Neither Harry nor Hermione said a word to anyone else about what they had seen that night in the forbidden corridor on the third floor, and neither of them mentioned their theory, either. Both began, however, following the news closely, asking Neville for his paper immediately when he was done with it. After three days of this, Neville showed Hermione how to take out her own subscription of the Daily Prophet, and from then on, they grabbed their copies from around the delivery owl's legs so eagerly that several hooted in complaint at the treatment.
The second week of normal lessons went about the same as the first. Finding Magic went about as it always had, with Professor Cauverina slowly introducing them to more and more complex – and strenuous – ways to manipulate magic. Besides this, however, she also began teaching them about society in the magical world. Harry learned in Tuesday's lesson, for example, that the Minister of Magic was the head of the magical government in Britain, and that he was selected from among the members of the Ejwent Dexmot, a name that Harry had to practise pronouncing several times before finally learning that it was pronounced something like 'Eyvent Dehmot'.
'It's a little like the House of Commons and the Prime Minister, then,' Hermione had said at lunch after class to a confused Neville who did not know what these terms meant. 'Though the Ejwent Zehwolt holds an awful amount of power for a group in which membership is basically passed down from one person to someone they appoint.'
'What did the Ejwent Zehwolt do again?' Harry asked, the odd terms floating around and getting tangled in his mind. 'That's the one that had fourteen members called "Overseers", right?'
Hermione nodded. 'Yeah, that's the one. They can approve or reject laws from the Ejwent Dexmot, approve or reject the Minister, appoint judges to the Ejwent Asztyrajom…anything else?'
'That's pretty much it, I think,' Neville said. 'Though unofficially, I think they probably do a lot more than that. Gran's an Overseer, and she's always busy with this or that.'
As far as the other classes went, Harry was not quite sure if he liked Herbology. He supposed that it was important to learn about magical plants, but he simply could not find the joy in digging through the dirt for two hours on a Tuesday afternoon during their practical. Hagrid, the gamekeeper, assisted that afternoon as they worked on identifying basic magical herbs, and he said a rather passionate hello to Harry when he first walked into the greenhouses.
'I haven't even properly met you, Harry,' he had said, clapping Harry's back way too hard. 'How'd you like to come for tea one of these afternoons?'
Harry had received far too many disingenuous offers from other students to join them, and his automatic, conditioned reaction was to say no. He hesitated for a moment, though, for he realised that this was different. Hagrid was a member of the staff, after all, and somehow, Harry was comforted by his tone, which sounded uncharacteristically genuine for someone asking him that particular question.
'Okay,' Harry replied after a second of deliberation. 'Sure.'
'Great,' Hagrid exclaimed with a grin. 'How does next Monday sound? After your classes, of course.'
'That's good with me.'
Defence Against the Dark Arts, meanwhile, was as terrible as ever. Professor Quirrell, compared to the majority of other teachers, was absolutely incompetent. The horrible garlic smell of his room had only gotten worse, and Harry could sometimes barely concentrate, much less focus on his magic. It was not like, however, that there was much magic to do. Professor Quirrell barely gave them a chance to practise their spells in practice, instead opting to lecture vaguely in his difficult-to-follow, stutter-filled speech for the best part of every class.
Transfiguration and Charms were the opposite experience. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were obviously knowledgeable and to-the-point, though sometimes their classes were so filled with information that Harry could barely think between copying down notes.
That Wednesday was their first Transfiguration practical, and Professor McGonagall set them to shortening a needle. Nearly the entire class went into the lesson feeling confident, that with the theory that they had been taught, they would be able to perform the transfiguration quite easily, but that optimism quickly evaporated as they got to work.
Transfiguration, as it turned out, was much more difficult than words on a chalkboard suggested. Harry knew the theory behind it, of course – one had to orient their transcendental energy in exactly the needed way and produce just the right amount of it to obtain a lasting transfiguration – but doing that in real life was far more challenging than he could ever have imagined. By the halfway mark, nearly the entire class was red-faced, and the only one who had made any changes to their needle was Raul, who had, entirely by accident, multiplied his needle's length and thickness several times, thereby stabbing himself in the hand. Professor McGonagall immediately excused him from class and sent him to the Hospital Wing.
Finally, with five minutes left, Hermione managed to produce a transfiguration – though an imperfect one. Her needle shrunk by several centimetres, and her transfiguration held for just over a minute. For this feat, she was awarded forty points and given an automatic 'O' for the class. Harry, meanwhile, managed to produce a slight shortening that held for fifteen seconds by the end of class, which earned him an 'E'. At least he was better than some others – he did not stab himself, after all, and his needle did not turn into a formless spaghetti like Malfoy's had.
The worst part of the week, however, came in Potions on Thursday morning. By this point, Harry had low expectations for the class in general, and so when Professor Snape set them to brew a Potion to Cure Burns – by far the most complex-looking potion they had encountered so far – after less than five minutes of instructions, he simply came to terms with it and set out to do the best he could.
Despite the complex-looking instructions, however, the potion was surprisingly easy to brew, for many of the steps were almost near-repeats of one another, and ingredient preparation was relatively straightforward. To make things even better, Professor Quirrell came into the room and distracted Snape in conversation just before he could call time on the brewing, giving Harry an extra five minutes to compare his potion with the description in the book. As he looked between the instructions and his own cauldron, he could not find a single point where it diverged significantly. There should be no reason that Professor Snape should not give him at least an 'E', he thought.
Snape graded the Slytherins' potions first, and Harry was not surprised when every single one of them received an 'E', with Malfoy, Parkinson, and Greengrass receiving 'O's that, for Malfoy, at least, Harry was sure were not deserved.
After that, it was Gryffindor's turn to be graded. Neville received a 'P', and when Hermione received only an 'A' for an almost-perfect potion, Harry tried to comfort himself with the thought that Snape had found her colour to be slightly off. Finally, Snape came around to Harry's side of the table, a barely hidden sneer on his face.
'Potter…it is obvious that your potion-making has regressed instead of improving,' Snape drawled. He tried to sound lazy and superior, but Harry could hear anger in his voice. 'What colour is this potion supposed to be?'
'Light blue, Sir,' Harry replied – the exact colour that his potion was.
'And what colour is your potion?'
'Light blue, Sir,' Harry repeated. It was obvious. Surely Professor Snape would not…
Snape bent down over Harry's cauldron and took a closer look. 'You call this colour light blue, Potter? This is dark purple at best.'
