Part 11
A/N I've never written anything this long before, and am having a serious case of trots of the typewriter. This chapter is hella long. Sorry?
A summary of the major plot points so far:
- The Dursleys tried to kill Harry by starving to death.
- Dobby saved Harry by taking him to an independent healers' clinic (HC).
- Harry has (justifiable) issues with Ron which take time to fix, and Harry starts hanging more with Neville, who also has a pretty awful home life.
- Pettigrew is revealed, freeing Sirius, who then works to 1) heal himself and Harry mentally (through therapy) and 2) find a home for himself and Harry
- This leads to Sirius cursing Voldemort's magic, which leads to all the death eaters being in awful, constant pain, and many of them killing themselves
Of course, I've left about 200 pages of details out. But in case you went on hiaitus and decided to rejoin this dirge, that's about where we are.
~~ On with the show, this is it ~~
"Last day of freedom. Ready to celebrate the beginning of the last term with a fantastic lunch out in Edinburgh?" Sirius asked.
Harry looked up from his family grimoire. He had spent the morning reading some of the historical parts of it and found, even without analyzing the magical bits, it was simply fascinating.
"I invited Remus to go with us, if you don't mind."
For a moment, Harry thought Sirius looked nervous. But the slightly manic, happy grin reappeared. "No, that's fine."
Sirius led the way to an excellent Nepalese restaurant. He was asking Harry about the remaining quidditch for the year, with Remus adding in what he'd observed about the teams, when they walked through the door.
"Table for four?" Sirius asked.
Harry's brow furrowed.
They sat, drinking water and green tea, when a new voice joined the group.
"Good afternoon. I hope I am not too tardy; we had several walk ins at HC this morning."
"Dr. Dan!" Though Harry was at the HC weekly, he was there on Sundays, which was usually Daniel's day off. Harry hadn't seen his personal hero since September.
Sirius stood, his eyes warm as he introduced the doctor. "Daniel, this is my oldest friend, Remus Lupin. Moony, this is Harry's Dr. Dan."
Remus stood and smiled gently, shaking the doctor's hand. As the three men sat, Remus looked between the doctor and his friend with a bit of a smile. Dan relaxed seeing it.
They chatted for a few minutes about what they had been doing. Harry talked of school and his outside studies, Sirius talked about Grimmauld and how close he was to finishing the place, Remus talked of teaching as a new professor, while Daniel had input and questions for all.
"How do you guys know each other?" Harry asked, seemingly oblivious to the undertones of the meeting.
"I ran into Daniel at the HC when I dropped by after working on Grimmauld. We've been spending a bit of time together."
"Cool," Harry said then smiled at the plate of food that had been placed in front of him. "This looks phenomenal! Thanks!" Harry smiled up at the server who smiled and nodded a bit in return.
As he tucked in, Harry asked about how Healer Butz and the rest were doing. After updating on all of the adults that Harry knew from the summer but hadn't really seen, Daniel spoke of Harry's work with Master Fezziwig. "Your acting apprentice has given Crispin time to do quite a bit of outside work. He's got an ointment in mind for the Burning, but it's still early stages."
Harry nodded. "We were talking about that last week. I forgot to ask him about the new variant – that got through early-stage trials, right?"
"Indeed." Daniel turned to the other two men. "Our potions master has developed a new variant of the wolfsbane potion that he is doing clinical trials on."
Remus looked sharply at the doctor, who smiled gently. He knew. Somehow.
Of course, to a savvy healer, the scars would be telling.
"What are the differences he's introduced?"
"Well, on the clinical side, it has fewer negative side-effects. The torpor induction is mostly absent. The wolf spirit seems to accept this treatment more, as it does not completely poison the creature with aconite, but instead has a more gradual, sustained release. It's a weekly potion, instead of a monthly one. A more holistic treatment, in general," Daniel picked up his spoon, then added, "Of course, the original potion is the stepping stone that got him there. I mean no criticism of it."
"Of course not! But it sounds amazing. You said that he is in trial stages?" Remus asked.
Daniel swallowed his bit of food and nodded. "Yes. He is currently looking for subjects willing to test in situ. The in vivo studies showed much less cell damage than the current potion; in vitro occurred with a group of four wolves who remained in HC while testing… Oh, this is not lunch time conversation. I apologize."
Remus shook his head, "Me, too. But I am very interested. Are you looking for volunteers for in situ?"
"We are always looking for volunteers. Harry can get you Crispin's particulars if you choose to follow through. He has become quite the staple in the potions' lab, between his apprentice work, his basilisk venom contributions, and his parsel strengthening spells."
Remus gave Harry a bit of a look when he heard about the basilisk venom and parsel spells. "Hiding your light under a bushel?"
"Nah, just don't want anyone more reasons for people to give me funny looks." Harry shrugged then tucked back into the food. Hogwarts served awesome but standard British fare. He loved eating ethnic food; he had gotten a real – ha – taste for it since he lived in London over summer hols.
They finished lunch with a lot of conversation, laughs, and good will. Daniel smiled and bid farewell at the floo station; Harry followed Remus and waited a fair bit for Sirius to catch up. They journeyed from Hogsmeade to the castle, walking off some of the wonderful lunch they'd consumed.
When they got back to their rooms (Remus having excused himself at the staircase and heading to the faculty wing), Sirius closed the door and turned, running his hand through his hair.
Harry had an intuition for nervous adults. "What's going on?"
"Can you sit down?" Sirius asked. "I have to talk to you."
Harry sat, the question in his eyes. Had he done something wrong? Had something happened?
Sirius ran his hand nervously through his hair again. His normally perfect coiffure was beginning to resemble a Potter bird's nest.
"It's about Daniel… I need you to understand, Harry. We're seeing each other."
"Yeah, I get it. He's the best," Harry encouraged, wondering what problem Sirius was going to reveal.
Sirius realized that Harry knew exactly what he was talking about and was a bit stunned. "You… you don't mind?"
Is that all Sirius was bothered about? "That you like blokes? Nah. That's something Vernon would have hated because it's not 'normal'."
