Chapter 5: Valuable Objects
Harry stood in Lockhart's office, along with Little-Harry, Little-Hermione, Little-Ron, Lockhart, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape. It was just after they'd found Mrs. Norris petrified during Harry's second year, and Little-Harry was untruthfully insisting that they'd been there for no particular reason at all.
Harry walked around, looking closely at the teacher's faces. None of them seemed to actually believe Little-Harry, but he thought that they thought that Little-Harry was simply hiding some childish rule-breaking. Except Dumbledore, maybe. After all, the Headmaster had later called him to his office to ask if there was anything he'd like to tell him.
Pensieves were amazing. The gist of the theory was that they used memories as components in informational time machines. The important result being that they showed accurate details that the source of the memory might not have ever seen at all.
Harry mainly used the pensieve to observe himself.
It was subtle, but Little-Harry was quite frightened. After watching a few related scenes, including some back at the Dursleys, Harry thought he understood. Little-Harry had grown up hearing that he was a freak, and then he'd gone to Hogwarts, where he wasn't a freak, or not in a bad way, but then he'd had an ability that might make him a freak even at Hogwarts. No wonder he'd refused to tell.
He winced when Ron told him that he'd been right to not tell because 'hearing voices no else can hear isn't a good sign.' Just one more example of Ron being less than helpful. Though Ron had at least stuck with him that year.
Reviewing memories in the pensieve, Harry had spent a lot of time futilely yelling at his various past selves to listen to Hermione rather than Ron and he wondered how differently things might've gone if Hermione were a boy and Ron were a girl.
Though there were times, like this one, really, when Hermione had been wrong along with Ron. And even times when Harry had been right and Hermione had been wrong. They just weren't as common as the reverse.
The memory ended, and he came to with Lupin's hand on his shoulder. "Ready to go in ten minutes, Harry?"
He drew the memory from the pensieve, feeling it become clearer than it had ever been when he put the memory back in his head, where it linked up with the memory of watching it in the pensieve. "I just need to put my shoes on."
A few minutes later, he and Lupin apparated from Grimmauld's stoop to the apparition point just inside Diagon Alley.
He kept his feet, though just barely, pulled himself upright ignoring the queasiness of his stomach, and saw Bill coming forward with a pink-haired woman he didn't recognize.
Lupin said, "You must be Nymphadora Tonks," and stretched out a hand.
"Just Tonks. You must be Remus Lupin. And you..." she looked to Harry. "You're shorter than I thought."
Harry blinked. "Makes me a small target."
Tonks said, "Good to know you've made peace with it. Lupin, I'll be keeping my distance and being inconspicuous."
Harry said, "With pink hair?"
Tonks grinned, and her hair turned brown.
Harry's mouth made a surprised O, and Harry, Lupin and Bill walked into the Alley proper as Tonks slunk behind them.
They made for Flourish and Blotts, and when Harry looked behind himself he couldn't pick Tonks out from the crowd.
Lupin gripped his shoulder, turning him away from looking behind.
The Weasleys were going school shopping sometime in August, (Harry got the impression from the defensiveness of Ron's reply that they were waiting till Mr. Weasley got his next paycheck) so it would just be them.
Hermione, however, was waiting outside Flourish and Blotts.
Hermione ran up to him and gave Harry a bone-crushing hug, which Harry did his best to return properly despite being uncomfortable with hugs and being very aware of the sensation of her chest on his.
When the hug broke he withdraw the Prefect badge from his pocket and showed it to her.
She squealed, showed him her own Prefect badge, and said, "Why didn't you tell me in your letter?"
"Thought I'd show you."
Hermione said, "You'll have to obey the rules this year, to set a good example."
Harry said, "I'm pretty sure almost every rule I've broken you broke along with me, even if you did offer token objections."
"I..." She paused. "More than token."
He leaned in and whispered, "Whose idea was it to brew a potion that required stealing from a professor and shoving unconscious students in a closet?"
She turned red. "That was a mistake."
"Not to mention abuse of a time turner for the explicit purpose of obstructing justice. Honestly Hermione, I break rules, but you break laws, and now you're a prefect. What is Hogwarts coming to?"
