"ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ʜᴏᴘᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ; ᴡᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ." ― ᴇᴜʀɪᴘɪᴅᴇꜱ
Chapter Eighteen: Great Expectations
Harry realised, with a lurch, that O.W.L.s were a paltry seven weeks away, which sounded horrifyingly close. Such a realisation came, however, not from a professor nor, even more surprisingly, Hermione, but from the flurry of leaflets, posters, and notices that appeared in the Gryffindor common room on the very first day of the Easter holiday. He could not bring himself to look at a single one of them — not even the scarlet cover of ʜɪɢʜ ʀɪꜱᴋ, ʜɪɢʜ ʀᴇᴡᴀʀᴅ: ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴜʀᴏʀ sparkling invitingly on the side table.
"Is something wrong, Harry?" asked Hermione, ducking through the portrait hole just behind Ron.
Harry tore his gaze from the fire, which he had been staring into for the past hour.
"No," he said. "I was thinking about going to the library to study."
Ron and Hermione shared an incredulous look, and the latter turned to him, glowing.
"That's a wonderful idea," said Hermione, looking at him with more admiration than she ever had. "I was just going to get my notes upstairs before going. Ron, Harry's got the right idea. Why don't you come, too?"
For a few seconds, Ron looked with great longing at Dean, Neville, and Seamus playing a raucous game of Exploding Snap, but then he turned away, shaking his head as if to clear it.
"Yeah, all right."
Hermione drifted upstairs with a dream-like expression, and Ron sat down beside him, startling Harry as the squashy armchair dipped.
"Feeling alright?"
Harry blinked but could not clear the green floaters from staring into the fire from his vision. "Mmmm. Yeah. Great."
"Are you sure about that?" asked Ron, giving Harry one of those sweeping, concerned looks that gave him the air of Madam Pomfrey. "You look like someone slipped you a potion."
"It's just—" Harry waved a hand at the pile of leaflets flooding the table in front of them "—all of this stuff."
To be honest, Harry had never seriously considered a world in which he'd been eighteen and out of school. With everything going on, he just hadn't thought he'd make it this far at all.
Ron had picked up the scarlet leaflet and was flicking through it. "Know what you mean — apparently, you need five N.E.W.T.s with at least an 'Exceeds Expectations', and three of them have to be Potions, Transfiguration, and Defence." He made a face. "That's me out, then. Snape only lets people get through to N.E.W.T. level with an 'Outstanding.'"
Harry snorted. "Who gets an 'Outstanding' in Potions?" He suddenly had an image of Snape sneering down at his vial at the end of class, and then it morphed into an examiner with Snape's voice, pronouncing it merely 'Passable' and the whole room bursting into mocking laughter.
So this is what it feels like to be inside Hermione's brain.
Just then, Hermione herself appeared, sticking her head over the back of the armchair between them. "Ready to go, then?" Without waiting for an answer, she walked off towards the portrait hole with a bounce in her step. Harry got to his feet, bumping the table on accident as he went and sending a dozen more leaflets tumbling to the ground.
As they emerged into the hallway, he noticed that Hermione had her nose buried in a sea-green leaflet with ᴀ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ꜱᴜᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱꜰᴜʟ ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ written in bold white lettering on the front.
"Isn't that where Anthony's dad works?" asked Ron, cocking his head to peer at the leaflet as he caught up to her.
"Hmm? Oh. Yes." Hermione's head only surfaced for a brief second, and then she closed the leaflet with a snap before stuffing it into the depths of her bag. "What about you two?"
Ron shrugged. "Dunno, honestly." He didn't seem at all put out by it, either. "O.W.L.s'll probably decide for me, anyway."
Hermione turned to Harry, who was trailing a few steps behind, looking miffed.
Like Ron, he shrugged. "I haven't looked at anything."
"Harry—" Hermione's voice soared into a soprano register "—our Careers Advice meetings are next week. Did you even check to see when yours was scheduled?"
He had not.
"Well, you've got to think of something before then," she said, stopping in her tracks and causing Harry to nearly collide with her. "Come on, what did your parents do?"