Chuckling, the older man slumped into a chair across from Harry with a sigh of relief. "Your dad took longer to accept it, you know. Kept trying to set me up with birds."
Harry shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts. "Dad, from what I've picked up in his journal, was pretty conservative. He was loyal first, but, well, like you said with Remus. Dad was scared of wolves, but he'd do anything for Moony. And he'd overlook any stupid prejudice he might have for you. You were his best mate, full stop."
Sirius laughed. "He was so awkward about it. He'd ask, didn't I think Shirley was posh? What about Marianna? And the whole time, I was hankering for Kevin. He just didn't get it. Of course, what we purebloods know of sex, outside rituals, was all word of mouth or… hands on experience. Have you had anyone talk with you, about sex?"
Harry shrugged. "We had some health instruction at school. I know I like girls. I've never looked at a bloke and been like… well… you know. But… as far as you being gay?" he looked out the window. "I've been hated my whole life. Been surrounded by hate my whole life. I really am tired of that. Besides." Harry looked back at Sirius, tears shimmering in his eyes. "You love me. No one else has, you know? But I can tell, you do. Why wouldn't I want you to be happy? And if it's Dr. Dan? If I liked blokes, I'd have a crush, for sure."
"Oh? You like the quiet, nerdy ones?"
Harry thought of the quiet, nerdy girl he knew.
But she was his best mate, not a girl.
He shrugged. "I'm thirteen. Every time I try to talk to a girl, my voice cracks and I get nervous. I think I'll give it a few years."
Sirius laughed. "It doesn't get any better. They always make you nervous – people you're interested in – and it's actually a great feeling. That anticipation of what could be."
"Mum never had that for Dad. She thought he was annoying. Until she didn't."
"But your dad…"
"Oh, yeah, I know all about his crush. Half his journal of Hogwarts was feats of the marauders, the other half was Lily Evans. I wonder if he even took classes."
Sirius laughed.
Harry was sitting in the common room, reading quietly when the door opened Crookshanks strutted in. He sat in front of Harry and yowled, as if to say, "I have returned, you may worship me."
"Hey, Crooks! Welcome back! Place hasn't been the same without you!" Harry leaned down and scratched the half-kneazle as that feline preferred, and then looked up to see Hermione coming into the room, dragging her trunk behind her and talking animatedly with Neville.
"Hey Hermione! How was break?"
Hermione sat her trunk down then hugged Harry. "It was fabulous. A whole week of sleep, food, more sleep, more food, and more sleep."
Harry studied her face as she pulled away. The tension that had been building since Yule holiday was gone.
Neville excused himself to wash up – really to give the two friends time to speak.
"Well, it looks great on you. You ready for the last push?"
Hermione nodded, leaning down to pick up her cat and cuddle him a bit. "Yeah. It's going to be better."
Harry simply tilted his head, waiting for whatever it was Hermione wanted to say.
"I decided you were right. I'm dropping divination and muggle studies."
Harry was a bit flummoxed. Hermione never quit anything! Even if he thought it was the right move, he was surprised. "Are you going to finish out the year?"
"No," she shook her head, the movement spurring Crookshans to cuddle into her neck and purr in support. "I talked it over with Mum and Dad. I decided it's not worth it. I can take the OWLS if I want – and I will for muggle studies. But the classes themselves are crap, and I'm wasting my time and efforts in them. More, it was stressful…" her voice fell off.
Harry had seen how her health had been damaged – she still wasn't fully recovered, but just being away had obviously helped.
"Will you tell me? What you had to do to take those classes, and why it hurt you so much?" His voice wasn't much above a whisper, but Hermione shook her head with a wry smile. Crookshanks jumped down and started up the stairs to the girls' dormitory, to check out that all was well with their room before his mistress went up.
"I literally can't." Hermione's voice held regret. She didn't like keeping secrets from her best friend, but with the time turner, Professor McGonagall had put a magical seal on the information. It wasn't an oath, and breaking it would only take either the headmaster or deputy to give permission, but until then, Hermione's lips were sealed. "But thank you. You stuck by me even though I was being a total crazy woman."
"I'll always stick by you. Pinky swear." He held up his hand, and she took his pinky with hers, whispering, "ditto," with a watery smile. The entrance to the common room opened, and the four Weasleys came in, arguing about something.
"Before that lot takes over, I want to ask you for information on that school you were telling me about. The trade school. Mum and Dad have agreed that I can start doing the same courses as you next year. I should be caught up in time to take GCSE's, if I work over summer holidays."
"Sure thing. I'll have Sirius get the papers to your mum and dad. Weasleys! Hey!" Harry greeted the ginger clan as they came to the side of the room where he and Hermione stood. The dorm, that had been so quiet the few times that week he'd met Neville there, was full of boisterous noise and laughter.
All was well.
"Good afternoon, Slythedors." The rotund potions professor amused himself as he stood in front of the mixed Gryffindor-Slytherin third year class. "Today, we're going to brew a version of a horripilation elixir. Patil, what is the main component of today's potion?"
"Sir, porcupine quills, sir," Parvati answered. Once Slughorn had started teaching, a few students thought that they'd be able to get away with slacking on prep work before class. He wasn't Snape, after all.
Slughorn quickly disabused them of that notion. All of the students were prepared for potions class these days, and more, knew that preparation could actually earn them points that wouldn't be taken away for a petty reason.
"Excellent. Two points for Gryffindor. Bulstrode, what do you expect your final preparation to look like?"
"Sir, the elixir is an odorless, translucent maroon liquid of high viscosity, sir." The Slytherin answered without any hesitation.
She'd done her homework, too, as Slytherins were just as likely to be punished as praised under Slughorn (or Sluggy, as Harry's mum and dad had referred to the man in their journals).
The one time that Crabbe tried to instigate a mess in the lab, he found himself in detention for three weeks (cleaning the greenhouses and paddocks, without magic) and losing one hundred points.
Sluggy didn't mess around with student safety.
"Exactly, Bulstrode. Take two for Slytherin for your thorough answer. Longbottom, any steps of the production one should be particularly aware of?"
Neville blushed red, and there were some chortles heard around the room. "Sir, one should ensure the potion is removed from the heat before adding the quills, sir."
