"ᴀᴘʀɪʟꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ, ᴀᴜᴛᴜᴍɴꜱ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ, ꜱᴘʀɪɴɢ."
― ᴛʀᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴄᴀᴘᴏᴛᴇ, ʙʀᴇᴀᴋꜰᴀꜱᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴛɪꜰꜰᴀɴʏ'ꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ
Chapter Four: Unwelcome Arrivals
"Hurry up!" Mafalda's magically-magnified voice resounded throughout the hallways of 12 Grimmauld Place. "We're running late!"
Harry gritted his teeth and slammed his overflowing trunk shut. Hedwig, sitting in her cage on top of the closet, regarded Harry with a judgmental, yellow gaze.
"There," said Harry, fastening the clasps. "It's shut properly."
Hedwig did not look convinced.
Hurried by another shout from Mafalda, Harry shut Hedwig's cage, picked up his trunk, and slipped out of the bedroom.
He was almost sorry to be leaving, already nostalgic for slow summer days spent listening to Ruby's terrible attempts at playing the grand piano, to Sirius telling stories about his years at Hogwarts.
It felt strange to be in his Hogwarts uniform again, to descend the grand staircase with a certain finality.
"Lighten up; anyone would think you're going to a funeral," said Sirius, standing at the foot of the stairs with a veneer of cheeriness so thin that even Harry could see through it.
Harry managed a weak smile. "Just feels like the end of something," he muttered.
"I promise you it won't be. Look — I've gotten you a going-away present." Sirius seemed to produce a large, brown-paper-wrapped package from nowhere. "My and James' old Ancient Runes project — it's very fragile, so take care."
"Right," said Harry, filled with a strange and sudden sense of foreboding. Ruby had come up behind them, similarly laden with her trunk and Hephaestus, with Riddle trailing not far behind her. Mafalda and Tonks were already at the door, the latter disguised as a balding man with a peeved expression and permanent furrow between the eyebrows.
"Now!" Mafalda snapped.
"Bye, Sirius—" Ruby started before Mafalda whisked her outside, and despairing all of a sudden, Harry launched himself forward at Sirius.
Sirius uttered a sound of surprise, but then, he was hugging Harry back, whispering: "I promise I'll still be here. And remember, keep your nose clean. Don't do anything—"
"—You wouldn't do," Harry finished, but as soon as he did, Mafalda had gotten hold of him, too.
"Quickly!" Mafalda said. "Before Muggles start wondering why we're standing here dressed like this!"
Tonks stuck her hand out as if she were hailing a nonexistent bus — and an ungainly, triple-decker, violet bus lumbered into view, slowing to an abrupt stop just before them. The doors opened with a puff, and a gangly, pimply young man swung into view, in a uniform the same shocking violet as the bus's paint job.
He glanced around at the five, grinning, took a deep breath, and began to speak in an intonation that reminded Harry somewhat of Riddle's.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just—"
"We know, thanks!" Tonks interjected, possibly to draw attention from Mafalda, who was turning as red as her hair with poorly suppressed irritation.
The gangly conductor regarded Tonks with an air of unruffled beneficence. "I s'pose that means I can't interest you in our special deal on toothbrushes?"
"Hogwarts stop," said Mafalda in a threatening tone, thrusting a rattling bag of coin at the conductor, then beginning to manhandle Ruby onto the bus.
Harry followed; to his relief, the conductor did not recognise him with his scar properly concealed by his hair. That relief was short-lived, however, as the moment he sat down on one of the seats, which, unlike a Muggle bus, were not fastened down, and looked as if they had been discarded in a jumble sale, the bus accelerated beneath him. He had to white knuckle the candle bracket beside him to stop his fall.
Ruby hadn't been so lucky, ending up as a heap on the floor, followed by a furious yowl from Hephaestus. The conductor, still unruffled, handed Riddle their tickets as the streets of Grimmauld Place whizzed past at an unreasonably high speed.
BANG.
They were trundling down a winding road on the side of a cliff. Ruby peered out the curtained window, looking slightly grey.