She froze, Harry laughed, Hermione punched his arm, and Harry said, "I've been spending too much time at the serious school of humor."
She rolled her eyes. "Hopefully you keep the serious aspect of your education under control once we have prefect duties."
"I'm planning to be more Hermionish than Sirius, don't worry. When Professor Dumbledore asked if I was interested in being a prefect the certainty that I'd be doing it with you is half of why I said yes."
"He asked?"
"He didn't know if I had time, between Quidditch and my side project."
"Yes, occlumency. I've been wanting to ask you about that in person."
They chattered about it as they went through Flourish and Blotts to fill their booklists, Bill and Remus hanging just far enough back to give them the illusion of privacy. They went hunting for their own copies of the (rarer) books Dumbledore had loaned Harry, though Hermione already had her own copies of Within the Cauldron's Bubble, The Character of Magic and Forming the Fundament, but not Dark Arts and Pure Hearts or Mind's Mortar.
Between Flourish and Blotts, Obscurus Books and Secondhand Books they found everything but Mind's Mortar, which the proprietor of Obscurus Books described as "rare, and questionably legal," which didn't make any sense to Harry.
They picked up parchment, potions ingredients, quills (Hermione agonized over some self-inking non-blotting quills, but decided they were too expensive) and got themselves measured for new robes at Madam Malkin's.
While getting fitted for new dress robes, which were once more on the list, he asked Bill to make sure Ron had decent dress robes, and Bill said he was already planning on it.
They stopped at Florean's for ice-cream, and Hermione checked her watch.
"Time?"
"My dad will pick me up outside the Leaky Cauldron."
"Then I guess I'll see you next at the train. Or maybe the Burrow a few days before."
Hermione said, "Other than that you'll stay inside the whole summer?"
"There's a roof deck. And a back garden, though it's quite small and they can't expand it without messing up the wards. But pretty much. Except I'm going shopping with Fleur later today."
"Fleur Delacour?" She sounded surprised and suspicious. "That's... unexpected. Harry you are rather famous, are sure she's not, you know, using you?"
"Huh?"
"We know from last year that dating you could get someone in the newspaper."
"Oh. Oh. No, relax. She just wants to thank me. You remember, from the second task. Besides, Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley are not-dating. He's too much older than her. They're just taking meals together, attending concerts, touring museums, and, I assume, holding hands as they walk along the seaside at midnight while watching the stars. I haven't found out yet whether not-dating involves kissing."
Bill set down his spoon with a clank and cuffed Harry lightly on the back of his head.
"That's all right then," said Hermione.
She handed him a package in red paper. Rectangular, thicker at one end than the other. A book with heavy bindings. "I know it's not till Monday, but happy birthday Harry."
He gave her a quick hug across the table. They finished their ice-cream, went out through the Leaky Cauldron and stood by a curb, Hermione lecturing him about magical careers; in magical Britain, 30 hours a week was considered full-time, which was less than in the muggle world, she said, but that was because there was more of a subsistence aspect to wizardly existence.
A silver sedan pulled up and its boot popped. Hermione dropped her bags inside, and waved goodbye, the man in the driver's seat also waving.
Harry supposed that Mr. Granger's trip to Diagon Alley prior to second-year had been a bad experience.
The car zoomed off with Hermione, and Harry went immediately back to Diagon Alley to buy the package of self-inking, non-blotting quills Hermione had wanted. Her birthday was in September.
Bill checked his watch, declared they had twenty minutes before Fleur arrived, and Lupin led them to the oculist's office.
"We'll get you tested. Depending on the results, your eyes will be fixed or we'll get you new glasses."
Get his eyes fixed... Now that he thought of it, lots of muggles his age had glasses, but hardly any other students at Hogwarts did. It was pretty much just him and old people. And Rita Skeeter. "My father had glasses."
Lupin said, "And with luck, you will too."
Harry was about to ask what he meant by that, but the oculist approached them, and Harry was shaking her hand, then being asked if he might autograph two slips of paper for her daughters.
