The next morning, Harry realised once again that Hogwarts was unfortunately in Scotland and not in the Caribbean. The weather was just as miserable as he felt. The autumn chill was gradually creeping into his bones and he felt constantly clammy and shivery. In September, it could only get worse.
To his great relief, Dean joined him in the Great Hall while Ron and Hermione continued to argue about S.P.E.W. That way Harry had some distraction and didn't have to listen to the two of them bickering all the time.
Dean poured himself a coffee and offered Harry some too. Harry felt strangely touched by this simple gesture. It warmed his drowsy soul that Dean was looking after him in some way, as he had yesterday. He even asked how Harry had slept. Harry preferred to keep his strange dream about his classmate to himself and replied that he couldn't remember anything. He hoped Dean didn't notice the blush creeping up his face, Harry wasn't a gifted liar.
Afterwards, Harry tried to rouse his spirits by sniffing his cup. But coffee, he must say, was like unicorn blood. It kept him alive somehow, just barely, but it was half a life from then on – a cursed life.
'Tell me,' Dean began, his brown eyes scanning the teacher's desk thoughtfully, 'where's Hagrid anyway?'
Harry winced inwardly, he was very worried about his big friend, but he'd rather not show that to Dean. Then he would have to explain to him why he was worried and Harry didn't know how to explain all of it without mentioning the Order of the Phoenix and other secret whatnot.
'No idea, we'd like to know too,' Harry replied evasively, which wasn't a lie.
'Hm,' Dean grumbled. 'I don't care that he's a half-giant, you know.'
'Well, you shouldn't anyway,' Harry said, his tone sharper than intended.
Dean turned to him, sipping his coffee. 'Hagrid's a great bloke, I get on well with him. Okay, his lessons are –'
Harry's eyes narrowed and his hand unconsciously tightened around his fork. Don't Dean dare criticise Hagrid's phenomenally deadly lessons!
Dean, however, didn't miss Harry's gesture and hastened to say: '– great. Great lessons. Can't wait till he's back!' He nodded emphatically and hurriedly continued drinking his coffee.
'Yes, indeed. Grubbly-Plank's only half as good!' Harry hissed, stuffing porridge into his mouth even though he wasn't hungry.
Dean sat sheepishly next to him and munched on his toast.
Among other things, the Vanishing-Charm was on the agenda in Transfiguration this year, but Harry just couldn't get the hang of it. Just as his nightmares, worries and extremely annoying classmates wouldn't disappear, the snail he had been given to practise with wasn't making any attempt to vanish as well. Instead, his snail crawled slowly but determinedly towards the edge of the table. Harry assumed it was about to plunge to its death and couldn't blame it. There were certainly better things in life than having a boy in front of you waving a stick around and shouting 'Evanesco!' more and more desperately by the minute.
Dean next to him had started tapping rhythmically on the snail's house with his wand, humming 'Smells like Teen Spirit'.
'You know, Harry – the Vanishing-Charm is great when you think about it, innit?' he said as his snail tried to take flight.
Harry shrugged. 'I guess so, otherwise we wouldn't learn it.'
'The biggest motivation would be to make Umbridge disappear with it, eh?' Dean chuckled and Harry grinned. His classmate wasn't too bad at cheering him up a bit, Harry realised. It was good to just be able to laugh about something instead of listening to his friends argue or dwell on his own glum thoughts.
'Mr Thomas, stop abusing your snail as a drum and practise the charm! Mr Potter, your snail is stuck under the table,' Professor McGonagall said sternly, her eyes sliding back to Dean. 'The charm doesn't work on humans, by the way, Mr Thomas.'
'Shame. Professor, I had a thought …'
'Yes, Mr Thomas?'
'Where does the snail actually disappear to?'
'Well, that's not for you to worry about.'
'Are we killing the snails?' Dean asked with wide eyes.
Hermione's, who had succeeded on her third attempt, mouth fell open and looked at her wand in horror.
Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes in annoyance. 'No, of course you're not killing the snails!'
'Yes, but where are they disappearing to?'
Although the question was exciting, it entailed a very, very dull explanation with diagrams and formulae on the blackboard, and so Harry's brain simply shut down. Dean's blank look showed that he had also switched to energy-saving mode. Well, great minds think alike or nothing at all.
Homework was starting to pile up, so Harry and Ron saw no other option but to skip lunch and go to the library. Dean asked if he could accompany Harry and Ron. Harry was happy to have him around, Ron seemed rather confused.
'Lemme get this straight,' Ron said as Dean pushed open the door to the library, 'Seamus and Lavender are a couple now. And Seamus doesn't have time for you anymore. And that's why you're hanging around with us?'
