TWENTY SIX - Sealing a Deal
Harry yawned sleepily as he sat on his bed. It was still early in the morning, with most of the house deeply entrenched in the realm of Morpheus. The sun barely showed its first rays of light, peeking over the smooth mountainous horizon outside his window.
He wished he could be amongst the others fast asleep, but something about being back at the ancient Castle pushed his old buttons and set his mind back into routine.
For a short moment, he'd nursed the idea of calling Maisy for a cup of coffee, but the kindly house elf would no doubt give him a scolding for having stayed up as late as he had. He shouldn't have, but once he'd gone to bed, sleep had eluded him, so he'd taken to reading from his texts until he'd passed out with the heavy book on his chest.
Looking around now, he found the only ones not present in his dorm room were Ron and Neville, the former having been kidnapped by Hermione. He vaguely remembered her coming to wake Ron to give the First-Years a tour. Harry almost pitied him, but in the end, he couldn't help but find it amusing. Ron's hopes for a carefree year of using his prefect's duties to slack off had likely gone with the wind. The other missing boy, Neville, had no doubt rushed off to the Greenhouses. His love of Herbology would see to that.
Coming out of the shower, Harry found a note on his bed. It was folded in half and left in plain sight for him. Glancing around and finding both Dean and Seamus still deep asleep, he opened the letter and began to read while he dried his hair with a towel.
Please come see me in my office, and if you happen to be in possession of any, I'd greatly appreciate a mint toffee. I'm afraid I've run out.
Harry sniggered to himself as he folded the letter again. It wasn't signed but he didn't need it to be. He wasn't busy by any means, so he might as well head straight to the headmaster's office.
Once finished dressing in a nice pair of jeans and a well-fitting plain grey t-shirt that he'd bought over the break, he fastened his new watch on his wrist, along with the bloodstone bead bracelet Luna had given him.
He smoothed over his pants and t-shirt and let his fingers run over the fine fabric, devoid of mended rips and baggy spots. Every time he wore something comfortable that did actually fit him, it was a brief reminder that he was free of his relatives.
Making his way downstairs, he found the common room was nearly empty, save for a handful of students lounging about in their pyjamas. Between them was a very distinct head of red hair. Ginny sat faced away from him, relaxing on the soft couch with her feet tucked under her and still in her yellow, striped cotton pyjamas. Her friend, whom Harry recognized as Demelza Robins, noticed Harry over Ginny's shoulder.
She must have informed Ginny because said girl turned to glance behind her and stood shortly after and met him halfway across the common room. He noticed her pyjama top had been buttoned up wrong, making it appear crooked.
"Morning, Harry," she greeted him with a pretty smile which highlighted her freckles. "Ron mentioned you wanted to talk?"
"I did," he said with a friendly nod, despite fighting off a yawn. "Not here. Walk with me? I'll explain along the way."
That surprised her, it must be important if he didn't want to speak in the common room, she figured. "Give me a minute to get changed? I'd rather not walk around the castle like this."
"I'll wait." He didn't mind, since Professor Dumbledore's letter forwent any mention of time. He wasn't really in any rush.
Ginny briskly climbed the stairs to the girls' dorm, leaving him in the common room. He could go and join one of the other students but he was still sleepy, so instead he simply sat down on his favourite couch and yawned deeply before resting his head back on the soft cushion.
Unfortunately for him, his hope for a few minutes of extra sleep was in vain.
"Harry?" A smooth, female voice called his name. He cracked open his eyelids and saw the tall, dark-skinned form of Angelina Johnson, holding her broomstick. Her face was a bit flushed and her hair unkempt, in the windswept way. Harry realised, with a bit of envy, that she must have gone on a morning flight around the grounds.
"Angelina," greeted Harry sleepily, rubbing a hand down his face.
She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, didn't realise you were asleep."
He waved a hand and shook his head. "It's alright. How are you? We didn't get to talk much last night"
"Yeah, no, can't complain," she shrugged before folding her arms in a way that was more nervous than defensive. It was very strange behaviour for the usually headstrong older girl.