"One for Gryffindor. Why is that, Pike?"
"I… I dunno, sir." Pike stammered.
"Hmm…. Finnegan?"
"Sir, the quills react very strongly with heat, sir. Can melt a cauldron, it can."
"The voice of experience?" The professor's voice held humor, not derision, and the class chuckled, remembering the Finnegan/Longbottom fiasco of 1991.
"Well, gather your ingredients, my cherubs, and set up your stations. Once you get the nod, you can begin brewing."
Slughorn made his way around the room, checking, gently correcting and suggesting, and keeping a weather eye out for tomfoolery.
Harry found that, much to the consternation of Draco Malfoy, he was a star in the new potions class. Professor Slughorn had a grudging respect for his dad but practically adored one Lily Evans.
Though Harry had come to appreciate potions under Fezziwig's tutelage, it was nothing to the pleasure of hearing anecdotes of his mother as he chopped, stirred, and brewed.
Today's potion was an easy one under Harry's newly honed skills. He and Neville continued to pair through the year, and Neville was finding confidence under Harry's tutored eye and hand. Between the meditation for calm and the links to herbology, for which Neville had an innate talent, (not to mention the loss of an overgrown bully of a dungeon bat) potions had become a favorite for both boys.
Harry wondered if Trelawney saw that one coming.
When the potion was brewing and the prep area cleaned, Harry and Neville found that they had a few minutes to chat.
"Been meaning to ask you, what are you up to this summer?" Harry asked. The holidays were rapidly approaching now, and for once, Harry would be free to make plans.
"Oh, just working in my greenhouses and prepping stuff for APL. I've got a mind to try a new scent mixture for some soaps, based on a fanged gardenia that I've been propagating for the last four seasons. And there's this spice mix that Fitch, over in Hufflepuff, introduced? For American pumpkin pie? I thought maybe a candle with that scent…"
"Ooh, I tried that. It was quite tasty. He said his cousins sent it."
"Well, yeah. I'll have to do some research and see if I can capture the scents. Anyway, why do you ask?"
"Sirius has plans for the summer. We're mostly going to be based in London – he has a safe house there. But he got a tent for the world cup – it's in Britain this year. You think you could come with us to that?"
"You want me to come?"
"Absolutely! The Weasleys are all going to go, I think. Sirius put down for a box and invited Mr. Weasley. They'll be in their own tent. It should be fun."
"Sounds it. I doubt Gran will let me go."
"Leave her to Sirius. The old Black charm, he says."
"Well, she was mad about Barty Crouch being sued by Bellatrix's cousin, but with the way everything came out in the end? She's kind of embarrassed now. Neither will work in Lord Black's favor," Neville warned.
"He can work with that," Harry grinned.
"Then, I say yeah, I'd love to go. If he can swing it with Gran."
"Cool. And we're going to do some camping around the country this summer. Maybe if we're in your neighborhood, we'll stop by?"
Neville smiled. "That would be great."
The timing charm rang, and they began the last phase of the potion.
Things were going very well for Harry that term, and he wondered what would happen to ruin it.
Gryffindor's quidditch team was unstoppable, much to the voluble approval of the coach, Oliver Wood, as well as the alumni, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.
Sirius came to every game, usually with Hedwig seated on his shoulder watching the event, and Harry swore he could hear Padfoot's howl of approval when Harry caught the snitch right from behind the broom of Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang.
Harry continued to take lessons in the Patronus charm from Remus, working to get more than a mist from the happy memories he could put together. His work with Dr. Crenshaw had helped there, and the journaling helped more. And he was looking forward to the future – especially the summer.
"Have you picked another place for our adventures?" Sirius asked on the mirror one night. Sirius's plans to test out the tent he'd bought for the quidditch cup had grown in scale and scope. "Have you ever seen much of our fair nation?" Sirius had asked when he first suggested the plan.
"No," Harry had said, embarrassed. The Dursleys had never taken him anywhere.
"Well, then. Look at the maps, do some research. Let me know of four places you'd like to see in Britain this summer. The tent I bought is at least as comfortable as the house, and I want to get some use out of it." And that had been Sirius final word on the thing. Harry had started looking at his history and geography lessons more with an eye of what might be interesting, and had a suggestion for Sirius that evening.
"So, I was thinking Hadrian's wall? Maybe a Roman fort?"
"Sounds interesting. We can do that. What about Stonehenge or the Moors?"
"That sounds scary, but in a cool way. I was thinking of maybe visiting some friends? But Hermione says she's going to be in France most of the holiday, visiting her snotty cousins."
"Oof. Poor Hermione. Voice of experience on that. She might just look forward to the quidditch cup!"
"Ha. She doesn't even like quidditch. She only comes to matches when I play. What?" Sirius was giving Harry a look that Harry couldn't decipher.
"Nothing. I did talk to her parents. They were glad for the help processing her St. George's application and are going to let her come to the cup if she wants. I introduced them to Tonks and they're fine with her chaperoning."
"I wonder if Luna can come? She's always a hoot but she said her father was taking them to Ecuador for the summer to look for some chuzza-thing. It's supposed to have backwards feet. Its hair has some kind of hypnotic properties or something."
"Xeno's obviously been reading muggle cryptozoology again. Native wizards there tell him there's no such thing as the creatures he's looking for, but he has fun looking, nonetheless."
"Did he ever find anything?"
"I believe that he found evidence – real evidence – of a heliopath once. It was enough to keep him going all these years. Or maybe it's just the adventures that are the lure? You never know with a Lovegood. I'll floo him and see if Luna can come to the cup. That will give Hermione someone to room with."
"Good," Harry nodded. He imagined Ginny would try to invite herself to Padfoot's tent if Hermione were there, but even though it wasn't Ginny's fault, Hermione was still a little uncomfortable with the youngest Weasley, who tried to kill Hermione the year before. Harry told himself it was Riddle, but another part of him knew that Riddle might have possessed Ginny, but Ginny chose the victims.
