Chapter 28, everybody, and Happy Halloween! Let's throw the kids at their classes…
One chunk of this ran away with me but I liked where that story thread went so there you go. And Professor Lupin's class was written pretty early on—you can see more of those honking daffodils on my DeviantArt account and my fic The Magicians' Realm here on this site. :D
TroyWeb, thanks for the review! Yes, there's a whole magical menagerie going on now. XD Sirius is gonna need a better plan for getting in….
Harry Potter © JK Rowling
Breakfast the next morning saw Harry much improved, discussing the spider plant with Neville (who assured Ron that with the exception of the multiple eyes and the habit of eating bugs had very little to do with actual spiders) until their schedules arrived.
That was the fresh topic, and they spent the next few minutes swapping schedules to see who was going where.
"Hermione your schedule is impossible," Ron declared.
"Honestly, Ron, not everyone is as terrible at managing their time as you," Hermione said.
"No, I mean it's literally impossible—you've got three classes for ten o' clock. Three. In one time slot. How are you even going to do this? You can't be in three places at once."
"I'll manage," Hermione said, polishing off her breakfast before snatching her schedule away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get to class."
"But which one? Hermione—Hermione!" Watch as she stormed off, looked at Harry. "She can't be in three places at once, right?"
"Well I know we can't," Harry said. "Maybe it's something magic—I mean that covers a lot of what Muggles think is impossible, so…."
They spent the rest of breakfast and the entirety of their trip to their first class debating on what could possibly allow Hermione to be in three places at once, and agreed to ask Professor Slughorn if there was such a thing as a cloning potion as soon as possible. Professor McGonagall would be consulted about cloning spells, and both were definitely going to be reassured that it was because of academic curiosity only.
Mostly because they had to agree, they had a habit of getting into trouble.
Third year classes were definitely more challenging, even before factoring in the extra classes.
Harry and Hermione both had Arithmancy that morning, which felt very much like math and which Harry realized he hadn't really done much with since starting Hogwarts. This was a problem, as it turned out—Hermione likened it to trying to ride a very rusty bike after not riding one for ages.
Most of their other classes were the same and just fine, with the only hiccup being Ron coming down from Divination and saying that Professor Trelawny had predicted Harry's death. And that Hermione was somehow in that class as well.
Hermione talking about Divination and Arithmancy in equal measure did nothing to clear up the confusion.
Lunch was good though—lunch was very tasty and saw a visitor from the Ravenclaw table.
"Hey, Luna," Harry greeted as she sat down next to him, Mauve in her usual place of curled around Luna's neck—blinked at the green quill floating next to her. "Um, what is this?"
"It's a quick-quotes quill," she explained. "Dad got it for me—spent a lot of time looking, he said it's very important to get a well-mannered one. Otherwise they write all sorts of strangeness."
Sentient quills really shouldn't have surprised him at this point. "Is it for taking notes during class?"
"No, I already asked so Fitzherbert could have something to do during the day, but they're banned unless there's a legitimate medical reason."
That made sense, he supposed. "So…why is…he? Why is he here?"
That was about when Colin Creevey plopped down next to Luna, breathless with excitement, and Harry was forced to note that they both had press hats on.
"It's for The Quibbler," Luna reported. "We're writing opinion pieces, about Sirius Black possibly heading here, and how people feel about this compared to having a Basilisk roaming about the castle last year."
"I'm more concerned with the Dementors, personally," Harry said—blinked when Fitzherbert the Quill started scribbling away. "Uh…."
Luna looked at what it had wrote. "We should definitely ask what people think of the Dementors," she decided. "But I think Harry would prefer if you just wrote green eyes."
Harry stood to look at the notepad. "Yeah—the glittering green of a sun-dappled forest is a bit much."
"Very much so," Mauve said, which resulted in the quill bobbing again before scribbling that out. "I do like the bit about the hair, though—keep that in."
"Fitzherbert understands Mauve?" Harry had to ask.
"He does—it's been a very useful talent," Luna said.
"Very useful," Mauve agreed.
"So what do you think of Sirius Black?" Luna asked.
"I know that he killed thirteen people with one spell and escaped from Azkaban—that's the extent of my knowledge," Harry told her.
"I heard that Azkaban's supposed to be inescapable, though," Dean Thomas put in, Fitzherbert scribbling away. "Course, Alcatraz in America is supposed to be inescapable too, but people managed."
"Dean Thomas," Luna said, when the quill looked at her—there wasn't a better description Harry could come up with, to be fair. "Dean you don't mind going on the record, do you?"
"No I'm cool with it. And I agree with Harry, the Dementors are the more pressing concern. They're creepy."
That was the general opinion regarding the Dementors, and more than a few students had said that, after telling their parents about the things, quite a few had sent in letters to both Dumbledore and Fudge, after the former had informed them that he felt much the same way, but for some reason the Minister of Magic had seen fit to do so poor fellow I think he must be overworked.
Harry was very much not surprised at the thickness of the next issue of the Quibbler, although the conspiracy theories were comfortingly crazy, as per usual.
Although he had to say, he hadn't been expecting wizards to be aware of space aliens.
Harry had been very much looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures, not the least because Hagrid was teaching it.
As they filed down to Hagrid's hut, it became very clear who had bought their books before and after Harry had shared the little tidbit about keeping them fed on scrap paper—his was still gnawing on the jeans, which meant he might have finally found something that kept it properly preoccupied.
Hagrid was amused at this news.
"I figured feeding it was the sensible approach," Harry supplied when asked.
