Rating: R for language, graphic imagery, emotional angst, fantasy violence/combat, and adult themes for the next chapter and proceeding chapters.
Title: Harry Potter and the Black Society
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred. Additionally, locations in and around the United Kingdom are used as a basis for "historical reality" or in a purely fictitious manner.
Additional disclaimers may be found in Chapter Five, "At Least, Be Humane".
Spoiler Alert: This fic contains spoilers to Books 1-5. If you haven't read any of the books or have at least seen the films...the exits are located to the forward and aft of the plane. Oh, by the way, this fic is H/Hr. It will be frothy fluff, when there is any, but it is H/Hr, even though it just doesn't seem much like it right now. There has been a smattering of "squee" moments, some whacks to the head for Harry, whatnot, with more to come. Okay, now that I've lost you…
Summary: (It may or may not be considered AU; it does use elements that J.K. Rowling has only given cursory attention to in the novels.)
The Second Wizard War has since begun. After each new conflict, the barriers placed between the Wizarding world and the Muggle world yield just a little more. Forsaken pacts are made fresh and new allies are revealed as the war finally tears not only into the Muggle world, but into the sanctuary of Hogwarts itself. Harry Potter soon realizes that his wish for a life close to ordinary will take him as far away from normal as is magically or humanly possible...
Pairings: Harry/Hermione
Author's Notes: The rating has been changed due to an event late in the next chapter and for violent scenes in proceeding chapters of this story. Sorry for the delay, I was fighting with offline matters, not to mention this chapter and the next, trying to keep the PG-13 rating, trying to keep what occurs here in one chapter only, but that is for naught. I was finally able edit down Chapter Seven (yes, down, it's still rather long, but…I did cut it down from over 10,000 words). Chapter Eight is on deck as a result and Nine is in the hole, with Ten well underway. Thanks to RONIN10 for doing a ratings-beta on the original end of this chapter. As always, gentle reader, this remains a long form piece; meaning, it has been planned and time lined to be novel-length. It will feel at times that events are moving v-e-r-y slowly. Because they are. Though implied, the H/Hr ship does not set sail until nearly the end. The MacGuffins are rampant. Watch your step.
Hate to say I told you so….
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HARRY POTTER AND THE BLACK SOCIETY
[] CHAPTER SEVEN: EVERYTHING IS CONTINGENT
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Advanced Muggle Studies was drawing to a close, according to Hermione's surreptitious tap on her watch. Harry glanced down at her wrist (she has such a slender wrist…it's very elegant, dainty even…it looks nice and smooth as well…) and noted that there was approximately a quarter of an hour remaining in class. He was thankful that Hermione had a timepiece that worked at Hogwarts.
Of course she does, he thought to himself, she's Hermione. She of the slender and silken wrists and the pink lips and tongue. Bloody hell, man, you need help.
The class had been subdued, primarily due to the subject matter, but Harry felt certain that the quiet mood was also due in large part to Professor Lilasmorte's candour with the students regarding the course of the war. Perhaps his friends and his classmates had also come to the same conclusion, that they were losing the fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
Ron and Hermione had confirmed that they had thought the same thing of Professor Lilasmorte's statement in the notes that they passed to one another during class.
HOW BAD DO YOU THINK IT IS? wrote Ron.
Bad enough, was Hermione's response.
are we really losing? wrote Harry.
It certainly sounds like it, Hermione had scribbled. We're not being taught Muggle 201 in order to learn to get on along with Muggles.
we're being taught because some of us will be hidden among the muggles, was Harry's response.
To this, Hermione met his glance and nodded. He turned to Ron, who gave him an uncharacteristically sombre look.
So, he had been right…
It was obvious that they were losing the war.