A wave of laughter erupted, mostly from the Slytherin side of the room. Harry tried to ignore it, and perhaps, against his better judgement, decided to try to reason with Professor Snape.
'Professor, but this is light blue,' he said, as calmly as he could. 'It's the same colour as it says in the book.'
Professor Snape turned slowly towards Harry, and he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. 'Tell me, Potter,' he hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes full of fury, 'how many years of potion-making experience do you have?'
Harry suppressed a shudder and the urge to give in out of fear. 'Professor…Sir…I don't need potion-making experience to see that two colours are the same.'
Snape's normally sallow face suddenly reddened to an alarming shade of scarlet. 'You…dare…talk back to me…Potter?' he seethed, his hand twitching, perhaps wanting to grab at Harry's collar. 'You're just like your father…incompetent…arrogant… Even when your potion is clearly not right, you try to claim it is… Outrageous.'
'Professor,' Harry tried one last time. 'But the potion – '
'Is wrong!' Snape suddenly exploded. 'Not only are you an utterly incompetent potion-brewer, Potter, you are a liar and a cheat! One hundred points from Gryffindor and a detention tonight, Potter! And you'd do well to learn your lesson, because next time, it will be more!'
Harry was still stunned when he walked out of the room at the end of class. It was beyond unfair. It was beyond cruel. The way that Snape had treated him…it was sadistic. He climbed the stairs, alone, staring at his feet, while Slytherin students in front and behind him laughed and whispered about him. What made Professor Snape hate him so much? How horribly could his father have possibly wronged Snape for his hatred of James Potter to carry over onto his son?
When he had almost reached the Great Hall, he felt someone pull him to the side of the corridor. He was about to turn and snap at them when he realised it was Hermione. The sight of her, however, simply made him more irritated.
'I know what you're going to say, Hermione,' he groused. 'But you can't possibly tell me that Snape was right. My potion was perfect. You know it.'
Hermione looked hurt, but Harry could not bring himself to care at the moment. 'That's not what I was about to say,' she said defensively. 'I know it wasn't fair, but if you're just going to get short with me, then – '
'Fine, fine,' Harry interrupted. 'I'm sorry. So it wasn't fair. And what's that going to do about it?'
'If you had just listened to me,' Hermione snapped. 'You'd have found out already.'
They stared at each other, a not-before-seen anger in Hermione's eyes, to which Harry responded in kind. She was going to tell him to deal with it and 'learn from it' – whatever that meant – Harry knew it. But at the same time, the small, still rational part of him wondered if she really did have a solution, if she really was trying to help him, not lecture him.
That rational part won in the end, and Harry caved. 'What, then? What can I do against a teacher?'
'Isn't it simple? You need a teacher on your side.'
'A great lot that'd do,' Harry grumbled. 'What teacher wants to hang around the dungeons every time I have Potions?'
Hermione sighed exasperatedly. 'It's not about them hanging around the dungeons,' she said slowly, trying to not lose her temper. 'You might not be able to do anything about Professor Snape, but another teacher might. And if they can't, they might be able to at least go to Headmaster Dumbledore.'
Harry nodded slowly. He could perhaps see her reasoning, but he remained doubtful. When he had gone to teachers back home, more often than not, they simply waved him off, and nothing was done – especially if Dudley was involved. Judging by some of the people he had met, he did not dare to hope that Hogwarts would be very different.
'And do you think they'll believe me?' Harry asked. 'The word of a first-year against a teacher?'
Hermione sighed again. 'They'd have to investigate it at least, right?' she asked hopefully. 'I mean, where, uh, we came from, a teacher doing what Professor Snape did to you would be sacked. Didn't Professor McGonagall say the first day that you could go to her with any concerns? Why don't you tell her what happened?'
Harry tried to imagine complaining about what happened in class to the no-nonsense Head of House and found himself shuddering. 'But…but this is about a teacher,' he protested, trying to think of an excuse to not have this conversation with her. 'It's not about…I don't know…someone in the House bullying me.'
'So?' Hermione argued back. 'Do you think she'll just tell you to go away? I think she'd actually be even more willing to listen, if a teacher is the one at fault.'
'I…but…but Professor McGonagall…I just don't know if…'
'If you don't want to go to Professor McGonagall, then go to someone else,' Hermione said, reading Harry's thoughts. 'Go to Professor Cauverina. Did she tell you, too, that you could go to her if you had any concerns? But you need to go to a teacher, Harry. You can't just let Professor Snape keep doing whatever he wants.'
Harry was a little more comfortable with that idea, but that did not quell his doubts. 'I don't know… Snape has been at this school years before I have. If something could've been done about him, wouldn't it have been done a long time ago?'
Hermione shrugged, staring down the now-empty corridor. 'I don't know. He has it out for you, Harry – you in particular out of everyone in the class. I don't know why. Isn't it at least worth a try? You'll be here for seven years. Seven years with Professor Snape, Harry. What if it gets worse?'
Harry deliberated with himself for several moments, but at the end, he came to the conclusion that it was, perhaps, worth a try. 'Do you think it'll work?' he asked, doubt lingering. 'Do you think she'll actually be able to do something?'
'I don't know,' Hermione replied, sounding a little impatient again. 'I'm not a fortune teller – not that I believe in that muck, anyway. Why don't you just try and see instead of asking me whether or not it will work?'
'Fine,' Harry grunted. 'I'll go.'
'Go after lunch,' Hermione suggested. 'Or better yet, go when you see her get up from the Head Table and start back to her office.'
'But don't we have – '
'Isn't this more important than another one of Professor Quirrell's lectures taken directly from the book?'
And so, Harry kept a close eye on the Head Table through all of lunch, waiting for Professor Cauverina to finish. Finally, at about ten minutes before lunch was due to end, she rose from the Head Table and left the Great Hall through the back door reserved for teachers.
'Go now,' Hermione whispered.
Harry rose and left through the main entrance, climbing the empty stairs and making his way to the right-hand corridor on the second floor. He walked down the familiar halls and through the open door of the Finding Magic classroom, going up the stairs at the front of the room and knocking on the door of Professor Cauverina's office.
She opened the door a second later, and when she saw Harry, a look of surprise came over her face. 'Oh, hello,' she said, 'is there something going on?'
Harry was not sure where to begin the conversation. 'I…uh…can I talk to you?'
