The tiny article in the Daily Prophet set the mood for the first day after the break, which happened to be a Tuesday, although Hermione did not read it until lunchtime.
She was plunged back into the learning frenzy that she would come to associate with that year for the rest of her life. For most other students, it was probably not even noticeable, but if one happened to have all five electives, then it seemed as if Tuesdays would never end.
It began with care of magical creatures, which turned out to be unexpectedly enjoyable, introducing her to fire salamanders. It was a good choice of creature on Hagrid's part, Hermione had to admit. Keeping the fire going for the animals kept all of them warm, while running to collect fire wood kept her more disruptive classmates engaged, giving her the opportunity to properly observe the fire salamanders. Charms after that was reassuring. Hermione was still comfortably ahead of the material they were covering.
At lunchtime, Hermione finally reached the society section of the Daily Prophet. And stilled. The article was just a few lines, informing the public that Lucius Malfoy had been added to the board of governors of St Mungo's. Without comment, she handed the paper over to the boys.
"How much do you reckon he paid for that?" asked Ron.
"For everyone to forget his record as a Hogwarts governor?" Harry replied in the same flippant tone.
Hermione sniffed. "You two realise what this means, don't you?"
The boys looked at each other and nodded.
"Malfoy's tightening the noose around Quirrel's neck," Harry all but whispered – Quirrel's name was one of a number of things not to be mentioned in the great hall, in others' hearing.
Arithmancy and divination took place after lunch and although Hermione and Harry were in the habit of going to divination first – to get it over with – Hermione asked to switch the order that day, because she felt she needed a pick-me-up after reading such news. She forgot that Malfoy – the younger – would also be in that class.
Arithmancy began on a high note. Hermione had made sure to do the homework to her usual standard and was otherwise well caught up on the material. Professor Vector rewarded her with a couple of suppressed smiles for answering the more difficult questions.
Knowing how many more classes she had ahead of her, Hermione let her mind drift a little, content to pay just enough attention to copy what appeared on the board, to review later, while her thoughts were somewhere in the vicinity of St. Mungo's.
It was only a sudden rise in the tension all around the classroom that made it past her distraction and brought her back to the present. She tried to figure out the cause of it. What had Vector been saying? The day's topic had been the magical properties of numbers, and Vector had made it to seven, then proceeded to give examples—
"—seventh son of a seventh son," Hermione vaguely recalled hearing, just as Vector went on, "or the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter," before turning away from the chalkboard. She looked surprised, confusion clearly written across her features as she looked at her students, trying to understand their reaction.
"That filthy bit of propaganda," Malfoy could clearly be heard saying to a fellow Slytherin.
Before Vector had so much as clarified where she was going with the statement, Malfoy had begun talking to his neighbour, loudly enough that the entire classroom – well over fifty students – could comfortably hear them. He had the gall to say that while his father had been a governor of the school, he would not have allowed such unsubstantiated propaganda about muggleborns to be spread around. (The way he said the word 'muggelborns' left no doubt about which word he would have liked to use instead, had he not been in class.)
"I wasn't necessarily referring to muggleborns who are the seventh son or daughter—" Vector began in a flustered voice, responding to Malfoy's claim, rather than admonishing him for the interruption. "I was simply saying – even with magical ancestry, such children tend to have unusual abilities. Anyway, returning to the calculation—"
Vector could not get away from the topic fast enough, choosing to move on rather than argue with Malfoy and his ilk, but Malfoy's none-too-quiet, "Even with magical ancestry," in an obvious caricature of Vector's tone could still be heard.
Hermione glanced at Harry, who was shooting murderous looks in Malfoy's direction, while still looking confused.
"There's a belief that a seventh son of a seventh son will always have magical abilities, even if they have no magical ancestors," she said quietly, realising that she needed to explain. "Same with the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter."
Harry caught on to the implications. "Meaning that magic in muggleborns isn't always inherited by some squib ancestor."
Hermione nodded. Most modern purebloods preferred to think that muggleborns got their magic from squib ancestors (except for those crazy ones who actually accused muggleborns of stealing magic), because if that belief about seventh sons and daughters was true, then it would mean that magical people were not inherently all that different from muggles.