"I think I'm going to be sick," she said, appraising the hundred-foot drop down to the cold waters of the Channel.
"Madam Marsh, your stop!" bellowed the conductor, as the bus lurched to another screeching halt. Harry planted his feet firmly to the ground this time, as an elderly witch with a blue rinse that only highlighted her nauseous green tinge made her way off.
And then, the bus was moving once more, Riddle grimacing and holding tight to his battered grip, Tonks hanging on for dear life to a pull suspended from the ceiling.
"Some Permanent Sticking Charms would be an improvement!" Mafalda shouted at the conductor, who good-naturedly tapped the 'Suggestions' box in response.
BANG.
The bus shot right through a crowded intersection, somehow squeezing just in between two side-by-side cars, and throwing Harry backwards into the wooden panel behind him.
I've finally found my least favourite form of magical transportation, thought Harry irritably. There was no point in getting back on the chair again. He sat down on the trunk to keep it from flying around, an insulted-looking Hedwig's cage between his knees.
BANG.
Now, they were flying down a motorway, weaving in and out of traffic with abandon.
"How come Muggles don't notice us?" asked Harry. It wasn't as if anything about the Knight Bus was subtle.
Again, the conductor perked up. "Them! Don't listen properly, do they? Don't look properly, either!"
The answer did not seem satisfying to Harry. How could—
BANG.
There was nothing Harry could do, but hang on, and watch the variety of landscapes zoom past. Something about this seemed extremely inefficient.
BANG.
"All right, you lot's stop next, Hogwarts, was it?" asked the conductor.
Riddle's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he bit out, and the conductor seemed to quake.
They definitely had a similar lack of respect for the letter 'H,' Harry thought.
BANG.
The bus rumbled down the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade, the poor suspension sending shockwaves through Harry's legs and nearly throwing him off the trunk. They finally rolled to a stop outside the Hogwarts main entrance, iron-wrought gates sparkling dully in the midmorning sun.
Tonks broke character, waving brightly. "Have a good term for me, alright? Don't get into too much trouble."
"We're just an owl away," added Mafalda.
Ruby was the first to scramble off, the conductor helping her with her luggage; Riddle refused the same assistance. Harry struggled with his trunk and Hedwig's cage, and the conductor reached out to take the handle from him. His hand now free, Harry unthinkingly brushed his bangs away from his face—
The conductor goggled at him, eyes comically large. " 'Arry Potter?" he asked disbelievingly.
Stomach churning, Harry yanked the trunk back from him and hurried down the steps.
No one will even notice the gloves, Ruby told herself as she and Harry stood in the empty Entrance Hall. This, at least, was familiar. Was normal.
Still, she couldn't help the low, heavy simmer of trepidation that only mounted as students began to flood into the entrance.
Someone tapped Ruby on the shoulder, and she turned to see Parvati and Lavender, wearing identical grins and matching earrings.
"Stealing her from you, Harry!" Lavender called, linking an arm about Ruby's and whisking her away into the crowd. "Where've you been all summer? Your letters were all so cryptic!"
Ruby grimaced. "Dumbledore's orders. I really can't—"
"Tell us, I know," said Parvati resignedly. "Our very own woman of mystery."
"We were at each other's houses all summer," said Lavender wistfully. "I wish you could have come. It was so fun. Ooh, Parvati, we have to tell her about the time when—"
"Hello — good summer?"
They all looked up to see Cedric Diggory, the tall, infamously good-looking Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain, his Head Boy badge sparkling on his robes.
"Yes, and you?" asked Parvati with uncharacteristic politeness.
"Great, thanks, Parvati." Cedric smiled, flashing his perfect magazine-cover smile, which Ruby found, to her irritation, she was not immune to, when he turned to look at her sunnily.
"I was looking for Harry?"
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, Ruby pointed vaguely in the direction that she'd last seen Harry.
"Thanks!"
And with that, he walked off, seeming to float through the crowd as he waved to people.
After a moment's silence, Lavender said, brightly, "Did you know Cedric and Cho broke up last month?"