Harry found that he had a difficult time putting those thoughts aside. He made several efforts over the course of the session in order to have his class notes make any sense. He tended to doodle and sketch when distracted. Already his parchment was marked in several places with swirls and stars and owls. It wouldn't have him do to have his parchment become more a work of abstract art then useful reference. He could practically hear Hermione say that. It was fitting as Hermione kept reminding him (and, particularly, Ron), Advanced Muggle Studies was a N.E.W.T.-level course. It was rotten enough that the world was coming to an end, Merlin-forbid that he should fail his N.E.W.T.s as well.
They had finished reviewing their notes on the perspectives of psychology (biological, psychoanalytic, behavioural, humanistic, cognitive, and social-cultural) and had discussed the arguments of Plato and Aristotle and Locke and Descartes. After a moment's pause, Professor Lilasmorte closed her notebook and casually tossed it onto her desk. "That's about enough of that, don't you think?" she said to them with a warm voice. "It's heady stuff for the first day. Seeing as we have…" and here she gave a shrewd look to Hermione and Harry, "…a little time left in class, and I've the feeling that some of you might have some questions, let's take this time for me to offer some answers."
Harry and his classmates exchanged sideways glances with one another. Professor Lilasmorte was certainly proving to be disconcerting. He was almost grateful that he wasn't the only one that was put off by her.
She strode from behind the lectern, her hands raised before her. "No one has a question for the new prof?"
Harry saw Seamus look over his shoulder to him and then to Ron. He then spun round to face the front of the class. His hand shot up in the air immediately. Lilasmorte nodded at him. "Professor, what was it like playing for the Prides?"
She smiled at that. Harry noticed that when she smiled, she didn't show her teeth; just like in the photo they'd seen in the Quidditch Almanac. "Found out about that, did you?"
At this, Seamus beamed. "Yeah, I took a look in the library." He turned to Hermione. "Have yeh got it, Hermione?" he asked with a smile. She nodded mutely and handed the Quidditch Almanac to him. He smiled again and opened the book to the entry on the 1994 Pride of Portree.
Harry was seized by a spasm of annoyance. Seamus was smiling far too much at Hermione. And Hermione was smiling in return. He didn't like that. He didn't like it one bit.
What are you on about, he thought to himself. Seamus is one of your mates and Hermione is your best friend. 'Sides, Seamus is doing you a favour by asking Lilasmorte about Quidditch. You won't have to speak to her after class now. Don't be thick. It's stupid to get all bothered over smiles.
"That's as maybe," Harry murmured to himself, "he still doesn't have to smile using all of his teeth."
"What's that?" whispered Hermione. She was looking at him with wide eyes.
H stared at her a moment without blinking. Harry finally managed to swallow and shake his head in a negative. "Erm, nothing."
Many of their classmates had gathered round Seamus and the Quidditch Almanac, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike. It seemed to Harry that the Slytherin were interested despite themselves. Though he made a great show of disinterest, Harry could tell that Draco Malfoy was indeed attempting to pay some heed as to what the Almanac had to say about Professor Lilasmorte and the Pride of Portree. He kept craning his head so that he could steal the odd glance over the shoulder of his Housemates. Harry turned away with a snicker. Draco could be so very predictable.
He turned his attention back to his classmates, who had started to barrage Professor Lilasmorte with questions. They were coming in, rapid fire, from all sides. Not surprisingly, Seamus was first.
"So what was it like?"
"It was a remarkable experience."
"What position did you play?" This was Neville.
"I was Seeker, just like I was for Ravenclaw."
"You're a Seeker?" This came from Dorothy Wainwright, a Slytherin. She had made the Quidditch team sixth year as a chaser.
"And she was the Seeker for Ravenclaw as well! The best in House history!" exclaimed Seamus.
"What's Meghan McCormack like?" Harry had to smile at this; it was Ron who had asked the question.
"She's intense but I played well with her."
"Have you met Catronia?" The follow-up was Ron as well.
"Yes, I have."
"What's she like?"
"Well, Miss Granger, she's much like Meghan, rather opinionated and self-assured."
Hermione and Harry traded knowing glances.
Then it came to be Lavender's turn. "What about the Weird Sisters? Did you ever meet Kirley?"
