Chapter 39: Seen and Unforeseen
February 16, 2003 – Sunday
Great Hall
The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual noise of chattering students as dinner was in full swing. Candles flickered overhead, casting warm, dancing shadows across the long tables laden with food. Luna, ever dreamlike, had just mentioned that the interview might not be printed right away, given that her father was prioritizing a lengthy feature on Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. "And of course, that'll be a very important story, so Harry and Dawn might have to wait for the following issue," she added, her eyes wide and serene as though discussing the most natural thing in the world.
Dean shook his head in amazement as he forked some mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Can't wait to see what Umbridge thinks of you two going public," he said, glancing between Harry and Dawn with something close to admiration. There was a thrill of excitement in his tone, mixed with awe. The thought of defying the Ministry-approved narrative was a bold and dangerous move.
Neville leaned in, his expression more serious, his round face shadowed with concern. "It's the right thing to do, Harry, Dawn. It must have been... tough... talking about it... was it?" His voice was softer, filled with the kind of understanding that came from his own struggles and pain. He knew what it was like to carry memories that weighed heavily on the heart.
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes downcast as he prodded at his dinner with his fork. "Yeah," he mumbled, feeling the weight of all those eyes on him, "but people have got to know what Voldemort's capable of, haven't they?" His voice was low, almost as if saying the name out loud might summon the darkness he'd faced.
Dawn, sitting beside him, nodded with equal conviction, though her gaze was distant as she recalled the venomous lies the Prophet had spread about her. "And I needed to tell my side of the story as well. The Prophet has called me delusional every chance they get. You all know I'm not." There was a fire in her words, a determination to reclaim her truth after being vilified by the media. Her hands curled into fists as she spoke, but she quickly forced herself to relax, exhaling slowly.
Neville's eyes flickered with empathy. "That's right," he agreed firmly, "and his Death Eaters, too... people should know..." He looked like he was struggling with the memories of his parents and the horrors they'd suffered at the hands of those very Death Eaters. His jaw tightened as he stared at his plate, lost in thought.
The table fell quiet for a moment, the tension thickening in the air, but Hermione broke it with her usual inquisitiveness. "Oh, I forgot to ask you," she said, turning to Harry with a gleam in her eye, "what happened on your date with Cho? How come you were back so early?" Her curiosity was innocent enough, but Dawn stiffened beside Harry, her jaw clenching slightly. Hermione knew full well how her sister felt about him, and the question felt like an unwelcome jab.
Dawn shot a glare at Hermione, and though she said nothing, the tension between the sisters was palpable. Harry, oblivious to the undercurrent, scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Er... well, it was..." He hesitated, glancing at Dawn before launching into the story. "A complete fiasco, now you mention it." His voice was tinged with embarrassment as he recounted the awkwardness at Madam Puddifoot's teashop—the garish decor, the forced small talk, the way everything seemed to spiral out of control.
The others listened intently, snickering at the absurdity of it all, but Dawn stayed unusually silent. Harry went on, detailing how Cho's mood had shifted rapidly from lighthearted to tearful and back again, how he'd clumsily tried to navigate the emotional minefield without success. "...so then," he finished, his tone carrying a mix of confusion and frustration, "she jumps up, right, and says, 'I'll see you around, Harry,' and runs out of the place!"
Dawn felt a surge of satisfaction swell within her chest after hearing that. Yet that contentment was short-lived as the conversation took a sudden, uncomfortable turn.
Harry, with a puzzled frown, set down his spoon and looked directly at Hermione. "I mean, what was all that about? What was going on?" His frustration was evident, a mixture of confusion and the lingering sting of a disastrous date gnawing at him. Dawn winced internally, sensing where this discussion was heading, the tension in her shoulders already creeping back.
Hermione sighed, casting a weary glance towards Clio before turning back to Harry. "Oh, Harry. Well, I'm sorry, but you were a bit tactless." Her voice carried a hint of sympathy, but there was also that trademark matter-of-fact tone that Hermione often employed when trying to soften a hard truth.
"Me, tactless?" Harry shot back, clearly affronted. "One minute we were getting on fine, next minute she was telling me that Roger Davies asked her out and how she used to go and snog Cedric in that stupid teashop—how was I supposed to feel about that?" His voice grew louder, exasperation coloring his words as he relived the memory.
Hermione's expression softened, though she still looked like she was bracing herself. "Well, you see," she said gently, "you shouldn't have told her that you wanted to meet me halfway through your date."
Dawn couldn't help but silently agree. If she'd been in Cho's shoes, she'd likely have felt just as hurt and confused. Maybe even worse, considering her own conflicted feelings towards Harry. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat, trying not to let her emotions bubble over. But then again, she also knew that Hermione, with her sharp insights and blunt advice, could make things sting even more.
"But, but," Harry spluttered, clearly struggling to process this new information, "but—you told me to meet you at twelve and to bring her along, how was I supposed to do that without telling her?" His tone was laced with desperation as he searched for some kind of validation, hoping someone would tell him he hadn't completely messed up.
"You should have told her differently," said Hermione, her voice steady, as if she had already played this scenario out in her head a dozen times. "You should have said it was really annoying, but I'd made you promise to come along to the Three Broomsticks, and you really didn't want to go, you'd much rather spend the whole day with her, but unfortunately you thought you really ought to meet me and would she please, please come along with you and hopefully you'd be able to get away more quickly. And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am, too."
Dawn stiffened, her heart sinking like a stone. Her eyes shot daggers at Hermione. It was as if her sister had a knack for twisting the knife, whether she meant to or not. Dawn could feel the frustration building up inside her, mingling with the hurt she had been trying so hard to bury. Her chest felt tight, the room suddenly stifling, and without another word, she pushed herself up from the table and walked briskly out of the Great Hall. She didn't want anyone to see the tears that threatened to spill over.