'Of course you can,' Professor Cauverina replied, still looking surprised. 'Come on in and take a seat.'
Harry sat down at her desk, and she closed the door with a flick of her wand. 'Did something happen?' she asked once the door was shut.
'Sort of,' Harry muttered.
'What was it?' she asked. 'Did it happen in class?'
'Yeah…in…in Potions.'
Professor Cauverina's eyes narrowed, and something about her expression hardened. 'Does this involve Professor Snape?'
'It does.'
'What did he do?' Professor Cauverina asked.
Just as Harry was about to, he hesitated. Now that he was here, he felt a certain degree of uncertainty. Was Hermione right in telling him to come to her? Would she really believe him? And Hermione had been so sure that she could do something, but could she?
'You can tell me,' Professor Cauverina repeated, seeing Harry's hesitation.
Harry sighed. He supposed that it was, perhaps, better to try. He took a deep breath. 'Snape…Snape took one hundred points from me and gave me a detention…but I didn't even do anything.'
Professor Cauverina sat up in her chair, looking shocked. She blinked several times, processing what Harry had just told her, before replying.
'One hundred points?' she asked, sounding a bit lost. 'And a detention? What could possibly warrant one hundred points and a detention? Never in my time here as a teacher have I done anything close to that.'
'Nothing, Professor,' Harry answered. 'Or…well…I didn't think I did anything.'
'Could you tell me exactly what happened today?' Professor Cauverina pressed. 'From beginning to end?'
'We were supposed to brew a Potion to Cure Burns in practical,' Harry recounted. 'My potion ended up looking almost exactly like the description in the book – '
'Congratulations, that's not an easy accomplishment three weeks in.'
Harry blushed a little. 'Thanks,' he murmured. 'But Snape…well…Snape has always given me bad marks, even for nothing at all…sometimes I'll do everything right and he'll give me a "D". It's usually just been bad marks, though. Today…' Harry shuddered at the memory, 'today he got so angry. He told me that my potion was dark purple when it was actually light blue – like it was supposed to be. I tried to tell him that it was light blue, but…but he wouldn't listen. He called me a liar and a cheat and then…then did that.'
When Harry looked up, he saw a vindictiveness intermixed with anger laced over Professor Cauverina's face. 'I'm sorry, Harry,' she said, her voice trembling. 'To give out punishments so arbitrarily like this…it's beyond unacceptable. You can be sure I'll bring this up with the headmaster as soon as possible, Harry. I'll do something about this.'
'I…I'm sorry for troubling you,' Harry muttered. 'If it's too much – '
'No!' Professor Cauverina shouted with a ferocity that surprised Harry, even if it was not directed at him. 'Sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to scream, but I've heard complaints about Severus Snape for far too long. He's always been ridiculously favoured towards the Slytherins and turned a blind eye to all the…all the…everything happening. But this…this is far over the line even for him. I've never heard of him targeting a single student like this. I will make sure he gets for once what's been coming for him, even if that's the last thing I do!'
'Oh, and I nearly forgot, one hundred points to Gryffindor and you're excused from serving his detention. If Snape gives you any trouble for it, tell him that I told you to tell him to go bring it up with Headmaster Dumbledore.'
'What did you need me for, Albus? There's been no change since the update I gave you last night. The potions for the Water Room – '
'This has nothing to do with that,' Albus said severely. 'Take a seat, Severus.'
A look of momentary confusion came over Severus's face, but he obeyed without complaint, striding over to his desk. He sat down, his body leaning forward, his forearms bracing against the edge of the table. There was an impassive look on his face, but Albus did not need Legilimency to know that the man knew what the tone of the conversation would be.
'What did you need to speak to me about?'
'We need to speak about your behaviour in classes,' Albus replied. 'Especially your behaviour in regard to Harry Potter.'
'He deserved all the point losses he earned,' Snape said immediately, sounding rather annoyed. 'He is as rude and insolent as his father before him. He has no qualms about disrespecting – '
'That will be enough, Severus,' Albus interrupted, holding up a hand. He slid the piece of parchment that Eferia had given him across the desk. 'Eferia has relayed to me an incident in Potions today. It seems that you purposefully assigned an inappropriate failing grade to Mister Potter's work, which, if Eferia's version is correct, should have, in my opinion, warranted at least an "E". You then went on to verbally attack Harry, alleging without evidence that he was a "liar" and a "cheat", before taking away one hundred points from Gryffindor and assigning him a detention.'
He looked directly into Severus's eyes. 'And what do you have to say to that, Severus? This, allow me to remind you, is the very boy that you swore years ago to protect.'
There was a long, weighty pause as the two men stared at one another in silence. Albus could feel Severus's mood shifting. At points, he seemed to be feeling indignant, and at others, on the other extreme, there seemed to almost be a sort of understanding, though not at all near guilt.
'I assigned him the punishments that I thought were appropriate,' Severus finally groused.
Albus sighed, expecting the defence but still exasperated by it. 'You are not the most qualified person to judge the appropriateness of punishments, Severus.'
'You have not had any complaints in the last few years.'
Albus sighed again. 'I had thought that you may have finally learned your lesson after our conversation…it must be four years ago, now,' he said. 'I allowed you to reflect on your own, for to me, it seemed that your behaviour has in fact improved. There were incidents that I thought were questionable, for example your taking of twenty-five points from Mister Potter on the first day of classes – yes, Severus, Minerva and I both check the House Point records – but once again, I decided mistakenly not to intervene further, hoping to allow the two of you to make some kind of peace without my involvement. This has obviously not happened, which is why you're here now.'
Severus suppressed a sneer. 'Potter is just like his father. Lazy, arrogant, entitled – '
'And yet that is not what every other teacher has been saying,' Dumbledore said, cutting across him. 'Eferia has the impression that he is eager to learn, kind, and respectful. Minerva and Filius believe similarly. Charlotte and Katherine say that he is motivated and a quick learner. In short, qualities that, in my mind, remind me also quite a lot of Lily. Would you say the same, Severus? Or do you believe that they are all mistaken in their perception, and you and you alone hold the knowledge of the truth?'
There was another long silence. 'If he really is that, he does not show it,' Snape replied finally.
'Does he not show it, or do you not allow yourself to see it?'
'I did not "not allow myself to see" the greatness of James Potter, either.'
