Twenty Nine - A Cat with no Claws

The Hogwarts kitchens were as always, a wonderful cacophony of excitable house elves milling about, preparing the wide variety of foods and desserts for the dinner tables. The numerous smells of roasted meats and spices were enough to wet their appetites as soon as they stepped in.

In between the organised chaos, at a single circular table, the elves placed plate upon plate filled with sandwiches, pastries, and puddings in front of a delighted Abigail. The good food, and sheer nature of the house elves had all but evaporated any lingering ill feelings.

From across the table, Hermione, who sat beside Abigail, shared an amused, conspiratory smile with Fleur as they observed Harry.

"What?" he stopped short of stabbing his last piece of treacle tart, puzzled.

"It's nothing," chuckled Hermione.

"Oui, nothing," parroted Fleur, pecking his cheek with a self-indulgent smooch. There really was no big conspiracy, they were simply happy.

It was his idea to bring Abigail to the kitchens after all. He'd taken a single look at the dejected, defeated air which hung over her like a raincloud, and immediately suggested they make a little detour for a bite to eat. His hope was that it would help bring some cheer back in her step, even if only briefly.

He was right, and as soon as she'd stepped foot through the entrance and into the house elves' sanctuary, the effect was instantaneous. It was no place for misery, and like a gust of wind, the excitable little fellows had surrounded her and blew the cloud from above her head.

Both Fleur, and Hermione loved his thoughtfulness, and the care he gave Abigail. Fleur, being an older sister, was especially appreciative.

"Thank you."

Harry looked up at Abigail who was sipping a hot cup of cocoa. She was staring meaningfully at each of them around the table.

"You didn't have to bring me here," she said.

"We wanted to," said Harry, with a mild-mannered shrug before leaning forward, with his arms interlaced on the table. He paused, searching for the words to us. "Abigail—"

"Abby," she cut him off in between sips.

"Right. Abby, then," Harry nodded with a keen smile. "I just wanted to say that if you ever need help or someone bothers you…"

"You'll be the first to know," said Abigail with a grateful smile.

"That includes us," chimed Hermione, gesturing between Fleur and herself. "You can come to the both of us. We'll gladly help."

Abigail's soft gaze studied the three of them, her eyes still bloodshot from all the crying. She found nothing but the earnest truth, and felt herself encouraged by the support. It was an incredible relief to know that she wasn't alone.

"Thank you," she said, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

Before any of them could respond, a dainty little house elf tugged on Abigail's robes. She looked down and found the elf holding out a small plate with a decadent slice of cake. The elves, it seemed, understood the greatest source of comfort – Chocolate.

Later that evening, the bustle of Gryffindor Tower was broken by the arrival of Abigail, accompanied by Harry and Hermione, sans Fleur who had retired to her room. She'd given them a kiss, chaste on account of Abigail's presence, and bid them goodnight.

A pair of first year girls, friends of Abigail's, rushed over from where they sat, but before they could drag her upstairs, Abigail threw her arms around Harry and Hermione in a tight hug. She let go just as quickly and thanked them once again before following her friends, leaving the pair to deal with the questions which were no doubt about to pour out of their peers in the common room. They didn't mind, the last thing Abigail needed was to be the centre of attention.

Harry sighed as he sunk into the only open couch with Hermione joining him. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders as she slipped her shoes off and leaned into him, tucking her feet under her.

"What happened to Abigail?" asked a concerned Angelina of Harry, with a glance towards the staircase which led up to the girls' rooms.

He rubbed a hand down his face in an attempt to wipe away the stress. "Malfoy happened. Thought they were being funny by locking her in a broom closet."

The reaction was instantaneous. Outrage.

While Gryffindor may be known as the house of the brave, one trait ranked higher than the others. It was 'passion'.

Hermione, who had her responsibilities as a prefect, felt compelled to at least try to stem the tide, even if she couldn't put her heart into it. "Professor McGonagall gave her word she'd deal with it appropriately."

Fred scoffed from where he sat, echoing the sentiment present in everyone's mind. Their Head of House tries, she really did, but rarely did any punishment follow through when it came to Slytherins.

"They'll get theirs," said George, and it was as clear a threat as any.

"Not without me, you won't," said Harry. "I've learnt a thing or two that will make sure they never trouble Abby again."

"Please," pleaded Hermione, "Let's wait and see what Professor McGonagall does first."

George didn't agree but he was level-headed enough to appreciate Hermione's position. "If they walk—"

"—You won't get in our way?" finished Fred.