Harry scratched his nose, trying to ignore the weird lump that had just come into his throat. "My mum — she was an Unspeakable, but I don't think I want to do that. And my dad was an Auror, but you need lots of N.E.W.T.s for that."
He was thinking he could ask Sirius later, anyway. The two-way mirror was wrapped in cloth and hidden safely under his bed, waiting for him if he could get a moment alone in the common room. Ron was right. They had to get through O.W.L.s first.
Hermione looked put out by their responses, but Harry noticed that she didn't seem to have a grand plan, either, and the entrance to the library was visible as they turned the next corner. When they went in, Lupin, ever the dutiful librarian, was talking to a horde of first-years and looked to be at the end of his tether.
"—no, we do not have books on the Head-Shrinking Charm, and besides, they would be in the Restricted Section — please do not — Miller, don't shout, you'll get your question answered — library voices, please—"
He looked relieved when he noticed them drawing closer, somehow managing to pacify the first years, and they all scurried off, many of them staring at Harry at they went.
"Studying for O.W.L.s?" asked Lupin as they came up to him. "It's the holidays, believe or not, you might want to take a break. It's the last one you'll have in months, trust me." Taking in Ron and Harry's grim expressions, he amended: "Or it might be time to cram."
Harry nodded reluctantly.
"Right then, you all know where the quiet and group study sections are. Let me know if you need anything from the stacks — and Harry, could I talk to you for a minute?"
What could Lupin possibly want to speak to him about? He only hoped it wasn't any of this career stuff. Harry's stomach turned, but Ron and Hermione were already heading towards the group study area. There was nothing to it, then. He let Lupin guide him through the Reference Section, lined with rows of handsome, leather-bound volumes, past the desk, and into a small, dusty back room which made his eyes itch.
Lupin sat down on a footstool, seemingly unbothered by the dust.
"I know it all seems really overwhelming right now," he said, "but things have a way of working themselves out in the end."
It sounded too halcyon, too candy-coloured. Harry wiped a line of dust off a nearby shelf, leaving a layer of fluff on his index finger.
Things 'working themselves out' doesn't happen to people like me.
When he said as much to Lupin, the man looked pained.
"I know you've been through more than your fair share," said Lupin, his voice low. "But you have to trust that there's a future, or else none of it's worth anything."
It was a bit like what Sirius had said. Once this is all over, we'll be a proper family. Right now, it all felt impossible.
"I just don't know," said Harry. "I don't have anything figured out. What does—" He felt stupid saying it, but barrelled on all the same "—what does a world without Voldemort even look like?"
Lupin looked surprised at this. He paused for a second. "Well, before the war, it was much the same as it is now, with regards to the fundamentals. The same people, bureaucracies, hierarchies, prejudices…" He trailed off.
"And would it just happen all over again?" asked Harry bitterly. He was pretending to read the dusty book spines. Dark Lords rise and fall, and the world stays consistently miserable.
"I'm afraid realising there is no release from the cycle of suffering in your lifetime is part of becoming an adult, Harry. But every little thing we do to stop it, it isn't nothing. If your parents were here, they'd say the same. What they did mattered. It's the reason you're here — the reason we're both here — maybe the reason all of this is still here. Who knows what would have happened if Voldemort wasn't defeated that night?"
Of course it mattered. Harry lifted his head, listening to the faint sounds of the library, murmuring voices interspersed with laughter leaking into the back room. Everything about that night in his mind was raw and violent and unfair. But Lupin was right. It mattered. His mother had known what she was doing. There had been runes under the crib. His mother had died to save him, knowing that he would be spared. But she hadn't just just bought him ten years. There'd been ten years for everyone else, too.
Is that enough?
"There was a point when it felt like it wouldn't be worth it," said Lupin, looking much older than his age. The dim light reflected off the strands of silver in his hair. He sounded far away. "Whole families. I lost all of my friends — your parents, Sirius to Azkaban and Peter to his own idiocy. But things did change. There was a world without fear, Muggle-borns succeeding as they never had before, people learning to trust each other. We're better than this. I've seen it."
Now, Lupin looked up, assessing Harry, who stopped tracing patterns in the dust. "I didn't mean to get so heavy. Come on, I'll take you back to your friends. And don't worry about the Careers Advice meeting, it's perfectly normal for you to feel unsure." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, gently guiding him out of the room. "Trust me, I didn't imagine ending up as a librarian, though I'm not complaining. I didn't have a plan either, to be honest."
