Chapter 17: Obfirmo Occidere
"Bloody hell!" Harry gasped.
"Are yeh all righ', Harry?" Hagrid questioned sharply, looking at him with deep concern. "She got yeh righ' in the face, she did. Jus' when yeh looked away."
Harry still felt like he could not get enough air and he sucked in a shaky breath. He turned to glance behind him where the Opith was busily shredding the pumpkin with its beak and noisily swallowing the goopy insides.
"That was the fog?" he choked. He could hardly believe it. It had felt so real.
"It's powerful, Harry," Hagrid said gravely. "That's why I have ter keep it so far out in the forest - don' want nobody wanderin' into that soup on accident. But yer all righ', aren' yeh? Yeh were jerking abou' like a grindylow in a tin can fer a while there."
Harry's racing heart had already begun to calm and he nodded stiffly. "I'm fine. I've never felt anything like that, though."
Hagrid let out a relieved breath but his eyes were suspiciously misty. "It's my fault. I shoulda told yeh ter keep yer eye on it."
"I should have known that on my own," Harry countered, smiling grimly. "Besides, you and I both know that I learn best by doing things myself. Well, now I know what that stuff can do - I'll be more cautious from now on."
They both turned to watch the Opith finish its meal. When it was done, there was nothing left of the pumpkin except some yellowish seeds and a few strands of orange pulp that dripped from its beak as it muttered happily to itself.
"That's prob'ly enough fer today's lesson," Hagrid said sheepishly as they watched the gruesome display.
"Probably, yeah," Harry agreed immediately. He would never admit it, but he still felt rather unsettled. He would be happy to be back in the castle.
~: --------------------------- :~
"An Opith? Are you sure that's what he called it? I've never heard of such a thing."
"Hard to forget it after that, Hermione," Harry drawled.
"I told you you were mad to take that course," Ron quipped. "And today was only the first day!"
"What was it like? Did you realise it was fake while it was happening?" Hermione questioned.
Harry shook his head. "It felt completely real. When the water hit me, it hurt. It felt like I'd taken a bludger, only about the size of lorry. And when it got in my lungs… well, it was as awful as you'd imagine it would be."
Ron shivered and wrapped his dressing gown tighter around his shoulders. "What's a lorry?"
"Was it psychosomatic?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's question and peering at Harry in concern.
"Psycho-so-what?" Ron blurted.
"It was all in my head, Hermione," Harry informed. "I'm not bruised or anything. I wasn't even wet."
"Still… that must have been absolutely terrifying," Hermione fretted. She chewed on her lip as she stared into the Gryffindor fireplace. "Do you - do you have a particular fear of drowning?"
"What kind of a question is that?" Ron asked sharply. "Everyone's afraid of drowning. It's a crap way to go."
Hermione glared at him. "I'm asking because if Harry had a fear of drowning, then it's likely that the Opith's fog reacts similarly to a boggart, in that it responds to a person's individual fears. If he didn't, then whatever 'nightmare' a person experiences must be random."
Harry peered at her curiously. "I've never thought about drowning one way or another. I wouldn't want to do it, but I wouldn't say I'm afraid of it happening."
Hermione nodded absently and appeared to be deep in thought.
Harry leaned back against the couch and glanced around the Gryffindor common room. Most of his housemates had gone to bed earlier, but there were a few older students talking quietly in groups or frantically working on their summer assignments. Ginny and Dean were sitting at a table together whispering heatedly. She ducked her head and flushed when she noticed Harry looking at her. He turned back to the fire in an effort to give them some privacy.
"By the way, both you lot have to speak to Hagrid sometime," Harry announced, undoing the knot of his school tie and letting it drape carelessly around his neck. He had not yet changed for bed. "When you didn't show up for lessons, he looked as if someone killed his puppy."
Ron looked exceptionally guilty and fidgeted. "You told him we wanted to join, but just couldn't, right?"
"Something like that."
"I hope he isn't mad at us," Hermione fretted. "We should have taken the course, Ron. I'm really sorry now that I didn't."
Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the top of the couch. "Don't feel too bad - you weren't the only ones. No one else showed up, either."