"Saw the Weird Sisters once or twice and I met Kirley once."
Lavender and Parvati traded squeals at the information.
Terrance Higgs asked, "What kind of broom did you ride?"
"I ride a Skyfire 360."
"You still ride it?"
"Yes, I do."
"Blimey, that's the best broom!" said Dean, sounding very much impressed.
"Bloody hell, it is, it handles like a dream at high speed. Brilliant, Professor!" Ron exclaimed.
After a while the questions became something of a dull buzzing to Harry. His attention wasn't focussed on his classmates; it was instead directed at Professor Lilasmorte. He didn't hear her answers; he watched her as she responded. She appeared to be warm and engaging and even evidenced moments of a charming humour. He caught glimpses of the Lilasmorte he had spoken to on the bridge as well, the Lilasmorte who was evasive yet honest, sarcastic yet sincere. She indulged the mild inquisition with some grace, he noted. He watched her interact with his classmates. She seemed to treat their questions with some consideration and even seemed to treat them more as contemporaries than as mere students. He wondered how much about them she knew; the majority of the Gryffindor students gathered round were members of Dumbledore's Army. Did she know that?
Lilasmorte would cast occasional glances at Harry, catching his eye. From time to time she would offer him a strange half smile. Harry found himself smiling at her in return.
Eventually, Professor Lilasmorte put up her hands and announced, "I think that's been quite enough for today. It's time for morning break." The students went to their seats to collect their books, talking amongst themselves, as their teacher walked back to her desk.
As the students began to head toward the door, a voice drawled, "Professor?"
Harry paused from collecting his things and sighed quietly. "Malfoy," he said under his breath.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" responded Lilasmorte, her tone even.
"Just…one last question, Professor."
"What is it, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco folded his arms across his robes and regarded the professor with a smugness that made Harry wish he could transfigure the other boy into something useful, like a tea cosy. So he could give him to Dobby. Dobby would have loved that. He'd probably wear Tea Cosy Draco as a pair of knickers. Harry quite liked that idea. He filed it away for future use.
"They say that you've defeated dark wizard. Is that true?"
Many of the students glared at Malfoy, some of his Slytherin Housemates included.
Lilasmorte gave him a smile, the same odd half smile that Harry first saw on the bridge. "Ah. The ever elusive they. Hmm, well now, they say I've defeated a dark wizard. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, do you know what it means to defeat a wizard?"
He frowned at Lilasmorte in such a way as to imply that she had lost her mind. "Defeat? It means that you've beaten a wizard in battle." He snorted.
Lilasmorte snorted in return. "Delightful euphemism. It has so effectively obscured the true meaning."
"What in the hell do you mean?"
Harry whipped around in his seat to glare at Draco. "For someone so arrogant you are incredibly thick. What Professor Lilasmorte is saying, Malfoy, is that to defeat a wizard or witch is to kill him or her," he snapped.
There were audible gasps from some of the students. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione blinking at him in surprise. He knew that she had not expected him to turn on Malfoy so abruptly. Also, Harry thought that perhaps Hermione had never considered what "defeat" really meant. Harry turned his back to the stunned Malfoy and glared down at the desktop. He felt Hermione's gaze upon him again and he realised that he was breathing heavily. He concentrated and managed to get his emotions under control. He wasn't certain as to what it was that had set him so on edge, if it was due to being around Malfoy or Lilasmorte or both.
He hazarded a glance at the professor.
She was regarding him carefully, not without some concern, but she did not appear to be affronted by his outburst. She nodded toward Malfoy. "Mr. Potter is correct, Mr. Malfoy. That is precisely what it means to defeat a wizard or a witch." She levelled her gaze again at Harry and their eyes locked. "It does mean that one has killed." Lilasmorte shifted suddenly and smiled at the class, albeit thin-lipped. "Well, now that some of your questions have been answered, it is time that you are all on your way." The students traded looks of confusion as she continued. "You've not only Advanced Potions awaiting you but there are those among you who have duties to attend to as well." She swiftly moved to stand behind her desk and nodded to them. "Your homework assignment is to read through Chapters Five through Eight in your Psychology: General Studies textbook. Class dismissed." The class remained in their seats, seemingly dumbfounded. Professor Lilasmorte arched an eyebrow and then gestured with her hands in a manner reminiscent of shooing away a fly. "You should be off now. I shan't claim any responsibility if you lot are late for Professor Snape's class or if any ickle firsties wind up flatten beneath a limb of the Whomping Willow."