"About the team…"
"You're asking if I'll play?" Harry finished for her. He didn't want to disappoint her, but he really didn't have the time.
"It's just, I'm captain, and it's my last year," she explained. "There'll be scouts at the games, I need to show them."
He swallowed hard. "I understand, I do. But–"
"Please," she held up her hands to stop him. "Think about it."
Harry had an exasperated expression on his face. "Look…"
Right then, Ginny returned from her room, wearing a faded pair of jeans and an old Gryffindor sweater. Seeing her in their house's colours gave Harry a spark of inspiration.
"Ginny," he blurted out, surprising Angelina and confusing Ginny, "She can do it!"
"What?" blinked Angelina, looking from him to where he was gesturing at.
"She can fly," he pointed at Ginny. "She's brilliant, trust me. She's a better flyer than her brothers. I'll even let her use my broom." Not that she would need to, he thought to himself. She'd soon be able to afford any broom on the market.
"Wait–" interrupted said girl. "Do you mean as the seeker on the team?" she asked excitedly.
Angelina tried to halt the frenzy that overcame him but Harry couldn't be stopped. He was firm in his insistence."Angie, give her a chance, I promise to join a few practices and help her."
She gave him a strict stare, undoubtedly attempting to break down his enthusiasm but when the stare turned to lengthy silence, she let her shoulders sag and instead turned to stare at Ginny. Harry could almost see the gears turning in her head.
A sigh later, "You've got one chance. I want to see you fly, I'll book the pitch. Don't let me down."
Ginny nodded her head repeatedly.
Angelina gave them both a lasting glance before she left the room. As soon as she was gone, Ginny turned to Harry, almost buzzing with energy. "I'm going to be the new seeker!" She almost squealed in a most un-Ginnylike fashion.
"Was that what you wanted to speak to me about?" she prodded excitedly. "Joining the team?"
He shook his head. "That was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I wasn't lying, though." He chuckled before throwing her an amused glare. "I never said anything before, but I saw you at the Burrow. You thought I was asleep when you snuck out with my broom. I wanted to tell you that you could have just asked, but whenever I tried to, you ran out of the room."
Ginny blushed a bright red, looking as if her red hair was about to self-combust. "I– Tha–" She stammered as she searched for the words in her embarrassment.
He just laughed. "Relax, I didn't mind. Come to think of it, I'm shocked you never realised that I knew. I mean, I left my broom out every night after."
She deflated sheepishly. "Sorry…"
"Come on," he nudged her with his elbow and gestured to the door. "I'm famished."
Once they were out of ear-shot of The Fat Lady's portrait, Ginny, having calmed down, spoke up with curiosity in her voice. "So, if it wasn't about Quidditch, then what do you want to talk about?"
Harry briefly considered easing into it, but Ginny was a big girl and would appreciate him getting to the point. "It's about the Chamber," he finally said, causing her to stop in her tracks.
Whatever it was she'd been expecting, it was not to be reminded of that horrific time of her life. Her earlier excitement regarding Quidditch was immediately snuffed out.
"What about it? I thought it was over." She asked more frantically than she'd intended, the earlier joy and excitement gone.
"It is over," replied Harry quickly, "It's nothing bad, I promise."
Ginny pursed her lips as she looked at him expectantly. Her expression slowly changed to one of surprise when he recounted having visited the Chamber near the end of the previous year. When he got to the details regarding the sale of the basilisk, Ginny's jaw dropped ever so slightly. But it was nothing compared to her reaction when he explained what he was going to do with the money.
"You're giving it to me?!" she asked in stunned disbelief, with just the barest noticeable hope in her voice. It was the sound of someone thinking it was too good to be true. That her and her family's financial difficulties could be over soon.
"I know your parents would refuse if I offered it, but this is for you," he said, with mild frustration. He recalled having wanted to help the Weasleys before, but Arthur had turned him down. To be honest, it was something that he disagreed with severely. Pride was one thing, but pride at the cost of your family's comfort and welfare was an entirely different thing.
