Seven Drops and Asphodel Blooms

Summary: When Harry blows up his aunt during the summer, Dumbledore is much quicker to react. Snape finds him far before the Minister does, but his plan of dropping him off with a lecture and half a dozen additional summer assignments doesn't work out.

In which Harry spends the summer at Spinner's End.

Chapter 26

Once Hermione stopped trying to trick the house-elves with her self-knit clothes, they stopped avoiding her whenever she showed up in the kitchens. It took a while before they would talk to her again, but Hermione—taking their advice to heart—was doing her best to be patient.

All the while, she continued her research during whatever spare time she managed to carve out of her schedule. Instead of trying to solve the problem on her own and in-between lessons, it felt more like she was preparing an elaborate battle strategy.

"What I want to know is how their compulsion to punish themselves is enforced," she muttered. "Is it wizard-made, or something inherent to their species? It doesn't feel like it should be, but if it was caused by wizards, how can an entire species be affected?"

"Dobby could fight against it sometimes," Harry pointed out. "Especially now that he's no longer with the Malfoys."

"So if it depends on their owner," Hermione made a face as if the word tasted rotten on her tongue, "that supports the theory that the compulsion wouldn't exist without wizards to implement it. But then, how to work against it on a large scale..."

Ron and Harry, both having accepted that this wasn't some whim Hermione was going to get over anytime soon and that they did, in fact, fundamentally agree with her, followed her lead.

Harry's nightmares increased in number, but he was getting used to them. Waking up in cold sweat after nights filled with Death Eater masks morphed into a tiring routine. He wondered if this was how Mad-Eye felt: seeing signs of danger even when he was safely in the castle. Was the difference between them only that Harry was still able to distinguish between fantasy and reality?

At the end of one of their Potions lessons, the headmaster of Durmstrang, Karkaroff, all but barged into the dungeons, looking agitated.

"Snape," he said, giving the other man a tight nod. "A word."

Snape did not return the gesture. "The lesson has just ended. You will have to spare a minute."

Harry wanted more than anything to hang around and eavesdrop, but Snape wouldn't have it. He ushered him out of the classroom impatiently when Harry took too long for his liking packing up.

Instead, Harry lingered in the next hallway and doubled back once he saw Karkaroff making his way back up the dungeon stairs. The door to the classroom was still half-open, almost as though Snape had expected Harry to return.

"Is everything okay?"

"Do you have a reason to be here other than nosiness?" Snape asked.

Harry gave a shameless shrug. "Karkaroff looked pretty nervous."

"That he did." Snape didn't elaborate.

"I did want to talk to you," Harry admitted. "About my scar. I think—I'm pretty sure it's been hurting more often."

Snape gave a nondescript hum. "I suspected it might."

Before Harry could ask what he was talking about, Snape tugged at his sleeve to free up his left forearm—the one that bore the Dark Mark. Harry could have sworn that it stood out on Snape's skin more prominently than the last—and only—time Snape had shown it to him.

"Does it look different?"

"It has been getting stronger since last summer." Snape paused. "Karkaroff has had a similar experience."

A beat passed as the implication sunk in. "Karkaroff has the Dark Mark?"

"Quite so."

Harry wasn't as surprised as he could have been, considering Karkaroff's sleazy presence. "Is he like the Malfoys then? Pretend like he'd been Imperio'd?"

"I would not be surprised if he'd tried. However, he's never had the charisma or influence—nor money—as the Malfoys do."

"But?"

"He gave the Ministry names." Snape wore an unreadable expression. "He incriminated other Death Eaters in exchange for a lighter sentence."

Something made Harry wonder if this was a touchy subject. If Karkaroff had betrayed other Death Eaters to save his own skin... But then, if Snape had been one of the names he'd given the Ministry, why would he have sought out Snape, now? Wouldn't it be smarter to avoid one of the people he'd once betrayed?

It didn't really matter, Harry supposed. The point was that Karkaroff—like Snape—had once worked for Voldemort. Something told him that Karkaroff had not spent a day of his life regretting that decision.

"The Mark is a reminder." Grim satisfaction was etched onto Snape's features. "Every day that it grows stronger, Karkaroff fears retribution."

"Revenge. From other Death Eaters, if Voldemort regains his powers."

"The Dark Lord returning is as good a death sentence for him."

No wonder he was losing his nerve. From what he'd seen of the man, Karkaroff did not strike Harry as a particularly brave man.

"Keep your distance from him," Snape said. "There is no telling what he might be willing to do to escape the consequences of his actions."

It occurred to Harry that he now knew the reason Mad-Eye glared at Karkaroff as much as he glared at Snape—more than the regular amount he glared at people, regardless of whether or not they had a dirty past as a Death Eater or not.

Their workload increased as the school year marched on. Harry could tell that the champions were struggling, too—not a surprise, seeing as Cedric prepared to enter his final year, while Fleur and Viktor were both due to graduate. They still made the effort to sit down at the library with Harry and his friends at least once every two weeks or so, but instead of chatting they spent their time studying in silence. Most of the time, at least.