Hermione's eyes followed Dawn's retreating figure, regret flickering across her face. She let out a tired sigh, understanding that she had inadvertently struck a nerve. But before she could dwell on it, Harry, oblivious to what had just transpired between the sisters, broke the silence.
"But I don't think you're ugly," he said earnestly, his voice laced with confusion and sincerity. He genuinely didn't understand the ripple effect of his words or the undercurrents of tension swirling around the table.
Hermione's forced smile lingered, but the weight of guilt was already pulling at her, dulling the usual spark in her eyes. As she spoke, her voice was softer, laced with regret and a hint of exasperation at the situation she might have made worse. Dawn was sensitive, and even though Hermione's words had been meant to help Harry see reason, she now realized how thoughtlessly she'd dragged her sister's feelings into it.
"Harry, you're worse than Ron... well, no, you're not," Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples as if trying to massage away the tension. "Look—you upset Cho when you said you were going to meet me, so she tried to make you jealous. It was her way of trying to find out how much you liked her."
Harry's confusion deepened as he mulled over Hermione's explanation. Just then, Ron plopped down opposite them, his arrival marked by the sudden clatter of dishes being pulled towards him as he hungrily loaded his plate. Harry leaned in, brow furrowed, as he tried to piece it all together. "Is that what she was doing?" he asked, glancing briefly at Ron, who was too focused on his food to comment. "Well, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?"
Hermione let out a weary breath, her gaze distant as she considered how to best phrase her next words. "Girls don't often ask questions like that," she said, a note of wistfulness creeping into her tone. "In fact, I know someone who is like that. She likes you but hasn't asked because she knows you like Cho." Hermione's voice was steady, but there was a flicker of tension beneath it, an almost imperceptible unease as she hinted at the truth Harry had been blind to.
Harry's eyes widened in disbelief, and he leaned closer, now fully engaged. "Well, they should!" he said forcefully. "Then I could've just told her I fancy her, and she wouldn't have had to get herself all worked up again about Cedric dying!" He paused, and as the realization dawned on him, his expression shifted to one of shock. "Wait... someone likes me?"
Hermione nodded slowly, meeting Harry's incredulous gaze. "Yes. She had hoped you would ask her to the Yule Ball last year. She's been doing everything she can to get you to notice her."
Harry's mind raced, sifting through moments from the past year, trying to pinpoint the girl Hermione was talking about. He turned to Ron, who had finally paused in his eating, his expression slightly uncomfortable as he avoided Harry's gaze. "Do you know who she's talking about?" Harry pressed.
Ron hesitated, glancing from Hermione to Harry, clearly torn. With a heavy sigh, he finally nodded and muttered, "Dawn."
"Dawn?" Harry repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, his shock evident. Of all people, he hadn't expected it to be her. Memories of Dawn—her quick wit, her kindness, the way her smile lit up the room—flashed through his mind. He had always enjoyed her company, but now, seeing it through this new lens, everything made more sense.
Hermione nodded, her expression softening. "Yes, my sister likes you, Harry."
For a moment, Harry just sat there, stunned into silence as he absorbed this revelation. Then, as the shock began to wear off, a slow smile spread across his face. He felt a warmth in his chest, a joy he hadn't expected. Realizing that he liked Dawn too—far more than he'd ever liked Cho—sent his heart racing with both excitement and nervousness. "I like her too," he said quietly, the words carrying a sense of wonder. "I should go apologize to her for being such a blind git."
Hermione's smile was genuine now, a glimmer of relief in her eyes. "She's probably in Buffy's room."
Harry nodded, determination mingling with anticipation as he pushed back his chair and stood. His heart thudded against his ribcage, a mix of nerves and hope fueling him as he left the Great Hall. He knew he had to find Dawn and tell her how he felt—before another misunderstanding or missed moment could get in the way.
Buffy's Suite
Harry moved with purpose, his feet carrying him swiftly down the corridors until he reached the portrait outside Buffy's suite. His heart pounded with each step, a mixture of determination and nervous energy propelling him forward. The woman in the portrait, draped in flowing robes, tilted her head as he approached, a sly smile playing on her lips. Her eyes sparkled with a knowing curiosity, as if she sensed the emotions swirling within him.
"Password?" she inquired, her voice echoing with a melodious lilt that added to the mysterious air about her.
Harry swallowed, trying to steady his breathing. His mind was racing, but he kept his focus. "Can you tell me if Dawn is in there?" he asked, his voice betraying just a hint of the anxiousness he felt.
The woman's expression softened slightly, a maternal warmth in her eyes. "Yes," she replied, her tone now gentler, almost reassuring. "She is with her sister."
A wave of relief surged through Harry, though he did his best to mask it. He nodded, his voice tinged with anticipation as he made his request, "Can you tell Dawn I would like to see her?"
With a brief nod, the woman's smile widened before she disappeared from the frame, gliding into the painted depths to deliver his message. As Harry stood there waiting, his thoughts churned, the seconds feeling like an eternity. He tried to steady his breath, but the knot of nerves in his chest only tightened. This was his moment, and the weight of it made his emotions spin like a storm inside him.
After what felt like an age, the woman reappeared, her expression serene. "Professor Summers said you may enter," she announced, her tone carrying a hint of approval. As she spoke, the portrait swung open, revealing the entrance to Buffy's suite. Harry stepped through, his pulse quickening with every step as he ventured inside.
The room was warm and inviting, filled with soft candlelight that danced on the stone walls. In the center, Buffy stood waiting, her arms crossed loosely. Her sharp eyes locked onto him the moment he entered, scanning him for any signs of trouble. The concern etched into her features softened into curiosity as she gave him a small smile. "Hello, Harry," she said, her voice carrying both warmth and a hint of worry. "Is something the matter?"
Harry's breath hitched as he tried to gather his words. "Buffy, can I have a moment alone with Dawn?" His voice trembled slightly, his vulnerability clear. He wasn't used to asking for such personal favors, especially when he knew how fiercely protective Buffy could be. But he had to try.