Ginny was still struggling with the news and began to close in on herself, hugging her arms to herself and furrowing her brows. "But why? You killed it… It's yours."
He shook his head gently. "I have more than I could ever need in my life. Splitting the money from the sale will at least mean something good came out of it. It's why I want you to have the lion's share. After you, Hermione, Colin and the others, though," he grinned in amusement. "Professor Dumbledore did suggest I get a nice pair of boots out of it."
A few quiet moments later, colour returned to her face, her arms relaxed and fell back to her sides. A small huff escaped her before she began to giggle, letting the joy and excitement return between them and lift the mood.
"A Gryffindor wearing boots made from Slytherin's monster. It's almost poetic."
"I know, right. Would you like a pair?" sniggered Harry.
"Noo thank you, it would clash terribly with my hair."
Harry climbed the circular staircase to Dumbledore's office, and before he could stop to knock on the thick wooden door, a barely audible but resolute voice reverberated behind it..
"Ah, Harry, please come inside."
He pushed the door open and was surprised to find that Dumbledore was not alone. Sitting across from him and watching Harry with clear interest was an enigma of a man. He was old, clearly, with hair white as snow and deep wrinkles. But despite it, he appeared healthy, sitting straight up with a strength in his form that described an active life.
It was only when Harry got closer that he noticed that the other man had eerily blue eyes. They were nothing like Fleur's, which always felt invitingly warm and playful. This man's eyes were a cold, pale shade of blue. They seemed unassuming at first but when they were fixated on someone as they were now on Harry, they exposed their sharp intelligence with frightening intensity.
Dumbledore placed something in his drawer while also gesturing towards the only free seat. As Harry sat down, the headmaster introduced the unfamiliar guest.
"Harry, may I introduce to you my dear old friend, Nicholas. I'm sure you've heard the odd rumour or two about him."
"Pleasure, sir," greeted Harry, offering the man his hand as he inspected him with cautious curiosity.
The unassuming man shook his hand firmly. "The pleasure is mine," he said with a faint French accent. "I believe you are the one I have to thank for protecting my stone?"
"Your stone?" He repeated out loud excitedly. That was enough to confirm his suspicions. "I didn't do it alone, sir. I had help."
Flamel gave a curt nod and turned to Dumbledore. "Humble, as you said."
"Forgive me, sir, but I thought the stone was destroyed," noted Harry, curiously. That was after all what Dumbledore had told him at the end of his first year.
"Bah, jamais" scoffed Nicholas. "My wife Perenelle enjoys living far too much to rid ourselves of it so soon. No, no, the Stone is long back where it belongs. I just played with the truth a bit to get Albus here to leave me alone. The boy worries far too much over such trivial things."
Harry blinked owlishly at hearing Professor Dumbledore being addressed so informally. He watched as his headmaster sighed defeatedly and gave the Master Practitioner an unimpressed stare.
"And I was right to be worried, Voldemort had in fact been after the Stone, if you recall."
Flamel stared right back and grinned. "And I still maintain that it would have been perfectly safe with me. That jumped up shit would never have found my hiding place."
"Regardless," he continued. "My Stone is not why I am here."
Harry glanced questioningly between them. He had a suspicion, and was quite glad he'd managed to speak with Ginny earlier, if he was right. Which Dumbledore soon proved him to be.
"Master Flamel is the buyer I previously mentioned. He's come to collect the Basilisk, and conclude the transaction." Dumbledore tapped a satchel on the table which was likely magically expanded. He suspected the basilisk's remains were inside. It made sense to Harry that Dumbledore would have been able to find his way back inside the Chamber after being there with him previously.
"Perhaps over a spot of lunch?"
"Would it be alright if Hermione and Fleur joined us?" asked Harry of Dumbledore.
"They would be most welcome," agreed Dumbledore, turning his gaze onto his senior. "The two young women are remarkably bright. Miss Delacour is even a graduate of your own alma mater, I daresay she would be delighted to meet you."
The thin man pondered the request for barely a moment before slowly nodding his agreement.