Hermione appeared troubled but when she recalled Abigail's pitiful appearance, crying alone in that broom closet, her mind was made for her. "I'll help you."

George's brow shot up and so did Angelina's, they'd never considered thatHermionewould be willing to so blatantly profess to rule breaking, more-so,revenge.Harry knew better, though, and grinned. Ron did as well and met Harry's eyes in amusement from where he leaned against a wall.

"One more thing," said Harry. "Nothing too permanent, please. I'd rather not have to spend the time fixing them up if they wind up in the hospital wing."

Harry stood hunched over a bubbling cauldron carefully stirring the concoction, while counting each rotation. Behind him, through one of the tall hospital wing windows, the small flying forms of the Gryffindor quidditch team could be seen in the distance.

"Gently, now," instructed Madam Pomfrey as Harry used a pair of thin tongs to pick up a sliver of blackened flesh and dropped it carefully into the mix.

As soon as it touched the surface, the potion changed from a murky brown to a clear smooth liquid resembling water with an oily sheen.

That Madam Pomfrey wasn't saying anything more meant that all was going well, and that he should proceed accordingly. Two crushed mistletoe berries, an ounce of powdered fluxweed, and a single measure of congealed goat's blood went into his mortar and pestle, which he ground down into a silk-like paste. He took a single teaspoon of it and added it into a crystal vial, which he then filled with the potion he'd brewed. It dissolved instantly, and the clear liquid turned a pale blue.

Harry couldn't mask his joy and relief as he saw that. He turned to look at his teacher who smiled satisfied, before gesturing to the simulacrum on the nearby bed.

He didn't need to be told twice, and cautiously walked over to it with the vial in hand. The simulacrum was paler than usual, and the area around its mouth was blackened with cracks in the skin, a small piece of the flesh around its chin was removed, the same size as the sliver he had extracted earlier.

Once more, careful not to touch the affected area, Harry used a simple motion with his wand, and the simulacrum's head tilted back, drawing its mouth wide open.

He slowly poured the content of the vial in, and watched as a gasp followed by fast ragged breaths racked its body before, as quickly as they began, they settled.

The hospital wing was deathly silent as Harry all but held his breath as he waited for his potion to work. Five seconds, ten seconds, thirty seconds… As soon as the disappointment reared its ugly head, it was washed away The affected skin began to crack before fading entirely, leaving only healthy skin tissue in its place.

"Well done," his teacher praised.

"Fourth time's the charm," countered Harry with a self-deprecating laugh. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it, grabbing a nearby glass of water in the process.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't going to let him downplay his accomplishments. "Merely four attempts to create an effective antidote to an unknown poison at your age is remarkable."

"I have a good teacher," he said, watching Madam Pomfrey vanish the remnants of the cauldron.

A knock on the door echoed through the hospital wing before it creaked open.

"Miss Granger, Miss Delacour," greeted the matron.

"I hope we aren't interrupting?" Hermione asked, politely. "Fleur bought pastries."

Their older girlfriend looked quite proud of herself, as she held up a brown paper bag with some flowery French writing.

Harry turned to his teacher who sighed and smiled wryly. "Rest, you've earned it."

"We're done."

Fleur kissed his cheek while placing the bag on the table in front of them.

"How was London?" he asked.

"Surprisingly warm," answered Hermione, thankful for the chance to experience the rare bit of sun this close to winter. "I'm really glad Professor McGonagall let me accompany them."

"I reckon she thought Abby would feel more comfortable with another student." He reasoned, before turning to Fleur "What did you think of Ollivander's?" She'd met the old man the year before, but it was a different experience to see him at work.

To his confusion, the question made Fleur pause, leaving Hermione to answer in her stead."Somebody—,"she side-eyed Fleur as the corner of her lips fought the grin tugging at them, "decided to disappear while Abby was being fitted for her new wand."

"I was not going to waste a trip to ze city," defended Fleur imperiously. "Ogsmeade is lovely, but London 'aspain au chocolat." To drive her point home, she held up one of the French pastries and bit into it.

Harry bit back a chuckle; he found Fleur's reflexive need to defend her sweet tooth endearing. Any show of defiance fell apart as soon as it so much as touched her lips.

"I must say," cut in Madam Pomfrey, inspecting a half bitten pale green macaron in her hand. "I am rather glad you did so, this is sublime."

The way Fleur turned to Hermione with a smirk of pure smugness on her pretty pink lips was too much for Harry, and he let go of his restraint, with a deep chuckle that worked its way up from within his chest.

Fleur's gaze shot to him, initially thinking he was mocking her, but when she saw the adoration in his eyes, her only response was a searing heat to her cheeks.

