Rating: R for language, graphic imagery, emotional angst, fantasy violence/combat, and adult themes.
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: Books 1-5.
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 was changed due to violent and adult subject matter in this and proceeding chapters of this story.
Extremum bonorum, malorum.
Footnotes In Reverse: 1from Part Four: Time and Eternity CXXXII by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
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HARRY POTTER AND THE BLACK SOCIETY
[] CHAPTER NINE: OF OWLS AND OTHER CURIOSITIES
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If the morning had been subdued, the afternoon was positively morose. Harry felt as though he and Ron could not be rid of the First Years fast enough. At least some of the Firsties had enough of an awareness to pick up on his and Ron's mood and not test the Prefects while on the way to their first DADA class.
As much as he wanted to get away from the First Years, Harry was loath to attend Advanced Transfigurations. The class itself did not worry him; what he, Ron, or Hermione, or all three of them might do if goaded by Malfoy did. Harry was absolutely certain that if the Slytherin prefect so much as blinked in an obnoxious manner that he was going to transfigure him into that tea cosy and give him to Dobby. And, he would tell Dobby that it was a Malfoy tea cosy at that.
Dobby would probably wear him as a pair of knickers then.
There were so many thoughts spinning in his head that Harry didn't remember the walk to Professor McGonagall's classroom. He had been barely conscious of Ron's presence. They hadn't spoken on the way to class. What was there to say? However many kilometres of London had been destroyed, turned to rubble.
What in the hell more is there to say about it? There's a hole there now, where buildings and people used to be. There was smoke and fire and blood and screaming this morning. There's a bloody great hole, like the one in Godric's Hollow after he murdered my parents. It wasn't that traitor bastard Pettigrew who ripped a hole into the earth, it was Voldemort, I know it was. Pettigrew isn't anywhere near that strong. If he had been, he wouldn't have sold my parents to the devil and Sirius to the Dementors.
I wonder if Voldemort was in Kensington. I wonder what he was after there. I don't think anyone in the Order lives there. Perhaps someone in the Order was on business, was following a lead? Was it a trap? When's Dumbledore going to bother to tell me about it? Shouldn't the bloody Boy Who Lived know that Voldemort blew a hole into the city?
There was nothing approaching normal about his final year at Hogwarts. He had given up on that vain hope after Breakfast.
He and his friends took their seats in the classroom. He, Hermione and Ron did little more than exchange glances before sitting down. It was still too much to bear. And there was still nothing that could be said. Not in front of their classmates, at any rate.
Harry wondered if Madame Pince had a map of London in the Library, and, if so, if she would allow him to see it. He had to know. He had to see the street names, see what business, what homes, what schools, what had been there. He had to see the city blocks. He had to see it.
Harry was idly drawing lines, intersecting, parallel, on his parchment when the Slytherin delegation strolled in. Malfoy made a show of strutting past the Gryffindor tables, slowing considerably to parade before table at which Hermione and Vicky Frobisher sat. The Head Girl snorted at him and made a show of her own in flipping through her parchments and spell books.
Harry was surprised, and disappointed, in that Malfoy did little more than to scrunch his nose in distaste and strut to his seat. Parkinson, as always draped across his shoulders, did the same. Harry glared at them as they languidly strolled down the aisle.
Does she know? Does he know? Did his mother somehow get word to him? Are the Junior Death Eaters in on it? No, they would have been going on and on about the poor Muggles this and the poor Muggles that. Malfoy can't keep his idiotic mouth shut about those sorts of things. He's not involved. Voldemort isn't dim. Malfoy and his lot are too thick, too immature.
In a bustle of Hebridean Old tartan, Professor McGonagall entered the classroom, her robes fluttering behind her, a worried and fatigued look upon her face. "Hello, students." Her voice sounded exhausted as well.
"Hello, Professor McGonagall," they automatically replied in unison. Some of the students looked at the professor with some concern, Hermione in particular. She made to raise her hand to ask a question.
McGonagall saw her and made a barely perceptible shake of her head, followed by a sad smile. Hermione nodded slowly and folded her arms across herself. Harry suddenly wished that he were sitting next to her.
The professor gave a wave of her hand and said, "Today's lesson is an introduction to a most difficult subject. This is most advanced magic, so it would behove all of you to take careful notes and to pay close attention. If you students would kindly open your books to page 249, I should like to begin straight away." As the students obliged, Professor McGonagall continued. She appeared to have regained some of the colour to her face. With a flick of her wand, she began to diagram the spell onto the blackboard. "The name of the incantation we are going to study is Invertere. This spell, when properly cast, will enable the user to transfer one living creature for another. While in your Fourth Year we studied Cross-Species Switching, this incantation will transpose the subject before you with your target. No matter the distance, what you have fixed in your mind will be summoned before you, with the creature you started with sent to take the second's place."
"Harry," hissed a voice, "This is above and beyond Cross-Species Switching or any Switching Spell. This is…disapparition, switching, and apparition performed on a subject! This is Muggle science as magic, an exchange of matter over a distance!" Hermione was staring at him with excitement in her eyes.
Harry envied her that. He loved how Hermione could become worked up over something like a new spell and momentarily forget the gaping hole in London. He managed a smile for her.
"Guess I should take good notes, then, eh?" Ron joked in a low voice. "Might need to know it later."
"Of course you'll need to know it later…"
"…this is a N.E.W.T. level class," Ron finished with a dogged sigh.
Hermione rolled her eyes at that and turned round in her seat to face the board. Harry took the opportunity to give Ron a nudge and even offered his mate a grin. Harry took some comfort in ordinariness of the exchange and began to copy down Professor McGonagall's notes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The class seemed to move along quickly to Harry, something he was thankful for. Though they did little more than take notes, discuss theory, and take more notes, their introductory class on Invertere was mostly a blur to him.
Near the end of class was a practical test, a scaled back demonstration of Invertere that every student participated in. Professor McGonagall selected him to be the first to administer the Commutare spell.
"Mr. Potter, if you would, please."
