Wherein the Dark Lord gets too angry for his own good, Harry learns bad news; Hermione learns good news; Harry and Hermione make a spectacle of themselves; Ron and Harry have a brotherly chat; Harry's year is tested; Mad-Eye has some advice; Neville awards points; Hermione learns something important; Shak teaches wandless magic; Slughorn has a contest; Ron and the Prince form a winning combination; Malfoy confronts Ron; and Death Eaters commit murder most foul.
Thanks to betas Mark Gardiner, Shane, and Janshi.
Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.
Chapter 48 - All Time Best
The Dark Lord was disappointed - very disappointed. "Wormtail … Wormtail … Wormtail…. What am I to do with you? I give you a mission for which you are uniquely well suited. I even deign to provide you with special training. And yet you fail…."
"My Lord! The werewolf - I beat him," Pettigrew pleaded.
"SILENCE!" Lord Voldemort roared. "Speak only when I give you permission! CRUCIO!!"
The ex-Marauder squealed in agony as the Cruciatus Curse made him feel like his blood boiled in his veins. After seconds that seemed like hours, the Dark Lord ended the curse.
"Did you kill Lupin?" the Dark Lord demanded.
"N-N-No, but I beat him…."
"I have Death Eaters, not Death Beaters, you abject, pitiful failure!" the Dark Lord roared. "He will recover - he's a werewolf. What can I do? I task you to find the Potters' bodies. All you tell me is that they have vanished. I order you at least to record their magical signatures. You can't even complete that poor substitute. CRUCIO!!"
Again the minuscule, balding wizard's face contorted in agony as his nerve endings writhed as if bathed in battery acid. The Dark Lord waited even longer, this time, before ending the curse.
On his hands and knees, panting heavily, and barely aware of his surroundings, Wormtail choked out, "Master. I made - a discovery…. The boy, and the Mudblood, are together…. They're…."
The Dark Lord purpled in rage. "Silence, you pathetic bumbler! Was your mission to go frolicking through Hogwarts? I have other ways to get whatever I want from under Dumbledore's nose! Next time, tell me something I haven't already read in the Prophet! CRUCIO!!"
Cast adrift for a third time on an ocean of raging agony, Peter Pettigrew went into convulsions before lapsing into unconsciousness. The Dark Lord took his frustration at the rat Animagus' deficient performance one step up the chain.
"SNAPE!"
Uneasily, the former Hogwarts Potions master stepped forward, dropped to his knees and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. "Yes, My Lord."
"As you recall, I placed this runt of a wizard in your hands to try to make something useful out of him," Lord Voldemort hissed.
"You did, indeed," Snape answered.
"You have quite evidently failed," the Dark Lord remonstrated. "You have been too soft. He remains undisciplined."
"I will endeavor to be stricter."
As the Dark Lord pointed his wand at him, Snape knew what was coming. He took it without flinching.
"CRUCIO!!"
As rigid and unfeeling as he was, even Snape was no match for his Master's Cruciatus. Within seconds he, too, was screaming aloud and rolling on the floor as it seemed like every nerve in his body had been ripped out and replaced with red-hot barbed wire. The last thing he saw before being overwhelmed by the all-encompassing wave of pain was Bellatrix Lestrange leering at him.
Lazily, the Dark Lord ended his latest curse. "Now go," he spat, "and take your worthless charge with you."
With alacrity Snape did precisely as ordered. He enervated Pettigrew, gave him a kick in the backside, and left his Master's presence as fast as possible without seeming to be in undue haste.
As they were leaving, Pettigrew shuddered with a sudden realisation. His fate was sealed.
"Keep moving, damn you," Snape sneered at him under his breath.
Pettigrew kept moving. He could do nothing else.
But he understood that the secret he still held, he could never reveal to any Death Eater under any circumstances. He had just withheld information - that Potter and Granger were not just together, but in fact secretly engaged to be married - from the Dark Lord. Granted, Lord Voldemort had not been inclined to hear what he had wanted to say, but that did not matter.
If he ever learned, the Dark Lord would not hear of any excuses. He would only remember the failure of his servant to tell him the whole truth. The Dark Lord would consider it treason.
There was only one punishment for treason - slow, lingering, and gruesome death. He had seen the Dark Lord cut other unfortunate followers literally to bits for transgressions far less serious than his. He did not wish to follow in those footsteps. Peter Pettigrew was a weak, snivelling excuse for a wizard, and he knew that.
That was how he had become a Death Eater.
But neither was he stupid.
Whenever he could, Pettigrew had observed the Dark Lord's behaviour - literally for months. The details he neither knew nor wanted to know, but he his intuition was that what he had just withheld from his Master was somehow linked to the first prophecy. What he knew for certain was that the Master spent great deal of time ruminating over precisely that prognostication.
Lord Voldemort could never know that Peter Pettigrew had kept this information from him.
Or else the betrayer of the Potters would die. Pettigrew had spent most of his life simply trying to avoid dying. In that, at least, he had been successful.
* * * *
Hermione was up early. She had to be. Distracted by the unavoidable business with Rita Skeeter, and then by her attraction to Harry's magnetic presence, she had forgotten about the letter from Tonks. She rediscovered it only when getting ready for bed.
What she read made her jaw drop. She kicked herself for not remembering earlier.
She would have to tell Harry.
It would not be pleasant.
Thus, when Harry trundled down the stairs from his dormitory the next morning, almost immediately he found himself face-to-face with his new fiancée - and she was as nervous as he could remember.
"We need to talk," she said, "in private."
Harry thought he had resolved those sorts of issues yesterday. His face fell. He had said he wanted his "best friend's" consent. Had she thought it over and thought better of their being together?
Hermione knew the worried look on her fiancé's face. `You're right, it's bad news,' she Legilimenced him.
"You … you changed your mind?" he mumbled out loud. "I was afraid it was too good to be true."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat and her stomach lurched as she saw Harry's forlorn face and dull, lifeless eyes. "Oh, Merlin, not that!" Hermione squealed. "Don't you ever think that for one minute…."
She grabbed him by the arm and practically pulled Harry to the back of the common room. She Alohamoraed an inconspicuous door between the girls and boys stairways and hustled Harry inside. It was the linen closet for the dormitories, not even two metres square. A couple of surprised house-elves gave simultaneous squeaks before vanishing.
Without pausing even to lock or soundproof the door, Hermione grabbed Harry by the tie and gave him as vigorous a kiss as she could muster.
When she surfaced for air, Hermione started in. "Never think that thought again…." Then she heard a soft thud behind them. She yanked out her wand and cast, "Atramentum." A stream of dark liquid splattered through and about the keyhole in the door. They heard someone yelp, "Ack, my eye," on the other side.
"Honestly," she said, shaking her head. "Can't they leave us be for one minute?"
Hermione quickly performed charms that locked the door and Imperturbed the room.
"It's Remus," she told him. "I received a note from Tonks. He was on some sort of stake-out for the Order. Death Eaters ambushed him. They think Pettigrew was involved, but they don't…."
She saw unmistakable signs of fear in Harry's eyes, and realised how often he had been on the receiving end of even worse news. She had to cut to the chase. "He's not dead, but he's badly hurt."
She could almost sense Harry pulling himself together at the news that Lupin still lived. "I need to see him, then," were the first words out of his mouth.
"Tonks' note says you can't," Hermione stated as she handed him the folded-up piece of parchment. "He's not conscious. They had to take him somewhere secret. St. Mungo's doesn't admit werewolves…."
That last bit of information induced Harry's furious look.
"Harry, you know I agree with you.… At least they have him safe and stable, but you're just too high profile," Hermione continued as Harry followed along, reading the note. "The effort to get you there would risk Remus' security, and there's nothing you could do at this point anyway. It's not at all like my situation. This is not your fault…."
Harry sighed. For once, he had to agree. He knew that Remus Lupin regularly risked his life chasing Voldemort's finances for the Order. "All right then," he agreed. With a semi-smile on his face, he added. "So, are you up for some more snogging?"
"Harry," she half-heartedly protested. "We really do have to get to breakfast, you know."
But she made no immediate move to undo her previous spells.
* * * *
The beginning to their first school day as a declared (if not yet altogether official) couple was tumultuous, but not altogether unexpected. Escorted by Ron and a phalanx of supportive Gryffindors, Harry and Hermione rather bashfully made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.
So far, so good.
So far did not last for so long.
