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Chapter Twenty-One—The New Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor

"As you know," the Headmistress begins that evening, standing up at the professors' table, "Professor Umbridge succumbed to stress and had to be removed from her position as a consequence."

Draco can see more than one person at their table, and others, stifling laughter. Harry is smiling, a restrained expression that makes it look like there's a lot going under the surface. Draco clutches his silverware.

Last year, he would have known what was going on as well as Theo and Blaise and the others clustered around Harry. Now, he wrenches his attention from them with an effort and turns back to the Headmistress. She's the important one here, anyway. She wields more power in Hogwarts than any of the students do.

For now, a voice murmurs in the back of his head. Draco can't even tell for certain who the voice sounds like to him, Mother or Father or maybe Hecuba Selwyn.

"This leaves an unfortunate gap in the curriculum," the Headmistress says, her gaze sweeping over the House tables as if she can see and mark the face of everyone who's laughing at Umbridge's abrupt departure. "However, the Ministry has been able to loan us an Auror who has been thinking about transferring out of the department. I'll ask you to welcome Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, to be Professor Shacklebolt until at least the end of the autumn term."

Draco narrows his eyes a little as he watches the tall, dark-skinned Auror walk in through the doors at the end of the Great Hall. He's waving and smiling slightly. People clap for him, but politely. They don't know who he is.

Draco does. He's one of the Aurors that Father ranted about constantly, one of those who sat in Dumbledore's pocket.

Draco darts his glance to Harry's face before he can stop himself. Then he turns away with an annoyed huff. Why does he care what Harry thinks? The days of their friendship are obviously gone. Harry still hasn't forgiven Draco or reached out to him, despite having every chance to do that.

It occurs to Draco that Harry might not know who Shacklebolt is, or what kind of danger he could represent if he's still loyal to Dumbledore. Draco might be able to purchase something with that kind of information—

You don't care, remember?

Draco tears his attention away from Harry and stabs his fork into his chicken so fiercely that he gets a little frown and a hand on his arm from Pansy. "Are you all right, Draco?" she whispers, darting a glance around the table as if looking for the person who made him react like that.

Pansy has never been someone who's particularly close to Harry or Blaise or Theo. That makes her a friend he needs at the moment, Draco thinks. "I just recognize that Auror," he says, and nods to where Shacklebolt is now sitting between Vector and Sinistra and seems to be answering their questions.

"Oh! Was he…" Pansy lowers her voice and looks as if she's a second away from petting his arm. "Was he one of the ones who helped investigate your father's death?"

She would think that, because there's nothing else logical for her to think, Draco decides, and breathes out through the pain of grief in the center of his chest. "No," he says shortly, but at least he manages not to snap. "He's one that Father told me sits in Dumbledore's pocket. Or at least did before he was arrested."

Pansy's eyes widen. "Do you think he's going to try and teach us the things that Dumbledore would have wanted taught?"

"I don't know," Draco murmurs, and goes back to stabbing at his chicken. "But I'm not about to celebrate our deliverance from Umbridge just yet until I know what's actually changed."

"Mr. Potter, would you stay after class, please?"

Harry puts a polite expression on his face and turns around. He missed two days of class because both Madam Pomfrey and Severus are fiercely overprotective and think that someone with no tremors or pain or headaches is still somehow suffering from exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. He doesn't want to be late to Transfiguration.

There's also the fact that while Shacklebolt is at least going to let them practice Defensive spells in Defense class, he's still from the Ministry. Harry has no idea what he might have been ordered to implement, and it's not like he can just ask.

"Harry?"

That's Theo, lingering behind to wait for him as usual. Harry tilts his head without taking his eyes from Shacklebolt's. At least there's no pressure against the inner shields of his mind in a way that would indicate Shacklebolt is a Legilimens. "It's okay, Theo. I'll see you in a few minutes, in Transfiguration."

It's a reminder for Shacklebolt as well as for Theo, although Shacklebolt just goes on looking calmly at Harry. After a second, Harry hears Theo's footsteps retreat. And he might actually leave, but Blaise or Zacharias or Ron or Hermione will be waiting.

"What is this is about, sir?" Harry asks. He doesn't smile, any more than he frowns. Severus worked with him on control of his expressions this summer, too.

"I wondered if you'd thought about the fact that you'll need private Defense lessons to face up to Voldemort," Shacklebolt says, earning a little of Harry's respect by not flinching or jumping when he says the name. Hermione is still having some problems with that. "I would be pleased to offer them to you."

Harry chokes a little as he thinks about what Shacklebolt might say about Severus's training regimen, not to mention Sirius's and the Speakers'. "Thanks, sir," he manages, a little unsteady. "But I'm all right on that front."

Shacklebolt pauses. Then he says in the same thoughtful, unhurried way, "Even though you needed the sacrifice of a companion to escape him the last time, Mr. Potter? I'm sorry, but I don't know if you've thought about having to go through that again."