Buffy's eyes flickered with understanding, and after a moment's consideration, she nodded, her expression softening even more. "Sure," she replied with a supportive smile. Her tone was gentle, yet it carried the strength of a sister who knew when to step aside. "I'll be right outside, Dawnie," she added as she turned towards Dawn, who was seated near the fireplace, her face partially hidden by shadows.
With that, Buffy slipped gracefully through the portrait hole, leaving Harry and Dawn alone. As the door closed behind her, a heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Harry's heart raced, every nerve alive with anticipation as he took a step closer to Dawn, knowing this conversation could change everything between them.
"I'm sorry, Dawn," Harry said, his voice carrying the weight of everything he'd been holding back. He looked at her with an expression so earnest that it made Dawn's heart skip. She blinked, taken aback by his sudden apology.
Dawn met his gaze, her eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of hope she hadn't allowed herself to feel until now. "For what?" she asked gently, her voice tinged with curiosity. She was caught off guard, uncertain where this conversation was leading.
Harry exhaled deeply, his hand ruffling his already messy hair as he tried to piece together his thoughts. "I've been a git," he admitted, his tone laced with regret and self-reproach. He could feel the tension hanging between them, an invisible barrier built from misunderstandings and missed chances. "Why didn't you tell me you liked me?" His question hung in the air, heavy with all the emotions they'd danced around for months.
Dawn bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the floor as she wrestled with her own insecurities. She hadn't expected him to confront this so directly, and now that the moment was here, the words seemed both liberating and terrifying. "I don't know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Would it have made a difference if I had?" She finally lifted her eyes to meet his, searching his face for the truth.
Harry's heart thudded in his chest as he considered her question, weighing everything he'd felt but never voiced. After a pause that felt like an eternity, he nodded, his voice steady and sincere. "Yes. It would have." The honesty in his words sent a shiver down Dawn's spine. "If you hadn't had Quidditch practice over the weekend, I would've taken you to Hogsmeade, not Cho. In fact, I probably would've told Hermione I couldn't go—I would've stayed and watched you practice." His gaze softened as he took a step closer, closing the distance between them. "I like you too, Dawn."
Dawn's eyes widened, her heart leaping at his confession. A brilliant smile spread across her face, one that lit up the room and made everything else disappear. Without a second thought, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Harry wrapped his arms around her in return, the warmth of the embrace speaking volumes more than words ever could. The tension, the doubts, the what-ifs—all of it melted away in that moment.
Their eyes met, and before either of them could think, they leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was as sweet as it was passionate. It was a kiss filled with all the unspoken feelings they had buried, a release of emotions that had been building for far too long. The world outside ceased to exist as they got lost in each other.
But the blissful moment was soon interrupted by the sound of a playful, but very intentional, cough from the portrait hole. They broke apart, cheeks flushed, and turned to see Buffy leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk tugging at her lips. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she took in the sight of them.
"About time, you two," Buffy teased, her voice light and affectionate. "I wondered how long it would take for you both to admit what was glaringly obvious to everyone else." There was no mistaking the happiness in her tone, her big-sister pride shining through.
Harry and Dawn exchanged an embarrassed glance, but their smiles were impossible to hide. Their hands remained clasped together, fingers intertwined as they faced Buffy. In that moment, the atmosphere shifted—it was as if something important had been set right, the weight of uncertainty finally lifting.
As Buffy grinned at them, a warmth spread through the room, a sense of something new beginning. For Harry and Dawn, this was more than just a confession—it was the start of something real, something they both had quietly wished for. And as they stood there, hands still linked, they couldn't help but feel like they were stepping into a brighter chapter of their lives, one filled with promise and the thrill of finally being honest with themselves—and each other.
Gryffindor Common Room
A half an hour later, Dawn and Harry walked into the common room hand in hand, their fingers clasped together in a gesture of newfound closeness and quiet contentment. The warmth of their earlier confession lingered, adding a glow to their cheeks as they entered the bustling room. They made their way up to the dormitories, emerging a few moments later with a stack of homework, their expressions determined and focused.
They chose a table near the window, the light from the setting sun casting a soft glow over their faces. They pulled their chairs close, sitting side by side as they began to tackle their assignments. The shared effort of studying together was a new and comforting routine, reinforcing the connection they had just discovered.
Fred Weasley, who had been lounging on a nearby armchair, glanced up as he noticed their arrival. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he pulled up a chair and joined them. "Ron not here?" he asked, his tone casual but full of the characteristic Fred mischief. Harry shook his head in response. "Good. We were watching the practice yesterday. Dawn here is the best player they have now. Otherwise they're complete rubbish without us."
Harry's face broke into a proud smile as he looked at Dawn, his admiration evident.
Hermione, who had been observing from a distance, approached with a hint of concern. "Has Ron saved a goal yet?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity as she joined her sister.
"Well, he can do it if he doesn't think anyone's watching him," Fred replied with a grin. "So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday. You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for." His tone was lighthearted, though his words carried a deeper sense of attachment to the game.
Hermione shot him a stern look, her brow furrowing with the weight of impending responsibilities. "You've got exams coming!"
Fred waved off her concern with a nonchalant shrug. "Told you already, we're not fussed about NEWTs," he said with a dismissive gesture. "The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of Murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us on to it." His enthusiasm for their latest project was evident, as was his disregard for the looming exams.
George, who had been lounging in the corner, yawned widely and gazed out of the window at the cloudy night sky. His mood seemed as overcast as the weather outside. "I dunno if I even want to watch this match. If Zacharias Smith beats us I might have to kill myself," he said with a dramatic sigh.
Fred's eyes flashed with determination. "Kill him, more like," he said firmly, his loyalty to the team and the game evident in his tone.
Hermione, lost in thought, remarked absent-mindedly, "That's the trouble with Quidditch. It creates all this bad feeling and tension between the houses." Her observation was tinged with a note of resignation, as if the game's ability to stir up conflict was an unfortunate side effect of its excitement.