He looked at Hedwig, who blinked back at him implacably. "I'll do my best not to queer this," he murmured to her. He could swear that her yellow eyes widened at that.
"Remember, class, that you must have the form of the other creature fixed in your mind before even considering this incantation. Though Commutare is not as complicated as Invertere it is still a very powerful spell. It takes a certain degree of skill and discipline in order to perform it correctly." Professor McGonagall nodded to Harry and said, "Please, go ahead, Mr. Potter."
All eyes were upon Harry. He caught sight of Malfoy, who leered and waggled his eyebrows at him. Harry wished that he could accidentally aim his wand at the prat, turning him into that tea cosy. Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy and nervously cleared his throat. He thought of what Professor McGonagall had said during class, to treat Commutare the same as the Switching Spells. Think of something similar to the target subject. Similar. Got it. He raised his wand, and uttered the incantation as his flicked his wrist. "Commutare."
Hedwig seemed to glow a bright white. That lasted only a moment. It soon faded into a grey mist that enveloped her form and finally resolved itself into the shape of an owl. A Great Grey Owl.
He heard Hermione gasp and he heard Ron mutter, "Bloody hell."
They were looking at Ashengrace, the owl who had braved the destruction in Kensington to deliver the scroll to Professor Lilasmorte. Ashengrace hooted and cocked its head to one side. It craned its head to stare Harry squarely in the eyes.
Harry stared back, uncertain of what to do or how it was that he even thought of Ashengrace. He had meant to transpose Ron's owl Pigwidgeon, who was in the Owlery, for Hedwig.
Professor McGonagall clapped her hands together smartly and smiled at Harry. "Well done, Mr. Potter, well done…and might I add that this is quite a beautiful specimen of Great Grey Owl. Students, as discussed earlier, in order for Mr. Potter's owl to have been exchanged so successfully, he would have to have visualised a Great Grey in exacting detail. Remember, concentration is key. Now, if you would, Mr. Potter, the counter spell?"
Harry swallowed, nodded and said, "Recurrare". Ashengrace glowed, but this time the glow was a soft, smoky grey instead of the white of when Hedwig transposed. A white mist developed and swirled around the form of Ashengrace following the glow. When the mist dissipated, the pure white of Hedwig remained. She hooted at him softly and turned to blink at Professor McGonagall. She smiled at the owl and then turned to the rest of the class.
"Now, then, students, we'll have the rest of you practice Commutare and Recurrare. If the first rows would begin, please? Students, please keep careful watch on how your classmates perform these spells and please make note of anything you might see as being off required form."
The students in the first row of the classroom began to perform the Commutare spell on their animal companions.
Harry knew that he was supposed to have been minding every swish of the wand, every pronunciation, every word from McGonagall, but he could not help but to think about Kensington.
When they find everyone…if they find everyone…how many people will it be?
Where did Hedwig go? Was she in Kensington? How in the hell did I transpose Hedwig with Ashengrace?
In the background, Neville, instead of transposing his frog Trevor for one of the toads in the lake, transposed Trevor for one of the singing frogs of the Hogwarts Choir.
Paisot seemed to know what he was talking about. If I were Minister Bones, what would I do? Find someplace better than Azkaban and throw in all of the Malfoys for a start. Then Parkinson, since she seems physically dependent on Draco. I can't imagine the work that has to be done to try to hide this from the Muggles. There can't possibly be enough Wizards on hand to Obliviate all of the Muggles who witnessed it. They'd have to blanket Obliviate the surrounding blocks. There's never enough wizards or witches for that.
Seeing what the Daily Prophet has to say will be interesting. And the Muggle media. This would be world-wide news. Wish I could get the Times here.
The singing frog was rather loud. Professor McGonagall was having a difficult time in making herself heard.
I wonder when Dumbledore will tell the school. He can't keep the news out forever.
Neville managed to transpose the singing frog just in time. It had just started on a drinking song that promised to be extraordinarily naughty when he managed to bring Trevor back. Professor McGonagall concluded the class upon Trevor's return.
Was someone just singing?
With such thoughts whirling in his head, Harry exited the Advanced Transfigurations class as quietly as he had entered it. Hermione was speaking excitedly about the Invertere lesson, Ron was taking the wind out of her a bit, Seamus and Neville and Dean were still discussing the peculiar behaviour of Professor Snape, and Harry was walking in the midst of them, wordlessly grateful for their being themselves. Hermione would catch his eye from time to time and he would smile for her benefit. It took some effort, but he managed. After all, without them, without Hermione especially, he would have likely fallen apart years ago.
The First Years had proven to be a welcome distraction between classes. As they separated and the Prefects went to round up the First Years yet again, Harry thought that it was a fortunate thing that he was a Prefect. He had not looked upon the opportunity with much appreciation earlier, but now he felt some measure of gratitude toward it. Thankfully, the Firsties seemed to be a bit winded. Professor Auct likely put them through some early paces, with his being an Auror. No doubt the shock of white hair and the purple eyes did much to quiet their moods as well.
The Firsties obediently trundled down into the dungeons for their first meeting with Professor Snape (Ron and Harry smirked at one another at that), and then the Prefects made their way to the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom.
"I've got to tell you, Harry, I am almost looking forward to this class. I mean, Auct's a proper Auror. And he seemed right decent in the Staff Room," Ron said to him. "D'you reckon that he was any good?"
"As an Auror? Lilasmorte told me that he'd put a few Death Eaters into Azkaban."
"Bloody hell. She told you that?" Ron mulled over the information and then frowned. "Wait a tic. How would she know?"
Harry stopped walking and stared down at the floor. "I don't know. I hadn't thought of that before." He shuffled his feet nervously. "Her cousin? He's an Auror."
He caught sight of the grin spreading across Ron's face. "Does Hermione know about how Auct's put away Death Eaters and that Lilasmorte's the one who told you?" questioned Ron. There was a strange gleam in his eyes, one that made Harry a bit unsteady.
He frowned and said, "Erm, no, I didn't mention it to her…"
Ron snickered heartily and patted him on the back. "When she finds out, she's gonna kill you, mate."