"Splendid," Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Mimsy," he called out, summoning a house elf. The small creature popped into the room without a word, and looked up at the headmaster expectantly.
"Would you be a dear and collect the Misses Delacour and Granger, please?"
The house elf, Mimsy, nodded vigorously and popped away, returning barely moments later with Fleur and Hermione. The two girls were dumped unceremoniously on the floor in confusion.
Mimsy disappeared again and returned with Hermione's bag.
"What the–?" spluttered Hermione when Mimsy held out the bag for her. "Uh– thank you," she said, still mildly disorientated. Mimsy quickly vanished for the last time.
"A-ta-ta," Fleur rubbed her behind as she tried to stand. Harry quickly went to help them.
"Merci," thanked Fleur, once back on her feet.
"Thanks, Harry." Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. It was then that they realised where they were, Hermione gasped and hastily greeted the headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore! I–"
He held up a hand, stopping her. "Hello, Miss Granger. My apologies, I forget that Mimsy often takes instructions rather literally." There was a hint of mischief in his eyes that led Harry to think he'd not actually forgotten.
Fleur on the other hand was staring and gaping dumbstruck at Flamel. It was such an out of place expression on her face that Harry couldn't help but chuckle.
"Zhat's–"
"Nicholas Flamel!" Hermione finished awestruck.
Said old man ignored them to address Dumbledore. "You said they were bright…"
Hermione flushed a bright pink as Fleur snapped out of it. "Monsieur Flamel, 'Arry, quoi–? What did I miss?"
Dumbledore stood, and gestured for his friend to follow suit. "We were about to leave for a bite to eat, Madam Rosmerta makes the most wonderful shepherd's pie. Harry would love for you to join us. It is a beautiful day, and these old bones could use a walk."
The headmaster didn't wait for the students to reply and waved with his hand for the door to his office to open before turning back to the others. "After you, Nicholas."
….
"Wait, so let me get this straight," said Hermione, her abruptness silencing the mood of their private dining room. "You're selling the Basilisk? Why am I only hearing about this now?" She couldn't mask a touch of hurt in her voice.
"It was meant to be a surprise," said Harry, scratching his head awkwardly. Perhaps it hadn't been his brightest idea…
"A surprise? Why?" She furrowed her brow and tightened her grip on her fork.
"Because I'm not keeping the money," he said finally, and it was enough for Hermione to realise why he said it was a 'surprise'.
"You're–" Her eyes widened as she whispered in realisation."You're splitting it amongst everyone who was affected…"
"That is remarkably noble of you," said the ancient alchemist beside him after swallowing a bite of his meal. "Our transaction was certainly no small amount. But then again, you were able to hold my stone with no desire of keeping it for yourself."
"I have all the wealth I could ever need," he looked meaningly at Fleur and Hermione as he said that, drawing a beautiful smile out of them.
Appreciation tugged on Flamel's lips before he turned back to the plate before him."It's a shame my wife wasn't available to join us, she would have loved to meet you. Perhaps there will come another such opportunity in time."
Fleur's eyes sparked with hope at that, not something missed by someone as observant as Flamel. For a moment his curiosity had piqued at her apparent interest in meeting his wife, but then he recalled that she was Filius Flitwick's apprentice. A student of charms would know of his wife's contributions to the field of study.
"If you'll allow me, Master Flamel,I've been meaning to ask," began Hermione hesitantly, glancing between Dumbledore and the man himself.
"Yes, my dear?"
"When we were walking down from the castle, I had the strangest sensation that we were invisible, but I knew we weren't."
It was only then that Harry realised that Hermione was right. The entire trip to Hogsmeade, none of the other students, or even the paintings in the castle seemed to notice any of them. But unlike when he was invisible beneath his cloak, people seemed to, in a sense, avoid them naturally. Students had parted like water around a stone as they walked through the castle and across the grounds.
"There are many ways to move about undetected," explained Dumbledore. "The particular method employed by Nicholas, alas, today happens to be one that has always eluded me, despite his many attempts to teach it to me."
"It's that difficult?" asked Hermione, surprised. The thought Dumbledore was incapable of learning any spell seemed ludicrous.