Harry paused on the threshold. "Thanks." He did really mean it; he felt no less confused, but the confusion seemed much less oppressive.
The corners of Lupin's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Anytime, Harry, really. I know I'm not Sirius, but you can always come and speak to me when you're feeling down. Well, aside from once a month, when I'll be curled up in a corner and fast asleep."
Harry smiled faintly at Lupin's quip as they emerged back out onto the floor of the library. In an instant, another gaggle of first-years had cornered Lupin, and he headed towards the group study section, finding Ron and Hermione already sitting at a table.
"What did Lupin want?" asked Hermione, half-hidden behind a tower of books. Harry shrugged and said nothing, slipping into one of the wooden chairs, worn smooth from years of use.
"Listen to this one, Harry," said Ron, who seemed to have nodded off earlier and was now fixing the parchment before him with a bleary stare. "Describe the circumstances that led to the Formation of the International Confederation of Wizards and explain why the warlocks of Liechtenstein refused to join."
International Confederation of Wizards. He remembered it from class, but Harry had large, gaping holes in his memory when it came to History of Magic that Hermione's notes had only partially filled in. Ron stared rattling off the answer to his own question half-heartedly, and Harry felt his mind slowly drifting off. Perhaps it wasn't Professor Binns who was so soporific, but the subject of History of Magic itself.
There was no use trying to concentrate on that. Harry rolled his shoulders back, rubbed his eyes, and started pulling books off of Hermione's tower. He found one with Achievement in Charming written across the burgundy cover in gold, curling letters, and began flipping through it. It was not much more interesting than History of Magic, especially with the way his stomach kept turning over, but he forced his eyes to stay focused on the yellowing pages until the end of the chapter.
Once he'd gotten to the end of the first chapter, with Chapter Two: State Transitions staring back at him, Harry closed Achievement in Charming, wrapping the edge of the dust cover around the pages.
"I'll be right back," he said, not that either Ron or Hermione noticed — the former seemed to be in a stupor and the latter frantically jotting down notes.
When he got up, it felt as if he hadn't used his legs in months; he took a few tentative steps forward, looking out over the groups of students gathered around each table, each with its own hanging light. Harry saw movement out of the corner of his eye from a table full of Ravenclaws as he went past, then realised it was Anthony waving at him. He waved back and then noticed that Daphne Greengrass from Slytherin was sitting next to him and that she had her head resting on his shoulder.
So that explains why Ruby's been in a sulk for the past few weeks, thought Harry.
The high, closely packed shelves of the Transfiguration Section loomed before him like a forest full of rows of dark trees. Harry slipped down one narrow path, with a dimly-lit sign pointing ahead to the stacks. The rows of books, their esoteric titles glittering in the wan light, seemed to swallow him along with every sound in the library. It was as if he were being pulled into a black hole.
Technically, he wasn't supposed to be in the stacks, especially not by himself. But since when had he let common sense tell him what to do? A rare sense of calm washed over him as the ten-foot-high shelves towered above him. Harry ran his fingers along the spines of the books; the only sounds in the whole world were his breathing and his footsteps.
And then, he ran headfirst into someone.
"Cedric?"
A book tumbled to the floor with a heavy thunk, and Harry bent down to pick it up.
"Don't worry," said Cedric, crouching down on the opposite side of the book with a smile. "I won't tell Lupin you're here."
"Yeah, of course you wouldn't. You'd have to tell him you'd been lurking around the stacks as well," said Harry. He handed Cedric back the book, then straightened up, dusting off his robes.
Cedric glanced away, laughing a little. The Head Boy badge caught the light coming from one of the hanging lamps, seeming to gleam with its own light.
"Just— trying to get some extra studying in before N.E.W.T.s," he said, hands wrapped around the thick, dark green tome.
"Same for me — er — I mean, for O.W.L.s."
For some reason, the thought that Cedric wouldn't be here next year was not a pleasant one, despite the fact that Harry couldn't seem to stop being a little bit horrible to him every time they spoke.