Hermione gasped. "Oh, heavens! You're the only one taking the lesson? Hagrid must have been devastated!"
Ron looked a bit ill. "Bugger, mate. I'll go down and see him tomorrow."
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said. He cracked one eye open and glanced down at his ginger-haired friend. Ron had been in a mood during dinner and Harry had assumed he was still riled up over his being named Quidditch captain. However, once Harry had his friends alone and related what had happened in the Forbidden Forest, Ron's snit had ended abruptly. Harry figured that near-death experiences always drew a truce from within the trio. Even if those experiences were imaginary.
~: --------------------------- :~
The next day's lessons proved significantly less interesting than the first.
The morning had begun with two hours of Transfiguration and Harry and Hermione had spent the entirety of the class period changing turtles into bowler hats. As the class wore on, Harry's interest began to wane and his hats began to appear with peculiar shell patterns in their fabric. On a strange whim, Harry changed one of these hats into a shining, silver shield much like the one he had seen Voldemort using while dueling in the Ministry atrium. Professor McGonagall had promptly lectured him on sticking to the lesson provided and had assigned him a foot of parchment as punishment.
Strangely, after her lecture, she had looked over his shield and nodded at him absently before bustling off to change Neville Longbottom's snapping hat brims back into turtles.
After lunch, Hermione nearly skipped out of the Great Hall to attend her Arithmancy class while Harry and Ron hiked up to the Divination Tower. Professor Trelawny did not appear to be fully recovered from her traumatic firing the previous year and had spilt a frightfully powerful cinnamon-scented liquid all over the floorboards. Harry's eyes had burned and watered all throughout class and Ron had faked gagging noises every time the professor's back had turned.
But it was the final class of the day that Harry had been truly dreading.
Professor Snape's Advanced Potions class met at 7 o'clock in the evening in an obscure dungeon within the depths of the castle. Hermione had insisted that she and Harry leave supper early to be certain they would not get lost and end up late. Harry had been exceedingly grateful for her foresight - they had wandered around dead-ends and mouldy causeways for nearly half an hour before Harry had remembered the Marauder's Map and the two had used it to pinpoint Snape's pacing figure. They burst into the classroom with just minutes to spare and the Potions Professor had looked so disappointed that Harry could not help but favour Hermione with a lopsided grin. She had flushed prettily and elbowed him in his side to keep him from infuriating Snape further and surely losing house points.
Unfortunately, only the Slytherins had been in their seats when they arrived, and Dean Thomas's panicked entrance occurred almost ten minutes after class had begun. Snape had smiled thinly and stared right at Harry as he took twenty points from Gryffindor. Harry had bristled at this - the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students had also arrived late, but each of their houses had only had ten points taken. He was about to say something when Hermione had stilled him with a hand on his arm and a warning look. He resorted to squeezing the fabric of his cloak in his fist beneath their table to control his temper.
The rest of the class would prove as unpleasant as its beginning. Snape had taken great pleasure in announcing that his advanced lessons would be broken into four groups and that each would be expected to brew two exceedingly difficult potions per term. The groups, he related, would consist of all the members of a single house. Harry had thought this was deeply unfair - Slytherin had five students in the class, and Ravenclaw had six, but Gryffindor had only managed three. Worse still, Hufflepuff had only two - Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones - both of whom looked aghast at this pronouncement.
"The quality of your potion," Snape informed silkily, "will be the only factor in determining your marks. If I deem it to be… unsatisfactory… your entire group will be removed from this class. There will be no tolerance for mediocrity. Not anymore."
He said this with an infuriatingly smug look directly solely at Harry. Hermione touched his side beneath the table when she felt him tense.
"Rearrange yourselves!" Snape barked when he realised he would get no response from his baiting.
Sullenly, Harry, Hermione, and Dean gathered at a table near the rear of the classroom. The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins did likewise. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Draco Malfoy glaring at him poisonously as he took his new seat and he shot the Slytherin his most unconcerned look in response.
Snape jutted his wand at the blackboard behind his desk and a piece of chalk rose into the air and began writing. "The name of your first potion will be on the blackboard," he said icily. "You will be ready to demonstrate its efficacy on Halloween night. If your draught fails to meet my standards, you will not receive an extension and you will not be continuing in my class. No ingredients or instructions will be provided."