"Not technically," answered Dumbledore, "rather, I find myself incapable of creating the state of mind needed to maintain it."
Hermione listened intently, weighing the headmaster's choice of words before posing a follow-up question. "Is it even a spell?"
"Excellent observation," noted Flamel. "And no, not in the traditional sense," noted Flamel, a happy grin on the pale man's face with lively eyes looking excitedly at her. He lifted a hand and placed it on the table in front of them, and suddenly a surreal sensation passed through the room. It was light, like the slightest breeze, and with it Flamel seemed to vanish from their senses. But once they focused, he reappeared and remained visible as long as they continued to keep him in their sight.
Fleur closed her eyes to get a better feel for it. They all remained quiet to not disturb her. Seeing her like this, calm, focused was something Harry and Hermione both found incredibly attractive. It was this sense of power she exuded, this determination deep within her to be great. Truthfully, it was something the three of them had in common with each other.
She lifted a hand, as if she was touching something in the air.
"Hm, you would be more sensitive to such magic," commented the Frenchman matter-of-factly. Her Veela heritage was clear as day to him.
"Could I learn zhis?" asked Fleur, the implications with regards to her allure were astounding.
"Peut-être," hummed the man, "At the very least, studying and practising it should reward you with greater control over your gifts. Albus knows everything there is to know about it. He has my permission to pass the knowledge onto you."
Fleur looked at Dumbledore hopefully, causing the old headmaster to chuckle. "I'll have one of the elves deliver my notes to you. If you have any questions, feel free to approach me."
"Merci, Professor."
The following day being a Monday, meant the official commencement of their classes, and with it being their OWL year, every professor had wasted no time in diving right into things. There was no easing into the coursework, by afternoon, it was an exhausted group of students who walked into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Defence had always been a subject of particular interest to Harry since he'd first learned of Voldemort's survival. With his constant brushes with danger, the importance of being prepared had been drilled into him. That created the need, but it was his lessons under Professor Lupin that had helped develop a fondness for the craft and while Crouch Jr's methods had been far darker, more intense than they were allowed, his talent for the subject had remained constant throughout his fourth year.
That was until he spotted the new Professor for Defence, Dolores tightly pursed lips that were somehow contorted into what was meant to be a smile, she stood behind her desk, waiting for the students to enter the class and take their seats. The others seemed nonplussed about her but Harry knew more than they did and he couldn't muster any excitement for the looming lesson.
Hermione, who sat beside him, leaned closer to whisper, but was stopped in her tracks when Professor Umbridge cleared her throat.
*Ahem*
The class which had until then been filled with the sound of moving chairs and muttering slowly stilled to silence, with many of the students eyeing their new professor sceptically. They had all been witness to her behaviour at the opening feast, and while it may have earned her some brownie points with a handful of the Slytherins. It did the exact opposite with the rest, who fretted over the quality of their education.
"Good morning, Class," greeted Umbridge in that sickly saccharine voice of hers.
The mumbled and scattered response greetings she received in return seemed inadequate, which was made clear when she quickly reprimanded them.
"Let's try this again, shall we? Good Morning, Class."
"Good Morning, Professor" they replied in unison, glancing at each other and communicating with their eyes.
Ron eyed him as well, Is this woman for real? Was the unvoiced question.
"Much better. Now, as you heard last night during the welcoming ceremony, I am Professor Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to our illustrious Minister, Cornelius Fudge. I am also, starting today, your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
The tone she used reminded Harry of some of his primary school teachers, specifically the ones who seemed to treat them as stupid children. He didn't appreciate it, and seriously doubted any of the other students did.
"Don't be alarmed," she said with a curt pursing of her lips, "My presence is merely a routine inspection. Recent events have led to some concerns that the quality of education provided at Hogwarts has been diminished. As such, I promise you that moving forward, we will be following a carefully structured curriculum designed to ensure you are sufficiently equipped to succeed in your upcoming exams and deal with the world beyond these walls."