Dawn rolled her eyes with a playful, confident flick of her gaze. "We'll win, don't you worry none," she said, her tone brimming with certainty and a touch of bravado. Her words were a promise, a declaration of faith in her own abilities and the team's chances. "I'll get the Snitch," she added with an air of resolute assurance, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of the challenge ahead.
She then turned her attention to Hermione, who was seated nearby, her expression thoughtful as she considered the upcoming match. Dawn's voice softened slightly, her playful challenge shifting to a more earnest note. "'Mione, come Saturday you're still going to be wishing me luck, and you know it." Her gaze was steady and inviting, as if daring Hermione to deny her own instinctive support.
Hermione's lips curved into a small, amused smile, but before she could respond, Harry interjected with a gentle shake of his head. "Hermione," he said, his voice carrying a tone of mild exasperation mixed with understanding, "Dawn is right. You'll be supporting her come Saturday."
February 22, 2003 – Saturday
Great Hall
The very best thing that could be said about the match was its brevity; the Gryffindor spectators had to endure only twenty-two agonizing minutes of frustration and disappointment. The Gryffindor team's performance was a mix of mishaps and missed opportunities, leaving their supporters cringing and clutching at their hopes.
It was difficult to pinpoint the worst aspect of the game, as there were several contenders vying for that dubious honor. For Harry, the contest between Ron's fourteenth failed save, Sloper's unfortunate miss of the Bludger that instead struck Angelina directly in the mouth, and Kirke's dramatic fall from his broom when Zacharias Smith charged at him with the Quaffle was a particularly painful one. Each incident seemed to compound the team's struggles, adding to the sense of frustration that hung over the pitch like a heavy fog.
The ultimate miracle was that Gryffindor lost by only ten points. Despite the series of misfortunes, Dawn managed to snatch the Snitch from right under the nose of Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby. This last-minute triumph ensured that the final score stood at two hundred and forty points for Hufflepuff against two hundred and thirty for Gryffindor.
"Good catch," Harry said with genuine admiration, his eyes shining with pride before he pulled Dawn into a passionate kiss. The brief moment of triumph and affection offered a welcome contrast to the earlier drama.
"I was lucky," Dawn replied with a modest smile as she returned the kiss. "It wasn't a very fast Snitch, and Summerby's got a cold. He sneezed and closed his eyes at exactly the wrong moment. Anyway, once you're back on the team —"
"Dawn, I've got a lifelong ban," Harry interrupted, his voice tinged with frustration.
"You're banned as long as Umbridge is in the school," Dawn corrected gently. "There's a difference. Anyway, once you're back, I think I'll try out for Chaser. Angelina and Alicia are both leaving next year, and I prefer goal-scoring to Seeking anyway."
Harry glanced over at Ron, who was sitting dejectedly with a heavy expression. The weight of the match's outcome seemed to be settling over him like a shroud.
"Angelina still won't let him resign," Dawn remarked with a hint of resignation. "She says she knows he's got it in him."
Fred and George, their faces marked by the tension of the game, wandered over to join the conversation.
"I haven't even got the heart to take the mickey out of him," Fred said, his voice tinged with a mixture of sympathy and restrained amusement as he looked at Ron's crumpled figure. "Mind you... when he missed the fourteenth — well, I'll save it for parties, eh?"
Dawn sighed, her gaze following Ron as he trudged up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.
Harry's gaze followed Ron as he made his way up to the boys' dormitory, a shadow of defeat hanging over him. He was about to follow in the hopes of offering some comfort or words of encouragement when Dawn's hand on his arm stopped him. Her grip was gentle but firm, and she shook her head slightly.
"Give him a moment," Dawn said softly, her voice carrying the weight of her own experiences. "He needs a moment to himself." She paused, her eyes filled with empathy. "Believe me, I know how he feels. If it wasn't for you, I'd probably be in the same mood."
Harry nodded, his heart aching for his friend and understanding Dawn's perspective. He leaned in and kissed her, the warmth of the gesture conveying his deep feelings. "I still can't believe I was such a git for not seeing you…"
Dawn smiled, her eyes twinkling with affection as she playfully replied, "True, but you're my git," she said, making Harry laugh despite the lingering heaviness of the match. "Besides, you've got my back. There's no one else I would rather have watching it. Well, maybe other than Hermione, Buffy, and Ron, of course."
Harry's smile broadened, the intimacy of the moment making the challenges of the day seem a little lighter. "I know." He leaned in once more to kiss her, the touch tender and full of promise. "Night, Dawn."
Dawn returned the smile, her eyes reflecting the warmth and closeness they shared. "Night, Harry."
February 24, 2003 – Monday
Great Hall
Dawn and Harry walked into the Great Hall, their arrival perfectly synchronized with the arrival of the post owls on Monday morning. The usual morning hustle was accompanied by an air of anticipation as the owls descended. Hermione, like many others in the hall, was eagerly awaiting her copy of the Daily Prophet. The excitement was palpable, with everyone keen to read the latest updates on the escaped Death Eaters, who, despite numerous reported sightings, remained at large. Hermione hastened to give a Knut to the delivery owl, her eyes already scanning the newspaper as she unfolded it. Meanwhile, Harry poured fresh orange juice for Dawn, the citrus scent mingling with the aroma of breakfast as he filled his own glass.
Dawn was taken aback when two owls landed before her and Harry, each carrying a letter. Their presence was a surprising distraction from the morning's routine. Harry leaned forward, curiosity etched on his face as he peered at the owls and their cargo. "Who're you two after?" he asked, though he really didn't need to as the names and addresses were clear:
Harry Potter Dawn Summers
Great Hall Great Hall
Hogwarts School Hogwarts School
Dawn and Harry exchanged puzzled looks before reaching out to retrieve the letters from the owls. As they did, more owls began to arrive, fluttering down with increasing numbers—three, four, five more owls each bearing additional letters. The scene quickly became chaotic, with the birds jockeying for space, their talons inadvertently treading in the butter and knocking over salt shakers in their eagerness to deliver their messages. The Great Hall was soon filled with a flurry of feathers and fluttering wings.