The morning's post began trickling in. Several owls, all bearing identical Gringotts insignia, descended on several of the Gryffindors - including Hermione and Ron - but without a corresponding owl for Harry. He feigned disinterest until he saw his two best friends exchanging concerned glances. Harry was so busy watching Hermione that he never noticed Neville and Ginny both receiving similar letters.
None of them noticed another Gringotts owl landing at the Ravenclaw table.
And nobody bothered with the unfamiliar bird - not even an owl - that parked itself in front of Draco Malfoy.
When Ron saw Harry staring, he responded with an almost imperceptible nod. Harry could stand it no longer. "So whatcha got?" he asked Ron calmly.
"Umm…," Ron fell into a confused and uncomfortable silence.
"Umm…, just an…." The discomfort in Hermione's voice was manifest, but ultimately she could not allow herself to keep a secret from her fiancé. `Oh, Harry, it's a summons to the formal reading of Sirius' will this Saturday,' she Legilimenced to him.
Ron looked back and forth between the couple, aware that something had transpired between them, but not sure what.
Harry mouthed, `Sirius' at him, and Ron nodded.
"Don't worry, then," Harry dismissed things with artificial cheeriness. "My mail's being screened. I'm sure I'll get mine soon enough. Saturday, eh?"
His friends nodded, and Harry let them go back to reading their post. A very short time later another swarm of delivery owls brought copies of the morning's Daily Prophet to the paper's numerous Hogwarts subscribers.
With his friends thus distracted, Harry was amongst the first to notice the edition's banner headline.
DARK LORD DETHRONED BY MUGGLE-BORN
GRANGER SETS NEW ALL-TIME O.W.L. MARK
Hermione remained preoccupied by her Gringotts letter and was oblivious as eye after eye - and not just at the Gryffindor table - turned in her direction. Simultaneously, a buzz of tense conversation spread across the Great Hall.
`Hermione,' Harry Legilimenced. There was no immediate response.
"Ehm … Hermione," he said aloud. That got her attention.
"I think you need to see this," he told her quietly, and he showed her the headline.
"Oh … damn," she fretted as she comprehended what had happened. "Let me see that." Harry handed her the paper.
"Bloody Hell, that was subtle of them!" Ron blurted with considerably more fire in his voice.
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…," Hermione muttered as she read the article. "He'll only be goaded into more killing. No good can come of announcing it like this."
She may have been right - but at the same time she was wrong.
Soon all of conversation in the Great Hall stopped as Deputy Headmistress McGonagall strode to the high table's lectern and cleared her throat audibly. Whilst breakfast announcements were fairly common, they usually involved some professor's last-minute course change. For the Headmaster or the Deputy Headmaster to speak at the morning meal was rare. The last such instance had been the revelation of Harry's return to Hogwarts.
"I do not often comment on stories appearing in the press," McGonagall began earnestly, "especially at our morning meal. But this instance warrants an exception. For once the Prophet has not exaggerated the import of recent events. The recent Astronomy retake results were released yesterday evening. Both as a member of the Hogwarts staff and as Head of Gryffindor House, it gives me great pleasure to announce that one of our own, Miss Hermione Granger, achieved sufficiently excellent marks to carry her to the apex of academic history. Her total O.W.L.-averaged marks are indeed the highest ever - and the previous holder of that record was indeed Thomas Riddle, Hogwarts class of 1945, who is now known as He Who Must Not Be Named."
Minerva McGonagall looked down from the lectern at Hermione. The Deputy Headmistress sported the broadest smile that anyone in her audience could ever recall her displaying during her tenure.
"Splendid. Very well done indeed."
Professor McGonagall's words faded away, leaving for a moment resounding silence in the Great Hall. Then, from the Ravenclaw table, came the sound of applause. Soon the applause spread to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff and began building to a crescendo. Even Daphne Greengrass and a smattering of other Slytherins joined in - although the majority of those bearing green and silver insignia remained stonily silent.
`Stand up, Hermione,' Harry Legilimenced to the stunned girl sitting next to him, `you've earned every bit of this.'
Weak at the knees, and with silent tears streaming down her face, Hermione reluctantly complied. For a few seconds that felt like forever, she stood there acknowledging the ovation from both the staff and students of the school. Just when she felt that she was about to keel over from emotion, she felt Harry's presence by her side.
"Hold onto me," she whispered to him, her voice cracking. "I'm afraid I'll faint."
She felt one of his strong, warm arms slide around her waist, steadying her - and drawing her quite close to him. His other hand resolutely held hers. At that moment, she knew what she was going to do.
The situation reminded her of when Harry had burnt down the Auror Situation Room. She had been woozy then, and Harry had held her close - perhaps even closer than now - to support her. She had considered kissing him. She had wanted to kiss him. But because of the audience, she had not.
Hermione now knew that, if she had acted then, Harry's own suppressed feelings would have surfaced. Almost two months of horror, pain, and misery could have been avoided.
She would not let a second chance pass her by.
"Harry," she said breathlessly. "Look at me."
As her beaming fiancé turned towards her, she reached her free hand around and brought it to the back of his neck.
Then she snogged him - properly - in front of everyone in the Great Hall. His eyes widened in shock, but in an instant Harry's feelings for her overcame his inherent shyness, and he started to kiss her back. There they stood, pressed into one another and holding on for dear life.
The applause only grew louder - and especially raucous at the Gryffindor table - as the other students comprehended what the two were doing. Whistles and shouted comments soon contributed to the general din. For the moment, however, Harry and Hermione ignored everything save each other.
Their public display of affection cost them each five House Points (Professor McGonagall was in a charitable mood), but it was well worth it. Not only had they disclosed their romance to the world with appropriate panache, but it saved them both the burden of having to explain their new relationship repeatedly.
As they exited the Great Hall, Ron sidled up to the hand-holding couple. "Well, mates, I guess you won't have to worry about this one at least." He pointed to a small story on page two of the Prophet that they had missed in all the excitement. The headline read, Has the Chosen One Chosen? Beneath it was a short story - without byline - describing "persistent rumours out of Hogwarts" that the two of them were romantically linked.
"No, I guess we won't," Hermione remarked with a sigh. "But it was worth it."
Harry had the morning off from classes, whilst Hermione's more crowded academic schedule began with Arithmancy. After walking her to Professor Vector's hexagonally shaped classroom located at the base of the Astronomy Tower, Harry and Ron were left at loose ends.
Harry had planned to revise for his Arithmancy for Poets class the next day, but his resolve faded as he fell into easy conversation with his best mate. At length they found themselves in one of the Castle's numerous interior courtyards. Ron draped himself over a bench in the sunlit corner of the square, and Harry slouched next to his friend.
"Harry, when we get back to the Tower, remind me I've got something I've been meaning to give you back," Ron told him.
"What's that?" Harry asked lazily.
"Your Firebolt," Ron replied. "It's not like I need it for Quidditch anymore, now that you've supplied the whole bloody school. I don't even need it for a personal broom, now that that Rabatin bloke's going to send me one of his new Nimbus 2XXXs."
"He offered me one of those, too," Harry informed his friend. "Wants me to change the Hogwarts teams over to his brand. I told him I'd think about it."
"All he asked me for was an endorsement if I liked how the broom flew," Ron explained. "Sort of boggles the mind, don't it? Imagine anyone buying anything on my say so."
"You're pretty damn good at Quidditch," Harry reminded. "I suppose that figures into it."
"Bloody right I am," Ron agreed, his chest swelling with pride. "I am the King. Anyway, I thought you'd want your Firebolt back no matter what, considering who gave it to you, but I decided not to bring it up whilst … well, you know."
"Not a bad idea, actually," Harry sighed as he recalled those dark days. "After what I'd done to Hermione, and really I didn't need a reminder of how I'd gotten him killed too."
"She didn't die, Harry," Ron reminded him. "You saved her, and now you get your reward."
"She saved me first," Harry added. "She came for me exactly when I thought everything was hopeless…." Harry's voice trailed off as his eyes took on a faraway look.
"That's what she does, alright," Ron allowed. "It was brilliant the way she figured everything out. Brilliant - but scary. I was convinced she was dead."
"I still can't believe she loves me," Harry said whilst shaking his head. "I don't deserve her, you know. She shouldn't have to put up with all the aggravation - all of the danger."
"You told me not too long ago that she'd hex me if she heard what I said about her," Ron reminded his friend. "I'd say you're moving foursquare into that same territory."
