I'm sorry this chapter took so long. My writing got delayed by vacation and real life, and also a couple of scenes took several re-writes before I was happy with them. Now I have more time on my hands, and I'll be starting on chapter 15 this week.
Thanks for waiting, and enjoy!
Chapter 14
Harry and Ron slipped through one of the side doors and hurried over to the Gryffindor table. A hush descended as he sat down next to Neville, who greeted him with a smile. The silence held for a moment before exited babble struck up. People pointed towards him, some even going so far as to stand to see him better.
He wondered what the rumour-mill was saying about him this time.
Neville grimaced in commiseration: "It's like the Chamber of Secrets all over again, huh?"
"Yeah, somehow I'm not surprised."
"Where is Hermione? Everyone else is here," Ron said with a frown, taking a seat across from Harry. Then his face broke into a grin as he looked over Harry's shoulder. "Hermione!"
"Hi Hermione," Neville said.
Her face was drawn and tired as she sat down to Harry's right. "Neville, good to see you." Her eyes found his. "Harry!" she exclaimed and gave him a hug, before studying him at arm's length. "Oh Harry, we've been so worried." Her eyes were suspiciously shiny.
Harry grinned back reassuringly. "I'm fine, 'Mione."
Hermione bit her lip. "We though Volde-"
"Don't say the name," Harry said hastily. "They keep track of who uses it."
"I wondered why you were calling him 'he' all the time," Ron remarked before his gaze slid back to Hermione.
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as she took in the redhead's features. "What happened to you, Ron?"
Ron's ears reddened. "I'll tell you later."
Hermione's lips firmed at that. Then she turned to Harry. "So how have you been?"
"Fine." Harry ducked his head, just as reluctant to continue. He didn't want the whole of Gryffindor to know where he'd been staying for the summer.
Ron reached over the table to clasp Hermione's hand. "Later," he said again with a wry smile. Hermione wisely nodded.
Dinner suddenly sprang into existence, lacking the usual pronouncement from the Head Table.
They had missed the sorting, then. When was the last time he'd actually been around to see it? Harry thought with a twinge.
He took a look at the teachers sitting up front. There were many unfamiliar faces. Sibyl Trelawney was engaging professor McGonagall in what appeared to be a very one-sided conversation. Professor Flitwick was looking uncharacteristically grim. Snape was right in the centre sure enough, seated in the throne-like chair that used to be occupied by the Headmaster he had so thoroughly betrayed. Harry clenched his jaw at the sight, feeling his anger boil to the surface.
"So 'Mione, how are you? Where have you been?" Ron asked, distracting Harry from his vengeful thoughts.
"I'm- I've been fine." Hermione said in a soft tone. She gave a self-depreciating smile. "My hands are cramped though, from writing all summer."
At their puzzled glances she elaborated: "They had me do Muggle-born administration. I process the results of of how each Muggle-born performs on the Ministry-issued magical tests."
Her gaze turned suddenly steely. "And where they will be working. If their scores are deemed sufficient, they're allowed to go back to their jobs, but most of them are forced to relocate. Just one of the zillion law changes since the beginning of summer."
"Relocate where?" Harry asked.
"Wherever they can be most useful to the pure-blood population. Or I should say," she said with a nod towards Ron, "the rich and influential pure-blood population."
"But wait a second, I saw that guy hit you," Ron said. "just a week ago. I thought you were... in trouble" he ended quietly.
Hermione was silent a moment, considering. "I noticed that most of them did not get successfully through the testing and I became suspicious of the criteria they used. I mean, I assumed they would honestly measure someone's competence in their area of expertise, right?" Her eyes flashed between Ron, Neville and Harry.
"But when they allowed me to sit in on a testing, I discovered it was all just the same old arrogant discrimination. Of course I should have realised immediately that it's all a cover, an excuse to get Muggle-borns away from influential positions." Her head shook slowly as she said this, as if she couldn't quite believe the turn of events.
Ron was quick to put a comforting palm over the back of her hand. She didn't seem to notice.
"Why do they bother showing up then, if that's the case?" Harry asked. Dean, sitting nearby, was watching them with slightly narrowed eyes. His face was as tanned as Ron's.
"Because otherwise they don't get their wand papers, and without them, they're not allowed to use a wand."
After a moment she straightened, as if shaking off a disturbing dream. Ron's hand drew quietly away.
"I saw you after, when they escorted me back. Oh Ron, is that how you got all those nasty cuts, from Landers? He's really dangerous, Ron. You shouldn't have punched him."
"I'll remember that next time someone hits you." Ron said sarcastically.
Harry snorted. After glaring some more, Ron's lips twitched. Then they were all grinning like nothing interesting had happened in the meantime, the sense of familiarity like a warm blanket.
Hermione however couldn't stay smiling for long. "It's awful. Thickness has set up this Muggle-born Registration Commission, whose goal it is to track down all Muggle-borns – that's how they all get their summons for the testing –"
"Who's Thickness?" Harry wanted to know.
"Pius Thickness, the new Minister of Magic? You didn't read the papers?"
"I didn't get them where I was." Voldemort probably got them wherever the man had actually been staying over the summer. Or perhaps he was a nocturnal creature, who only ever read the Evening Prophet.