"No, now, wait a minute, you're never going to tell her?"
"Either I tell her or you tell her, mate. There's too much going on to be withholding information, right? You need to tell her. Me, I'm the one good at Wizard Chess, Quidditch, and Exploding Snap. Hermione is the brilliant one."
"You have got to be having me on, mate. When in the hell did you grow up again? I seemed to have missed that."
"Me? I'll have you know that I've been all grown up for quite sometime, I just can't be arsed to act that way in public. I've an image to uphold, you know. Besides, it shatters me. So much work…" he sighed as they entered the classroom.
For some reason, when Harry entered the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom, he was reminded of Professor Lupin's time as their instructor. There was something…in the air, something in the mood, something that just reminded him of Lupin.
The professor was waiting for them, seated on his desk as they entered. He smiled and waved and seemed most charming. Harry overheard Lavender and Parvati murmuring to each other about how, if not for the purple eyes, Professor Auct would seem quite dashing. Indeed, he was something of a more subdued Lockhart in terms of dress. And his Auror pedigree did something to further the debonair impression.
Harry was certain that most of the girls present would be swooning over Auct by the end of class and apparently he wasn't the only one with that opinion. Before they sat down, Seamus stopped and leaned in close to Ron and whispered, "Fancy a wager?"
Ron flicked a glance at Harry. "Go on," he said to Seamus.
"Who'll be the first to get all starry-eyed over Plum? 20 packets of Chocolate Frogs that says Lavender will."
"Oh, you are on mate. If you say Lavender will be the first, then I'm 20 in favour of Parvati." Ron gave his best mate a nudge in the ribs. "Here, Harry."
"Yeah?"
"I don't know if you've heard, but young Mr. Finnegan here has 20 Frogs on Lavender being all soft for Plum and I've got 20 on Parvati. What say you?"
He hissed to Ron, "Are you serious? After this morning?"
Ron hissed in return, "What was I supposed to say? No, I'm not in the mood 'cause of…?" He stared at him, the tension clearly evident in his eyes.
Harry sucked in a breath and tried to keep from looking as annoyed as he felt. Ron, unfortunately, was correct. They still had to act as though things were normal. So, Harry forced down his irritation as best he could and rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Oh, both of you think Lavender and Parvati, hmm? Well, then…sorry, Seamus, my Frogs are on Parvati."
Seamus looked at Thomas and Longbottom. "Dean? Nevs? How's about you?"
Dean was nodding in appreciation. "I'm backing you up, 20 on Lavender."
Seamus regarded Neville carefully. "It comes down to you, mate. You decide the balance."
Neville blinked and then murmured, "I'm…I think…I'm putting 20 on Hermione."
"What?" said Harry loudly. When Ron glared at him, Harry regained himself and stage whispered, "You're joking?"
"No, Harry, I mean, remember Second Year? She was totally soft for Lockhart. He's…Auct's a bit the same, innit he? With the cape and the clothes and the hair. I mean, it's white and it sticks out, worse than yours, Harry, but-"
There was a polite cough from behind Neville. The roommates froze. They all cringed as one and hesitantly looked to see Professor Auct smirking at them. He gave them all a little wave. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. So sorry to interrupt, but If I may take a moment of Mr. Longbottom's time…?" Neville turned to look at his friends, a look of wide-eyed fear on him. Auct took Neville by the arm and walked to his desk, which was at the front of the class but much closer than Harry ever remembered it. It was no longer buttressed by the stairs leading up into the professor's office; it was now much closer to the students' desks.
Harry and his friends took Neville's abduction as a sign that they should take their seats. As they nervously settled in and awaited Neville's fate, Harry could just hear what Professor Auct was saying.
"Mr. Longbottom," he heard Auct said gently, "I had the honour of knowing and working with your parents. They were two of the bravest people I have ever known and I wanted you to know that."
He watched as Neville gulped (he could tell by Neville's body language) and nodded. "Th-thank you, Professor," he heard his friend say softly. Neville turned and slowly walked to his seat. He appeared to be mildly amazed. His roommates all reached out to pat him on the back in commiseration for what they thought was a talking to.
Harry stared at the new DADA professor, his estimation of Auct rising by the moment.
When the entire class had all found their seats, Professor Auct leapt off of his desk and stood before them. "Good morning, everyone. My name is Petr Auct and I am your Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher for this term, your final at Hogwarts. To answer some of those questions straight away, yes, I am an Auror. I've been an Auror since completing my training on graduation from Hogwarts. I am still active in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
There was some tittering from the Slytherin side, but Hermione stopped them with a single glare. Harry felt great pride in the control she was able to exert over them with a simple look.
Auct smiled at Hermione and then continued. "Where was I…yes, I am an alumnus of Gryffindor and no, I shan't tell you my N.E.W.T.S., but, obviously they were good enough to get me accepted into the Auror Training Programme. I was a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and we were quite good in my day here, and I still play on occasion. I attended Hogwarts with your mothers and fathers and likely know at least one embarrassing thing about all of them. And, no, my hair wasn't always white, my eyes weren't always purple, but that is simply the way life goes sometimes, isn't it?" He grinned at them and clasped his hands together. "Right, I would imagine that covered what you wanted to know about me?"
There was quiet assent in the class.
"Excellent then, let's get started, shall we? First off, I should like to know how many people in this class are familiar with the Dark Arts."
The students looked at one another and then, as a group, stared at Professor Auct.
He held his arms out and shook his head. "Sorry about that, what I mean to ask is, how many of you students are familiar with the Dark Arts on a first hand basis? Have seen it in action outside of a classroom setting; have perhaps even uttered an Unforgivable…?" When he said that, Auct directed a pointed gaze at the Slytherin side of the room.