Looking over Harry's shoulder, Fleur caught sight of the simulacrum and frowned. She made a wave gesture with her hand, wandlessly closing the curtains around its bed.

"Zhat zhing is creepy."

"Impressive," commented Madam Pomfrey, at Fleur's show of skill.

Fleur smiled at the compliment and thanked her graciously, while taking a seat, unpacking the bag she'd brought as she did so. "Professeur Flitwick insists I practise."

Madam Pomfrey nodded approvingly. "I've never been very adept at it myself, but I have seen Filius summon a little knick-knack here and there. He was quite the renowned duelist in his heyday."

Reminded of Harry's reason for being in the hospital wing, Hermione wet her palate with a sip of tea before speaking. "How did the lesson go?" She was aware of his struggles with the potion side of healing.

He grinned, the expression alone answering the question before he spoke. "Snape would have had kittens if he were here."

"Kittens?" Fleur blinked in confusion at the odd phrase, wondering if she heard it correctly.

"It means he would have gotten upset, or overreacted," explained Hermione.

"S'il vous plaît, somebody 'elp ze English," said Fleur sighed, exasperated.

Amused, Hermione chose to leave Fleur to her crisis of language, and raised a concern which she'd noticed for a while.

"Professor Snape's been remarkably cordial with you during class," she said to Harry, recalling how the potion's master simply handed out their instructions and accepted Harry's submissions wordlessly.

"That's if you can call, pretending I don't exist, cordial," shrugged Harry. "I'm not complaining, it's an improvement."

"Still," hummed Hermione. "Makes me wonder what brought about this change."

Madam Pomfrey had been silent for a while, almost as if she were making an effort to go unnoticed. But the three around the table knew her well enough at that point that her odd behaviour was noticed.

She relented as soon as Hermione's eyes landed on her.

"I may have had a word with Severus…"

Of the three of them, it was Hermione who giggled at the thought of Madam Pomfrey scolding Fleur like a mother-hen at a parent-teachers meeting.

Before they could push the matron for details, the door to the hospital wing swung open with a creak.

Harry would recognise that dainty form with her blonde hair and radish earring's anywhere.

"Luna?" he called, noticing her red nose and tired, puffy eyes.

sneeze*

Madam Pomfrey put down her cup of tea and asked Luna to take a seat before flicking her wand and casting a bubble-head charm on herself.

Harry stood and mouthed a quick apology to Fleur and Hermione before heading to a nearby cabinet. His hand hovered over a vial of Pepper-Up before he shook his head and took a different vial. This one was more suitable, it lacked the energetic kick that conventional Pepper-Up had.

He followed his teacher's lead in casting a bubble-head charm on himself before joining them, overhearing Madam Pomfrey confirm what they both already suspected, and at the same time validating his choice in potion.

"You have the flu, thankfully it's the weekend. I'd like you to spend the night here and you'll be right as rain by the morning."

Luna merely nodded tiredly with a sniffle before sneezing again. She reminded Harry of a particularly grouchy looking hamster with her puffy face and sleepy eyes.

Without a word, Luna climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to her face with a whine. She was still wearing day clothes, shoes and all.

She still needed to take her potion, he mused, offering the vial to his teacher, who thanked him.

"Bottoms up," she said to Luna, handing her the potion.

A drink and another groan later, the covers went back to cover her up to her nose.

Madam Pomfrey merely shook her head sheepishly at the young girl.

"Would you like something to eat?" Harry asked Luna.

groan*

"I'll take that as a no."

muffled speech*

"Sorry?"

"Pudding."

He couldn't help it, and chuckled at her plight, earning a small slap on his arm from his teacher. You weren't supposed to laugh at patients.

A summoned elf and several minutes later, Luna was fast asleep with a bowl of pudding, and a plate of éclairs courtesy of Fleur on her bedside table.

The hours spent with Madam Pomfrey and later, his two loves, had driven the unpleasantness of the previous evening far from his mind. It was by the next day that this sense of content was starkly ended by bold letters on a wall.

Educational Decree

No. Seven

In order to ensure fair and equal treatment of students. All disciplinary actions will henceforth be subject to approval by the High Inquisitor.

They had just left the Great Hall after their dinner and found Filch hammering in an announcement on the wall beside the large doors they'd just passed.

"Fair and Equal?" Harry read aloud, swallowing a scoff. Hermione bristled at his side, and Ron, never one to hold his temper, had to actually restrain himself from smashing the plaque with his bare hands.