It was in a worsened mood, rather than an improved one, that they proceeded to divination. Trelawney began teaching them palmistry, and could not pass up the chance to tell Harry that he had the shortest life line of anyone she had ever met. Hermione, sitting next to him, held out her own hand, palm up, next to his.
"I wouldn't say his is shorter than mine," she said right away.
Trelawney gazed at her through her magnifying glasses. "I think you may need to have your eyesight checked, my dear. It's one thing to have a deficient Inner Eye, but to have your mundane eyes fail you as well at such a young age…"
Inside, Hermione was fuming, but she did not argue. It felt so futile, especially because Ron was doing his best to follow Trelawney's instructions, instead of trying to defend Harry as well. She managed to wait until the lesson was finished to start voicing her opinion of Trelawney's eyesight – especially compared to her own.
Ron, for once, did not come to their teacher's defence. He grinned. "With her glasses? I'd bet it's even worse than Harry's."
"Oi, don't compare me to her," complained Harry.
"Your glasses do look a lot like hers… round, both of them…" mused Hermione.
"Yeah, well, at least I don't have her Sight – that's more Ron's thing, eh?"
"It's not my fault that you're both deficient in that area," the ginger boy said magnanimously.
Hermione sniffed.
"Now, now, Hermione, no need to be jealous."
"I think Hermione's just jealous of her hair," quipped Harry – then yelped as the well-aimed stinging hex hit him.
Hermione put away her wand. Sometimes a little hex was easier than coming up with a smart reply, she found.
"Ooh, I think you got her there, mate," laughed Ron, and Harry joined in.
It was in a lifted mood that Hermione contemplated muggle studies and ancient runes that she had to go to next, also scheduled together. She usually preferred to go to muggle studies first, simply because she shared that class with Ron. However, knowing that her patience with Malfoy was already thinner than usual that day, she decided to get ancient runes over with first.
Neville was already waiting at the entrance to the classroom when she got there, keeping as far away as possible from the large group of Slytherins, which also included many of the Hufflepuffs. Most of the small groups of Ravenclaws were also vaguely clustered around them, with only a few students keeping away from that central crowd – Neville among them. Although, none of them were quite as separate as Hermione, who made sure to get there almost too late. She had learned by experience that she did not want to spend too much time with that crowd without the teacher present.
They went into a dimly lit room. In January, in Scotland, the sun set early. The glowing runes etched into the walls provided more of the illumination than the candles.
Unusually for her, Hermione did not sit at the front, but quite far back, next to Neville, and behind Padma Patil and Sue Li, who were usually very quiet in that class. Professor Babbling caught Hermione's eye as she sat down, smiled at her, which brought back some of her courage. She knew she did well in ancient runes and certainly deserved her place there, regardless of what the Slytherins thought.
Babbling drew a number of runes into the air, let each of them sink into the board with an eerie glow, before following with the next. Hermione recognised the mild well-wishing, protective runes that were used to invite in a welcome guest. She joined her classmates into thanking their teacher and returning the sentiment in words.
"Now, then," Babbling began, "It's nice to have you all back – and to see that you haven't forgotten everything we learned so far." Her wrinkled face pulled into its customary smile. "As promised we'll begin the new term with spells we cannot – and shouldn't attempt to – pronounce," she said, adding a note of strictness to her voice. "Can you remember what I'm talking about?"
Hermione did, and her hand shot into the air – as opposed to Neville's, who looked at her with a confused, frustrated frown.
"These are spells that we know how to write using runes, but no longer know how to pronounce," she said a moment later, when Babbling called on her to answer the question.
Neville looked away, jaw set.
"Yes, however, is it the runes that we don't know how to pronounce?" went on Babbling, then picked Daphne Greengrass to answer, whose hand had been in the air, like several Slytherins'.
"We do know how to pronounce the individual runes, usually," Greengrass said. "At least, with a fair amount of certainty. But pronouncing the spell is not a simple matter of reading it out as it's spelled."
Hermione ignored the uncharitable thought that she had sounded rather snotty, and got her quill and parchment ready, as Babbling began to outline the new spell, explaining in detail how each stroke of each rune had to be drawn. She had the presence of mind to pay attention to Neville as well, who was not very neat. Just as it was dangerous to mispronounce a spell, it was also dangerous to make a mistake when writing it. However, Hermione could only point out his mistakes. She could not draw his runes for him. If his quill movement was wrong, his wand movement would be as well, and he could seriously harm himself – or others.