He did so, blushing and reluctant, and the oculist became all business. At her direction, he removed his glasses, which turned the inside of the store into a blurry mess, and he remained as still as possible while she cast several diagnostic spells on his eyes. Then she guided him into a viewer which somehow could show very close things (which were blurry) and things that were very far away (which were nice and clear.)
"Well?" said Lupin, when it was done.
"He's a Potter," said the oculist, and Lupin seemed inordinately pleased by that pronouncement.
Lupin said, "Your eyesight doesn't need fixing. It's better than perfect. You're far-sighted. It's a family trait of the Potter line. A pretty good advantage, though not nearly on the level of, say, the Black family's predilection for metamorphmagery. You see well at a distance, and your vision is quick. That's part of why you do so well at Quidditch. But as a result, you're near-sighted. Those muggle glasses mostly take care of it, but we can do better."
"I should 'ope so," said a familiar voice.
Harry put his glasses back on, and the silvery blob resolved into Fleur Delacour.
Fleur said, "Zey are 'orribly unstylish. Ze round lenses work with your face, but ze frames and 'andles are cheap, blocky plastic with no shaping."
"Nice to see you too, Fleur." He looked at the shorter version of Fleur holding hands with the big version. "And you too, Gabrielle."
"'Ello," said Gabrielle.
"Bonjour," said Harry, and then in badly accented French, "How are you doing today?"
Gabrielle responded in French that was mostly too quick for him to follow, but he understood it was a formulaic greeting, and all he had to do was say he was good as well, and then apologize and say that was all the French he knew.
It was all the French Sirius had taught him. He didn't even know the words really, just phrases. But Fleur and Gabrielle seemed pleased.
"Always impress the part-veela gals," Sirius had said.
They had nearly the same conversation in Gabrielle's broken English.
Fortunately, trying on glasses did not require a great deal of vocabulary.
He tried on a sharp-edged rectangular pair, the lenses automatically adjusting to suit his sight. The Delacour girls shook their heads, so he put those back, and tried a more squarish pair of glasses. The objections were even fiercer, so he replaced it with a pair that was straight on top and curvy on the bottom. They shrugged at that, so he put it aside, starting the maybe pile.
Gabrielle picked out a round-framed pair, very much like his current glasses, except they were metal, not plastic, and the arms met the frames a little farther up. That pair got yeses from both Delacours, and a nod from Lupin and Bill, so it started the 'yes' pile.
After half an hour, it was whittled down to two round-lensed pairs. A frameless pair, and the pair Gabrielle had picked out, black wired with bits of green Lupin said the frameless wasn't so practical, so Harry chose Gabrielle's pick.
Lupin said to the oculist, "Two in this style. One allowable under standard Quidditch rules, one decidedly not. Deluxe package, what you might sell a flush Auror. Light adjusters, see-throughers, goggles, the works."
"That isn't cheap," said the oculist.
Lupin smiled. Sirius was paying, and Sirius was rich.
As Lupin talked to the oculist about price, date, and other details, Harry whispered to Fleur. "I think I owe you 250 galleons. I didn't deserve to win. Crouch was helping me. He gave me a little advice on the task, and he even helped me a little getting through the maze."
"Eh? So? Madam Maxine advised me, and Karkaroff advised Viktor. You did well. If I can not beat a fourth-year, that is my fault, I think."
"But-"
"No but. You are being stupid. Keep your money."
Lupin said, "They'll need a week for the deluxe, but the Quidditch-rules pair will be ready in three hours."
"Good," said Fleur. "We shall return back after shopping."
#
#
Harry collapsed on his favorite couch at Grimmauld Place. He was sure he'd been more tired in the past. He just couldn't remember when.
No, he could actually. After the whole mess with Quirrell and the stone. After they'd gone back in time to save Sirius and he'd fought off all those dementors. That might've been it.
He did, at least, have an expansive wardrobe, muggle and wizarding both, that was, Fleur assured him, as fashionable as could be managed without spending a lot more money or taking a trip to France. Not that he really cared. His new shoes were nice-Lupin was already making plans for how they ought to be enchanted-but the glasses were the best part.
It was slight, little more than the difference between clean glasses and dirty ones, but everything was sharper, colors more vivid.