"Lav!" Parvati scolded. "Don't sound so excited!"
"What?" She shrugged. "I heard it was amicable."
Ruby laughed, and then felt miffed. She was thoroughly sick of being cut off from everyone.
"Can't believe it's O.W.L. year," said Parvati, yawning. She clearly did not want to linger on the subject of Cedric Diggory.
To be perfectly honest, Ruby had almost forgotten about O.W.L.s.
"I heard Padma's prefect," said Lavender.
"Perfect Padma," Parvati muttered irritably. "Be more like your sister, Parvati! She is such a good girl! You need to be more studious! What's with this messing around in a Divination class! Where will that get you in life?"
"But you're near the top of the year," Ruby pointed out.
"But not in Potions," said Parvati. "And apparently, near is not good enough."
Just then, two hulking boys pushed their way past, giggling. They had Slytherin ties on, but Ruby didn't recognise them.
"Nice tits!" called the one with a pudding-bowl haircut, looking at Lavender lecherously and pretending to cup his chest. The other boy, with hair like brush bristles, snorted, and added something equally crude.
"Yeah, show us them!"
Lavender's face drained of colour. Before she knew it, Ruby had her hand on her wand, the nastiest curse Sirius had taught her on her lips, but Parvati had beaten her to it. Both boys were already writhing in pain. Bristles had a horn for a tongue, and Pudding Bowl's nose was spraying pus.
Parvati's wand was smoking, and Parvati herself was still glaring at the boys, her eyes threatening more hexes.
"You jumped up, little—" Pudding Bowl started, spraying even more pus as he spoke, but someone stepped in front of him, a pale, slender boy with an aristocratic face, also sporting a Slytherin tie.
"I apologise for my friends," the pale boy said smoothly, his slicked-down platinum hair glimmering in the candlelight.
Ruby only stared at him blankly. Lavender seemed still frozen, and Parvati watched him warily, wand still drawn.
The boy shook his head, confused, almost offended. "Surely, you must remember me. I'm Draco Malfoy."
Pointy little Draco Malfoy?
Where he'd once been prim, he now seemed severe and disciplined, with an almost military posture.
"I'm sorry," Malfoy continued, "seems like we've gotten off on the wrong foot."
Unexpectedly, he spun on his feet, and cuffed Pudding Bowl over the ear, an odd sight given that Malfoy was half his size — but Ruby could tell it must have hurt.
"Apologise, Crabbe."
"Sorry!" Pudding Bowl croaked, a hand still cupped to his nose.
Oh yeah, Malfoy's lackeys. Crabbe and Goyle. I'd forgotten.
Lavender was tugging the sleeves of her robes. "Come on, let's go," she whispered, glancing sideways at Bristles — Goyle — whose Transfigured tongue was still bulging painfully out of his mouth.
"Parvati?" asked Ruby.
With one last glower at the boys, Parvati stowed her wand away, and followed them through the crowd, inching towards the Great Hall.
Ruby knew Parvati wasn't one to hold her tongue, but she seemed uncharacteristically furious, more than Lavender, even.
"You'd better be careful in that common room with them," said Lavender, looking downtrodden.
"And what about you?" asked Ruby.
"Don't worry about me," said Lavender, just before she and Parvati split off towards the Gryffindor table. Ruby did not miss how Lavender pulled her robes tighter around her shoulders as she walked.
Three more reasons to dread the Slytherin table.
As she drew closer, Ruby saw a cluster of familiar faces — the other fifth years. Summoning all her courage, she crossed the room, the ceiling above her already the deep dark navy of late evening, past the silvery ghosts wafting about, all the way to the right.
Blaise Zabini looked up and waved, but no one else acknowledged her when she sat down.
"How was summer?"
"Don't answer that," Pansy interrupted, studying her shiny black fingernails. "He just wants to tell you about his holiday in Italy."
"I didn't get around to any international travel, if that's what you're trying to ask, then," said Ruby archly.