Susan Bones bravely raised her hand to ask a question but Snape shot her a glare of such vehemence that she withered in her seat.
"If you cannot understand this simple assignment, then I must question the validity of your O.W.L. score," Snape hissed at her. He turned to survey the classroom and sneered, "What are you waiting for? Begin."
"I'm going to fail you both," Harry whispered darkly to Dean and Hermione once Snape had turned away.
"Oh, hush," Hermione said. "As long as our potion is good enough, Snape will have to mark us fairly."
"Fairly? He's not going to mark me fairly. I'm going to get my usual 'P' and you lot will be dragged down with me."
Dean shook his head. "As long as we don't make a complete bodge of it, he'll have to keep us around."
Hermione nodded, but Harry could tell that she was a bit unsettled by the idea of receiving a 'P' on an assignment. "Right. We're just going to have to work extra hard to make sure he can't dock points for anything we missed."
Harry sat forward in his chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. A glance towards the blackboard revealed that the chalk had finished writing. "Obfirmo Occidere," he read. "Any ideas?"
Hermione looked puzzled and began to flip rapidly through her textbook. "I've never heard of it before," she confessed uneasily. "But… I've read through this book twice already!"
Dean raised his eyebrows, but a sharp look from Harry kept him from commenting.
"I doubt it would be in the textbook," Harry reasoned, turning back to Hermione. "That would be too easy."
Hermione looked thoroughly put out. "But - hmph! Why make us buy textbooks if we're not going to use them?"
"Because he's Snape," Harry and Dean said in unison. They both glanced at each other in surprise and Dean grinned toothily.
Hermione sighed and closed her book. "You're probably right, Harry," she muttered. She looked thoughtful for a moment before her features brightened visibly. "I'm sure we'll be able to find it in the library!"
"Hooray," Dean drawled.
Hermione ignored him and began writing on a piece of parchment. "We can meet there tomorrow after supper to start looking."
"Er, wait!" Dean protested. "Tomorrow is a match day."
Harry looked at him oddly. "Matches don't start until November. We haven't even had tryouts yet."
Dean straightened his robe and poked at a claret and blue badge on the lapel. "West Ham," he reminded proudly. "We can't see them on the telly here, but my mum sends me the fixture results. I can't study on match days - I have to think about the team. It's a solidarity thing."
Harry had never watched a professional football match in his life and only knew the rules from a few schoolyard games. He didn't understand Dean's obsession with West Ham United, but he did understand the inability to concentrate on match days. He was often struck with the same affliction. But then again, he thought, he actually played on the team.
Hermione was less charitable. "You can't study with us because a cricket team is having a game that you can't even watch?"
"It's football," Dean said, looking quite offended. "And that's right. But we can meet Thursday."
Hermione frowned and looked at Harry for support. He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest.
Hermione rolled her eyes and looked very put upon. "Boys…" she muttered.
~: --------------------------- :~
The next day's Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson was as bizarre as the first. When he arrived at class, Harry was surprised to find a dead bat secured onto the table in front of his chair with a drawing pin. Hermione had shrieked at him not to pick it up due to it possibly carrying disease, but he had waved her off and pulled out the pin, anyway. Some of the other students had circled around to watch when he lifted the bat by its wing using his thumb and forefinger. He looked at it warily before depositing it in the bin by the professor's desk.
When Ferrote had arrived, she had scowled when she noticed the corpse in her bin, but said nothing about it and the lesson continued as normal.
Ron had found the entire episode unsettling.
"It's spooky," he declared for the third time while they ate lunch. "Bats pinned to your desk? I'm telling you, someone is trying to curse you, mate."
"Honestly, Ron, if someone wanted to curse Harry, they would use a wand… not a dead animal," Hermione corrected. She leveled Harry with a displeased look. "And I can't believe you just picked it up like that. It could have had rabies."
Ron scrunched up his face. "It didn't look pregnant…"
Hermione sighed. "I said rabies, not babies."
"Oh. What's rabies?"