Dean sighed. 'Well, not exactly … Seamus is bugging me about the Daily Prophet. He really wants me to be on his side, whatever this site is supposed to be.'
Harry wasn't particularly good at naming or interpreting his feelings, and Divination or keeping a dream diary (which he wasn't planning to do anyway) didn't help either. Perhaps this "psychological counselling", which the Wizarding World had apparently never heard of, would help him. But at that moment, something fluffy and warm spread through him and his stomach relaxed. It was too nice to think that Dean was ditching his best friend and decided to 'waste' spend his time with Harry, because Dean would rather believe him than this rag called Daily Prophet that the British Wizarding World worshipped without rhyme or reason.
'Harry?'
He looked up, lost in thought; he had stopped in the middle of the library and was staring at nothing, Ron and Dean looking at him with furrowed brows.
'You all right?' Ron asked cautiously.
'Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking,' Harry talked himself out of it and started moving again.
''Bout what?'
Harry frowned puzzled and gave Dean an uncomprehending look. Well … Then he realised that Ron would never have thought to ask that. Hermione had. But Harry was used to that from Hermione.
'Er … Homework – the Vanishing Charm – you name it …'
Dean grinned wryly. 'Is that so? Those are the things you think about?'
For reasons Harry couldn't quite explain, his cheeks turned red and he tried to snort dismissively.
The three of them found a table and spread out their stuff to finally start on the moonstone essay. Since Hermione was still offended with Ron, she was absent and so they both looked expectantly at Dean, who sighed deeply, opened the book and helped them cobble together the essay with the patience of an angel.
In the afternoon they were on their way to Care of Magical Creatures. Dean pestered Harry and Ron to get them to practise the Vanishing Charm with him later, if Harry and he could find the time after detention. Hermione rejoined them, Harry crossing his fingers that she and Ron wouldn't be at each other's throats again after two minutes.
As expected, the lesson was given by Professor Grubbly-Plank, who refused to tell Harry where Hagrid was (stupid cow!) and then, of course, Malfoy had to make ominous hints about what might have happened to Hagrid.
Frustrated, worried and close to another migraine, Harry sat on the grass in a bad mood, trying to keep the creature they were given still – a Bowtruckle. It was their job to draw the thing. Fortunately, Dean was a very good draughtsman and willing to share his knowledge with them.
'Professor Grubbly-Plank?'
'Yes, Mr Thomas,' the teacher replied, annoyed, because one or two Bowtruckles had already dashed off to the Forbidden Forest.
'Can I draw with something other than a quill? That's not at all suitable for this and –'
Professor Grubbly-Plank sighed deeply. 'Look, Mr Thomas, I don't care what you draw the Bowtruckle with, as long as you draw it. In silence.' With these words, she stomped off, catching the Bowtruckle that had escaped Harry's too-tight grip and badly mauled his hand.
He'd almost crushed the poor creature by accident, having to listen to Draco's bollocks about how if Hagrid turned up again they'd sack him anyway. Ever since the graveyard incident, Harry's nerves had been pretty frayed and he wanted to go over to Malfoy and ram his fist into his face really, really hard because that would be so much more satisfying than firing a curse at that twit.
Dean put a hand on his arm, startling Harry out of his violent thoughts.
'Malfoy's a git, just ignore him. Believe me, it'll upset him ten times more than if you speak up to him.
Come on, I'll help you with your drawing and your hand,' he offered with a smile. He reached for Harry's wrist so that he could take a closer look at his wound.
A pleasant tingling sensation spread through Harry's entire body from the spot Dean was touching and Harry wondered if Dean was already doing magic or if he was hallucinating for good. But either way, Harry just felt good, so he let his classmate, who actually had some gauze with him and was bandaging the wound, do his thing. Dean said that he had learnt one thing early on at Hogwarts: injuries were normal, surprisingly common, and you could never carry enough bandages around with you.
After Harry's hand was fixed, Dean went back to drawing, handing Harry a pencil and his own drawing as an example.
Dean's Bowtruckle had turned out exceptionally well for the short time they'd had to draw it (and until Harry's Bowtruckle had scolded off).
Dean made a few simple strokes, showing the basic shape of the creature. 'Always start with simple shapes, then add the details. Like this …'
Harry, Ron and Hermione watched him intently. Dean made it look so easy, Harry thought. With his tongue between his lips, Harry put his pencil down and tried to copy Dean's drawing.
It looked bad. Like a car accident. Or a natural disaster. But not like a Bowtruckle.