At the mention of Snape's name, the students finally shifted in their seats and began filing out. Some of Harry's housemates exited the classroom warily, almost backing out. Some of the Slytherin did the same. Among the last to leave the classroom were the prefects and the Head Girl. They met in the doorway and looked at one another in silence. Malfoy and Parkinson stared at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but the Slytherin prefects said nothing, instead casting a glance in the direction of Professor Lilasmorte's desk. Then the two wordlessly slipped out into the hall. Ron blinked at Harry, visibly stunned at the lack of a confrontation. Hermione simply stared ahead at nothing. Harry was concerned at this, but only slightly. He was unable to focus his mind on anything other than the fact that Professor Lilasmorte had killed someone…and, that meant that Dumbledore had killed someone as well. After all, the Headmaster had defeated Grindelwald. Harry knew that this newly comprehended fact had been what weighed heavily in the minds of his friends and classmates. Their Headmaster had killed someone. The much-vaunted defeat wasn't the stuff of mere legend or fairytale. It was a real and bitter and gruesome matter. Prior to Voldemort, Grindelwald was the threat to all of Wizarding-kind. And Headmaster Dumbledore had to kill him. Just like how Harry had to kill Voldemort.
He instinctively knew that this thought crossed the minds of Ron and Hermione as well. That what bloody Trelawney predicted wasn't hyperbole, that it was quite literal: he would have to murder Voldemort.
Harry cast a glance back at Professor Lilasmorte's desk. She was watching them, and Harry could swear that he saw sadness on her features. He turned around, unable to bear the thought of yet another person pitying the Boy Who Lived.
After a moment's pause, the trio stepped out of the Advanced Muggle Studies classroom and slowly walked down the hall.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~"
Making certain that the first years found their next class wasn't as painful of an affair as Harry had thought it might be. Perhaps the first years had picked up on the fact that he and Ron were subdued. Or perhaps they had been overwhelmed with their first class at Hogwarts. Whatever the reason, Harry was grateful that the idolatry had been a bare minimum and that they were at least manageable, much better than they had been at Breakfast.
He and Ron had made it to Advanced Potions with plenty of time left before the start of class. Professor Snape didn't appear to be in the dungeon, but that didn't change the fact that the class was as hushed as if he had been present before them, scowling and sneering them into submission.
Both the Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh years appeared to be struggling with the information that a defeat equalled a murder. This thought provided some dark amusement to a part of Harry.
Honestly, what did they all think that it meant? A best of three series of Scissors-Paper-Stone? How bloody dare the Slytherin act surprised. Of any of us, they should have known that better than anyone. It's what most of their parents did during their time at Hogwarts and just after, romp around the bloody country "defeating" other wizards and witches and Mudbloods. They made great sport out of "defeating" those that opposed Voldemort, including my parents.
Harry and Ron took their seats. Hermione entered the dungeon shortly afterwards and silently took a seat next to Harry. As she settled in, it occurred to Harry that the class was eerily quiet. Usually the softest whisper managed to carry like a thunderclap in Snape's dungeon, but no one had said a word. There was near complete silence in the Potions classroom. The only sound to be perceived was the sound of breathing.
Lungs expanding and contracting…
They sat there, quietly waiting, unmoving. Eventually, after only a matter of minutes that passed them like hours, Professor Snape entered the classroom. He sized up the students with a single, acid glance, and then said, "Good morning. Turn your textbooks to page 374." He said this in a voice that was uncharacteristic; one that was without a trace of the usual toxic sarcasm.