"I'm sure you'll be fine," said Harry, trying to find a way out of his bad mood.
"Mmm. If I don't get at least an Exceeds Expectations, Dad'll kill me. I'm supposed to get a 'good job at the Ministry,'" said Cedric, in a forcibly-light tone that sounded ever so bitter.
It was the first time, Harry reflected, that Cedric had given off the idea that he was anything but completely self-possessed. He brushed the dust off a nearby book, considering this.
"A good job, like pushing paper around?"
"Something like that," said Cedric, and the light shifted, so that the skin under his eyes looked dark and hollow. "In the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Live up to great-great-something granddad Eldritch."
"Do you want to be in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" asked Harry, and then he had the sudden thought that it was too personal of a question, and that the way Cedric seemed to be looking through him was strangely uncomfortable.
"No." The answer was quick, un-rehearsed. Some colour came into his cheeks, and he ducked his head down. "I don't—" The penetrating look was back, and for that moment, he was something other than the Golden Boy of Hogwarts "—I don't actually know what I want to do."
"Well," said Harry, feeling much less irritated all of a sudden. "That makes two of us."
"Yeah," said Cedric. He smiled — not the usual blinding, dazzling one. "I suppose it does. Hey, um… this one's really good."
He turned, and pulled a book off of the nearby shelf, sending up a plume of dust. Harry stifled a cough, his eyes watering even as Cedric offered it to him. The cover was a deep, rich purple with gold scrolling, and when he looked at the spine, it read, in tiny, curled gold lettering, Mathematical and Practical Transfiguration.
"Don't think I would have made it through the O.W.L. without this," said Cedric. Harry opened the book to the first page, which let off a musty scent of old paper and glue. "There's some weird stuff in it, though."
"Weird like what?" Harry flipped Mathematical and Practical Transfiguration over and opened it from the back cover to look at the index.
Cedric shrugged. "Griffith just gets a bit too carried away with historical stuff sometimes, I think he needed an editor. And I'd, uh, better get back." He reached out as if to place a hand on Harry's shoulder but then thought better of it. "See you around, Harry."
"Yeah," said Harry, a few seconds after, turning to watch Cedric go. "See you around."
The stacks felt even more quiet than before now that Cedric was gone. He should probably be getting back to Ron and Hermione as well; they might be wondering where he went. Tucking Mathematical and Practical Transfiguration under his arm, he surveyed his surroundings: near-identical rows of books stretching in every direction, including above him. He could see why Lupin didn't like them going into the stacks. It was easy to get lost if you weren't paying attention or started panicking.
But Harry, fortunately, had been. He made his way down to the end of row 10B, into the wider middle passageway, and then back through the Transfiguration Section, blinking a little in the light as he made his way through the rows of tables.
"Where were you?" asked Ron as he slid back into his seat.
"Nowhere, just getting a book."
Mathematical and Practical Transfiguration looked even more ancient in full light. Where had Cedric even found a book like this in the first place? He opened it, leafing through the first few pages.
—changing the form or appearance of an object requires first transforming it into a high-energy state and then correctly manipulating its descent into the correct low-energy state. This is the fundamental dogma of Transfiguration—
Harry turned over a chunk of pages.
—Here, we come to a very useful suite of spells: Vanishment and Conjuration. As for Vanishment, it cannot be said that the thing Vanished is transformed into energy equal to its mass. That has been conclusively proven false. Therefore, Vanished things must still exist — somewhere. Now we turn to a discussion far more contentious, that of Conjuration. Why can a flock of birds be Conjured, and not a roast chicken? Why water, but not a refreshing glass of pumpkin juice? These observations make up Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration—
That was likely to come up in the exam, he thought, turning back the page to the previous chapter, titled On the Fundamental Differences Between Charms and Transfiguration.
—One curious example is that of the Resurrection Stone, crafted from a mere stone lying along a river into an artifice capable of bringing the dead back to the living world—
"What's that, Harry?" asked Hermione, finally looking up. Most of her hair had escaped its ponytail, erupting into a halo of frizz.
Harry felt strangely protective of the book all of a sudden. "Nothing, it's just a Transfiguration textbook or something—" But Hermione's curious fingers were already lifting the cover, and her head bent to the table to peer under it.