They spoke a bit more before disconnecting for the night. Harry opened a book – he was reading some Dickens now – to clear his mind of the many avenues it wanted to pursue. When he'd read for half an hour, he closed the book and met with Neville to meditate. The days and nights had a rhythm, and Harry had finally begun to find his own.
Saturday afternoon, after quidditch practice but before dinner, Harry and his friends took advantage of a rare warm spring day in the highlands. They were discussing summer plans, with Ron bemoaning the fact that he'd have to degnome the garden almost the first day home.
Harry sympathized: those little blighters could bite, and it hurt something fierce! Neville asked if they didn't have venomous lilies in the garden and he and Ron started talking about what could be done to keep the gnomes out.
"Hermione, Sirius talked to your mum and dad. They're okay with you coming to the quidditch cup if you want to."
Hermione sighed, closing her eyes and letting the sun warm her face. "I'm not much for quidditch, but it should be fascinating. Rather like seeing a football world cup match. I imagine people from all over will be there?"
"And vendors," Ron added. "You can get commemorative t-shirts, hats, all sorts of stuff."
"Quidditch merch. I couldn't wear it anywhere but here," Hermione said. But it was enticing. There would be food stalls and other things. And she'd stay in a magical tent.
"I'm inclined to go. Who's chaperoning?"
"Sirius's cousin, Tonks. She's an auror, so it's even safer."
"Tonks? What kind of name is that?"
"It's a last name. She hates her first name: Nymphadora."
"Ooo, I thought Hermione was bad," Hermione muttered.
"Did they get it from Shakespeare or mythology, your parents?" A nebulous voice asked as Luna sat on the ground next to the four Gryffindors.
Hermione opened one eye. Of course, Luna would know that. "Shakespeare."
"Well, I think we should all look at our names as the first gift from our parents in the spirit they wished to give. Nymphadora means gift of the nymphs, beautiful faeries of myth."
"And Luna is short for lunatic?" Ron asked, not purposefully being mean. He honestly thought it was a funny joke.
"Ronald, sometimes you are such a git." Hermione said. "Luna is a beautiful name. Did your mother have a preference for the moon?"
"It's a tradition to name girls in our family after the moon. My mother was Selene, her sister was Phoebe. Our grandmother was Diana."
"What a lovely tradition. Shakespeare is a tradition in our household. My father is Benedick, and he always complains that people think it should be Benedict. Then he named me Hermione."
"He could have named you Ophelia." Harry chimed in with a giggle.
"You're having me on. Oh, feel ya, is not a name." Ronald was almost outraged with his disbelief.
Harry started giggling and Neville joined in. Neville and Ron started sharing joke names. Neville volunteered he'd read of an American witch named Ima Hogg, while Ron asked if she was related to Chris P. Bacon.
Hermione rolled her eyes and kicked Luna's foot lightly. "Boys," she said and Luna giggled in commiseration. The blonde tilted her head as she looked at Hermione.
"I'm glad that you changed your course schedule and dropped divination and muggle studies. Since you did, the wrackspurts have started to leave you alone. You should spend more time in meditation to keep them away completely. Harry, I'm going to see the thestrals after dinner. Do you want to come?"
Having died and been resuscitated, Harry saw his own death, and with that, was able to see the thestrals that pulled the carriages. He kept it quiet, though. He was trying to keep a lid on the weird shite that always came his way.
"Sure. I've got to get my runes assignment done, but I'd love to visit the herd."
"I'm going to talk the elves into making a butterscotch custard for afters tonight. Hej då vänner!" The blond wandered from their grouping to wherever her little shod feet would take her. Harry smiled as she meandered away.
Hermione sighed, blowing at the hair that invariably settled in her face.
"Honestly, Harry, the way she goes on about creatures." There was more than a bit of exasperation in her voice.
"Three years ago, you and I thought unicorns and dragons were make-believe and had never heard of a hippogriff."
"Well, I'd heard of a hippogriff, but you have a point," Hermione acknowledged. The two stood as Ron and Neville still were sharing joke names. Harry was done with his break and wanted to finish a few assignments before he had to go out of the castle the next day.
"Besides," he continued as they walked toward the common room. "Ron goes on about quidditch, Neville goes on about plants, and you go on about all the stuff you've learned. I put up with you all." He said it with a goofy grin and Hermione knew he was teasing, but that he still wanted her to understand.
"Oh, you," she huffed with a smile.
The day of the Hufflepuff/Slytherin match – the last of the season whose winner would be playing Gryffindor for the cup – dawned cold and bright. Wood had commandeered the team to sit together and take notes on both of the other teams together. Even though the lions had handily beaten Hufflepuff and had trounced Slytherin in their regular season games, he wanted to be prepared for any eventualities.
When the Hufflepuff chasers scored again, pulling the score to 60-20, Harry cheered loud and long.
Wood turned to his seeker. "You're really cheering for the puffs, mate?"
"Well, yeah!" Harry said it as though it was obvious.
"If they win," Oliver commented while watching the formations on the pitch, "it's us against them in the championship. They've got a great lineup and have been the only challenge to us this season. The only reason the snakes haven't been buried is…"
"They cheat." Harry's voice was flat as he watched the Slytherin beaters try to sandwitch Diggory between their broom ends. Diggory, searching for the snitch, moved out of the way at the last second and let the two mooks crash into each other. "Yeah, I noticed."
"Well, I'd think you'd want to crush Malfoy into the ground again," Angelina groused. (Harry had tricked Malfoy into ploughing the ground in the Slytherin-Gryffindor match.)
Harry shrugged. "Malfoy's not really worth it. I'd rather play a clean, tough game. You, too, right?" He turned to Oliver. "I mean, the scouts would rather see how you coach and play against a better team than a dirty one?"
Oliver chuckled. "Yep. I have a tryout with Puddlemere scheduled. I hope to make reserve. They'll have scouts here for the championship game."
"Well, we'll bring it, and so will the Puffs. And we'll annihilate them. Right folks?" Katie added.
"Hear, Hear!" The twins rejoined, smacking each other with a high-five at their complete resonance.
Angelina looked at Harry for a second, though. "After how they treated you last year, I wouldn't think you'd like the badgers any more than the snakes."