She paused and scanned the faces of the class, stopping for only the briefest of moments on Harry and Hermione. Umbridge picked up her wand from her desk and flicked it towards the back of the classroom, where a stack of textbooks had been left. The books levitated past the rows of students, depositing a book on each desk.
Harry read the title, 'Defensive Magical Theory' by W. Slinkhard. He opened it to the table of contents and had to blink to make sure he was reading it correctly… 'How to summon an auror', 'The diplomatic approach to conflict resolution', 'How to stall until help arrives'.
"What the–?" he mumbled, joining his voice to the mutterings of the other students. "This is a load of trash…"
Umbridge's shrill voice cut through the class. "Please open your books to page six and read the chapter. I'll be glad to take any questions at the end of the class."
"There are no spells in here," whispered Hermione beside him, holding the book open on their desk.
"I noticed. Let's just go with it, for now."
*Ahem* Umbridge cleared her throat, staring directly at Harry and Hermione. "There will be no talking in my class. If you must speak, you will raise your hand. Any more hushed conversations will be met with detention."
Harry met Hermione's eyes with a sideways glance, silently communicating with her. They simply kept their heads low, and proceeded to 'read' the book. As far as they were concerned, she was already in line for her comeuppance.
Umbridge nodded, pleased with herself and went to sit at her desk, where a charmed teapot poured a cup of tea for her. She hummed and spooned several heaps of sugar into it, far too much for any normal person. Harry could only imagine how horribly sweet that must be. Even Fleur would not be able to handle it.
Taking a small sip, she made a weird sound, somewhere between a giggle and hum before placing her teacup down and looking up to find the entire classroom staring at her.
"I believe I instructed you to read," she said with a venomous smile.
Uneasy glances were cast between the students as they shifted in their places and reluctantly began to read her book.
That was how the rest of their class went. It was the most pathetic excuse of a Defence lesson to ever exist, he thought. Loathe, he was to admit it, that even Lockhart was favourable over this. At least his questionnaires regarding his Witch Weekly awards didn't try to pass themselves off as genuine material.
Harry had found to his disgust that the chapter titles barely gave justice to the complete and utter drivel that they represented. Umbridge would have them believe that the best course of action when under attack was to either attempt to pacify an attacker through conversation, convince them to hand themselves over to the aurors, or simply call for help until the great Ministry came to aid. It was an absolute outrage.
Realistically, it made little difference to Harry outside of the waste of time. His training for the Triwizard Tournament had made him significantly more equipped in defensive magic than any of his year mates, bar Hermione who often trained alongside him.
At least, for Harry and Hermione, the class had managed to serve some semblance of rest as long as they continued to just 'go with the flow'. A lesson Parvati discovered the hard way when she eventually came to the same realisation as Hermione had done several minutes earlier. That there were no spells in their new textbook.
She'd been the only student to raise their hand, and inadvertently, the only student to earn a detention shortly after.
…
"It's maddening!" Hermione hugged her book bag to her chest and stormed down the hallway as soon as the class had ended. She was so incensed by the Ministry making a mockery of their education, that she barely waited for Harry. He was sure she would prefer expulsion over another such lesson now.
One of the many suits of armour which decorated the castle was humming a tune to itself but stopped abruptly and rattled to stand at attention as soon as Hermione turned the corner. It certainly had more survival instincts than half of the castle.
Harry caught up to her right as they reached one of the courtyards. She turned on him, and got in his space, her pretty face flush with outrage and indignation. "How can they get away with this!? They're meant to be helping us- to ensure we're the best we could be! Instead, they're bloody very well sabotaging us!"
Hermione's choice of words silenced him but also sparked an idea. He rummaged through his book bag and pulled out two books, causing Hermione to frown confusedly.
"What are you doing?" Her agitation died down to bewilderment when he grinned at her and flicked his wand into his hand.
With a few taps and flicks, he swapped the covers of the books and handed her his now fake copy of Defensive Magical Theory. "If she's going to make us sit and read the entire period, we may as well read something worthwhile…"
END CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
27, 28 available a / Office_Sloth if you want to read ahead. Thank you!
