Chapter 7: Tested
Christmas began on a much better note than the previous day had ended. Harry awoke to find a large pile of presents arrayed before his bed. Harry had never received a Christmas present before he had started attending Hogwarts so even though this was his third time getting anything it all still felt new and exciting. And it was always wonderful to be reminded that there were people he knew who cared for and loved him enough to get him something.
Ron had got him a selection of holiday themed chocolates and other such sweats. It wasn't surprising, Harry had seen him pick out many of these sweets at Honeydukes during the last Hogsmead weekend. But the thought behind them, that on one of the few occasions when Ron was free to get things that would only be for himself he had still thought of others, was even sweeter than the chocolate itself.
Hermione had gotten him a broomstick servicing kit for this birthday that Harry had loved, so now she got him an owl care kit to help him take care of his beloved Hedwig. Not only did it have everything he would need to keep her cage clean and comfortable over the summer, but it also came with grooming supplies so he could keep her in tip top shape all year round. Harry really looked forward to trying it out, though it did make him feel a little guilty that he hadn't done half the things the kit suggested he do to help his pet owl.
Mrs. Weasley always made a selection of Christmas sweaters for her children and she had taken to making one for Harry as well. It was warm, soft, colored in Gryffindor crimson and had a large golden "H" on the front. It was always nice to have his own clothes after a lifetime of making do with his cousin Dudley's hand-me-downs, and his sweater from the previous year was getting a little short on him as his body used all the good food it was getting at Hogwarts to make up for lost growing time.
Hagrid got him another book about magical creatures. This one was called: "So you Want to Raise Dangerous Creatures and Keep all your Fingers?" And was written by Newt Scamander. This was a very clever book. Not only was it full of information about beasts rated five and higher on the danger scale but it could make illusionary versions of each beast that would react in the same way the real thing would but couldn't hurt anyone. That way the reader could safely try out the books tips and tricks without putting themselves in the presence of a real griffon or sphinx. To Harry's great delight he discovered with his ESP that these illusions even modeled the brains and thought patterns of the real things perfectly, as he discovered when he summoned up an illusionary hippogriff and compared it to what he remembered seeing in Buckbeak's head.
His monster book, which had been greatly enjoying itself by savaging and feasting on the discarded wrapping paper, did not approve of this gift. It growled discontentedly at it. Then it flipped itself open to its passage on hippogriffs and caused sections of its text to light up with golden color. Harry looked at those sections and realized they contained information that Scamander book lacked. He laughed at the notion that his monster book was jealous and trying to prove itself the superior tome. Harry tickled its spine and assure the monster book that he wasn't intending to and would never replace it. That satisfied the book, which went back to its feast. Though it now dragged the wrapping paper away from the Scamander book as if determined not to share.
As Harry made his way through his gifts he found an unexpected one at the bottom of the pile. It was long, thin and bulged oddly at the end. There wasn't any card with it or any other indication as to who might have sent it. But the shape was incredibly familiar. Harry dared not hope but as he slowly unwrapped it the possibility that some kind soul had gotten him a new broom gradually became a reality.
"Is that a Firebolt?!" Ron exclaimed as Harry finished reverently revealing this wondrous gift. It was indeed a Firebolt. The very same kind of broom that Harry had spent much of the summer drooling over.
"It is." Harry said dumbfounded as he examined this masterpiece of magical flying gear in detail.
"Who could've gotten you a Firebolt?" Ron wondered in awe. "Who do you know that could even afford one?'
"I dunno." Harry admitted. "There wasn't a card or anything with it to say who came from."
"Maybe Dumbledore?" Ron suggested. "He did give you that invisibility cloak for one Christmas."
"That was just him returning my Dad's old cloak to me." Harry explained. "Anyway, he got me a very nice pair of wooly socks."
They continued to debate the question for a short time until Hermione, carrying her cat Crookshanks, arrived and let herself into their room. Oddly Hermione, who only had a minimal interest in flying and even less in quidditch unless Harry was playing, took an interest in the Firebolt as well. But Harry could see a strong sense of dread building in Hermione's mind especially when they found no sign of who the broom could've come from.
Harry was about to ask her what was wrong when her cat Crookshanks made a flying leap from the bed where Hermione had laid him down and pounced on Ron. The bandy legged, bob tailed cat was making yet another attempt on the life of Ron's pet rat Scabbers who was in Ron's front pocket. Ron fought the cat off while holding Scabbers high off the ground as the rat desperately tried to get away from them both. He aimed a kick at the cat on the ground, but missed and stubbed his toe on a night stand.
"Get that monster out of here!" Ron roared. "That cat had got it in for Scabbers and it's not fair. He's a good rat and too old to be dealing with this."
"He's only doing what cats do, Ron." Hermione protested as she caught her cat and dragged him back away from the room. "You can't be mad at him for it."
"He doesn't bother any other pet in school." Ron insisted. "You never see him going after Neville's toad or the ferret those new first years brought. He's always causing trouble for my poor Scabbers. That cat is a menace."