Blaise smiled languidly in a way that accentuated his high cheekbones. "Mother and I were in Mirto for a few weeks, swimming and soaking in the beautiful Sicilian sunshine, that's all. E tu?"
Pansy rolled her eyes so expressively that Ruby feared her pupils might get permanently stuck in her eye sockets.
"Oh, you know, we didn't get around to doing much."
"I didn't either," said Daphne, tucking her hair behind her ear. It was then that Ruby noticed the badge that read Prefect sparkling in her robes, and that Blaise was sporting an identical one.
"Where's—"
Ruby didn't get the chance to finish her sentence.
"Look!" said Pansy shrilly, and she whipped around.
Approaching now were Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott; an odd pair if she'd ever seen one. Malfoy was now substantially taller, and Nott seemed to have reverted to his old, 'shrinking violet' demeanour.
Well, no one will be fooled a second time. Ruby let that thought linger. Why is Nott still here? Why didn't Dumbledore expel him? He's a clear and present danger!
When she turned back towards the table, Blaise was still regarding the other two boys over her shoulder with a disgusted look.
"Excuse me," said a voice at her ear, and Ruby jumped. It was Malfoy again.
She slid down, and he sat between her and Lily Moon. Nott walked around to the other side of the table, and took his usual seat next to Blaise and Daphne. Crabbe and Goyle shuffled in a moment later, seeming to have found someone willing to perform the countercurse, and sat down beside Malfoy. Ruby couldn't help but feel bad for Moon, who looked eminently uncomfortable.
The discomfort in the air was palpable. In fact, it was a great relief when the entrance doors were thrown open to reveal Professor McGonagall, carrying the Sorting Hat under her arm, amidst a crowd of first years, finally giving Ruby somewhere to look.
The hall fell silent as McGonagall strode briskly down towards the professors' table, and set the Sorting Hat on top of an old stool just in front of it. The Hat drooped and spread like a pudding taken out of its mould. The wide rip just above the brim puckered open, and the Hat began to sing, in a raucous, out-of-tune rasp.
"You know, Durmstrang doesn't have Houses," said Malfoy, leaning over the table in an attempt to engage Daphne in conversation, who merely flashed a disinterested, closed-mouth smile in response.
Ruby glanced up at the professors' table. Dumbledore was looking out at the hall with a far-away, pensive expression; to his left, Snape was glowering at the Slytherin table — to Ruby's surprise and interest, directly at Malfoy.
"Abercrombie, Euan."
A small, nervous-looking boy scampered forward. McGonagall placed the Hat over his head, and the brim slipped down to his nose. Ruby allowed the sounds of the Great Hall to fade away as she sunk into her thoughts.
Malfoy — why's Malfoy here? Obviously Crabbe and Goyle are a package deal. Narcissa Malfoy must want him close. Something's going to happen, then. Something big.
"Those two-button gloves you're wearing remind me of a pair I saw at a flea market in Palermo this summer," said Blaise, startling her.
Pansy made a noise of irritation.
Feeling a pair of eyes on her, Ruby glanced over her right shoulder. It was Malfoy, staring directly at her gloves, as if he was trying to make the lace catch on fire with his eyes.
These were his mother's! Ruby realised, with a cold shock, and folded her hands in her lap, securely out of view.
While she was cursing her own idiocy, the last first year was Sorted, and the Hat and stool quickly removed. Dumbledore rose to his feet, and despite the fact that half the Slytherins loathed him, they had all mastered a blank polite expression, which they turned towards him.
"Welcome," he said, voice resounding through the hall. "And welcome especially to our new first years, who have found a home for the next seven years. Now, just the usual start-of-term notices…"
How can he sound so light and casual?
"First, the Forbidden Forest, is, as I hope you all know, forbidden to students. Equally so for the right-hand side of the third-floor corridor."
"Regrettably, Professor Gloucester is in poor health and is unable to return as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts this year," Dumbledore continued. "Taking his place will be William Weasley; please give him a warm welcome."