At the moment, the backs of his eyelids were all he wanted to see.
#
#
Dumbledore, Bill, Remus, Sirius and Harry all wore party hats, sitting around a table with a birthday-cake-sized treacle tart with 15 lit candles stuck in.
Harry waved his hand at the candles, focusing on emitting magic and putting the candles out.
15 little fires vanished. Two or three could've been from the wind of his hand passing, but the rest were not. Wandless magic, but the sort any child could perform with enough tries.
It had taken Harry seven.
Sirius and Lupin cheered, Dumbledore blew a kazoo, and Bill clapped him on the back.
A rollicking little birthday party, even if the attendees were only those who already had access to Grimmauld Place.
Minus Snape, of course, thank Merlin.
"Presents!" barked Sirius, once everyone had eaten a piece of treacle tart.
From Sirius he got a walkman, though it was missing a lot of the essential pieces and had been shrunk.
"That cassette's got over 500 albums on it. Just name the one you want to listen to."
From Dumbledore, he got a small green book. Antithesis of the Darkest Arts: Love and Humility in Magic.
Dumbledore said, "Given that you asked Horace about deific magic, I thought you might enjoy this."
From Bill, a gold coin necklace and a small booklet.
Bill said, "Classic Egyptian magic. You can store up to eleven and half days of sleep and good health in the coin, then use it when you need to. Read the manual."
From Lupin, a plan for how he ought to enchant his new shoes. Ward scheme and charm scheme both, leaving just enough wiggle room that he could be a little creative.
Then the gifts from those absent.
From Hagrid, a furry brown wallet with teeth.
From Ron, a very large box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans.
From the Weasley family, a hand-knitted jumper and two mince pies.
Harry had been expecting Hermione's gift to be a homework planner or some such thing, and it was some such thing, but it rather blew him away. Revising Guide, the cover said. When he opened it, he saw Hermione's writing, listing all the spells they'd learned their first year, along with the theory of how they all worked, and references to related spells they'd learned in later years.
And much the same for first-year Potions, Herbology, Astronomy and History of Magic. Then the second year, much the same. The third year, there were, in addition to the other classes, sections on Arithmancy, Runes, Magical Creatures, Muggle studies, and even a short, sarcastic section on divination. Fourth-year, again, the key points of every class she'd taken, carefully outlined.
And through it all, in every year, there were notes of how each spell or concept related to the outlined OWL requirements. The book-sized study guide had to be the product of hundreds of hours of work. Thousands even.
"Bloody hell," said Sirius, who'd been reading it over Harry's shoulder.
Harry was sure she'd made it for herself, probably revising and updating it over the course of her whole Hogwarts career, but he still felt as if the quills he'd bought in preparation for her birthday didn't stand up as an even exchange.
The conversation turned to OWLs, and whether Harry wanted to be a professional Quidditch player (they seemed to take it as granted that he could if he wanted to, but Harry said he wasn't sure whether he liked the idea or not, which seemed to please them) and from there to news.
Rita Skeeter had published an article about the 'Unconvicted Prisoners of Azkaban,' and how they perhaps ought to be given trials.
Harry was pleased when he heard that, but frowned when he saw the others were frowning. Harry said, "Isn't that a good thing?"
"It's a good thing for me," said Sirius. "During the war, there was a lot of just rounding up anyone who seemed to be trying to kill Aurors. So maybe there are some other innocents in there too. But some genuine, hard-core Death Eaters might get out on insufficient evidence."
Dumbledore said, "In his present form, Voldemort with even a single servant is vastly more dangerous than Voldemort without even one."
"Oh," said Harry. He fidgeted. "I think maybe there's something I might need to tell you."
Dumbledore took a long look at Harry and said, "Bill, I trust you greatly, or you wouldn't be here. But I suspect this may be a conversation for me and Harry's guardians."
"I'll wait in the next room, then."
Dumbledore said, "Sirius, ensure that your house-elf does not eavesdrop."
Sirius did so, Dumbledore cast several privacy wards, and Harry explained about Rita Skeeter and how he and Hermione were blackmailing her, wishing he could disappear.