"What's going on?" Ron asked, his voice filled with amazement as he watched the spectacle unfold.
Hermione, breathless with excitement, dove into the mass of owls, her hands expertly navigating through the feathery chaos. She emerged with a screech owl carrying two long, cylindrical packages. Her face was flushed with a mixture of anticipation and triumph. "Harry! Dawn!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with understanding. "I think I know what this means—open this one first!"
Harry and Dawn quickly tore off the brown packaging, their movements hurried but careful. The anticipation was nearly tangible as they unrolled the tightly furled copies of the March edition of The Quibbler. As the newspapers unfurled, their faces emerged, captured in mid-grin on the front cover. The bold, red letters across the picture announced:
HARRY POTTER and DAWN SUMMERS SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:
THE TRUTH ABOUT HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED
AND THE NIGHT WE SAW HIM RETURN
"It's good, isn't it?" Luna asked, her voice tinged with excitement as she floated over to the Gryffindor table. With an air of quiet confidence, she nestled herself onto the bench between Fred and Ron, her usual ethereal grace momentarily mingling with the hustle of the breakfast crowd. She gestured at the flurry of owls still flapping and squawking around the table, their feathers ruffled and eyes wide. "It came out yesterday. I asked Dad to send you both a free copy. I expect all these"—her hand swept over the multitude of owls—"are letters from readers."
"Oh, and Dawn," Luna continued, her voice bright with enthusiasm, "your story about what happened with Glory is on page five."
"That is what I thought," Hermione interjected eagerly. She was practically vibrating with anticipation. "Harry, Dawn, do you mind if we—?"
"Help yourself," Harry said, a hint of bemusement in his voice as he took in the scene unfolding around him. The excitement and chaos of the moment were almost overwhelming.
Dawn nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as the rest of the table came to life.
Ron and Hermione immediately began tearing into the envelopes, their fingers quick and eager. The breakfast chatter around them seemed to fade as they delved into the flood of correspondence.
"This one's from a bloke who thinks you are both off your rockers," Ron said, his brow furrowing as he scanned the letter. "Ah well..." He shrugged, dismissing the negative feedback with a resigned air.
"This woman recommends you both try a good course of Shock Spells at St Mungo's," Hermione said, her voice tinged with disappointment as she crumpled up a second letter. Her face reflected the frustration of encountering skepticism from those who clearly didn't believe their story.
"This one looks OK, though," Harry said, his voice steady as he carefully unrolled a lengthy letter from a witch in Paisley. "Hey, she said she believes us!" He smiled, the genuine support from a stranger lifting his spirits.
"This one's of two minds," Dawn said thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on another letter. "It says we don't come across as a couple of mad people, but the writer really doesn't want to believe Voldemort's back, so he's not sure what to think now."
"Here's another one you've convinced, Dawn, Harry!" Hermione said excitedly, her eyes gleaming as she read aloud from a letter. "Having read your side of the story, I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you both very unfairly. Though I want to think that He Who Must Not Be Named hasn't returned, I am forced to accept that you both are telling the truth." She beamed, her joy palpable. "Oh, this is wonderful! He even mentions you specifically, Dawn, saying he feels sorry for what you had to go through with Glory."
"Another one who thinks you both are barking," Ron said, his tone a mix of amusement and irritation as he tossed a crumpled letter over his shoulder, letting it flutter down to join the pile of discarded envelopes on the floor. "...but this one said you've got her converted and she now thinks you both are real heroes—she's even included a photograph—wow!"
"What is going on here?" a falsely sweet, girlish voice demanded, cutting through the lively exchange. Harry and Dawn looked up, their faces instantly shifting to wary expressions as they saw Umbridge standing before them. Her eyes were narrowed with a mix of disdain and curiosity. Behind her, Buffy was barely able to suppress a smirk, her amusement evident despite her attempt to maintain a composed demeanor.
"Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter? Ms. Summers?" Umbridge asked, her tone dripping with a sickly-sweet menace as she scrutinized the scene before her.
"Is that a crime now?" Fred said loudly, his voice laced with defiance. "Getting mail?" He leaned back in his chair, a nonchalant air about him as he addressed the unwelcomed interruption.
"Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention," Umbridge warned, her voice taking on a steely edge. She turned her attention back to Harry and Dawn, her eyes cold and calculating. "Well, Mr. Potter? Ms. Summers?"
"People have written to us because we gave an interview," Harry explained, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "About what happened to us last June."
"An interview?" Umbridge repeated, her voice dripping with incredulity as she seemed to struggle with the concept. Her pale, doughy face contorted into an expression of barely contained rage as she processed this information. "What do you mean?"
"I mean a reporter asked Dawn and me questions and we answered them," Harry clarified, his voice firm. "Here—" He grabbed a copy of The Quibbler from the pile and threw it towards her. The magazine sailed through the air and landed with a soft thud in Umbridge's hands. She caught it and stared down at the cover, her eyes widening as her gaze locked onto the bold headline and the familiar faces of Harry and Dawn.
Her face, already pallid, turned an ugly, patchy violet, a stark contrast to the once-placid color of her skin. The transformation was striking, a vivid manifestation of her rage and embarrassment. The once-innocent-looking woman now appeared almost grotesque in her fury, her normally composed demeanor shattered by the revelation.
"When did you do this?" Umbridge demanded, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to maintain her control. The question hung in the air, laden with her barely concealed agitation.
"Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Dawn, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of defiance.