Who? Is that Ron's—
The same red-headed man from the Order meeting got to his feet amidst the scattered applause, mostly concentrated at the Gryffindor table. He had toned down his appearance — his ponytail was slick instead of jaunty, and he wore dark green robes with a sort of mottling over them, like a camouflage pattern — but the fanged earring still dangled from his ear.
"Another Weasley?" asked Pansy, wrinkling her nose.
"Given the success and popularity of last year's Duelling Club, we have decided to reprise it this year; please consult the notice boards in your common rooms."
"Now," Dumbledore continued, his voice suddenly low and serious, "to more unpleasant matters. In recent years, we have faced terrible and unusual threats, from inside and outside of the castle. Voldemort has attacked us before; and he may again, in ways more insidious. After the events of last year—"
"Which he still hasn't told us yet," Pansy griped.
"—it is more important than ever to abide by all restrictions. Hogsmeade visits will not be permitted—"
Quite a few people groaned.
"—and curfew will be strictly enforced. Should you notice anything out of the ordinary, you are to report it to your Head of House."
And Theodore Nott had better know that I'm watching him like a hawk.
"Well, I think that should be everything of importance," said Dumbledore, sounding cheerful and grandfatherly again; Ruby found the switch quite jarring. "Let the feast begin!"
The resplendent spread appeared on the tables, and the hall immediately filled with chatter.
"I have to say," said Malfoy, helping himself to a large portion of roast chicken, "the food at Durmstrang is pretty terrible."
Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne said nothing, only looking at each other. Theodore only twitched, a sheepish expression on his face.
Similarly, Ruby ignored Malfoy. She was suffering enough sitting next to him. She didn't have to entertain him. The rest kept on trading stories about the summer, Malfoy intermittently trying to get a comment in edgeways. Thankfully, their disinterest in her meant that she didn't have to come up with any explanations.
"Why would Dumbledore employ Weasley?" asked Pansy, stabbing at her pumpkin tart as if it had personally offended her. "He'll be hopeless at teaching."
"My father says Dumbledore is getting desperate," said Malfoy in a self-important tone.
"And O.W.L. year as well?" Blaise said. "Doesn't bode well, if you ask me."
In Ruby's opinion, they hardly had anything to complain about. Quirrell, Lockhart, and Umbridge had all been a danger to the school, to say the least — and thanks to them, it would be a wonder if they did pass their Defence O.W.L.
"Isn't it obvious?" asked Malfoy, in the tone of someone trying to be witty. "It's a bit of charity on Dumbledore's end. Everyone knows the Weasleys need the money."
"I think we just need to see how it plays out," said Daphne. "If he's terrible, we'll report him to Draco's mum."
Malfoy beamed — he'd finally gotten what he wanted. Ruby concentrated on her slice of trifle and wished they would stop talking.
Blaise snorted. "Even if he isn't terrible, we'll report him to Draco's mum!"
Before Malfoy could utter another 'clever' remark, Dumbledore announced that they were dismissed to bed, and Ruby sprang to her feet.
"How's my hair?" Blaise whispered to Daphne, 'self-consciously' patting the tight curls as if to fix them. "First years! First years, over here, please!"
Another year, another Slytherin Talk, thought Ruby, as a mob of small children (surely she hadn't been that small!) marched down the length of the Slytherin table.
"Why the hurry, my dear?" asked the Bloody Baron, the melodramatic and hot-tempered ghost of a medieval nobleman, his front covered in silvery blood and draped in clanking chains, as she stumbled past him. "Have you the common room password?"
Ruby stopped dead in her tracks.
"No, I haven't — Your Lordship."
"Tis Mercia," said the Baron longingly, his eyes misted over. "Mine own beloved lands."
"Thanks," said Ruby hurriedly, and she dashed out of the Great Hall, heading for the dungeons with a single-minded focus.
She'd been back a few hours, and she already needed a cold bath and to scream.
"Mercia," Ruby said to an ordinary-looking wall panel, and the door opened to reveal the Slytherin common room.