Hermione's mouth turned down slightly. "Of course not, stupid of me. Well," she continued primly, "you haven't heard about the new laws then? Muggle-borns have to sever all their connections to the Muggle world: family, friends, homes… And that's on top of getting fired from their old jobs. Everyone below the Hogwarts age is transferred."
"Transferred where?" Harry asked.
To Zemers Institute, which is all I know of the place." Her shoulders were hunched and she was looking overall miserable.
Harry noticed from the corner of his eyes that most people had now moved on to other things, although he still got the occasional long look.
Ron asked, his mouth full of shepherd's pie: "Where have you been staying?"
"Here, actually, on the sixth floor by the upper terraces. I had to stay in my quarters. I managed to sneak down when I heard the students arrive." She pulled close a tray of green beans and began to heap some on her plate.
"You were here all this time?" Ron exclaimed, affronted.
"Yes, but I wasn't allowed to go anywhere. I tried, but all doors were locked and all the passages led back to the sixth floor."
"You must be looking forward to class even more than usual this year, then," Harry teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. Hermione frowned, however.
"I'll probably be missing at least some of them. The work is still piling on. Besides," she said with heavy sarcasm, "I first need to prove that I possess the required magical level."
"Well, no problem there," Harry with a grin.
Hermione angrily hit the table with her fork. "You guys don't get it, do you?" she fumed. "It doesn't matter how capable I am at spellwork, they'll judge me however they feel like!"
Harry, Ron and Neville, who was quietly watching the proceedings, all sat frozen in their seats, Ron with his mouth hanging slightly open.
Hermione viciously stabbed a bean to her fork. "Of course you're all of the 'true' blood – no ambiguous wording there by the way Mr. Riddle – and won't have any problem getting into all of your classes."
Harry waved. "Hey! Half-blood here."
Hermione regarded him levelly. "Half-blood status is were the line is drawn of what is considered 'acceptable trueness of blood'," she said as if quoting a regulation, which she probably was. "Though," she went on, "I haven't a clue why you should be allowed back. Aside from the fact that we should all be dead anyway- "
A sudden bang interrupted Hermione's dark words. Silence rang around them as everyone looked towards the front of the hall. The source of the noise was Snape, who had come to stand in front of the teacher's table, wand raised and smoking. He lowered it slowly.
The man's sharp eyes trailed over the four tables. He spoke: "As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, I welcome you to a new year. Now that we've all been sufficiently fed," – Harry hadn't finished half his plate – "I would like to take this opportunity to inform you of recent developments at this school that are relevant to your education.
"Firstly, I would like to welcome a few new teachers to our staff. I present to you Gaius Finch, who will be teaching the new class of Elemental Magic, which is optional for third year and above." He gestured towards a man sitting two places to the right of the headmaster's chair. There was a polite applause, which the man did not acknowledge in any way.
"He a cousin of Snape or something?" Ron whispered and Harry huffed a laugh.
The man looked positively bat-like. His long gleaming black hair, contrasting sharply with his pale pallor, was pulled back tightly, accentuating his high cheekbones and Roman nose. He even looked bored.
Snape went on. "I also welcome Alecto Carrow, who shall be teaching Muggle Studies, and her brother Amycus Carrow, who teaches Dark Arts to the first through fifth years." Alecto and Amycus both stood a moment to give bows.
Harry turned to see Hermione's whitened face. "Dark Arts," she echoed in a whisper. "He's not even trying to keep up appearances." He knew she wasn't talking about Snape.
"As well, I would like to welcome Nathalie Terrence, who will be teaching Herbology." Another smattering of applause as a tall witch sitting next to Flitwick and wearing an orange-striped hat smiled warmly.
"Secondly, there will be some changes to the way this school is run, which will take effect as of now." Snape went on in his customary drawl. He studied his audience for a moment, beetle-black eyes gliding over all four tables. "Hogwarts can pride itself on being the oldest magical school in Europe, with a rich legacy and numerous distinguished alumni throughout its existence.
"Especially in the case of such an age-old institution, we must be watchful not to become stagnant in our reverence for traditional values. Self-criticism is a vital part of staying relevant through changing times, and it is something that the Board of Governors in the past decades have been reluctant to do. In light of recent events, a re-evaluation of Hogwarts' educational policy was therefore deemed appropriate. As a result of this evaluation the Board has decided on a few changes to the school's policy."
Harry noticed he was squeezing his fork rather hard, making it tremble. He relaxed his grip and focused back on Snape's words.
"This change concerns the system of House points, which has been abolished."
Outrageous murmurings broke out at this announcement. Harry heard loud whispers of "What?" "No way!" He kept his eyes on Snape, who naturally looked perfectly unmoved by the disturbance.
After a minute of this the hall gradually quieted. Another minute passed as everyone waited. Snape showed no sign of continuing, and people began to fidget.
"Yes," he said softly all of a sudden, fake sympathy dripping from his voice, "that must be a shock."
A lecturing tone entered his voice: "The system of House points, while encouraging House unity, is ad-hoc, arbitrary in nature and vague in its parameters. It lacks a consistent way to measure a student's abilities. In order for promising pupils to grow to the best of their abilities, unhindered by their less talented classmates, a system of Term Assignments has been put in place instead, which objectively measure a student's intelligence and magical prowess.