"It's an awful disease that Harry could have accidentally contracted," Hermione informed.
Ron looked at Harry uncertainly and slid a little further away on the bench.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't have rabies, Hermione," he grumbled. "Someone was just trying to scare me. Bad job of it, though - it'd take a bit more than a dead bat."
Hermione tapped her lips with her fork in contemplation. "Still," she said quietly. "You need to be careful, Harry. We don't know who put it there, or why."
"It was probably Professor Ferrote," Harry hypothesized. "The whole salt thing from the day before yesterday was a bit off, wasn't it? Maybe it's another weird quirk of hers."
"Hmm," Hermione murmured. She dropped her fork abruptly and gathered her things. "I'm going to go to the library. Maybe I can find something that would explain it. If I don't see you before your meeting, make sure you tell Professor Dumbledore."
"I'm not going to tell Dumbledore," Harry protested. "It was probably just a prank."
"What meeting?" Ron asked. "What's this about Dumbledore?"
Hermione waved him off. "You should tell him Harry," she repeated and touched Harry's shoulder before bustling out of the Great Hall.
Harry met Ron's stony gaze and briefly explained his meetings with the Headmaster from over the summer. "It's my first one since we got back to Hogwarts," he revealed.
"Occlumency and magical history?" Ron parroted in horror. He looked relieved that he had not missed anything exciting. "Sounds like a nightmare."
"Better Dumbledore than Snape," Harry said, taking a bite of mince pie.
Ron nodded solemnly. "Right on that one, mate. Can't say I'm missing Potions this year, either."
Harry felt vaguely envious of Ron's timetable. He had been up half the night yesterday finishing his essay for Professor McGonagall and that wasn't even a real assignment. "I need to schedule tryouts next week," he said suddenly. "When's a good day for you?"
Ron frowned around his mouthful of chips and swallowed thickly. "I dunno," he mumbled.
"Come on, Ron. I need to get the notices up in the common room soon or no one is going to show up."
Ron leaned his elbow on the table and placed his chin in his hand. "Why do we even have to have tryouts? Can't we just use the same team as last year?"
"Professor McGonagall asked me to. Plus, I reckon that we could use some different beaters if any decent flyers come out," Harry explained. "And we should probably field a reserve team this year."
"A reserve team?" Ron repeated, looking pale. "W-why?"
Harry observed his sudden pallor curiously. "Just in case anything happens like last year and we need a substitute. Plus, we could scrimmage with full teams, then."
Ron pushed away the rest of his meal and sighed. "Fine…"
"What about Wednesday, then? I know you don't have class then. I have to check with Katie, but it should be all right," Harry said absently. "Can you run it by Ginny?"
"Yeah, all right," Ron mumbled.
Harry shot him an uneasy look. "What's with you?"
"Nothing," Ron said dully. "I better go. I wanted to get some flying in before Herbology. See you later."
Harry watched him go with a puzzled look on his face.
~: --------------------------- :~
When Harry returned from his meeting with Dumbledore, it was past one o'clock in the morning. Their lesson had gone on much longer than usual and when they had finished, Harry was given another book to read. He had a feeling that this one would prove more interesting than the previous texts. It was titled 'The Rise of Grindelwald' and Dumbledore had a far-away look on his face when he had presented Harry with the tome.
"It is important that you read this," Dumbledore had said. "And that you try to understand."
Harry had promised he would.
There was a fire still blazing merrily when Harry stepped through the portrait into the Gryffindor common room. There were no sounds other than the crackling of the flames and he wondered why it had been left to burn. He tucked his book under his arm and went to extinguish it, but was startled by a soft purring.
Crookshanks was lounging peacefully on the couch just beside Hermione's leg. She was pouring over a thick tome and looked very tired.
"Hermione, what are you still doing up?" Harry asked.
She let out a startled noise and jerked her head up to look at him. When she recognized him, her hand flew to her chest, pressing against her racing heart. "Harry! You scared me," she breathed. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Sorry. What are you doing?"
"Oh! I found it, Harry - right here in 'Misguided Magical Methods'!" she said excitedly. She shifted sideways to give him room to sit next to her on the couch and tapped at a passage in her book.