"This is ridiculous," Ron burst out, making them all collectively flinch. He tossed his quill onto his half-filled parchment. Harry didn't doubt that if there had been space, his head would have followed. "Screw it. I'll never get this."

Hermione pressed her lips together, but Cedric looked relieved to have an excuse to take a break. "What don't you get?"

Harry could tell that Ron would have liked to say 'Everything' and bask in self-pity, but he pulled himself together. "This transfiguration we're supposed to describe," he said morosely. "What does it matter if we start out with a clump of coal or a pile of pebbles? Neither of those have anything to do with what we turn it into, so why's one so much easier than the other?"

Cedric pushed his own parchment aside and scooted his chair closer to Ron. "Okay. So, one thing you have to take into account is the density. The other is the number of objects you want to transfigure. The coal is only one single object you have to change, but the pebbles—"

Harry paused in his writing to listen. He thought he'd gotten the gist from McGonagall's class, but it couldn't hurt to have it explained to him a second time. Soon they were all huddled together, all other work forgotten as they had a heated discussion over McGonagall's transfiguration assignment.

"—like how it makes a difference whether it's organic or inorganic matter."

"Okay, now I'm sure that's something we haven't talked about in class."

Hermione clicked her tongue impatiently. "Professor McGonagall mentioned it to us several times, Ron. She told us she'd dedicate a lesson to it once we'd covered the basics."

"Well excuse me for living in the here and now instead of going on and on about—"

"If you want I can explain it to you," Cedric interrupted. "Just roughly, to give you some context."

"I do not think this is how we learned it at Beauxbatons..."

"Oh? How else?"

Eventually all essays—Transfiguration or otherwise—had been written and Fleur had indulged Hermione in answering all her questions about the French curriculum she could think of asking. Ron set down his quill with a sigh of bliss. Cedric let go of his parchment, which snapped shut and idly rolled over the table.

"There's still some time until the library closes," he noted with a glance at his wristwatch.

"Oh, right." Ron leaned forward, an excited glint in his eyes. "Harry, we never finished practicing that—Um—"

Deciding that making a big deal out of it would be both selfish and pointless, Harry said, "Oh, yeah." With a glance at the others, he added, "We found a spell handwritten in one of our textbooks, so we've been trying to learn it."

"You found a spell in a book?" Viktor narrowed his eyes. "And you try it? And not know what it is?"

"Oh no, don't worry," Harry hastily amended. "We showed it to a teacher, first."

Viktor's scowl eased into his regular, casual glare.

"What kind of a spell is it?" Fleur asked.

They'd been practicing more than one, but Harry picked the Muffliato charm as one of the few of Snape's spells they'd be able to cast without being kicked out of the library. Fleur, Viktor and Cedric all took to it enthusiastically, and—once they'd all cast it successfully at least once—they compared notes to find spells that Fleur and Viktor had learned at school, but weren't taught at Hogwarts.

"We should do this again," Fleur said as they finally packed up for the day, Madam Pince breathing down their necks as they'd stayed right up until closing time.

When she smiled at them, Fleur looked a far cry from the gorgeous but snotty teenager who'd complained about their holiday decoration during the Yule Ball.

"We should," Cedric agreed.

Harry—who couldn't decide which he preferred, learning new spells from his friends or teaching them the ones he knew—had never had this much fun while studying.

Ron was silent as they made their way to Gryffindor tower, the halls deserted at this time of the day. At first Harry thought he was just tired, but Hermione kept throwing worried glances over her shoulder.

"Everything okay?" he asked while they climbed through the portrait hole.

Ron grimaced and waved off Neville's greeting. Other than the trio, he was the only Gryffindor from their class still in the common room, reading by the fireplace.

"It's stupid," Ron said. "You'll laugh."

"We won't," Hermione promised.

"Even if it's stupid," Harry added, and didn't get why that made Hermione glare at him.

Ron frowned, but it didn't look like it was aimed at either of them. "Don't mind me," he muttered. "Just lagging behind as always."

"Is this about the Muffliato?"

Ron had been the last of them by far to cast the spell successfully, but Harry didn't think that was a fair comparison to make, considering he'd already learned it from Snape, Hermione only ever needed one try, and the champions were all considerably older than them.

"No. A little. Not only." Ron watched the dying flames in the fireplace sullenly.

Neville was clutching his book and seemed unable to decide whether he ought to make himself scarce to give them privacy or stay and not draw attention to himself.

"It's just that you're you," Ron burst out with a harsh gesture in Harry's direction, "and Hermione can always do everything, and you keep having all these awesome adventures and saving the day while all I've ever done was get knocked out by a chess piece and get my leg broken by a convict."

"Ex-convict," Harry corrected automatically.

"It just feels like no matter what's happening at school, you're always at the center of it while I'm just stuck on the sidelines," he muttered. "Now you're learning all that stuff from... you know, and I'm the only one struggling with it, and I just—It just feels like—I feel like I'm being left behind."