Umbridge's face darkened as she glared at them, incandescent with rage. The magazine in her stubby fingers trembled with her barely contained fury, the color of her cheeks reflecting her mounting ire. "There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Ms. Summers, or you, Mr. Potter," she hissed, her voice low and venomous, each word dripping with a threatening edge.
Buffy's anger was palpable, and it was clear she had reached her limit. Her voice rang with a sharp, authoritative tone as she stepped forward. "Umbridge, you have no say in whether or not Dawn is allowed to go to Hogsmeade. That is my decision as her legal guardian."
Umbridge spun around, her eyes widening in alarm as she faced Buffy. The sheer intensity in Buffy's gaze was enough to make her take an involuntary step back. The fury in Buffy's eyes was unmistakable—a fierce, protective fire that spoke volumes about her willingness to defend her family at any cost. Umbridge realized, with growing dread, that she had pushed the Slayer too far, and the consequences of her actions were becoming increasingly clear.
Buffy's declaration was firm and uncompromising. "I gave Dawn permission to tell her side of the story. Something your friend Fudge doesn't want her or Harry to give. You can tell the Minister that he just made an enemy of the Slayer."
Umbridge, her face now a mix of flushed humiliation and anger, clutched The Quibbler to her chest as she turned on her heel and stalked away. Her footsteps echoed with a defiant finality, her head held high despite the clear signs of her discomfort.
As the tension in the air began to dissipate, Dawn and Hermione stood up, their expressions a mix of relief and gratitude. They moved towards Buffy, wrapping her in a heartfelt embrace.
"About time," Dawn said, her voice carrying a note of relief and approval. "I was beginning to wonder when you would snap."
Buffy nodded, her expression softening as she looked towards Dumbledore. The Headmaster's eyes held a look of understanding and acceptance, a silent acknowledgment of the boundaries that had been crossed. Buffy's mission for the Order of the Phoenix—to gather intelligence on Umbridge and her machinations—had reached its conclusion.
The Corridors of Hogwarts
By mid-morning, the school had been plastered with enormous signs, a blatant display of authority that left no part of Hogwarts untouched. These ominous notices were not confined to the usual house noticeboards but were also prominently displayed in the bustling corridors and within the quiet confines of classrooms. The stark, authoritative message blared:
BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS
Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.
Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor
Buffy, upon seeing the relentless barrage of signs, could not help but roll her eyes in exasperation. She had cleverly stashed away Dawn's copy of The Quibbler in her suite, along with the more favorable fan mail Dawn had received. It was a small act of rebellion against the High Inquisitor's draconian measures.
Every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs, her face lit up with unrestrained pleasure. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint that seemed to reflect her unspoken triumph.
"What exactly are you so happy about?" Harry inquired, his tone a mix of curiosity and bewilderment.
"Oh, Harry, don't you see?" Dawn interjected with a knowing smile, her voice filled with a sense of vindication. "If Umbridge could have done one thing to ensure that every single person in this school would read our interview, it was banning it!"
Dawn's observation proved to be spot on. By the end of the day, despite the absence of any actual copies of The Quibbler within the school's walls, the interview had become the dominant topic of conversation. The buzz was palpable; whispers of their story could be overheard as students waited in line outside classes, debated over their lunch tables, and even during the dull moments of lessons. Hermione and Dawn even reported that every occupant of the girls' toilets had been engrossed in discussions about the interview when Hermione had popped in there briefly before her Ancient Runes class.
"Then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you two, so they bombarded me with questions," Hermione recounted, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and relief. "And Harry, Dawn, I think they believe both of you, I really do. I think you've finally got them convinced!"
Meanwhile, Professor Umbridge prowled the school like a predatory cat, her wrathful determination palpable as she conducted her invasive searches. She approached students with an authoritarian glare, stopping them at random to demand that they empty their bags and display their books, all in a frantic effort to uncover any hidden copies of The Quibbler. Her every step echoed with the intensity of her crusade against the magazine, her actions a stark reminder of her oppressive regime.
Despite the heavy-handed restrictions imposed by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, which forbade teachers from mentioning the interview directly, the staff found subtle, and often creative, ways to express their sentiments. Professor Sprout, with a knowing twinkle in her eye, awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can, her approval evident in the gentle smile she gave him. The gesture was a silent nod of support that spoke volumes.
Professor Flitwick, always the embodiment of cheerfulness, beamed widely as he presented a box of squeaking sugar mice to Harry and Dawn at the end of their Charms class. His face lit up with a conspiratorial grin as he shushed them with an exaggerated motion and hurried away, his eyes dancing with mischief and encouragement.
In contrast, Professor Trelawney's reaction was nothing short of theatrical. During Divination, her typically enigmatic demeanor cracked under the weight of her emotions. She broke into a fit of melodramatic sobs, her distress reaching a crescendo as she declared to the astonished class and a visibly disapproving Umbridge that Harry was destined for a long and illustrious life. Through her tears, she prophesied that Harry would not only escape an early demise but would also ascend to the position of Minister for Magic and father twelve children. Her outburst was as dramatic as it was unexpected, a vivid testament to the surreal atmosphere that had enveloped Hogwarts in the wake of the interview's fallout.
February 25, 2003 – Tuesday
The Corridors of Hogwarts
No sooner had Harry and Dawn arrived outside the Transfiguration classroom than Seamus Finnegan emerged from the queue, his usually lively demeanor subdued by sincerity. With a mixture of nervousness and earnestness, he stepped in front of them. "I just wanted to say," he mumbled, his voice barely audible, "I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mum." His gesture was a small yet significant affirmation of their bravery, a quiet rebellion against the oppressive silence demanded by Umbridge.
Later, as the evening descended, Luna Lovegood shared more good news over dinner. Her excitement was palpable as she revealed, "No issue of The Quibbler has ever sold out faster." Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, her usual dreamy demeanor giving way to an animated fervor. "Dad's reprinting!" Luna continued, her voice bubbling with pride. "He can't believe it; he said people seem even more interested in this than the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!" The news was met with a ripple of astonished admiration, a testament to the interview's impact.