"You're right, Ron. I've already been down that road, and she wouldn't hear of it," Harry admitted as he lapsed into companionable silence.
After the pause had persisted for some time, Ron again said vaguely, "So, you and Hermione, eh? Long time coming, I figure."
"Yup, me and Hermione … I like the sound of that," Harry cracked a half smile.
"She doesn't have any brothers and sisters, does she?" Ron asked after another pregnant pause.
"Nope, she's an only child," Harry stated. "I thought you knew that."
"Just checking. I suppose a best friend's gonna have to do then," Ron remarked, drawing himself up from his sprawl and regarding Harry more closely. "I'd have expected nothing less from you if our roles were reversed…. Hah!" he scoffed. "Like that was ever possible."
"You'd expect what about what?" Harry inquired as uncertainty crossed his face. He was unsure what Ron was on about.
"Harry," Ron said, now looking unblinkingly at his friend. "I reckoned I would be delivering this message to you sooner or later, so I've been thinking about it. Until last year, though, I didn't think it would be on behalf of Hermione."
"What message is that?" Harry asked.
"The message a big brother is supposed to give someone like you," Ron replied flatly. "Which was how I reckoned I'd be delivering it, actually. You've just told me how much you know Hermione loves you. The more important question is, are you sure that you love her just as much?"
"With all my heart," Harry willingly confirmed. "I've never had anyone else to love, you know that - well - not really…. Not who lived, anyway."
"I'm not so sure," Ron countered, "but that's really not important anymore - only Hermione is. I know what you'll be doing, at the end of the day, because I did it too not so long ago. I just want you to know that, if you hurt her, you'll have to answer to me."
Harry gave Ron a surprised look. The look he got back was deadly serious.
"Big brothers have to lay down the law to their sisters' boyfriends," Ron continued. "Hermione doesn't have one, so I'll just have to do. If you shag her and leave her, I want you to know that prophecy or no prophecy, I'll come after you. She's my best friend too, and if you hurt her, I swear I'll hurt you twice as bad. I'd expect no less from you if it was me."
"Ron, I'd never…. You have to believe me," Harry spluttered.
"You'd better not." Then he added, "Ginny would be after you too, and if you know better, you'd rather me pound you than end up on the receiving end of some of her hexes."
"Neither of you has anything to worry about," Harry reassured. "All I want to do is spend the rest of my life with her - however much time that might be."
That declaration drew a reaction from Ron. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he retreated. "All I wanted to make sure was that you're serious. I wasn't talking about bloody forever and ever. We're not that old. We're not supposed to be thinking that way."
"Well, I am," Harry replied, with a new, determined look in his eye. "I can't see anyone else ever making me feel the way she does. She's saved my life I don't know how many times. She's damn well earned the right to spend as much of my life with me as she wants."
Ron gave Harry a quizzical look. "Harry, is there something more here - still - than meets the eye? Do you have anything more you need to tell me?"
"So what if there is?" Harry shot back. "I know we're young. She's told me that herself. But Voldemort's sort of forced me to grow up faster than normal - forced all of us actually. Yes, Ron, there really…."
Ron cut across Harry. "You've … you … you declared for her, didn't you?"
Harry fought through the interruption, until he heard what Ron had said. "That's right Ron, I…. What's this `declared' business?"
"It's what you rich wizards do," Ron started explaining, "formally declaring their intention to court girls that they fancy like you just said. A declaration means that, unless something drastically doesn't work out, their intentions are serious, and everything, including marriage, is on the table. It's usually not done until Seventh Year, though. But you've never really let age stop you before now. Why should girls be any different from Seeking or the Triwizard Tournament, I reckon?"
Harry had been on the verge of telling Ron about their engagement, but when he heard Ron's description, he decided to leave well enough alone. "I'd never heard about that, but I'd say that's about right" he allowed. "A declaration it was, then…." The statement was true, but hardly complete.
"Well, you leapfrogged me again," Ron responded, not quite looking Harry in the eye. "Muggle raised or not, you certainly have everything else it takes to declare for Hermione. I just hope I get the chance someday - with Cho, I mean."
The mention of Cho caused Harry to take a deep breath, but Ron never noticed. "Hell, you're still light years ahead of me," Harry told his friend. "I mean, we haven't done anything yet - only snogged."
"Yeah, but that'll change soon enough, mate, I'm sure," Ron affirmed, shaking his head. "You've got what it takes, and her parents are Muggles anyway. I don't have the Galleons it would take to get away declaring for Cho - especially since she's a year ahead and all. I just hope I get up the nerve some day. It'd have to be the luckiest day of my life to pull something like that off."
Harry got an idea. "Don't tell Hermione this yet, because I haven't," he began in an air of confidence. "But I'm thinking about asking her about getting matching tattoos - you know - sort of to symbolise how long we expect to be together…."
Of course, Harry never had the slightest intention of doing that - but he hoped Ron might take that bait.
He did.
"I dunno, Harry. You might be surprised. Cho's got a couple of tattoos. Shocked me the first time I saw them. They're not exactly in plain sight, you know."
"Oi, too much information," Harry mock protested. Actually, he had just learnt exactly what he wanted to know.
"Eh, not to worry," Ron shrugged. "One of them's family - she told me that. The other one - I dunno. Come to think of it, maybe it's something to do with Cedric. Merlin knows, you never got far enough."
"That's quite enough, Ron," Harry said bracingly, feigning annoyance. "Anyway, I need to get moving. Hermione's Advanced Arithmancy class will be over soon, and we want to do some revising."
Harry said this without a trace of levity, causing Ron to raise his eyebrows.
"You really mean that, don't you?" Ron asked him.
"Umm - yeah, I think so," Harry answered in all seriousness.
"Dammit, Harry, you're supposed to corrupt her, not the other way around," Ron told his friend. "She's always been weird that way, but you…. Actually intending to study with a girlfriend - a declared one at that. She's a bad influence on you."
* * * *
After lunch, double Transfiguration held yet more surprises. Professor McGonagall collected everyone's four-foot essays on the six most prominent stumbling blocks to performing cross-kingdom Transfiguration. But the practical lesson did not follow. Instead of going over the details of turning butterflies into buttercups and then into butterscotch, the professor announced that there would be a slight change in the course plan.
"Class, you may put away your copies of Transfiguration of Living Things," she told them. "Given the situation - outside the walls - the Headmaster has asked that I invert the lesson plan a bit. Instead of waiting until much later in the Term, we are going to test all of you for possible Animagus potential today. Don't be surprised or offended if you fail to show such attributes. It is really quite rare. There have only been seven Ministry-registered Animagi this century, and you are looking at one of them."
With that, Professor McGonagall transformed herself into a tabby cat and back again.
"What you just saw is an Animagus transformation. An Animagus transformation must not be confused with ordinary human to animal Transfiguration. Ordinary Transfiguration is non-specific. It changes the subject not only into an animal's form, but also leaves the subject with an animal's brain. Thus for any of you individually, ordinary human to animal Transfiguration is a one-way ticket. Transfigure yourself into an animal and you won't have the intellect to Retransfigure yourself. Once Transfigured, any wizard loses the capacity for intelligent action. An Animagus, on the other hand, retains a large portion of human mental capacity whilst in animal form. This is highly advanced magic, based upon uncommon inherent talents."
"As you just saw, the Animagus transformation is a form of wandless magic. Rather than directing magic outward, the Animagus focusses his or her magic inward - bringing about a shift in one's own shape. As with Apparition, there is no incantation. It is, however, possible to force an Animagus to retransform involuntarily into his or her original form. The caster in such a case must already be familiar with the Animagus' animal shape, as the spell has no effect upon ordinary animals, magical or otherwise. That spell, however, is post-N.E.W.T. magic and is not part of the Hogwarts curriculum, so don't expect to be learning it."
"Also an Animagus' human form often translates into a similar animal form. For example, my feline form retains markings around the eyes that correspond to my own spectacles. Look closely."
Professor McGonagall transformed again, but more slowly this time, to allow her students time to observe.
"A skilled Animagus can transform whilst retaining clothing, spectacles, and so forth. The great majority of you, perhaps even all, will not exhibit any such ability. Nonetheless we must remain careful. As with Apparition, accidents are frequent among inexperienced Animagi, and these can involve loss of or damage to clothing. Thus, we are splitting the class by sex. All of the witches will come with me, whilst you wizards will stay here and be reviewed by former Professor Moody, whom I have enlisted to assist in this evaluation."