Malfoy, who had for all intents and purposes left Harry and his friends alone prior to the start of class, snorted and leaned back in his seat. "Why are you looking at us, Professor? Surely you don't mean to imply that we, as Slytherin, would have anything to do with the Dark Arts?" He managed to put a note of wheedling innocence in his question, something that Harry was impressed by. Then Malfoy issued his trademark sneer and cast a disparaging look in Harry's direction. "One need not be a Slytherin to speak an Unforgivable," he said, arching an eyebrow at Harry.
The former members of Dumbledore's Army all turned in their seats to glare at Malfoy. When they did so, Harry couldn't help but to feel another swell of pride. These were his friends, his classmates, his…supporters, all still rallying around him despite the dissolution of the DA.
Malfoy and his lot stared back, smug and undeterred by the informal show of force.
There was a polite cough from the front of the classroom. It seemed to Harry that Auct had been carefully watching the stare-down. "No, you are correct, Mr. Malfoy, one does not have to be a Slytherin in order to use an Unforgivable." He waited for them to turn back around and then continued. "Now that we've gotten that misconception cleared up, let's get up to speed, as they say. Let's review what you know of defensive spells, counterattacks, and offensive spells, in that order."
"All of it?" asked Seamus incredulously.
Auct grinned and shrugged. "No? Okay, then, we don't have to do all of that today. Let's review your knowledge of defensive spells. Mr. Finnegan, please name one that you know and know well."
"Um…" Seamus appeared slightly flustered. "Protego," he announced with a triumphant grin.
Auct slapped his hands together and practically bounced on the balls of his feet. "Yes. Very good, Mr. Finnegan. The shield charm. Most effective. The stronger the witch or wizard, the stronger the barrier."
Seamus looked around at his friends, obviously well chuffed, and Harry saw him and Hermione trade smiles.
Harry's eyes immediately narrowed at the sight. I wonder what you would look like as a tea cosy, Mr. Finnegan…
"Mr. Longbottom," said the professor, "What about you, now?"
"Well…um…" Neville bit his lower lip and then offered, "Finite Incantatem?"
Malfoy snorted and scoffed, "That's not a defence spell." He slumped in his seat, a look of utter disdain on his face.
The professor chuckled at that and arched an eyebrow at the Slytherin prefect. "Now, now, Mr. Malfoy, have some imagination. Mr. Longbottom used some fine logic in naming the Finite Incantatem spell. It does effectively cease the effects of a spell that is in operation. Also, it is not an offensive incantation, it's a counter, but it is used defensively. So, Mr. Longbottom is correct in categorising Finite Incantatem as a defensive spell. For that, five points to Gryffindor."
Neville's roommates again clapped him on the back, Dean and Ron giving him a punch each to his shoulders and Harry ruffling his hair.
Malfoy slunk lower into his seat and glowered at them.
"What about you, Mr. Malfoy? Care to name a defensive spell?" Auct flashed a winsome smile at the young man, earning some muffled 'oohs' from the class.
Harry saw as Ron threw flicked a small bit of crumpled parchment at Seamus. It hit him in the back of the head and Harry had to swallow down a snicker. "Oi, d'you hear that? That was Parvati, mate," he hissed. "Give me my Frogs."
"Weasley, you are mental. It was never her," Seamus retorted in a whisper, "that was Lavender. Give me my Frogs."
"In your dreams, mate."
"What are you going on about?" muttered Hermione over her shoulder. "Are you trying to lose us points?"
They were interrupted by a dramatically forceful sigh. "Fine. A defensive spell," Malfoy drawled. "Claudecrorare," he smirked.
Auct smirked in return. "One of the hex-deflecting spells. Good, Mr. Malfoy." He turned to address one of the Gryffindors. "Miss-"
"Professor, wait a moment."
He turned back toward Draco. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"
"No points?" He appeared to be openly puzzled, but Harry knew from experience that his tone was far from sincere. From the expression on Professor Auct's face, Harry surmised that he could also tell that Malfoy was being derisive.
"So sorry, but, no points, Mr. Malfoy. That was an easy one."
Malfoy didn't appear as though he were satisfied with the response. "Why are we going through this, then? This is supposed to be a N.E.W.T. level course and we're reviewing the most rudimentary spells and charms, defensive ones at that." He snorted again. "I don't see what good this will do. Making a list of what defences we learned six years ago doesn't make much sense."
There was a sharp laugh and the students were surprised to learn that it was the professor who had laughed. "Ah! Yes! There it is. I was warned about your unusual skills of debate, Mr. Malfoy. As apt as your observation was, it still doesn't gain Slytherin any points." He flashed another grin at them. "This is the first time that I've met any of you, Mr. Malfoy." He cast his purple gaze at Harry, Ron, and Hermione for a moment and then looked back at Malfoy. "I should think that it would be prudent of me to gauge your learning to date, no? After all, this has been, historically, the least consistent position at our fair institution. So, to put a cap on this particular conversation, you, Mr. Malfoy, shall just have to try harder the next time, eh?"
Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but apparently thought better of challenging an Auror and immediately clamped it shut. As his Slytherin housemates all pulled faces and shifted in their seats, Professor Auct turned back to the Gryffindor side. He caught Harry's eye and winked at him. Harry found himself smiling back.
Auct Plum had unquestionably risen in his regard. As the Auror went from student to student, engaging them, encouraging them, causing them display their knowledge of defence, Harry smiled. For the first time since Professor Lupin had taught the class their Third Year, Harry reckoned that Hogwarts had a legitimate Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher.
And it was someone that they desperately needed if they were all to survive.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry nearly made it through the door of the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom. He had nearly made it.
He had intended to speak with Professor Auct after class about his playing days on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but after he had made mention of Dumbledore's Army in the Staff Room…Harry didn't want to talk about the DA, so he tried to leave the class as quickly as he could.
Some particularly slow-footed Slytherin had made a bit of a traffic jam in the entryway, so Harry was forced to wait for them to shuffle along. He briefly considered use of Mobilicorpus. The image was amusing to Harry, that of Slytherins floating down the hall like the bags of hot air that most of them were.
Professor Auct shattered his afternoon daydream with seven words. "Mr. Potter? A word, if you please."