Harry shrugged. "Just about everybody at this place has been an arse to me for one reason or another: usually something completely out of my control. Do I hate Malfoy and his cronies? Yeah, pretty much. But Greengrass, Davis, Zabini… they've not done anything to me. I'm not a fan of Finch-Fletchley, but I didn't much like him before the whole snake thing. He looked at me like something he'd stepped in since his family's 'in banking' and I was obviously a prole."
"Prole?" Wood was pure-blood wizard from Ireland, so wasn't up on muggle slang.
"Low-class hooligan. Fit to lay your bricks but not your daughter? I think that's what I heard said."
"Harrikins! I'm shocked!" Gred feigned a faint while Forge added: "What would Granger say?"
Harry shrugged. "Her own father probably would agree that I'm a prole, if not an oik. He's most likely upper crust himself, if you look at the quality of Hermione's things. He wouldn't want bog standard dirtying up his princess, I bet."
"Do I want to know what an oik is?" Wood asked and Johnson laughed.
"Nah. But if you get called one, come out swinging, yeah?" The group started laughing and then concentrated on play again.
"Diggory's a pretty cool cat. Good seeker." High praise, coming from Wood.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. And every house has its gits. There're a pack of girls in Ravenclaw that bully my friend, Luna. Our own beater twins, to some, are right prats."
"Oi!" thing one mussed Harry's hair in protest while his twin nodded. "That testing we did on the first years this year wasn't completely voluntary. We'll do better."
Wood sighed, "Well, at least McGonagall didn't find out. The benefits of having a head of house who's too busy to do her job. And… there it is! Diggory's got the snitch! Bugger that! Late hit by Flint. They tried to hurt him because he beat their precious Drakey-poo to the snitch! Bastards."
"See?" Harry asked. "Better a clean, tough game against the Puffs!"
"Practice at 5 Monday. We need to run those new defense plays to stop those chasers!" Wood commanded as the left the stadium. There were only three weeks left in term, and he was still taking all of Harry's free time.
The next morning, Harry met Sirius in the foyer, ready to go see Dr. Crenshaw. The last few sessions had been strange, and sometimes Harry felt like he was calming the doctor down.
A few weeks prior, Dr. Crenshaw had asked Harry about his Hogwarts years. She knew there was still work to do with the muggle side, but, as she had said, "Lord Black has indicated that I should speak with you about your – and I quote – 'Hogwarts adventures.'"
Harry had rolled his eyes. He was beginning to see, now that he was out of the situation, that his Hogwarts experiences might not have been normal ones. But he'd learned to process that, and compared to Surrey, it was really nothing.
If Fiona hadn't known that Harry was such a straight shooter, she would have said his tales were apocryphal. They sounded like Boy Who Lived adventures… except Harry had the scars (mental and physical) that accompanied them.
As Fiona tried over the next weeks to work her patient through unresolved feelings he might have at his treatment in Hogwarts Castle over the last three annum, she wondered at how it all happened. How had this child been the center of such cloak and dagger nonsense? She would, had it occurred on the muggle side, report it as neglect on part of the staff. On the magical side, well, there was really nothing she could do.
And so, she listened, she counseled. And she made a note to find someone who could put a leash on Albus Dumbledore. That man had no business running a school.
Harry made his way, once again, to the potions lab. The last few weeks, he had been working steadily through his apprentice-level preparations and felt that he was really helping his friends at HC, as Master Fezziwig was still working chaotically on so many different important projects.
When Harry went to work with Fezziwig that last week of May, he found the excitable man even more vibrant than usual.
"Potter! Good to see you!" he took a swig of coffee and practically threw down the cup as he darted about his laboratory.
"Are you sure you should be drinking that?" Harry asked with a quirked brow.
"Coffee? I'd be asleep without it. Been working day and night, night and day." He stopped suddenly. "You ever hear that song? Classic. Never mind. I finally got it. I think."
"Got what?" Harry was a little leery of what a potion master would be so excited about.
"The treatment for the Burning! You were right! I looked into the mechanism of some of the muggle topical anesthetics and pain ointments. One of the chemicals that they use – dimethyl sulfoxide or DMSO – is used to deliver medicines through the skin layer to the tissue beneath. I thought, what if I used this mechanism, which is completely non-magical, to get the anesthetic below the mark and block its connection to the patient's magic? So, I used some basilisk venom to enhance the strongest analgesic I could make, combined with a sort of molecular ward, to keep the tattoo sort of separate from the patient. Of course, I've only one volunteer to test the stuff; my friend Paul who was forced to take the mark by his father. He's letting me test on him since he's suffering so. And it worked. He practically kissed me."
"That's wicked!" Harry enthused. Then, a smirk adorned his face. "And since you're the only one with basilisk venom…"
"We'll corner the market. If you want." Fezziwig stopped his bouncing then. He looked at Harry, studying the child whose life had been a huge pile of pain and suffering because of those Death Eaters. Would the boy approve of the use of the venom?
Harry thought about it. Did he want? Didn't they deserve what they got?
Then he remembered Professor Snape, who turned to the dark because of his childhood. Did he deserve to be tortured more?
No. Harry wasn't like Voldemort. If he could stop torture, he would. He nodded. "OK, so how much do you need?"
"Seriously?" Fezziwig let go of the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Well, I can make a thousand doses from one gram of that venom. So maybe five grams?"
"There are that many death eaters?" Harry was shocked. The magical population was tiny. How had Riddle convinced that many to be massive berks?
"They have to use it multiple times a day, that's why we'd need so much."
Harry nodded his head slowly in understanding. But a thought came to him.
"What if I strengthen it with that parsel spell?"
"Would you be willing?" Allowing use of the venom was one thing; giving his magic to the wankers who killed and maimed for funsies was another whole ball of wax.
Harry shrugged. "In for a penny, in for a pound."
"Then, a gram to start. You can only work with me on Sundays, and I have other things I need to get back to brewing... For now, this is what I've made. You can seal it with parselmagic, and then we can work on brewing other stuff." Fezziwig told him. The man seemed to have aged a decade in the last few months. He was obviously burning the candle at both ends.