Sirius said, "I'm flattered Pronglet, but kidnapping and blackmail are not great ideas."
Dumbledore said, "I think that with competent legal defense you and Miss Granger would likely get off. She only caught a beetle, after all, and on discovering the beetle was a journalist, you asked a favor. Luckily for you, the blackmail laws in Wizarding Britain are disturbingly weak. Still, I ought to have a conversation with Miss Granger about what statements might be incriminating and how to avoid making them."
Lupin rubbed his temples.
Dumbledore said, "A re-examination of the prisoners of war should happen, but there is danger of the process being co-opted by those who should have little to do with it. Lucius Malfoy, for example. I don't demand that you do what I say, but in the future you might consult me before making political moves. At least until you understand a great deal more about wizarding politics and history."
Harry winced, and Bill was called back in.
They played Risk. Harry cheered up slightly until Dumbledore, complaining about the ethics of the game's goal, drove him from Africa, eliminated the last of his troops from South America, took his risks cards, and conquered the world.
Defeat was bitter.
#
#
"Ready?" said Bill.
"Ready," said Sirius, looking as if Christmas had come early.
Bill tapped the wall one last time with a golden mallet, and Harry felt the wards come off the portrait with a tong like struck metal vibrating.
Sirius began casting, countering the sticking charm, and after five minutes of that, he canceled the silence spell, and Walburga Black's screams filled the hall.
Sirius pocketed his wand and lifted the portrait off the wall.
"Filth! Blood Traitor! Sin of my Flesh!"
Sirius said, "Ready for the grand tour?" He took her into the sitting room. "Here's the telly." It had become very large and flat under Sirius's ministrations, taking up most of its wall.
"Muggle abomination!"
Sirius took her through the house. "Here's the treadmill, I've got big plans for the treadmill."
"Muggle contraption, staining my house!"
"Here's Moony's 'that-time-of-the-month containment park' I'll be putting in more bushes soon."
"Beast! Werewolf in my house!"
"Yes, quite. Would you like to meet a Hippogriff? He lives in your room. I'm expecting Hagrid to take him away any day now, but he hasn't yet."
It continued, Sirius showing her all his renovations, and Walburga Black shrieking about them. The grand tour concluded on the roof deck, where Sirius tossed the portrait on the ground and squirted it with muggle lighter fluid.
A Pop, and Kreacher appeared, standing between Sirius and the portrait.
"Master mustn't, filthy traitor Master. Give her to Kreacher, Kreacher will take care of her."
"Out of the way, Kreacher," said Sirius.
Kreacher crossed his arms, face set, as Sirius rolled his eyes at the elf. Harry knew he was about to phrase it as an order.
"Why not put her away?" Harry said. "Who knows, you might need to question her one day."
Sirius said, "I very much doubt it."
"And your relationship with Kreacher is toxic enough as it is."
"I don't care what the elf thinks."
"You should. Remember how Dobby betrayed the Malfoys?" He'd told Sirius the story.
Sirius's jaw clenched. Kreacher looked at Harry with surprising gratitude.
Lupin said, "I was looking forward to burning her, but Harry's right. It's not prudent."
Sirius sighed. "I'll lock her in a cabinet. Kreacher, I order you to leave her alone. You can't take her out and you can't visit her and you can't tell anyone where she is. Just leave it alone."
"Unworthy Master is ungrateful to his mother. Unworthy Master keeps her from his servants."
Harry said, "Kreacher, don't push it."
The elf glared at him but vanished with a pop.
#
#
Godric's Hollow was a pleasant little town. Bringing Bill and Tonks in addition to Lupin felt like overkill to Harry, but it hadn't been his choice.
He cast a last uncertain glance at the monument-he wasn't sure whether he liked it or not, but it wasn't for him, was it-and continued on to Potter Cottage.
The hedge was trimmed, the yard was well-kept, and a woman in red livery stood just inside the gate.
"Welcome to Potter Cottage, the site of the Boy-Who-Lived's victory over You-Know-Who on October 31st, 19-" She got a better look at Harry and stopped. "Mr. Potter," she squeaked, "if I'd known you were coming, I would've arranged for a private tour."