Though they complied, the students exchanged glances. It seemed readily apparent that Professor Snape was out of sorts.
When they had reached the page in question, Snape announced, in a voice that was much bleaker than his usual, "The potion that you shall be making today, and I state unequivocally that you shall be making this as today is your first and only opportunity to create this potion, is one of the more complex and sensitive of mixtures. This shall require the full attention and focus of each and every one of you. As you should recall, in your first Potions class at Hogwarts I informed you that I could teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and, even, to stopper death. As you've proven yourselves collectively to be not quite the dunderheads you promised to be those years ago, today I shall teach you how to…capture the sun." There was a gentle murmur in the dungeon at this. Professor Snape continued as if he had heard nothing. "And, as you all appear to be in the mood, if you will, we shall immediately proceed." With a flick of his wand, Professor Snape enchanted a piece of chalk and began to write the ingredients list on the blackboard. "Print this down onto your scrolls so you will better remember it. You will be required to remember the ingredients and the methodology to this potion without the consultation of your notes. When you have finished transcribing, we shall then begin." His tone was still abnormally hushed, serving to add to the awkward feeling in the classroom.
As Snape wrote the ingredients on the blackboard, Harry felt a nudge in his ribs from Hermione. She pointed to the title of the potion.
The "Coruscarisae" Potion, or, "Sunlight In A Bottle".
Why? she wrote on the edge of her scroll.
no idea, he responded on the edge of his. He looked up to the front of the classroom, to where Snape was standing. Although it was only the second class of the term, it was obvious that something was very wrong with their seventh year. Something was…not right. Harry didn't know what, or why, or even how, but something was definitely amiss.
Harry found himself wondering if he would be placed into hiding with a Muggle family, or if he would be sent on the run, or if he would have to indeed defeat Voldemort. After all, what other options were there for him? Hide, run, or become a murderer. That was all that was left. It had to be, after hearing what Professor Lilasmorte had said and after witnessing Professor Snape's restrained behaviour.
Something had happened. Something horrible. Either in the Muggle world, the Wizarding world, or perhaps even both. He could almost hear Hermione's voice taking the opposition as his mind started the debate. There would have been something in the Daily Prophet about it. They were too involved with the Quidditch Almanac at breakfast to even look at The Daily Prophet. Hermione had certainly not even glanced at her copy. Harry had no idea of the day's news and he was fairly certain that no one else did either. Besides, if something had happened and had been publicised (two hads don't make them write, a part of himself thought bleakly), the Junior Death Eaters of Slytherin would have been crowing about it. If not openly, for fear of sanction from the professors, then it would have been most certainly in some ham-fistedly "Slytherin subtle" fashion. Surely there would have been an announcement, then, if something had occurred. It would not have been beyond Headmaster Dumbledore to withhold information, and it would not have been the first time that he would have done so. The prickling in his thumbs told Harry, with an insistence bordering on preternatural certainty, that something disastrous had recently taken place, something that had been suppressed in the Wizard press and that none of the students had been informed of. Harry simply knew this for a fact. He could feel the truth of it settle into the hollow of his stomach.
Another little morsel that Trelawney would just bloody love.
They were dying. They were losing. And no one knew what to do to stop it.
That wasn't entirely true. He knew how to stop it.
It would be up to him to kill a man.
Harry would have to become a murderer to save them all.
For not the first time, Harry wished he could close his eyes and just have it all end. He wished he could simply just fade away and that Voldemort would fade away with him.