Harry urged Hermione out of the room before this could turn into a real row of a fight. Harry was starting to kind of agree with Ron. He had seen Crookshanks trying to break or sneak into this room several times over the year and had never seen him go after any other creature in the school. But he couldn't really blame the cat, it was just following its instincts.
"This is ridiculous." Hermione exclaimed by the door as Harry walked her out.
"It's your fault for bringing the cat in here." Harry said back as kindly as he could. "You do know how Crookshanks acts around Scabbers."
"Well yes but…" Hermione said resignedly, and Harry could see the real remorse in her mind. She hadn't thought this attack would happen. Harry could tell Crookshanks was a very smart cat and surprisingly devoted to Hermione. No doubt back in her dorm the cat was very well behaved and responsive to what she told it. It was just around Scabbers that it went ballistic.
"You love your pet cat and want us to see how good a pet he is." Harry surmised and Hermione smiled and blushed. "Fair enough. But Scabbers is the one of the few things that has ever really been Ron's and Ron's alone. He always complains about the old rat but he would be heartbroken if anything really happened to it. So please do be careful about him."
"I will." Hermione said. "I do get it. You hear this Crookshanks? From now on, Ron's rat is off limits. I don't even want to see you going over here."
"Besides, have you seen Scabbers recently?" Harry said, thinking back to the glimpse he had caught as Ron had flailed about. "He's lost a fair bit of weight and his hair is falling out. I don't think a conflict between Crookshanks and Scabbers is going to be going on this time next year. So just bear with it for now."
"Can you believe that girl? Bringing that monster in here." Ron complained after Hermione had left and Harry came back.
"It's her first pet Ron." Harry defended his friend. "He can't do any real wrong in her eyes. It was an honest mistake, but not one that shouldn't happen again."
"I hope not." Ron said. "Poor Scabbers. His hair is falling out with worry because of that damn cat."
The Hogwarts Christmas feast took place during lunch to give everyone a chance to then have a most relaxing afternoon. It was only really attended by the teachers along with a few other students who had stayed back over the holidays. The food was wonderful, and the meal entertaining, since Professors McGonagall and Trelawney spent the whole meal sniping at each other over whether there was any truth at all to the magic of divination.
When they were done, Ron and Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room to try out Harry's new Firebolt, but Hermione lingered behind to talk with Professor McGonagall. Why she did so soon became clear as McGonagall soon came up to the common room as well and asked to see Harry's new broom. To his astounded surprise, McGonagall decided that since they had no idea who the broom had come from she would have to confiscate it to make sure it was safe to fly.
While Harry was struck dumb by this turn of events, Ron rounded on Hermione who was doing her best to hide behind a large textbook in the corner of the room.
"You ratted on us to McGonagall." He accused. "How could you?"
"I had to." Hermione insisted.
"Do you just hate the thought of having fun?" Ron pressed. "Or do you-"
"No!" Hermione interrupted. "I had to. Because I think, and Professor McGonagall agrees with me, that the broom might have come from Sirius Black. He knows Harry loves to fly, almost everyone does. And using a wonderful gift like that would be a serious temptation for anyone. It could have some dreadful curse on it to hurt him or kill him as soon as he climbs on it."
"You can't really believe that." Ron denied. "Firstly, how is an escaped convict supposed to get his hands on enough money to afford a Firebolt? And it's not like Black goes to this school, how would he know that Harry loves to fly or needs a broom at all? And there was no need for her to take it away. We could've figured out if there was anything actually dangerous about it if we needed to. Who knows what's going to happen now? What if they destroy it while checking for curses?"
"They wouldn't do that I'm certain." Hermione deflected. "Professor Flitwick is a real expert on magic of almost any kind. If there's anything wrong with it he'll figure it out and have it back to Harry safe and sound."
"So you think." Ron denied. "I can't believe this."
Harry couldn't believe it either, and he was feeling some very complicated emotions. He could tell that Hermione was acting out nothing but pure concern for his well being as normal. And while he was as grateful as ever for her concern, this coming so soon after she had fought back against him hunting Black for the same reason made her concerns feel smothering and repressive.
What made matters even worse, although Harry knew this was quite unfair to Hermione, was that Harry knew there really wasn't anything with his Firebolt. He had drooled over the Firebolt in Diagon Alley for months and examined every single inch of it with his ESP he knew the kind of magic that went into the making of a Firebolt like he knew the back of his own hand. The spell work on a Firebolt was quite intricate and detailed. The lengths it's craftsmen went through to ring the greatest performance possible out of otherwise fairly straightforward hovering, cushioning and propulsion charms was simply astounding and not something Harry could reproduce without months of practice. But he did understand them. And the ones he had seen on his new Firebolt looked very nearly identical to what he remembered. They might have been a little bit better than the ones on the show model but that was to be expected since the makers had had maybe months of practice between those two brooms to further hone their craft, but they were still essentially the same spells.