"Students with a total of three excellent Term scores this year will be rewarded with extra tutelage of their choosing in the next. For the current seventh years, this means a letter of recommendation and higher chances of getting into an Apprenticeship after graduation.
"Unlike the normal day-to-day assignments, an excellent score on the Term Assignment is not only a personal achievement, but also counts as an accomplishment of the student's House as a whole. At the end of the school year, each House's excellent scores are tallied. The House with the highest average per student wins the House Cup."
Harry glanced quickly at his best friends to see their reactions. Ron was looking bored, staring at his empty plate. Hermione was regarding the new Headmaster with a slight frown.
"Naturally," Snape said, "there are no more points to be earned at Quidditch."
"Are we still allowed to play?" someone from the Hufflepuff table called. Snape's eyes flickered to the boy in question.
"The next person speaking without permission shall get the first detention of the year. To answer your question, yes, well-behaved students are allowed to play." The boy had shrunk in his seat and was now nodding to the table.
"All the practical details shall be explained to you in class. You are dismissed," Snape said abruptly, then turned and stalked off through a back door.
The silence held for five seconds, then the hall filled with the noise of hundreds of students standing and taking their leave.
Harry rested his head in his palm, digesting Snape's words. He tried to think of what lay behind, the way Hermione had told him to do two years ago, following Umbridge's horrible speech.
Snape was probably acting on Voldemort's long-standing plans for Hogwarts - they must have met with his approval, in any case. The new strategy spoke of academic ambition, but also of something else.
It was the element of fun, Harry realised after considering it for a moment, that was being taken out of the equation. He shared this thought with Hermione.
"The message is clear," she agreed. "He is rebuilding Hogwarts in his image. You know, this is probably what Riddle envisions his school years to have been like, had everything been perfect. But really, this is quite narrow-minded of him."
Ron smirked. "What, we're forced to study harder and Quidditch doesn't matter any more, and you don't approve?"
Hermione scowled. "Of course I don't."
Harry made a hand gesture to encompass the whole of Hogwarts. "If you could change the school system, what would you do?"
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. "Well, I wouldn't focus only on the smartest students and ignore everyone else, for one thing." Two red spots formed on her cheeks. "I mean, we're all smart in a different way, that's the point of all the Houses –"
Ron interrupted her with a loud snort and Hermione glared at him. Harry put a hand over his mouth to cover a laugh.
"Well, I'm glad you both see something funny in this, because I can't," she said scathingly.
"Oi, Gryffindors, hurry up!" a voice called behind them then.
Absorbed as they were, they'd all been ignoring the exodus around them and now found themselves the only ones left sitting. Harry stood. His eyes found Pansy Parkinson, regarding them coldly. She waited as if to see if they obeyed, then turned to look for other stragglers before joining a Slytherin classmate.
Hermione shook her head and started walking to the double doors, Harry and Ron falling into step beside her. "Pansy as Head Girl. No, I don't think the general quality of this school has improved."
They ascended the grand staircase, and Harry's legs suddenly turned leaden.
"Guys."
Ron and Hermione halted when they noticed he wasn't with them. Harry cleared the dryness in his throat. "I um, I'm supposed to stay with the Slytherins."
"What?" Ron exclaimed, which made the heads of passers-by turn. Harry winced and waited for them to move on, which they slowly did, wide-eyed and whispering.
"His orders, I think."
Ron stood horror-struck. Hermione grimaced in sympathy. "I suppose it makes sense," she said. "I don't think we'll be able to do any scheming on the you-know-what's, with me probably gone from the common room as well."
Rons eyes widened some more. "Not you too."
Hermione shrugged one shoulder. "My trunk hasn't moved. Maybe I'm allowed back now that classes start, we'll see." But it was clear she didn't believe it.
Ron turned back to him. "Don't tell me: you're staying with Malfoy?"
Harry bit his lip. "Yeah."
"You should go Harry," Hermione urged, "quickly, before you'll attract attention."
"Don't know how that could happen," Harry dead-panned. He rubbed at his hair, feeling exhausted from the day. "Alright, see you tomorrow, I hope," he groused before clasping the rail behind him. As he hurried down Ron softly called: "Put wards on your bed, Harry." Harry gave a wave to show he'd heard, then took the path to the dungeons.
When after many turns and dead-ends he finally managed to find the right stone wall to the Slytherin common room, his mood had deteriorated to a quiet rage. He walked in right in the middle of Slughorn's speech. When Slughorn noticed the shift in attention, he turned his wide figure towards the source.
"Harry, my boy!"
Harry couldn't suppress a cringe. A few people laughed nastily. Slughorn gave a tolerant smile, slapping Harry on the shoulder, before blessedly releasing him again. Harry stiffly went over to a spot far in the back.
Slytherin's common room was a low-ceilinged, dungeon-like room with gothic underwater windows, through which filtered a greenish light that shifted on the stones as if alive. The floor was covered in backed black and dark green button-tufted sofas. The low ceiling, dark tapestries and skulls on the mantelpiece in the corner all gave off a vaguely menacing atmosphere.