He closed his eyes for a moment, moaned inwardly, and then turned round, trying his best not to look…trapped.
"Yes, Professor?"
Auct motioned for him to come to his desk. Harry trod over and stood, his arms hanging limply to his sides. The professor took a peek over Harry's shoulder and then looked him in the eye. "How are you and your friends?" he asked in a low voice.
Harry was impressed that Auct was concerned about them. "We're…I'm…I'm not sure, really. We haven't really spoken about it. I mean…how…" Harry shook his head. "I'm in shock, I suppose," he finished quietly. "I think we all are."
"I understand, Mr. Potter, believe me, I do. I've been an Auror for some years now and I'm still shaken every single time. I'm glad for that, really. I don't want to forget, I don't want to stop caring."
Harry nodded mutely.
"I knew your father, Mr. Potter," Auct said.
"I know." When the professor evidenced surprise, Harry explained, "I've a box of photographs of my mum and dad from their school days. Dad had a number of Quidditch photographs and you're in most of them."
He grinned at Harry. "Ah, yes, your dad was quite the player. I hear you are as well. The youngest Seeker in school history and one of the best, is it?"
"I'm all right," he shrugged, a self-conscious grin on his lips.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Potter, particularly not with someone as mad about Quidditch as I am. You're father was a fine Seeker, and a fine Chaser as well. In fact, if it wasn't for his switch to Seeker, I wouldn't have gotten on the team."
"He did that for you?"
Auct grinned at that. "Yes, actually, he did." The grin faded and he considered Harry with a degree of solemnity. "Unfortunately, I didn't ask you to stay after class solely to enquire on you and your friends and to discuss Quidditch."
Harry looked down at the floor and then regarded the professor dourly. "You want to talk about the DA."
"Yes. I should think it would be a very good idea for you to reform it."
"No, Professor." An edge crept into Harry's voice. "I can't do that." He forced himself to keep his eyes open despite the images again burning in his mind. Fifth Year. The Department of Mysteries. Hermione and Antonin Dolohov. Sirius and Bellatrix Lestrange. Sixth Year. The British Library. Ron, Neville, and Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange…
"Mr. Potter, with what's happened in Kensington…"
It was all that Harry could do to keep from snapping at the older man. You haven't seen the things I've had to see. You haven't put your friends in harms way the way that I've done. Because of that damn Dumbledore's Army. "With due respect, Professor Auct, you cannot ask me to do that. Dumbledore's Army is no more and for good reason. I can't - I won't ask them to regroup. I won't do it. I won't."
Auct sighed heavily and placed his hands together, palms facing, and tapped the tips of his fingers against his chin. At length he said, "In the very least, I should hope that you would think about it, Mr. Potter." When Harry began to argue, Auct held his hands out before him in a gesture of what looked to be supplication. "Thinking does not commit nor bind you to anything, Mr. Potter. All that I ask is that you please reconsider your decision. You did great work with the DA. Much of what you and Miss Granger did in preparing the members is on par with what I would have done. I needn't tell you what the students feel about the DA. Please, just mull it over in your mind. I wish that I could tell you to take as long as you would like, but with this morning…I'm sure you understand that there is some urgency in my request to you."
Harry drew in a long, shuddering, breath and swallowed. "I'll…consider the idea, Professor. But I am not promising that anything will come of it. The DA is no more and…I can't imagine it returning, but, I will give it some thought." He closed his eyes and averted his face away from Professor Auct. "The end of the week. If, and," here he laughed ruefully and looked Auct in his purple eyes, "only if I change my mind, I will let you know at week's end. Otherwise, Dumbledore's Army remains what it is today, a broken memory."
The professor stood from his desk and extended a hand. "I give you my word as a Gryffindor that if you decide that the DA should remain disbanded, I will not bother you with further talk of reorganising it."
Harry appreciated the gesture and took Auct's hand in his and shook it. "I give you my word as a Gryffindor that I will consider the option."
"Fair enough." Auct grinned and nodded to the door way. "I think it's cleared a bit. I know you've ickle firsties to get to Dinner now."
Harry threw his head back and groaned. "Right. Them. Thanks, Professor." He slowly began to trudge out of the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom, his body staging a mild rebellion at the thought of herding the First Years into the Great Hall for the third time.
Auct called out from behind him, "Good hunting, then, Mr. Potter!"
Harry groaned again, rolled his eyes, and trod down the corridor to find Ron. He certainly wasn't going to suffer the Firsties alone at Dinner. Someone would have to endure the pain with him, and it might as well be Ron…
He caught up with him soon enough. Ron had waited for him at the end of the hall. He nodded to him by way of greeting and leaned in close. "What did Plummy want?"
"He…he asked how we were," explained Harry. He didn't feel like sharing the professor's request regarding the DA. He didn't want to put the idea into anyone else's mind. The last thing that Harry felt he needed was to have another person encouraging him to reconstitute the group.
"Bloody hell. That was decent of him," murmured Ron.
"Yes, it was indeed," agreed Harry.
"So, how are we?"
Harry sucked in a deep breath. "I don't know," he finally replied.
Ron shook his head and said, at length, "Good answer."
They fell into silence as they made their way to Gryffindor Tower. Ever so often it seemed as though Ron thought to say something, but he never acted upon his urge.
Harry felt alternately grateful and frustrated. They couldn't talk about what had happened in Kensington, at least not until it was announced, if it was going to be announced to the school. It felt…hollow to speak of any of their usual subjects, Quidditch, the Cannons, Quidditch, Snape, Malfoy, Quidditch, the First Years. With the knowledge of what had occurred, no topic seemed appropriate.
They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, where a small herd of First Years had gotten themselves stranded.
He and Ron looked at one another jadedly. They turned to face the young students. "Forgot the password?" they asked in unison.
The First Years baulked and nodded quickly.
"Bloody lucky it was us and not Filchy," Ron muttered to Harry.
They moved to the front of the pack and blinked at the Fat Lady. She was in full recline, eating a bunch of oil paint grapes and humming to herself. Harry and Ron glanced at one another, rolled their eyes, and then said, "Yard of flannel," together.