That night, in the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Dawn were celebrated as heroes. Fred and George, ever the pranksters, had taken their admiration to a new level. They had cast an Enlargement Charm on the front cover of The Quibbler, transforming it into a towering, oversized image that dominated the wall. Harry and Dawn's enlarged faces loomed above the proceedings, their expressions rendered in exaggerated detail. Occasionally, the enchanted poster would blare out defiant phrases such as "THE MINISTRY ARE MORONS" and "EAT DUNG, UMBRIDGE" in a resonant, booming voice. The room erupted with laughter and cheers each time the poster spoke, adding an element of rebellious festivity to the evening.
As the hours ticked by, Harry and Dawn excused themselves from the exuberant celebration. Harry made his way up to the dormitory, his steps weighed down by the day's emotional turbulence. Dawn, meanwhile, left the common room and headed straight to Buffy's suite.
Buffy's Suite
"Buffy," Dawn said as she entered, her voice laced with concern, "Are you going to come under the gun now, from Umbridge?"
Buffy shook her head, her expression resolute. "I doubt it," she replied with quiet confidence. "I expect that while Umbridge will no longer consider me her lapdog, she also will not risk tangling with me either. She's a coward in the end." Her tone was matter-of-fact, yet a steely edge hinted at her readiness for any potential fallout. "Still, we should be on our guard, just in case." The statement was a reminder of the precarious balance between defiance and safety in their current environment, a call to remain vigilant despite the apparent victory.
February 26, 2003 – Wednesday
Buffy's Suite
The next morning, Harry gathered Ron, Dawn, and Hermione and led them to Buffy's room. As they settled into the cozy space, filled with the familiar scent of lavender and old books, Harry recounted the vivid dream that had haunted him the previous night. His face was a mixture of unease and resolve, the remnants of the unsettling dream still etched in his expression.
"So that's why they killed him," Dawn said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her eyes were fixed on Harry, absorbing the gravity of his revelation. The room seemed to tighten around them, the seriousness of their discussion filling the air with an almost tangible weight.
"When Bode tried to steal this weapon, something funny happened to him," Harry continued, trying to piece together the fragments of his dream. "I think there must be defensive spells on it, or around it, to stop people touching it." His voice was filled with a mix of concern and frustration as he tried to make sense of the puzzle. "That's why he was in St. Mungo's, his brain had gone all funny and he couldn't talk." Harry paused, his gaze distant as he recalled the details. "But remember what the Healer told us? He was recovering. And they couldn't risk him getting better, could they? I mean, the shock of whatever happened when he touched that weapon probably made the Imperius Curse lift. Once he'd got his voice back, he'd explain what he'd been doing, wouldn't he? They would have known he'd been sent to steal the weapon." Harry's frustration was evident as he continued. "Of course, it would have been easy for Lucius Malfoy to put the curse on him. Never out of the Ministry, is he? He was even hanging around that day I had my hearing." Harry's eyes darkened as he remembered. "He was in the Department of Mysteries corridor that day! Your dad said he was probably trying to sneak down and find out what happened in my hearing, but what if—"
"Sturgis!" gasped Hermione, her face a mask of shock and realization. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the gravity of the new connection she had just made.
"Sorry?" said Ron, his brow furrowing in confusion. His glance shifted between Hermione and Harry, trying to grasp the significance of her outburst.
"Sturgis Podmore—" Hermione said breathlessly, her voice tinged with alarm, "arrested for trying to get through a door! Lucius Malfoy must have got him too! I bet he did it the day we saw him there, Harry." Hermione's words were rapid and filled with urgency. "Sturgis had Moody's Invisibility Cloak, right? So, what if he was standing guard by the door, invisible, and Malfoy heard him move—or guessed someone was there—or just did the Imperius Curse on the off-chance there'd be a guard there? So, when Sturgis next had an opportunity—probably when it was his turn on guard duty again—he tried to get into the Department to steal the weapon for Voldemort—Ron, be quiet—but he got caught and sent to Azkaban..." Hermione's mind was racing, her deductions coming together with startling clarity.
"And now Rookwood's told Voldemort how to get the weapon?" Dawn interjected, her voice a mix of apprehension and resolve.
"I didn't hear all the conversation, but that's what it sounded like," Harry said. "Rookwood used to work there... maybe Voldemort'll send Rookwood to do it?" His voice trailed off, leaving the room filled with the weight of the potential implications.
Hermione nodded, her face a mask of deep concentration as she processed the new information. Then, with a sudden shift, she said, "But you shouldn't have seen this at all, Harry."
"What?" Harry said, taken aback. His expression was a mix of confusion and frustration.
"You're supposed to be learning how to close your mind to this sort of thing," said Dawn, her voice filled with concern. Her eyes, usually so warm and understanding, now held a sharp edge of worry. She glanced at Harry with a look that conveyed both empathy and urgency, as if trying to shield him from the emotional and mental turmoil that the dream had unleashed.
"I know I am," said Harry, his tone a mix of guilt and frustration. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, feeling the weight of his own shortcomings. "But—"
"Well, I think we should just try and forget what you saw," said Hermione firmly. Her tone brooked no argument, and her expression was one of determined resolve. She stood with her arms crossed, her posture rigid as she addressed the situation with a mix of practicality and concern. "And you ought to put in a bit more effort on your Occlumency from now on."
March 8, 2003 – Thursday
Entrance Hall
One evening, as Harry was engrossed in his Occlumency session with Snape, Dawn sat alone in the Great Hall, absorbed in a book. The hall was quiet, the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of cutlery providing a soothing background. Suddenly, an ear-splitting scream shattered the tranquility. Dawn's head snapped up, her heart pounding as she gathered her belongings and hurried out into the Entrance Hall.