It was an outrage. He'd believed McGonagall's word when she'd assured him that Malfoy would not escape his punishment, but with someone like Umbridge in the building, it was perhaps indeed even beyond their Head of House to follow through on her word.

"Let's go," said Harry flatly, devoid of any feelings evident in his voice. "Fred and George should be in the common room."

Before they could leave, an unwelcome voice called out across the entrance hall.

"Surprised, Potter?" Draco's voice, smug and mocking.

Harry turned and found the blonde ponce at the head of his posse. Crabbe and Goyle looked proud of themselves, while Pansy seemed more bored than anything else. Draco on the other hand, he looked like Christmas had come early.

"Actually, no," answered Harry, cold anger brimming beneath the surface. He'd bottled his fury over Abigail's mistreatment by pretending Draco and his lackey's would face an appropriate punishment, but the stark reality was that he'd been delusional.

"Must love it, huh, Malfoy," spat Ron, "At least your father doesn't have to hear about it. You can go crying to Umbridge instead."

Draco, thin-skinned as always, glared at Ron. "I'd shut my mouth if I were you, Weasley! At least my father has real power. He doesn't have to go around begging his way through the Ministry."

Ron, tensed shoulders and red in the face was mere seconds away from blowing his top, and while Harry was severely tempted to let him, a shimmer caught his eye. A trick of the light, easy to disregard, but something screamed inside his mind to pay attention. He focused on it and could see the distortion in the figure of a person.

A suspicion welled inside of him and he glanced back at the entrance to the Great Hall, the angle they were at meant he could see the head table, and the empty chair where Umbridge was last seated. He could also see the ghost of Nearly-Headless-Nick floating and conversing with Professor McGonagall, a transparent arm pointing towards the Hall's entrance. Harry hoped it meant what he thought it meant.

Flexing his wrist, he felt his wand in the holster strapped under his sleeve. It would be in his hand within a fraction of a second if needed, but he had to prevent the situation from coming to that. Since that was no doubt what Umbridge was waiting for.

Ron was primed and ready to throw fists, but was stopped by Harry placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Leave it" He squeezed once to emphasise his seriousness.

"It doesn't surprise me that you consider bribery and corruption, real power," Hermione said evenly to Draco, with just enough inflection to be mockery to anyone listening.

Harry felt the familiar touch of Fleur's magic like a soft breeze before she even rounded the corner. Her harried pace meant she'd forgone any attempts to hide her approach. She was slightly out of breath, having hurried off to the owlery to send a letter to her family.

For now, at least, her timing was perfect, as her impromptu arrival managed to defuse most of the tension. Partly because, while not a teacher, she still exuded an air of authority, and also because she was, in fact, Fleur.

"Arry? 'Ermione?" She surveyed the situation.

"This doesn't concern you, filthy half-breed," cut in Draco, upset that he was no longer the centre of attention.

Fleur knew that the best way to get under the skin of somebody like Draco was to disregard them entirely. There was nothing she could say that struck as hard as her simply glancing at him as if he were entirely insignificant before continuing to ignore him.

"We were just about ready to leave," said Harry, taking her hand in a gesture that said 'let's go', and surprising Hermione when he inadvertently cut her off. She meant to show Fleur the plaque. He briefly met her eyes and in that few seconds, was able to convey enough that she followed along.

Harry hoped Professor McGonagall would have arrived by then, even if it was likely only mere moments away. But it was too late, as a gasp rang out from a random student. A flick of Harry's wrist and his wand was in his hand, the words of the shield charm already on his lips. But before Draco's curse reached his shield, another had already stopped it.

All eyes turned to the girl wearing a dark green sweater, with a Slytherin house scarf around her neck. Her platinum-blonde hair fastened back in a ponytail and her ice-blue eyes were hard as she glared at Draco. But it was the wand in her hand, with a slight wisp of ash coloured smoke vanishing into the air from the tip that drew the attention of everyone.

"Greengrass!" barked Draco, furious at her interference. The shimmer several feet behind Draco moved. No doubt Umbridge was about to attempt to capitalise on the events when a firm voice stopped her.

"What is the meaning of this!" the voice of the Gryffindor head of house silenced the area. "Put those wands away this instant, before I see fit to confiscate them!"

McGonagall commanded the room with the kind of authority that took years to hone. Even Draco bit back any retorts, placing his wand back into his pocket. Harry holstered his wand too, and so did Daphne.

"Now, is anybody going to tell me what exactly is going on here, or will I have to question each of you individually?"

"Malfoy attacked Harry, Professor. We all saw it!" The answer to their surprise, came from a first year Gryffindor boy, one Harry recognised as a friend of Abby's. "She protected him," he pointed at Daphne, unaware of her name.