Harry would've known in an instant if there was some added curse of even a jinx on his broom. In fact it was increasingly impossible for Harry not to notice any new sources of magic around him. His ESP and empathic awareness had grown into extensions of his own natural senses. He couldn't stop seeing magic anymore that he could stop smelling, and certainly could no more fail to notice a curse on something then he could fail to notice the smell of rotten eggs in a room. And Harry hadn't been passively observing his new broom but actively looking over its every wondrous detail as if he were inhaling a fresh bouquet of flowers. So Hermione and McGonagall were depriving him of something he had spent more than a month dreaming of owning for no good reason.
So Harry was fairly angry with Hermione right now and couldn't bring himself to speak with her for the rest of the day. But this made Harry feel miserable on his own. After all, how could he possibly be angry with Hermione? The third real friend he had ever had and one of the two dearest people in his heart? But he did feel angry with her, and this made Harry feel as if he were betraying something about himself.
Betrayal was the real problem at the heart of the matter. Hermione had been suspicious of that broom the moment she heard they didn't know who the sender had been. All well and good. Hermione was the most sensible member of their trio; it was practically her expected role to worry over things and try to convince her two friends not to take stupid risks. But Hermione hadn't warned them. She hadn't talked to them, she hadn't taken any chance they might argue with her and balk at her worries. She had gone straight to McGonagall and forced the issue.
She hadn't trusted them to think things through and take this seriously. She had assumed they would brush her off, and she had also assumed that her emotional response was the right one. She hadn't considered that maybe they had good reason to think the broom might be safe. Which again was a little unfair to Hermione, Harry hadn't told her about his ESP, she had no reason to think he could know at a glance if something was magically safe or not. But she hadn't given him a chance to tell her that either.
It didn't help that Harry felt she was the one being unreasonable about this. Ron was right, how was Sirius Black supposed to have gotten his hands on a Firebolt? He couldn't just walk into Gringotts bank, demand access to his old accounts from before the war and then make a series of mail orders to arrange its anonymous delivery. And even if he could get his hands on a Firebolt how was he supposed to have cursed it? Black didn't have a wand. He had threatened the Fat Lady with a knife when he broke in back in October. If he had had a wand on him he could've blasted her aside with the same curse he killed thirteen people with. Someone like Mr. Olivander wasn't going to sell Black a wand, and if he had stolen one it would've been all over the news. The ministry might be embarrassed about Black still being at large but they would have to warn people about him having a wand. Black free and at large was one thing, Black with the power to kill thirteen people with a swish of a piece of wood something totally different.
But Hermione hadn't considered this. She hadn't considered that he and Ron might have thought this through. She assumed she knew best and they wouldn't think things through at all. She hadn't understood them. She had treated them like the irresponsible, quidditch obsessed boys they were in her mind, completely forgetting that whenever things had gotten serious in the past, Harry and Ron had given things the significance and consideration they deserved, and often caught things she had missed or overlooked.
And that stung most of all. Harry was angry over losing his Firebolt, but the thought that Hermione didn't know him well enough to trust him, to deal with him as a rational equal and partner, that thought cut at his heart like a knife. It made it painful to even be in the same room as her. And Harry hadn't been able to speak to Hermione for the rest of the winter holiday and well into the first week back to term.
But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was the small voice in the back of his head that began to speak up once Harry could allow himself to think about Hermione without feeling miserable. It was a voice that said: See? Everyone betrays you and leaves you eventually. Just like how your parents abandoned you when they died, your friends can abandon you just because they think they're doing what's best. Even if you patch things up with Hermione something will happen sooner or later that will make you lose her forever. If you want to keep your friends you have to be in control. You have to remove the possibility that they might walk away from you. You have to make sure they can't hurt you. You need to bond them to you.
It might be Ron next. It would whisper. What if Draco decides to try and bribe him away from you? You know how much he hates being poor. What if Draco said that all Ron needed to guarantee his father a big promotion at work was turn his back on you? Could you even blame him for putting his whole family's happiness above yours? Or what if he got tired of the danger? Or jealous of your fame? How can you keep Ron by your side if you don't have the bond with him?
Harry might have gone mad without Esharry. Esharry could hear the same temptations building up. He was the one that assured Harry that he and Hermione would patch things up. That he and Ron's friendship was strong enough to weather anything. That even if his friends did leave one day, his long loneliness had been broken before and would be broken again. He would find new friends, new love and the memory of what he had once had would sustain him until he found new people to love.
This interrupted the voice, but it didn't destroy it. Harry couldn't be rid of it. He had to fight it. And it was hard.
It didn't get easier. When he had classes together with Hermione he could feel her thoughts of course. He could feel how lonely she was, how much she hated being on her own again. How much she wanted to have her first two real friends back. How isolated she felt as the brainy, bossy know-it-all girl of Gryffindor, without Ron there who loved her in spite of that, and Harry who loved her because of those traits.
He could also feel her frustration with them, how she felt they were being irrational and flippant about their safety. How unfair it was that they had chosen a thing over her. How cruel it was to make her suffer like this when she had done the right thing.