How dare he!

Harry feels his temper smoldering, but he doesn't dare let it burst into flame. He bites firmly on the inside of his cheek, to squash the way he wants to scream, and just says, "I've thought about it a lot, sir."

Shacklebolt blinks at him, as if he thought Harry would agree with him to keep the peace, if nothing else. Then he says, "And have you thought about the fact that an adult could offer you more useful lessons than other students?"

"Yes, sir. That's why I've taken lessons with both of my guardians since the summer." Granted, the lessons with Sirius have to be conducted by owl and Floo most of the time now, but that's okay. Sirius is still offering Harry what political advice he can and instruction in Transfiguration.

And he thought the way Harry pinned Fudge down was hilarious. Remembering that helps to steady Harry now.

"But nothing specific to Defense?"

"Sorry, sir, but what's specific to Defense? They're teaching me about magical creatures and how to escape them, lots of curses and countercurses, hexes and jinxes and the like. I think I'm getting a good education."

Shacklebolt pauses again. Harry doesn't think he's disconcerted, probably. He just doesn't seem to do much in a hurry. Finally, he says, "You should know that I could teach you Auror-specific spells, Mr. Potter."

"Sorry, sir, but would the Ministry want you to do that? I thought some of those spells were specific to Aurors for a good reason."

"I do have permission," Shacklebolt says, and then he gives Harry a wink that doesn't work well with his general demeanor. Harry has the odd feeling that Shacklebolt wants to offer him what he's offering, but in a different way. Someone told him to do it this way, though, and he's sticking to that. "And, well, sometimes we all have to answer to a higher authority than the Ministry, don't we? Our senses of right and wrong. Our friends. Our chosen leaders."

"I would still feel better seeing the specific written permission from the Ministry, sir," Harry says flatly. "Given the conflicts that happened with Professor Umbridge. And having someone watch our sessions."

"Supervision?"

Shacklebolt sounds a little baffled. Harry nods. "For one thing, some of my friends would like to learn Auror-specific spells. And Professor Snape is my guardian as well as my Head of House and teacher. He'd probably want to sit in on them."

Shacklebolt sighs a little. "I thought you were an independent young man, Harry. I was certainly told that. Are you going to let your Head of House make decisions for you forever?"

"He's my guardian, too, sir. I said. And he generally gets pretty furious if I don't listen to him."

"Well, we'll discuss this later, perhaps," Shacklebolt says, eyes darting behind Harry. Harry is pretty sure that one of his friends peered into the classroom. Hermione, maybe. "But do think about it. It's not often that you'll get personal, specialized instruction from an Auror, you understand."

"I understand," Harry echoes, and smiles at Shacklebolt until the man makes a little gesture and lets him go.

Then he steps out into the corridor and frowns as he finds Hermione, Ron, Blaise, and Daphne waiting for him. "You're all going to be late to your classes!" he hisses under his breath as he starts half-running towards Transfiguration.

"Yes, that matters so much to us compared to making sure that you're not in mortal danger from another professor," Hermione says, and Harry flushes. "What did he want?"

"To offer me training in Auror-specific spells. And he was hinting around about answering to a 'higher authority.' Something higher than the Ministry, anyway."

"If he thinks independently, I suppose he could be all right," Daphne says, in the frozen tone she uses when dealing a compliment to anyone who isn't a Slytherin.

"Yes, if he thought independently, I agree," Zacharias drawls, strolling up to them and joining the group without a hint of shame or concern about not being in class. "But I don't think that's going to be the case. He's one of Dumbledore's supporters."

Harry swears softly. He doesn't have to worry about Dumbledore anymore, he supposes. He doesn't even know for sure if the man is dead or not, but if he's not, he hasn't made any attempt to contact Harry or do anything to him in months. "How do you know? Did your grandfather tell you?"

"Yes, and there's also the fact that Shacklebolt tried to tell some people that the accusations against Dumbledore had no merit and that he thought you were being influenced by unspecified 'bad people.'"

"Just once!" Hermione abruptly shouts, and they all stop and stare at her. Hermione's face is shiny, and her eyes are so bright that for a second, Harry thinks she's going to cry. But then she stomps her foot and adds, "Just once I want a competent Defense professor!", and he realizes she's furious.

I probably shouldn't relax when I think that, Harry thinks, but he does anyway. He'd rather deal with an enraged Hermione than a crying one, if only because whatever made her cry would probably be too much for him to deal with anyway.

"In our OWL year, too!" Hermione rants as they run down a staircase, hopping over a trick step, and dash around a corner that will take the Slytherins towards Transfiguration. Where Ron and Hermione think they're going, Harry has no idea. "We need to have someone who's focused on our education and making sure that we pass the exams! We don't need someone who's more focused on supporting the Ministry's propaganda or recruiting Harry to be part of—of whatever insane plan Dumbledore left behind him!"