Hermione and the other girls were whisked away to an ordinarily vacant classroom down the hall. But before Harry could reseat himself with Ron and the other Gryffindors, Mad-Eye Moody stumped into view.
"You're crazy," Draco Malfoy stated flatly.
"True enough, but I'm on Hogwarts grounds fer the moment, so yeh've nothing ta worry yer fuzzy blond head on that score," Mad-Eye answered with a touch of threat in his voice. "And yeh of all people can't dispute my experience in human ta animal transformations."
Moody obviously knew all about his imposter's ferret incident. His response neatly shut up Malfoy and quelled any other doubters.
What followed was boring.
Due to the school's privacy concerns, only one person could be tested at a time. None of the students were supposed to learn of the Animagus tendencies of their classmates. Thus everyone else sat around doing nothing as one by one they were called into yet another room and tested.
After lolling about with Ron and muttering about the real or perceived sins of the Slytherins for the better part of an hour, Harry was called into the actual examination room.
As soon as he closed the door, Mad-Eye said with a satisfied sigh, "Finally, I get ta the real reason for this charade. Here, Harry, let me coat yer arm with this Polyzooate Potion."
"What do you mean, charade?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"I mean the only real reason fer conducting all these tests now is ta `discover' yer ability. Then Dumbledore has excuse he needs ta tip yeh fer proper Animagus training," Mad-Eye explained. "Yeh heard McGonagall. Animagus ability is rare … not as rare as the Ministry's register would lead yeh ta believe, but rare enough. Beyond yer benefit, Dumbledore wants ta test Granger - and we need ta know that there ain't nobody else walking about this Castle with hidden Animagus abilities. Constant vigilance, yeh know. Summat like that could jeopardise the security of the school. Now, here, gimme yer arm."
Harry complied but not without asking the key question. "What does Hermione have to do with this?"
"We're not positive," Moody replied in a deliberately even voice. "But her Healers think there's a chance that the Sacrifice of the Phoenix that saved her life might have manifested in this way. We don't know fer sure, at least not yet. I'm sure she'll tell yeh whatever she finds out, now that yeh're - together - I'm sorry, Harry…."
"Sorry for what?" the boy asked.
"Remus told me afore he got hurt … Hell, he was supposed ta do this afore he came out second best in his latest encounter with the Deaters, on account of his knowing more about this sorta transformation. He said he used my example when he told yeh not ta do what yeh went ahead and did anyway. Anyways, I don't think…."
"What happened to Remus?" Harry could not help but asking, whilst they were on this subject.
"The Order wants it kept quiet," Mad-Eye began, "but as yer guardian, I thinks yeh have the right ta know. Briefly, he was caught unawares whilst hoping ta catch some Deaters sniffing about what had been yer parents' graves. From his injuries, we're pretty sure bloody Wormtail was one of `em."
"Shite," Harry spat. "If I hadn't pushed Dumbledore with my damn questions, this would never…."
"Put a cork in it," Mad-Eye interrupted forcefully. "Yeh only learnt summat that should never have been hid from yeh in the first place. Besides, that wasn't about yeh, anyway."
"It wasn't?" Harry gulped. "But they were my…."
"They were his best friends, and don't yeh ferget that," Mad-Eye cut Harry off. "Friendship's bloody important. Remus did what he did fer them, not fer yeh. I'd wager yeh'd do the same if they'd killed yer mates. I don't want ta see yeh moping about feeling guilty fer his sake. I'm just relieved I don't have more ta feel guilty about myself."
"How so?" Harry asked.
Mad-Eye smiled a twisted half smile, happy that he had steered the conversation to where he wanted it. "Yeh must think Remus gave yeh horrible advice last week," the old man continued. "And yer probably right about that. Yeh don't want ta use me as an example fer yer own life, Harry. My choices t'ain't so good. Neither are his, when yeh think about it. He should never have presumed ta advise yeh on summat he didn't know beans about. In any event, yeh did just the opposite. And that's all fer the good. It's one of the most significant steps that a person can take."
"Actually, I didn't think that advice was bad at all," Harry responded. "I was set to follow it…."
"Ain't that a fine kettle of fish," Mad-Eye growled. "But…."
"Hermione thought it was rubbish, though," Harry quickly added, "and in the end her opinion won out. She can be - very persuasive."
"Harry, sometimes I wish I could've been more like yeh," Mad-Eye replied, his own eyes looking uncharacteristically weary. "But life's life." Then he got back to business. "Well let's get this over with, then."
"Just what are you going to do to me?" Harry asked, warily if not wearily.
"Same as with everyone else. This Polyzooate Potion…," he pointed to a bubbling cauldron full of a sludgy substance that looked even less appetising than Polyjuice Potion, "…will facilitate self-Transfiguration inta any animal form that yeh can become. We know yeh can do it - yeh've been diagnosed. With yeh, we first want ta suss out exactly what yeh can become and how easily yeh can do it, if yeh can, in a non-emergency situation. Since yeh already know how ta Apparate, fortunately everything's easier."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Well, with Apparition, yeh more or less will yerself from place ta place ta place. An Animagus transformation ain't all that much different. Yeh're just willing yerself from form ta form. I heard tell from Remus that Sirius was always a natural, but yer father and that bleeding rat never really got the hang of it 'till they learnt Apparition."
Throughout his explanation, Mad-Eye used a brush to coat Harry's bare left arm with the glutinous potion. When he was done, he told Harry, "Now, I want yeh ta concentrate on yer arm, like yeh would fer Apparition, but instead of trying ta change yer location, try just as hard ta change the form."
Harry bore down and concentrated. At first nothing happened - except for beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Mad-Eye applied a little more of the potion and gave the boy a mirror with which to concentrate on his reflection. The next time it happened. Harry's arm started to shimmer. Then brownish gold hair sprouted all along its length. The form began to shift. The mirror dropped from his hand and shattered on the floor.
From the effort, Harry let out a huge groan. At that moment his left arm completely transformed into a large paw sporting sharp, retractable claws.
"I don't believe it!" Harry cried. "I did it!"
"Yeh damn sure did!" Mad-Eye echoed, his magical eye almost whirling about in its socket. "Unless I miss my guess, yer Animagus form's that of a Golden Griffin. That's more than appropriate. Another name fer the Golden Griffin is `Gryffin d'or' - which English has corrupted from the French."
"You really mean that?" Harry replied breathlessly, hardly believing his ears.
"I'd never have yeh on about summat like this," Mad-Eye replied earnestly. "Humour's really not my long suit. Anyways, the complete form would be the body of a lion, with the same colour fur yeh're showing right now, the head of an eagle, and bright red wings…. Not exactly the best form fer fighting, but yeh run what yeh brung, I figure. I'm told the only thing yeh haven't transformed yet is the head. Thus, I can't say this result was unexpected."
"It's sure unexpected to me," Harry stated, his head still spinning. He was a Golden Griffin - a true Gryffindor. "What now?"
"Yeh get training with Professor McGonagall," Mad-Eye told him. "Whenever and whatever yeh and she agree upon. And don't worry about time. I sure yeh've already got a rather full plate. I'm just as sure McGonagall will be quite happy to let yeh use a Time-Turner given yer schedule. Learn yer form, but don't fall too in love with it. Remember, yeh'll be pretty damn conspicuous when yer like that."
Whilst students were free to go after their tests were complete, Harry waited for Hermione. Whilst he waited, Neville returned from his session with Mad-Eye. "How'd it go?" Harry asked him.
"Complete waste of time and effort," Neville replied, rolling his eyes. "I could have told them ahead of time I had no Animagus talents whatever."
"Plants rather than animals, eh?" Harry replied.
"About right," Neville said tersely. "How about you?"
"Umm, I don't know if I'm supposed to talk about it," Harry answered.
"I'll take that as a yes," Neville said with a nod. "I've heard tell that your dad was one. Just remember, much is expected from those to whom much is given. I hope you hung the banner I gave you someplace proper. Now give me that rucksack of books behind you, will you?"
"Sure," Harry answered whilst turning to get it. "Here you go."
He hefted the heavy rucksack to Neville, who grunted as he shouldered it. "Thanks, Harry - and, by the way, forty points to Gryffindor for assisting a Prefect."
"What!?" Harry said in an amazed voice, "I didn't do anything worth forty points. I don't want you to get in troub…."