Albus held back a sigh. A pessimistic part of him had feared that this conversation might devolve into this, but he had still nonetheless held out hope that perhaps, Severus and Harry might be able to find some kind of peace. He knew, however, a lost cause when he saw one. To quote a muggle expression, it was time to put away Severus's carrot and bring out the stick.
'Very well,' he said, carefully selecting his words for the desired weight and severity. 'I have to tell you frankly, Severus, then, that I do not care what your opinion of James Potter or Harry is. As a teacher, you have a responsibility to Harry and all other students that pass through your class. This is not simply teaching them how to brew potions, but also to be a reasonable human being. No, Severus, what you did today is not reasonable by any account. If this goes on, you will be suspended from teaching indefinitely.'
'Not like I want to teach, anyway,' Severus growled. He put on an angry façade, but Albus could tell that inside, he was scared.
'You may not, but you have no choice,' Albus replied. 'If this scenario occurs, then you may no longer be able to stay in this castle. Would you prefer to take your chances in the outside world? The former – or rather, not-so-former – Death Eaters may be lying low now, but if my suspicions about the Stone are true, this may not be the case in the not-so-distant future. What will become of you, Severus, then? You have never visited Azkaban, but Bellatrix Lestrange, with what little sanity she has left, believes that you caused the fall of her master. And you know yourself extremely well that she, despite her devotion to Lord Voldemort, has never been afraid to act out her brutal tendencies fully autonomously. Is that an end that you desire?'
'You would not do that to me.'
'I would not like to do that to you,' Albus corrected. 'But if you leave me with no other choice, then I must take the course of action that fulfils my own responsibility as the headmaster of this school. You are valuable, Severus, but you are not unique.'
'Do you understand me?'
Another long and pregnant pause.
'I understand,' Severus finally said, acid in his voice. 'I'll stop myself from giving Potter what he deserves. Is that what you want from me?'
'That will do for now,' Albus answered. 'I want you to remember, Severus, that this will be the last time we have this conversation. If I hear anything of the sort that I have heard today again, I will have to take more drastic actions.'
It appeared to Harry that Hermione had been right, and Professor Cauverina had been able to do something, after all. Snape was in a surlier mood than ever during the practical lesson the following Monday, but at least his constant jibes at Harry had stopped – in fact, he did not even speak to him, except to grade his potion, which, for once, received an 'A' rather than a failing mark. Snape still took far too many points from the Gryffindors and showered them on the Slytherins, and he was still as poor of a teacher as he had been before, but whatever Professor Cauverina, Headmaster Dumbledore, or whoever else had done, had at least made Potions bearable, not just for him, but for Hermione, Neville, and many other Gryffindor students, too.
After his classes ended on Monday, Harry went to Hagrid's hut on the outskirts of the forest for tea. For such an enormous man, Harry thought, Hagrid lived in a rather small and cramped house, with all the furniture seemingly designed for regular-sized humans and not someone who was about three times his height and at least twice his width. Hagrid, to Harry's great joy, had known his parents, and told him stories of when they were in Hogwarts. Harry's father, apparently, was a notorious prankster, for which his mother often berated him. Harry left the hut, his stomach was filled to the brim with tea and rock cakes that were way too hard for his teeth, feeling a new-born sense of warmth somewhere in his heart.
The next few weeks at Hogwarts passed quickly and unremarkably. Classes went on, and students continued their normal lives. At the end of September, trials for the House Quidditch teams were held. Harry, as frightened as ever with the idea of flying at breakneck speed high above the ground, chasing after a red ball while dodging killer black balls, did not bother, though several of his housemates had pushed him to try for the vacant Seeker's position, citing the Rememberall incident as proof that 'he could catch'. He did not bow to peer pressure, though, and in the end, it was Raul who came out on top, becoming the first first-year to become Gryffindor Seeker in over a decade.
Ron, who had also wanted the Seeker position, had sulked for days after the announcement was posted on the notice board in the Gryffindor Common, refusing to talk to Raul. Harry had thought that it might have been the end of their friendship, but several days later, the two made up, seemingly over a game of wizard's chess. Almost immediately, it was back to the old days of loud Quidditch chatter with Seamus in the Common Room, though now, Sally-Anne Perks and Nura Shafiq also joined them. They even lost Gryffindor ten points each from Head Girl Elizabeth Birdwhistle, apparently for playing a game in the corridors in which they yelled oaths at each other as loudly as they could.
Soon, it was approaching the end of October, and the weather in the Scottish Highlands was growing colder. When they went out onto the grounds now for Herbology, or up to the Astronomy Tower for their Wednesday night Astronomy practical, they now had to bundle up in jumpers and cloaks against the wind.
Harry, though, felt another, different sort of coldness. As Ron had shouted to the entire world that day on the train, the thirty-first of October was the day that it had happened – his parents' death and Voldemort's downfall. For the longest time, Harry had forgotten about that conversation in the noise of Hogwarts, but as the end of the month approached, the knowledge that it was soon to be ten years since that day began to cloud his mind more, and Harry could not decide between wanting the day to come and hoping that he could hide himself away and simply not experience October thirty-first at all.
The thirty-first of October brought with it a sort of eerie atmosphere, an atmosphere of death. That morning, Harry woke up early and could not return to sleep, so he went down to the Great Hall, wanting to have breakfast but simply picking at his food. Hermione joined him at the breakfast table some time later, followed soon after by Neville. Neither of them mentioned what they already knew, but Hermione tried to put up an expression of sympathy, which, while appreciated, he did not really need. Neville, meanwhile, simply looked sullen about something, not talking much over breakfast.
The post arrived by owl at its usual time, and Hermione took her copy from around the owl's leg, dropping a Knut into the pouch around its neck. She unrolled the paper and began reading.
'Anything new?' Harry asked. He had posed the same question so many times that the subject – the Gringotts case – was implied.
'Uh…no, I didn't see anything yet,' Hermione said, staring at the front page. 'Maybe…maybe there'll be something inside.'
To Harry's puzzlement, though, she stayed on the front page for the next several minutes, not opening the newspaper. Harry felt confusion and unreasonable excitement break through – what was it about the front page that was so interesting that it was taking Hermione, who could read ten pages of a textbook in five minutes, so long to read?
'Something must have happened, right?' Harry asked, getting a little annoyed. 'Can I please see?'
'Are you sure?' Hermione asked in a small voice, peeking over the paper.
'Yes.'
'It's…uh…it's about…'
'Please,' Harry insisted.