"You little—!" Draco's attempt to intimidate the boy was nipped in the bud by McGonagall.

"Mr Malfoy!"

The Deputy Headmistress spared a moment to see if any of the other students objected to what the First Year had said. No one did.

"Come with me," she ordered the petulant Slytherin.

Ahem*

An expression of sheer irritation crossed McGonagall's face before she steeled it professionally.

"Dolores," she greeted with all the warmth of a Scottish winter.

Umbridge had dropped her disillusionment charm with such smoothness that it appeared as if she'd simply walked up to the situation. Harry couldn't deny that it was worryingly impressive, especially dressed as garishly in pink as she was.

"Minerva, my dear," Umbridge said her name as if speaking to an absent-minded secretary. "Do I need to remind you of Educational Decree number seven? All matters of discipline must go throughme. And clearly, Mr Malfoy is being unjustly singled out, no doubt Mr Potter instigated the entire thing."

Draco folded his arms and gave McGonagall a look of smug defiance, confident now that he was going to get off scot free, once again. If only he was aware of how much deeper of a hole he was digging for himself. Harry was initially going to leave things to Hermione and the twins, but now he thought otherwise.

"I have a room full of witnesses who say otherwise," said McGonagall curtly.

Umbridge spared the gathered students a cursory glance, no doubt about to comment on the quality of the 'witnesses', but paused at the sight of Daphne staring back at her. Her presence, along with that of Blaise Zabini's, had made things far harder for her to twist. Harry would need to thank Daphne later, her timely intervention had derailed Umbridge's plans spectacularly.

"Regardless, I will see to it that Mr Malfoy faces appropriate disciplinary action, befitting the nature of his actions."

'Befitting the nature of his background', was what everyone understood instead.

To her frustration, there was nothing McGonagall could do. Her hands were tied.

"Very well, I'll leave this matter in your capable hands." It was clear Professor McGonagall was going along with this farce for appearances sake.

Umbridge gave her one of her prim little smiles, satisfied with her victory.

"Come, Draco, you'll serve your detention with me."

As they left, so did the rest of the students who had been in the area, many of whom were discussing the stand-off they'd just witnessed.

"Mr Edwards," Professor McGonagall stopped the boy who had spoken up earlier. "Ten points," she said, and he grinned before running off.

"And for what it's worth, twenty points, Miss Greengrass."

Daphne smiled politely and thanked her. Even if the points weren't worth much of anything, it was the acknowledgment that mattered.

"Malfoy's no doubt going to be even more insufferable," said Hermione.

"We need to do somezhing about zat woman." Fleur's own experiences with Umbridge notwithstanding, the Senior Undersecretary was a menace.

Professor McGonagall sighed, making her exhaustion visible on her aged face. Harry wondered if Umbridge was perhaps causing her grief behind the scenes.

"I wish there were a way," said McGonagall. "Until the Minister sees fit to abandon this crusade against the Headmaster, I fear it won't be possible."

"You should see the way she behaves around my father," shared Daphne. "It's nauseating."

"Thank you," said Harry, suddenly. "For the help," he explained. "Umbridge was there from the start. I noticed the disillusionment charm shortly after Draco opened his big mouth. I think she was hoping things escalated."

His admittance surprised everyone, no doubt clearly able to understand the implications.

"Blimey," breathed Ron, "How'd you see that?"

Harry wasn't about to explain that he'd been more sensitive to movements since his success with the animagus transformation, so instead he simply shrugged.

"That's why you were urging us to leave," realised Hermione, to which he nodded seriously.

"And wisely so," said McGonagall. "Madame Umbridge is indeed looking for anything she can use against you, Mr. Potter, and you Miss Delacour. Nothing good would have come out of trading blows with Mr. Malfoy."

"I can already see the headlines," exhaled Harry. "Veela who ensnared Boy Who Lived attacks Malfoy Heir."

"Headlines would be the least of it," said McGonagall curtly before excusing herself with a suggestion that they not dally.

Before Daphne could leave, Harry thanked her once more, as did Fleur and Hermione, aware now of how much she'd inadvertently helped them.

"Zhere will be no répercussions?" Fleur worried.

Daphne shook her head. "Umbridge wouldn't dare, and Malfoy won't do anything more than bitch and moan."

Her casual dismissal did ease Fleur's worries, and meant they could see Daphne off with ease of mind.

"Come on," said Harry, "I think we need to speak with the twins."

Ron practically buzzed with excitement at his words.

END CHAPTER 29

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