"Oh, yes you did," Neville said whilst silencing Harry's protest. "Just not right now. Remember, I promised you the points - and I try always to keep my promises." Neville winked at Harry and departed.
All alone in the waiting room, it took Harry a while before figuring out what Neville had done, and why.
By the time Hermione returned to Professor McGonagall's classroom, Harry was practically bursting at the seams.
"Hermione, guess what…?" he started before he really focussed on her expression. Her robes were poorly fastened. A green T-shirt with the slogan "Well-behaved women rarely make history" showed through the gaps. She was plainly and visibly troubled. "Er … what is it?" he continued in a much gentler tone of voice.
She slumped into his arms in the otherwise deserted classroom. "Oh, Merlin, Harry, I'm not sure - what I am - anymore."
He whispered in her ear, his breath brushing her now not-so-bushy brown hair. "You're what I want, that's what - no matter what." He pulled her into a fierce hug, which she promptly converted into a needy kiss.
Matters progressed until they were sufficiently wrapped up with one another as not to hear the door behind them open and Professor McGonagall emerge. "Mister Potter! Miss Granger! Unless you wish to lose more House Points for public displays of affection, I'd strongly suggest that you adjourn to a more private locale."
Red faced, the two broke apart and, holding hands only, set out for Gryffindor Tower.
"I don't believe her," Hermione huffily declared.
"Just ignore it," Harry advised. "That's what you always tell me. She could have been worse. At least she warned us before deducting points."
"Warned us?" Hermione replied, her eyebrows arched. "She didn't warn us. She didn't even tell us to stop - not really. Effectively, she told us to get a room. That's what I don't believe."
Harry said nothing in return. But replaying what had happened, he convinced himself that - once again - Hermione was right.
Hermione, though, was something else - still upset. Harry waited until they returned to Gryffindor Tower before trying to learn why. Fortunately the common room was deserted. Their housemates were still in class, and nobody else who had finished Animagus testing had returned to the Tower.
"What's wrong, Hermione? What happened?" he asked as soon as they were seated in the sofa nearest the fire.
"I'm … I'm something, but even McGonagall isn't sure what," she declared.
Harry moved around behind his fiancée and wrapped his arms around her. "What kind of something?"
"A … a phoenix, but not an Animagus, per se," she recounted shakily. "The potion worked and produced phoenix feathers on my arm, but not gradually - the way it should if it was identifying Animagus ability. Instead, the transformation was instantaneous. It's not an Animagus reaction; it's more like I have an alter ego, almost a Doppelgänger, without anything evil. When Fawkes became part of me, our identities more or less merged. At least that's what Professor McGonagall thinks, but even she's working with little more than speculation."
"So … you're a phoenix, you're saying?" Harry asked.
"Sort of," she admitted. Tears came to her eyes. "Oh, Harry, can you even think about loving someone who's - part animal."
Once again he found himself whispering in her ear. "Hermione, I just learned I'm a Golden Griffin Animagus. That almost makes me part animal too. Trust me; this only makes you even more extraordinary in my eyes. Frankly, I think I can't not love you."
Startled, she gave him a raised eyebrows sort of look. "Oh, very smooth, Harry. You're catching on. Sometimes, I don't know what I did to deserve you. I must have been very, very good in some previous life."
"Trust me, you're very good in this one," Harry answered.
"Even better, Harry," Hermione said appraisingly. "That one's enough to deserve a kiss".
He needed no more prompting. He released her. She turned around. Their lips met in a soft, languorous joining. Neither of them tried to push it any further, since someone could walk in at any time. For the moment, they lost themselves in each other, creating a mutual refuge from the rest of the world.
Then, abruptly, Harry pulled away, a haunted gleam in his eye.
"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, disconcerted by his sudden movement and mood swing.
Harry put his hands on both her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye, a very serious - almost sombre - expression on his face. He said urgently, "Hermione, I know you try to excel at everything, but I want, I need, you to work really hard with McGonagall at mastering that phoenix transformation…. As hard as you've ever worked at anything in your life."
"Of course I will, Harry," she replied taken rather aback, "you know I always do. But what's the urgency? I'd expect you to do the same."
"No, this is different," he whispered, "so different, it's a matter of life and death. In the Ministry - after you were almost killed - I went looking for Lestrange to avenge her murdering Sirius. I found her, but Voldemort turned up too. I would have died, except Dumbledore took over and duelled Voldemort to keep him from killing me. Voldemort shot all sorts of Killing Curses at Dumbledore. One would have gotten him, except it was intercepted by Fawkes!"
Hermione expected more, but Harry's breathless narrative ceased.
"And…?" she prompted him to continue.
"Don't you see?" Harry responded. "Fawkes got hit by a Killing Curse!"
"And…?" Hermione repeated, before a look of shocked comprehension spread over her own face. She answered her own question. "And Fawkes didn't die…."
"Yes! That's it, Hermione!" Harry almost shouted. "That curse forced Fawkes through a burning, but he didn't die. And in your phoenix form, I'll bet that Avada Kedavra couldn't kill you either!" At that point Harry's tone lowered distinctly, and he was only half looking at her. "I need you to live, Hermione - more than anything in the world. That's why I want you to master the transformation … learn everything McGonagall can teach you. It could … probably will, some day, save your life. If it saves your life, it probably keeps me from setting myself off again."
"You sound really sure about this," Hermione observed. "In that case I absolutely, positively will!" With that, they embraced, rocking back and forth silently, until eventually Hermione spoke. "It's not … not McGonagall though," she mumbled.
"Huh?" Harry mumbled back.
"It's not Professor McGonagall who'll be teaching me," Hermione repeated. "It's Dumbledore. It's not Animagus training - it's more like phoenix training, and the Headmaster knows more about phoenixes than anyone."
"True, but I don't trust him very much," Harry replied flatly. "Not after everything that's happened."
"I still think he has your best interests at heart," Hermione indicated, "but also his own agenda. We just have to make sure to tell each other what he's up to, and confirm what he's up to when we can."
"Yeah, I suppose," Harry replied slowly. "Trust but verify - I heard that someplace…. Oh, and Hermione, I want you to keep the Invisibility Cloak you borrowed whilst I was missing. It's something else I really want you to have. I know it's saved my life before."
"But … didn't you lose your other one when you were kidnapped?" Hermione asked hesitantly. "However much I need it, you need it more."
"I'm getting a new one through the Twins," Harry told her. "They keep asking me to visit their new Hogsmeade shop - for pay. I keep telling them no. We finally agreed that they could replace my Invisibility Cloak rather than pay me. Merlin knows, I don't need anymore Galleons."
* * * *
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had double Defence every Tuesday after lunch. Promptly at one in the afternoon, Shak came bustling into the defence classroom.
"All right class, wands out and books away," he told them. "Today's a practical session. Probably one of the most practical lessons you'll ever have. Everyone, away from your desks."
The sounds of chairs scraping across the floor followed as the entire class complied. With a wave of his wand Shak vanished all of the furniture in the room.
"Professor?" Hermione said as she raised her hand. Shak nodded to her. "You Vanished my books."
"You'll get them back at the end of class," he brushed her off. Turning to the class as a whole, he continued, "Now, last week I discussed with you several techniques for performing silent magic. Some of you got it," he cast a glance at Harry and Hermione, standing next to one another off to one side. "Some of you made progress," his eyes passed to Draco Malfoy, leaning in the opposite corner. "Some of you did not," his gaze found Su Li, who uncharacteristically had not done very well at all.
"Well, for our next unit, we're going to try something that requires the same basic skills, but uses them in a different way - that's wandless magic. Magic can be done both wandlessly and silently…." Shak stopped talking, extended his arm, and levitated his desk for a moment.
"Mister Potter, would you step forward?" Shak asked, and Harry did.
"Please cast any standard level three or less jinx at me … you can use your wand - and please do so aloud," he instructed.
Harry thought for a moment.
"Any time you like, Potter," Shak needled.
"Vaproso!" Harry called out, making a sweeping motion with his wand.
The jet of hot steam shot towards Shak, but billowed away as the professor silently moved his hand in a recognisable motion.
"I just demonstrated a wandless, silent Protego Charm," Shak lectured. "My hope is that all of you - since you've chosen to take N.E.W.T.-level Defence - will be able to perform a similar spell by the end of the Term. Anyway, you should use the same concentration techniques I discussed previously, but in a different fashion. Instead of a wand, you concentrate on focussing your magic so that it flows directly from a body part. That's most commonly the hands, but need not be…."