With a trembling hand, Hermione passed the newspaper across the table. Harry, perhaps too eagerly, snatched it from her hands and greedily looked down at the front page, expecting news – be it good or bad.
Decade of Peace, the headline read, and on the line underneath it, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Defeated 10 Years Ago Today by Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived
'I…I'm sorry…' he heard Hermione say quietly. 'I know it's…it's insensitive…'
Perhaps it was insensitive, Harry thought, but it did not trigger a wave of sadness in him. Rather, he felt a sort of resignment mixed with indignation. It was not like anyone he had met really cared that he was an orphan who had his chance at having a normal childhood destroyed by a dark wizard, after all. Nearly all of them only cared – and perhaps rightly so – about how he had defeated Voldemort, so much so that despite being just a schoolboy who had, really, done nothing at all, his name was here, plastered like this over the cover of the Daily Prophet, together with a headline that celebrated only the victory and peace using that awful moniker that he had begun to detest, and which did not even try to remember the price that his parents – and him, even – had paid for it…
'It's fine,' Harry replied. Of course, it was a lie – the day was anything but fine – but Harry wanted nothing less than to forget that the fact that the Daily Prophet had ran the headline at all. In an attempt to suppress his thoughts, he opened up the newspaper to the second page, and there, he was met with yet another headline, this one bringing tidings that he had, for nearly a month, been hoping to hear.
'We were right,' he gasped upon reading it, his thoughts of the headline temporarily forgotten as he was rendered almost unable to speak in delighted shock. 'We were right about what happened at Gringotts.'
'What?' Hermione squeaked, leaping across the table to look at the paper, knocking over her cup but not caring. 'What happened?'
Harry pointed at the headline on the second page – Charges Dropped by Ejwent Asztyrajom in Gringotts Case – Vesnova, Eisele Free from Wizard Custody.
'They really were innocent?' Hermione breathed, her eyes darting down the page, reading the article at high speed. '"The Ejwent Asztyrajom cites insufficient evidence in their decision to drop the charges," it says.' She looked up at Harry. 'So we were right! The real culprit is out there still, and he or she – they framed these two to cover up their tracks!'
'That doesn't make me feel any better,' Neville said darkly, looking rather lost as he read his own copy. 'Whoever actually broke in, they knew that by framing these two women, they were committing them to a lifetime in Azkaban, or worse. If they're willing to do that…what would they be willing to do in order to get…whatever they're after?'
Harry and Hermione exchanged a nervous look. If their hunch was correct, and what was hidden under the forbidden corridor on the third floor really was…
Should they tell Neville what they knew – and what they thought? Perhaps they should, Harry thought. Neville, a student in the school and someone Harry might consider a friend, would be in danger if anything happened. At the same time, though, it was simply a theory – probably a far-fetched one.
And yet the part that it all hinged on had proven true, had it not?
'And I'm sorry about that headline, Harry,' Neville added. 'Hermione was right. It really was in terrible taste. If they ran a headline about…well, I mean…I'm…I'm sorry.'
'It's fine,' Harry said, more firmly, though now that Neville had brought up the topic again, he did not really feel that everything was fine. 'Can we not talk about it? Let's just go to Finding Magic.'
Neville and Hermione, without another word, picked up their things and set off with him from the Great Hall. As they walked, Harry made up his mind – or rather, Neville did it for him. There was a sort of sincerity in Neville's voice which pushed Harry to the conclusion that he should know – maybe not everything, but at least what they knew for sure. It was the least he deserved for being one of the few at Hogwarts to not treat him as an oddity or a freak.
Harry stuck closely to Hermione and Neville all day, anticipating and dreading that because it was the 'anniversary' today, students might want to come up to him to 'thank' him as they had in the first days after he had arrived at Hogwarts – not that he could understand why. Even now, he had no clue what in the world he himself deserved to be thanked for.
To his surprise, though, no one did – though by the looks cast in his direction, several were certainly thinking about it. Many of the denizens of the castle, however, seemed to be in a more festive mood than usual that day, and Harry wished that he could be one of them. Despite his best attempts to keep his mind off the newly realised personal significance of the day, though, he found that he could not.
He could not pay attention in class, no matter how hard he tried. Professor Cauverina seemed understanding in Finding Magic and did not call on Harry or ask much of him, and even in Potions, Professor Snape seemed a little subdued, for once barely taking off points from the Gryffindors nor giving many to the Slytherins. His performance in Defence Against the Dark Arts was even poorer than usual – something not helped by Quirrell's lecturing being even more stuttered, nervous, and incomprehensible than usual. To add on to that, the customary disruption to his magic, to which he had grown accustomed in the last months, felt stronger than ever, and Harry found it unnaturally difficult to not only cast spells, but also to just concentrate.
It did not help matters that today was to be the third of their Charms practical lessons. Second to those of Transfiguration, practicals in Charms were some of the most difficult lessons Harry had had at Hogwarts. Today, Professor Flitwick divided the class into random pairs to work on the Levitation Charm, the theory of which they had covered in class for the better part of the past week. Unfortunately for Harry, who had hoped that he might be paired with Hermione or Neville, or someone unobtrusive like Dean, Professor Flitwick had instead partnered him with Tracey Davis.
Professor Flitwick passed out the feathers that they were to levitate as Tracey Davis walked over to Harry's desk, wand in her hand. She gave a muttered 'hello', not even looking at Harry. Thankfully, Hermione, who, also to her great dismay, had been partnered with Ron, took the place next to Harry, while Neville and Seamus stood two desks away.
Despite his initial dread, working with Tracey Davis was not as bad as he had imagined. They did not really talk except for simple commands like 'here', or 'you try', which made the class rather awkward, but Harry supposed that it was better than the possible alternative. Tracey Davis was at least preferable to being paired with Malfoy or Parkinson for sure. Plus, especially on this day in particular, he felt like he would rather have a partner who did not speak much to him than someone like Ron, who, despite seemingly beginning to grow out of his 'hero worship' for Harry in the recent weeks, was still sometimes unbearably annoying.
They got to work trying to levitate the feather, Harry following his notes on Simple Charms of Inanimate Motion. Despite, in his opinion, having a reasonably good grasp on the theory and principles behind this subdivision of charms – which were intended to give an inanimate and non-magical object a single, directed motion – performing the spell correctly was far from simple – especially today. Once or twice, Harry thought he saw his feather twitch on the table, but that, he supposed pessimistically, could have simply been due to the wind.