Babbling walked around the room, looking at everyone's parchments, and only if she deemed the efforts sufficiently correct, were the students allowed to trace the runes with their wands – to actually perform the spell. Hermione got to try hers, but Neville did not. He threw down his quill and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Hermione had come a long way since that charms lesson in first year, when she had tried to teach Ron the wingardium leviosa spell. "You're in a mood today," she whispered, instead of trying to explain further.
Neville opened his mouth, then closed it, set his jaw again. For a moment it was not clear if he would give a truthful answer, but then his shoulders sank. "I ran into Ernie on the way here. Justin was also there, and Wayne. Ernie was going to muggle studies and telling the other two that they were lucky to already know about the muggle world so they could have a free hour instead. Then he saw me and said, 'Of course, some of us don't find it all that important to know anything about the muggle world,' and then he asked me what important things I was learning in ancient runes." He grimaced.
"Well, ancient runes is important—" Hermione began to say, but was distracted by Babbling's voice picking up, beginning a new topic.
"Yeah," Neville said glumly. "So Gran says. But I'm horrible at it. I said as much, and Wayne had to be a git and said, 'Oh well, guess you'll have to ask Harry for help, then,' just because I told him that once that I'd done homework with Harry and knew for a fact that Harry wrote brilliant essays – once again because Wayne had been a git and wouldn't accept that Harry might actually be a good student and deserve the high marks he gets—"
Hermione was trying to listen to Babbling, who had begun discussing the counter to the spell they had just learned, but Neville's words were keeping her attention. "Oh, well, thank you for defending Harry," she interjected.
"Well, of course I did," came Neville's flustered reply. "And I tried to keep Harry out of it, told Wayne that he doesn't even take ancient runes—"
Babbling began outlining the counterspell, and Hermione reached for her quill, half her attention still on Neville.
"— and it's not like he's wrong. This class is all about remembering all those runes – and I always forget everything! I forget all of the steps in potions – stir three times one way and five times the other! – and all those exact measurements! – thirteen beetles, and whatnot – and I forget all the dates in history, and—"
"But you do write good essays in history," Hermione interjected absent-mindedly. "For homework, when you can look up the dates. You make really good points in your essays. It's only during the exams that you—"
"—Now, can anyone tell me why we don't try to pronounce the counterspell?" Babbling's question finally returned Hermione's attention to the lesson.
She raised her hand, almost automatically, a kind of knee-jerk reaction to realising that her attention had drifted. Only once she had done so, did she realise that she might have misunderstood the question a bit, but by then it was too late, Babbling's gaze had landed on her as was customary, having expected her to raise her hand.
Hermione gave a flustered answer, cobbling together something about the pronunciation of the counter having been forgotten, just as with the spell it was countering. She did not need to see Babbling's tiny frown, the disappointment clearly visible, and her careful, 'Not quite,' to know she had made a mistake. She remembered reading something about it when doing the homework assigned over the holidays, but she had rushed through that, late at night, because most of that day had once again been spent on duelling practice.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy almost lazily lift his hand in the air. He knew the answer, of course, and confidently explained about the history of the spell, how it had been rediscovered centuries after it had fallen out of use, when no one even knew how it had once been pronounced any more, much less of any counterspell for it. And how a written-only counterspell had been developed at that point, to go with the write-only use the spell had acquired.
"Oh, well done, Mr Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin," said Babbage, and smiled at him.
Hermione remembered reading that. At the time it had struck her as a rather pretentious idea. The counterspell could have been made into a proper, spoken spell, but its creator had not done that, and it seemed to her that that had been simply so it would have the aesthetic of an ancient spell, whose pronunciation had been forgotten, despite being quite modern.
As soon as Babbling had turned towards the board again, Malfoy smirked. "We can't expect everyone to understand – to properly appreciate – ancient magic," he whispered to his friends, not so quietly that Hermione – and everyone else – would not have heard. Several of the Slytherins around him shot Hermione sideways glances, tittering. "And maybe not everyone needs to."
That last bit was said more quietly, so that Hermione was not sure who the speaker had been. She looked away, humiliated, furious – mostly at herself, for having failed to prepare for the class as needed.