Abruptly, Shak brought his right fist up to his sternum and incanted "Fluvius!" A stream of water shot from his right elbow and would have drenched Hermione, except she silently conjured a brolly and with it deflected the rather damp results of the professor's magic.
"Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger," Shak responded. "The rest of you should know that these two took summer schooling of sorts in Defence and are thus considerably more advanced. I don't expect you to do such things yourselves - yet - but you would do well to pay attention to their technique. I understand that they've established an after-hours Defence Association, and I encourage all of you to participate."
"As I was saying," Shak continued as he paced about the room, "wandless magic can be done with various parts of the anatomy - the more angled the better, closer to a wand. The most common, besides the hands, are the toes, knees, heels, teeth, penis, breasts, nose, top of the head…."
As soon as Shak mentioned certain - more intimate - parts of the male and female anatomy, twitters and chuckles began rising from his audience. Even Harry and Hermione could not help going a bit pink about the ears.
Shak had no reticence about such supposedly delicate matters. He was one of the best Aurors the Ministry had. He had trained three years with the toughest Yank hit wizards at their base near Paducah, Kentucky. Shak did not pull his punches, not whilst teaching anyway.
So when the giggling persisted, Shak addressed the issue head on. "Yes, that's what I said, penis and breasts. Every year I'm told a couple of knuckleheads in the N.E.W.T. track Defence class try to make trouble with - inappropriate - wandless magic during this unit. Well, I don't want there to be any doubt, ladies and gentlemen, that if that happens in my class, it won't be tolerated. You should all know, right now, that anything of that sort … well, it's a very good way to lose your house a hundred points."
Almost everyone gasped. Nobody could recall anyone losing a hundred House Points for a single infraction - not Harry, not even the Twins, had done that.
"That's what I said, one hundred points - and that's for a first offence. I won't have such indiscipline in my class. Nor is that all. I will also inform the responsible Head of House of anyone who engages in inappropriate forms of wandless magic. Finally, should there be a second offence, the miscreant will be expelled from this course and recorded as having received Troll marks. Do I make myself clear?"
The question prompted generalised mumbling punctuated by a few affirmative utterances.
"I can't hear you!" Shak roared.
The professor had plainly reverted to his senior Auror persona. Harry and Hermione, having been on the receiving end of similar - if not as extended - tirades during their training, knew what to do.
"Sir, yes sir!" they shouted back. It was something Shak had picked up from the Yanks.
"That's better," Shak said in a more conversational tone of voice. "Now put your wands away and pair up. We'll give this the same go we did with silent spell casting last week."
Harry and Hermione reflexively moved towards each other, but Shak intervened. "No," he told them, "not this time. I'd rather you pair with someone else - someone you might be able to help. Potter, why don't you work with Mister Weasley? Granger, you can take your pick…. Actually, why don't you pair with Miss Greengrass? Her own house seems to be rather ignoring her."
Progress that day was slow, but progress was evident. Ron responded better to working without a wand than to working without incantations. Even if in his enthusiasm he seemed to imitate a bad Muggle martial arts film on occasion, he showed none of the face-purpling frustration that silent magic had produced. Before class ended, he had managed to generate magic with his bare hands on several occasions.
Daphne also progressed admirably. With training, Hermione thought she might be the best in the class save herself and Harry. Hermione felt ambivalent about that, since she did not like how the long and lean Slytherin beauty watched Harry when she believed Hermione's attention was elsewhere.
Double Potions followed hard on the heels of double Defence. Professor Slughorn waddled into the classroom with a small stoppered phial of gold-coloured potion in his beefy hand.
"As you no doubt recall from our first lesson three weeks ago, this curious little liquid is Felix Felicis Potion. Does anyone care to review what it does?"
Instantly, Hermione's hand shot up, for once beating Ron's.
"Ah, yes, Miss Granger," Professor Slughorn recognised her. "Since you missed the initial class, I'll let you have the first shot."
"Felix Felicis is a restricted use potion with potentially dangerous long-term effects," she recited. "An overdose produces recklessness and foolhardy overconfidence. In proper doses, however, it's very valuable. It's essentially luck distilled into potion form. Its formula supposedly prompts the dissolution and more favorable reconstitution of the Thread of Life, as that concept is used in Greek magic, from which this potion is derived."
"Oho!" exclaimed Professor Slughorn. "Ten points to Gryffindor for the best description of Felix Felicis that I have ever heard in any class."
From his seat, Draco Malfoy scowled at the Muggle-born witch. He had offered a definition of Felix Felicis in the earlier class - after Potter had been called away. Now she had topped it by a wide margin.
"That is precisely correct," Professor Slughorn continued. "To simplify a bit, I call it `liquid luck,' and in this bottle is enough to provide a user with twelve of the most remarkable hours that he or she has ever had the pleasure of passing. I have distilled the cauldron full you saw simmering on the first day of class, so this concentrate is far purer and more powerful than that larger batch. Now, Miss Granger mentioned that Felix Felicis is a restricted potion. Can anyone enlighten us as to the nature of the restrictions?"
Both Ron's and Hermione's hands went up along with several others.
"Ah, Miss Greengrass, I'll give you a chance for the points this time."
"For reasons that need no lengthy explanation," she began with what Hermione considered a subtle dig, "Felix Felicis is banned during examinations of all sorts, from political elections and the like, and cannot be used whilst playing organised sports, such as Quidditch. That's an automatic red card. On the other hand, historically it was quite highly prized by troops expecting to do battle. Caesar's Tenth Legion is rumoured to have imbibed regularly."
"I knew that," Hermione muttered to herself.
"Excellent, Miss Greengrass, take five points," Professor Slughorn intoned. "Now, it just so happens that today this phial is being offered as a prize. We have studied long enough, and the time has come to try our hands at a truly complex potion. Whoever's potion most closely approximates the proper formulation, or in the event of a tie, is submitted first, will win the opportunity for a perfectly enchanted afternoon and evening - or morning and afternoon for those who don't consider early rising incompatible with good luck."
At the mention of that kind of potion as a payoff, everyone in the class sat up a little straighter and paid the professor their undivided attention.
"Please turn to page twenty five of The Joy of Potions," Professor Slughorn told them. "For a shot at this phial of what could quite figuratively be considered spun gold, you have to make the complex healing potion, Skele-Gro. Many of you, particularly our Quidditch players, are familiar with its effects, but do you know how to brew it? Now we'll find out. You have the rest of the double period, or however much of it as you require."
"Shite," Harry whispered upon reaching the right place in the book. The instructions comprised almost two and a half pages. There appeared to be twenty ingredients.
Everyone's competitive juices were flowing strongly - motivated by the major prize now at stake. Malfoy furiously pulled ingredients from his potions kit. Ron fairly trotted to Slughorn's Potions cabinet to score some rarer items that his second-hand potions kit lacked. Hermione determinedly laid out all of the necessary hardware - her cauldron, flasks, a multi-loop condensation coil, and several other pieces - and ensured they were spotless. When finished, she utilised her Apparicium chez spell. With it, she deftly summoned everything she needed from the Potions cabinet without ever leaving her desk.
Ron, however, entirely ignored the "by the book" formulation found in Joy in favour of shortcuts scribbled by the Half-Blood Prince - not only in the margins, but in this instance extending to actual cross-outs in the text as well. The book called for the potion to be started in a cauldron-full of distilled water. The Prince, however, called for the base solution of two pounds of fine white tallow. Bone, after all, was not soluble in water.
From past experience, Ron trusted the Prince. Four blocks of tallow went into his cauldron, which he heated some seventy degrees hotter than the book recommended, due to tallow's higher boiling point.
Hermione perceived almost immediately what Ron was doing. "That's cheating, Ron," she hissed.
"No it isn't," Ron confidently shot back. "I'll let you use my book too - if you want. But you're just so stubborn, always a slave to the ruddy author."
"I am nobody's slave," Hermione replied vehemently. "But I do believe in following the rules, Mister ex-Prefect!"
Ron purpled and almost dropped his powdered bicorn. Fortunately, before he could respond in kind, Padma Patil demanded quiet so everyone else could go about their work.
Harry had out his silver mallet and was preparing to tenderise his newt tails before mixing them with planarian stem cell extract. Under the Half-Blood Prince's influence, Ron wasn't tenderising his ingredients at all. He simply chopped them into smaller chunks with a silver-bladed knife. Then, instead of adding the newt tails before the extract, he reversed the process and added the planarian extract first.