It was hard to imagine that high above their heads, millions of litres of water were squeezing down on the age-smoothed stones.
Harry gritted his teeth as he felt the intense scrutiny of the others crawl over him again. He fixed his eyes on Slughorn, determined to ignore the staring girl sitting forty centimetres away.
"Where was I... ah yes of course. This youthful branch of the Society for Magical Excellence can provide a promising start of one's career, certainly. Membership is allowed from the age of seventeen. However, the Excellentia is members-only."
Harry wanted to roll his eyes at hearing the name, feeling like something slimy got stuck in his throat.
Slughorn turned in a half-circle to encompass the whole room. He winked quasi-conspirational. "But as they say, talent will out. I might be persuaded to put in a good word for a promising student or two."
The man rubbed his hands briskly. "Now then, for the first years curfew is at eight, which means you will be finding your beds in about ten minutes." Small mutters of protest could be heard from the youngest occupants. "I don't have to tell the older students when they must be inside, hm?"
A few of them chuckled at this for some reason. Harry scanned the faces around him. Only a handful of them he really knew: all the seventh years of course, and a few sixth and fifth years beaters and chasers (Slytherin wasn't known for allowing lower years to try out for the Quidditch team). He couldn't wait to blunder through that social minefield.
Actually, what was the point? He'd be rid of the whole lot come May. Hopefully. Should he be allowed to stay that long.
Slughorn made his goodbyes and stomped out. Harry turned to make his way to his dormitory, but stopped as he realised he had no clue where it was. Which way had he come down again earlier?
Something jolted his shoulder painfully. Looking up he saw Nott sending a smirk over his shoulder before the seventh-year sauntered over to one of the popular spots near the fireplace.
With a conscious effort Harry relaxed his shoulders. Standing still in the Slytherin common room was a bit like having a giant sign on your head saying 'easy prey'.
He would just try a passageway and see if anything looked familiar.
A few steps into the first one he found nothing recognisable - but perhaps that was because he hadn't watched were he was going in the first place. His luck was with him however, and he found familiar ground on his second try.
Behind the relative safety of the dormitory door he kicked off his shoes and threw off his robes carelessly, before practically falling on his bed. He was happy to discover it was just as soft as the one he had in Gryffindor. He shut the drapes, then took off his glasses with a heartfelt sigh to rub his aching eyes.
The drapes flew open.
Harry scrambled to put his glasses back on. Draco Malfoy was standing at his bedside, looking like he was asked to clean a dirty cauldron by hand. Harry tried to look suitably unperturbed.
"Oh great, it´s Schizo Scarhead. I know we´re close Potter, but did you have to put your bed next to mine?"
Malfoy's petulant tone made Harry's aloofness vaporise. "The bed was already here when I arrived, Malfoy," he spat. "Believe me, I'm just as glad as you are about this."
But Malfoy was bending to pick up something up from the ground – the robes Harry hadn't bothered to hang up. He unconsciously shivered as he was reminded of another place, and another Malfoy.
Draco rubbed the fabric between his fingers, studying it with a crease between his eyes. Then he let if fall.
"A few words of advice to you Potter, since you're obviously as thick as ever: don't go with the Gryffies. Mingle."
"Mingle? What do you mean mingle?"
"Quod erat demonstrandum."
"What?"
"That means forget it," he drawled, turning away. "Merlin knows why I bother." He then proceeded to rummage in a huge dark-green trunk that sat beside his four-poster.
Harry shrugged and closed the drapes. After a moment's hesitation he threw up a sticking and a silencing charm.
It took a long while before he nodded off.
888
The tone had been set the night before and so, nearing the Slytherin table at breakfast, he was prepared for the day, or as prepared as he could be. Harry didn't know what bothered him more: the Slytherins that sneered or stared. For a moment Harry considered sitting down at the empty table end closest to him, but then he briskly crossed the width of the hall towards the Gryffindors, Malfoy's advice be damned.
His friends greeted him warmly as he sat down. Ron was looking as fierce as ever, with a huge cut splitting his face.
"Looking kind of roguish, Ron," said Parvati, sitting down next to him.
Ron inclined his head. "Why, thank you."
"So, what's the story?"
"It was a Death Eater that did this," Ron said proudly. He proceeded to regale Parvati with a tale of manly strength and courage, which apparently included an all-out sword-fight.
Harry turned to Hermione. "Did you sleep in Gryffindor Tower?"
"I did. I didn't have my trunk though. It's still on the sixth floor."
"Why don't you ask Dobby to move it?" This reminded him to go and visit the kitchens when he had the chance.
"Of course I did. He said it wasn't allowed."
Harry waited, but she remained silent. "And did you ask why?"
"He wouldn't say. He was terrified when he saw me. He said he would get punished just for talking to me!"
"I'll help you then," Harry offered. "We'll meet at your quarters after class is finished."
He frowned, thinking about the day ahead. Was he supposed to take classes with the Gryffindors now or with the Slytherins? It was not like he had been re-sorted or anything. As if summoned by this thought, McGonagall appeared with the time-tables. Harry studied the one that was handed out to him, which was for all of seventh year. The schedule reached only as far as Tuesday.