He felt the stare of a certain pair of brown eyes upon him and turned to give Hermione a weak smile. She tilted her head slightly, her wordless way of inquiring if he was, indeed, all right. Harry found himself giving her a genuine smile in return. There were times, many times, that he felt that Hermione's protective nature could be stifling, but this was not one of those times. He found her concern to be comforting. He wanted that from her. He needed it. Even if he couldn't tell her that. Harry sucked in a sharp breath and returned his attention to copying Snape's ingredients list.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~"
Snape's hushed, almost civil behaviour in class had a profoundly unsettling effect on the students. The Slytherin were visibly uncomfortable with their Head of House acting in a manner not in anyway rude to the Gryffindors, and as a result of the lack of animosity from the professor, the Gryffindors were successful in their attempts to make the Coruscarisae potion. Snape had evidenced a cool tolerance with the Gryffindors and had even circumvented some of the Slytherin students' attempts to goad the Gryffindors into action. It was the first time that Harry could think of that Professor Snape didn't take points from Gryffindor, let alone prevent his own House from having a bit of sport at their expense. Despite the fact that his…congenial manner was off-putting, the class seemed to manage enough to create the Coruscarisae potion with some degree of ease. Even Neville had little difficulty in preparing the mixture. Snape didn't go so far as to congratulate Neville, but he had been something that nearly floored all the students in the class. Snape had been…pleasant to him.
"Good, Mr. Longbottom."
That was that. But that was enough to have set the largest grin that Harry thought he had ever seen on Neville's face, a grin that was positively radiant. Harry was sure that Neville would wear that grin for days, if not weeks. It also helped to further set the scowls on the faces of their Slytherin classmates, who appeared to be growing increasingly uncomfortable with Snape's less than poisonous attitude toward the Gryffindors, Harry in particular. He had scarcely cast the most meagre of glowers at Harry and hadn't said much of anything to him, other than to comment on how he was cutting the Protuberaxi root.
"Keep your fingers curled under, Mr. Potter. Though she's likely missed your presence over the summer, I do not think that Madame Pomfrey should wish to see you in her Hospital so early in the school year."
In Harry's experience, for Snape, this was as close as the man came to being pleasant.
If that isn't the surest sign that something is wrong, I don't know what is.
It had taken near the entirety of their allotted class time to prepare the ingredients, combine them properly, and then to monitor the combination in order to produce Coruscarisae. The potion was ready when the liquid went from pale amber to a semi-translucent milky white. There was just time enough left for them to see the result. Professor Snape had made a bottle and offered it before the class as the example. "I should like for you all to now test the potency of your Coruscarisae potions by allowing one drop, and one drop only, to fall from your bottles onto your desks. You shall do this on my command." At that word, Harry nearly snorted. He was stopped by a well-timed knee from Hermione. "Now," Snape ordered.
They each took their flasks, removed the stoppers, and then let a slip drop of the potion. The moment that the drop was released, the air immediately surrounding the droplet brightened noticeably. When the drop made contact with the surface of the desktop, there was the briefest of flares. It was though a burst of summer midday sun had pierced the dungeon and had danced on a pin's head at each of their desks. The mixture was, quite literally, sunlight.
There were gasps from some of the class. It was, Harry had to admit, an impressive display, even for a bead of liquid.
Professor Snape held up his sealed flask and told the students, "And now I shall demonstrate to you the full efficacy of the Coruscarisae potion. You may wish to shield your eyes. This will be…bright."
Harry and his classmates traded glances, some placing hands over faces, others turning slightly in their seats, while others, such as Draco Malfoy, folded arms across their chests and imperiously stared ahead at the professor.
Professor Snape took note of those who refused to prepare themselves and made a sound like sounded suspiciously like a laugh, gathered his robes around his left arm, and raised his right arm overhead. Clasped in his right hand was the flagon. In a swift motion, Snape flung the bottle toward the dungeon floor.
The classroom was immediately filled with the brightest, whitest light that Harry had seen. Some students yelped in pain and in surprise, others oohed and aahed, and others gasped. Harry had reflexively thrown an arm before his face to block most of the glare, but he was determined to see the effect. It was almost like staring into the sun. He swore that he could feel warmth, heat from the glare. The initial flash was temporarily blinding. As the residual glare began to fade, Harry could see that Professor Snape had spun to put his back to the impact point, and was hunched over with his robes over his head.
"Hermione," he whispered.