And most of all he could feel her deep and abiding regret and her near overwhelming fear. Harry suddenly understood as he couldn't help but study the patterns of her mind. And the realization behind it all left him dumbstruck.
Last year, Harry had fought a Basilisk on his own. Well not really on his own. Dumbledore had sent him his familiar: Fawks the Phoenix, along with the sorting hat which had given him the sword of Godric Gryffindor. But to Hermione that may as well have been alone and only someone as irresponsibly reckless as Harry would've considered those two alone sufficient help to fight a giant, highly venomous snake that could kill with just a glance, and the spirit of a teenage Lord Voldemort at the same time.
Ron had tried to help him, bad luck and the idiocy of Gilderoy Lockhart had caused a cave in which had stopped him. The teachers were caught in a panic trying to evacuate the school. And Hermione had been petrified in a hospital bed.
She hadn't been there when Harry had almost died. Worse, she had been one of the reasons that Harry had gone to fight that Basilisk. She could've helped. She had known what it was they were up against. She could've helped them prepare. But she had been reckless and gotten herself petrified. She hadn't been there.
She might have woken up to find her two only friends were dead, and there had been nothing she could've done to help them.
Hermione knew it had hurt them to go to McGonagall. But if she had said nothing, and Harry had gotten himself hurt or killed, she never could've forgiven herself. So even if it did turn out that there was nothing wrong with the Firebolt she would still feel that she had done the right thing. Better that they be angry with her forever so long as they were both alive to be angry.
When all of this finally clicked in Harry's head during the first defense lesson they had in January he almost shot over to her seat then and there to try and make things up with her. He was the one who hadn't fully understood Hermione. Well she still hadn't understood him. But if they were both a bit in the wrong and a bit in the right, then the only right thing to do was to let bygones be bygones and put things right.
What had stopped him was that damn voice again. With one single whisper it ruined it for him.
She'll accept the bond now, it said, she'll do anything to have you back. She might even accept it knowing how you might be able to use it against her. She wants to be yours forever, just as much as you want to have her forever.
It was right. And when Harry realized that it was, a longing grew in his heart so great and terrible that he could only barely hear Esharry shouting in his head that even then it wouldn't be right. So he dared not go over. He dared not talk to her, not even in passing. Because Harry knew in his heart of hearts that the first words he spoke to Hermione would be; "Would you be my precious thrall?"
Harry had to drown the voice out. He couldn't take this. So he tried to make himself too tired to think, so that this voice couldn't invade his thoughts. Luckily January gave him plenty of distractions.
Before the Christmas break was over Harry had snuck back into the restricted section of the Library looking for more spells to learn. Despite how angry he was with Hermione, Harry didn't go looking for spells that were designed to kill. But this time he did pay more attention to those spells that were dangerous and could accidentally kill. Knowing that he would likely have to learn these spells on his own, Harry decided to focus on those spells that played to his strengths.
Ironically this turned out to be curse magic. Esharry believed that thanks to the curse mark that had left a little bit of Tom Riddle inside his head Harry would have a natural talent for learning curses. Additionally many curses required the use of emotions and thoughts to empower them, for wizards to truly hate or want bad things to happen to others in order to use them. This was easy for Harry since he could use his Telepathy to directly empower his spells rather than filling his mind with a thought and hoping that would be enough.
He learned negra ignis, the black fire spell, which was fueled by memories of pain and burned magic and sensation. It could pierce shields and instead of burning flesh it paralyzed a victim with numbness. Let it burn too long and the person might never move or feel anything ever again. Though it could be washed off with a simple water spell, the numbness would linger, leaving its victim helpless for a time.
He picked up calvari clava, the brain bashing curse. It required a desire to subdue and cause the victim pain. It caused the target to gain an instant migraine, that would be more painful the more hate was put into the curse, while also striking the back of the skull with not inconsiderable force. The simultaneous mental and physical attacks was one of the most effective ways to knock someone unconscious, though if not done properly it could easily snap someone's neck.
Caronesco was a version of the evanesco vanishing charm that worked on living things. It was powered by a desire to see someone gone. It made a wave of energy that if it passed through someone's flesh that flesh would vanish. It didn't kill. The living thing didn't disappear, it just became invisible and intangible. Vanishing a person's head wasn't the same as decapitating them, their head was still there, they could still think and move, but they couldn't see, hear, speak or taste anything. Vanish a whole person and someone could just leave them gone to slowly die of thirst, but they also could be brought back. The counter charm carodeor, which Harry would learn first since without it the spell was murder and that would break his word, would instantly bring the person back, no worse for wear and easily subdued. Well no worse for wear other than the no doubt considerable mental trauma that might come from the total sensory deprivation. But Harry was in a black mood and didn't consider that a draw back.
Vertex Velox, a tornado spell that was oddly enough powered by a desire to ridicule. Originally designed as a party gag, it would snap a person up in a small tornado of swirling air, along with anything else loose and solid around it, forming a cloud of debris that would batter the victim terribly for a few minutes, likely break their limbs before throwing them some distance away. The spell normally remained fixed in place, but that place was the person it was cast on. So if Harry also grabbed them with his telekinesis he could also bash them repeatedly into a wall over and over again while this was happening.