The Slytherin's home had been designed with maximum opulence as the objective. Low backed black and dark green sofas dotted the floor, covered in a soft, luxurious leather; the walls were decorated with tapestries and hangings, befitting the inside of a medieval castle — which Ruby supposed Hogwarts was, after all. The light was green-tinged, from the enormous fireplace with emerald flames to the green lamps to the light that leaked in through the windows that looked out under the Black Lake.
Home. Yes, the first real home she'd ever had — the first bed that was really hers to sleep in. Shame about the people.
And after the cold bath (and the scream) Ruby felt significantly less prickly and annoyed. When she walked back into the dormitory (now marked Fifth Year Girls), Pansy and Daphne were already there, the latter unpacking with admirable calmness and efficiency while the former sat on her emerald-draped bed, with a pink Puffskein twitching in her cupped hands.
"Is it just me," asked Pansy, "or did Malfoy actually come back from Durmstrang kind of gorgeous?"
Ruby rolled her eyes. She had to admit that Malfoy did look… less pointy and petulant, but what was he doing back here in the first place?
"I suppose," said Daphne seriously, folding up a stylish dragon-leather jacket.
"You suppose?" Pansy repeated, laughing.
Ruby studiously fluffed up her pillow, doing her best to look busy and pay her roommates the least amount of attention possible.
"Please. You were all over him at dinner."
"Being polite is not 'all over'," said Daphne, her voice strained.
Ruby climbed into bed.
"Look, if you're going to act jealous because you fancied him when we were ten—"
"Goodnight!" said Ruby crossly, snapping the curtains shut.
They obscured, but did not silence the sounds of Pansy and Daphne arguing.
Nevertheless, she went to sleep.
The next morning, Harry found himself in the unfortunate predicament of waking up too early and finding himself unable to fall back asleep. It was still dark — he suspected it might be five or so.
I'll go for a walk, he thought, reaching for his glasses. Either he'd get tired enough to fall back asleep, or he'd wake up properly.
Harry slid off the bed, his feet quiet on the floorboards. Wrapping the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, he eased the door open and tiptoed down the stairs.
The corridors were still filled with a deep, yawning silence. Harry began to wander aimlessly. He had just found himself on the fifth floor when he heard voices floating towards him, and set off as discreetly as he could in that direction.
As he drew closer, Harry realised who the voices belonged to — Dumbledore and Snape.
"—training the boy with do no good against the Dark Lord!" Snape was saying.
Harry ducked behind a suit of armour.
"Indeed," said Dumbledore sagely. "But Voldemort is not the only one who would attempt to harm him."
Harry could hear the scowl in Snape's voice. "With all due respect, Dumbledore, your focus on Potter has led you to neglect the far greater problem, his control over the Ministry."
"What makes you think I have neglected the Ministry, Severus?" Dumbledore's tone was light.
"Well, you must find someone to stand against Umbridge!"
"Do not be hasty. We must understand what game Voldemort is playing; or else we risk falling into the trap he has doubtlessly laid."
Snape turned to Dumbledore, looking unimpressed. "Is that the reason you give for inviting that woman to Hogwarts, again?"
A smile pulled at Dumbledore's mouth. "No, I simply hope to utilise the 'home advantage.' After all, she is not such a good Occlumens as you."
Snape scoffed at Dumbledore's flattery. "Do you not think the Dark Lord is aware of that? Do you not think he will have told her nothing of importance."
"Severus, you are too glib. Sometimes, the small and significant details can tell one a great deal. You were raised amongst Muggles; surely you know of the detective, Sherlock Holmes, and his powers of deduction from small bits of circumstantial evidence?"
"Regardless, Dumbledore, she will come prepared. She is afraid of you."
"And bring her entourage, I expect," said Dumbledore airily. "Mostly Aurors, a few other high-ranking officials with the hopes of intimidating us."
From a moment, Snape looked confused, and then, as if something had dawned on him, he said, "Oh. I see. Games then?"
"Games it is, Severus," Dumbledore agreed, and then the two of them walked past Harry, causing him to freeze.
For just a second, Dumbledore seemed to look directly at him, but then he turned his head again.