She found herself facing Neville again, who had noticed her reaction. She schooled her expression to something calmer than she felt, but was too late. Chagrin overtook Neville's face.
"I'm sorry I distracted you," he said glumly.
Hermione, not knowing how to reply, switched to paying attention to Babbling instead. Even after the class was finally over, she did not know how to tell Neville that he was not at fault, that she had simply failed to do her work, stretched thin as she was.
Hermione almost ran to the muggle studies classroom once ancient runes was over. It was such a relief to see Ron's ginger hair sticking up above most of the students waiting outside.
"How was ancient runes?" he asked her quietly, conspiratorially, once she had reached him.
Hermione had not been planning to talk about it, but at his question, the words tumbled out of her, telling him what a disaster the lesson had been (would be? – depending on how one thought about time travel).
Ron's face darkened, but he did not look surprised. "That pompous git," he said, nodding towards Ernie, who was leaning against the wall not too far from where they stood, talking to Susan Bones. Noticing Hermione's surprise, he grimaced. "Of course Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins are the real gits, but what else is new."
Hermione huffed. "I don't get it. Why is ancient runes such a sore point?"
Ron looked at her askance. "Really? The number of Slytherins didn't tip you off?"
"I know it's posh, or whatever. And all the Slytherins want to be good at it. It's to do with old magic, and whatnot. But it's not like there aren't plenty of students from other houses. There's a fair few Hufflepuffs, actually—"
"Well, yeah. 'Hufflepuff took the rest,' right? All the posh purebloods who aren't complete nutcases usually end up there. And they all like to have their 'exclusive' magic – like a secret handshake, or whatever. All those ancient runes – spells that no one in their right mind uses any more."
"Oh, that's not true! One, the spells are useful, and for another, you really get to understand the theory behind spell development. And anyway, there are plenty of halfbloods in that class—"
"Maybe a few swotty Ravenclaws, but that's about it," said Ron unrepentantly.
Hermione went into a heated defence of the usefulness of the runes she was learning, but Ron just rolled his eyes and let her rant.
Burbage arrived while she was talking, and she followed Ron into the classroom. They took the seats behind Parvati and Lavender, and unfolded their maps of London. Their homework had been to mark all the muggle parts that they were familiar with, and then to write a note about each of the marks. Hermione's map was entirely filled with marks – having grown up in muggle London. Her accompanying essay was so long, she had had trouble squeezing it into her bag that morning.
It was the contrast that got to her. After the tense atmosphere of ancient runes, the slow pace of muggle studies was jarring. Listening to Terry Boot talk at length about the difficulties he had experienced the one time he had used the Tube did nothing but annoy her.
Ron, noticing her mood, grinned encouragingly. "I did much better than him when I visited you, didn't I? Might've been your explanations, of course. Look at that essay of yours. You could teach this class, I'm telling you—"
Hermione groaned. "I can't believe I spent that much time writing all this rubbish—"
She almost bit her tongue, hearing what she had said. But it held a kernel of truth. She had spent many hours working on that essay, because she felt the need to represent muggle London – her home – in the best light. Almost as if she was partly responsible for educating her classmates, as Ron had noted. And in doing so, she had left herself with too little time to do her ancient runes homework to her usual standard.
Ron was going to say something to her, but Burbage asked the class what Terry's parents could have done to avoid using magic to halt the escalator, when Terry had accidentally stepped on one, and Ron raised his hand. His suggestion, that Terry could simply have let the escalator carry him a level lower and then taken the escalator going back up, was met with serious consideration and thoughtful agreement. Hermione dropped her head on the desk.
Ron's embarrassed grin showed that he understood her mindset all too well. Despite that, he got out his essay the next instant, volunteering to tell the rest of the class of all the places he had visited in muggle London – which had not been discussed yet – most notably a muggle house with muggle appliances – her house, to be precise.
Hermione was aware of several of her classmates sending her surreptitious glances, and did the best to ignore them, in favour of listening to Ron's view of that visit. It was strange to hear him describe things that were perfectly ordinary to her – a toaster, a TV remote, a vacuum cleaner – as bizarre contraptions. But Ron knew how to tell an entertaining story and earned five points for Gryffindor.
"Well done," Hermione told him quietly.