"Mathematical and Practical Transfiguration by Issac Griffith? I've wanted that book for ages, do you know how rare this is? How did you find it?"
"Just—" For some reason, Harry didn't want to say anything about running into Cedric "—I heard the name before and I found it in the stacks."
Luckily, Hermione didn't seem to be paying too much attention to what he was saying.
"It's got one of the most complete discussions on Animagi — not just how to do it, but how the transformation actually works—"
"But that stuff's not on the O.W.L., is it?" asked Ron.
Hermione gave him an irritated look, then went back to ogling Mathematical and Practical Transfiguration like Smeagol admiring the Ring*.* "This is so amazing. Harry, can I borrow it?"
"We can't borrow books from the stacks, remember?"
A beat of silence passed.
"Well," said Hermione, chewing the inside of her cheek, "I'll just look at it while we're here, then. I wish there were Xeroxes here."
Harry had a sudden and vivid image of Hermione copying every page on a massive, humming printer, which looked very out of place in the Hogwarts library. Right now, her fingers were tracing the smooth parabola of an energy diagram, murmuring something under her breath as if she were trying to Xerox the page with her eyes.
Ron shook his head, exchanging a look with Harry. "Well, that's her for the next hour."
"You're certainly brave to come here, Dumbledore," said the woman behind the mahogany desk.
Tee thought so, too. The frilly decorations were already doing his head in. Whoever had charmed those ornamental kitten plates deserved to have their wand snapped.
"Oh, you know, Dolores, I never had the stomach for politics." Dumbledore sipped from the floral, bone-china teacup, regarding the Minister over the tops of his half-moon glasses. "I suppose I am brave to come here and tempt an assassination. However, I am certain you have already done your very best to kill me. How will you improve on a swarm of Inferi, I wonder?"
How, indeed? Tee still shuddered to remember it.
Umbridge's face bloomed red from collar to hairline. "I have no idea of what you refer—" Her eyes flicked up to meet Tee's as he approached, lurking behind Dumbledore's chair as if hoping for reassurance. When he just stared back impassively, Umbridge dropped her gaze to the desk, a sneer pulling at her mouth.
"I find this farce tiresome," said Dumbledore, studying the patterns on his teacup. "Let me make myself very clear: however you attempt to justify it, meddling with Hogwarts admission — with practices that are a millennium-old, may I add — shall not be tolerated."
Umbridge gave a disdainful cough. But Tee did not miss the glance at the two Aurors standing behind her desk — one a young wizard with a haughty face, and the other he recognised as Mafalda Prewett.
"You'll find you are not in a position to negotiate, Dumbledore," said Umbridge, smiling like a frightened dog.
Tee snorted. You're going to speak to Albus Dumbledore like that? Do you know who this man is?
"No, Dolores, you will find that I am in a position to negotiate." Dumbledore set down his teacup, and Tee handed him the manilla folder. "The Muggle-born hearings do not begin until the fifteenth of June. That means that you have seven weeks of no less than ten per cent of the magical population with very little to lose. Enough for a coup, don't you think?"
"The powers that stand behind me—"
"Making it public that the highest office is loyal to Voldemort might be unpopular," said Dumbledore, closing the folder. "You would want to consult with Mrs. Malfoy before you do anything rash."
"So you think I will cave to you," said Umbridge, the black bow trembling atop her head.
"I think you will tell Mrs. Malfoy of our discussion, and then she will come to the only logical conclusion. Enforcing your agenda on Hogwarts may win the battle, but lose the war."
Silence rang through the room, and Dumbledore said nothing else before standing, bowing slightly and leaving, Tee following behind. Once the door was shut, and they were standing in the very same corridor where the Inferi had clawed at them with sharp nails and infinite hunger, shoulder to shoulder, he turned to Dumbledore and said:
"What was the point of that? You know she's going to do it anyway."
"Is she?" asked Dumbledore, his purple robes the same colour as the plush carpeting. "Nevertheless, I always find it wise to warn those about to be caught in their own web of their folly. They may have a change of heart, Tom."
Is that what he thinks happened to me? A change of heart? He didn't know whether or not he should be insulted by the notion. Either way, he was not fooled by Dumbledore's false optimism.