Harry dropped his own book on a chair and sat down beside her. Her leg felt pleasantly warm against his. "What is it?" he asked, fighting off a yawn.
"I looked up the uses of bats," she explained. Her face was flushed from the heat of the fire. "And I found this. It says that bats or snakes used to be nailed to the doors of people who were suffering from curses. It was supposed to serve as protection - they thought it kept the curse from spreading. This was before anyone knew any better, of course. No one does it anymore."
Harry frowned and leaned forward, gently taking the book from Hermione's hands and reading the passage she indicated. "So why do it now? And why my desk? I'm not suffering from a curse."
"I was thinking about that earlier - and look here," she said, taking the book back and flipping to an earlier page. "There's a whole chapter about salt, too! I think you're right - it's probably Professor Ferrote who did it. She did seem quite interested in your scar, didn't she?"
Harry scratched his chin. "Well, yeah. But Hermione - most people are interested in my scar. I don't think I've ever met a wizard or witch who didn't at least glance at it when they first meet me."
"That was more than a glance, Harry. She was staring at it, and she didn't look happy it was there."
Harry supposed that was true. "Fair enough, but… what's the point? If the salt and the crusty bats don't actually do anything, then why go to the trouble? And what's she trying to protect against?"
"Maybe she thinks your scar is a physical manifestation of the killing curse?" Hermione speculated quietly. "It is very unusual - the shape of it, I mean."
Harry ran his fingers under his hair and traced the familiar lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.
"Anyway," Hermione continued. "Professor Ferrote seems very old-fashioned. Maybe she's trying to help you, in her own way?"
"Or maybe she's paranoid?" Harry countered, somewhat crossly. "Is all this supposed to protect me or her?"
Hermione shook her head and leaned back against the couch. "I don't know. We'll just have to keep an eye on her. We haven't had much luck with Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers… there's no reason to take any chances."
Harry leaned back beside her, careful not to jostle her thin shoulder with his own. "I hope she doesn't pin a snake to my desk next time," he sighed. "I have a bad enough reputation with snakes as it is."
Hermione smiled and turned her head to face him. "How was your lesson with Dumbledore?"
"Tiring," Harry admitted, closing his eyes. "He gave me a new book: 'The Rise of Grindelwald'."
Hermione chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "I've always wondered why we haven't covered Grindelwald in History of Magic. We hardly ever hear about it, really. It almost seems like people want to forget it happened."
"It's not that surprising," Harry pointed out. "It's a bit like all this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense, isn't it? Witches and Wizards seem to think if they don't talk about something, it just goes away."
"I never thought of it that way, but I suppose that's true," Hermione conceded. Slowly, she tilted her head to the side until it was resting against Harry's shoulder. "D-did you tell Dumbledore about the bat?"
A muscle in Harry's jaw clenched and he frowned crookedly. "I told you I wasn't going to."
"Harry! You really should tell him," Hermione chided.
"I'm not going to run to Dumbledore every time something unusual happens. We can figure it out on our own," Harry said stubbornly.
Hermione looked at him questioningly. "Harry… did something happen between you and Dumbledore? I know he didn't treat you very well last year, but now you're meeting together and all…"
Harry cracked his eyes opened and stared into the fire. "I'm not angry at him," he said after a few moments.
Hermione and he both knew that was not really an answer to her question, but she nodded against his shoulder and pulled Crookshanks into her lap. She rubbed her fingers through the cat's fur absently and blinked to keep her eyes from drooping closed.
Harry noticed her slumping figure and suggested she go to bed.
"I'll go to bed when you do," Hermione said primly, rubbing her eyes with her small fists. "If I leave you down here on your own, you'll just spend half the night brooding and then you'll be of no use whatsoever during our lessons tomorrow."
Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. "I will not."
"Yes, you will. And I'll not have it."
Harry did not answer. They stayed sitting for some time in a small battle of wills before Harry finally climbed to his feet and offered his hand to help tug Hermione gently to hers. She smiled sleepily at his unspoken acquiescence and wished him a good rest before they both tiredly mounted the stairs to their dormitories.