After that he mixed the cubed newt tails with tryptophan paste and added that combination to his cauldron. He magicked the fire underneath up a couple of notches and set the now bright blue liquid boiling vigourously.
"What are you on about, Ron?" Harry asked him. "Tryptophan paste isn't even in the ingredient list."
"Tryptophan acts as a catalyst, according to my man the Prince," Ron replied airily. "Trouble is, it's soluble in water, so you can't get it out, and it would eventually ruin your results. Mine's a lipid-based potion - at least that what the Prince calls it. The tryptophan's only soluble at the higher temperature. Now, watch this!"
Ron turned down the flame and cast a Cooling Charm over his cauldron. A brownish scum almost immediately appeared on the surface. Ron grabbed a ladle and skimmed it off. "There," he pronounced in a triumphant whisper that only his two best friends could hear. "No more tryptophan. It took me five minutes the Prince's way. It will take you at least fifteen."
Sure enough, Ron's potion was the deep opaque indigo blue that the instructions specified was ideal after the planarian extract was entirely absorbed. Harry knew he was at least ten minutes behind Ron. Looking at Hermione's potion, he could tell that she was too.
They shot through the next several ingredients, adding salamander blood and Mandrake juice. Instead of cutting up and then crushing the Mandrake root as the book's instructions decreed, Ron found that passage crossed out and, in the margin, replaced by the following:
Wrap intact Mandrake root around wand, squeeze whilst pulling towards cut end.
Yields twice as much juice twice as quickly
Ron happily followed the Prince once again. He wrapped the entire mandrake root around his wand several times. His Squeezing Spell, followed by a good swift yank, had juice pouring out the cut end of the root like a miniature fire hose. As the Prince had promised, this technique was not only much quicker than laborious chopping, but yielded nearly twice as much juice.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron - along with half the rest of the class - jumped at a whooshing noise behind them. Apparently Blaise Zabini had started reading over Ron's shoulder and imitating some of his unorthodox steps. Unfortunately, he had missed the Prince's opening instruction to use tallow rather than water. As a result, Zabini heated his potion far too high and some of his ingredients had not fully dissolved. In a blue-green cloud of slightly sweet smelling steam, the remainder of Zabini's potion explosively boiled away. Remaining was a gooey black tar coating the bottom of his cauldron, and an irredeemably ruined potion.
Ron continued to sail along following the Prince's scribbled interlineations. He added crushed cowry shells, moonstone sand, and a cup of 95% vinegar solution. His potion turned lime green. Only then did he add seven litres of distilled water. When the water was added, the melted tallow floated to the surface, where once again Ron skimmed it off and threw it away. Once the final ingredients were added, the end result was a perfect milky blue solution, looking almost like liquid bone.
Enviously, Harry regarded Ron's concoction. He had had more experience than just about anyone with Skele-Gro. The almost turquoise shade of Ron's steaming sludge was exactly like what he had been required to choke down on many occasions.
"Just like old Rubens Winikus makes," Ron cocksurely chirped as he ladled the stuff out of his cauldron and poured it into a large beaker. Harry regarded his own potion glumly. He had done something wrong, and it had turned a rather sickly orange - a colour not proper at any stage of the preparation.
He took a sidelong glance at Hermione. Ron's potion was not the only thing steaming. Whilst she looked preoccupied, he could tell she quite cognizant of what Ron had done, and did not like even a little. Hermione stood rigidly - her hair straying from the bun she had put it in to keep it out of the way - as she frantically cut her mandrake roots in precisely the fashion prescribed by Joy of Potions. She chopped her roots quite audibly, and rather harder than necessary. Hermione's potion was predictably perfect, but would require at least ten more minutes to complete.
Following Professor Slughorn's instructions, Ron jauntily carried his beaker to the instructor's desk at the front and centre of the room, placed it in the wire container provided for finished potions, and aimed his wand at the large signal gong the professor had left nearby. Grinning at nobody in particular, he uttered a Punching Hex, and the gong sounded loudly. Then Ron returned to his seat.
Presently, Professor Slughorn's office door opened and he bounced back into the room, looking pleased. "So someone actually finished the potion?" he asked rhetorically. "…And with fifteen minutes to spare, no less. Well, well, well…. Shall we have a look?"
He pulled out Ron's full beaker of would-be Skele-Gro and gave it a visual once-over.
"Looks quite good," Professor Slughorn commented, "quite good indeed. Just like my good friend Rubens brews. Still, the proof will be in the testing, eh? Before I bring out the test subjects, does anyone else want to enter the competition - assuming this entry is unsuccessful…?"
Several of the students, including Hermione, and Draco Malfoy, raised their hands. Harry did not. Rather than steaming, like Ron's did, Harry's own attempt met with a bad end. It had started belching copious amounts of thick black smoke, and he had been forced to douse it with Freezing Charm. Hermione had not offered him assistance - a measure of how hard she was concentrating on her own work.
Soon enough, Hermione finished her effort. It looked just like Ron's potion. Hard on her heels was Malfoy with what also looked like a successful offering. Su Li, Padma Patil, Terry Boot, and Ernie McMillan, in that order, also submitted their potions.
Whilst the stragglers finished, Professor Slughorn vanished into the ingredients closet and returned wheeling a trolley bearing several rather badly off rats. "The proof is in the potion, I always say," he said cheerily. "All of these rats suffer from serious, multi-vertebral fractures. I will be applying each of these potion samples to one of the rats. Any potion that doesn't work is, of course, disqualified. Among the qualifying entries - assuming there are any - the earliest submitted will earn its brewer our little friend Felix here."
Once again he waved the gold-filled phial in front of the class, in the way one would tempt a Kneazle with catnip.
"Test results will be announced at our next session on Friday. Class dismissed."
Ron and Harry walked out together, with a stonily disapproving Hermione trailing several strides behind them.
"So if you win, what do you think you'll use your liquid luck for?" Harry asked his friend. Harry always had more disregard for the rules than his fiancée could muster. "We've got that match with Slytherin coming up."
"Not on your life," Ron protested. "I'm plenty good enough at Quidditch not to waste a potion like that on being just a bit better. Besides, you heard the lesson. That stuff can't be used to influence either athletic competitions or examinations. That would be cheating, and I'd never do that…."
"Oh spare us your sanctimonious shite, Weasel," came Draco Malfoy's angry voice from beside them.
"Go away, pathetic Death Eater spawn," Ron spat back at the Slytherin. "Couldn't buy your way onto the team this year with your daddy locked away, could you?"
"Sod Quidditch," Malfoy continued. "If even you can do it, it's not worth doing, anyway. But I've never cheated on anything academic - not like you just did…!"
"And who asked you anyway?" Ron reacted furiously, rounding on the blonde Slytherin. Harry grabbed Ron's arm to prevent his friend from going for his wand.
"He's not worth it - to either of you," Hermione hissed whilst moving into place next to Harry. Secretly, for once in her life, she agreed with Malfoy.
"Well, I'm going to tell you anyway," Malfoy hissed. "I can see getting topped by the perfect Mudblood. I just hope I'm there when the Dark Lord gives her what's coming to her…."
Hermione seized Harry's right arm with both hands to keep him from flicking his wand into the obnoxious Slytherin's face. `No, Harry,' she Legilimenced to him. `You MUST stay calm - remember.'
On the other side, Ron growled, "You're ten pounds of troll dung in a five pound pouch."
"…I can even see getting beat by Potty, who at least scraped up an `O' somehow, even if he didn't show me anything today," an utterly undeterred Malfoy went on. "But by the Weasel? Don't make me laugh. You could never find your cauldron with both hands before. Hell, I bet you can't even spell `Skele-Gro,' let alone brew it. There's no way you could do what you did in there without cheating like there's no tomorrow."
"Well you've certainly a rather high opinion of yourself," Hermione intervened. "As if you had anything left to wager with…."
At that telling reminder of his reduced circumstances, Malfoy's haughty demeanor crumpled. "Damn you, Mudblood," he muttered. "At least I took the O-plus O.W.L. in Potions last term, not you…. Not any of you."
The Slytherin stalked off in high dudgeon.
* * * *
The young witch clutched her cape tightly around her neck against a raw nighttime breeze. She was preoccupied as she fumbled for her wand to lock up the side door at Flourish and Blots. It has been another disappointing evening, despite the extended hours. She had just been informed that, due to slow sales, she would be let go at the end of the month.