888
He quickly understood why there were just two days jotted down: each class of their first day consisted solely of magical tests and not much else.
It was a harrowing experience for everyone, students and teachers alike. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws began with Charms, where Professor Flitwick nervously told them to come to the front when their name was called.
There, an examinator stood, and as Flitwick explained, "Ms. Diana Cammon is here to test you on your abilities at charms casting."
'Brown, Lavender' was first. She strode up to the woman confidently, who gestured and they both left through a side door.
Everyone remained quiet. Flitwick set them all to the first spell of The Standard Book of Spells Grade 7. Harry was glad to have something to do besides counting down the last names.
Each couple of minutes a student was called to the other room.
Finally it was Harry's turn. In the small back-room the woman sat on one of the spare desks, the rest of them shoved against the wall.
"So, Potter. Show me the Skurge Charm." She flapped her long red hair back and gestured to a corner.
There, to Harry's surprise, Peeves was floating. He was even more surprised when the poltergeist didn't say anything. Upon closer inspection Harry saw that a black shadow of some kind hovered over his mouth. He looked angry, though.
They had learned the spell in second year. The incantation was obvious, but he had forgotten the wand movement.
Harry swallowed. "Alright... Skurge." As he said the incantation he waved his wand in a vertical motion.
Nothing happened. The woman wrote something down. Harry's shoulders slumped and Peeves grinned; although his mouth was covered, his eyes crinkled maliciously.
"The Banishing Charm." She held up a blade of grass.
"Depulso." The blade of grass vanished and Ms Cammon made a note.
She gestured. "Weld the desks together."
Harry thought a moment. Did she want him to actually turn them into one object, or stick them together?
He considered that actually melting them would be considered a transfiguration, strictly speaking. He went with the most powerful sticking charm he knew. Looking up after the fifth desk was joined to the others, he saw her making a slightly longer note.
After performing two more charms she was satisfied. As he walked back to his desk, he felt it had gone well enough.
When Ron, the last one called, got back from his testing his face was red and he looked chagrined. The ball rang soon after. Harry decided to ask questions later. Since Ron hadn't taken Potions as an elective, it was just him and Hermione making their way to the dungeons. The Slytherins soon joined them.
The five-minute wait in the hallway was enough to brew trouble.
"Potter, we thought you'd died," Milicent Bulstode said, her voice thick with disappointed.
"Nah, see those fine clothes?" said Nott. "That's not Potter's style, is it? I think someone has got themselves a pet project."
Although not true, Nott's insinuations were entirely too close to the mark for comfort. Harry tried to keep his expression disinterested but felt his cheeks grow warm. Hermione had gone a little pale.
"Say Malfoy," Nott asked casually, "has your father said anything?"
Malfoy, who had been throwing superior looks Harry's way, shook his head.
"Hm," Nott stroke a non-existent beard. "I'm thinking a high-ranking Death Eater – yes, a reward for their efforts in the war. You won't have to wait long, then," he told Bulstrode with a smirk. He studied Harry as if he might be of possible value in an upcoming auction.
Whispers broke out on both sides. Harry meanwhile, used to this kind of attention, had found his calm and raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you haven't considered the possibility that Voldemort" - everyone flinched – "considered me too valuable to kill? I talked to him recently, have you?"
The whispering dwindled into a deep silence that pushed against Harry's ears. Nott's and Bullstrode's eyes had widened.
Too late he realised he'd said the forbidden name. He glanced around, half expecting Death Eaters to spring from the dark corners to apprehend him, but the shadows stayed quite unmoving. His glance did show him the Gryffindors were now displaying looks that ranged from disapproval to abject horror.
Oops. That had sounded a bit... weird, coming from him.
He threw back his shoulders and brushed imaginary dust from his robes.
If they wanted to be principle about every little thing, fine, but he was the one who had to sleep in the enemies lair at night. He couldn't afford such sentiment. It had gotten pretty simple: first, survive, second: don't get your friends killed.
Nott was throwing questioning looks at Malfoy, to which the other boy shrugged.
The doors flew open then, and Slughorn's considerable figure filled the entrance."Come in, come in," he muttered.
The frozen tableaux broke and both sides hurried to find the best spots.
Again there was an unknown person standing at the front. As the class settled down, Slughorn gestured: "This is Mr. Eldar Donras, a gifted potioneer. He is the inventor of the Girding Potion, among other great successes. Well, I will leave you all in his capable hands, then." Slughorn sat down behind his desk and started to open a bottle of ink.
The small speech didn't exactly boost Harry's confidence. Potions was a weak point for him. But then again, he thought with a wry smile, there was no use in trying to get into the Auror's program any more.
Hermione nudged him and he looked up quickly. He had missed the beginning of the instructions for the potion they were brewing. Oh well.
The lesson went downhill from there. Last year without the help of the Prince's – no Snape's – book, Harry's talent in potions turned out to be pretty much non-existent. And without Hermione to correct him where he went wrong the result was that in five minutes of work, the potion that was supposed to be a lightly bubbling midnight blue at this stage was now a frothing brown.
Harry dumped it into the sink and started over with fresh ingredients. The examinator meanwhile did not react in any way to Harry's scurrying around the classroom.