'Very good, Harry! I know, I know, it doesn't look that great now!' Dean said, as Harry was already grimacing and trying to tell him that it rather resembled a drawing by a blind three-year-old.
'Trust the process, Harry. Practice makes perfect. It's quite normal for it to look like this at first.'
'Okay, your homework is to finish your Bowtruckle drawing. You are dismissed,' shouted Professor Grubbly-Plank and collected the Bowtruckles that had not yet made a getaway.
Next up was Herbology, the subject where you were pretty sure to smell like dragon poo afterwards. Professor Sprout also took the opportunity to remind everyone of their O. Harry could feel his stomach churning, he had a pile of homework and detention on his hands. How was he going to get it all done in time?
Harry mentally formulated a complaint to Professor Dumbledore, partly because he pretended Harry didn't exist and partly because you couldn't do that much homework unless you slaved away all night. Then Harry realised that he was rubbish at writing and imagined Hermione writing the complaint while Ron said something and then they started bickering.
Nice. Not even in Harry's mind could the two of them get along – splendid.
Someone patted him gently on the back as the class left the greenhouse smelling of dung. Harry flinched, Dean smiled encouragingly at him.
'You look worried, Harry. Fearing detention?'
Harry puffed out his cheeks and let the air out slowly. 'Lots of homework. We're halfway through Snape's essay, but we've got so much more on our plate.'
Dean nodded sympathetically. 'Yeah, I feel you. I'd love to know if the Muggles are that crazy too, about school and homework, I mean.'
Hermione raised her head. 'It depends on which academic path you want to take. In the British Wizarding World, there's obviously only this one, but in the Muggle World, there are lots of schools and –'
Harry zoned out and felt his stomach grumble, he was very hungry. He quickened his pace, arrived at the Gryffindor table and, without putting his bag down, grabbed something to eat.
'Hey, Harry!'
'What now?' he groaned annoyed and hastily stuffed more lamb chops into his mouth.
Angelina Johnson had become captain of the Quidditch team and stomped towards Harr, scowling.
He got an angry lecture about how dare he get himself detention on Friday when the try-outs for the new keeper were coming up.
'Let him eat, was a rough day,' Dean said placatingly to Angelina.
She only gave him a quick glance. 'Harry, I don't care how you do it, tell her You Know Who is a figment your imagination, but get out of detention! I want the whole team together, understood?'
Before Harry could answer, she had already stormed off.
Dean shook his head. 'Sweet Jesus …'
'We'd better check if Oliver Wood kicked the bucket. Angelina's behaving like she's channeling his spirit …'
Dean and Ron giggled at Harry's joke.
Ron wondered how likely it was that Umbridge had let Harry off the hook on Friday.
Dean snorted. 'Zero? If she realises Harry's up to something important on Friday, she'll even end up keeping him extra late to smack him.'
Harry chewed thoughtfully. 'Does that mean I shouldn't even give it a try?'
Dean shrugged. 'Doesn't matter that much. You won't get out of it if you ask me.'
Harry shot him a dark look. 'Thanks.'
He gave Harry a broad smile and leant forward slightly. 'We'll get through this together.'
Harry blinked in confusion. For a moment, the intricate cogs in his head interlocked until he remembered that Dean meant detention, of course, but for a split nano-second, there was this insane idea that Dean also meant all the other madness Harry had been stuck in since the end of last June. Although he realised immediately what Dean had been talking about, the idea had been nice. But why did Harry like the idea so much when he had Ron? And Hermione? And a very bad-tempered Sirius … He wasn't exactly alone, so why was wishing Dean was there for him so appealing?
While Harry twisted and turned these confusing thoughts in his mushy brain – and Dean practised the Vanishing Charm on Brussels sprouts next to him, which nobody liked anyway – the first, ominous hour of detention approached inexorably.
As Harry spoke out loud again about everything they had on the list, Ron looked up and groaned that it was probably going to rain on top of all of this.
Hermione wondered what that had to do with homework, but Ron just got red ears and said, 'Nothing!'
Harry frowned and glanced at Dean, whose first Brussels sprout was indeed gone. But judging by the puzzled look on his face, Dean couldn't make sense of Ron's concern either.
It was five o'clock, Harry said a grumpy goodbye to Ron and Hermione and left the common room with Dean.
'What d'you think she'll let us do?' Harry wondered aloud.
'Not magic, obviously,' Dean said, wrinkling his nose, making Harry laugh softly, Dean joining in.
They stopped outside Professor Umbridge's office.
'Ready, Harry?'
'Nope.'
'That's the spirit.'