She never saw the four black-cloaked figures lurking in the shadows - until it was too late. A strong hand gripped her shoulder and spun her partly around.
"What! Who are…? Ummph."
The man's other hand covered her mouth and she felt a wand poke her in the side.
"Imperio!"
Her struggles ceased instantly.
A short while later, five people entered the deserted front room of the Leaky Cauldron from the Diagon Alley entrance. Four were unremarkable witches or wizards, and the fifth was a dark-haired younger witch with a placid looking eyes.
Tom was tending the bar as usual when the guests arrived. His business was slow, as was now the norm, and he welcomed the prospect of serving a party of five. "What can I getcha?" he asked, addressing the group generally.
"We'd like five butterbeers, and a room for the night," the dark-haired witch said evenly.
"Jess one room fer the lot o' yeh?" Tom asked as he opened the case that held the Leaky Cauldron's room keys.
"Yes, we won't all be spending the night," the tallest of the others said. "Harry Potter stayed here once, I heard, is that right?"
"Sure is," Tom said proudly. "Three years ago. Put `im up in Room Eleven - the best room I've got. Yeh want that one?"
"Yes," his guest said in a colourless voice. "That would be … quite appropriate. Stupefy! Oh, yes - and Obliviate!"
"What was the Memory Charm for?" asked one of the accomplices.
"Nothing at the moment," the leader replied knowingly. "But it should be a good diversion."
The bald, toothless bartender crumpled to the floor. One of the others uttered a quick set of spells that drew the shades and cloaked the building in a Concealment Charm that made the Leaky Cauldron appear closed to anyone who happened by.
The four others ended their Incognitus Charms. The air fluttered a bit and the visages of Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, and Alecto and Amycus Carrow came into focus.
"You two stay here and make sure we're not disturbed," Lestrange ordered the Carrows. "As I said, we won't be long." She picked up the quill lying on the bar and put it to the Leaky Cauldron's ledger. "Don't forget to sign in," she told Dolohov.
Dolohov took the room key from the unconscious man's hand, and the two Death Eaters and their latest victim ascended the stairs.
Stopping outside the door with the brass eleven on it, Lestrange spoke, "Niño, this part of it was your idea. Have your way with her, but don't take too long. Our Master demands complete success."
"Relax," the grizzled Death Eater assured his superior. "I've been planning this part of it for weeks. It will be - a pleasure…."
"I'm sure," Lestrange replied. Whilst the plot was her idea, she had assigned, for obvious reasons, the actual act to Dolohov. The Dark Lord had recommended it, as it gave her more time to prepare. "Well, get it over with. It's your specialty."
With an evil smile, Dolohov replied, "My dear Bella, murder is not just a messy necessity, it's an art form."
"Your art is merely prologue, my dear Niño," Lestrange responded knowingly.
Dolohov and the witch whose mind was controlled by the Unforgivable Curse entered the room. Lestrange heard the door lock, and cast a strong Silencing Charm over the room. Before she did, however, she slipped a pair of Extendable Ears under the door.
Even Lestrange winced when she heard the dull thud and splattering sound from the spell that ended it. Less than two minutes later, Dolohov unlocked the door and slipped out. Wiping his hands on a handkerchief already streaked with crimson, he told her. "Your turn. You've still got plenty to work with."
"My turn indeed," she echoed him. "If you're going to get your jollies from this kind of thing, the least you could do is perform the necessary Transfigurations yourself. But yours aren't worth a damn."
"With skills like mine, I don't have to be," a self-satisfied Dolohov grinned evilly. "The Dark Lord approved. That's why we're here. He even let me have his precious souvenir."
The superior attitude manifested by someone she considered an ignorant tool grated. Lestrange was used to being the Death Eater closest to the Master. Thus, she retorted, "The souvenir is trivial. Master's plans are far greater than that."
"Hunh," Dolohov predictably replied. "What are you on about?"
Lestrange theatrically raised her eyebrows and, with a superior air of her own, answered, "Well, if the Dark Lord hasn't informed you, he must have his reasons. You'll find out when he so chooses."
As a loyal Death Eater he had no response. Lestrange flashed a wicked smile as she reached into her robes and produced a silver dagger. "Not as much fun," she added to her prior comment, "but I'll get mine when we return to the Master."
Lestrange took care to lock the door and seal the room. There was more afoot than the bloodthirsty Dolohov could possibly comprehend. Before preparing the girl's remains for what the rest of her team thought of as the main event, she carefully laid the dagger on the corpse.
That done, she took pure white chalk, specially charmed by her Master for the occasion, and marked the paths of the four winds - exactly as instructed. Then she conjured the ghostly symbols that the Dark Lord had taught her. One for each point of the winds: an ankh for the South, an omega for the West, a pentacle for the North, and a taijitu for the East.
The preliminaries completed, Lestrange stood straddling the corpse and began a long Latin incantation, "Tantum per nex est principatus super nex…."
As she finished, the dagger started to spin. She felt a frisson, cold and sharp, pass through her mind. It felt like a slicing winter wind, but with no pain. As quickly as it came, it was over. The dagger stopped spinning and was still.
Lestrange gave her head a violent shake to clear the cobwebs. It would get easier; the Dark Lord had told her. The first time was the most difficult.
Methodically, she eliminated any sign - physical or magical - of what she had just done.
Her first task complete, she went to work on the Transfiguration. Tonight, the dagger would serve two purposes. In short order Lestrange completed the grisliest (if less important) part of her mission.
Ten minutes later, the four Death Eaters stepped into the Leaky Cauldron's courtyard, but rather than slip back into Diagon Alley, Lestrange pointed her wand skyward.
"Morsmordre!"
They Disapparated.
* * * *
Author's notes: Atramentum uses the Latin word for ink
Sirius is meddling from beyond the grave
Hermione's prediction comes true later in the chapter
Applause for an academic achievement appropriately starts with the Ravenclaws
The small Prophet story was what Voldemort read before Wormtail started telling him about H/Hr
____ for Poets is a class for the non-mathematically inclined. I took "Physics for Poets," at Princeton
Ron got benefits out of the Slug Club too
Ron once expected to be giving Harry "the talk" on Ginny's behalf
Declarations - some insight into formal wizard romantic practices
That day, when it comes, may well be the luckiest day of Ron's life, but how he expected or intended
Harry would never get a tattoo. It just isn't him
Harry studies harder since realizing the extent of his powers, and Hermione is rubbing off on him
Cross-kingdom Transfiguration are from plant to animal or vice versa
Seven registered 20th Century animagi is canon
Polyzooate means multiple animals
The French derivation of Gryffindor is real. Harry as a Golden Griffin Animagus isn't unique, but still appropriate
Run whatcha brung is a relatively informal sort of all-comers auto racing
A golden Griffin, is an unwieldy form for dueling Death Eaters. It's best as a matter of surprise
From Chapter 22 we know Neville has a pretty good idea of the prophecy
Neville promised Harry points in Chapter 41 if he rescued Hermione
Another real-life T-shirt slogan, try Northern Sun
Hermione's altered state will eventually come in handy
That phoenixes survive the Killing Curse is canon
Trust but verify is from the Cold War
The Invisibility Cloak will come in handy in Hogsmeade
Body parts most like wands are best for wandless magic
I think the largest penalty in canon for any one infraction was 50 points
Shak trained with Yank hit wizards at Fort Campbell
"Sir, yes sir" is what recruits are supposed to say to American drill seargents
A more detailed explanation of Felix Felicis
Daphne, a Slytherin, is perfectly capable of biting the hand that got her into the D.A.
A red card is an expulsion, usually in soccer/football
The Tenth Legion was Julius Caesar's best unit for most of his military campaigns
Multi-loop condensation coils are used to distill liquids
My own embellishments to the HBP potion competition
Planarians regenerate if cut into little pieces through their unique stem cells
Tryptophan is an amino acid sold as a dietary supplement
For the milky blue liquid, think glacial runoff
In canon, Rubens Winikus invented Skele-Gro
Ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag is an American insult
Can't find your own ass with both hands is another insult
Draco's skill in potions comes in handy for him
The Death Eaters are not signing their own names to the register
Dolohov thinks this mission is important for one reason, Lestrange for another
The souvenir is identified in the next chapter
Taijitu = yin/yang symbol
Unless you know Latin, Lestrange's spell will stay mysterious for some time
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