Ron again began to respond, then his shoulders fell. "Look, Hermione – I keep telling you, it'd be better if you dropped a subject. You'd have more time for things that really matter—" He raised his voice precariously, inviting a reprimand from their teacher, but would not let her interrupt with her usual comebacks. "—like outdoing Malfoy in ancient runes! Come on, Hermione. How many muggleborns are taking that class?"
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, then mumbled, "One."
"You included, huh?" He grinned knowingly, then turned entirely serious. "Look, never mind what I think of ancient runes – You get what it means that you do better than Malfoy, don't you? Especially in that class?"
Hermione nodded.
Ron looked down. "Muggle studies, though – I meant it, I'm learning as much from you as from the teacher, but I don't think you're getting much out of this class—"
Hermione took in his resigned expression, the encouraging smile he had bravely plastered on to cover it up. He did not want her to quit muggle studies, that she was sure of.
Suddenly it was the easiest decision. "Nonsense," she said, with some of her assuredness returning. "If I'm dropping a class, it'll be divination, of course."
~HP~
Harry's mind during defence against the dark arts that afternoon was fully occupied with his plan to talk to Lupin and remind him of his upcoming patronus lessons, so he did not immediately register what his friends were telling him.
"Wait, really? You're quitting divination?" he asked Hermione a tad too loudly, then darted his eyes towards Lupin, hoping he had not been heard.
Hermione nodded with a sigh, while Ron wore a very self-satisfied expression behind her back.
"Listen, Harry, that means you'll have to borrow the you-know-what after arithmancy – so you can get to divination. Maybe you should try using it on your own before the lesson, just to make sure you don't make a mistake," Hermione told him earnestly.
Harry once again needed a moment to catch on, and did so with a little exclamation of surprise. He would have to use the time-turner by himself going forward. Hermione looked none-too-happy about it, and truth be told Harry was also apprehensive. He knew how careful he would need to be.
"Yeah, maybe I really should try it out before Thursday's divination class…"
That Thursday, not only did Harry get to use the time-turner by himself for the first time, but it also brought with it his first patronus lesson with Lupin, who had found a boggart for that purpose.
It was a strange lesson. The boggart-turned-dementor brought the memories of the night of his parents' murder to the surface which, instead of serving as an incentive to learn the patronus charm faster, slowed him down, because one part of him wanted to hear his parents' voices – more than he wanted to protect himself from dementors, even. The lesson was draining, he kept fainting after every failed attempt to cast the charm – until, finally, he succeeded in conjuring up a misty, shapeless shield for long enough that Lupin could step in and cast the riddiculus charm before Harry passed out.
Lupin called an end to the lesson at that point. Overall, Harry had a strange sense that Lupin was trying to keep him from pushing himself too much, rather than trying to teach him as quickly as possible, like Sirius wanted him to.
On the bright side, Lupin was willing to chat for a bit, on that evening as well as the following Thursday, to share a few memories of Harry's parents, and of the house they had lived in that Harry had just remembered. He even talked about his reunion with Sirius, and of vague plans of shared activities in that nebulous future when Sirius would be declared innocent.
On that Saturday, two weeks after the beginning of the new term, Slytherin narrowly defeated Ravenclaw in quidditch, which meant that if Gryffindor defeated Ravenclaw, they would be in second place. Oliver Wood ordered training five times a week, which barely left Harry any time to do his homework, especially with the added commitment of helping Snape with the Wolfsbane potion, as well as his anti-dementor lessons.
It was in that exhausted mindset the following Monday evening, when Harry followed his friends to the dungeons after a gruelling quidditch practice, that the strange idea took root in his mind.
He had not discussed the details of his lessons with Lupin with his friends at length, partly because talking about it made him uncomfortable. That evening, however, while he assisted Hermione, who was trying for the first time to do the second stage of Wolfsbane by herself, he made himself speak of it. It was somewhat easier in the dark classroom, only illuminated by moonlight. He spoke of the exhaustion that casting the patronus charm caused, as well as the constant – embarrassing – fainting spells. That in itself would have been an uncomfortable enough admission, but he was merely building up to the main point.