Harry also scoured the restricted section looking for any information he could about the animagus ritual and how to influence what it transformed someone into. It might be his best bet at beating his ceremorphosis. If he could make his animagus form an Illithid he might be able to trick his body into believing it had already become an Illithid would halt the process and allow him to keep his human form. Or perhaps when his ceremorphosis finally came the two forms would just switch, and he would be an Ulitharid that could become a human at will. He could live with that.
Harry threw himself into mastering these new spells on his own. Ron tried to help him, but he couldn't keep up with Harry since Harry was trying to exhaust himself. It worked well, and soon he had more work to join in.
Oliver Wood had been ecstatic to learn Harry had gotten a Firebolt and then heartbroken to hear it had been confiscated. With the second term quidditch matches coming up he first tried to get McGonagall to return the broom, which didn't work, and then encouraged Harry to just get another broom. Harry was reluctant to do so. It seemed to be tempting fate. If his Firebolt came back intact and fine, then he could simply say "No Harm No Foul," and easily patch things up with Hermione without risking that he would give in to temptation around her.
With or without the Firebolt the next match was on its way, so practice resumed and intensified. Because Slytherin had dodged their first term match the schedule was all off. Hufflepuff had played twice in the first term, earning a victory against Gryffindor and then a terrible defeat to Ravenclaw. This term Ravenclaw would play twice, once against Slytherin and then against Gryffindor. Next term Slytherin would play twice, against Hufflepuff and then the last match of the year would be against Gryffindor. If Gryffindor wanted to have any hope of winning the cup they had to win against Ravenclaw during the first week of February. So it was practice, practice, practice.
Harry loved every minute of it. The school brooms weren't the best, in fact they were pretty terrible for quidditch, but flying was still flying. While Harry was up on a broom he didn't have to think about anything else. In the sky he was free. Everything else could wait until he reached the ground once more.
Also in January Professor Lupin began his anti-dementor training as he had promised. The patronus charm was as difficult a spell as he had ever learned. In as black a mode as Harry was in, the angry and harmful thoughts needed for true curses came easily to him, but the patronus charm was a true blessing. It was powered by a thought of true happiness. And that was a difficult thing to conjure.
Lupin had found a boggart for Harry to practice against, and while a boggart couldn't mimic all the powers of a dementor, it mimicked enough of them. When the boggart dementor came out from cupboard it was able to make Harry hear the voice of his dying mother echoing in his head which drove out every thought of happiness he might have summoned. He collapsed almost immediately after trying and failing to cast the spell three times.
Now Esharry could've pushed a single dementor out of Harry's head, and Harry could've forced a feeling of happiness into his wand, but they had decided to try the practice in a purely wizard way. They figured that if they could master the spell normally then any extra tricks they could do with psionic power would only make the spell even stronger. Harry wasn't worried about facing a single dementor after all. He could do that with just his psychic power. It was the possibility that dozens or hundreds of dementors might come after him like they had at the Hufflepuff game that worried him.
After several attempts, during which his memories of his parents' deaths grew ever stronger to the point where he could even hear his father dying scream, he finally enjoyed some success. The memory of first learning that he was a wizard, that he could come to Hogwarts and escape the Dursleys proved strong enough to make a thin wall of white mist that held the dementors at bay. He couldn't push it back, Professor Lupin had to step in to change the boggart with the riddikulus spell. But he hadn't collapsed, and the voices of his dying parents had been reduced to a whisper.
"That is very impressive Harry." Professor Lupin encouraged him. "It normally would take a much older wizard weeks of practice to get to this point and even this is enough to hold back a dementor until help arrives. I'm very proud of you."
"It's not enough though." Harry pressed. "The patronus charm is supposed to produce a corporeal being, an animal guardian that can attack and chase a dementor away. Yours did that. It became a white dog back on the Hogwarts Express."
"Yes a corporeal patronus is the ultimate form of the spell." Lupin agreed. "And it is good to aim for that goal. But don't sell yourself short Harry. Any progress is good and something to be proud of. I once heard the story of a muggle who cut a tunnel through a mountain all on his own. Without any magic or even any of the powered tools and great machines that muggles normally use for such projects he still managed it. It took him decades to do but he did. Stone by stone, step by step even a mountain can be moved. And now hundreds of people's lives are better because of what he did. And this was no little stone. It was something I didn't expect to happen for maybe a whole month. But you managed it. And that's something to be proud of. Never feel downcast because you failed to move the whole mountain in one go. Just take one rock for now and so long as you keep at it, you would be amazed by what you can eventually accomplish."
Harry was encouraged by those words. And he did keep at it week after week. But it seemed as if he had hit a wall. By the end of January he could reliably make that wall of shimmering mist, but he was no closer to driving even a boggart dementor off.
