's the front part of the saddle – if you think you're going to fall."
Flitwick looked far from reassured. Perched up on Simon's back like the tiniest, oldest jockey in creation, he looked down and said: "Er…"
Simon looked less than enthused, too. He hadn't approved of Dumbledore levitating Flitwick, and now his head was lifted at an "I don't think anyone here has the faintest idea what the hell they're doing" angle. It was almost painfully comic after the time Harry had spent looking at the photos thinking of Severus and how likely it was that all his friends would die very soon… Harry held tightly to the leadrope and tried to think Happy Thoughts. It had worked on the roof yesterday.
Simon stamped a forefoot, making everyone jump.
Harry took a deep breath. "It's okay, sir. Just relax."
But Flitwick couldn't relax. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. "I don't think this is a very good idea…"
Simon must have agreed with him, because he began to toss his head and sidle nervously. Horses were good at picking up on the emotional state of those around him. Harry didn't understand why Simon should be so blasé about giving students pony rides then balk when Flitwick had the shakes. That girl who'd burst into tears because she was on the great Muggle monster hadn't made him twitch an eyelash, but right now…
"I think you should get down, sir," Draco said quietly but firmly. "Now would be an excellent time for down, the getting of." Despite the chance of chocolate frogs, the Slytherin wasn't ready to encourage the possibility of Flitwick being thrown from the horse.
"Right you are, Mr Malfoy," said Flitwick. "If you could just hold his head, Mr Potter…" Wand in hand, he slid down from the saddle and landed lightly on his feet. Even Simon seemed relieved, and turned to whuffle in Flitwick's mop of white hair. "I suppose that's horse for 'sorry'. Oh, dear… you're a good horse, Simon, just a little on the tall side," the Charms master sighed, patting Simon's nose.
Simon snorted.
"Yuck," said Flitwick, but he cleaned himself off with a wave of his wand.
Simon didn't seem to take offence at this, but he was still tense. A swish of his tail brushed Draco. The Slytherin patted the horse on the hindquarters. "There, there."
Once Simon seemed more settled, Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Are you sure you want to try this right now, Professor?"
"Needs must, Harry."
Harry wondered just how true Dumbledore knew this was. He held the stirrup for Dumbledore to mount, and the ancient wizard was up and lightly settling himself into the saddle with a spry leap that, for a moment, tricked Harry into forgetting about the worry which was ageing those blue, blue eyes into an accurate measure of just how old Dumbledore really was.
Now that he was on Simon's back, Dumbledore collected up the reins. "My, but it's been a long time since I was on a horse," he said. "But it all comes back to you. Just like riding a penny farthing. Unclip the rope, please, Harry. It isn't necessary. Come, then, Simon; let us see how well we can work together on this."
Not too well, as it turned out.
Sirius, standing next to Hooch with his arms folded, shook his head. "Honestly, Albus – it should be me going. You need to stay here."
Flitwick rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like Merlin save us all, but the wind was blowing and Harry didn't quite catch it. His attention was fixed on Simon.
"Nonsense. I'm doing fine. Stop, Simon, that's a little too fast…"
Simon, who had been undecided as to whether he was being asked to trot or canter (Harry could tell Dumbledore was leaning too far forward), bounced on his front feet when Dumbledore pulled back on the reins.
Draco made a noise of negation.
Harry shuffled his feet, on the verge of striding over to grab Simon's bridle, when Dumbledore nudged Simon back into a canter. Simon flicked his ears and shook his head, and his tail was clamped down – a definite sign the horse was nervous. "You're –" leaning forward at the same time you're pulling back which is something Luna told us puts Simon off balance was what Harry was going to say, when Simon, being Simon, had the last word.
The subject of the last word was inspired by a rabbit, which shot up from in front of Simon and made the horse rear and, in reflex, Dumbledore jerked the reins.
Simon's mouth was very sensitive to jerked reins.
It was the last word in the form of a snort with a massive buck as the exclamation mark, which sent Dumbledore sailing over the horse's head.
Dumbledore being Dumbledore, he landed lightly and on his feet, still holding the reins. Simon half-reared, very upset now, mouthing at the bit and making it jingle.
Harry jogged forward as Dumbledore lifted a hand to stroke the unsettled horse's nose.
Simon's head jerked back, yanking the reins.
Draco, his face pink, shook off Sirius' restraining hand on his shoulder with a snarl. "I think that's about enough," he said quietly. "He thinks you're going to hit him."
Dumbledore had stilled, a frozen expression on his face, and the twinkle was gone from his eyes. "Easy, my friend," he murmured to Simon, who was quivering slightly, nostrils flaring.
Simon relaxed infinitesimally, and finally allowed Dumbledore to stroke his nose. The Headmaster continued speaking softly, gently running his hand down the long nose until the dark eyes were calmer.
"Why exactly would he think you were going to hit him?" Draco asked softly, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice. "He's never done that with me or Harry."