"The public tour will be fine," said Harry.
But in fact, they were the only ones there.
Through the entryway, into a sitting room.
"This is where James Potter, well..." the guide trailed off. Harry had the feeling she was cutting off her usual spiel for the sake of present company.
Harry said, "I don't see any damage to the room." Based on the memories he'd seen, he would've expected a fight.
"His wand was in the other room when You-Know-Who entered. Lily Potter had left hers downstairs as well."
Harry's hand wandered over the handle of his own wand.
"In here we see the kitchen. If you look at the stove, you'll notice it has gas burners-Lily Potter's muggle influence. Because they had no house-elf..."
Harry largely tuned the guide out. He wanted to listen, but what he was seeing and what he was feeling took up all his attention.
A lot of the rooms felt familiar, though whether that was real or imagined he couldn't say.
The nursery was the most extreme. Half of it was untouched, pristine, the crib against the wall with blankets still in, a toy chest in the corner. And half of it was destroyed completely, missing wall and ceiling.
Harry wondered what spell was used to keep the wind and rain out, and why, if they had that spell, wizards bothered with houses at all.
"Here is where Lily Potter, well..."
Harry took a deep breath.
#
#
The morning before the start of his four-day visit with the Weasleys, after which he'd go to Hogwarts, Lupin and Bill took him to Gringotts to look at the Potter family's artifacts vault.
Harry stood in it with Lupin and a goblin, looking at the manifest, thankful for the fact that it was organized alphabetically. "First, I definitely want the pensieve."
Lupin said, "If I recall, there's a briefcase has about ten times the volume of a school trunk and a default weight of fifteen pounds. We'll put everything you want in it."
Harry nodded, looking for it, then spotted the portrait gallery and hurried to it.
A number of portraits greeted him, asking who he was.
Harry said, "Are my parents here?"
Lupin said, "Sorry. People don't generally get portraits made until later in life. But those are your grandparents. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter." Lupin pointed to two portraits. The woman had gray hair and deep laugh lines. The man had two scars on his face. One down his left cheek, one taking a diagonal just above his right eye. They woke up as Lupin said their names.
"Fleamont?" said Harry.
The portrait of Fleamont said, "My father gave me that name to make me tough. It worked."
Lupin leaned over and whispered to Harry, "Excellent duelist, joined the British Volunteers to fight in Grindelwald's war before Britain officially entered, and attained the rank of major."
"Major Fleamont?" said Harry.
"You're lucky I'm a portrait, descendant, or I'd be giving you lessons on respecting your ancestors."
Euphemia said, "Which descendant are you?"
"I'm Harry Potter. Your grandson. James' son."
"And how is James? We must've been in this vault for some time if you're already so grown up. Why is that?"
Harry exchanged glances with Lupin. "I assume you've heard of Voldemort?"
Ten minutes later, both portraits were crying (Harry was surprised to see actual tears leaking through the paint) and Harry had decided to take his grandparents to Hogwarts.
When their tears stopped, Fleamont and Euphemia began calling out recommendations for what he might take, most focused on safety.
"My old wand holster. The two-inch tube holds a wand up to 15 inches long, and you can stick and strap the holster wherever you like."
"The wristwatch over there is actually a rennervater. Wakes you up if you're stunned. And the ring next to it changes temperature when someone points a wand at you. You might as well put them both on."
Harry did, pleased that neither was ostentatious. The ring was a filigree iron band, and the rennervating wristwatch had a simple black leather band.
"The monocle shows you the original form of objects that have been transfigured."
"Dorea's old rune and ward set is right over there, by the guardian hawk statue."
Lupin said, "Wands are over here." He gestured to a whole rack. "They're labeled by owner. I'd start with your parent's first."
"You think I should have a spare wand?" said Harry.
"Considering all the trouble you get up to, yes."
Harry left for the Weasley's an hour later, carrying a suitcase, wand holster strapped to his left forearm, another one attached to his right shin, just above the ankle.
#
#
Harry stepped onto Platform nine and three quarters and used a sticking charm to attach his prefect badge to his jacket, glorying in the fact that he could use magic again.