"You know you can't convince her to stop it. You must have some angle," said Tee, speeding up to catch up to him.
Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, I am truly becoming predictable, then. There is of course an ulterior motive."
Tee said nothing as they followed the line of Ministry workers flowing into the lift, all of whom were doing their best to ignore Dumbledore.
It was when the grilles slid open that the pandemonium began. Dozens of blinding starbursts filled the air; clamouring voices surrounded Tee from every direction.
"Albus Dumbledore, disgraced former Supreme Mugwump—"
Tee looked to his right. Dumbledore was smiling, a smile he knew well, a knowing, self-satisfied smile.
Oh. He came here to be seen. To be heard.
"Over here, Dumbledore, that'll do nicely—"
"Can I get a statement from you on Section One of the Blood Purity Bill?"
"Did you just come from a meeting with Minister Umbridge? What did you speak about in there?"
"Look here, Dumbledore, this'll be front page of the Sunday Owl!"
"Is it true that you want to maintain Hogwarts as a haven for undesirables?"
The sounds of shutters popped in Tee's eardrums like a hundred claps of thunder. He took a step back, bracing himself against the grille. It was overwhelming. He felt like he might fall over. There were so many staring faces, a horde of croaking vultures, chanting voices, blooming, buzzing confusion.
It was as if Dumbledore couldn't hear any of it. He just walked forward into the Atrium, the reporters and cameras tracking his movement, forming a bubble around him.
"Professor Dumbledore if I could just have a moment—" This came from a witch with hot-pink, oversized cat-eye glasses and a voluminous lime green quill hovering beside her.
"Of course, Miss Skeeter," said Dumbledore, with great magnanimity. "What did you wish to ask?"
Tee's stomach turned; he was only thankful none of the reporters were paying attention to him, only a few stray curious glances, but they didn't linger for long. Dumbledore was magnetising. Tee watched Skeeter's whole face light up with a predatory smile, her notebook flipping to a fresh page and the quill floating above it scrawling a title.
"Let's see — where to start — oh, here — there's a general feeling that you are planning to disobey Section One."
"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore, each word crisp and clear as it echoed off the walls of the Atrium. "On another note, I so loathe that word, disobey. It brings to mind the air of a draconian, dare I say, dictatorship."
An uproar resounded through the crowd, Skeeter's hand flying up to her mouth in a performative gesture.
"You'll excuse me for posing this question so bluntly, but how will you refuse? The Ministry has both the power and jurisdiction to enforce its laws at Hogwarts — Robert Anderson, Sunday Owl."
A middle-aged wizard pushed his horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose, fixing Dumbledore with a beady stare. Just then, a witch lunged forward, camera in hand, and demanded to know if this "was part of a disturbing pattern of Hogwarts flouting both norms and safety under his tenure as Headmaster, including but not limited to harbouring a dangerous Obscurial, Gilderoy Lockhart having to dispose of Slytherin's monster—"
Here, Tee let out a snort, at which Dumbledore cast a rebuking stare his way. He really couldn't help it. It was too ridiculous! Besides, Lockhart had been decomposing for the past three years in the Chamber of Secrets.
"—the Siege of Hogwarts, and whatever happened last year that no one has a clear picture of."
All the while he smiled. Tee wasn't sure if Dumbledore had nerves or a heart. It was truly impressive that flesh and blood could be so cold and exacting.
"Yes, Hogwarts has long attracted the wrath of dark forces," said Dumbledore, his voice low and grave. The reporters seemed to pack in closer, cramming them into a smaller circle. They were not so different from the Inferi; Tee kept a finger on his wand. It was like how he imagined standing in the eye of a storm. There was movement everywhere around him: the reporters' quills, their waving hands, a cacophony of questions — and Dumbledore, an island of calm.
"But Muggle-born students should not become a lightning rod."
Another voice emerged from the babbling crowd. Tee thought they must all be part of the same organism, limbs to a hidden brain.
"Don't you think your opinion is out of step with that of the common witch or wizard, Dumbledore? Rosa Higgins, The Constellation."