"Ah, but then he doesn't regard me as one of the foals under his protection," said Dumbledore. "And no, before you ask, I really couldn't say how he regards me."
"Mixed feelings, I imagine," Sirius said sourly, coming up with Flitwick to flank Dumbledore.
Simon nosed at his shoulder.
"Hey there, horse," said Sirius, and there was something stiff about the way he refused to make eye contact with Harry, who was starting to steam at Simon being friends with the backstabbing liar. Sirius patted Simon's nose and the horse sighed gustily as soon as it realised no-one was going to start shouting, making Harry wonder if Simon's attitude towards him and Draco squabbling was more of an avuncular one rather than the tension when the horse worried that Dumbledore and Flitwick might be getting cross, two people the horse seemed to have respect for (rather than the sense of responsibility exhibited towards Harry and Draco). It was very strange. Simon had allowed Flitwick to levitate him three stories above the Entrance Hall, but as soon as Flitwick or Dumbledore was on his back the horse – Harry had to admit it, unlikely as it seemed – the horse panicked. Not for the first time, Harry wished he could owl Robert Python and ask him about some of the curly things that went on inside the equine brain.
It dawned on Harry just how dangerous it would be for Simon to carry someone the horse perceived as a peer or perhaps a superior. If Simon, Dumbledore and Flitwick went into the barrier it was likely only Simon would emerge. Harry shivered.
Sirius seemed to be calming Simon down. Simon didn't seem to regard him as a superior – Harry sometimes got the sense that Simon regarded the Animagus as a curiosity.
Nobody was arguing. Flitwick and Dumbledore were discussing various spells and potions which might help keep them on Simon's back for the time it took to get through the barrier and when Simon lipped at Flitwick's hair the Charms professor actually laughed and patted the horse on the nose, telling him that Simon really should have worked out by now that it wasn't candyfloss. Simon sighed and turned to see if Harry had suddenly produced any peppermints. He hesitated when Sirius tugged on the reins but followed amiably enough (Harry had no peppermints) as Sirius led him away from the group.
"You know," said Sirius thoughtfully, which should have alerted Dumbledore and Flitwick as well as Harry and Draco, "the thing animals need in handlers in confidence…"
He swung the reins over Simon's head.
"…And it's no use arguing about spells and potions when simple psychology is the key."
"Sirius…" began Flitwick.
But it was too late. Sirius had swung up and onto Simon's back and gathered up the reins. "Look, I've ridden a flying motorcycle, a hippogriff and several brooms. I've even ridden this chap into the Great Hall during mealtime. Besides, I've got the confidence he seems to need in a rider."
"I think perhaps some animals need more than confidence," Dumbledore said carefully. "This horse may not be a standard type."
"Actually, Headmaster, he may have a point," Flitwick said, although he sounded doubtful. "I panicked the horse with my nervousness. Perhaps he simply needs a firmer hand."
"Exactly," Sirius grinned. "Besides, I've got the basics, and we're friends."
"Friends on the ground," said Harry. "Simon's opinion shifts with…"
But Sirius wasn't listening. He gave Simon a kick and, after a moment's hesitation where the rather crude signal was guessed at, the horse moved into a walk. Simon flicked his tail. He didn't like having to guess. Harry felt his blood pressure begin to rise. Another kick and Simon jumped forward into a canter then, when Sirius pulled on the reins, came back into a slightly choppy trot. The horse's ears tilted back – not with anger, but with concentration. Although he was genuinely giving it his best, Simon wasn't sure what Sirius was asking and this was worrying him – Harry recognised the signs from when Luna had taught himself and Draco how to ride, but there was no Luna here now to reassure the horse. Harry should –
Draco's hand grabbed his shoulder and Harry turned to see a small but infinitely evil smile.
"Let Simon handle this one, okay?" Draco breathed.
Harry folded his arms and nodded curtly, if against his better judgement.
"There, you see?" said Sirius, reining Simon around in a small circle. "Confidence!" Simon was being much more obedient than Harry would have expected. Or liked, he admitted to himself jealously. Sirius reined the horse to a stop, then kicked him forward into a canter. Simon obliged, with that certain switch of his tail that said he wasn't happy and he wasn't sure what Sirius was asking, but he was putting up with things in the meantime out of the goodness of his heart and sweetness of his temper.
Draco gripped his shoulder tighter. Harry seethed. Life was so damned unfair – bloody Sirius, when would he get his –?
Life could be beautiful.
Sirius was aiming Simon at the log, but Simon's ears suggested the horse had his own opinion on the wisdom of jumping over things with novice riders on his back. Simon might have goodness and sweetness – Harry had noticed that particularly when Luna was around – but those virtues dried up and blew away under the implacable dragonfire of the horse's short temper and as of right now the horse had had enough of being confused by poor riding.
A determined expression of "enough is enough" on his bony face, Simon slowed, clearly intent on putting an end to this experiment.