"The thing is, as awful as the dementor's presence is, I'm just not – I don't think I want it gone enough. It keeps bringing back memories of – of that night—" Harry made sure to keep Snape in sight. "And as awful as those memories are, hearing my parents' voices for the first time is—" He grappled to find the right word to describe what hearing his parents' voices meant to him – and which he was comfortable sharing in Snape's presence.
It was clear his words were having a reaction – and not only on the potions teacher. Harry had only ever alluded to the dementors' effect on him to his friends. Never before had he been willing to dissect his innermost thoughts on the matter, and to do so in Snape's presence led to his friends staring at him goggle-eyed.
"First, it was just my mum's voice," Harry went on stubbornly, describing Lily's final words exchanged with Voldemort.
Because he was clearly having an effect on Snape as well. The potions teacher had turned his back to them, and was stood facing the prepared potions ingredients laid out on one of the student desks. Even in the dark, it was obvious that there was tension in his form, and he was barely moving. Harry doubted he was doing anything at all, other than listening.
"By now, I've heard my dad's voice as well. And who knows, maybe I'll recover more of the memory—"
Ron's eyes widened, having followed his line of sight. Harry was sure he caught on to what his friend was attempting. "What, er, what was your dad saying?" Ron asked.
Harry gave a short answer, before returning once again to the part of the memory that involved his mother, but did not get very far. In the periphery, he noticed Snape jerkily turn towards them again.
"Granger! Isn't the potion ready for the powdered moonstone yet?" Snape asked with affected impatience.
"Oh! Well, it's just about there now, I think." Hermione shot Harry a disgruntled look.
While Hermione was adding the moonstone and Snape was supervising, he put them through a gruelling quiz, asking harder and harder questions, until even Hermione was struggling to answer to the standard he was demanding – meaning that none of them had the presence of mind to talk about anything other than potions.
Harry took that to be a reaction to his words as well.
Hermione had words of caution afterwards. Trying to manipulate a Slytherin was foolhardy at best, she admonished. Harry stubbornly set his jaw and ignored her advice.
That Friday, when next they joined Snape for brewing Wolfsbane, Harry tried again to talk about the previous day's patronus lesson with Lupin, but Hermione would not have it. Instead, she began talking at length about her electives, her decision to drop divination and the better distribution of her time it had given her.
"And then, on Tuesday, Neville saw me in ancient runes right after I'd missed divination again, and he asked me what that was all about. So I told him. He was in a mood again – we'd got our essays back and his wasn't – well… Anyway, I ended up telling him he might consider doing the same."
"What, drop divination?" Ron asked absent-mindedly, carefully weighing the silver granules that Snape was about to melt.
"No, you mean ancient runes, don't you, Hermione?" Harry correctly followed his friend's thoughts, paying attention even though he was somewhat disgruntled by her obvious sabotage of his plan.
"Yes. I got to thinking, it's important to focus on what you're really interested in and what your strengths are. I'm good at remembering things, but Neville isn't. He can only memorise so many things in a week, and ancient runes is all about remembering things. So I told him it'd be better if he focused on memorising what he needs for history, which is one of his favourite subjects. And he's good at it – or he would be, if he didn't forget a lot of the dates and names—"
Harry could see the benefits to Neville. On another note, he felt like congratulating Hermione for overcoming her earlier mindset that everything taught at school was equally important and deserving of the same time and effort. He began to say something to that effect, but interruption cam from an unexpected source.
"You're trying to get Longbottom to drop ancient runes?" Snape asked, looking up from the fuming cauldron. The note of disapproval was unmistakeable.
"Yes," Hermione squeaked, becoming flustered at once. "I think it'd be good for him to have the extra time to focus on his other subjects – like history—"
"Which doesn't involve any magic. Naturally. Why would a Longbottom need to know anything about ancient runes, if he can just recite a few dates from his history textbook?"
Icy silence fell, following Snape's words. The subtext was blatantly obvious. Harry caught Ron's eye, who looked just as combative as he felt himself becoming.
"It's just how it is, isn't it?" Ron said with an attempt at a flippant tone. "Hermione's brilliant at ancient runes, and Neville's hopeless."
Snape's lip curled unpleasantly. "His misguided grandmother really did listen to that nonsense modern advice, didn't she? Didn't teach him any magic before Hogwarts, and now she's reaping the rewards. Tell me, Granger, did your parents also insist on only letting you learn what was taught at your muggle school?"