When the bell rung after a ridiculously short amount of time, the examinator told them to finish the step they were currently at – he would know if people smuggled – and to put a small amount of it in a flask, to leave with their names on their desks.
Outside, Hermione pulled her hair back from her sweaty face. "I think the bastagalm has to be soaked for just two minutes, but I'm not sure. I hope it won't affect the colour too badly if it was supposed to be soaked longer- "
"Hermione, I didn't soak anything."
"Oh, well..." Hermione gave him an absent-minded pat on the shoulder, "you weren't at that stage yet, so it doesn't matter anyway."
"Thanks, I feel so much better now."
Someone brushed passed him and whispered: "Enjoy her while you can, Potter." It was Nott, who gave him a wink in passing.
Harry's wand was pointed at the back of Nott's head in an eye-blink. He heard Hermione as if on the other end of a tunnel.
"Let him talk, Harry. Nothing they say could be worth getting into trouble for. Not now." He felt her hand close over his fist.
He lowered his wand and relaxed his muscles. For a moment the old House rivalry had sparkled in him the excitement of a duel, the desire to set his magic against another's which he had not felt in months, and all the troubles of the outside world had faded.
But honestly, he attracted trouble like a magnet. Best to not entice it any further – who knew what the punishment would be with Snape as Headmaster? He shook himself before wordlessly starting off towards lunch.
The murmur of voices grew louder as they ascended the staircase, and reminded him of something.
"Hermione, did you keep any Daily Prophets from the last months?" He had to know what it was he was dealing with, after the confrontation in the dungeons.
"Yes, I have some, I'll show them to you later."
"Thanks." Harry looked sideways and saw her face had turned worried again.
"That bad?"
Hermione shot him a look that told him not to sound so surprised.
888
The afternoon seemed to drag on endlessly. Either waiting nervously for his turn to be tested or worrying about how he had done after, Harry pretended to do the assigned readings the teachers dealt out to keep them occupied. Only Hermione was able to stay concentrated, making notes while not showing any outward indication that she was nervous. Perhaps she was just too irritated by the whole procedure to be bothered.
Everyone agreed that it was rather cruel to spring a whole day of examinations upon them when they hadn't had time to practice the whole summer. Harry and Ron tried to get some clues out of Hermione on what they could expect from each class, but she told them she had only been involved with processing the results, and besides the testing was different for adults because their tests were only about the magic they performed for their jobs.
Herbology which they had right after lunch went well, because Harry was sitting next to Neville. Aside from his brilliance in the subject, Neville was also a good partner because of his patient way of explaining (when the examinator's back was turned) where Harry had done something wrong.
Professor Terrance had introduced herself, before allowing the examinator to run the class. Harry felt a sadness come over his friend as the class progressed, and knew he must be thinking about their old teacher, who had died during the battle.
After Herbology came Transfiguration. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors got an everyday object on their desk, which they were told had been changed through various Transfigurations. Their task was to get the object back into its original shape. This meant using the correct cancellations at the correct times: if you cancelled a dead-alive transfiguration before figuring out what the objects' shape after the transfiguration was for example, you ended up with a very strangely-shaped animal. Harry got as far as four cancellations before he got stuck. He glumly watched the others, most of whom were already in their sixth or seventh cancellation.
After an hour of this they were told to transfigure their objects (and beings) back to how they found them. Harry had gotten his fountain-pen successfully reversed to a small ever-spouting fountain, but he couldn't remember the Transfiguration for changing metal into rubber. In the end he had to settle for handing in a sweating rubbery fountain, instead of a waddling rubber duck.
At dinner Harry felt thoroughly wrung out. He was also secretly relieved. So far no one had commented him on his choice of classmates, or dinner companions. Suddenly ravenous, he ate until his stomach complained.
Meanwhile the rumour-mill whirled around him. Everyone now seemed to wonder why Harry had meetings with the Dark Lord. The Gryffindors joined in heartily this time, not caring that he sat just a few paces away. He was therefore glad to escape the whole lot to go to Hermione's quarters and get his hands on some Daily Prophets.
Ron went with them, also curious to see where Hermione was staying. It turned out to be a bare set of rooms: a table and chairs, a few bookcases and a fireplace took up the tiny living room.
The Daily Prophets lay in a pile on a desk placed beneath the window of her bedroom. Ron and Harry waited as Hermione moved the pile to the rickety dining table. Harry set to it with nerves fluttering in his stomach.
Wizarding villages horror-struck over werewolf attacks.
By Zemlas Lorrobor
18 May 1996 – A wave of werewolf outbreaks haspetrified several villages for the last two days. Lone werewolves were spotted at night prowling the edges of Grantham, Sleaford and Newark-on-Trent. Two citizens have been killed through blood loss from savage wounds. As well, seventeen cases of turned family members have so far been reported.
Aurors were quickly on scene to assure the public. They started a hunt, though without results so far. In the meantime people are advised to...
Ministry achieves breakthrough in negotiations with vampires.
By Brenda Bells
7 July 1996 – Three rounds of negotiations between representatives of the vampire communities in the United Kingdom and the Ministry, have ended in a mutual agreement, which has met with satisfaction from all parties involved.