"My dear Ms. Higgins," said Dumbledore, turning to her. Tee had the feeling that they were in the Transfiguration classroom, and she had just asked an exceedingly stupid question. "I think you will find the common witch or wizard has recent Muggle ancestry, myself included — and you as well. I do not recall the name of Higgins in Cantankerous Nott's infamous pamphlet."
It seemed impossible, but the crowd grew louder. Tee felt like an animal at the zoo, hemmed in by glass and screaming, taunting children. All the while, Dumbledore stared serenely into the chaos.
"DUMBLEDORE!" someone boomed over the rest, magically magnified. "DON'T YOU THINK MINISTER UMBRIDGE WILL HAVE YOU REMOVED A SECOND TIME?"
"No, I have no fear of being ousted," said Dumbledore calmly.
"Professor Dumbledore, some parents say Hogwarts has recently become a home for dangerously radical ideas of sedition and disrespect towards the traditions we hold dear—"
"Oh, I hope so. You will find that complaint recorded since the time of the Founders. One might even say it is a tradition. Good day; this has been delightful."
Tee was surprised when the crowd parted for him; he had been expecting to have to hex his way out. Still, a few over-eager reporters tried their best to get in their last burning questions.
"Who are you?"
"Do you believe Dumbledore will make good on his promise to flout Section One?"
But then he was safely through, and the horde of reporters reduced to scribbling notes as they dispersed. Outside of that cage, the crowd looked smaller.
"Most of them will twist your words," said Tee as they made their way to the nearest fireplace. That was what he would do.
"That is true, Tom," said Dumbledore, gathering a handful of Floo powder. "The court of public opinion so rarely rules on the side of the just and the fair. But you know that saying — the quill is mightier than the wand."
Tee knew Dumbledore's problem. He was so obsessed with the series of captures that he'd planned out in his head, that he somehow failed to pay attention to his opponent's attack on the next move.
"So you've admitted that your play is useless."
Dumbledore laughed, softly. "Not useless, Tom. If we show that we will not be defeated so easily, others will be inspired to stand against the forces of darkness, even in the subtlest of ways."
"No matter what those reporters write, the Muggle-born hearings will go on. Section Two will stand unopposed. Voldemort—" Tee lowered his voice "—still controls the Ministry. How much material has he left you to scheme with?"
"Remember," said Dumbledore, turning from the fire, silhouetted in warm orange, "the kingdom was lost, and all for the want of a horseshoe nail…"
He tossed his handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared in the plume of green fire, leaving Tee alone with his thoughts.
Dumbledore is either mad or brilliant, he thought, sifting Floo powder between his fingers. I suppose we'll find out soon which one.
Much like a trip through the Floo, Tee thought it would not be a pleasant ride.
Friday came all too quickly.
Now, Harry knew the date and time of his Careers Advice meeting (Tuesday at two-thirty) in Professor McGonagall's office. O.W.L.s loomed ever closer, no longer a dot on the horizon but a ship flying a black flag pulling into the bay.
It was just becoming warm enough to be bearable outside, which was good because Angelina had them all practising for the game against Slytherin non-stop.
After an hour and a half in the freezing sky, Harry finally made his way up into the stands, rubbing his numb fingers together io get the blood flowing again.
"I thought Wood was bad, but Angelina could give him a run for his money," said Harry, now blowing on his hands, which did little good. Hermione, taking pity on him, passed him her thermos, and he sat down, curling the hand that wasn't holding it inside of his cloak.
Ron snorted. "Someone should write Puddlemere United and check if he's been killed; she might be channelling his spirit."
Harry heard the scrape of turning pages and looked over his shoulder.
"—You're right, the section on Animagi is so interesting. The bit about entropy— oh, hi Harry!"
Anthony and Ruby were sitting right behind them; the latter looking disgruntled, with her arms crossed over her chest, and the former grinning and handing Hermione back a heavy book with a handsome purple cover.
That isn't—
Harry's jaw dropped. "You took a reference book out of the library?"
The rare and reference book policy was, after all, posted right next to the library entrance for all to see. Still, it was, in fact, Mathematical and Practical Transfiguration clutched in Hermione's hands, her face etched with guilt.
"Well — yes, it is. But—"
"How'd you sneak it past Lupin?" asked Ron, sounding half-impressed.