The Fat Lady paused and looked down her nose at them. She arched an eyebrow and rolled a grape between her forefinger and thumb. "You could sound a bit happier about it, you know," she complained in a droll voice.
Harry and Ron looked at one another again. Both took in a deep breath, and then said in louder voices, "Yard of flannel."
The Fat Lady snorted at them and shrugged her Raphaelesque shoulders. "Seventh Year Prefects…always think they are so high and mighty…have no sense of propriety," she murmured to her grapes in a stage whisper, eyeing them surreptitiously.
"For the love of Merlin," Ron hissed under his breath.
Harry stepped as close to the painting as he could, forced a grin onto his face, and said in a bright and cheery voice, "Yard! Of! Flannel! Please!"
The Fat Lady paused from considering her grapes, batted her eyelashes at him, and sighed. "Ooh, thank you." The portrait swung open and the First Years darted inside, Ron and Harry stalking in after them.
"Bloody woman gets worse every year," seethed Ron.
As they staked in, Harry watched the First Years they had escorted in scatter across the Common Room. He glowered and called out to them. "Here! You lot! First Years! Put your books in your rooms and wash up or whatever it is that you do before you eat. We are leaving for the Great Hall in five minutes!" He and Ron traded sour glances and both collapsed onto the sofa together with a groan.
"Hard day at work, boys?" asked an amused voice.
Ron and Harry looked to their right. Hermione was in the wing chair by the window, regarding them with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
"You set them up to this, didn't you, woman?" asked Ron.
Hermione's smirk widened, but she said nothing.
"Bugger all," sighed Harry. He laid his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. "I'm just going to sit here a moment and wait for them to come back downstairs. Five minutes, right?"
"Five minutes, mate," answered Ron.
"Brilliant."
They were silent for a little while, listening to the fire crackle, to the sound of Dean and Neville playing Exploding Snap in the far corner, to the sound of students passing through the Common Room on their way to the Great Hall.
"Harry?" asked a voice.
"Yes, Hermione?"
"Do you think that…at Dinner…that there will be an announcement?" Her voice was very soft.
Harry took a moment before replying. "I don't know," he told her.
"Surely there must be something?"
"I just…I don't…I'm sorry, I just don't want to think about it right now, Hermione." He didn't move his head, he didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to see the look of concern on Hermione's face.
"We'll know if there is or isn't soon enough," Ron said, his voice kind.
"We'll know soon enough," Harry echoed weakly.
She sighed. "You're right. You're…right."
They were silent again. Presently, the First Years entered the Common Room. Though he didn't want to, Harry opened his eyes and stood. "Right, then. We're off to the Great Hall again. Try not to get lost this time, would you please, Mr. Fisher?"
"Yes, sir."
Harry held a hand out to Ron and helped him to his feet. Then he walked over to Hermione and extended his hand to her. She appeared surprised by the gesture, but she smiled and took his hand. Together, he, Ron and Hermione led the First Years out of the tower.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Only three students managed to lose themselves between Gryffindor Tower and the Great Hall, an improvement from the morning and the afternoon. They were also much more manageable than at Lunch. Harry was afraid to hold out too much hope for them to continue to improve.
When they entered the Great Hall, he immediately scanned the dais. All of the staff were present and were talking amongst themselves. Professors Snape and Lilasmorte were again engaged in conversation, much as Harry had witnessed in the Staff Room. Lilasmorte had no expression on her face, however. Snape was doing most of the talking and seemed virtually animated. Something about seeing Lilasmorte and Snape chatting caused a twinge in the back of Harry's mind. He shook the feeling off and took his seat with his classmates.
Dumbledore rose from his seat and held his arms out before the assembled school. The Great Hall fell silent, with some First Years giggling nervously. He looked across the hall, surveying the students of Hogwarts, his eyes pausing briefly on the Gryffindor table. Then the Headmaster declared, "Here sit our feast-eating queens and kings, whose futures our hopes rely on; may you never believe in foolish things that come from the mouth of a wise man." He smiled and clapped his hands together. "Come, students, and eat your feast with me. Let us dine."
At that, Dumbledore took his seat and a fantastic spread of food and drink appeared on every table, eliciting sounds of delight and wonder from the First Years and even some Second Years.
Ron leaned across the table, toward Hermione. Harry joined him. "That can't be it," he muttered. "It's a bloody joke if that's all there is to it."
"There has to be more than that, there just has to be," Hermione said in an undertone as she moved her arm out of Dean's way.
Harry rolled his eyes and glowered. "This is just typical, isn't it? They are always shutting us out. Even now, we're left out."
Hermione gave him a concerned look. "There has to be a reason for it. Perhaps there will be something later."
"What, tell us after we've eaten, so students don't lose their appetites? Bloody hell, if they wait 'til after dessert, they'll have students losing their dinner," grumbled Ron.
"At any rate, there isn't much that we can do," she said, giving them both looks of warning.
Harry sighed and nodded. Ron shrugged and pointed to a platter next to Hermione. "Might as well tuck in, then. Hermione, would you?"
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "Ron, you are utterly indefatigable." She picked up the plate of sliced ham and handed it to him.
He blinked at her. "I'm hungry." He started to load food onto his plate. "And thanks."
Hermione shook her head and poured herself a goblet of water.
Harry began helping himself to food, more as an automatic response than from a desire to eat. He didn't really feel like eating, but he didn't want to have to answer any questions, either. It gave him something to focus on as well, something to keep his eyes on. He certainly didn't want to have any reason to look up from his plate.
After the one thousand, three hundred and tenth time of pushing his food around on his plate to make it appear as though he were eating, it came time for dessert. The Great Hall became quiet once again. Harry finally raised his eyes and looked up.