Fezziwig produced a dull ocher potion; Harry popped his wand out of his holster and performed the parsel strengthening spell. The gel-like liquid glowed momentarily then turned to a color somewhat resembling a radioactive carrot.
"I hope it stains their arms, the gits," Harry grumbled. Fezziwig grinned, jotting notes in his notebook.
"It would be a benign side-effect, and I agree, a petty sort of payback. I prefer the fact we'll be draining their Gringotts accounts, myself." Feziwig put the now glowing-orange potion in a locker and started to organize the notes on his desk.
As for Harry, he treated the afternoon as he always did: he went to the list of "to do's" that the man kept for when Harry came. Cleaning up the entire work area – Fezziwig had been using every space of bench in the lab – Harry set about doing prep for a few of the more basic potions he could brew. He'd get them going then restore some of the pre-prepped ingredients for his master.
Harry wished he knew someone that could help Fezziwig. But he was just a kid. He worked on the parsel spells, then he worked on basic potions making, learning what he could from a true master who could actually teach.
Fezziwig turned the radio to BBC Radio 1 (Which choice was surprising; Harry expected the usual programming of Radio 3, with its calming classical. Then again, Fezziwig was wired, so maybe pop and rock was more appropriate. Harry didn't mind. He missed hearing normal music.) All too soon, in Harry's mind, it was time to go back to the castle for one more week of lessons before finals.
Albus Dumbledore knocked on the door to the defense professor's office. So many times he knocked thusly to be bid entry by a different voice.
He hoped that epoch of revolving, cursed defense teachers was now over.
"Come in!" The werewolf's voice was sure and steady if a bit distracted. Albus opened the door to see the man writing something in a book before looking up.
"Headmaster! What brings you to the lowly faculty wing?" Shutting the book, Remus stood and smiled in a friendly manner.
"I have a few topics I wanted to discuss with you, and thought the privacy of your office might be the best forum for discourse."
Remus walked to the small seating area and sat in one wing-back chair while indicating the free chair for his employer. "Tea?" he asked.
"No. I've not a great deal of time, but wanted to address these issues. Firstly, I notice that you have been spending more time with Mr. Potter."
The Patronus lessons had been in Remus's office. "Yes."
The werewolf offered nothing else.
"You are giving him lessons in the Patronus charm?" At the professor's short nod, Dumbledore continued. "That is quite a powerful charm to be teaching a third-year student. Your use of the boggart with Sirius's fear was quite ingenuitive. I was a bit surprised to see that young Harry's own boggart is also a Dementor. I believe it shows that Harry only fears fear itself, like a wise muggle once said."
Lupin looked at Dumbledore, his body language relaxed but closed. "I think it more likely that Harry fears Sirius being taken from him. I do wonder, though, how you are so well informed of this?" He knew Harry hadn't talked about it, Sirius wouldn't, and Lupin certainly hadn't.
"The role of headmaster has the responsibility to maintain security in the castle," Dumbledore said with affected wisdom and gravitas.
Lupin didn't buy it.
The were had to stop himself glaring at Dumbledore, who he realized must have spied on the private sessions through elves or portraits.
Remus wanted – very much – to ask: And why would you not use that role to – oh, I don't know – free a possessed professor? Stop a basilisk? But he said nothing, knowing that it wouldn't help Harry to confront Dumbledore about his random decisions to do his job. Instead, Remus remained silent.
Dumbledore nodded shortly, realizing he'd get nothing out of Lupin on the subject.
"I am here to offer you a contract renewal." Dumbledore pulled a scroll out of his robes and held it out toward Lupin. He was stymied to see that the werewolf didn't eagerly accept the offer.
"I thank you, but I cannot accept. I have another job lined up, starting the week after term ends."
"A job?" Albus was shocked. No one hired werewolves. It's why he was able to keep such a hold over what Remus was able to do with regards to both Sirius and Harry's former living conditions. (His conscience screamed 'captivity' at him, but Albus had long practice in ignoring unfortunate truths.)
"Yes." Remus was testing the new wolfsbane through the HC and he was going to spend a great deal of time with Sirius and Harry. Their little family would finally have time to be, without the interference of others.
He offered none of these details to the headmaster, whose eyes suddenly showed a spark of pain.
Legilimency on a werewolf was unadvisable. Albus just found that out, the hard way.
"You do realize, this will give the 'curse' on this position a breath of fresh paranoia? I'm certain that curse was finished with the burning, too." Albus sighed, rubbing at his temple.
Remus held in his smirk.
"I'm sorry that I cannot be of help, but I am certain, with my obvious survival – in one healthy piece – of a year as defense professor, someone else will sign on. You could even get a curse breaker to look at it while they teach!"
Albus smiled wanly. "Well, then, I have taken enough of your time. Remember to have your final grades in to Minerva twenty-four hours before the train."
"Of course, sir. Have a good evening."
Dumbledore walked back to his office, flummoxed. His staff was changing out of his control. He lost Poppy from the castle, Severus from the classroom, and now Remus… who would be next?
Courtroom 2 of the Ministry of Magic was always busy. It was a small claims courtroom and often had a great number of squabbles that had to be settled legally waiting for their turn at the tables.
Rarely were there people of such social standing in attendance.
At the plaintiff table sat Lucius, Lord Malfoy. He had with him his colleague and solicitor, Basalt Mohs. Malfoy had wanted this particular incident to be tried in courtroom 3, where he had more pull, but between his conspicuous Burning and dearth of funds (the Black vaults were closed to him, and his wife's dowry had been recalled with interest since they had not even attempted to have the contractually obligated two viable pregnancies). Malfoy sat, with a solicitor he trusted but with a judge he knew would be fair and honest (two qualities the death eater generally despised).
The defendant's table was dominated by a nervous half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid. He was not alone, however. Sat next to him were Sirius, Lord Black and his own solicitor, Robbie Stenwick.
The two looked calm, confident, and assured.
Master Mohs, who was a lawyer of good standing both in the UK and in the International Courts presented the case of Buckbeak, the hippogriff, who had – it was stated – violently attacked the heir of the Malfoy estate. Moreover, the beast attacked unprovoked. Mohs presented documents (regarding the beast's pedigree and Professor Hagrid's dubious qualifications) and well-clipped memories from the purported victim. The demand was simple: the beast needed to be put down.