Hermione, put on the spot, almost stumbled over the word, "No."
"I thought not. They mightn't have taught you magic, but they certainly seem to have taught you how to push yourself to achieve excellence. In the magical world, of course, there is this pervasive idea that pushing for academic excellence is somehow a sign of prejudice—"
"What, you mean all those purebloods teaching magic to their children before Hogwarts?" scoffed Ron. "That's just crazy, teaching small kids dangerous spells. And anyway, Hermione does better than all of them anyway!"
Harry noticed his bushy-haired friend cringe at that a bit.
"Not only does she do better than Longbottom, she's even getting him to stop learning ancient runes altogether," Snape replied silkily.
"He's going to discuss it with his grandmother," said Hermione. "He's not doing anything just because I told him to."
That spelled an end to any sort of conversation with Snape that evening.
Harry was fuming after they left. He and Ron spent the way back to their dorm ranting about Snape's prejudices, and trying to convince Hermione that she had done the right thing. In part, Harry was upset because he had never heard such arguments and had not known how to respond. His idea in such cases was to mirror-call Sirius and ask for advice.
As it was the beginning of the weekend, it turned out that Lupin was back at his cottage as well, visiting Sirius. While both men agreed that Snape was a prejudiced git, they did not completely dismiss his arguments.
"I suppose Hogwarts does cover the material a little slowly in first year – to make sure that someone without any prior knowledge of magic will be able to keep up," Lupin said slowly. "But it's not true that magical parents are discouraged from teaching their children. Most of them do, of course—"
"Come now, it is frowned upon to teach one's children too much magic pre-Hogwarts," retorted Sirius. "And not without reason. That sort of thing does tend to go hand in hand with anti-muggleborn tendencies – parents pushing their children to outdo muggleborns in every subject, et cetera."
Harry frowned, not liking that argument much. "Why not just start teaching us all earlier, then?" he asked. He certainly would have preferred it over his primary school.
But Lupin shook his head. "That wouldn't work. The children who come to Hogwarts – especially the muggleborns, who are thrown into this new world, cut off from their parents – need to be able to handle the challenges that come with learning magic – like the Statue of Secrecy—"
"Or not blowing up every muggle they might dislike, just because they can," added Sirius.
The following day being a Saturday meant that it was once again time for Ron and Harry to give Fred and George their weekly hint about the Marauders. Instead of the piecemeal hints that they had agreed to give them, which were unlikely to let the twins guess the Marauders' correct identities, Harry set his jaw and said, "That thing we're helping Snape with – it's supposed to help one of the Marauders. It's because Snape's a prejudiced git—"
"Harry!" Ron interrupted, looking at him with wide, worried eyes.
"What's Snape's prejudices got to do with anything?" asked George.
"And how could your helping him make anything better for that mystery Marauder?" asked Fred, intrigued.
"That's – that's more than enough of a hint for this week," was Ron's panicked response.
He managed to extricate them from the twins' questions, and then Harry had to listen to first him, and later Hermione, berate him about his hasty words. He did not regret them, however. He wanted – needed – someone else to be angry at Snape for his prejudices, and the twins were bound to disapprove of him (even more) once they knew that he was prejudiced against a Marauder.
(None of this new anger at Snape had anything at all to do with that picture of Snape with his mother's family that Dudley had given him. Of course not.)
The following Thursday, 27 January, was the full moon. Lupin was in no condition to teach and the patronus lesson had to end early, without Harry making any discernible progress. However, the next morning brought better news: He was asked to step into the reception room from the great hall during breakfast by a clearly excited-looking McGonagall, where they were met by Tonks carrying a not-so-mysterious package.
Harry could not suppress a whoop of joy, to which Tonks responded with a grimace that she tried to mask behind a smile.
"Uh, I've come to return your Firebolt," she confirmed. "We haven't found any traces of magic on it that shouldn't be there—"
"Great, thanks for bringing it—" Harry reached for it at once.
Tonks reluctantly let go of the package. "Aren't you curious about its origins?" she then asked.
Harry shrugged, not trusting himself to give a satisfactory answer.