About halfway through the one-and-a-half-hour class, Seamus accidentally caused his feather to explode in his and Neville's faces. Professor Flitwick immediately sent both boys, whose faces were now sooty and whose hair was slightly singed, but thankfully not visibly injured, to the Hospital Wing. Some of the students – even some Gryffindors – laughed at their unfortunate appearance, and Harry, in spite of everything, managed a chuckle.
Neither Harry nor Tracey nor anyone else in the class had much luck with the feather until, at less than twenty minutes left, Hermione managed to levitate her feather about half a metre into the air. It floated there, almost perfectly still, for nearly ten seconds, before giving a wobble and falling back onto the table. Hermione lowered her wand, panting a little.
'Well done!' Professor Flitwick called from the front of the classroom. 'Well done, Miss Granger! Thirty points to Gryffindor for a great display of the Levitation Charm!'
Hermione looked rather proud of herself, but Ron, who was standing next to her, had a sour expression on his face as he tapped his wand impatiently against the table. His eyes darted between Hermione and the feather on the table, holding the same angry and disgruntled expression as he looked at both.
'Do you want to try, Ron?' Hermione asked, sounding unmistakeably inflated.
Ron grunted and raised his wand, pointing it at the feather. 'Wingardium Leviosa,' he mumbled.
Nothing happened. The feather did not lift off the table or even move.
'Wingardium Leviosa!' he growled.
'You're not going to get the spell to work by shouting at the feather,' Hermione said in a lecture-like voice. 'Remember what Professor Flitwick said? You need to – '
'I don't need you to lecture me, Granger,' Ron snarled, his voice venomous. 'I can do magic, too, if you haven't noticed. Just because you were the first to get the spell doesn't mean you're superior!'
'I didn't say I was – '
'You don't need to say it to mean it! "You're not going to get the spell to work by shouting at the feather,"' Ron snapped in a mocking, overly-nasal imitation of Hermione's voice. '"Remember what Professor Flitwick said in class? All you need to perform the spell is to be as clever as me. It's that easy!"'
'Ron, you were having trouble,' Hermione responded, her voice sounding like there were tears in her eyes. 'I was just trying to help!'
'Well, I don't need your help,' Ron said caustically. 'But I get it. It's impossible for you to act normal and not boss people around like the self-righteous know-it-all goody-two-shoes that you are.'
Hermione's jaw dropped open, and she took a half-step back from the table, her eyes glistening with tears. Ron threw his wand down on the table and sat down, muttering something that Harry could not comprehend, shooting Hermione a dirty look.
'Who are you to call anyone a "self-righteous know-it-all goody-two-shoes", Ron?' Harry demanded, clenching his fists, all his emotions that had built up through the day looking for release and finding a ready and deserving target. 'Hermione wasn't trying to boss you around. If it were me, I would've told you the same thing. You weren't doing it right at all.'
Ron ignored this completely, pretending not to hear and staring off into the distance. Hermione, too, sat down, burying her face in her hands. Harry thought that he should say something to her, tell her that Ron was wrong, but he did not trust himself to say the right things. Especially not now, not today.
In the time that he had been looking away, Tracey had managed to levitate her feather, earning Slytherin five points. 'Do you want to try?' she asked quietly.
Harry shrugged, shaking his head. 'I'm fine, thanks.'
The practical lesson ended, and Harry was among the first out of the door, wanting nothing less than to go back up to Gryffindor Tower and lock himself away for the rest of the night – or perhaps even the entire weekend. As he walked briskly ahead of everyone else, he could hear Ron's voice behind him.
'"You're not going to levitate the feather by shouting at it!"' he shouted in an even more insulting mime of Hermione's voice. 'What a nightmare, honestly. I have no idea why anyone bothers with her.'
'Maybe they just want homework help,' a girl's voice – it sounded like Nura's – suggested. 'Many of them could definitely use it.'
'Still, that's a lot to put up with, for homework,' Ron said cuttingly, and Harry could hear murmurs of agreement from his friends.
Harry tuned them out as he walked the rest of the way back to Gryffindor Tower, not needing to hear this right now. When he arrived, he climbed through the portrait hole and walked straight across the Common Room to the staircases to the Dormitories, not stopping to sit down or chat with anyone.
He laid down on his bed the moment he entered his room, throwing his things down on the floor and drawing the curtains violently. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him so that he could avoid replaying the last eight hours, but as hard as he tried, he could not, for his mind seemed to insist on pushing introspection to the fore.
His parents had died at night on that day ten years ago, he had seen in the newspaper. Ten years ago today, they would still have been alive. What were they doing? Perhaps one of them was making dinner while the other played with him? Or were they at their workplace, about to come home to what they had believed would be a peaceful and restful night? Or were they, perhaps, running from Voldemort and his henchmen and fighting for their lives? Did they at least die happy? Was it quick? Or was it…
He would rather not think about that possibility.
If he could build a time machine that could take him ten years back, to this exact day, at this exact hour, would he be able to save them? If he had to be truthful to himself, he probably could not – what could an eleven-year-old wizard who could barely levitate a feather do against purportedly the most feared Dark Lord in the history of the British Isles? Or perhaps, it would even backfire – he had heard about the time travel paradoxes that could leave someone un-born – but would he at least try?
Six-thirty came, but Harry did not want to go down to dinner, preferring to stay right there where he was. His stomach, however, disagreed, and reluctantly, he dragged himself out of bed and down to the Great Hall. He wanted to sit alone, away from anyone else, but to his dismay, the hall was already nearly full. Grudgingly, he took a seat across from Neville, and began shovelling food onto his plate.
Neville, for his part, did not try to talk to him – he looked to be immersed in his own thoughts, anyway. Harry glanced up at the head table, and somehow, many of the teachers sitting there seemed more sullen than usual, too. Professor Snape, Harry noticed, was not in the Great Hall at all, and neither was Professor Quirrell.
It was not until it had been five minutes after he had sat down that he realised that Hermione was missing, the place that Neville had saved for her sitting empty. 'Where's Hermione?' he asked.
Neville shook his head. 'I'm not sure,' he replied. 'I…uh…did you hear what Ron was saying to Nura and Lavender and Raul after Charms?'
Harry nodded, grimacing at the memory of Ron's words.
'She heard that, I think,' Neville said, dropping his voice to barely above a whisper. 'I saw her running off the other way. Apparently, Parvati said that she was in the second-floor girls' lavatory all afternoon, crying.'