His other classes were advancing as well. In care of magical creatures they had turned to the study of salamanders. These Gila monster sized lizards loved to cavort and play in blazing fires. This made it much more pleasant to attend the outdoor lessons which still often happened in deep snow.
"They're very safe to be around these little fellers." Hagrid explained. "Oh they'll act all fierce if ya stumble on their territory by mistake, especially if there's a female brooding over her clutch of eggs. Luckily they'll flare up their back first, just like those two males over there, before they attack. Fire scares off most animals so that usually works for them, so they are not quick to actually bite. If ya seem em flare up just make a little fire nearby for them to play in. Salamanders think anyone that makes a fire for em is a good un."
"They do tend to cause forest fires though." Hagrid warned. "Especially during their breeding seasons. Ya can prevent this by paying attention fur their smoke signals the males send up to try and attract females to em. Then ya go out and start a big bonfire, surrounded by flame wards and other such protections and the salamanders will be attracted to the big fire and won't start any little ones. Just make sure ya sneak away all quiet like once yer done otherwise they'll follow ya home, and yu'll end up with a bunch of salamander females coming over to yer house in the next month or so to give ya eggs as a gift. And it's illegal to have salamander eggs. They explode if yer not careful with em."
In divination they moved on to crystal gazing, and Harry got very excited for that. Oh the class itself was awful, the things didn't work most of the time and only showed the table underneath them. Ron swiftly resorted to just making up what he had seen in his crystal ball. But Harry noticed something much more interesting than just a prediction of the future.
There were runes in the crystals. Well some of the crystals, the older ones really, and only one of the balls seemed to have a complete set. These runes soaked up magical power if it was allowed to leak into the crystal and practically inhaled any psychic power that Harry allowed them to take. This activated the crystal and actually allowed it to show at least something.
Harry guessed that there had been an actual seer making crystal balls at some point, perhaps long, long ago. Later works copied those balls but without proper understanding of what they were doing, and the newer balls were really just hunks of fancy glass. But that was hardly what was important.
These runes could shape magic! Spells that could be written down and made permanent. The possibilities were endless. Not just because this could allow for the creation of permanently enchanted items, but this was a possible path to the creation of completely new spells. If Harry could learn how these runes interacted he could set them out, test them to ensure they worked as he wanted them to, then work backwards to associate a set of magic words with those runes. This was tremendously intriguing. Why hadn't he ever considered how useful the ancient runes class might be?
Well it was because last year when he had been considering what electives to take, it had looked boring. The class was presented as an incredibly intellectual endeavor focused mostly on translating old runes and ancient works. He had never heard it could be used to make enchanted items. Why hadn't he ever asked Hermione about this? And that thought made him rather sad.
Still the kinds of things he could see in that oldest and most complete crystal ball were quite fascinating. The book spoke of seeing more signs and symbols for them to interpret, but what Harry saw was more like little plays. Shadowy figures and vaguely seen things that played out little repeating motions that often accompanied strong sensations sparked in his mind. By the time the Gryffindor Ravenclaw game came he had seen a number of these little acts.
He saw a person trying to climb a steep road, constantly slipping and falling before another came along, helped them up, and led them another way. Harry got a sense that it was a scene of compromise. Another showed a man changing faces, from humble and simple to harsh and dangerous. Another showed someone hiding away and when they were found figures appeared from all around holding knives. Another showed a man holding another with a sword pressed to his throat, then the dominant man released his prisoner and was bathed in light as if he had found something precious. Another showed a pair of men holding another at sword point, then a fourth figure came and bade them stop, after the bound man was released the scene fell into darkness.
The ones that troubled Harry the most though, was one of two people looking at each other angrily, coming together to make up before being driven apart again. Another where two figures were angry with one another, before a third figure brought them together. Finally was the sign of a man who took off his head before a great mass bowed before him. Harry wasn't certain he even wanted to know more of these things. But he had to. He would need a better crystal ball.
Eventually the second term seemed to come to its climax, and after Harry had spent weeks trying to keep himself from having to think with constant grinding work, everything suddenly came to a head. It all started at one of his anti-dementor training sessions. After several attempts Harry was about to collapse from how tired he was. He still hasn't come any closer to making a corporeal patronus, but he had been able to hold the boggart dementor back for almost five minutes before Professor Lupin had to step in. As Harry sat down for a drink to recover a bit, a question occurred to him.
"Professor? What's under a dementor's hood?"
"No one knows." Professor Lupin answered. "Dementors only lower their hoods when they intend to use their most fearsome weapon, the dementor's kiss."
"Kiss?" Harry asked, surprised.
"It's what they call it when a dementor sucks someone's soul out of their mouths." Lupin said solemnly. "It doesn't actually kill someone, you can still live without a soul, so long as your brain and your heart still works. It just leaves you an empty shell, unable to think, or feel, or act on your own ever again. Assuming there is any real you left afterwards."
Lupin paused for a long moment after saying that and then added: "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black if he is ever captured. The ministry won't risk him escaping again. So they've given the dementors permission to administer the kiss if they ever find him."