"The thing is, I checked the recent purchases of Firebolts from Quality Quidditch Supplies, and none of them were delivered to Hogwarts… You said the outer layer of your broom's packaging was missing, didn't you? The part containing the delivery address? So there doesn't seem any good way for us to track its origins…" At Harry's continued silence she frowned even more. "However, a Firebolt was delivered to 12 Grimmauld Place on the same date…"
Tonks left soon, after failing to elicit any other response on the matter from Harry. The boy in question tried to put any lingering concern about the aurors' involvement in his affairs out of his mind, focusing on familiarising himself with his new broomstick. Oliver Wood was overjoyed at the news, and the appearance of the Firebolt in the Gryffindor common room that day caused a minor commotion, with everyone vying to get a good look at it.
Quidditch practice really picked up the following week, as the following Saturday was the day of the match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. There was only one more patronus lesson before then, and Harry was aware that he had not made as much progress as he had hoped. He was not at all sure that he would be able to protect himself, should the dementors attack him again during the match.
He said as much to Lupin at the end of that lesson. His teacher was much less concerned, however.
"You're expecting too much of yourself," Lupin told him sternly. "You aren't passing out any more, are you? That's the most important thing in case the dementors approach you again, so you don't fall off your broom again. Beyond that, all of us teachers will be right there at the match to deal with them."
Harry was not looking convinced, so Lupin brought out two bottles of butterbeer so they could drink to Gryffindor's victory against Ravenclaw. Harry recognised the butterbeer, then lied that his friends had brought him back a bottle from Hogsmeade (rather than having sneaked into the village himself, and having drunk it warm at the Three Broomsticks).
"What's under a dementor's hood?" he asked in the ensuing silence, having wondered about it for some time.
This led to Lupin telling him what he knew of the Dementor's Kiss. Harry wished he had not asked.
"I read about it in the Daily Prophet this morning," said Harry, jaw set. "The ministry have authorised the dementors to perform it on Sirius." His voice was not entirely steady when he finished.
Remus sighed. "I was afraid you had, considering how much you've been pushing yourself today. Please keep in mind that it is not your responsibility to protect Sirius, but rather the other way around."
Harry did not respond.
"I mean it, Harry," Lupin's voice turned stern again. "Sirius… He's been telling you a great deal about the war, hasn't he? And with you having to deal with Pettigrew conspiring with Lockhart last year, because you felt you couldn't trust any other adults with information about Sirius… Harry, it's not your responsibility to fight dementors, or Pettigrew, or anyone else. That's what we're for." His voice grew softer, clearly meaning that he would be willing to fight whatever forces might be threatening Harry.
The boy in question had to fight two concurring reactions at that. He was feeling grateful for Lupin's protectiveness, certainly, but there was also a fair amount of frustration.
After leaving the history of magic classroom, where Lupin had been teaching him, he made a beeline for the nearest empty corner to mirror-call Sirius. He told his godfather of his discussion with Lupin, who grimaced guiltily.
"I'm afraid you're not the only one who's been insistent on fast progress with the patronus charm. I've been urging Remus to teach you faster as well – and he didn't take that well. He thinks me paranoid, you see, due to the dementors' influence in Azkaban, and whatnot." He rolled his eyes. "It's partly why I haven't been able to tell him much of anything of our, er, extracurricular activities. I haven't quite convinced him yet that the threat to you is very much real – from Pettigrew, from Malfoy, from the dementors, as well—"
"Me? What about you? Have you seen the news this morning?" Harry told him of the ministry authorising the Dementor's Kiss.
Sirius looked ill, but tried to put on a brave front.
"Lupin said that there's no chance at all of recovery from it," Harry said quietly.
Sirius looked like he did not know how to respond.
"Are the souls completely destroyed, then? So that they can't even become ghosts any more?" Harry was not actually sure that he wanted to know the answer to that.
"No, no." Sirius frowned. "It's more like a death sentence, even though the ministry refuses to label it as such. There's no recovery from it in the sense that the soul can't be returned to the body, even if it's still alive. The victims of the Kiss actually die soon after, but because it is possible with magic to keep the body alive, the Kiss can still be classed as a 'natural' death legally." Sirius rolled his eyes, then turned pensive. "No… there isn't anything that can destroy a soul, actually. Or rather, there isn't anything external…" His frown deepened.
At Harry's questioning look, he said, "Something about that thought jogged a memory… but I can't recall what it was…"