Harry looked at Hermione's empty seat nervously. 'Should we…should we ask someone to look for her?'
'Maybe,' Neville said. 'Definitely if she still hasn't come back to the Common Room after dinner.'
'Maybe we should bring her some food, too,' Harry suggested. 'If she hadn't eaten – '
Suddenly, the door to the Great Hall burst open, and in charged Professor Quirrell, an expression of panic on his face. He was running so fast that his turban was almost falling off, and he had to reach up and adjust it every several seconds to prevent it from coming undone.
Headmaster Dumbledore stood up at the head table. 'What is it, Quirinus?'
'T-Troll!' Professor Quirrell shouted, his face paling as he spoke. 'A t-troll is l-loose!'
The headmaster's expression suddenly turned serious. 'Where is this troll, Quirinus?'
'Th-The dungeons, H-Headmaster. Th-That's where it e-escaped, a-at least,' Quirrell called back. Just as he uttered the last syllable, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor of the Great Hall.
The Great Hall erupted into immediate panic, but Dumbledore raised his wand into the air and let off a sound reminiscent of a cannon blast, silencing the room.
'Prefects! You are to lead your students back to your Dormitories!' Dumbledore ordered. 'Make sure that there are no stragglers, and be ready for a possible encounter with the troll. Remember the troll-fighting spells that you have been taught. Slytherin students are to remain in the Great Hall with their Prefects until the dungeons are cleared. Teachers will go with me to the dungeons to investigate. Now!'
The Prefects rose and began shouting orders to their Houses, lining them up before marching them out of the Great Hall. For an evacuation before the threat of a troll, it was quite orderly, with the students walking in neat lines, sandwiched between Prefects with their wands out and heads on a swivel, looking around every corner for any sign of the troll.
As they were walking up the staircase to the second-floor landing, however, Harry suddenly, to his terror, realised something. Everyone in the Great Hall had been told that there was a troll, but anyone who wasn't in the Great Hall…
'Neville,' he breathed, his blood freezing in his veins. 'Hermione doesn't know about the troll.'
Neville stopped in his tracks, and Dean, who was walking behind him, nearly crashed into him and fell. 'You're right. She wouldn't.'
'We need to go tell her. Now,' Harry decided. 'Or better, we need to get her out of the lavatory and back to Gryffindor Tower.'
'She was in the second-floor lavatory,' Neville said. 'But…how are we going to – '
'We'll keep to the back of the students on the landing and slip away,' Harry decided, pushing Neville towards the right side of the staircase, hoping to end up in the back of the pack of students now waiting on the landing.
Harry and Neville squeezed into the back of the pack as the Gryffindor students made a left turn on the landing to go up the next flight of stairs. The movement of the students suited them, pushing them into the darkness behind the open archway to the left-hand side corridor on the second floor. Now in the darkness and hidden by the mass of students, they slipped away down the corridor, Harry taking the lead.
They made a right at the end of the corridor, then a left. The corridors were now completely deserted and silent, even the sounds of the students still evacuating on the main staircase now faded. They walked briskly, hoping to reach Hermione as quickly as possible. Soon, they had passed the main Charms classroom, and reached the door of the girls' lavatory.
Harry walked up and knocked on the door. 'Hermione?' he called.
He waited for a few seconds, but there was no answer. 'Hermione!' he repeated, louder, knocking on the door again. 'Are you in there?'
'Harry?' came Hermione's muffled, congested voice. 'What're you doing here?'
'You need to come out, Hermione!' Harry called. 'There's a troll in the castle!'
'Go on your own,' Hermione replied, evidently not getting the point. 'I…I have a…a…uh…stomach flu.'
'No, you don't understand!' Harry shouted. 'There's a troll! A giant troll! Professor Quirrell came into the Great Hall in a panic and shouted that there was a troll in the dungeon! Everyone's to return to their dormitories. You need to come out!'
'Headmaster Dumbledore ordered everyone to!' Harry added desperately, hoping that a teacher's word might get her to comply.
Hermione did not reply, and Harry waited for a long moment, wondering if he would have to go into the lavatory himself and get her out – and dreading that he might have to. What if the troll had left the dungeon? What if it was on their floor? Every second wasted added to the probability that they could be in real danger.
Thankfully, the door opened, and on the other side stood Hermione. Her eyes were puffy and her hair was messy. The collar of her shirt was wet, Harry noticed, and her face bore a frantic expression.
'What? There's a what in the castle?' she asked, her voice closer to a gasp.
'A troll,' Harry replied. 'We're supposed to go back to our Common Rooms. Let's go already!'
Hermione took several moments to process that, but when she did, her countenance paled significantly. 'But…but how?' she demanded, seemingly wanting to deny it to herself. 'They're supposed to be huge! How does – '
'I don't know!' Harry snapped impatiently. 'But let's not wait around so we can ask it when we meet it! Come on!'
Without another word, Harry began running back up the corridor. As he ran, he turned his head back, and to his relief, Hermione and Neville were right behind them. He made a right turn at the end of the second corridor, retracing the path from which they had come.
That was when Harry saw it. Ahead of him, on their side of the intersection from the main second-floor left-hand corridor, was an enormous hominid figure, nearly two times as tall as Hagrid. It was dressed in leather rags, and in its right hand was an enormous wooden club, about as long as Harry was tall. Its face bore an empty but somehow still vicious expression.
'Bloody hell,' Hermione whispered from behind him. 'Is that…'
'That's a fully grown mountain troll,' Neville breathed. 'Gran's told me about them. They're…they're one of the most aggressive types of trolls. What could it be – '
'Well, what do we do?' Hermione asked.
'Run away, what else?' Harry answered. 'Let's go!'
He spun around on his heels and began running as fast as he could back in the direction of the girls' lavatory. At the end of the corridor, he made a left turn, hoping that the corridor might loop back to the other side of the intersection that the troll had blocked.
'Where're we going?' Hermione demanded, panting as she ran.
'I don't know! Away from the troll!'
Behind them, Harry could hear the troll's heavy footsteps, the bangs that its club was making against the floor and the walls. He looked behind them. The troll was not there, but there was no doubt that it was in hot pursuit.
Harry made another left turn, retracing the third side of the rectangle. At the end of that corridor was another intersection, and Harry made a left turn, knowing that they were almost there.