Headmaster Dumbledore was standing again. He folded his hands before him and regarded the students sadly. He nodded to himself, glanced down at the table top before him, and then addressed them all. "It is my sad duty to inform you of certain events that have taken place outside of our hallowed walls. As all of you students are well aware, in recent months, there have been attacks made upon Wizards and Muggles alike. Attacks which have occurred for no reason than due to a misguided belief that one's pureness of heritage entitles one to believe that one is superior to all others." Dumbledore's voice took on a tone that Harry thought might be anger. Repressed, controlled, icy anger…and that startled him. "I cannot stress enough the flawed logic in this presumption. It is not one's lineage that makes one better. It is not how much money one has tucked away in Gringott's. No, students, there is nothing that makes one better than the other. We are all equal. I am no different than Mr. Creevey, who is no different than Ms. Bones who is no different than Mr. Nott who is no different than Ms. Turpin. We are all wizards and witches. We are all, in a word, human. We are no better, we are no worse. It is our actions, and our actions alone that should colour one's perceptions, and not the branches of one's family tree." Dumbledore took in a deep breath and continued. "That being said…I am sorry that I must inform you all of a Death Eater attack which occurred this morning in a part of Kensington."
There were gasps throughout the Great Hall. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked to one another. Here it was. At long last. They were being told.
"We have been advised by the Ministry of Magic that this attack has resulted in great damage and in a number of deaths. The Ministry is at this time uncertain of how many have perished, or who are among the missing, but I assure you that they are working tirelessly to find all involved in this most egregious attack, victim and Death Eater alike.
Please know that you are safe here at Hogwarts. In point of fact, this is the safest place for all of you students. You will have noticed that owl posts were suspended today; it is our hopes that the posts will resume tomorrow, if not the morning than by the afternoon. Your families have been contacted by representatives of the Ministry and they have all been informed of your well being."
There was more noise at that, relief mixed with murmured questions. Dumbledore raised his hands again, and the students came to an uneasy silence. "You shall be notified of any new information as soon as it is received from the Ministry and as soon as I and Professor McGonagall have advised your instructors." He again looked around the Great Hall and nodded slowly. "I am sorry, students. I believe that it would be most prudent for all to retire for the evening now. Prefects, if you would, please, ensure that all return to their Houses. Your Heads of House will meet with you momentarily. Miss Granger, Mr. MacMillan, shortly thereafter Professor McGonagall will meet with you as well. Good night, students."
The Headmaster turned around and walked off of the dais, the professors filing out after him.
The students were all talking at once, disturbed and nervous and frightened of the news. Many of the Muggle-born students were angry. "What in the hell happened in Kensington?" said Dean in a sharp tone.
"Maybe that's what McGonagall will tell Ron and Harry in a little while. Yeh'd tell us what she says, though, right?" asked Seamus.
Ron nodded in distraction. 'Yeah, mate, yeah." He glanced at Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. "Harry? You don't look so good."
It had come upon him quite suddenly. Harry felt his body go cold and his head go dizzy. "I don't feel so good," he said softly. He stood and immediately had to steady himself against the table.
His friends all stood from the table. "You should see Madame Pomfrey," cautioned Hermione, a frown on her face.
He shook his head and regretted doing so. "No, I'm just…it's been a long day…and the news…" He picked up his goblet and took a sip of water. "I'll be all right." With a little difficulty he climbed over the bench and started to walk.
As they started to exit the Great Hall together, Ron again put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Listen, you go on ahead to the dorm and try to get some rest. I'll take care of everything."
"No, Ron, you can't, the Firsties…you can't possibly…"
"I can and I will. We've faced worse, right? 'Sides, maybe I can persuade Nearly Headless Nick to put a scare into them. It'll be fine, mate. Just go on up and we'll be there in a bit, right?"
"Yeah, Harry," joined in Neville. "I'll help Ron. Honestly, it's no bother. You really don't look at all well."
"We'll help too, right, Dean?"
"Yeah, the three of us should make up for the one of you, Harry."
He nearly laughed at that and smiled at his friends. "Thank you. Really, thanks."
"S'awright, Harry, you'll just have to owe me," grinned Ron. "Right then, lads, time for you to know what it's like to be a Keeper…" Harry watched his roommates march over to the milling First Years and begin to get them moving.
He watched them go, his stomach clenching at the sight. He felt a slender hand slip into his and a voice murmured into his ear," Are you sure that you will be all right?"
He closed his eyes. "Yes, Hermione, I'll be fine. It's…with everything…I just need to lie down," he told her, opening his eyes and smiling. They walked together for a while, Hermione wrapping her arm around his. For a time it was as though she was guiding him instead of walking alongside him. Harry could have closed his eyes again with no trepidation and solely relied upon her.
Hermione walked with him as far as the Common Room, where they literally danced around their housemates. A couple of Gryffindors tried to ask Harry questions, but the Head Girl managed to still them with a wave of her hand. Once more Harry was amazed at the simple things about Hermione. She was the natural leader, not him. Someone somewhere had gotten that wrong. She was able to persuade with a glance, command with a gesture.
She should have been in charge of the DA.
Then, things would be…
"Harry, I'm sorry, but I have to go now," she told him. She had walked him to the foot of the staircase leading to the Boy's Dormitory. He nodded.
"Thank you, Hermione." He hung his head and whispered, "Thank you."
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked again, worry slipping into her voice.
"Yeah. I'll be fine. Would you please tell Professor McGonagall…?"
She smiled at him. "Yes, Harry, don't worry, you'll have a note from the Head Girl. Besides, I'm sure she'll understand."
"Thanks. Again."
She gave his hand a brief squeeze and stepped away, back into the Common Room.
He looked at her for a moment. Harry wished that he could have said something, done something, in that instant, but he was so utterly drained by the day and the deaths in Kensington that he could think of nothing to do or say. But he knew that the moment required some form of action. He simply knew it. There were words, there were grand gestures, there were things that happened in those spaces, things that people could be happily lost in. Things that he knew he wanted himself and Hermione to be lost in. Things that would keep them from thinking about the Department of Mysteries and Sixth Year and a hole in Kensington. When Hermione finally turned away from him in order to address a question asked of her by a Third Year, he sighed. It was another moment gone, another space left unfilled. Another something that he didn't know how to fix, how to take care of. Another mistake in a minor key, made by him.