"What?" She had clamped her hands over her eyes and had watched the display through the slits between her fingers. She was still in that pose.
Harry tried very hard not to laugh and nodded toward the still crouched Snape. "Look," he murmured.
She widened the gap between her fingers and then sat bolt upright in her seat, taking her hands down. "That's…" Her voice trailed off and she looked from Snape to Harry. "That's odd," she finally said in a very soft voice.
"Odd?" Ron hissed at them. "That's bizarre, that is. It's his own bloody potion. I told you he was a bloody vampire. I told you that first year."
Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Ronald, honestly…"
Ron looked to Harry for assistance. Harry only shrugged apologetically and made a face at Ron, the I'm-Not-About-To-Get-Into-It-With-Hermione-In-Potions-Class face. Ron scowled and slumped in his seat. Hermione took that as a sign of victory and smugly nodded.
The Potions Master finally straightened from his recoil and assessed the damage. Harry, among many other students, half-rose from a seated position to follow Snape's gaze and was surprised to see that there was a split in the dungeon floor where the Coruscarisae had impacted. There was not only a split in the stonework, but a scorch mark as well. The shattered remains of the glass vial were scattered about, crunching underfoot as Snape moved to his lectern.
"Now you have seen for yourselves that the Coruscarisae potion is not one to be treated casually. Due to its very nature, the potion may be used as a weapon."
Harry noticed that Hermione's hand was in the air the moment the word "used" left Snape's mouth.
He blinked at her, twisted his mouth into a lour, and muttered, "What is it, Miss Granger?"
"Professor Snape, what…or, whom…would the Coruscarisae potion be used as a weapon against?"
Snape arched an eyebrow. "It should only be used as a weapon as a contingency, Miss Granger. And as we are in a time of war, everything is contingent, even sunlight in a bottle."
"But…what would one use the Coruscarisae potion on, should there be such a contingency?"
The professor sighed loudly. "Given the rather substantial crack in the floor, it could be used as a weapon against anything or anyone, Miss Granger."
"But, Professor…creating sunlight in a bottle…according to the text its primary use is in Herbology and in the care of certain flora. Is there no other purpose then? It doesn't have any medical value?"
"Forever and always seeking the meaning for everything in everything, Miss Granger. The potion has moderate restorative value, but only if used sparingly and under the strict administration of a mediwitch or mediwizard," Snape replied, sounding more like his usual self. He cast a dour look at the class and then said, "Our time today has come to an end. Your homework assignment is to read Chapter 26 in your text and to memorize the formula for the Hausipositum elixir. The class is dismissed." Snape promptly strode from the lectern and into his office.
The moment the door to Snape's office was pulled closed, Wesley snorted and gave a wide-eyed look to Harry and Hermione. "Well, that was bloody weird," exclaimed Ron.
"I'm afraid I might have to agree with you," she said with a sigh.
Ron's eyebrows automatically rose and he shook his head at Harry. "D'ya hear that, mate? Hermione might have to agree with me. Tell me this year hasn't gone all pear-shaped, and it's not even lunch yet."
"There is something definitely wrong about this year. They know something and they're not telling us."
There was a snort from over his shoulder. "They?"
Draco and his associates were lingering behind. Ron and Hermione stood to either side of Harry, who remained seated.
"Haven't you had enough for today, Malfoy?"
"Enough of what, Potter?"
"Of being knocked about like so much chaff. Didn't you get enough in Lilasmorte's class?"
"Listen here, Potter, if you think for one moment that I am going to put up with-"
"Put up with what, Mr. Malfoy?" interrupted a cold voice.
At the sound, Malfoy's grey eyes widened. It was Snape's voice.
All eyes turned toward the front of the class. The professor had exited his office and was standing by the lectern. Harry wondered how Snape had managed to walk across the broken glass without making a sound. As far as he could tell, Snape hadn't disposed of the shattered bottle, so the pieces must have remained on the floor.