The agreement resulted in a broadening of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans to include a section on the authorization for vampire covens to settle in Muggle and Wizarding towns. The Society for the Tolerance of Vampires was "ecstatic" about the results. Chairwoman Amaranda the Bloodless: "Although we hoped for such a breakthrough, we never...
Harry's eyes drifted away as he tried to imagine vampires getting a Muggle village as a playground for their bloodthirsty needs. He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his forehead before glancing down for another headline, only to find his own name glaring back at him from the Showizbiz section.
The many faces of Harry Potter
by your trusted reporter, Rita Skeeter
14 June 1996 – Harry Potter, although world-famous, remains somewhat of a mystery. Hero of the so-called light while also a competent curse caster, Mr. Potter is a wizard of many faces, a paradox of seemingly incompatible traits. This begs the question: who is Harry Potter really?
In Mr. Potter's second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry it was revealed that the famous wizard speaks Parseltongue, the ancient language of snakes. This news has shocked the wizarding public, leading many to change their opinion of him as a symbol of the light, as well as to question whether Gryffindor is still the best House for him.
Throughout the ages, the language has been a trademark of illustrious dark wizards. Parseltongue is a talent that Mr. Potter shares only with our Lord himself, and could possibly have been a factor in His merciful decision to allow the young man to continue his education at Hogwarts, this reporter speculates.
Mr. Potter's penchant for danger and rule-breaking have made him the subject of much controversy, reaching its peak in Mr. Potter's fourth year. At the start of the Triwizard Tournament the famous boy-wizard managed something that up until then had been considered an impossible feat: fooling the Goblet of Fire. But then again, as our faithful readers know, when it comes to the Boy-Who-Lived the impossible is merely to be expected.
Mr. Potter's adventures have delighted as well as worried his classmates over the years. Ernie MacMillan, a year-mate and good friend of Mr. Potter's: "You never know what he´s going to do now. One year he saves someone from a dangerous troll, the next year it turns out he's the Heir of Slytherin! That's what I like about him, I guess. With Potter around there is never a dull moment."
Mr. Potter is currently living at an undisclosed location for the summer and was not able to respond. He will begin his seventh and final year at Hogwarts in the fall. Fans are wondering what the famous wizard shall do now that the Dark Lord has claimed his place as righteous ruler of Wizarding Britain. Whatever Mr. Potter's plans, we can expect an interesting school year.
Harry lowered the newspaper, staring unseeingly at the walls. So this was what Malfoy meant: according to the article he was quite the two-headed Janus. Skeeter had really outdone herself.
"Well?" Hermione said beside him. "It could have been worse, I think. This is the only substantial thing she wrote about you, other than a side-line mentioning you were seen at the Celebratory Ball." Harry nodded along while he munched on Skeeter's motives.
As if reading his thoughts Hermione said: "I think she was just trying to come up with a reason for why you should be allowed to live. It's clear she still has no clue." She smiled strangely then, and tilted her head. "Actually, do you know why you're not six feet under? And by the way... who gave you those robes?"
Ron opposite him narrowed his eyes at this. Harry shifted self-consciously, suitably distracted from the article. "I'm not sure actually," he answered, avoiding her second question. He explained what Voldemort had told him.
Hermione nodded. "On the surface it seems an effective political move for his part. He's killing two birds with one stone: this way he will be seen as the reasonable ruler who is merciful to his enemies, while at the same time demoralizing the Order and other light sympathisers, with their symbol of hope now firmly being moulded in his hands."
"I'm not being moulded!"
Hermione looked serious. "Don't forget he is a master at manipulation, Harry."
"Have you gotten the memo, 'Mione?" Ron put in, incredulous. "The guy killed his parents! Harry's going to mould him into a pile of ash, first chance he gets!"
"However true that might be," Hermione said dismissively, "that isn't my point. What I was trying to say is that on the surface it seems to be a good move; however I don't believe for a second that he would be satisfied with anything other than seeing Harry dead. It has been the paramount drive behind his strategy since his rebirth. And since when has he been concerned with people's opinions?"
Harry felt like an ice-cube had been dropped down his back. Her matter-of-fact tone called to his own vague sense of unease. It was true that, being the mortal enemy in the Prophecy, the only one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord and all that, allowing him to live for whatever reason seemed very uncharacteristic of the Dark Lord.
He hadn't been willing to point out the obvious, though. His lips twitched as he imagined how the conversation would go. 'Sir, I would just like to point out that the Propecy says I'm the only one who can defeat you, so isn't it wiser to kill me, you know, just to be sure?'
"Well," Harry said airily to break the heavy tension in the air, "As long as his plans include allowing me to breath, I'm not going to complain about it."
Ron chuckled. Hermione still looked a little glassy. Harry knew that look: there was a mystery here, and she was going to get to the bottom of it. He felt strangely comforted.
"Let's get your trunk up to Gryffindor tower." Harry spoke a feather-light charm and Ron and Hermione both froze.
"What?"
"You can't use your wand outside of class. Professor McGonagall said it was absolutely forbidden."