Relaxing, Harry realised that the hallways were getting brighter, and that now would be a good time to get back to his room and get changed for breakfast.
When he got back, the other boys had only just started to stir.
"What're you doing up so early?" asked Ron, sitting up just as Harry started to fuss with his tie in the mirror.
"Woke up, couldn't get back to sleep." Harry paused. "Did you know Bill was going to be Defence?"
"No. Mum wasn't happy when she found out, either. But he said he was doing it to keep an eye on us — that's you included—" Ron added a little sheepishly "—and she couldn't argue with that."
I'm sick of all these eyes on me — Riddle first, now the Order. Harry tugged irritatedly on his tie, and made a face in the mirror. Will everyone stop treating me like I'm eleven? I don't need a babysitter!
Sickly, weak, diseased, tragic. He hadn't been an Obscurial for more than two years — and yet that was what everyone chose to remember.
"It's not that, whatever you think it is," said Ron. "It's because you're important."
"Important for what?" asked Harry indignantly, whirling around. "Why, because of some stupid prophecy that says—"
Ron's jaw dropped. "Prophecy?" he repeated in a pale voice.
"I'll tell you later," said Harry pointedly, glancing at Dean, who was rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "Just forget it for now."
"Whatever," Ron grunted.
Harry, who was finished getting ready, sat down on his bed to wait for Ron, listening to the snippets of conversation floating through the dormitory.
"Ron Weasley's our prefect?" asked Seamus. "Never saw that coming."
"Yeah," Dean answered. "Wasn't going to be us, either. Or Neville. Or…" He glanced over his shoulder, and lowered his voice. "Harry."
"Still," said Seamus. "I thought it'd be Runcorn."
Runcorn — Aloysius Runcorn — wasn't someone Harry was on first name terms with, though he imagined that didn't bother the other boy. He wore serious-looking browline glasses which Harry suspected weren't prescription, always had a perfectly ironed uniform, and was quite close to the top of the year. And he was glaring daggers at Ron, so chances were, he had been expecting to be made prefect.
Harry had honestly forgotten that fifth year was when prefects were chosen — and he wasn't quite sure whether or not he cared.
"Ready?" asked Ron, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.
"Yeah— let's go."
They made their way out of the dormitory, Runcorn still glowering at Ron as they went. It wasn't long before they joined the morning crush, moving at a steady pace towards the Great Hall. Harry was still quite a bit shorter than Ron — but he was pleased to find that he could see over far more heads than last year.
Harry heard his name, and he thought it was in his head until someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hi, Harry!"
It was Anthony who had come up behind them, looking flustered as usual. To Harry's surprise, a blue prefect's badge was pinned to his robes.
Prefect? Anthony? Hasn't he collected the most late slips out of everyone in the year?
"Yeah," said Anthony, self-consciously fiddling with the badge, "I couldn't believe it either. I thought it had to be a mistake."
Ron laughed uneasily. "Me too; I thought Fred and George were trying to get one over on me."
Anthony looked over Ron's shoulder as the three of them fell into step. "How was your summer, Harry?"
"Fine, boring." Ron obviously already knew, from Bill, but Mafalda and Tonks always looked over Harry's letters to Hermione and Anthony to make sure he wasn't 'giving away' too much in case Hedwig was intercepted, so he'd given up on communication anyway, knowing that he was having all of his mail read.
"Yeah, you'll have to tell me later," said Anthony, seemingly picking up on the implication. "Uh, how's Ruby? You know, after… the thing."
Harry grimaced involuntarily, remembering how she'd snapped at him all summer every time he'd tried to bring it up. "She's, er, figuring it out, I think."
"Right, right." Anthony scratched his eyebrow, a little clumsily with his bronze hand. "And Ron, your brother's Defence! You really kept us in suspense on that one! Didn't know he was capable of it, did you, Harry?"
"Don't remind me," said Ron darkly.
"Oh, there you are," said Hermione, elbowing her way through the crowd. "Come on, we don't want to be late for schedules."