As she stepped into the grand, echoing space, her eyes fell upon an alarming scene. Professor Trelawney stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall, her usual ethereal composure replaced by a wild, almost unhinged expression. In one hand, she gripped her wand with a white-knuckled grip, and in the other, she clutched an empty sherry bottle, its contents presumably consumed in a desperate attempt to cope. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them turned upside-down, their contents scattered and spilling out, adding to the chaos.
Professor Trelawney's gaze was fixed in terror on something unseen at the foot of the grand staircase. Her eyes were wide with fear, her lips moving in silent protest as she stared at the unseen horror that seemed to loom before her.
Dawn's attention was then drawn to Harry, who was with Snape. She smiled and waved at him, and he responded with a brief wave of acknowledgment. Yet, his focus was evidently on the commotion unfolding before them. His eyes, filled with concern, remained locked on Professor Trelawney, who was clearly distressed.
"No!" Professor Trelawney's voice cracked with anguish. "NO! This cannot be happening... it cannot... I refuse to accept it!" Her cries echoed through the hall, mingling with the distant hum of astonished whispers from the onlookers.
"You didn't realize this was coming?" A high, girlish voice interrupted, dripping with a cold, mocking amusement. Dawn's heart sank as she recognized the voice of Umbridge, who was approaching with a smug, almost gleeful expression. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?"
Professor Trelawney's sobs grew more frantic. "You c—can't!" she howled. "You c—can't sack me! I've b—been here sixteen years! H—Hogwarts is m—my h—home!"
"It was your home," Umbridge said with chilling detachment, stepping closer and increasing the cruelty of her tone. "Until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing us."
The clamor of distressed voices grew louder as footsteps approached. Professor McGonagall emerged from the crowd of spectators, her usually stern demeanor softened by visible concern. She marched up to Professor Trelawney, her presence commanding attention. With practiced kindness, she began patting Trelawney on the back, drawing a large handkerchief from within her robes. "There, there, Sybill... calm down... blow your nose on this... it's not as bad as you think, now... you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts..." Her voice was soothing, a stark contrast to the coldness that had permeated the scene.
"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" Umbridge's voice was icy, and she took a few deliberate steps forward. "And your authority for that statement is...?" Her tone was challenging, as she aimed to undermine McGonagall's intervention, leaving a palpable tension hanging in the air.
"That would be mine," came a deep, resonant voice, causing Dawn to turn in surprise. Standing behind her were Dumbledore and Buffy, their expressions a mixture of calm authority and barely concealed resolve.
"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge responded with a sharp, unpleasant laugh that seemed to pierce through the tension in the hall. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here—" She produced a parchment scroll from within her robes with a dramatic flourish. "—an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."
Buffy's voice cut through the air with unwavering clarity. "You are quite right, of course, Umbridge," she said. "As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss the teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. Am I right, Albus?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement as he nodded. "You are correct, Buffy," he affirmed. His gaze then turned back to Umbridge with a solemnity that brooked no argument. "I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."
At Dumbledore's words, Professor Trelawney let out a wild, almost hysterical laugh, punctuated by a hiccup that she struggled to suppress. "No — no, I'll g — go, Dumbledore! I sh — shall — leave Hogwarts and s — seek my fortune elsewhere —"
"No," Dumbledore said firmly, his voice cutting through her protests. "It is my wish that you remain, Sybill." He turned to Professor McGonagall and Buffy, his expression one of earnest appeal. "Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall? Professor Summers?"
"Of course," McGonagall responded promptly, her voice laced with the steely determination that was her trademark. Buffy nodded in agreement, her own gaze steady and resolute. "Up you get, Sybill..." she instructed.
Buffy and McGonagall moved to support Trelawney, their hands gently but firmly grasping her arms. Buffy's glare shot daggers at Umbridge as they guided Trelawney past her and towards the marble staircase. With every step, the air seemed to crackle with the palpable tension of the confrontation.
As Trelawney was led away, Professor Flitwick hurried after them, his diminutive form bobbing as he scurried to keep up. With a wave of his wand, he called out "Locomotor trunks!" and Trelawney's luggage rose into the air, floating along behind her with a gentle, magical hum. Professor Flitwick trailed at the rear, ensuring that her belongings followed smoothly up the staircase.
"And what," Umbridge's voice, filled with quiet menace, echoed through the Entrance Hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?" Her words were a thinly veiled threat, carrying a tone that suggested she was far from finished with her machinations.
"Oh, that won't be a problem," Dumbledore said, his tone warm and pleasant, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."
"You've found—?" Umbridge began, her voice rising in pitch as if she could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Her face was a mask of disbelief and outrage, while Dawn's lips curled into a smirk, thoroughly enjoying the unfolding drama.
"You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-two—" Umbridge's voice was tinged with a note of cold triumph, as if she had an ironclad grip on the situation.
"The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if—and only if—the Headmaster is unable to find one," Dumbledore interjected smoothly, his demeanor as unruffled as ever. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?" His eyes twinkled with barely suppressed amusement as he turned towards the open front doors, through which a faint night mist was beginning to drift, swirling around the entrance in a ghostly dance.
A collective murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd as the soft, rhythmic sound of approaching hooves became audible. The mist parted, and a Centaur stepped into the castle's entrance hall, his movements graceful and deliberate. His coat was a deep, rich brown, and his eyes, sharp and intelligent, surveyed the room with an air of calm authority.
"This is Firenze," Dumbledore announced with evident pride, his voice carrying a note of genuine pleasure as he introduced the Centaur to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him suitable."
Dawn couldn't help but burst into laughter. It wasn't the presence of Firenze that amused her, though she had never seen a Centaur in Hogwarts before. It was the sheer spectacle of Umbridge's reaction that was so delightful. The look of astonishment on her face, coupled with the recent confrontation with Buffy and the astonishing revelation of a Centaur being hired as a teacher, made the last month feel like a whirlwind of unprecedented events. For Dawn, it was shaping up to be the most memorable and exhilarating period of her time at Hogwarts.