Harry's first instinct was to declare that Black deserved it. He had killed his parents after all. He could deserve nothing less than absolute death. But Harry had seen someone's soul destroyed before. That poor woman who had been forced into the Illithid ceremorphosis pod just before Harry had awoken. Illithids had no souls, just a bundle of psychic energy that could act like a soul. If there's a soul and that bundle of psychic energy in the same body than the same situation as Harry develops, the soul remains dominant and the psychic essence becomes a reflection of that soul. So the tadpoles destroy the souls of their hosts as they eat and replace their brains. So Harry better understood what Lupin was talking about than even he did.
"Why would the dementors do that?" He asked instead of commenting on Black's fate. "Don't they want to feed on a person's happiness to slowly make them into something like themselves?"
"That's true." Lupin said. "Dementors much prefer to slowly torture their victims. They are creatures of suffering and they delight in causing it. Likely they even regret it when they have to resort to the kiss since it denies them the chance to torment people. But Sirius has escaped them once before, they won't risk him getting away again."
"They must really hate criminals to go to such lengths." Harry said, rambling a little bit as he tried to sort out his thoughts.
"Oh the dementors don't care about innocent or guilty." Lupin said. "They would feed on anyone they can. They are willing to guard the prison of Azkaban because no one cares what they do to those poor souls given to them. If they could lock every wizard up in Azkaban and feed on anyone they could they would. But then wizards would fight back against them with the patronus charm if they tried to take over, and they would lose that war if they tried."
"Why did Black do it?" Harry asked more than a little overwhelmed by everything and desperate for this answer. "I've heard he was friends with my father. Why did he betray them? Why couldn't have lied to Voldemort and told him Dumbledore was their secret keeper so he couldn't find them? Why did my parents have to die?"
"I don't know." Lupin said quietly while he put an arm around Harry's shoulder and looked away as he cried. "I knew them both back in school. I would've sworn either would die for the other. And Sirius always hated the dark side of his family. He ran away from home when he was sixteen because he could stand to live with his blood purest parents, and he even lived with James for a year before he could support himself on his own. I refused to believe it for years after it happened until I heard it from Dumbledore himself that Sirius had been the secret keeper. After that I just wanted him to die. Now I just don't know. Half the time I hope he'll break in again so I can avenge my old friend. Other times I hope he'll break in so he can finally tell me why."
When Harry pulled himself back together he left the room and went back to the dorm. Along the way he ran into Professor McGonagall who returned his Firebolt to him after she had concluded that there wasn't anything wrong with it, which made him feel a little better. When he made it back to the common room there were general oohs and ahhs as people were impressed by the broom. Harry largely ignore them, and in fact he soon left the Firebolt in Fred and George's capable hands as he made way over to Hermione who was sitting in the corner doing her homework. She looked up as he joined her.
"I got my broom back." He said simply. "There wasn't anything wrong with it."
"Well, there could've been." Hermione answered rather lamely.
"Yeah there could've been." Harry agreed even though he knew there really couldn't have been. "Thanks for looking out for me. But please let me know if you're worried about me first rather than trying to force me into something. We could've talked this out and saved a lot of grief."
"Oh no! I wasn't trying to force you into anything." Hermione insisted and her thoughts were very sincere. "I was just really worried, and who knows what might have triggered a curse on it. I didn't think I had any time."
"It seemed like you did." Harry said. "It felt like you didn't trust me to think the risk through and so you went over my head."
"Oh…." Hermione said sadly as she began to understand things. "I didn't think of that. Of course I trust you Harry. I know you're very smart when you actually try and think about things. I'm sorry. I never meant anything like that."
"Thanks." Harry accepted. "And what do you mean when I think about things? I think things through all the time."
"Well you don't think things through in divinations." Hermione accused. "You're almost as bad as Ron at making things up just because those useless crystal balls don't work at all."
"Maybe you're the one not thinking things through there." Harry countered. "Have you noticed there are runes inscribed in those crystal balls? They will show you at least something if you power them up."
"What? No there aren't." Hermione denied
"There are." Harry pressed delighted to see Hermione's face light up in curiosity. "They're hard to see because they're very faint and the crystal bends the light, but you can just barely catch them if you hold them up to a light source. At least in the older ones you can. The newer ones don't have them."
Hermione flipped open her ancient runes textbook on old Futhark to a table showing the various runes that were written there. Harry scanned the page greedily, it listed the names of the runes and their basic meaning. Hermione asked him to point out the ones he had seen. Harry named six of them as Hermione copied them down.
"This sequence doesn't make any sense." Hermione complained.
"That's the order I remember them in, it's not necessarily the order they were written in." Harry pointed out. "Plus remember that they are inscribed on a sphere not in a straight line. So perhaps it's not even the order they're written in that matters but rather how they might line up when you look through it properly."
After a bit of discussion and rearranging they came up with a sequence that sort of spelled out: "Toknwu" which Harry guessed might be meant to spell "To know you." Hermione disagreed and further pointed out that the runic sequence made little sense incorporating the meaning of the runes themselves. This sequence would mean, "Heritage of Tyr, ulcers need the joy of wild oxen." Which wouldn't be useful at all.