"Gee up, there!" Sirius clapped his heels into the horse's ribs enthusiastically.
Simon flattened his ears, hunched up his back and jolted to a stop.
Sirius, in the spirit of inertia, bounced forward against the pommel. His eyes crossed, he went pale and made a strangled noise high in his throat that sounded like Gnggk!, and collapsed onto Simon's neck.
This alarmed the horse, and Simon leaped up into the air – unfortunately not over the log, but it was still an impressive bound – and Sirius hit the pommel again with another muted yelp. Simon shied sideways and Sirius fell, hitting the ground and curling up around himself, whimpering softly.
Simon kicked up his heels and plunged forward, standing on the reins. They broke with a sharp snap, and Simon charged off towards his paddock, tail a dark banner billowing out behind him.
Harry looked at Draco and nodded in Dumbledore's direction.
Draco pulled at his lower lip as he wandered over to Dumbledore. "I hate to say this – it's like I'm conforming to Slytherin stereotype or something, but is there any way other than the Imperius you're going to be able to ride him through the barrier?"
Dumbledore sighed and tucked his beard back into his belt. He looked sadly at Sirius, who was being helped to his feet by a sympathetic Flitwick and saying "It's okay, I'll walk for a little while, I'll be fine, don't worry…" in a strained voice, his eyes watering. "I wish there were," Dumbledore said.
"It's a sod of a spell to hold on an edge-creature," Draco pointed out. "Or so I've heard."
Harry hoped Draco kept his temper at the chilly look Dumbledore was giving him. Annoyed by it on Draco's behalf, Harry growled, "It's not like he's been practising on Simon. Sir. I hardly think you're in a position to make judgements on Unforgiveables seeing as you're going to use one on Simon."
Draco shot a quick glare at him, and Harry shrugged. "Whatever. I'm going to see if Simon doesn't hate me too much now that you lot have proven you can't be trusted with him without major Dark magic to control him."
He stomped off after the line of hoofprints. Behind him, he heard Draco saying quietly to Dumbledore so that Flitwick and Sirius couldn't hear, "You'll need a really sharp focus during the barrier, Professor."
"I know, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore sighed, sounding a apologetic and a lot older. "I only wish it weren't necessary."
"I think you were the one who said 'needs must' just before…"
Harry wished he hadn't lost his temper with Dumbledore. He might have made him suspicious.
Simon was sulking. He wasn't interested in Harry and kept his rump towards him when Harry tried to approach, stamping a back foot then walking away.
Harry sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, then waved his arms, shooing the horse further away. It wasn't like he could go too far thanks to the fence Dumbledore had erected. Simon snorted and trotted off. The kick had been a bluff, then. Harry wouldn't have dared try walking up behind Simon yesterday – he'd sensed the horse would have meant a kick then.
They kept that up for a few minutes, Simon refusing to have anything to do with Harry, Harry telling him in the form of waving arms that he didn't care and Simon could just piss off, until it seemed that Simon was convinced Harry really didn't want him. Miffed, Simon began looking around at Harry to see why he kept making him stay away from the boy.
At that point, Harry stopped walking and turned away from Simon, pretending there was nothing wrong and, in fact, Simon did not exist.
Simon didn't like not existing. He twitched his ears and then ambled along the slope of the hill towards Harry.
Harry ignored the horse until Simon, growing impatient at being ignored, butted his elbow with his nose.
Then Harry smiled and took the broken rein. "Hello, Simon," he said softly, and began to rub behind Simon's ears just where the bridle made his head itch.
Simon heaved the sort of huge sigh heaved by a horse who was severely inconvenienced by the world and lowered his head so Harry could scratch behind his ears more easily.
"You know I won't let them hurt you, right?" Harry asked softly.
The horse yawned.
"I'll take that as a 'yes, Harry'." He smiled and leaned his forehead against the horse's for a moment. It was a good moment. Inside it he savoured the feeling of something real and solid and uncomplicated – something alive. Simon didn't see Harry as the Saviour of Wizardingkind. Simon was just… he was… he was Simon, a grumpy horse who liked Harry simply because Harry was there and Harry gave him apples rather than grief. It was an economical yet warm relationship where both parties knew where they stood. In the undemanding presence of a horse, with birds arguing in the trees and shafts of sunlight piercing the clouds and drifting across the hills Harry forgot about death and exhaustion and lies and responsibility. It was only for a moment, but…
… it was a good moment.
Then Harry mended the reins (Simon not blinking at Harry's use of a wand) and rode the horse back down the hill on a loose rein, just because he could.
As if he wanted to rub salt in Sirius' wounded pride, Simon was meek as a lamb.
Life, thought Harry as he saw Sirius' sour expression and Draco and Flitwick swiftly pretending to scratch their noses to hide their smiles, was very good indeed.
For a short time he allowed himself to stop dwelling on the fact that he was probably going to die tonight.
ooOOoo