"Offrin' summat ta eat is always a good startin' point with regular animals and magical creatures alike," Hagrid agreed. "But ta start the class—open yer books to page twenty-nine—yeh gotta stroke the spines, gentle touch is what gets ya in, go on—"
There was a lot of murmuring and muttering at that—Harry had to promise his book it'd get the jeans back after class before it relented.
After that, Hagrid went over some of the basics of what they were going to be covering—that magical creatures were special because they had some magical use or were specifically associated with the magical world over the Muggle world (although there was some overlap), how that any encounter could turn into a good one if they just knew how to show said creature respect.
Which led to them being introduced to Hippogriffs.
Harry and Snips had both been keeping half-an-eye on Malfoy, expecting trouble from him even with Harry sending him a letter that said behave in Hagrid's class and we'll call it even—wasn't expecting him to suddenly display a lot of interest. He and Harry both were the first volunteers, and when Hagrid asked if anyone was interested in maybe taking a ride on Buckbeak, one of the Hippogriffs, Malfoy was quick to have his hand up again.
"Professor, how does one go about owning a Hippogriff?" Malfoy asked after what had apparently been an exhilarating ride—Harry was beginning to recognize Slytherin cunning when he heard it. "I mean, is it possible? My family has the space."
"Space is definitely tha first thing yeh'll be needin'," Hagrid told him, nodding. "A Hippogriff would need all the space a horse would need, plus space to fly—if yeh live near Muggles yeh'll hafta have a Disillusionment charm on them most days."
"Mother is good at those."
Hagrid considered it, assigned homework when the bell rang, detained Malfoy.
"Tell yeh wha'—you help with the Hippogriffs, let me see that yeh can take care of one, that yer responsible and whatnot, I'll put in a good word with yer ma."
"Really?" Malfoy asked, trying to school his excitement and failing.
"Sure—lemme see yer schedule…eh, this night, this night, and Saturday mornings should do it. Get on with yeh then."
"Right—thank you—see you later, Buckbeak!" Malfoy said, running back to the castle.
Ron watched him go, looked back at Hagrid. "Are you sure about that? I mean it is Malfoy."
"Great thing about animals, magical or otherwise—they're great judges of character," Hagrid told them. "You lot got time for a cuppa? You can tell me what you thought of me first class!"
"You did excellent, Professor," Harry said, grinning, something heartily seconded by Ron and Hermione.
Hagrid was blushing as he ushered the Hippogriffs back into their enclosure.
Their first Defense class went very well for about fifty percent of the class.
Professor Lupin had them going up against a boggart, which—as he explained it—would morph into their worst fear. The best way to counter such a creature was to use the spell riddikulus and think of something funny, since laughter was a boggart's bane. Things were going quite well, and Harry was busy thinking of what the boggart could possibly turn into and what he could turn it into that would make it funny. He thought it might turn into Voldemort, at first—at least, until he remembered his experience with the Dementor on the train.
That, he was pretty sure, would top some weird wizard that just wanted him dead—he was busy trying to think of something that would turn a Dementor funny, wondering if he could get the spell in before it started affecting him—
He never got the chance after Neville went—Neville's boggart turned into some scraggly-looking woman, making him freeze and necessitating Professor Lupin stepping in. The boggart turned into a silvery orb that Professor Lupin turned into a balloon and sent zipping back into the cupboard before ending the class early.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione—along with the rest of the class—was busy discussing why the class had been ended early as Professor Lupin escorted a shell-shocked Neville away.
"I wonder who that was though," Hermione said as they headed for the great hall.
"I wouldn't expect a mudbl—muggleborn to know," Malfoy spat, changing terms quickly upon spotting Snips snarling at him. "That was Bellatrix Lestrange—big supporter of You-Know-Who, had the right idea about Muggle sympathizers."
"Really, Malfoy?" Ron shot back. "Why don't you share why you recognized her—must be nice seeing dear old auntie without Dementors hovering about!"
Malfoy quickly vanished after that.
"The Malfoys are related to Lestrange?" Harry asked.
Ron twitched a shoulder. "Pretty much every pureblood family is related to each other somewhere—bit concerning, come to think of it…."
"But Lestrange," Hermione prompted.
Ron shook his head. "She was one of You-Know-Who's followers—I heard she tortured a family so badly that they went insane. Maybe Neville heard about it."
Harry looked at Snips, who shook his head minutely; Harry agreed, Neville's reaction was more than just hearing about something awful.
Professor Lupin escorted Neville to the great hall shortly before lunch ended, talking with him calmly and patting him on the shoulder. Neville still seemed dazed as he walked away, clutching a potted plant that had a couple of daffodils in it.
Harry popped up and caught him, steering him over to where they were sitting before sitting him down.
"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting next to him.
Neville nodded. "Just—wasn't expecting that."
Snips watched him carefully, glanced at the daffodils before meandering over to one of the truffles and pulling it over to in front of Neville, chirping at him before pointing at the dessert. They waited until after Neville's moment of silence and truffle before talking again.
"What are the daffodils for?" Hermione asked.
Some color returned to Neville's face. "They're a special breed—Professor Lupin said that a witch in the United States bred them, and that their pollen is being studied by potioneers for use in cheering potions; they're supposed to improve one's mood."
Why that was so became clear when eyes blinked open on the flowers and they started honking.
"Sounds useful," Harry said, glancing at the others. It was agreed upon quickly and quietly: they wouldn't bring Lestrange up again unless Neville did first.
It took until fifth year before the subject was broached again.