"Professor Snape, you know what happened on the train. Potter attacked me and this…this Head Girl threatened Parkinson. Never mind the fact that Weasley physically accosted me. Why are we to put up with it? Why hasn't anything been done about their behaviour?"
Snape's upper lip curled and he said, "Mr. Malfoy, if I must remind you, there were witnesses on the train that account for the fact that you were the instigator in all of this. Also, these witnesses confirm that the best course of action was for Mr. Potter to perform the Separatus spell. As I understand it, both you and Mr. Weasley bore the brunt of it."
"Witnesses? Do you mean their housemates? They would say anything to protect them," complained Parkinson.
"The witnesses were teachers, Ms. Parkinson. Have some imagination. You are a Slytherin and a prefect, are you not?" Snape gave them a curt nod. "Now, if you would be so kind as to leave my dungeon…I do believe you have first years to usher to class. Good day to you," he added as Malfoy began to open his mouth for further argument. Then Snape turned on heel and marched back into his office.
The moment the professor disappeared from view, Malfoy leaned in close to Harry and hissed into his ear, "This won't be the last of it, Potter." He stood up straight, arched an eyebrow, and then stalked out of class, his cohorts following close behind.
"I'm looking forward to it, Malfoy," Harry called out after him. Then he rolled his eyes and collected his bag. "Let's go. We'll be late." At the speed at which he strode out of the classroom, his friends had to run to catch up to him.
"Oi, Harry, wait up!" Ron and Hermione managed to come up alongside Harry. "What's this…Horseypositive potion that we're supposed to be reading up on?" Ron said breathlessly. They started to ascend the stairs leading away from the dungeons.
"Hausipositum, Ron, it's called the Hausipositum elixir." Hermione gave a shake of her curls and sighed. Harry swore that he caught the faintest scent of jasmine. How could he have not noticed it before? Pumpkin juice, toast, and jasmine…jasmine toast…toasted pumpkin juice…juice of toasted jasmine… Hermione's voice suddenly caught his attention. "I'm not certain of what it is. I've not heard of it before."
"You? There's something you haven't heard of?" Ron made an impressive panto of shock and then grinned so broadly that Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. "Now that's a bloody amazing, that is. However did Snape pull that one off?"
Granger narrowed her eyes at Ron and snorted. "It won't happen again."
"Oh, I'm sure it won't, Hermione," the redhead chuckled. Harry felt a smile slip onto his face, one that he immediately swallowed upon receiving a nasty glare from Hermione.
"So there were professors on the train that saw the fight," she said in a light tone.
"Yes, I suppose there were," Ron said slowly, tucking his head down.
Hermione nodded and gave Harry a nudge in the midsection with her elbow. "You can apologise to me later, Ronald. I know you wouldn't want to admit that you were wrong in public."
"Wait a minute…" began Weasley.
They reached the landing that led toward the main corridor and Hermione practically skipped the last few steps to twirl around in the landing to face Ron and Harry. "It's quite all right, Ronald. You can make it up to me later." She then flashed a brilliant smile at the two young men and started walking away. "Don't forget to mind your first years!" she called back to them.
Ron glared at the back of Hermione's departing form, a look between frustration and incredulity on his features. "I don't'. She didn't. I can't. She did." Ron groaned and began to trudge down the hallway. "That woman's going to be the bloody death of me, mate."
As he followed his best friend, Harry stole glances at his other best friend. She walked with such purpose and assurance. Despite everything that had happened sixth year, and seemed to be happening already in their final year at Hogwarts, she still had that walk of hers: brisk and confident. Harry wondered if she really felt like that deep down. If so, he envied her that.
He shook his head and gave Ron a friendly thump on the back. "Yeah, mate, she might be the death of us both this year."
Ron snorted and said, in a high-pitched warble, "Ronald, Harry, you must take your studies more seriously! You mustn't forget…"
"…that these are N.E.W.T.-level courses!" Harry finished in his own fey voice. Finishing the statement in unison set them both to laughing. Still chuckling, the Gryffindor prefects went in search of their first year charges.
∞