"Oh." He couldn't remember her saying this. He regarded his wand, which made him think of the bloody fingerprints that had been almost impossible to remove. He stuffed it hastily back in his sleeve. "Well, I don't think illegal feather-light charms will be at the top of their priority list."
He lifted Hermione's trunk, which weighted about as much as a Bludger. They walked out into the corridor and took one of the moving staircases towards the seventh floor. Although Harry tried to keep the trunk balanced, a heavy clanging could be heard as the stuff inside shifted and tumbled.
"Hermione what do you keep in this thing, a suit of armour?" Ron asked.
"My books and just some things I found lying around." She blushed as Ron and Harry stared. "Well I'm going to put it back later, of course," she hurried to assure them.
"Now I'm curious," Ron muttered.
After entering the portrait hole, Harry passed it to Hermione (and then realised he could have skipped the chivalrous attitude with such a light object) and she trudged it up to the girls dormitories.
As always happened with crowds nowadays, the noise around him changed. Harry gave a deep sigh and with a nod to Ron, escaped quickly for the stairs.
On the first step he froze. He was supposed to be sleeping in Slytherin.
Annoyed he turned back, then hesitated. He'd just have a quick look around his old dormitory.
As he opened the door it was immediately obvious that nothing had been moved: it all looked just like last year – including his own bed standing to the right of his favourite window. He shoved the drapes aside to discover that the bed had been made, and from the crispy smell of fresh laundry, hadn't been slept in.
He spared a thought for his trunk, which would undoubtedly become the victim of Slytherin scrutiny. He had warded it though, and anyway, if someone really wanted to get in they could just try at it any time he was in class.
Mind made up and tired enough despite the early hour, he heartily burrowed under the covers.
And dreamed.
888
Excitement burned in his chest as he glided along the brightly lit corridor. The offices on each side buzzed with activity. Witches and wizards walked between them, crossing each other like crawling ants and brushing his robes, their sweaty scents twitching his nose. Small paper airplanes soared overhead, adding to the sense of chaos.
A flicker of irritation made him stroke his wand. His eyes met those of a witch and a pile of folders fell from her slack arms, spreading wide over the marble floor and quieting the volume around him. His fingers stilled again.
The hallways cleared as he glided past gleaming wooden doors engraved with silver nameplates. He emerged into a wide open space filled with rows of empty desks. Facing the desks was a mahogany door. A large, round eye with a bright blue iris had been set into the wood. It gazed blindly upwards, frozen. The plaque beneath it read:
Dolores Umbridge
Senior Undersecretary to the Minister
Head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission
The door opened as the wards fell to a complicated gesture of his hand. Inside, lace draperies, doilies and dried flowers covered every available surface. Felines followed him on the walls as he approached the desk.
The woman stood and now backed away towards the fireplace, her eyes wide in her toad-like face. "Mr. You-Know- my Lord," she squeaked, fumbling her wand with stubbly fingers.
A large golden locket swayed gently over her chest. Embedded in the gold was an ornate letter "S" inlaid with small green stones. They glittered strikingly where they caught the sunlight.
He forced his eyes away in order to study her small, pudgy form. "You have something of mine I believe, madame Umbridge."
She stiffened, her neck craned far back in order to see his face. "Indeed, my Lord? Of course I am most honoured to-"
A swish of his wand made her drop down hard on her knees, cutting off the horrible sound.
He stretched out a hand. The locket flew to him. It was cold, but warmed quickly in his long-fingered grip. The magic shivered through his palm and up his arm until the pulsing life within matched his own heartbeat.
"Crucio."
The pink form below stretched and bend. He put up a silencing charm as an afterthought, then hung the chain around his neck.
The movements of the woman on the ground soon lessened to small twitches. Another wave and the curse was cancelled. Her flew up to meet his.
Legilimens.
He was quick to find the deep recesses of her brain, already sluggish from terror. But something distracted him. He became aware of a dull throbbing sound in his ears. After a moment he realised it was his heartbeat, which now slammed a quick pace in his chest.
His racing blood drew his magic out to crackle over his skin. A sudden impulse to force all of it on her, to rip away her sanity, made him lose his concentration. Irritated by this emotional urge, he drew away and moved to gather the wild energy needed to perform the Killing Curse.
The tip of his wand already glowed an intense green when a snippet of memory made him halt.
He was staring at the back of a hand that was injured. The deep gashes that were still welling blood formed words.
I must not tell lies.
His hand was busy writing something down. The ink on the parchment, he noticed, was the same red colour as the wounds. The memory felt at once familiar and not, like a déjà vu.
The boy.
The moment he knew whose memories he was seeing, a figure behind the desk confirmed it:
"That's enough for today, Potter."
He put down the cursed quill and bent to gather his bag. When he looked up there was an unpleasant burning in his stomach, spreading to his limbs. His hands, concealed behind layers of fabric, shook and he was feeling... light-headed.
"See you tomorrow, Professor."
Voldemort was grudgingly impressed by the boy's calm, polite tone. Having seen enough, he extracted his consciousness from the woman's mind.
She still lay were the curse had dropped her, her eyes bloodshot, her lips now a bluish colour.
Despite the headache that was emerging at the back of his scull he smiled. Umbridge, watching him with frantic eyes, made a strange high sound.
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