Judge Rattvisa watched the memory with a neutral expression.
"This closes the arguments of the plaintiff." Solicitor Mohs bowed to the judicial bench and sat quietly next to a cold, foreboding Lucius Malfoy.
Robbie stood. "Honorable Judge Rattvisa, thank you for giving your attention to this situation. The defense does not argue that an attack took place in the care of magical creatures class on 2 September, 1993. However, the defense has further information that should shed more light on the situation. If I may submit the memory of Susan Bones, Hufflepuff house?"
In choosing a neutral observer to the event, Robbie had already gained a bit of an advantage over the plaintiff team.
The memory submitted started much earlier in the class period, and Obsidian Mohs protested.
"This memory is at least fifteen minutes long, your honor. It is a waste of the court's time."
The judge looked to Stenwick for his reasoning. "Sir, the defense would like to establish that instructions were clearly delivered to the students, that Heir Malfoy ignored these instructions and, in fact, provoked the animal in question into its behavior."
"I shall allow it," Rattvisa nodded his head.
The memory, quite clear for the recollection of a thirteen-year-old girl untrained in occlumency, demonstrated that Hagrid had given concise, clear instructions for approaching the proud animal. He'd demonstrated himself and had another student (the Potter lad) interact with the creature. That Malfoy acted a bull in a china shop was not a surprise to the judge; he'd always suspected the Malfoys were not nearly so elegant under their exterior.
But there were still several issues to be addressed. When the memory finished, the judge sat, writing in a legal ledger his observations and a summary of his ruling.
"I must thank you gentlemen for a concise and civil presentation of the issue. I don't often see jurisprudence of this eloquence in this particular courtroom." His smile was brief and subtle. "I find, however, there are several more issues than simple animal control. First, in reference to the animal in question: the hippogriff is innocent. It cannot be put down for following its instincts, especially as the child had been taught and ignored his lessons and the… adult did not have sufficient safety measures in place."
Lucius looked infuriated at first, but calmed at the shot that was obviously coming toward that great oaf, Rubeus Hagrid.
"Mr. Hagrid, it is your qualifications that have me confused. What is your mastery in, sir?"
Hagrid looked around nervously, "I don't have none, sir."
"I do not see any records of your OWLS or NEWTS on hand. Stenwick, did you submit them?"
"I did not, sir. I was here to defend the animal from wrongful execution."
The judge nodded slowly. "Mr. Hagrid, your scores?"
"I got me wand snapped when I was a fifth-year, sir. I was not allowed to take OWLS or NEWTS."
The judge removed his glasses and looked seriously across the court at the half-giant. "You have been charged with teaching one of the most dangerous classes at Hogwarts, and you do not even have OWLS? What was your experience prior to this? Did you work for a preserve? Work with another master anywhere?"
Hagrid blushed. "I been keeper of the keys and grounds at Hogwarts for a number o'years now, and I always aided Professor Kettleburn – the former teacher of the class."
"And you interact with several creatures in those roles?" Judge Rattvisa prodded.
Hagrid nodded. "Everything from actomantula to unicorns."
"The forest has acromantulae? Wizard-eaters are sitting in a next to our children?" The judge could not quite keep his voice neutral as he thought of the potential tragedy.
Hagrid, for once, remained silent.
Rattvista sighed. "I am putting a civil order of protection on you. Mr. Hagrid, you may not interact directly with children without the presence of another adult until such time as you have earned OWLS. NEWTS and a mastery should be required, but I can at least do this much. As of now, you are not capable of filling the role of professor at Hogwarts. You can still be keeper of the keys and grounds, but you may not interact with students without another professor present. Is that understood?"
"Sir. Yes. But Beaky'll be okay?"
The judge relaxed a little. The man/child really did have a sweet disposition. It was not Rubeus Hagrid's fault that someone had put him in a role he had no hope of properly filling.
"Yes, Buckbeak can now return to the herd at Hogwarts. Tell your employer to floo me if he has questions. I shall copy him and the deputy headmistress on this outcome."
"Sir," Hagrid nodded.
Sirius had been whispering in Robbie's ear while the judge wrote more of the details on the outcome in the ledger.
"Do any of you have anything further to add?"
"Sir," Robbie Stenwick stood. "If it pleases the court. I have further information on the lack of credentials of Mr. Hagrid."
"Are you going to waste my time, Mr. Stenwick?"
"I do not believe so. Mr. Hagrid was expelled, his wand broken, for the death of Myrtle Warren in 1943. In a recent affidavit released to the court summarizing some of the more obscure actions of Mr. Tom Riddle – also known as Lord Voldemort – it is to be noted that Mr. Riddle was, in fact, the culprit in Ms. Warren's death. The documents were part of the trial Lord Black had against the Crouch, Bagnold, and Fudge estates. It was part of the discovery, showing that Bagnold had stepped beyond purview before, but it is in the record."
"Is this true?" Rattvisa looked at Hagrid. Hagrid stood.
"Sir, I had an acromantula in me room – against school rules, yeah. But Tommy Riddle, he had a basilisk. That great ruddy beast was the same one that was petrifying the kiddos last year at Hogwarts. Myrtle died of seeing the snake's eyes, not of a spider bite. You can ask her ghost. I apologized to Myrtle, I did, and she told me it weren't no spider that did her in, before she jumped in her toilet. Poor Myrtle."
Rattvisa sighed deeply, wrote in his ledger then looked up again. "I shall review the discovery from that trial, Stenwick."
"You shall also find in that record, as part of the discovery against Minister Fudge, that Mister Hagrid was placed in Azkaban without questioning or trial. Mr. Hagrid has been sorely used by our system before." Robbie had meant to get to helping Hagrid at some point in the near future. But he had just finished the Boy Who Lived lawsuit and was trying to get his ducks in a row for Hagrid. This was a plum opportunity to see it done, or at least to see it got notice.