"Heritage of Tyr might be useful." Harry pointed out. "Tyr was the son of Odin who was a god of prophecy. And Tyr himself was a protector of mankind and a war god. So this could be asking for prophetic guidance that could protect someone or warn them if coming conflict. That would certainly explain why Trelawney's classes are so full of doom and gloom."
"But the rest is utter gibberish." Hermione pointed out.
"Yes they are." Harry agreed. "So what would be a better way, I wonder?"
"A better way?" Hermione asked. "Harry you must realize there isn't anything real in divinations. It's all a load of wooly nonsense praying on people's superstitions. You can't actually predict the future. There's too much going on in the present to get any real idea of it."
"I don't know if you can say that something is absolutely for sure going to happen." Harry admitted. "But I think you can get the rough edges of things. Oh don't get me wrong, Trelawney is a fraud, she's grabbing everything even remotely related to prophecy and throwing it at a wall hoping it will stick. But I think I was getting pretty good at the tea leaves before we stopped doing that. And I think there might be something that can be done with crystal balls. Why don't you let me-"
"Oh so have you two made up then?" Ron interrupted, breaking away from the Firebolt long enough to notice them.
"Have we?" Hermione asked. "Don't act like you didn't turn your back on me over some stupid broomstick too."
"I didn't turn my back on you over a broomstick." Ron denied. "I shunned you for a bit because you were being a stubborn idiot who couldn't admit you had been wrong and jumped to conclusions. If you've made up to Harry and apologized I've got no problem with you."
"I jumped to conclusions?" Hermione said with growing outrage.
"Yeah ya did." Ron responded. "If you had just stopped and thought about it you would've realized. One: Black can't afford a Firebolt. Two: there's no one to sell him one. And three: even if he did get his hands on one he hasn't got a wand to put any curses on it. But you're a worry wort and you acted without thinking."
"I- you- kjkk!" Hermione stuttered as all the very angry things she was longing to say fought each other to get out of her mouth first. Ron's mind lit up with delight that he had successfully teased her to such an extent. And he was oddly enough looking forward to the coming row, certain it was a sign they were back to their old ways again. Harry was worried that Ron might have gone too far, so he headed things off for now.
"Hey Ron," Harry started. "Would you do me a favor and take my Firebolt up stairs before Fred and George have to start cracking heads to keep people from touching it too much."
"Yeah sure mate." Ron said easily. He guessed what Harry was doing and he didn't care.
"That man!" Hermione harrumphed.
"He has a few good points." Harry said to let the steam out now while Ron was away.
"He does not!" Hermione declared. "Just because Black didn't have a wand when he last tried to break in doesn't mean he hasn't found one since. There's got to be a wizard Black market and anything as hard to get hold of as a Firebolt is bound to have scalpers selling it."
"And how is he supposed to have the money for that?" Harry pressed. "If he bought one from some scalpers it would cost even more."
"He might have stolen it." Hermione insisted. Harry laughed at that. Hermione just wouldn't give it up. He wouldn't have either of their positions were reversed. It was in the end part of what he loved about her after all.
But before Harry could further the conversation or better yet turn it back to the topic of runes there was a terrible screaming noise from the boy's dorm room. Moments later Ron thundered into the common room holding the sheets from his bed, but there was a terrible red spot in their center. He thrust the sheets into Hermione's face and cried out.
"Look what your monster of a cat has finally done! He's killed Scabbers!"
Indeed the sheets smelled badly of blood and were covered in small fine brown hairs. It did seem that Ron's loyal rat had finally met his end. Panic and dread filled Hermione's mind. This couldn't be happening to her. Not right when she was about to finally make things right with Harry. She couldn't be responsible for the death of Ron's rat; he would never forgive her. Harry saw it all happen in what seemed like slow motion. The thought formed in Hermione's mind, born of panic, and it was almost completely the wrong thing to do.
"Are you sure?" Hermione said doing her best to sound sincere, but that she was obviously trying meant it might sound insincere if Ron was determined to be angry. "Maybe something just spilled on it. Maybe you'll find him safe and sound of you only look. Crookshanks couldn't have-"
"Don't you dare defend him!" Ron interrupted. "Don't you dare try and deny that cat has had it in for Scabbers for months now! Don't you dare act innocent of this!"
"Both of you shut up!" Harry desperately interrupted before either of them could say anything they might regret. "Let's be sure of the facts first. Hermione, where is Crookshanks?"
"He's up in my room." Hermione answered. "Which means he has an alibi! You see Ron? Crookshanks couldn't have-"
"Right." Harry interrupted again a second before Ron could. "Then let's go get him. We'll make him throw up, and then- and then we'll know for certain."
But Crookshanks couldn't be found in Hermione's room. Or anywhere else for that matter. It was almost two days before Harry saw that cat again and by then Ron and Hermione had had a fight which would probably still be the subject of gossip in Gryffindor house for years to come.