Harry sighed again, ran a hand through his hair, and began the climb up to his dorm room.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It burned me in the night,
It blistered in my dream;
It sickened fresh upon my sight
With every morning's beam. 1
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry had knotted the bed sheets about him and had enveloped his body in a cocoon of white cotton. His young face was contorted into a grimace.
Harry was having a nightmare.
In his mind's eye, he could see himself walking the granite hallways of Hogwarts. His bare feet padded silently against the oddly warm stone floor. His pyjamas hung loosely from his frame. There was an odd peace to the aloneness that he felt, but there was something tangible in the air, a form of fear. He could almost taste it. Coppery. Acrid. Stale. Opposite to everything he had ever known about Hogwarts, equal to everything he had every really known about his life under the threat of Voldemort. His surroundings were tainted with the faint metallic scent. And now his ears were assaulted by the barely perceptible murmur of water. It reminded him of a stream near the Forbidden Forest. He recalled sitting at that stream during breaks from he studies with Ron and Hermione. The burbling of that little brook brought him happy thoughts, ones of innocence and merriment. But this sound, what he was hearing now, didn't inspire the same feeling. Worse, a growing sense of dread and foreboding was welling up from his gut, and he felt bile rising in his throat. He was terrified, more so than he had ever been in his entire life. He continued forward, walking steadily, although his breath was quickening. The terrible noise grew louder. It became more distinct, more insistent.
it's only water it's only water it's only water it's only water isn't it?
His heart was beating so quickly and so loudly that he hoped that the noise would drown out the gurgling noise that was steadily approaching. But it didn't. He began to think that nothing would.
He continued forward, seemingly unable to stop himself. He concluded that he must have been dreaming, that he must be having a nightmare.
The sound now increased in volume and intensity with every footstep. The metallic scent was growing in pungency as well. That too was strangely familiar, although he couldn't place it as yet. It did evoke another memory, but that had yet to resurface.
So he continued onward, despite his trembling arms and queasy stomach. Having been the focus of sundry horrors for so long, for having to battle such horrors daily, he sense of evil was preternaturally heightened. Here, in the comforting familiarity of Hogwarts and its infinite corridors, he felt horrified to the core. The water-like sound was insistent. And it was getting louder.
Yet he continued on.
Shortly, he found himself descending into the dungeons and rounding the bend in the corridor that would take him before Snape's office. As he turned the corner and spotted the door, he suddenly remembered what the metallic smell was; now so strong he could taste it in his mouth.
It was blood.
That was the smell he remembered from his youth, when his uncle and cousin would inflict random damage to him for imagined transgression, or just for laughs.
That was the taste he remembered from his numerous and scarring experiences facing Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the physical accompaniment to the many psychological injuries inflicted upon him by the man who murdered his parents.
That was the substance that churned and boiled behind Snape's office door and was now beginning to seep underneath.
That is what spilled forth as the door swung open, in a sickening slow-motion display.
That is what coursed over Harry's bare feet, warm and red and sticky.
That is what was spattered all over Snape's black robes.
That is what dripped from his mouth, his dark eyes ablaze in mad ferocity, which shone like beacons in his pallid alien face. His mouth contorted into a leering grin as those burning eyes fixed upon him, poor little Harry James Potter, a million miles from Godric's Hollow, a million years from the arms of his parents, a million lifetimes from his remembered happiness.
Snape held his arms apart, in a mockery of an extended embrace, a parody of protection and suffering, a parochial posture, as a fetid, demented laugh cackled from his bloody lips.
Then Harry was struck in the leg by something bobbing in the current of blood. He looked down even though he didn't want to look down but he had to he just had to what was it what had struck against his leg? oh jesus it was an arm it was ginny's arm and that damned diary was burnt into the flesh of the palm the diary that ginny had been lost to but he destroyed that didn't he? and there was another face one that was young and innocent and familiar with the dark hair and grey eyes and then another face rising from beneath the sea of red oh merlin the grey eyes full of terror it was the face of sirius no no no no no no and then harry's eyes grew wide and a whimper built itself in his stomach but could not find its way to his mouth because then he saw the head and torso of ron still encased in his quidditch gear but where were his legs his legs oh god stop this and then there was the head of hermione, staring at him with brown eyes wide in horror and the mouth open in disbelief....
It was then that he screamed, as the air forced its way through his lungs and ripped at his throat until he stopped to vomit into the swirling red mass at his feet.
And then he realized the reason for the hideous deluge.
He ate them.
His friends, his classmates. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Luna, and those who had gone before, whose faces and limbs he did not recognize from the nauseous soup flowing around him.
He took them, used them, seduced them into trusting him, and then used them some more, and then when he could no longer find a use for them, he destroyed them, he took their lives, he consumed them. He killed them, he used them, they were dead, all of them, dead.
He took their battered hearts into his mouth and gnawed on them with those teeth and eagerly drank their blood and used them one final time to sustain him.
And then he saw he face in the hideous morass.
And then he screamed again.
And then he looked up.
Above him Snape loomed, and his face displayed the derangement that the fractured personality only hinted at and the creature that was snape no tom marvolo riddle voldemort smiled at him and then lunged with the hooked and cruel fingers its teeth stained by the blood on its lips and harry screamed again as the creature took his head in its hands and kissed the lighting-bolt scar with those blood-smeared lips....
...And then Harry awoke, and realized that he had kicked and shouted himself awake. Seamus, Dean, and Neville sat wide-eyed and frightened in their beds and Ron was directly in front of him.
His face was creased with concern and worry. He held spoke to Harry gently, in a voice made quiet and calm. "It's all right, Harry, it will be all right," he murmured to him. "It was only a dream, a nightmare, that's all."
"No." That was the only sound that scraped its way from his raw throat before he flung himself back against his bed and buried his face in the pillow.
The last thing that he remembered as he sobbed himself back to sleep, as his best mate awkwardly walked away, was that Ron Weasley had both his legs.
∞