Rattvisa made a note to get copies of the discovery from the Sirius Black lawsuit and nodded his head. "At this time, my judgment holds. However, Mr. Hagrid, you shall have your wand rights returned within a fortnight if the discovery holds what Mr. Stenwick declared it to hold. I shall push for compensation for you to receive the education unfairly denied you, up to the level of mastery, and fiscal compensation from the Riddle estate, if there is one. Stenwick, you will process the paperwork at my direction."
"Sir, of course." Robbie smiled. He could process paperwork if it meant justice for a good man.
Sirius was satisfied both with the judgments and with the "sucking a lemon" expression on his cousin's face. As an aside, he really didn't think Hagrid should be teaching at Hogwarts. He could head up a preserve, for sure, but he shouldn't be near kids. He just didn't seem to understand how fragile they were.
All in all, it was a good day.
The good days continued.
The final quidditch match of the season ended with a seeker battle. Once again, to the voluble displeasure of Amos Diggory, Harry pulled out the win for the lions. The final score of 250-60 showed the fierce match of both offense and defense, and both teams were ready for the next year's rematch.
The Gryffindor four, as some had taken to calling Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Neville, were walking from their final care class of the year (a woman by the name of Grubby-Plank had filled in the last few classes while Hagrid sorted out his legal woes). The Professor had dressed down a few of the Slytherins for bullying one of the gnomes they had been studying that lesson. When Malfoy said something about the gnomes being pests, he had points docked, and the rest of the snakes glared at him.
They were getting very tired of his failed power-plays.
"Malfoy looks like someone pissed in his porridge," Ron stated, not very subtly, and laughed.
"Well, it's not been a good week for him," Neville added as they walked toward greenhouse three, the detour a favor for the professor. Now that classes were almost done, and it was beautiful outside, the students didn't mind so much an extra walk on the grounds. "First, Buckbeak got off, and Hagrid didn't get sent to Azkaban. Next, Gryffindor won quidditch cup, while Slytherin with Draco as its seeker had the least number of matches won. Finally, Slytherin is dead last in the house-cup race. It's really been a banner week!"
Harry laughed and Draco saw red. Potter and his friends were nothing.
"At least my own relatives don't want me dead. Weasley's family have six better replacements, Longbottom gets dropped on his head by his uncle, and Potter's family beat and starve him to death. Of course, if I had to deal with Potter as a relative, I'd beat and starve him to death, too. I'll bet you were like, 'ooh, I'm soooo hungry.'" Malfoy made a pitiful face then smirked evilly. That had stopped Potter's laughter.
Hermione stalked up to Malfoy, clenched her fist, and short-arm punched him in the nose. "You foul, loathsome troll. Keep away from us. Just keep away."
Malfoy held his obviously broken and freely-bleeding nose as Hermione turned and said, "Boys, let's go."
The rage he felt as he heard the Gryffindor boys snickering at his beat-down was barely containable. He'd show them. He'd show them all.
"Go Herms!" Ron congratulated as Neville's offended look turned to a laugh at Draco's misfortune.
Hermione's fist was still clenched. She started to striding faster and growled, "Don't call me Herms!"
Harry rushed to catch up. "Hermione! Wait. Let me see your hand."
"I know how to throw a punch, Potter," she muttered as he took her fist and unclenched it. Then, in a surprising move, instead of studying it, he shook her hand.
"Thank you." They looked at each other in shock for a moment – shock that Hermione had actually physically beaten someone – then they just started laughing, in humor and relief.
"Hermione, you're my hero." Harry's statement came through his laughter.
"Nah. Just your best friend."
"Forever."
"Another year, another good year!" Dumbledore stood at the podium, addressing the students. It was the leaving feast, and the fresh faces in front of him had no further emotional scarring as they had the last two years. "The house points as they stand are, Slytherin with 407 (snape hasn't been able to take points or give them in last part of year)." There was some clapping, but only in celebration of the snakes far fall in the last three years. "Ravenclaw with 424," again, a smattering of applause occurred, but the eagles generally disdained the entire competition. "Hufflepuff with a generous showing of 441," The cheering was loud and boisterous, but quite a bit of it was from the table of the lions. They'd won again. "And finally, Gryffindor seemingly at the top with 482." The cheers became quite loud.
"Yes, yes, but it pains me to announce that these standings will not hold." Silence fell immediately. "I was informed earlier today of a situation that I believe must be addressed. We are an institution of higher learning. We must never, as a people, give in to our baser instincts. It is with great regret that I must deduct fifty points from Gryffindor. Miss Granger, no matter the trials and tribulations we face, violence can never be the answer. For your foray into fisticuffs, I reduce Gryffindor's total to 432, thus awarding the house cup to Hufflepuff."
Neville stood, clapping hard. Harry after rubbing Hermione's arm in support, stood and did the same. Ron, catching what they were doing, stood and started hooting.
"Why are you clapping for the puffs?" Katie Bell asked.
"We're clapping for Hermione," Neville explained. "She put Malfoy on his arse."
"She socked Malfoy?! Well, that's worth applause!" Colin Creevey said it loud enough and it went down the table and even to the neighboring Ravenclaw table, who had several members join in the celebration.
Angelina turned to Hermione. "You punched Malfoy?" The anger of the fifth year prefect was palpable. "Hermione, you could have hurt yourself! As it is, you got dirty Malfoy germs on your hand. Did you wash afterward?"
"Thoroughly," Hermione stated in a surprised whisper. They were all, the gryffindors, standing with her as they found out what she did.
Dumbledore's ploy had failed.
"Why'd you punch Malfoy?" Lavender whispered under the growing sound of applause. "I mean, he's a git, but you're so… refined."
"He made fun of what those muggles did to Harry." Ron said in a flat voice, under the roar of the twins' clapping.
By the time the explanation for Hermione's point loss had passed through the entirety of the Gryffindor table, the lions were standing united, the sound of their applause surpassing even that of the badgers. Dumbledore watched with disappointment as several people around young Miss Granger patted her on the back in congratulations. Across the room, Malfoy's expression morphed from one of embarrassed satisfaction to one of petulant fury.
And the Gryffindors noted that as they stood, united.