But for the first time, he felt a little reluctant about leaving for Hogwarts. He missed his friends, he missed the school, he missed performing magic, he missed Quidditch, he missed all sorts of things, but he knew he'd miss Sirius and Lupin as well. Lazy mornings, board games after dinner, the two tutoring him on this or that-Lupin in a more organized manner. Sirius's devil-may-care attitude even as he chafed at the necessity to stay holed up in Grimmauld Place, and the renovations that Harry suspected would never completely end so long as Sirius was confined to the house.
He shrugged and kept an eye out for Hermione as he and Ron boarded the train.
Harry said, "I'm heading to the Prefect carriage."
Ron, who'd taken Harry being the prefect better than Harry'd expected (though he did grimace when he looked at the badge) waved goodbye and went off to find Neville.
The prefect carriage was at the front of the train. Harry opened the door and saw the back of a head of bushy brown hair
Hermione turned, smiled, Harry braced himself for a hug, and was surprised when it didn't come.
Malfoy's, "Still alive, Potter? Pity," made clear why.
"Hey Draco, how's your summer been? Mine was pretty good, except I hardly got to fly at all."
"It... what?"
"Congratulations on being made a prefect. I thought it would be Zabini, honestly, but I guess you outdid him on the exams. Well done." He looked around the compartment. Daphne Greengrass was the other Slytherin fifth-year prefect. "Too bad Pansy isn't your partner, that'd be pretty cool, doing rounds with your girlfriend."
"Pansy is not my girlfriend," said Draco Malfoy, pink-cheeked.
"But you're so cute together," said Harry.
Daphne Greengrass began making sounds like a dying squirrel. Harry thought she was trying not to laugh.
Draco said, "And you, dating Granger." He seemed to be struggling to figure out how to make that an insult; Harry had never seen Draco Malfoy struggle to make something an insult before. But confusion was working wonders, just as Sirius and Lupin had said.
"That's a common misunderstanding. Hermione and I aren't actually dating." Harry shifted, looking uncomfortable, and confided, just loudly enough for everyone to hear, "I didn't do well with the whole romance thing last year, and, seeing how sweet you and Pansy are together, I thought you might give me some advice."
"Pansy and I aren't... what kind of advice?"
"Dating to me seemed very vague. I don't get the rules for how it works, but from what I understand, purebloods have it much more formalized. If you might describe how it works..."
Draco drew himself up. Discoursing on pureblood customs was familiar ground. "You have to be very respectful. You clasp your hands behind your back, like so," Draco demonstrated, "incline your head slightly, and ask what she thinks of the gardens. If she mentions roses-"
Cedric Diggory, pink-faced from amusement and wearing the Head Boy badge, said, "Fascinating as this is, we have business to discuss, now that everyone's here."
Draco sneered at Diggory but fell silent. Harry looked around the Prefect's Carriage.
It was quite a bit bigger than a standard carriage, given it had to hold 24 some students at a time, and set up for meetings.
Diggory was the Head Boy, and a seventh-year Ravenclaw named Alexis Sherrly introduced herself as Head Girl.
Harry nodded to the other fifth-year prefects: Ernie MacMillan, Hanna Abbot, Anthony Goldstein, and Padma Patil, and listened as Cedric and Alexis went over their duties.
It wasn't much. Patrol when you were supposed to. Turn a blind eye when you thought you should, don't when you didn't. Never ever ever use your wand to discipline a student. Don't abuse your powers to take points from students of your own house, and follow your Head of House's guidelines for detentions. Recognize the signs of abuse. Bullying, and how to deal with it.
Harry took a few notes, Hermione took many, and two hours into the journey, they were finally free.
:::
Given that I've very little experience with French accents, I feel uncomfortable writing Fleur's. Later, she won't have an accent worth writing. She'll be spending some of the time she spent worrying about Voldemort and whatnot on English tutoring.
Monstrosity, by JLL, available on Amazon, in the books department. blahblahblah
This is not Gabrielle/Harry.
Prefects are chosen by the Head of House and the Headmaster, and presumably their selection has a political component. Snape and Dumbledore are in different political situations this year than in canon. Thus, Greengrass over Pansy.