Hermione said schedules as if the schedules were tickets to a blockbuster film.
At least someone's starting off the year in a good mood, thought Harry as they filtered into the Great Hall. He tried to ignore the snatches of conversation.
"That Potter, he's probably up to no good again."
"Still think he isn't a Dark Lord?"
"I'll bet anything he's the one who destroyed the wards."
It was impossible to ignore — not with the staring and pointing. Harry's already low mood plummeted to the ground as he followed Ron and Hermione to the Gryffindor table. Professor McGonagall was already moving along the table, handing out schedules.
Ron uttered a low groan as if he had been wounded.
"What?" asked Hermione, already absorbed in colour-coding.
"Double Defence, first thing in the morning."
Hermione shook her quill at him, dripping cobalt blue ink. "Oh, get off it, Ron, he's only your brother!"
"You wouldn't understand," said Ron. "Must be nice being an only child," he added in a spiteful tone.
Ginny, his younger sister, had apparently overheard and glowered at him from her spot further down the table.
Personally, Harry didn't think Bill could be worse than Lockhart, or Umbridge — even for Ron.
He soon got a chance to test that hypothesis, once seated in Double Defence. Across the room, he noticed Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode whispering to themselves with sardonic looks thrown at an oblivious Bill, who was setting up various contraptions that looked like the ones in Dumbledore's office. Bill was wearing even more toned-down clothes compared to his appearance at the feast — the fanged earring was gone, and the brown of his robes resembled that of a Muggle overcoat.
Though I suppose I should call him Professor Weasley.
Harry wondered what Bulstrode had done to get 'promoted.' Maybe Parkinson and Greengrass had fallen out again. It seemed likely, because Greengrass was sitting next to — was that Draco Malfoy?
He repeated this thought to Hermione, who paled a little.
"Wonder why he's back," she said thoughtfully. "Nothing good, probably."
Harry glanced back at Ron, who was sat by himself all the way at the back of the class, halfway in the shadow of an alcove.
Taking this a bit far, isn't he?
Just then, Bill clapped his hands, and the whole class sat up straight — some, like Hermione, listening expectantly — and others, like most of the Slytherins, studying him for flaws.
"So, welcome to your O.W.L. year, and to Defence Against the Dark Arts. As you know, the O.W.L.s are an all-important set of exams," he began, with a confident tone of voice, but something in his stance betraying nervousness, "and your Defence O.W.L. will require you to demonstrate proficiency in several areas. This includes, but is not limited to, counterjinxes, defensive spells, and defending yourself from Dark creatures. My job is to ensure that you have sufficient mastery of all these areas."
Bill seemed like he would be a very 'by-the-book' type of professor; nowhere as good as Sirius, Harry thought, but with the rest of the lineup, not so bad.
Already, he had turned around to retrieve a stack of papers, and began handing them out to the students sitting in the front row.
"Just a short quiz, nothing too strenuous, wanted to understand where everyone's up to."
Bill smiled mechanically, the expression stopping at his mouth, his eyes straining with a polite expression.
The reminder of Gilderoy Lockhart was quite unwelcome; a significant portion of the class shuddered. Bill gave Harry a decidedly nervous smile as he handed him a small stack, and Harry, carefully peeling the top page away and setting it on his desk before passing the stack to Dean behind him, wondered if the new Defence professor was up to the task. It was possible that he might even get fired from incompetence, sparing him from a grislier fate at the end of the year.
That seemed ridiculous. given the 'acts' he was following. But at least they had all been steadfast in their malice. Bill was like a reed blowing in the wind, and if — when — someone pushed hard enough, he'd fall over.
Harry realised the room around him had fallen quiet, aside from the sound of quills dragging across parchment, and he looked down at his quiz.
What are the five signs that identify the werewolf?
List the counter-jinxes that you can reliably perform:
List the defensive spells that you can reliably perform:
How can one Banish a ghoul?
Step-by-step, explain what actions one should take in the event of a Dementor encounter
…
He sighed, filled his quill with ink, and started on question one.
This was definitely going to be a long year.