To his horror, however, the corridor that they had turned down was not the corridor that led to the other end of the first intersection after the staircases. Instead, it was terminated after several metres by a wooden door. Harry looked behind him at the corridor on the opposite side of the intersection, and he was shocked to find that though it was slightly longer than the one they were in, it, too, was a dead end.
'Unlock the door, Hermione,' Harry begged, seeing that it was their only avenue of escape.
Hermione walked up to the door, drawing her wand. 'Alohomora!'
Unlike the lock in the third-floor corridor, however, this lock did not click open. 'Alohomora!', Hermione tried again, a little more forcefully, but again, there was no effect. She jiggled the door handle in desperation, but it was as firmly locked as ever.
'What do we do?' Hermione asked, panicking at the sound of the troll's footsteps, which were growing louder by the second. 'Can it see us if we try to hide in a shadow?'
Neville shook his head, trembling. 'It won't do any good. Trolls mostly hunt by smell.'
Harry gulped, his mind already imagining the worst possibilities, but Hermione looked like she had a sudden idea. Unexpectedly, she pulled her outer robes over her head, dropping it on the ground at her feet, near the opening of the corridor.
'Take off your robes,' she commanded. 'If the troll hunts by smell, maybe we can distract it by giving it something else to smell.'
Harry understood what Hermione was trying to do at once and began to remove his own outer robes. Neville, meanwhile, looked confused and extremely uncomfortable at the sight of the two of them removing their robes.
'Do it,' Harry told him, stacking his robes on top of Hermione's.
'But why?' Neville asked.
'When…uh…when muggle criminals try to evade police dogs,' Harry answered, trying to explain the concept based on the television serials that he had been forced to sit through with Aunt Petunia, 'sometimes, they put their clothes somewhere they're not actually at as a decoy. It's supposed to fool the dogs' smell.'
Neville looked more confused than ever, but he, too, pulled his outer robes over his head and dropped them on top of the pile. Hermione bent down and rubbed the clothes around the ground a little, peeking around the corner to look out for the troll.
'This way,' Hermione hissed, dashing across the junction to the other corridor. Harry and Neville, without question, followed her intuition. As Harry crossed, he saw the troll turn around the corner, dragging its club along the ground with a harsh screech.
They all flattened themselves against the back wall, as far from the junction as possible. Seconds turned into hours as they waited, the troll's footsteps growing closer. Harry wondered what would happen if Hermione's trick did not work. Would it hurt to be killed by a troll? Would it at least be quick?
The troll's club was the first thing that Harry saw. He held his breath as the troll walked slowly into the junction, and he could tell that Neville and Hermione were doing the same. In the silence, Harry could hear the troll's sniffing after their scent.
The troll turned its head in their direction, and Harry's blood froze in his veins. He closed his eyes, readying himself for the charge and the swing of the club that would doubtlessly follow.
But the troll did not charge. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes, and to his surprise, the troll was still standing in the junction. Now, however, it was facing to the left, its head bowed, examining the pile of robes that they had left with curiosity.
'Wait,' Hermione whispered. 'Make a run for it when I say "now".'
The troll bent down slightly and using its club, picked up one of the robes that they had left behind. It raised it to its nose and gave it a long sniff. A small, irrational part of Harry's brain that did not seem to understand the gravity of the situation hoped that the one that it had picked up was not his, for if it were, he would be looking at buying a new set of outer robes.
'Now!' Hermione called, and as one, the three of them charged forward. Before the troll could even begin to react, they had turned the corner.
'Don't look back!' Hermione shouted as they made the first right.'
Harry did not need to look back, for at that moment, the sound of heavy stomping behind them signalled that the troll had realised what was happening. That, however, did not frighten Harry. Save for another troll, their way to safety was clear.
They turned right again, then another right. The sound of the troll's footsteps grew fainter as they ran. Finally, they reached the original junction to the main second-floor right-hand corridor, and saw the light of the arched portal ahead. They were almost there.
It was a straight dash to the doorway, somewhat reminiscent of the one-hundred metre dashes that the teachers had had him run in school. He was always good at those – running away from Dudley had been good training – and this was no different.
At long last, they reached the doorway, and the three of them ducked through as quickly as they can onto an empty landing. The students had, evidently, already returned to their Common Rooms. He wondered where the teachers were. Were they still in the dungeon, searching for the troll? Should he perhaps tell someone that he knew where the troll was?
Harry peeked back into the corridor behind him as the stairs moved into place, but the troll had not yet gotten there. Not wishing to stick around to meet it again, Harry dashed up the stairs alongside Neville and Hermione to safety.
They were so exhausted from the running that it took them nearly twice as long as usual to return to Gryffindor Tower, having to stop frequently along the way to rest. When they finally climbed through the portrait hole to the Common Room, they found it deserted.
'Where are everyone?' Neville asked.
'Maybe Professor McGonagall sent them up to the dormitories,' Hermione suggested. 'Let's go up.'
They walked to the bottom of the spiral staircases in silence, and there, Hermione turned to Harry and Neville, blushing and looking at her feet. 'I…well…I should say thank you, both of you,' she started. 'If you hadn't come when you had…'
'No, don't think about that,' Harry said, also starting to stare at his shoes. 'Uh…if it weren't for your…your idea with the robes…'
'Well…uh…I didn't know that trolls hunt by smell,' Hermione objected. 'So…uh…thank you for saving us, Neville.'
Neville made a gurgling sound. 'If it…er…if it weren't for Harry's quick thinking, though…'
They all looked up simultaneously, all three of them blushing scarlet and staring at each other, not knowing what to say. 'Well, good night, then,' Hermione said awkwardly, breaking the silence.
Neville cleared his throat. 'Good mor – I mean…good night.'
'Good night,' Harry added, and they split up, returning to their respective dormitories. When they pushed open the door, they saw the other four boys already there, sitting on Raul's bed and looking on as he and Ron played a game of wizard's chess.
He and Neville stepped in, and every set of eyes turned to fix onto them. 'Where were you?' Seamus asked. 'You were in the Great Hall with us, and then you disappeared.'
Harry and Neville exchanged a look. 'We got…uh…lost with students from another House,' Harry lied. 'Professor Cauverina brought us back.'
The others seemed to buy it, and Harry, feeling exhausted, laid down on his bed. He closed his eyes, and immediately, he felt like a deflated balloon, all the energy having been sucked out of him. His mind was not even able to rebelliously replay the day's events back to him before he slipped off into sleep.