Hermione glanced away. "He never checks my bag."
"What, so the rest of us look like book thieves!" Ron spluttered, eliciting laughter from Anthony.
"No, it's not that; it's because I go in the library all the time; he trusts me," said Hermione.
"Misplaced trust, don't you think?" said Ron out of the side of his mouth.
"If I let you look at it, will you leave me alone?" And with that, she practically shoved the book into Harry's lap. He leafed through the first few pages, running a finger down the table of contents, landing on Footnotes and Errata: Page 397.
It was a familiar section, he realised. The same one with the passage about the Resurrection Stone. To Harry's annoyance, Hermione reached over and quickly flipped past it.
"—did you know Griffith has a whole discussion about the Transfiguration of brownies into house-elves and how it must have happened? There's so little information on the topic—"
"Sirius told me a bit about it," said Ruby quietly, poking her head over Harry's shoulder to look at the book. "He said it was a curse, though, not a transfiguration."
"Probably a figure of speech." Hermione sounded a bit annoyed.
"The official party line is that their magic became symbiotic with wizards' after centuries and things sort of settled into a natural order," said Anthony.
Hermione's mouth pressed into a thin line that reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall's expression when handing back an exam that he had not done well on.
"That's a really long-winded way to say slavery."
"Oh, so it's about Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status."
Honestly, Harry was impressed that Ron remembered the full name. Hermione looked far from it.
"Actually," she said, quivering with indignation, "I've renamed it the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
Ron considered this for a while. "Alright, then," he said. "Spew."
Harry bit back a laugh, as Hermione appeared ready to clobber Ron with Mathematical and Practical Transfiguration.
"Ess-pee-eee-uuu. It's an acronym."
"Yeah, Narcissa Malfoy's Ministry looks really likely to promote 'elvish welfare'," said Ruby sourly. She arched an eyebrow. "Wait, is that what you're planning on for the Careers Advice meeting?"
"There's a Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," said Hermione in a dignified tone.
"It's actually more of the investigating ghoul sightings and managing Bundimun infestations sort of thing."
Anthony's dad was Head of the Pest Advisory Board, Harry remembered. Despite this, that information did not seem to dissuade Hermione.
"Like the rest of you have come up with anything better!"
"Magizoologist," said Anthony almost before Hermione had finished speaking, to no one's surprise. He probably would have said the same on the train to Hogwarts for the very first time.
Harry's stomach turned. He'd been up all night thinking about it. At first, he thought he might make a half-decent potioneer, but Snape had made it very clear that you needed an Outstanding in the Potions O.W.L. to get into his N.E.W.T. class, and there was slim-to-no chance of that. Then he'd had the wild flight of fancy of being an Auror, but, again, the Potions O.W.L. taunted him. He'd leafed through each of those stupid little pamphlets, reading about alchemists all the way through to wandmakers. If all failed, perhaps he could go in for professional Quidditch, but with this morning's practice fresh in his mind, he couldn't see himself doing that.
He stared down at Mathematical and Practical Transfiguration as if it somehow contained the answers to all his questions.
These were the sorts of things, Harry supposed, that you were meant to ask your parents.
"All depends on the Potions O.W.L., doesn't it?"
"I'm sure you could get an O if you really tried," said Hermione encouragingly, "Snape barely has anything bad to say about your work. A 'passable' from him is a 'five points to Gryffindor' from anyone else."
Harry didn't answer. His gaze fell to the ouroboros ring, the tiny scale detailing, too delicate to be done by a human hand, glistening in the sun. The Obscurus had lost its power over him years ago, but Harry could not bring himself to part with the ring that bound it. Just in case. He knew it was paranoid. It being the Resurrection Stone in disguise was Hermione's own conjecture, after all.
Whatever Transfiguration might be placed on it was surely beyond his abilities to undo, however. There was really no point in ruminating on it.
Maybe in another universe, there was a Harry who had everything figured out. But that wasn't him, and it wasn't likely to be anytime soon. He passed Hermione back her thermos and stared down at the empty Quidditch pitch, the hoops sparkling in the sun that was just starting to peek out from behind a cloud.
At least, he thought, he wasn't alone.