"I completely agree," Zacharias says. "I think I'll write my grandfather and ask him to talk to Minister Fudge."

"How will that get us a competent professor?" Hermione turns to Zacharias with her hair almost standing out around her head.

"It might get this one replaced," Zacharias says, without getting upset himself. In fact, Harry realizes, he's looking at Hermione with something like admiration. "Or it might restrain Shacklebolt to only offering us instruction in Defense, and not following that insane plot you were talking about."

"I don't think Minister Fudge is that competent!"

"Can't hurt to ask," Zacharias says lightly, and walks away with the kind of spring in his step that Harry knows means he's going to write to his grandfather and no one is going to stop him no matter what they say.

"Oi, Harrikins!"

Harry takes a small breath and decides that he's going to be late for Transfiguration anyway, so he might as well turn around and see what Fred and George want. They're grinning at him like maniacs and waving from the middle of the corridor. "Yeah?"

"You never asked how we knew what was going on with our dear departed Madam Toad." Fred, or at least Harry thinks so, gives him a huge, obvious wink.

"I didn't think I should—"

"But it's genius!" George says eagerly. "Come and hear about it."

Harry hesitates and glances at his friends. Hermione is frowning disapprovingly, but she's the only one. Ron looks eager, and Blaise gives the faintest of shrugs, and Daphne is battling a smile, one of the few times Harry has seen her do that.

"All right," Harry says, deciding that he'll blame being late to Transfiguration on Shacklebolt if Severus even asks him about it, and follows the twins around a corner and into what looks like a bleached stretch of corridor. Harry glances curiously back and forth. The stones on the walls and floor have been smoothed out, so that the cracks between them have vanished, and polished to the smoothness of marble.

"How did you do this?" he asks.

"Ah, but that would be telling," George, maybe, says, with a wink. "Watch how it goes first. We decided that maybe the new Defense professor might be a problem, too, so we worked the same enchantment on him." He draws his wand and waves it at the floor, and Harry watches as shadows and colors swirl in the marble. A second later, an image forms, so perfect that it makes the ones Harry's seen in Pensieves seem blurry.

It also seems to be coming from above Shacklebolt, or above and slightly to the side. Shacklebolt is sitting at the desk in his office, looking down at a piece of parchment. As he tilts his head, the letters on the parchment swim in and out of view.

"We can focus it, too," Fred (probably) says. He taps his wand on the floor next to where the parchment is, and the letters zoom towards them, stopping when they're hovering the equivalent of a few inches away. Harry's eyes narrow as he sees his own name.

"What's Shacklebolt saying?"

"Keeping notes on his interactions with you, mate." George stretches, grinning. "I think he wants to be sure that it's fresh in his mind. Maybe he's going to pass on a report to someone else."

"Apparently he was in Dumbledore's pocket."

"That doesn't surprise me," Fred says, shaking his head in what seems to be sorrow. "And as for how we're doing it…well, you know that you can take on someone's shape with Polyjuice Potion by dropping their hair in it, right?"

"Right, Hermione brewed that in our second year—you enchanted Shacklebolt's hair?" Harry stares at them. "And Umbridge's hair, when you were spying on her?"

"Exactly!" George grins at him, and gives a little bow at the waist. "You were talking about those private lessons you were taking with Professor Snape and Sirius, and it gave us a sort of hybrid idea—"

"A genius idea, George, if I do so say myself—"

"Yes, exactly, Fred. We thought about how convenient it would be to have a means to read someone's mind that didn't rely on having eye contact with them at all times, and we worked on that, but nothing came of that—"

"So then we thought about how it would be great if you could change into different Animagus forms on command, and spy on someone by being a bat one day, and a cat the next, and a mouse the one after that—"

"But that would have taken years for the research to produce a result, probably. So we thought about what humans have that's not fur, and we thought hair, and we thought about how spying on what someone is doing is probably more useful than reading their minds, anyway—"

"And our idea was born. Poor Old Toad Woman sometimes acted as though she thought someone was spying on her and even broke a few of those kitten plates she was so fond of looking for the source of her unease, but she never caught us."

Harry laughs aloud, and feels some of the tension that's hovered around him during the walk from Shacklebolt's office relax. "Yes, you two are geniuses. Can you tell me—I mean, will you tell me if Shacklebolt says or writes down something really bad about me? I mean, that sounds like he might be trying to spy on me for the Ministry or Dumbledore?"

"Of course we will, Harrikins."

Harry walks back towards his friends, aware that Hermione will be fuming, but not upset himself. He's smiling. Yes, he does share Hermione's anger that they don't have a competent Defense professor no matter what happens.

But he also knows he has great friends who will make sure that this new one can't hurt him, probably not even as much as the last one did. So that's all right.