He hunched in on himself and avoided meeting their eyes. Harry shared a look with Hermione, but she looked just as helpless as he felt. It wasn't like Harry ever put himself in the spotlight on purpose.

"I feel like that all the time," a timid voice piped up from the fireplace.

They all looked up.

Neville winced at the onslaught of attention. "I kind of didn't think I'd make it to fourth year without repeating a grade," he admitted. "Everybody else is so... and I'm just... you know."

"Great," Ron said tonelessly. "We can start a club. Do you wanna invite Crabbe and Goyle, or should I?"

Hermione huffed out a breath. "Now you're just being dramatic."

"It helps me to remind myself of what I'm good at," Neville said, sounding considerably more sure of himself. "Professor Sprout's been telling me for ages that I'm underestimating myself."

"Yeah, well. I'm not good at anything."

"Oh, stop being ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "That chess game, for one thing. Don't talk about it like it wasn't worth mentioning. Professor McGonagall created it as a logic puzzle, and you want to pretend like anybody could have done it?"

"Neither of us could do it," Harry easily agreed. "Plus, I'm pretty sure you were the only one keeping his head back when we were attacked by that devil's snare."

"And that troll you saved me from? In our first year? With a spell we'd just learned?"

"And who went to the forest with me to see Aragog when we were figuring out the Chamber of Secrets?"

"And—"

"Okay, okay, I get it." Ron's ears had turned pink, but he couldn't quite hide that he was pleased.

"And if it's classes you're worried about," Neville piped up, "you should ask the professors for help."

Ron grimaced. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. I didn't use to do that because I didn't want them to think I'm stupid, but it's not as bad as you think. Professor McGonagall goes over her lessons with me Thursdays after class, and Professor Flitwick's been giving me these practice sheets for stuff I didn't quite get." He shrugged. "Even Professor Moody's been helping."

"Mad-Eye's helping you?" Ron asked. "Really?"

"Not regularly. Still, I'm pretty sure he would, if I asked. He's really not that bad. Remember after our first lesson, when I was—When he showed us those curses?"

Neville hadn't reacted well to being shown the Cruciatus curse. Harry had never found the courage to ask him why.

"He invited me for tea in his office," Neville went on, "and at first I was kind of intimidated, but he was actually really nice. He showed me all of these books he had—not just Defense, but Herbology, and Charms and all sorts of subjects—and he recommended some to me and gave me advice and stuff. I bet he'd do the same for you, if you asked."

Ron still seemed to grapple with the concept of admitting to a teacher that he was struggling. "You know, I just might." He hesitated, then turned to Harry and asked, "Would you want to come?"

Harry was curious to know what advice a real auror might give them, but something in Ron's voice made him decline. "I've already got extra lessons," he shrugged.

"I wish I could." Hermione sounded deeply longing. "But I've already got so much to do, what with S.P.E.W. and everything..."

"Tell you what," Harry said. "How about you go on your own, and if Mad-Eye shows you something cool, you can teach us. That way you can practice, and everybody gets to learn everything."

Ron looked eager at the prospect of being the one to teach them something for a change.

"Alright," he said happily. His smile dropped a little, and he added, "This all assuming Mad-Eye's actually up for it."

"I wouldn't worry," Neville assured him. "He's pretty strict, but as long as you actually want to make an effort, he'll agree."

"You should come with us to the library some time," Ron suddenly suggested. "We mostly do homework, but we also practice spells and stuff. I usually learn them quicker there than in class."

Neville perked up at the offer. "I'd love that."

Ron strutted into the Great Hall the next day, having stayed behind after their Defense lesson. He took a seat and started filling his plate.

"He offered to see me once every two weeks," he announced. "Just like Neville said—he showed me all these books he had, told me to take a look if something looked interesting. I swear, some of them look like they'd be in the forbidden section, if Pince got her hands on them."

Though Harry felt just a little bit envious, he was glad that Ron was in a better mood. Besides, they'd already agreed that everything he'd end up learning from Mad-Eye, Ron would immediately pass onto them.

If it made Ron feel better, Harry had no problem stepping into the background for a change.

The Second Task rolled around. Viktor's advice about the egg must have been helpful, because none of the champions looked surprised at being told they'd have to search the lake and retrieve a person that had been "taken" from them.

Harry thought at first they were supposed to stare at the surface of the lake for an hour, but once the champions had all dived in, Dumbledore used a spell to paint an image into the thin air like a magical projector.

The image kept shifting between the three champions, so they couldn't tell what was going on at all times, but it was still fun to watch the three fight off grindylows and selkies and—on one memorable occasion—dodge the Giant Squid as it poked some curious tentacles out of a dense forest of seaweed.

A/N:

The Giant Squid, poking its head out of its house: why are there students in the lake and should I try saving them from drowning

xxx

I know that the general fandom consensus is that they spent that hour staring at the motionless lake but also, consider…

Huge thanks to my wonderful betas To Mockingbird, Igornerd, flyingcat, fishbake, Gasmeros and ethirielalways!
~Gwen